#beyond mid perhaps

[starfallkaz]

Oh the betrayal of picking up Fourth Wing with the promise of sweet enemies-to-lovers, perhaps a sprinkle of slow-burn and tension, only to be given FUCKING INSTALOVE WHAT IS THIS 🤠🤠

[greenlighted]

im planning this fic and lask week i thought of PERFECT lore for it, so naturally i dont remember a single fucking thing about it

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 22: I Won't Be Gentle

Summary: Things begin to develop in your new relationship with Simon, but luck is so rarely on your side.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,074

Warnings: Slight NSFW, suggestive content, kissing, dry humping, anguage, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, Ghost’s emotional constipation, angst, a wee bit of horror at the beginning, also a lot of feet in this chapter (gross), oh yeah and did I mention ANGST

A/N: Please don't hate me

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

It’s far too quiet. You can hear the air blowing through the vents, the quiet hum of the fluorescents in the hallway. You push yourself up to sit, the blankets falling around your waist. It’s still dark out, the blurry time on your clock reading just past 2 AM. You’re not quite sure why you’re awake, aside from the eerie silence that has settled over the barracks. 

You push your blankets back, shivering as you leave the warm, cozy comfort of your nest. You shove your feet into your slippers to avoid the cold floor before standing, making your way slowly to your door. Something feels wrong, something feels off. You’re on guard, listening, waiting for a sign of whatever is causing such a reaction. 

The click of the lock on your door might as well have been a gunshot in the silence, the sound almost echoing. Any chance of stealth is out the window, so you’ll have to be prepared to run in case something happens, in case something is waiting for you on the other side of the door. How something or someone could have gotten in without the guys noticing is beyond you, but you suppose nothing is impossible. 

You crack the door open, peeking out through the gap, but you can’t see anything. No one’s moving around, no one’s waiting for you on the other side. The urge to hold your breath is strong as you step out of your room, the silence almost deafening. It’s too still, not even the sound of snores coming from the other rooms. The stillness is eerie, sending a violent shiver down your spine. 

You take a cautious step towards John’s room, moving on your tiptoes to avoid making any noise. You don’t really want to wake him two hours before he normally gets up, but you can’t stand the feeling crawling beneath your skin. Even if you just slip into bed beside him, it’ll make you feel safer in this ominous atmosphere that’s settled over the barracks. 

The sound of shuffling breaks the silence, making you freeze mid-step. Your breath catches in your lungs, muscles tensing as you pray it was just your imagination, or perhaps your own movements that disturbed the unearthly quiet. Time seems to still as you stand there frozen, your heart pulsing in your ears. 

The sound of shuffling unmistakably echoes in the air again. You don’t care how much noise you make as you take off running to John’s door, throwing it open in hopes it wakes him immediately before whatever it is that’s creeping around the barracks finds you. 

His bed is empty. 

It’s made up like he’d never slept in it, the sheets tucked in pristinely, and the comforter perfectly in place. He’s not in the bathroom either, the door cracked and the light turned off. You walk backwards out of his room, wondering if you had read the time wrong after all, or maybe if he’d just not gone to bed in the first place. You opt for Kyle’s room instead, hurrying to his door before opening it. 

His bed is empty too, made up just as perfectly as John’s. You’re beginning to panic, your heart thudding faster than it had been before. Your shaky hands fumble with Johnny’s door across the hall, his room empty and more organized than you’ve ever seen it. You even check Simon’s room, a place you’ve never seen, a place you’ve never been in, but it’s empty too. 

Simon’s clock tells you it’s too early for them to be up, too early for them to go to their training. They wouldn’t just leave you like that, would they? Not even a word or a goodbye? You’re panicking, breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as you stand in the middle of the hallway. Maybe there was an emergency. Did they say anything about doing training tonight? Maybe this is training, maybe they’re testing you and what you’ll do if they ever disappear. Maybe they want to know exactly what you experienced when they left you the first time. 

You turn as the shuffling sound gets louder, a quiet whimper leaving your lips as you spot the figure standing at the end of the hallway. It’s dark, the lights at the end of the hall off. They’re never off, the lights in the barracks always on no matter what time it is. Tears sting your eyes as you stare at the shadowy figure at the end of the hall. You can’t see their face, you can’t tell who it is, but something in the back of your mind whispers that it’s not one of your packmates. There’s nothing familiar, no comforting warmth at the sight of them. 

Fear nearly blinds you as the figure begins moving down the hall, the lights going out one by one as he gets closer and closer. You’re hyperventilating, your brain screaming to run, but your legs are frozen. You’re alone and there’s nothing you can do. You’re alone and about to die, or worse, and no one will know. It could be days before anyone finds you. The thought of your pack returning to find your mangled body has a sob tearing from your chest, your scream dying on your lips as the darkness finally reaches you. 

You jolt awake with a gasp, your heart thudding violently in your chest. You’re shivering, not just from the terror still pulsing through you from the nightmare. The blankets are still pushed down to the end of the bed, leaving you naked and unprotected from the eternally cold barracks. 

There’s a heavy weight against your pelvis keeping you from shifting your position, or even sitting up. The aching in your hips and lower back is starting to register as your brain becomes more and more aware of reality. A glance downward reveals your legs are still tossed over Kyle’s shoulders, the position you’d been in before you fell asleep. Kyle is asleep too, his face squished against your pelvis as he snores quietly. 

A quick glance at the clock reveals it’s just past 2 AM, your breath catching in your throat. The dream had felt so real, the sensations, the feelings. You pinch yourself, the pain in your back and hips not enough to make you believe you really are awake and not stuck in some nightmare still. 

“Kyle,” You whisper quietly, trying to shift, but the hold he has around your thighs is stopping you. “Kyle.” You say a little louder, shaking him gently. 

He lets out a quiet grunt as he jerks awake, lifting his head from your pelvis. He smacks his lips, releasing one of your thighs to rub at his face. You immediately free that leg from his shoulder, groaning quietly as you straighten it out. The crack of your knee is loud, Kyle blinking blearily up at you as awareness slowly returns to his brain. 

“I think we fell asleep.” You say quietly, still shivering from the cold and the terror remaining from your nightmare. You’re tempted to reach out and squeeze Kyle, just to ensure he’s really real, really here with you. 

“Fuck,” He breathes, untangling himself from your body, pushing himself up onto his kees as you straighten out your other leg, sighing at the relief of finally being able to move and stretch your cramped body. 

He moves from between your thighs, giving you more room to move and readjust yourself into a more comfortable position. You push yourself up higher against the pillows, sighing at the ache in your lower back. 

“Pussy so good it knocked me out cold.” He grins, settling himself down next to you, his hand coming to rest on your stomach. “Fuck you’re freezing.” He frowns, finally noticing the subtle shivering of your body. 

He pulls the blankets up, tucking both of you in before wrapping himself around you like a koala. You turn onto your side, tucking yourself into his hold. He lets out a hiss as your feet touch his legs, his arms tightening around you. You press your cheek to his chest, listening to the quiet, steady beat of his heart. A shiver runs down your spine as the nightmare replays in your mind, feeling just as real as it did when you first woke up. 

You’re not entirely sure it didn’t happen. 

You know it couldn’t have. You woke up in the same position you fell asleep in, legs thrown over Kyle’s shoulders, his head between your thighs. He’d laid there, lazily lapping at your folds after making you cum three times until you both drifted off from exhaustion. It might have been embarrassing, had it not been for the time Johnny fell asleep still inside you moments after his orgasm. You had been stuck under him until he inevitably rolled away, starfishing himself as best he could across the small bed. 

“Kyle?” You whisper quietly, not wanting to wake him again if he’d already fallen back to sleep. 

He grunts softly, likely half asleep. 

“You wouldn’t leave me without telling me, right?” You ask, not sure if you’re going to get an intelligible answer in response. 

He shifts just slightly, his arms tightening around you. “Of course not.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll always tell you, love. Wouldn’t just disappear without letting you know first.” 

His words end in a yawn, but they offer a sense of comfort to you. You know you might not always have much notice ahead of time. Sometimes they don’t even get a lot of time between finding out about an assignment and when they have to leave. John had warned you about that, that they might have as little as an hour between. They’ll always make sure you know, though. They won’t just disappear into thin air without so much as a goodbye. 

It might be their last. 

You push that thought from your mind, squeezing your eyes shut as you breathe in Kyle’s scent, praying for your mind to go blank.

It’s like being around a wild animal. You’re not quite sure what to do. You’re afraid to move too quickly, to startle him. Despite the confession, despite your intimate moment on the couch in the rec room, you still feel like you’re dancing around him a bit. You’re not sure where the boundary lies now, what’s okay and what’s going too far. 

He sits closer to you now. On the days where you sit between him and Johnny at breakfast, you’ve been close enough to brush arms with him. He stares at you more now too, but less in the way one stares at an annoying fly buzzing around the room, and more in the way one stares at a painting or at the TV when they watch their favorite sports team. 

He walks slower now, side by side with you, close enough his hand brushes yours every so often. The thought has crossed your mind to reach out and take it just to see what he would do, but you’re not sure you could handle the rejection if he didn’t want it. You feel very much like you’re tiptoeing around him, afraid to push too far but unsure of where the line stands. 

You could just ask him, but you’re afraid he might laugh at you, that he might think you’re stupid for just not knowing. He’s so intune to you. You saw proof of that in the lingerie store, and how he always knows when you get uncomfortable in the mess. You wish you could read him like that, that you could be as intune to him as he is to you. It might be his training, his years of developing the skills to be attentive to every detail, every scent, every emotion. Or maybe that’s just him. After years of living the way he did growing up, you’d imagine he’d be good at knowing when someone is upset versus when they’re not. 

He could probably read you like an open book, and yet he’s like a locked safe in an armored vehicle. You’d sooner be able to see through concrete than you would be able to figure out Simon Riley. 

“You have to put your feet there?” The low timbre of his voice cuts through your thoughts and you look up at him from where you’re laying on the couch. 

He’s staring at you from his seat in the chair, book in hand. You’re laying on your back on the couch, your legs propped up over the arm with your feet right next to him. You could probably reach out and touch his shoulder with your toes if you tried.

“‘S comfy.” You say, going back to your own book. 

It’s quiet in the barracks, just the two of you occupying the rec room. John had taken Johnny and Kyle out to do some kind of training or something. You had only been half listening to Simon as he entered the rec room and joined you in the quiet space. 

“Well, they stink.” He says, pushing them away from his arm. 

“They do not stink.” You say, moving your book aside as you pull your foot towards your nose to smell it. “Liar. My feet are perfect.” You move it back over the arm of the couch, putting it closer to him than it was before. 

“Eh,” He stares at your feet for a moment. “I've seen better.”

You gawk at him, looking offended. “Who's?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Johnny’s.”

You pause for a moment, thinking back to all the times you've seen his feet. “You're right. He does have beautiful feet. How does he manage it?”

“He gets pedicures every few weeks.” Simon says, staring at his book. “Usually goes when we return from assignments too.” 

You gape at him. “And he's never invited me?” 

“Don't think he's gone since you got here.” Simon shrugs. “Kyle was the one to put him on it. They go together sometimes.”

You continue to stare at him, mouth hanging open in shock. You wouldn't have guessed it. Kyle, it made sense for him. He takes better care of his skin and body than even you do, but Johnny too? 

“He likes the massaging part. Says it makes his skin extra soft and smooth.” Simon shrugs. You can imagine Johnny trying to convince Simon to tag along, but the mental image of the giant, imposing alpha in a nail salon nearly makes you laugh. 

You shake your head, picking your book back up. “I mean, it makes sense, taking care of your feet. They're a vital part of your job.” 

“I think they're gross.” He admits, turning the page in his book. “Especially when they're so close to me.”

“Hey, my feet are clean.” You say, poking his arm. “I wash them every time I shower, thank you, and I change my socks every day.” 

He pushes your feet away from his arm, letting out a huff. “Keep your trotters away from me.”

“I was here first.” You say, moving them back close to his arm. 

“You're such a child.” He says, setting his book down.

“I am not-” The last word cuts off in a shriek as he suddenly grabs your foot, tickling the bottom of it. 

You giggle and shriek, trying to pry your foot from his hand, kicking out with the other. He catches both, tickling the bottoms of your feet. Your book drops as you twist and wiggle, tears gathering in your eyes from laughing. 

“Okay, okay!” You say, managing to pull away from him and sit up properly on the couch. “You win.”

You pick your book back up, curling up against the arm of the couch as you try and catch your breath. You know he's storing the fact you're ticklish away for later, and had you looked up, you would have seen the slight crinkle at the sides of his eyes indicating the smile hidden beneath his mask. 

“Something’s going on with those two.” 

“Yer right. It's odd.” Johnny says, leaning against the sink in the bathroom. “They're so...comfortable.”

“Not one tensed muscle or nervous glance.” Kyle says leaning against the wall. 

“She's sittin’ close tae him too.” Johnny says. “I think my plan worked.”

“The panties?” Kyle's brow raises. “There's no way a pair of panties changed things this much.”

“It's not just the skids. Tha’ was the push they needed.” He smirks. “They did the rest themselves.” 

“I can't believe it.” Kyle shakes his head. “What if it's just a fluke? She was there first and he chose to sit there by chance?” 

Johnny shakes his head. “Simon always sits in tha’ chair.” 

“What if she was too nervous to move after he sat there.” Kyle argues. 

“Well, there’s only one way to find out what they’re really feeling.” Johnny says, moving towards the door. 

Kyle follows him out of the bathroom and into the rec room. You don't look up as they enter, Simon barely glancing over the top of his book before going back to reading. Kyle and Johnny share a look before they join you on the couch, Johnny taking the seat next to you. 

“Have a good afternoon, kitten?” He asks, stretching his arm across the back of the couch behind you.

You nod, glancing up from your book. “Yeah, just been reading.

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, staring at you. “That all?” 

“Mhm.” You hum, continuing to read. “You can turn on the TV if you want.” You say, not even giving him the chance to ask the question. 

Johnny turns away from you, glancing at Kyle before grabbing the remote off the coffee table. Kyle shrugs, settling into the couch as Johnny flips through channels. You and Simon continue to read, your body curled up against the arm of the couch, closer to Simon despite Johnny’s arm still draped nearly across your shoulders. 

A small smile tugs at Johnny’s lips, a pleased aura nearly radiating off of him. Normally you would be sitting as far from Simon as you could, and you would have leaned into Johnny as soon as he sat next to you. Now you’re sitting as close as you can to Simon, and staying that way. Johnny’s not even upset by you unintentionally ignoring him. 

He’s just happy his plan worked. 

It’s not just existing around Simon that has changed since his confession and your moment in the rec room. Training has also changed. Things feel different, stranger between the two of you. Despite the partial lowering of the barrier, it feels as if there’s a thicker one between you. Is he dancing around you as much as you are dancing around him? Are both of you fumbling to find where the new barrier lies? The thought is comforting, that he might be struggling with this as much as you are. 

He avoids touching you as much as possible during training, only adjusting your stance when necessary. You haven’t done much on the floor either, instead his focus is on working on your kicks and punches again. 

He’s as stone-faced as usual, the tenseness back in his body as you throw punches at the bag. Your knuckles hurt and you’re quickly getting tired between the lack of sleep due to your nightly activities with the other members of your pack, your nightmares, and also the thousands of thoughts causing turmoil in your mind. You just want to know where you stand, you just want to know where that boundary lies. You just want him to talk to you. 

You’re tempted to throw a punch at him just to get him to do something.

You take a step back from the bag, taking a breath. You want to confront him, ask him every burning question in your mind in a place where it is less likely someone will walk in and see you or overhear. You’re not sure how much longer you can stand this, how much longer you can do this dance before you lose it. You need to know, you need to place that boundary somewhere so you can stop worrying. 

“You’re in your head again.” Simon says, snapping you out of your thoughts. “That’s going to get you hurt someday.” 

“Well maybe I wouldn’t have to be in my head so much if you’d just talk to me.” You snap, starting to get frustrated. 

He shifts on his feet, his shoulders tensing just slightly. Your words and obvious frustration striking something within him. 

“I just...I need to know what we are...where we stand,” You continue. “I need to know what we’re doing, what’s okay. I feel like I’m just tiptoeing and dancing around you and I can’t stand it.”

He shifts on his feet again, staring at you blankly. You need him to say something, anything. It’s not often he’s been quiet, speechless when you’ve confronted him. You know you’ve put him in a place like you did in the rec room, cornered him in a vulnerable position. You also know that’s where he’s most uncomfortable. 

“I...I don’t know.” He says, obviously scrambling for words, for something to answer you with. 

“Well, it would be nice if you figured it out, because you’re stressing me out here.” You sigh exasperatedly. “I just...don’t want to make you uncomfortable or do something that’s going to ruin things.” 

“I don’t think you could do that.” He says, shifting on his feet again. 

You blink at him in surprise, not expecting that to be his answer. “I-I don’t-” 

All thought of moving or defending yourself is out the window as he moves, knocking your feet out from under you and sending you sprawling on your back. He’s on you instantly, pinning you against the floor. Your breath leaves your lungs as you suddenly find yourself face to face with him, close enough to see the shades of brown in his eyes. 

“Do you know how long you’ve been teasing me, torturing me? How badly I’ve wanted to touch, to feel, to get a taste for myself?” His face lowers towards yours, and you’re certain if he hadn’t been wearing the mask, you could have felt his breath on your lips. “Weeks I’ve been forced to sit and listen to you with the others, wishing it could be me, wishing I could have that with you without the risk of breaking you, of ruining everything.” 

“You’re not going to break me.” You say quietly, trying to reassure him like you did during your chat in the rec room. “I’m not made of glass.” 

“I can’t...I can’t risk ruining things for everyone.” He shakes his head, pulling back just slightly. 

“What makes you so sure you will? Have you even considered the fact that I want you too? I’ve been waiting for this for so long. Hell, I would be happy if you just wanted to be my friend. I’ve been trying so hard for weeks just for your approval. I never even thought...” You shake your head. “I never even thought you’d feel like this about me. I thought you hated me for so long.” 

He’s silent for a moment, staring down at you, his eyes searching yours. “I tried to. I wanted to hate you, but I couldn’t.” He lets out a long breath. “It’s not fair to either of us, it’s not fair to the rest of the pack if we keep doing this. It’s fucking us up, I’m fucking us up. I can’t focus anymore. I damn near killed Johnny when I caught your scent on him after you fucked him before training.” 

Your face warms at his words. Of course he’d smelled like you, of course they knew what he was up to. “Well, it’s more like he fucked me... It was his idea.” You shrug. 

“Christ.” He breathes, his eyes darkening just a little. 

“You don’t have to hold back anymore.” You say. “I-I’m sorry I never noticed, I didn’t figure it out sooner.” 

“Wasn’t your fault.” He murmurs, leaning in close again. “My own damn fault for being so stubborn.” 

“You don’t have to be anymore.” You breathe. “It’s never too late to start.” 

You stare up at him as he hovers over you, chests brushing with every inhale. You’ve been this close before, been in this position before, but it’s never felt quite like this. The intensity between you is greater, not just a test of your will, of your strength when it comes to resisting an alpha’s imposing energy anymore. You don’t want to fight him, you’ve never wanted to fight him in this position. It makes sense now, every time he’s forced you out of that headspace during these moments hadn’t just been to keep you focused on training. 

He’s been holding himself back. 

“I won’t be gentle.” He says, his voice rumbling through you. His words are honest, spoken in truth. You can see it in his eyes, silently conveying the reality if you decide to continue. It’s a warning, a chance to turn back. He’s offering himself up raw and unfiltered. 

“Maybe I don’t want you to be.” You counter, eyes fluttering as you stare up at him. “I don’t need tenderness, someone to comfort me, to pick up the pieces. I’ll go to John if I need that. Maybe I just want you to be yourself.” 

A low growl rumbles in his chest at your words, his eyes darkening as he stares down into your shining ones. The back of your neck prickles as the energy shifts, the tension between the two of you coming to a head as the wall keeping the two of you apart begins to crumble. 

“I’m not made of glass.” You say, snaking an arm around his neck, his eyes dropping to where your teeth sink into your lip. “Maybe I want someone to be a little rough with me.” 

Another growl rumbles in his chest as he leans down even further. You automatically submit to him, tilting your head and bearing your throat to him as you’ve done so many times before in this position. He doesn’t stop you this time, doesn’t force you to turn away as he sinks down completely, pressing his face into the side of your neck. He breathes in deeply, taking in your scent from the source for the first time since your arrival on base. 

His breath is warm through his mask as he exhales deeply, his body going lax as he practically squishes you into the mat. It’s not uncomfortable, the heavy weight of him a welcome sensation. It feels like a protective barrier against the world, a comfort knowing he’d keep you safe from any physical threat that might pose itself to you. 

That is the difference between the two alphas. John can keep you safe from the horrors in your mind, offer you a comfort only your alpha can as he eases your fear and anxiety. Simon offers a protection against the physical, not that John doesn’t as well, but it feels different between the two of them. John would stand between you and a gun, while Simon would run headfirst towards the person wielding it towards you without a second thought. 

Simon shifts just slightly, pulling away from you enough to reach up towards his mask. Your heart stutters in your chest for a moment at the thought of him taking it off, allowing you in enough to see his face. You’re nowhere near that close yet, you know that logically, but the idea excites you. 

He tugs his mask up over his nose before pressing back into your throat, his hand slipping under your back to press you tighter against him. A shiver runs down your spine as his skin presses against yours, warm and slightly sweaty from training. You don’t care as he inhales deeply, taking in your scent unfiltered. His exhale is warm and shaky against your skin, his lips slightly chapped as they brush the side of your neck. 

Something twists in your stomach as he drags his lips across your skin. Your hand lifts to cup the back of his head, pressing his face further into your neck. You don’t care if you suffocate him, and he doesn’t seem to care either as his body shifts just enough for him to press his thigh between yours. 

Your breath shudders as he mouths at your neck, his tongue dragging across your scent gland. Your hips push up against his thigh in response, the friction igniting a fire in your veins. A quiet moan slips through your lips as he drags his teeth across your scent gland, your hips pressing harder against his thigh. 

“Fuck.” He breathes against your skin, his hand dropping to grip your hip as you grind against his thigh, your body feeling electric from his touch. 

Your head is spinning, your entire body alight with energy as he finally lets go, as he finally loosens that hold he’s been throttling himself with. The sensation of him is nearly overwhelming. His touch, his scent, the knowledge that it’s him. You’d let him fuck you right here in the training room, right on this mat, if he wanted to. You’re already wet, soaking into your panties as you grind against his thigh, his muscles tensing under his sweatpants. You're certain there’s going to be a wet spot against the fabric, something that can’t be explained away by training. 

The thought of him finally wearing your scent thrills you. 

His hand holds your hip, guiding your movements as you work yourself up. It would be perfect, him giving you your first orgasm just like this. Fully clothed in the training room, the place where your relationship has been tested, where the boundaries have been pushed the most. 

Alas, you’re not so lucky. You’re never that lucky. 

Both of you freeze as his phone alarm begins to go off, signaling the end of training. It forces you both back into the real world, the electric feeling beginning to fade as the moment ends and the mood in the room shifts. Simon lets out a sigh against your throat, slowly releasing your body as he pushes himself up onto his knees. His eyes are still dark as he stares down at you, your face sweaty, hair sticking to your skin as you lay there on the mat, probably looking absolutely ruined already. 

You stare at his skin, the only part of him you’ve ever seen before. You’ve tried to imagine what he might look like, trying to piece together the rest of his face from what you’ve seen. 

“We’ll continue this later.” He rasps, tugging his mask back down before pushing himself up to go silence his phone. 

You lay there for a moment, catching your breath. You never thought it would feel like that, like straight energy coursing through you. He’d barely touched you and you could have cum from that alone had you been given a couple more minutes. His promise of continuing things later has a thrill running through you, a promise of this new relationship building between you. 

Simon walks you to the mess, your face still warm from what had happened in the training room. His arm snakes around your back, his hand on your hip as he leads you to the line, his fingers tightening their hold on you every time someone passes too close. They all stare at you, all giving you looks. You can only imagine the smell, imagine what’s going through their heads. 

They all know. They think you fucked him before coming to breakfast. 

It wouldn't be the first time you walked in smelling like sex and a member of your pack. It’s just the first time it’s been him.

Your pack eyes you both as you and Simon take your seats at the table, you sitting yourself between Simon and Johnny again. 

“Bit late today.” Kyle says, giving you both a look.

“Training ran long.” Simon says, pushing his mask back up over his mouth. Your scent flares a bit as you think about what those lips had felt like on your skin. 

John eyes you both, all of them obviously picking up on the change. “I’m sure it did. Did you have a good time?” 

“Would have been even better if we’d had a few more minutes.” You shrug, trying to hide your burning face in your porridge. 

“Your punctuality has finally worked against you, Simon.” John says. 

The alpha shrugs. “Didn’t want a grumpy, hungry omega on my hands.” 

“I’m not grumpy when I’m hungry.” You pout. All four pairs of eyes at the table turn to look at you. “Okay, maybe a little.” You admit, spooning a heaping mouthful of porridge into your mouth, hoping the topic of conversation at the table changes so you can cool off just a bit. 

Your face is still slightly warm as John walks you back to the barracks. He’s quiet as he leads you across the courtyard, and for a moment you’re worried he’s jealous, or perhaps upset that you’ve taken interest in another alpha besides him. He wouldn’t feel that way. Simon is part of the pack. It’s perfectly natural for you to feel a connection with him. It’s perfectly natural for you both to want to progress your relationship. Plenty of omegas take multiple alphas in a pack. Hell, many of them are claimed by more than just one. 

“I’m happy you and Simon have finally worked things out.” He says as you stop in front of your door. 

You turn to look up at him, a soft look in his eyes as he stares down at you. “About time, right?” 

He chuckles quietly. “Yes, Johnny and Kyle were going to lock you two in a closet soon if things didn’t start developing.” 

Your face warms again just a little. “Well, it is thanks to Johnny that we got here.” 

“Yes, the skull-print underwear.” John says, smirking slightly. Of course he knows about that. Johnny can’t keep his mouth shut. He probably gave them all a detailed description of what happened at the lingerie store. “I much prefer those pink lacy ones myself.” 

Your brows lift as you stare up at him. “What, these ones?” You tug the waistband of your exercise pants down just enough to show the pink lace against your skin. 

A low growl leaves John’s lips as he stares down at them, his body crowding you against the door. “Yes, those ones exactly.” 

Your breathing quickens as you stare up at him, your underwear still uncomfortably damp from your little tryst in the training room that had forced Simon to leave you high and dry. How no one else had tried to approach the table from the smell of horny omega you had been projecting through the entire mess is a mystery to you. Then again, perhaps it was your pack that had kept you safe. The threat they posed was enough for all the alphas in the room to resist the scent of your slick leaking into your panties. 

You wonder how many of them got up to sniff the bench you sat on after you vacated the mess, pressing their faces against the plastic in an attempt to satiate the effect you had on all of them. How torturous it must be, knowing they’ll never have you. An omega right in front of them and their desperation, but they can only look, as the threat of dismemberment is not worth the risk of trying to touch. 

The thought has your stomach clenching, more slick dribbling out of you. 

“Got you all worked up, didn’t he?” John murmurs, pressing his face against your throat and inhaling. “Fuck, that’s a mixture someone could get drunk off of.” 

The alarm on his watch begins to go off, and you half expect him to pull away, to leave you high and dry too, but instead he presses closer to you, his lips blazing a path up the side of your neck. 

“Don’t you have training?” You ask, your voice trembling as he nips at your jaw. 

“I’m in charge.” He says, pulling away to turn the alarm off before he grabs the waistband of your pants, tugging them down around your knees. “They can wait.” 

He spins you around, pinning your body against your door. You can feel him, hard in his cargo pants as he presses up against you, his breath hot against your ear. He drags his hips against your ass, the line of his cock brushing against the thin material of your panties. 

“I’ve got more important things to see to.” He growls, slipping his hand down the front of your body to cup your dripping pussy through the lacy pink panties. 

You should have known. You should have known things were too perfect, working out too well. Something always happens, something always ruins it. Something always comes between you, right as things begin to work themselves out, right as you begin to get comfortable. 

“I’m leaving.” 

You blink up at him, the words barely processing in your mind. “Huh?” 

“I’ve got orders, shipping out within the hour.” Simon says, almost too casually. 

It is casual to him, though. This is a normal event, part of his existence, part of his normal life. 

“The others?” You ask, the words trailing off but you don’t need to finish the question. 

“Just me.” He says, crossing the hall to open the door to his room. You follow, feeling like you’re wading through sand. 

It almost feels sacrilegious, getting a peek into his room, into his personal space like this. You’ve never seen inside, the few times you’ve walked by as he’s exiting, you’ve averted your gaze, almost afraid to try and look, to see inside his most vulnerable area. The space where he gets to be himself. 

Even now you find yourself looking away, turning your gaze down the hallway towards the door. The door he’s going to walk through and disappear for an unknown amount of time. 

“How long?” You ask, fighting the urge to look as he moves past the door. 

“Don’t know.” He answers, his voice slightly muffled as he stands behind the door, likely grabbing things out of his dresser. “However long it takes.” 

You swallow thickly. Of course this is happening now. Of course he’s leaving right when things are starting to happen between the two of you, right when you’ve started to get closer, when he’s starting to allow you in. What will happen when he returns? Will things go back to the way they were before, or will they continue as they are now? What if he changes his mind with some distance, with a chance to clear his head? 

What if he doesn’t come back? 

Your teary gaze snaps to him as he steps back out into the hall, closing his door behind him. You want to beg him not to go, drop to your knees and convince him to stay with you. He’d never do something like that. He’d never give up his job, no matter what you said, no matter what happened. He’ll always be a loyal soldier over everything. 

Even you. 

“I’ll be back,” He says, tossing his pack over his shoulder. “Then we can talk.” 

You stare up into his eyes, furiously blinking back the tears threatening to fall. “Okay.” The word is so small and broken sounding. You shouldn’t feel this way. He’s not even your alpha. 

He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours for a moment, hesitating just briefly before he straightens up, heading down the hallway. You hold your breath as you watch him go, his figure blurring as the tears continue to well up. You should tell him, you should run after him and confess, confess to everything. You should hug him, hold him just one more time because you might never get a chance to again. 

Your shoes squeak as you race down the hall, throwing the door open. The rain bites at your skin as you run out into it, the weather a perfect metaphor for how you’re feeling inside. 

“Simon!” You shout his name, hoping he can hear you over the rain. 

He turns back around to face you, both of you standing there in the rain, staring at each other. It’s soaking through your clothes, your hair sticking to your face. You can barely see him, your eyes squinting from the water dripping into them. 

This would be the perfect moment, the scene when you run towards each other and collide in the middle in a passionate kiss that speaks of weeks of longing and desire finally being released. No matter how badly you want to run up to him and kiss him, you know you can’t. You want to shout at him, tell him you love him, that you don’t want him to go. You want to confess everything, let all the walls down and beg him to stay, to leave this life behind and run off with you somewhere safer, somewhere there’s no threat of him not coming back. 

You wish you could see his face, you wish you could read his thoughts, know exactly what he’s feeling right now. Does he feel the same, or are you a fly buzzing around him again? 

“Be careful,” You shout over the sound of the pouring rain, the things you want to say fading to the back of your mind. When he comes back, if he comes back, you’ll tell him. You’ll tell him everything. “And come home safe.” 

He stares at you for a moment before nodding. “Always.” 

You turn back to the barracks, your shoes crunching on the wet gravel. Your steps are slow, your body still feeling like it’s wading through sand. You turn back, looking over your shoulder one last time at his retreating form slowly disappearing into the heavy rainfall. 

Johnny is standing in the doorway as you turn back around, holding it open. You approach it slowly, feeling like the wet, miserable rat you probably resemble. You’re glad for the rain soaking through your clothes and your hair, glad for the droplets streaking down your skin  hiding the burning tears sliding down your cheeks. 

NEXT ->

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[osalotte]

Biological Sleep Aide! (Laios x reader)

aka the sub virgin laios blowjob fic that i have spent an atrocious amount of time on...

MINORS DNI

WC: 5.9k

CONTENTS: NSFW, laios being a d1 yapper, blowjobs, sub laios, inexperienced + virgin laios, a few moments of insecure laios, CANON COMPLIANT SOFT TUMMY LAIOS!!!, party member readr with an unspecified class, gn reader with experience, reader's genitalia not described, soft dom reader, sex with so so many feelings, soft intimacy, pining, lots of setup/plot, gratuitous foreplay, nipple play, visceral imagery of giving head, explicit consent, laios is so down bad it’s embarrassing, semi-ambiguous ending

if this gets enough attention i'll publish a sequel <3

You weren’t quite sure what woke you up; perhaps a sound from down the hall, or a change in the temperature of the air, or Senshi’s foghorn snoring. Either way, you fluttered your eyes awake, blinking at the crumbling gray stone of the dungeon’s ceiling.

You pulled yourself up from your bedroll, sighing but being careful to not make any noise. You let your eyes adjust to the low light and the faint glow of the magic fire Marcille had set up before you went to bed. Internally, you did a head count, and it seemed that everyone was deep in slumber. Senshi, Marcille, Chilchuck….

Your breath caught, eyes stopping at the sight of Laois’ empty bedroll. It was mussed, so he had definitely settled in earlier, but the man himself was nowhere in sight.

You cocked your head, leaning against your hand in thought. Should you be worried? No, he was probably just gone to use the bathroom. It’d be kind of weird if you walked in on him mid-piss. And if that did happen, you couldn’t decide whether Laios would be mortified beyond comprehension or concerningly underwhelmed.

The corners of your mouth quirked up as you thought about the group’s sweet—if not a bit odd—leader.

Okay. I’ll wait a few more minutes, and if he isn’t back, I’ll take a walk around, you decided. The last thing you’d want is to have Laios in some sort of trouble with no one to help out.

So, you sat there and waited, growing more awake by the minute. Still no Laios. 

After what seemed like a reasonable amount of time, you pulled yourself up from your bedroll and crept past your sleeping party members, careful to not disturb them. You peeked into a few of the empty rooms near where you’d set up camp—nothing. It wasn’t until you got to the cavern with the underground pond that you found him.

Laios’ back was to you, his form barely illuminated by the blue glow of the water. He was bereft of his heavy plated armor, clothed only in his threadbear linen sleepwear. You couldn’t see his face, but he was eerily still as he sat cross-legged on the edge of the pool, and you just knew he was staring into it with his mind a million miles away. For such a large man, when he was all curled up like that, he looked remarkably small.

“Couldn’t sleep, eh?”

He startled and whipped around at your words, but immediately relaxed upon seeing it was you. His eyes wandered back to the water, but he didn’t turn away from you. 

“Yeah. I guess you could say that,” he murmured.

You took a step forward. “Mind if I join you?”

“...Please.”

You eased yourself down to sit down right next to him as you now both faced the pond. Your eyes were on him, and his eyes were still on the water and far, far away. His irises were usually a pretty, soft honey yellow (which you definitely didn’t think about every time you made eye contact), but his pupils were blown wide with the low light, and the only color you could see was tinted turquoise by the underground pond’s light. 

You gently nudged his shoulder with your own, which seemed to pull him back to reality for a second. 

“How long have you been up?” You asked.

He tilted his head in thought. “Probably like… an hour? By now, at least.”

“An hour?” Your eyes widened and you shook your head. “Jeez, if Senshi finds out our fearless leader isn’t getting his proper rest, you’ll be the next meal.”

Laios snorted and cracked a smile, but it didn’t meet his eyes.

You leaned in even further to him. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Promise.”

“Thanks.”

You sat there like that for a moment, in comfortable silence before you spoke up again: “What’s on your mind?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. A lot of stuff, I guess. Falin, mostly. But then there’s, y’know, everything else, what we’re gonna do moving forward….” He shook his head and curled in on himself. “I want to lead us to success, but sometimes it’s just…”

“A lot?” You finished his sentence where he trailed off, and he nodded. 

“Yeah. Pretty much.” 

“Well,” you leaned back, “I, for one, think you’re doing a wonderful job. We didn’t exactly get dealt a winning hand. You’re doing great with what you have.”

He seemed to genuinely smile at your words, and his eyes went soft. “Thanks. That…. Really does mean a lot. Coming from you, especially.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “Any fool could cast a few spells and throw a few knives. I’m nothing special.”

“That’s not true!” He blurted out. He seemed surprised by his own outburst, and reeled himself back in. “I mean, you’re, like, super cool. And powerful! You have all of these different skills combined into one, like… Like a basilisk! But, like, a nice one that doesn’t try to kill us.”

You snorted. “Wow, and here I thought I was at least manticore level.”

“That too! Really, any chimera-type monster could apply…,” he began rambling on about the different types of chimeras and how they mix their various abilities together, and you just sat and listened, smiling softly. After he had winded himself from his monster-talk, the two of you fell back into a comfortable silence.

“Feeling sleepy yet?” You asked.

Laios shrugged, laying his chin on his hands. “No more than I was an hour ago.”

You chewed your bottom lip, furrowing your brows in thought. Should you say this? “Well…,” you started. “Y’know what always helps me get to sleep after a stressful day?”

He perked up, looking at you with wide, innocent eyes. “What?”

“An orgasm.”

Laios blinked at you. Once. Twice. Then his face went beet red and he whipped his head around to avoid eye contact with you, choking on air. You barked out a laugh.

“What? I’m being serious,” you continued between giggles. “Orgasms are clinically proven to help you sleep better.”

You couldn’t see his face from him being turned away, but the tips of his ears were bright red. “Well, yeah, I guess that makes sense, but…”

“C’mon,” you crooned. “We’re both adults here, Laios. There’s no shame. Be honest, when was the last time you masturbated?”

He thought for a moment, scratching his head. He still wouldn’t look at you. “Um… Probably back I was on the surface…?”

“A whole week ago?” 

“No, before that,” he corrected. “The trip from three- no, four weeks ago. Or was it before that….”

Your eyes practically bulged out of your head. “Over a month?”

He shrugged sheepishly. At this point, he had at least turned back around to face you, but he still had trouble meeting your gaze. “Well, with everything going on I’ve been pretty busy. Any time I get a break, I’m just so tired or hungry it doesn’t even cross my mind. And it’s not like I can sneak away or anything.”

“You haven’t even tried?” You pressed. He shook his head. “Wow. You must be pretty pent up, then.”

He simply shrugged again, fidgeting with a pebble he’d picked up somewhere and looking anywhere but you. “I-I mean, it’s not really a big deal…”

“Y’know, masturbation is a form of self care,” you said. “It’s healthy. Helps maintain your hormones, bodily functions, and releases stress. For someone so big on keeping your body healthy, I’m surprised you’ve gone this long.”

“I guess,” he mumbled. He risked a glance at you before quickly dropping his eyes to his hands once more. “It’s…. actually pretty cool how knowledgeable you are about all of this.”

“Oh, trust me, I know my stuff.” You shot him a wink, and you could’ve sworn you heard him gulp. Before you could stop yourself, the words came out; “I could help you if you’d like.”

He froze, looking at you with wide, unblinking eyes. “...Huh?”

Welp, in for a penny, in for a pound. “You know, like, give you a hand,” you explained. “Or mouth. Whichever you’d prefer, really.”

He took a moment to process your words, but when he did, he went back to blushing cherry red. “Y-you mean, like….”

“Give you an orgasm,” you said. “I mean, only if you’d want to. If you don’t, just say the word, and we can forget I even asked.” 

You paused, waiting for him to follow up with a “no,” but he just sat in silence, eyes trained on the pond and ears practically steaming.

“Or,” you continued carefully, “you could say yes, in which case I’d be happy to help. More than, even.”

“Really?” He asked, and you nodded. 

“Once again, it’s all up to you,” you reassured. “Just thought I’d offer.”

Finally, he looked you in the eye, almost like he was searching for something. “Why?”

You opened your mouth to answer, then closed it again. Why were you offering?

“It’s like a favor from a friend,” you decided. “You need to get to sleep, I want to take your pants off… A win-win, really.”

He buried his face in his hands, shrinking in on himself like a hermit crab into its shell. He mumbled something, but you couldn’t understand it, so you asked him to repeat himself.

“....Y-yeah. I, um, want to,” he squeaked. “I-I mean, if you want to-”

“I literally just offered.”

He swallowed. “Right. Um. Yes.” He looked around the room, still determined to not make eye contact with you. It was silent for a moment. “Uh...How should we…?”

“Go into a different room, probably,” you said, standing up. “This one’s pretty echoey. A little too conspicuous.”

He stood up as well, and you could’ve sworn you saw a tremor in his legs. “Oh. Yeah. Probably.”

You tilted your head towards the door. “Here, come with me.”

You took him to one of the side rooms you’d poked in earlier. No windows, one door that locks…. Perfect. You took his hand, gently tugging him into the room and closing the door behind you. You muttered a quick incantation under your breath, and a few dimly glowing orbs of light appeared above you. Not enough to light up the room, but enough so that you could at least see your hand in front of your face.

Laios fidgeted where he stood. “Where should I….?”

“You could sit on that chest over there. Wait, actually I’d prefer you on the ground,”  you said. “Better for my knees. Too bad we don’t have pillows… But, you could probably lean against those burlap sacks in that corner there. ”

He nodded excitedly, but didn’t move. You tilted your head at him. He seemed to realize himself, and hurriedly trotted over to sit in the corner with the burlap sacks. You followed eagerly on his trail, chuckling under your breath.

“Sorry,” he fumbled, clearly trembling as he sat himself down. “I’ve, uh, never done this before.”

You snorted, sitting down in front of him. “What, never gotten a blowjob in a dungeon? I hear it’s all the rage these days.”

He offered a wobbly smile and a chuckle. “No, like, um… I haven’t done…” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, trailing off.

You furrowed your brows. “What do you mean?”

“Like, anything like this.”

You blinked at him, confused by his words, but then froze as it clicked in your head.

“You’re a virgin?” You blurted out, much louder than you intended to and you smacked your hands over your mouth. Laios looked like a deer in headlights, unsure if he should be mortified or not. You quickly recovered. “Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting it. Um, how old are you, again?”

“26,” he said. He tilted his head at you like a puppy, eyes big and innocent. “Why? Is that weird?”

“No, no, of course not,” you reassured. “Just, um… Do you still want to do this? You can back out. I won’t be offended.”

“I-I want to.” He sat up straight and responded so quickly he almost tripped on his words. “I do. If you’re still okay with it.”

You took a deep breath before giving him a soft smile. “Yes. I definitely am.”

“Oh, that’s good… I didn’t want it to be weird if- oomf!” You pushed him against the burlap sacks, caging him in with your body as you moved to straddle his lap. Your face got very close to his face very fast and Laios was not expecting it. Then again, he certainly wasn’t complaining. He looked up at you, eyes wide and cheeks red. 

“You ever kissed anyone before?” You asked, sultry voice just above a murmur, searching in his eyes. 

“Uh… Y-yeah,” he said. He kept making eye contact, then looking away. “Only, like, twice, though.”

Oh, so we were really starting from scratch, you thought to yourself, saying nothing. You saw him grow a little anxious at your lack of immediate response and quickly followed up, “That’s alright. I was just curious.”

“Y-yeah, it was like-” your hands slithered up his neck to tenderly cup his jaw, “-two years ago, or something-” you leaned in, lips just inches away from his, “-and, um….”

He trailed off with a shaky exhale of air that you felt against your lips, and you took that as your cue to go in.

You kissed him, and he immediately froze up, not knowing what to do. When your lips started moving, he was clumsy, painfully out of sync. He really hadn’t done this before. After a few seconds of testing the waters, you pulled away, but not too far. He leaned his head in a bit, as if trying to follow you.

He blinked slowly, eyes so blown out that his iris was little more than a thin ring around black pupils. “What are you doing…?”

“Kissing you,” you stated. “Y’know, like, foreplay.” He tilted his head and gave you a quizzical look, so you elaborated, “It’s kind of like a sex warm-up….? Y’know, to get you going so you don’t have to jump right in.”

“Oh. Yeah. I-I guess that makes sense….”

You grinned at him before diving in to steal another kiss. You made this one sensual, gratuitous, trying to guide his lips into a comfortable rhythm with yours. You felt his large body go slack against yours, melting into the kiss. You had one hand on the back of his head and the other on his big, warm chest, and it was painfully obvious he had no clue what to do with his arms.

“Here,” you giggled against his lips, and guided his hands to a comfortable spot. One on your side, just below your chest, and the other on your ass. “You can touch me.”

“O-okay,” he squeaked. 

You kissed him for a third time, this time with a little more fervor. You slipped your tongue in here and there, experimenting and seeing what he’d do with it. He gave your butt a tentative squeeze, and you grinned against his lips. With every movement, Laios seemed to loosen up; becoming more comfortable, even eager.

He pressed his mouth hard into you—a bit too hard, teeth clanking together—and you had to tug him back with your hands gripping tight at the hair on the back of his neck and he gasped. You didn’t let up, giving a few more soft kisses as an apology before pulling away once more.

“Wow,” he whispered, eyes half open and lips still parted, grinning in a stunned sort of bliss. “You’re really good at this.”

You shrugged. “Call it experience, I guess.”

“Mm….,” he hummed, only half-hearing your words. Laios’ eyes trailed down to your lips, beginning to lean in once more. You obliged and gave him a small peck on the lips before pulling away. He made a sound of confusion before you moved to the corner of his lips, then his cheek, then his jaw, then finally began kissing his neck.

“Oh. Oh wow,” he breathed shakily, big hands floating up to grip into your sides and hips as if to keep himself grounded. You couldn’t see him, but you could imagine his expression to be one of shocked, open-mouthed delight. 

You mouthed your way up to the spot below his ear, sucking what you hoped would end up to be dark purple hickeys the next morning. He tasted like sweat and skin and you relished in every bite.

“Hah….,” he moaned, more breath than actual voice, holding onto you for dear life. You nibbled at his earlobe and he tensed before a full-on shudder wracked his body. He instinctively pulled you in tight against him with his strong arms, like he wanted to be as close to you as physically possible. He was exceptionally sensitive—not necessarily surprising, given his inexperience, but either way it sent a little thrill of anticipation up your spine.

You’d been feeling his growing arousal under you, but at this point it was poking against your inner thigh from your position straddling him. You pressed into it slightly and he yelped, flinching into you.

“That’s-“ he gave a sharp inhale followed by a shaking moan as you bit down into the thick cord of muscle that leads to his shoulder, simultaneously grinding harder against the tent in his pants. He jolted in surprise, but it was followed closely by a shiver of pleasure as he squeezed his legs together. “-that feels—ngh—really good.”

You pulled away. He was panting fully now, just as hot and worked up as he got after an intense bout of combat. But unlike the heat of battle, this scene was softer, more gentle, malleable, intimate. He looked utterly blissed out, huffing and puffing with red cheeks and unfocused eyes, and you hadn’t taken off a single layer of clothing. You could see the twitching bulge in his pants, a small wet spot appearing at its peak. You fought back a grin. So excitable.

Your hands trailed along the collar of his linen shirt, fiddling with the strings. “Can we take this off?”

He blinked at you, taking a moment to process your words, but he snapped to attention once he realized what you meant.

“Oh- Oh! Um, yeah, of course. Let me just….” He reached up to untie his laces, and you scooted back on his legs to allow him room to pull his shirt up and over his head, leaving his upper half completely bare. 

You’d already had a pretty good idea of his physique given that his thin shirt did little to hide it, but he was a glorious sight to behold now. His large frame littered with scars, his huge muscles bulging out but not necessarily chiseled as they lay under a healthy layer of fat, the slight squish of his tummy that spilled a little over his waistband, and golden chest hair trailing all the way down into his pants.

You must’ve been staring a bit too long, because Laios shifted and moved to cross his arms over his chest, self-conscious.

“Uh, am I- Is this okay…?” He gulped. 

“Oh god, sorry, yes,” you rushed to get the words out. “It’s just- you’re, like, gorgeous. Got distracted.”

If he hadn’t been completely red in the face already, you were sure he would have blushed to infinity. He curled in on himself.

“I usually don’t care how I look that much, but…” he murmured. “It’s weird. I don’t know why I feel so…. shy.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” you said, reaching up to tenderly sweep his hair back before sliding down to cup his face. “You can put it back on, if you want. But I am certainly enjoying the view.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Thanks…. You’re- you also look really, um, good…”

“Here, I’ll join you,” you said. You made quick work of pulling your shirt over your head and you heard Laios gasp. 

“Wow,” he whispered as his eyes raked up and down your body in wonder.

“Could I have this?” You tugged at the shirt he still held in his hand, and he willingly gave it to you, still starstruck by your half-naked form. “Lean forward a bit here.”

Obedient as a dog, he followed your instructions and leaned into you, not thinking twice. His skin felt hot and a little damp against yours, his face pressed against your shoulder. You reached around him to fluff the shirt out flat a little bit before tucking it between his back and the burlap sacks as a makeshift blanket.

“Should be a little more comfortable,” you said, tucking in the edges so it wouldn’t slip too much. “Don’t wanna scratch up your back. Yet, at least.”

Completely oblivious to your innuendo, he was looking at you as if you’d hung all the stars in the sky. “You really know what you’re doing, huh?”

You shrugged. “Don’t think too much about it, ‘kay? I just want you to be comfortable.”

You pushed back on his shoulder slightly and, obedient as ever, he laid back down against the now-covered burlap sacks. His arms had slipped down to lay at his sides. He stared at you, eagerly awaiting your next instruction.

You ran your hands down his neck and across his chest, nails raking through the wiry hair and over his nipples, tenderly admiring his build. His muscles twitched with each brush of your fingers, hands creeping up to grip your thighs. 

You leaned forward, diving in to leave open-mouthed kisses on his neck and down his chest. He shivered and gripped your thighs tighter. You paused once you reached his sternum and looked up at him.

“Do you like having your nipples played with?” 

He froze at your question. “Um, I-I’m not really sure.”

Virgin. Right, you reminded yourself internally.

“Well,” you continued, “let me know if this feels good, okay? It’s not for everyone, but they have a lot of nerve endings, and can be big erogenous zones for some people.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of tha- eep!” He tensed up like he was struck with a live wire as you closed your mouth around his nipple. He bit back a groan as you swirled your tongue around, sucking softly. His cock jumped, and you could feel the wetness from his tip seeping through his pants as it brushed against your bare stomach.

“I—ah—didn’t even know you could do this,” he stuttered, hands having since moved their vice-grips to your upper back as you continued to lavish his chest in attention, moving to the other nipple. “I- I mean biologically it makes s—hah—sense since in mammals, the chest a-and specifically nipples are considered a secondary s—hn—sexual organ…”

“But does it feel good?” you asked, slightly muffled as you switched between speaking and sucking on his chest. 

“I- I think so—!“ His voice cut off with a sharp gasp as you suddenly sank in your teeth around his nipple before sucking hard and rolling the little bud in your mouth. “It’s- it’s kinda weird but—hah—kinda good….?”

You pulled off of his chest with a wet pop and grinned up at him devilishly. “Enjoying yourself, Laios?”

“Yeah,” he panted. His eyes were half-lidded, mouth parted as he caught his breath, flushed all the way to his ears. He somehow looked worked up to the point of combustion but soft and innocent at the same time. “This is….. Wow. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything.” You were sure you couldn’t hide how pleased you were with yourself, looking like the cat who got the cream. His eyes were so full of wonder, and you couldn’t help but pull yourself back up to kiss him silly, repositioning yourself so that one of your legs was slotted in between his.

You pressed your body hard into his, and his arms snaked around your waist, a single big hand going down to shyly squeeze your butt. You giggled and brought up your finger to trace tight little circles around his nipples, still slippery with saliva, and he shuddered and gasped against you. 

You pulled your thigh forward to press hard against his cock, twitching and leaky as it begged to be released from its confines. The tortured sound Laios let out against your lips made you want to devour him whole. 

“You’re doing so well, Laios,” you whispered in between kisses. He whined and his cock jumped excitedly. Interesting. “So, so good for me.” You pressed your thigh down harder-

“Wait—ngh!—wait stop-“ he yelped. You immediately halted your actions, pulling away, but Laios pulled you right back into him, refusing to let you move away.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” You asked, gently stroking his arms, suddenly very concerned. 

He was shivering violently, and pressed even harder into you. “Nothing,” he gasped, struggling to form words. “I just- I thought I was gonna cum….”

You grinned devilishly, a new light in your eye. You pressed your thigh into his raging hard-on once again and he keened, burying his face into your neck.

“Wait! Be careful, I-I can feel it….,” his words tapered off into a broken cry, open-mouthed against your shoulder. Mercifully, you let up, and Laios let out a shaky sigh of relief. 

“Let’s move on to the main event, shall we?” You cooed, worming your way out of his hold so you could lower yourself onto the ground.

He looked confused for a moment, as if he’d forgotten you’d planned on sucking him off in the first place, but then his eyes widened and he choked on air. “Oh- Yeah. Yes.” He gulped “Please?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” you purred. You kissed your way down his torso, his curly chest hair tickling your nose as you went. You reached his pants, pressing a messy kiss on his tummy just above his waistband. He shuddered. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands—trembling as they were—awkwardly holding them above his lap. 

You looked up at him, his shivering form and nervous expression, droplets of sweat beading at his forehead despite the chill of the dungeon. He was so close already, and honestly, with how pent up he was, you were surprised he managed to hold back from creaming his pants. 

You unfortunately had to look away from his flushed face as you undid the laces of his trousers and pulled out his swollen cock. He was hard and hot and thick in your hands. In terms of penises you’d seen, he was uncut, untrimmed, and exceptionally average, yet you were salivating all the same. The flushed head was shiny smeared with its own precum, and it bobbed up under your gaze. 

Laios’ eyes squeezed shut and he tilted his head back with a choked groan, like just the sight of your face so close to his cock would make him cum. 

You wrapped your hand firm around the middle and gave him an experimental pump. You were mesmerized as you watched the foreskin bunch up over the head, a single bead of white pearling and dribbling out, before pulling and stretching back down to reveal his cock in all of its weeping glory.

You couldn’t help but dive right in.

You closed your warm mouth over the head of his cock, licking the creamy, salty pleasure from his tip and swallowing it hungrily. Laios yelped and his thighs squeezed around your head. You popped your mouth off of him to lick a long stripe from base to tip, flattening your tongue, before suckling on the tip once more.

“So…. warm….,” Laios mumbled. 

You let a fat glob of spit drip down from your mouth, using the tight ring of your hands to deftly spread it down his shaft. You pumped him once, twice, and Laios’ jaw dropped in a silent gasp. 

“Nice, isn’t it?” you murmured before pressing a sloppy kiss to his tip. Laios’ mouth tried to form words, but all that came out was a gasp followed by a throaty groan as he pitched forward. His hands found their way to your hair—not so much pushing you down as it was giving himself something to hold onto. 

You let go of his dick so that, with both hands, you could ease him back down, untense his muscles and loosen his hands from your hair.

“It’s alright, baby, I’ve got you,” you cooed. “It’s okay. Just relax. You’re doing so well.”

He whimpered but nodded, screwing his eyes shut. Once he’d relaxed again, your hand gently found its way back to his cock, soon followed by your mouth.

You were slow, careful not to overwhelm him, swallowing him halfway with a hand wrapped firm around his base before pulling back up, lapping at his tip. 

“Wow. Oh wow,” he whispered, letting out breathy little 'hah's. “This is…. Wow.”

Laios was whimpering, trying his best to stay still, but with every bob of your head his thighs twitched and his body tensed. 

“No wonder succubi—ngh—are so successful in—h-hah—in dungeons- ack—!” His voice broke as you swallowed around him. “This is—hn—really… r-really good. Lonely male adventurers w-would make the perfect prey—!” The last part of his sentence pitched up as you began swirling your tongue around the tip.

You took him deeper. You felt the hot, salty weight of him bump the back of your throat. He cried out, hips jumping up and hands scrambling to hold onto something. You didn’t let up, taking him deeper, swallowing around his length as you blinked and let the tears spill from your eyes. Your throat may have a bruise the next morning, but the sounds that Laios made would be well worth it. 

“Oh god. Oh—oh I’m close,” he moaned, desperate. “‘M gonna—hah—gonna cum…”

You simply sped up, sucking him with a newfound fervor, and he moaned so loud you could hear the echo bounce around the room. One of his hands kept brushing over yours, so you obliged, lacing your fingers with his own. He took it greedily, thankful to be holding your hand and squeezing tight as you swallowed him.

“Oh- oh! It’s— I’m cumming, oh fuck, I’m cumming—ngh—-!” His moans tapered off into a high-pitched whine as he came in your mouth, hot saltiness flooding all of your senses as you swallowed what you could. He was cumming a lot—bursting into your mouth like a broken pipe—so much so that it quickly overflowed and came dribbling out from the corners. You pulled off of him, cum dripping down your chin and spilling onto your hand. 

Meanwhile, Laios was still in the middle of a mind-blowing orgasm, jolts of pleasure shooting through him as he gasped and moaned. You stroked him, languid and slow, through the rest of it, squeezing his hand in assurance. By the time the cum had stopped seeping out of him, he was shaking like a leaf and had a white-knuckle grip on your hand. He began to whimper in pain at the overstimulation, so you let up, watching his softening cock lay itself down, twitching, into a splatter of cum on his thigh.

Laios was breathing hard. Eyes closed, he hadn’t let go of your hand. You just rested your cheek on his clean (as in, the one with less cum on it) thigh, looking up at him as he eased his way out of orgasmic daze. 

“So,” he murmured after a moment of silence, voice trembling. “That’s what I’ve been missing out on all this time.”

“Pretty much,” you hummed, drawing mindless circles on his hips with your thumb, never taking your eyes off of him.

“Wow.” He stared off into space for a second before blinking back into focus. “No wonder lust makes people crazy. It’s almost…. Cathartic?”

“Relaxing, too,” you said, pressing a feather light kiss into the softness of his thigh. “Feel better?”

He nodded. “Very. Honestly, I could fall asleep right now. I don’t even want to get up. Is that a normal post-coital reaction?”

You bit back a giggle. “Yes. But this in particular was pretty intense.” You began the process of slowly separating yourself from Laios, peeling your body off of the ground. “You came a lot. Is it usually this much? It’s not bad or anything, there’s just… so much.”

“Not usually, no,” he shrugged sheepishly, looking down at the mess on his legs. “Probably from being ‘pent-up,’ like you said.” 

“Guess this means you should take better care of your biological urges, hm?” You tenderly cupped his face and he hummed, leaning into your hand to press a kiss to your palm. You subtly wiped your other hand on your discarded shirt so that you could bring it up to run your fingers through his close-cropped hair.

“That was… amazing,” he whispered, eyes fluttering shut under your caress. “It felt so nice.” He swallowed, then hesitantly looked up to you, eyes big and round and adoring. “...Thank you.”

You couldn’t handle the way he was looking at you, so instead you kissed him. He was all but boneless against you, sweet and melting like ice cream on a hot summer’s day. 

You pulled away. It was a second before either of you spoke, eyes closed, foreheads pressed together, breathing in the other’s exhales. 

“We should probably get back,” you said after a moment, pressing one final, fleeting kiss to his lips before standing up.

“Y-yeah. Probably.” He looked down at the mess all over his thighs and stomach. “Um… what should I….?”

You muttered an incantation under your breath and with a flick of your wrist, the mess disappeared from him completely. You did the same for yourself. 

“Thank the gods for prestidigitation,” you chuckled. You began to redress yourself, Laios not far behind. 

Once you were both decent, you made your way to the door, unlocking it and expecting Laios to follow you. You glanced over your shoulder only to see that Laios was standing in the same spot, the laces of his shirt still untied. 

“So, are we lovers now?”

You froze, blood pumping as your heart leapt into your throat. Even for Laios, the question felt like it came out of left field. He had his head tilted at you like a curious dog, unashamed and eager and genuine.

“Like, in the books,” he explained. “This kind of thing is what lovers do, right?”

“Well- I….” You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t dreamt of being his partner—being giggly and enamored with each other. But cold fear gripped your heart when you thought about the possibility of something going wrong, of you messing it up and losing him completely. “...I guess….? Kind of? Do you…. Want to be?”

He walked up to you and grabbed your hand, eyes never leaving yours. “I want to be lovers.”

“How about….. friends…… that are also sometimes lovers?” you suggested, trying to not let your voice shake too badly. You cringed inwardly at your words, since you wanted nothing more than to scream ‘Yes!’ 

“Does that mean we can keep doing stuff like this?” He asked.

“Of course,” you said. You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. “How about we discuss this more tomorrow, yeah? You need to get some sleep.”

This answer seemed to satisfy him, as he grinned wide at you, tugging you out the door and towards camp where, hopefully, no one realized you were missing.

Meanwhile, back at camp....

Chilchuck was covering both of his ears with his pillow, silently seething. Bile rose in his throat with every other sound he could hear ever-so-faintly echo through the dungeon corridor. He did not expect to wake up to the sounds of stupid Laios in the thralls of pleasure—with you, no less!—and he was very much not happy about it.

"Fucking kids...," he muttered, grinding his teeth together as he tried to muffle the sounds as best he can. "Fucking half-foot hearing.... I hate it here."

~~~

tags: @hohoshiumi @this-gave-pidgeon-further-shock @smokycoco @eggsnasty @justformio234 @rosesandquartzz @zeniiis @childaintit @goddessofpoledancing @dark-space-between-the-stars

please comment + reblog so i have a justification for writing more laios fics instead of actual productive tasks <3

[katakaluptastrophy]

Imagine being the Cohort soldiers from the Erebos who were sent respond to Judith's distress call.

They land to find a dead Lyctor, run through with a Cohort infantry sword, and two new Lyctors, one freshly missing an arm. I doubt either of them were particularly coherent by that stage.

And then they go to clear the inside of the building. In the room the transmission came from, there's a dead priest and an enormous pool of blood, but no sign of captain Deuteros. Her cavalier is missing an eye and seems to have been blown open from the inside.

A room down the hall is singed and splattered with blood and chunks of human flesh. Perhaps there are fragments of grey robes, or perhaps some poor psychometrist works out that they're looking at what's left of the Master Warden of his House.

Further into the building they enter a study with the words "YOU LIED TO US" daubed across an ancient and beautiful mural. The Third House cavalier lies dead on the floor, stabbed from behind. The Master Templar of the Eighth is lying dead, his throat slit, apparently by his own cavalier's sword. And his cavalier... His eyes are gone, there is something wrong with his mouth. His wrist and neck are broken. The whole room is dripping and sticky with blood and human fat.

Searching past the kitchen, they find the morgue. There's a bowl of ashes (two people's, dead before the pilgrimage even began, confirms the by now very shaken psychometrist). One of drawers lies open and the sheet has been roughly pulled off the body inside: the utterly shattered body of the Fifth House necromancer is lying there, her blouse rolled up to her ribs, a fist sized hole in her abdomen.

Neatly lying under sheets in the other drawers there are more bodies, and the preserved severed head of the Seventh House cavalier. There is no sign of his body. The Fourth House cavalier has been impaled through the chest, shoulders and legs, precisely, like an insect for display. Her necromancer...it might be easier to list the places where he hasn't been impaled. The Fifth House cavalier is just as destroyed as his necromancer: limbs broken, body horribly mangled.

Later, they find the bloodsoaked bed with "sweet dreams" daubed on the wall in blood. If they get as far as the facility, they discover the outlines of two horribly broken bodies surrounded by necromantic diagrams drawn on the floor in pen. One unremarkable room is splattered in blood and singed with spirit fire.

The building is full of collapsed skeleton constructs, seemingly mid task, as if all struck down simultaneously, and as they explore they find more dead priests. They find no sign of the Sixth or Ninth cavaliers, or the Crown Princess of the Third, or of Captain Deuteros. And from what they've already seen, this can't feel encouraging.

It's clear that this building has witnessed necromantic horrors beyond their comprehension. What were the scions of the Houses doing, or what was being done to them? What could possibly cause what they have seen?

And I can't imagine that after seeing the truth of what happened at Canaan House, that John would have taken the risk of those soldiers revealing what they had seen. After all, he's a very careful guy.

[cindol]

so… more old money!sukuna.

cw — kuna is in his 40s, reader is in her mid 30s, oops sukuna, sukuna is dumb with computers, reader is very calm and collected, rushed smut, pussy eating, crack/fluff at the end,

sukuna ryomen x fem reader

old money!sukuna is a opposites attracts kind of person when it comes to love, it’s exactly why he has you as his wife now. In his 40s he’s more calm and laid back but in his prime early 20s, but that was another story for another day.

sukuna was smart it’s how he had a such a successful career and company but he couldve never done without you, his calm and collected wife.

When he was puzzled by something on his computer you were there to help. While he clicked buttons on his new brought computer you were standing behind him humming.“well dear, have you tried turning it on?”

when you don’t get a response back you pat his head.“well let’s start with that yes? And maybe if there’s a problem beyond that we’ll reboot it or return it back or perhaps give it off to a younger relative.”

your a big helper with paper work too. He never overworked you knowing how paper work can be hectic, so you always sat next to him in your own chair skimming through paperwork with him.

even his own style you had a hand in, while trying suits on your opinion was needed to him.“I think that red suit with a pink flower or even a fake pink rose would go good yes? It would show everyone the man of the hour at this event.”

Although, when you stressed was a different story and where sukuna could dominate.

your professional image was torn down in the master bedroom. Your usual neat low bun messy and the high neck sleeveless grey dress you wore discarded with your jimmy choo heels off in the corner somewhere.

With your back pressed to the bed and your thighs on his broad shoulders and cries coming from your usual monotone voice as he ate and slurped at your pussy.

For sukuna it was always amusing just to see your image of this professional woman break apart when you were so needy. He switches from eating you out sloppily from small kisses on your clit to make you moan more for his amusment.

“it’s so fun y’know? Just seeing how my little office wife just breaks when you give her some small pussy kisses.”

When you whine interrupting his dialogue he chuckled.“don’t worry baby, I’ll feed my needy little office siren’s pussy as much as she needs.” then going back to sloppy eating with your juices dripping onto his jaw as your hands gripped at his pink hair.

When he completely drains you he just leans up in his bed while lighting a cig and staring at your heels in the corner.“should’ve left the heels on, would’ve made it even 10x hotter than it already was.”

“put it on the checklist or something yeah?”

[kentopedia]

˚₊‧꒰ა cold embrace (provenance) — fyodor dostoevsky

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. you buy a two hundred year old house with a two hundred year old painting hanging above the mantel. it's not the only thing the previous owner left behind.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. ghost!fyodor, f!reader, violence, angst, death, alternate / modern universe, no smut but it is suggestive, fyodor is kind of a pervy ghost so, wc: 6.1k

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈. this one has two titles bc it was supposed to be for my kinktober... never finished it. embarrassing ! but here is a semi-revamped version for this series! i can finally check it off my wips page <3 idk how i feel about it but i hope you enjoy

part of my summerween series !

A chime from the grandfather clock brings Fyodor out of his stupor, the sound signaling another day, another meaningless hour that will only continue his eternal misery. He’s grown used to it now—evening after evening of emptiness, of reading nothing but the same books, playing the same pieces of dull sheet music, and the lifeless chess matches against himself. The house is cold with only his presence, dusty without a housekeeper and a life to make it a home.

There are a million things in Fyodor’s life that he must have done to deserve this misery, but he can’t pinpoint which one solidified his reward of a lamentable, endless cycle.

He’s certain hell is better than this. It’s something he wishes for every day, if only to have an eternal companion with the devil, a challenge to overcome.

Though, even with this boredom, Fyodor refuses to let anyone live in his home. They’ll only serve to be another pain, something that would, surely, push him past the brink of sanity.

The centuries old décor will get replaced with gaudy twenty-first century items, ones that will be nothing more than an eyesore. There are a few already scattered around his home from previous tenants, but only things that he believed useful enough for him to keep; a few books from authors he didn’t live to read, a television from the nineties, a computer that he watched one couple scroll on before he murdered them in cold blood.

Perhaps he is two hundred years dead and gone, but he refuses to be an ignorant ghost, one that is unaware of anything beyond these four walls, caught forever in the past.

Although now, it’s been a while since anyone’s tried to move in, and he’s certain the only reason the house hasn’t been torn down is because its preserved nicely, an eighteenth-century home that has withstood the test of time.

Fyodor, in his lowest moments, wishes they would tear it down. Maybe then, and only then, can he be set free. Or maybe, he’s forever trapped in this exhaustive lot, doomed to decay, even when there’s nothing left of the foundations but soil.

He pushes a pawn forward on the board, putting himself in checkmate for the millionth time in a row. It’s been so long that he’s used to his own tricks. Even the computer, which he’d come to understand quickly, is no match for him. It’s far too exhaustive to play against a machine that utilizes an algorithm he can so easily decipher.

Out of nowhere, the front door unlocks, and Fyodor glances over at the sound, dark hair falling over his eyes. Seconds later, he notices an older realtor with a clipboard leading you around, a woman he’s never seen, dressed up nicely with a darker shade of lipstick smeared across your mouth.

He’s been through this before. It’s a miracle the realtor hasn’t given up on this house yet, a mansion she is determined to sell despite the endless horrors that have been committed by his hand.

“Here it is,” she says, nervous, gesturing around the expansive hall, the crystal chandelier and staircase that immediately follows. “It was built in 1731, but one of the owners remolded it in the style of the mid-nineteenth century. The structure has been stabilized; it’s safe… enough.”

The two of you chat, but he doesn’t bother to listen in. It’s all questions of: when can I move in? can we negotiate? — things you will come to regret once he sets his sights on killing you.

Then, the realtor is sighing, wringing her hands together as she watches you spin around the house in awe. It’s clear that you’re impressed by the layout, the rich furniture and colors that have been used.

That, at least, satisfies Fyodor. Everyone else who has moved in was looking to upgrade it to a modern style, rid the place of its aged grace and charm.

“I’m truly sorry,” she says, brushing curly hair away from her cheekbones. “But I am legally obligated to tell you that every person who has lived here before has suffered a terrible, terrible fate. There have been gruesome murders that cannot be explained, done in ways that I don’t even want to tell you about.”

You laugh, eyeing her with skepticism. “Are you telling me it’s haunted?”

The realtor shrugs. “That’s what people say.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” you answer, and Fyodor rolls his eyes, scoffing as he floats to the second floor, unable to listen into the unreasonable conversation anymore. It’s been the same story for decades. No one believes in ghosts, but it is always a ghost that kills them.

He returns to the chess board, irritated, though unable to consider the game any further. Your face is stuck in his mind. For some reason, he can’t remember the last time he’s ever seen anyone with such beauty.

Fyodor stops; your ageless elegance doesn’t matter—it can’t, and it won’t. You’ll be dead by the end of the month, when you gather all your things and invade the bedroom that was once his own. Even if you are beautiful, you are a nuisance, a threat to Fyodor’s eternal torment and quiet existence.

Still, he can’t help but wonder if it would be nice to have something other than his own thoughts to distract him from the endless misery.

You move in on the thirteenth of June, nothing more than a few boxes and a decade old car to keep you company. He guesses you’ve traveled a long distance to get here, and you’ve gotten rid of half of your life in the process.

A good thing for him. That means things can be over relatively quickly, and all your belongings can be disposed of easily after he kills you.

You spend the entire first day unpacking, and Fyodor waits patiently, allows you time to get comfortable in his home. He watches as you bring a stack of thick novels into the waiting room, which once boasted large parties, and place them on a shelf below those that have his name within the covers.

You take a few calls as you hang up your autumn coats, ones that won’t be needed for a few months. The voice on the other line sounds frantic, worried. A local, most likely. You only seem annoyed by his continuous string of anxieties.

When the sun sets, and you grow tired, you rub your eyes and head to bed. The first night you will spend in this place that Fyodor likens to Hell.

It’s the time he’s been waiting for—a moment to catch you off guard. You are so unsuspecting, already so at home in the mansion, that you have no fear of anything hurting you in the middle of the night.

While you get ready for bed, Fyodor slips into your room, observing the pieces of your life that have conquered his bedroom. A soft classical piece plays from your phone, one that he recognizes from his mortal life. Clearly, you are fascinated by the period he once lived in. A shame, really, he won’t be able to tell you more about it.

You leave the bathroom, come back towards him to change into a pair of small shorts, a large shirt hanging over your frame.

He’s forgotten how long it’s been since he’s seen a woman, how long since he’s touched one.

Fyodor finds himself distracted by your body, the smoothness of your skin. His eyes travel over your legs, your hips, the fullness of your breasts and ignores how much he desires to let his thumb graze over your flesh. There is something so soft about you, so gentle and innocent.

Perhaps, that is where his fascination stems from: he has always been the opposite. Even in his human existence, Fyodor was not a kind man, and he doesn’t plan on becoming one now that he is dead.

He shakes away the vision, the thoughts that swirl within his mind. It has been far too long since he has experienced any sort of pleasure, and maybe even a man as cold as himself is not immune to the desires that course within his veins.

Though he tries to be. He ignores his arousal desperately in exchange for a renewed bloodlust.

You climb into bed, put your phone on the white cord, and shut your eyes. Thirty minutes later, you’re sleeping soundly, soft puffs of air leaving your lips as you sleep.

It’s the opportune moment. The silver knife gleams brightly in his hand, streaks of moonlight tracing over the slanted point. It’s the same blade he’s killed every other new tenant with, their screams still echo in the halls like a harmonious melody each time he bring the knife down on another unknowing victim.

He stands before you at the side of the bed, watches as your chest rises and falls, the evidence of your life undeniable. You are a lovely image like this, something to be painted and adored; more beautiful than many of the women he’d met in his time, even those who were of the finest elite in the country.

Fyodor presses the blade to your throat, contemplative. He considers how much lovelier you will look with the scarlet stain of blood seeping down your neck, spraying across the room and ruining the fresh sheets. Will you awaken, gasping as you claw at your throat, or will you drift away without even understanding what has become of you?

He pictures it, and digs the blade close to your throat, nothing more than a pinprick of blood flowering there.

You don’t awaken; but you a little sound leaves you, something between a gasp and a moan, and you shift away from the knife gripped between his pale fingers. It’s a sound that has him pausing, musing, as he regards your vulnerable state, a beautiful figure there with no clue that such a murderous man is also a resident in her home.

You make another one of those pretty noises in your throat, and Fyodor, against two centuries of murderous intent, pulls the knife away. He watches as you roll on your stomach, your shirt scrunching, moving up your body to reveal the undersides of your breasts. Your hand shifts towards him on the bed, reaching in his direction, before you still. Then, your breathing is back to normal, evened out completely.

Your lips part blissfully as you sigh in your sleep.

He can’t stop looking at you, can’t stop wondering what his name would sound like leaving the perfect swell of your mouth, if you’d sound just as pretty when you orgasm as you do when you’re asleep.

Surely, he can find a better use for you—it would be a shame for such a pretty thing to go out so early.

As he draws back, Fyodor notices the chess board on the side table, the pieces arranged nicely, each on the correct square. He can’t tell if you play. You could just have it for decoration, or perhaps it was a gift given to you from a lover that he hasn’t seen pictures of, the one that he’s certain someone as lovely as you must have.

The board is aged; not as old as the one in the drawing room, but a nice set, nonetheless. Fyodor glances back at your sleeping form once more, smiles coolly to himself, and shifts a pawn forward.

The chess piece is the first thing you notice in the morning.

It’s almost ridiculous how easily it catches your eye, a tiny little movement within the chaos that was your brand-new room. A pawn is on a different square, leering at you from the other wall, as if smiling, a flashing sign above its head, calling to you, hoping you’ll pay attention.

You almost think nothing of it; things can move, can’t they? Perhaps there was a shift in the earth overnight… Though, that makes little sense when you think about it rationally.

It’s strange, that much is certain. You remember the realtor telling you about the ghosts, and though you aren’t inclined to believe in haunted houses and scary stories, you find a part of yourself questioning the logic of the chess piece.

You are certain it was on the correct square before you slept.

It’s the only thing on your mind as you get ready, suffer through a tasteless breakfast, and throw on a rain jacket to combat the dreary weather. You’re meeting a friend for lunch—the only friend you have in this town. Sigma is the sole reason you decided to move here, instead of the other arbitrary cities that you’d been desperate to escape to.

Still, the board won’t leave your mind. You take one last glance at it before, on a whim, pushing the opposite color pawn forward as well.

Then you leave, hoping that a conversation with your friend will take your mind off the strangeness of that happenstance, the anxiety you feel about moving to a new place, a new job where no one knows you, a home that stays cold, despite the heat that reigns with long summers.

The walk to the cafe is short, but with the wind and the drizzling rain, you are miserable, your hands wrinkling from the dampness, even within your pockets.

Sigma is waiting for you, his lavender and white hair loose over his shoulders as he peruses the menu, eyes darting across it like he’s never read it before.

You sit, offer him a greeting, and though your conversation is cordial, the two of you catching up on your day, you eventually ask the question you’ve been dying to know.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Sigma stops, puts the utensil back down on his plate, and regards you with a thin frown. “Did something happen?”

You think of the chess piece, wonder if another will be moved when you get home. “No, but—”

“I told you not to move into that house,” he says, eyes narrowing. Sigma refuses to step into that mansion, grows anxious every time you mention it. “Over ten people have died there. Do you want to get murdered?”

“No particularly,” you say, staring at him flatly, your mouth pulling into a line. “But I’ve made it one night already. I’ll be fine.”

A hard laugh leaves him, as he shakes his head, unamused by your cheekiness. “That’s what they all say, isn’t it? Then they all die.”

“Very dramatic.” You take a long sip of your water. Sigma’s features don’t crack in the slightest as he stares at you, waiting for you to continue. “I’m not scared. I just want to know if you believe in ghosts or not… Because I don’t.”

Sigma’s eyes flit across your face, searching for any hint of a lie, for any signs of fear. When he finds none, his hands stretch across the table, lacing them together as he glares. “Whether you believe in ghosts or not doesn’t matter. There’s something evil about that house, and you’re putting yourself in danger by living there.”

The conversation with Sigma weighs on your mind for hours after, when you return home, still thinking about the chess board. It was just as you’d left it, two pawns moved forward, staring each other down menacingly. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You sigh and finally put it out of your mind. It was just a coincidence, that’s all. The piece was probably on the wrong square all along, and you’d been too tired last night to notice it.

Instead, you focus your sights on unpacking, and contemplate what to do with the portrait hanging above the mantel.

It’s a dusty old thing, one that the previous owners had, for some reason, never taken down. It had hung over the mantel for centuries, the corners faded from the sun, but the sinister grin of the subject never losing its effect.

You tilt your head, stare at it from a different angle. Looking at it that way, you could, perhaps, see why the painting appealed to them. It’s old, with a style from a different century, and the man composed of deep shadows and pale colors is undeniably handsome. He seems out of place in the portrait, trapped there, too otherworldly to be captured on such a canvas. His features are sharp, molded out of something tougher than diamonds, something more beautiful than this plane is able to comprehend. His deep eyes seem to know all as they stare at you, trace you across the room.

For minutes, you are hypnotized, before a wave of disgust washes over you, and you turn away, unable to look at it any longer. You’ll sell it, you decide. Maybe it will be worth a pretty penny.

That evening, you decide to look into it, but the search into a local art dealer doesn’t get far. When you sit down at your laptop, beginning to type your question into the browser, the lid shuts on your fingertips.

It takes a moment for you to register what had happened. A faint sting dances along the back of your hands, your knuckles tender as you lift the lid back up. Lines bounce along the screen, as if the imprint of your hand had made its way into the pixels, matching the pulse of your nerves.

You curse lowly, hoping that a reset will fix the issue.

The lid had just fallen, nothing serious. It was a newer model, but those things could happen. Issues with the manufacturing, with the way it was assembled. Technology fails you all the time.

You hold the power button, irritated, and upset, when a horrible, screeching noise echoes from the computer. Nothing but a shrill scream, the speakers begging you for help. You slam it shut once more, and the noise stops, but your heartbeat doesn’t slow down.

Shit.

Tomorrow, you’ll have to take it in, and see if anyone can discern the issues. It’s not ideal, but there’s so many things to still need to do, and a broken laptop makes those things very difficult.

You sigh, pushing the chair back into the table. The portrait looms above you as you retreat back to your room, hands shaking. It’s irrational, you know it is, but you swear his eyes follow you all the way up the stairs.

It doesn’t take long for you to start believing in the ghost that is haunting your manor, the one who has let you live for a week and who plays a new game of chess every time your back is turned. Whoever it is, they are much better than you; so far, you’ve lost twice—haven’t even gotten close to winning.

He hides things from you, items that you are needing for the next day, papers that you can’t submit to work on time because the important files have been stashed away.

You find your books opened to paragraphs the ghost seemingly finds interesting, your sheet music scattered in a mess when you return. The candles get blown out unexpectedly, and doors slam when you’re not suspecting it.

If he’s trying to scare you—it isn’t working. You remain in the house, sometimes talking to him like he’s a friend, whispering amongst the walls that know all of the secrets in your home.

You stop at the library on your free weekend, flipping through a dusty copy of the local legends, only stopping when you find your home. There’s a copy of the painting there—your painting, the one that still hangs above your mantel, despite your better judgment.

Beside it, there’s a painting of your home, done when the house was first built. The outside of it is a differently color entirely, the garden in front blooming with pink and yellow flowers. It looks cheerful; the home of a warm and loving family, inviting and kind to each of the neighborhood children. Nothing like the dark manor it is today, with a dead garden in the front and shutters that keep even an ounce of light out.

You read the pages proceeding the painting. The first owner had been a kind man, but the next were not such. After the original owner lost his wealth, he sold the house, passed it to a line of greedy men, ones that were focused only on their money. For a century, it went on this way—until a man named Fyodor Dostoevsky purchased the home for twice as much as it once was.

He was the one who changed it, renovated it, upgraded it to his own personal style, ensuring that it fit in with the times and his own opinions of luxury. Fyodor was charming, but ruthless, deadly with his own intelligence, owning half the town as they lost their money to his schemes.

Fyodor’s rein came to an end when he was poisoned by his closest friend, perhaps the one man he had trusted. It was the first murder in a string of ones to follow within the house.

You close the book, unsure if you regret the knowledge you’d gained or not.

The house feels colder now that you know the history of it. As if you can see the cruelty etched into every wall. Colors of the home bleed into each other, a pastel yellow of warmth and light, and the next room empty, almost uninhabitable, with its royal purples.

You stare at the portrait as you make dinner, feeling like you can never escape the gaze of those oil painted eyes. He has a name now—Fyodor. It feels even more disarming now that you know more about him than he’ll ever know about you.

And though Fyodor watches you, every night, from every angle, you convince yourself it’s just the way that the painting is situated. It would be foolish to think that he’s really watching every move you make, irises pinned on your form, unblinking.

The oven heats up behind you as you cut up your food, humming a soft tune to yourself. It’s getting hotter outside – you’d almost forgotten how miserable the summers could be. You forget every year, even though you’ve lived many.

Just as you’re getting lost in your thoughts, going through a list of things that need to get done in your fixer-upper home, you hear a scratch behind you.

It’s a quick sound, so quick that you almost think it was only your imagination. It’s enough to give you pause, your humming fading out into the night as your eyes dart around your house. Although you’ve tried not to let urban legends get the best of you, you’re paranoid in this aged mansion now.

A few seconds pass. You listen to the sound of your own heartrate, feel it pounding in your chest as you will it to calm down. It’s just enough time for you to convince yourself that it was nothing, that you’re far too nervous about silly ghosts to think rationally.

Though as you turn, a knife flies from the counter, just grazing your cheek, but enough to cause a scratch to open up against the skin. Your finger draws away scarlet as you press it to the wound, staring at the painted crevices of your fingertip.

You can’t move. Despite every cell in your body begging, screaming at you to move, you’re frozen, trapped in the four walls of that kitchen as you stare at your bloodied hand.

It’s all a dream, you repeat to yourself. A dream.

One that you don’t wake up from.

Time passes strangely, when every muscle in your body is on edge, your head pounding from the anxiety that spikes throughout your nervous system. A bead of sweat drips from your temple, and though you aren’t sure how long you stand there, nothing else happens. The knife remains lodged in the wall behind you, and the ghost makes no other attempt to lodge one into your stomach.

It’s quiet. There’s no noise, save for the music that plays softly from your phone.

After you regain control of your racing heartrate, you realize that the song playing isn’t what you’d put on originally. It had switched to a gentle, classical piece. Tchaikovsky, you think… or something similar. Something that a man from a different era would be familiar with.

“Who’s there?” You find yourself saying, perhaps stupidly. “What do you want?”

There’s no response – of course there isn’t. You’re talking to the air. To a ghost. No one had gotten inside the house. You’d checked more than enough times, just as you always did.

“I live here now,” you offer, thinking that, perhaps anger is not the best course of action. Neither is fear, though, if the scary movies you’d watched as a teenager had been any indication. “But I’ll leave, if you want me to.”

There’s no answer to that either.

You sigh, and deflate once more, trying to make yourself believe that there was a logical explanation to knives flying and playlists changing. Just as you’d made yourself believe that everything the “ghost” had done before was just a game, innocently played.

Perhaps, there was never a ghost at all. It could be that stress is driving you to insanity.

With a glass of wine in your hand, you finish up dinner, feeling like you are at your wit’s end. How is it that only a few weeks in this house has already singed your mind, turned you into a believer of things that you are not?

The portrait feels like an omen, staring at you with violet eyes, as you wonder where Fyodor is now. Does he watch you when your home, cooking, as you shower, a vicious gaze tracing over each curve of your body, with a sickening thought of all the things he wishes to do to you?

You shiver. It’ s been a while since anyone’s looked at you with a hint of desire. The feeling has become foreign, now, but you can still recall the gratification that comes with being wanted, how it makes you feel, if only for a moment, comfortable in your own skin.

That thought alone quickly snaps you out of your irrational behavior. Thinking of a ghost wanting you? A man that had been buried in the earth for so long that his body would be nothing more than bones?

This house was making you sick, you concluded, wrapping your leftovers up in plastic and tinfoil, placing them in the fridge. Your nervous friend was right – you never should’ve moved into this house, and you never should have stayed this long.

Your hands shook along the banister, heart racing around every corner. You expected that, maybe, you would see a dark-haired spirit there, his body translucent, but still corporeal. Though, there was no spirit hiding within the depths of the shadows, lurking in the places where he still belonged. No sounds startled you, caused you to jump as you brushed your teeth, completed the one last routine of your day.

The bed was colder than usual as you climbed into it, like a flush of a cold spot had settled within the sheets. You remembered what they said about temperatures and ghosts—how they changed, nothing able to survive in the places that they haunted, as they were not of this world, but something in between, something unnatural.

Your lamp flickers as you turn it on, and it’s just one more red flag you choose to ignore. In houses as old as this one, there are issues like that. The wiring is faulty, the electric needs to be monitored, a laundry list of items you will probably never resolve.

There are a thousand rational conclusions, though, and only one irrational one, which puts your mind at ease. Things like flickering lamps and cold spots can be explained simply, even if knives flying at your face cannot.

Still, you settle into bed, deciding that you will talk to the realtor again soon. You’ll move in with Sigma if he’ll have you. Anything to put your mind at ease for good.

That night, you dream of Fyodor, as if he is there right in the room with you, looming above you with those deep, violent eyes. His fingers, long and pale, trace across your cheekbones, as your eyes flutter open, consciousness coming back to you.

He says your name – it’s no surprise he knows it, after living with you for so long. It’s spoken softly, with a hint of possession behind it, like you belong to him. And yet, you’ve never said a word to him, even if all this time, he’s gotten to know you better than anyone else ever has.

You expect a scream to leave your throat, some hint of surprise, of fear, even, to see a stranger in your bedroom. To see him watching you with those familiar eyes, hair falling over his pale forehead as he gazes down at you from the edge of the bed.

No sound emerges.

Your mind feels a little fuzzy, hazy at the edges as you blink at him, closer to a state of intoxication, than you are alertness. Despite that awareness, you can’t seem to snap out of it; maybe you don’t want to. Instead, you sink deeper into the warmth, the honeyed feeling that comes with turning off your rationality. Everything feels as if it’s coming through in blurred, rosy glasses.

“Fyodor,” you mouth, instead of the scream that you’d anticipated, his name coming out in two wistful syllables.

You should hate him – there’s something in your instincts pushing back at you. A flash of a knife, the days of chaos and uncertainty, where you were sure you were losing your mind, come back at you.

But none of that seems to matter now, as you trace your finger across his cheek, feeling the sharp indent below the high bone. His eyelashes are a shade lighter than his hair, soft as they flutter over his forehead. The portrait of him didn’t do him justice… or perhaps, it is in death that he has found his purest form.

“I’m too tired.”

You’re not sure where those words even come from. Calm, like this is nothing but routine, and waking up with Fyodor beside you is the closest thing to normalcy.

He smiles at you, leaning over you again on the bed, lips pulled tightly together in a morbid grin. It does little to sour your mood, to scare you into action, even if you can’t quite understand why.

“I know,” he replies.

It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak, a deep, accented sound smoothing against your ears as he traces his gaze against each of your features; musical, almost. His voice calms you, lulls you back into a meditative state.

You reach for him, in a trance, and twirl a strand of his hair between your finger, just to see if he’d let you. After the hell you’d been through the past week, well – was it really that miserable? He seems content to watch over you, observe the gentle movements of his dark hair coiled up around your pointer finger.

“Why are you here?” you ask, your voice softer than a whisper, carried away by the wind until it never existed at all.

Fyodor never disappears from your line of sight, even when you try to blink, to close your eyes. He’s there, gazing at you with a lustful fondness, one that’s dangerous, perhaps even malicious. If it’s a dream, it sure feels like a vivid one.

“You wanted to leave,” he says, taking your finger away from his face, before bringing it to his lips. The kiss is barely there, and his mouth is cold, chapped, from the brutality of the afterlife. “I couldn’t let you do that.”

“Hm?” You try to sit up. It takes more effort than it should’ve – you’re so relaxed, so weak, that you fall back down, letting yourself sink into the plushness of the pillow. “Why?”

Fyodor releases your hand, before touching his own finger to your mouth. It’s slender, like a piece of ice, gently parting your lips before grazing your chin, hovering over your neck. Then, he drops his touch to your collarbone. He stakes a claim on every inch of your skin, pausing as he reaches your chest, still covered by the blankets.

Your clothing is thin – it wouldn’t take much effort to get his cool hands on your bare skin. But he refrains, still smiling before answering your question, tucking his hands together onto his lap. “It’s been so long.”

It doesn’t make sense, but you can’t muster up the effort to question him, not when he’s contemplating every word, like he’s hesitant to scare you away. You let him think, watch him ponder, as you stare, too exhausted to move a muscle.

“I thought you’d be like all the rest,” he says, taking a seat next to you on the bed, nearly touching your hip. “They were nothing but filth, stains in these halls. It’s a crime for them to ever think that they belonged here. In my home.”

You blink. “It’s my home, too,” you say, suddenly filled with an immense amount of dread. It crawls up your neck, chokes you, and nothing leaves you but garbled sounds, as you panic.

Fyodor doesn’t move – there is no twitch in his features, as he watches you with disguised adoration, a kind you didn’t think a ghost capable of revealing. “Of course it is, darling,” he says, so softly, it could’ve been mistaken for kindness. Fyodor leans down, presses his cold, dead lips to your cheek, a kiss of death. “That’s why I couldn’t let you leave. It’s your home. You belong here.”

“Right,” you breath, steadying yourself, before nodding. “My home.” Once more, you gaze around the room, your eyes flicking over every surface. Things are exactly as you’d left them, nothing out of place. “With you?”

The ghost smiles, and reaches out to you, finally helping you into a seated position. Your neck is so stiff, in pain, and you roll it around, feeling nothing there when you expect shifting bones. “With me,” Fyodor confirms, running his icy fingertips across your throat, tangling them with your hair.

He leans into you, pressing a lingering kiss to your mouth, one that catches you off balance, before you accept it with an eagerness that surprises you further. It doesn’t feel unfamiliar, instead, it’s as if you’re coming home, like the man you’ve never seen until now was always meant to find you.

A thought that should’ve scared you, even though it doesn’t.

Fyodor pulls away, right as you begin to shift forward, maneuver yourself onto his lap. “You should rest,” he replies, keeping you at a distance. “It might take some time to adjust.”

“Hm? What do you mean?” you blink, holding onto his wrist as your gaze shifts from his impossibly dark eyes to the mirror across the room.

There, in the darkness of the evening, shrouded in moonlight, you can see your reflection staring back at you, eyes vacant, lifeless. You expect to see yourself as nothing but exhausted, but when you draw your gaze across the image of yourself, there is blood seeping from your neck, a stream of scarlet. There is thick gash across your throat, slashed so deep that it would’ve killed you instantly.

The expression on your face shifts from one of calm to horror, as you scrape at your neck, trying to clear off the blood that isn’t really there, the permanent wound that will follow you even into your death.

“What did you do?” you scream, tears rolling down your cheeks, even though you can’t feel them, can only see them in the mirror. “What did you do to me?”

Fyodor smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. Though you fight against him, he takes you into his arms, and you are too weak to fight him off. “I told you,” Fyodor says, shushing you, running his palm over your head as you scream. “I couldn’t let you leave.”

thank you for reading !

[occamstfs]

New Meaning to Hazing

Here's a scent triggered nerd to frat bro TF, usual mandatory group project stuff. Hope you enjoy! -Occam

It was not shaping up to be Henry’s day. His lab partner Alexander invited him over to his place so they may work on their report together. He was beyond shocked to learn that his partner, one of the few people on campus he could really call a friend, seemed to live in a frat house. Walking past the less than manicured lawn, complete with circles of dead grass where kegs sat out too long with litter from a recent party still hiding at the edges, Henry couldn’t help but feel his friend would never deign to live in such grotesque bro-squalor.

He checks the address sent once more before moving to knock on the stark white door to the manor, unaware of the curtains shifting as he is watched by whomever awaits him inside. He raises an arm to rap on the door before it is thrust open by one of the brothers. The large man is shirtless and sweaty, presumably fresh off a work-out which Henry is vainly trying to avoid noticing. Inside the foyer of the house is only just neater than the lawn, the trash at least overflowing front the trash cans rather than scattering the floor. 

Henry forces an awkward smile and begins backing away before he is ushered in by the sweaty man, “Hey bro, did ya need sumthin?” Gears turn in the man’s head as he tries to recall why some twerp would be coming to visit the house this morning. Henry sees the man’s mind grind to a halt and thinks about taking the opportunity to flee like the prey he is. He hesitates and the lapse passes, the oaf shouting out into the house. “Anyone expectin’ an, uh, nerd? This mornin’?” Henry hears a cacophony of barely conscious men groaning nos from rooms down the hall, breaking through them though is an almost familiar voice, “oh wait yeah, think I’ve got some project shit with him, can you send him over here?”

The troll of a man that has ushered Henry in beams and throws an arm around him, continuing to lead him through the threshold, “Huhuh! Why didn’t ya just yer here to see Lex lil bro! C’mon, he’s right this way.” Henry has no way to surreptitiously escape now that he’s been pulled inside the wholly unpleasant estate. Passing open rooms Henry could see a few men sleeping away the day and judging by the pervasive odor in the air there are at least a dozen or so more hiding from his view, if not his nose. He struggles not to visibly recoil at the musk lest he provoke his apparent guide through this bro-y hellscape.

Arriving in the living room he finds piles of dirty laundry on top of stained couches almost as expected at this point. More shocking than that is the large man lying in between them watching porn in the middle of this shared living space. His modesty barely covered by a pillow, the man looks up with eyes glazed over and stubble dotting his jaw. Despite the well sculpted body and jungle of pit hair exposed, almost as a challenge to the nerd interrupting him. Henry feels some foggy connection with this man who should fill him with only disgust. Trying not to too closely inspect the man mid-masturbation Henry can’t help but notice that he looks like some juiced up and dulled down version of his lab partner, Alexander.

His eyes widen as the frat bro smirks and scratches at one of his pits, smelling his hand before speaking up, “Hey dweeb, are you gonna just stand there and watch me jack it or can you get my fucking homework over with already.” His right hand returns under the pillow and Henry is taken aback, now recognizing the voice as his friend’s, only an octave deeper and dripping with derision at his once-friend. Henry clears his throat to apologize and shifts his eyes away from the man, wondering if he should enquire about his obviously changed state. 

He had never seen his lab partner shirtless before so perhaps he’s been hiding this impressive build the whole time. But, no it’s impossible. He’s at least a foot taller. Henry cannot reconcile how sharp his stubbled jaw is, the lazy lust filling his glazed over eyes, or the dull crawl of his deeper raspier voice. “I’m sorry for um, interrupting Alexan-” His lab partner twitches before Henry finishes the name. Immediately looking away from the porn and to Henry, “It’s fucking Lex dude. And did you not hear me? Get to work or I’ll fuckin’ make you.” Henry sees veins pump larger on his arms as Lex gets worked up. Trying to make himself small and agreeable, Henry backs away.

Lex smirks as he sees the nerd shrink into himself, the pillow bouncing higher as he feels his power, his masculinity, affirmed. Though completely driven by his balls, an idea squirms its way to the front of his mind. This little dork just wandered into his turf. Fucker’s gonna learn to respect his frat real quick. Henry sees darkness infuse Alex’s eyes as a deeper hunger grows within him. Barely masking the hunger filling his voice, Lex speaks up, “you know what bro, I’m sorry about this, just a little pent up. You know how it gets I bet,” he pulls his hand free from his crotch and gestures towards Henry, flicking his pre at the nerd.

Henry scoffs as this is quite the line too far, his face burns with embarrassment, no, with rage as he starts to feel anger far greater than he could muster before at this jerk whose supposed to be his friend! Seeing this brings genuine delight to his partner who laughs out a clearly fake apology, “Huhuh, sorry bro. Why don’t you head up to my room and get started. Here’s a change of clothes if you want it dude”

Lex grabs a shirt from the pile sniffing it and recoiling before shrugging and throwing it anyway. Were he thinking Henry certainly would have noticed his using the same cum covered hand to hurl the shirt. But something about his rising rage has heightened his awareness to the haze of the frat house, musk distracting him in a manner that is distinctly not disgust as he is pelted with the shirt and coated in some mysterious liquid.

Henry scoffs in indignation and departs for the room, leaving the shirt behind as he begins to unbutton his own stained top. “Up the stairs. Third door on your right, Bro.” Driven not by the scholarly initiative that brought him to this horrid place he obeys the man’s instructions rather than simply fleeing outright in what may be his last chance at salvation. Henry wanders up the stairs without a thought spent on anything but trying to understand the peculiar feeling rising within him at the wretched stink.

Arriving at the door Henry enters and slams it behind him, unsure if he wants time to work on this project by himself or for that cum-for-brains oaf to follow him up shortly. He clicks the lock on the door, either way not wanting to be caught unprepared by the monster storming in as he disrobes his stained shirt. Henry jumps as he sees a figure move in the room only to find the wall  across from the bed is covered in a massive mirror. Ever a curious mind Henry wanders over to inspect it and discovers hundreds of stains of god knows what. Some sick new instinct suggests he sniff and Henry is immediately lightheaded as his mind is assailed by what seems like years of cum stains.

His eyes glaze over and his mind is overwhelmed. Henry stands in front of the mirror staring straight at himself, unaware as his appearance slowly begins to shift. Glasses that are as solid a facet of his appearance as his nose fall from his face and disappear as his hair darkens and curls messily atop his head. His torso expands and thins as his arms grow gawky and lengthen. His skin tans and smooths as his mind remains boggled by the odors swimming through the air, stretching as the changes itch and burn under his skin. He feels muscle pull on his chest as something that should not be there cramps and breaks his trance. His nipples poke larger, growing hard in the chilly room and Henry blushes as he feels his cock pulse in his briefs. Uncomfortable at the idea of getting off at his own reflection and unable to bring his conscious mind to awareness of his changes.

Each second spent investigating his reflection the oppressive weight of Lex’s odor sinks deeper. Looking into his own eyes and seeing a man who he simply cannot be, Henry feels a headache quickly  rise. taking a deep breath he lets his mind clear and he shakes his head, hair flopping as it never has. But he pays no mind. He should just get started on the assignment. Yeah, the quicker he’s done the quicker he’ll be out of here. 

His mind strays to thoughts about Lex as he pulls out his laptop, he is in the jerk’s room after all. He sneers looking around at the mess, seeing oddly stained socks and half-drunk cans of beer scattering every surface. His eyes steer clear of his reflection as something deep in his mind refuses to see his reflection. His face burns as he feels his cock start to grow in his pants at the idea of Lex. “God fuck him, this is supposed to be a group assignment.” Henry bites his lip to distract from the mounting pressure in his pants.

Never a man of much will Henry digs deep into some new reserve and stubbornly gets to work. Opening a database to find sources for their report. Typically he wouldn’t even mind doing a report alone but something about that ass getting any credit really sets his mind ablaze. He thought Alex was his friend, but ever since seeing him as Lex something just. Something’s digging in the back of his mind just out of notice. He breathes deep to loose a large sigh, musk rising in his chest as a thought more pervasive than anything grabs his consciousness, Don’t worry about it bro.

Henry stares at his library’s homepage as any forward movement in his mind is halted. He could stand to chill a bit for sure. He scratches at his chest and tries to remember how he was planning to tackle this report. Thoughts moving slower than usual in his mind, waylaid by this command as well as the still advancing scent of Lex’s squalor. Following the professor’s instructions to a tee Henry sets out to start his dull work. Scrawling notes down into a spiral he tilts his head in confusion as his handwriting is far less fluid and graceful than usual. No time at all to think further on the matter as he is again struck with apathy towards anything peculiar. He takes another deep breath and another message blares through his mind, deeper, Welcome to the party bro, just keep breathing deep.

Henry scratches more at his chest as thin hair begins to poke out around his nipples. Nigh invisible blonde peach fuzz scattered around the center of his chest slowly lengthens and grows dark as the hair on his head grows longer and greasier. He rubs a hand through it and almost grimaces, feeling as unwashed as any of the slobs in this horrible compound. Despite the cool room in which he sits he begins to sweat as he sits there, computer in lap. His face rearranges into something a tad less feminine and his head twitches to the side at his criticism of the slobs, his fellow slobs. Like an alarm the thought brings him back to some semblance of himself. He is a neatfreak isn't he? He searches his memory to find any evidence to support the reality he knows.

Henry again scratches at his chest as similar itches arise in his pits and crotch. Two areas he is suddenly armed to ignore lest more similarities spring to mind between him and the slobs of this sick place, or worse Lex himself. His mind drags a memory of Lex’s treasure trail snaking above the pillow as he feels his pubes itch. His hands try to stray as he wrenches them abc to a keyboard to get some research done. His fingers miss keys as they inch slightly larger than they’ve been before, palms expanding wider and demanding adjustment. Henry clenches his jaw and takes another deep breath to stem his irritation.

The musk in the air becomes cloying to him as he suddenly begins to add to it, his sweat slides down his back and down onto his ass as a new itch arises there. He tries to keep his mind focused on his homework but every click and keypress becomes more difficult as his mind demands distraction, release. After clicking on an article filled with more text than he cares to read he thoughtlessly goes to scratch at his package. As soon as he touches it he is overcome with pleasure. Giving in immediately, he rubs through his pants as his sweaty back slides against the wall leaving his own stains in Lex’s room. His hips hump into the air as his cock strains his underwear beyond imagination, the sound of a tear cracks through the air as his pants slide into a wedgie from sliding down on the floor.

Henry tosses his laptop to the side and is stuck with indecision to just rub one out or not. What is he thinking? He’s in someone else’s fucking room, Lex’s room. The thought sends even more passion coursing through him as hormones and hunger rise. He bites his lip and scrolls to see just how long this article is, maybe he can work some kind of deal out with his balls right? He’s in control here. He tries to sit up and feels with every small movement or twitchy adjustment, waves of pleasure launch into his mind. Dulling every instinct besides those most basal and hungry. Attempting to gather any substance from the wall of text on screen is quickly abated as he decides to find some other distraction from whatever sickness is compelling his mind.

His balls pulse as he struggles to stand to his feet, his eyes stay focused ahead, away from his reflection as he sees a video game controller on Lex’s bed, surely his br- his lab partner wouldn’t mind, def not. He awkwardly steps forward feeling his larger balls pull tighter and grow larger as he struggles to fight against their constant impulses. His feet expand as he steps on Lex’s cum-filled socks and any disgust he once felt, should feel, is overridden by an ever-peaking desire for release.

His pants fully rip as his package becomes wholly unmanageable by the size 28 pants he threw on this morning. Henry scrambles under Lex’s blanket to protect his modesty and convulses as he hears something squish underneath him in the bed. His expression squirms between pleasure and judgment at his bro for being such a slob. God! Not his bro, his uh? New ideas breeze across his mind as his mind has begun to slip at a far greater pace. Each musty breath blanching more of himself away, Henry never really stood a chance. But hopping into Lex’s surely unwashed sheets was an err far too great.

Grabbing at the controller and getting started Henry feels his arm prickle as ink starts to seep to the surface. Would’ve sworn he’d never deface his body like that but he clearly has, right? Haha! His jaw grows slack as, for the first time in a while, he is able to focus on something other than his demanding balls. He feels an itch on his chin as stubble just like his bro’s begins to speckle his face as he begins to put on weight. Hair on his chest and pits begins to grow longer as he lays in an altar to Lex’s must. Quickly losing in the game he almost tosses his controller across the room as the unfamiliar rage that started his descent arises once more.

God what’s fucking up with him today. He grunts and pays no mind to the sound that echoes throughout the musty air, deeper than he could ever fathom issuing forth. He scans the room no longer seeing his laptop or discarded clothes. His eyes just manage to avoid looking at his reflection with some remnants of existential terror fighting against the rising instinct that he needs to pay his hot body some attention. Instead he notices Lex’s laptop on the bed beside him, porn already cued up. He bites his lip and smirks as he feels his cock begin to spew pre onto Lex’s sheets. Surely his bro won’t mind.

Back downstairs Lex gets off to himself as he imagines that little nerd trying not to lose himself in his own musky haze. Picturing in his mind the new curves of his body as hair begins to grow like a jungle across his figure. He starts going at it imagining Henry struggling to keep his mind focused on anything other than his growing muscle and rapidly expanding cock. Upstairs Henry himself quickly adds to Lex’s tapestry of stains as he sees his arms burn and grow. Guffawing to himself through his moans of self-pleasure as he suddenly finds his own body far more alluring than whatever shitty smut his bro had left open. Looking down at his cock as it grows beyond his understanding out of a bush of pubes darker and dirtier than he could conceive. He needs to see the whole picture.

His eyes widen and he twitches in pleasure and fear as he struggles to and to not look at his own reflection. Biting his lip to draw blood as he grunts deeper by the second, sweat staining the sheets as the bed creaks underneath his still increasing weight. His hair curls and his jaw widens as he clenches it. The curls on his chest spread wider as the little muscle he had became pecs outright, his heart pounding beneath them as the rise with each labored breath.

Drool begins to pool in his mouth as pre streams down the hands clenching his cock. His vision flickers as he manages to steal a glimpse of himself and is evermore changed. The nervous nerd who didn’t even knock on the door is wiped from Henry’s mind as he absorbs his new majesty, the power he now wields. The scent of Lex’s den is absolutely masked by his own as he languishes in his bros sheets, smirking as he flexes at his own reflection. Arms large enough to absolutely wreck his bros PR’s, a  core strong enough to fuck for hours, and thighs large enough to any fucker to submit, to say nothing of his massive cock in between them.

Immediately after taking himself in Henry loses any remaining control over his libido and moans loud enough to wake every still sleeping brother downstairs as his body cements him the king of this chapter. Painting his own stains up and down Lex’s mirror as he hears his fellow titan start to stomp up the stairs. He feels his cock harden even more intensely as another round swiftly churns in the balls hanging beneath it. Would’ve sworn he had something else going on but for the life in him he can’t figure out what. Making his way over to the door before his bro rips it off the hinges Henry decides surely a good fuck is just what he needs to set himself right again.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony drabble no1. new neighbor

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ drabble summary. you visit your new next-door-neighbor's house to welcome him to the neighborhood only to find issue with the fact that's he's insanely hot (note to any potential new readers: you can read this before starting the main storyline if you'd like!)

ᰔ main storyline summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ words. 2.4k

a/n. hiiiiii welcome to this first ihm drabble!! i just had an idea of writing a small scene of when ihm gojo & reader first met so :0 cracked this out in an hour. hope you enjoyy!!

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 (pending)

There were a great deal of possibilities you had expected to see when you rang the doorbell to your new next-door-neighbors house, but none of them were quite what you had ended up seeing at the front door when it had swung open.

Perhaps it could’ve been a newlywed couple, looking stressed beyond belief with thin lines under their eyes over the agony that comes with moving into a new home with a partner. It could’ve been a teenager, possibly a broody one, because your parents moving the family out to some random town right in the middle of your high school years would’ve made any kid emo. Or it could’ve been an old wrinkly man, grumpy and a little sore to the eyes and entirely too irritated by someone ringing his doorbell because it fucked up the frequency transmitter on his hearing aids.

Instead, when the door flew open, your neck craned up to meet the eye contact of the most stupidly hot and handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life. Well, at least certainly in all of this smalltown in Dayton county. They don’t build men like that here. With stunning blue eyes that stare deep into yours, hair that’s boyishly shaggy yet looks so soft at the same time, tall, muscular, broad shoulders. And the soft cotton of his pajama long-sleeve shirt with the matching plaid pants clinging to the curves of strong biceps and thighs has you full-fledged staring at this—…dare-you-say, incredibly husband-material of a man.

You almost forget you have a boyfriend for a second. And, for the record, your boyfriend is a sexy piece of ass too (Choso if you’re reading this please know that I love you very much and Gojo would have to fight a feral bear to steal me away from you). But, god, was it a crime to find another man attractive occasionally?

He blinks at you, eyes wide like he was equally as shocked to take in the appearance of you. You’re also sure the last thing he expected was a visitor right now at 2:33pm on a Tuesday, but you had finally seen all the UHAUL trucks pulled up in his driveway and the men moving furniture into his house leave the neighborhood, so you felt now would be a good time to introduce yourself.

“Hi,” he finally says to you, rubbing the back of his neck like it’s sore, “uhh…can I help you?”

You’re momentarily speechless. “Oh! I’m—” you take a pause to breathe because words are suddenly unspeakable without at least a gallon of air in your lungs, “I’m y/n, I live next door.” You point to your house. “I just saw you moving in and so I…wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood!” You hold out the paper plate wrapped in tin foil that you were holding. “I made some pumpkin bread for you.”

The corner of his mouth curls up slightly, eyebrows raising pleasantly. “Oh, that’s really sweet, thanks,” he says with a tone that suggests he’s surprised by the hospitality and you briefly wonder where he’s moved here from. He takes the plate from you and balances it on his palm.

An awkward silence.

“Uh, did you wanna—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind himself, “did you wanna come inside?”

You blink at him.

“I mean, the place is kind of a mess right now, but—”

“Yes,” you cut him off.

He smiles at you, relaxed now compared to that hesitance from before, and he uses his back to push the door open more while stepping aside for you to walk inside, and walk inside is exactly what you do.

The house is a little cold, with no heater running, and incredibly empty. It’s pretty much the exact copy layout of your house, as all houses in the neighborhood are, except the color tones within this one are much brighter. The foyer is crowded with stacked cardboard boxes, some open and some not, with styrofoam sprawled all across carpet and hardwood, and you take a moment to admire the seafoam green loveseat pressed flush up against one of the walls.

“Got it on Facebook Marketplace,” he tells you, and you glance over at him to see him watching you assess his furniture, “lots of surprisingly good finds on there.”

You smile at him and stand up straight.

“I’m Satoru, by the way,” he says, leaning his shoulder against the door now before crossing his arms, “sorry, I don’t think I introduced myself to you earlier.”

“Ohh, no worries. You’re probably tired from moving in?” you ask, trying not to feel awkward in this essentially-a-stranger’s house.

“Very,” he laughs.

“What made you move here?”

“Oh, just, uh, my job. My family’s out here too, so figured it’d be nice being a little closer to them. But I was in a bit of a rush to close on something out here, so I just bought the first place I could find.” He peers in towards the house, eyes darting across his empty dining room. You notice slabs of deconstructed wood are leaned up against the wall. “But it’s nice. Neighborhood’s nice too.”

“Oh yesss we have wonderful people maintaining it!” you tell him.

He flashes you one of those smiles again. “You’ve lived here a while?”

“Yes! I was born and raised here, actually,” you say and then point a finger in the direction of your house, “that’s actually the only house I’ve ever lived in.”

His eyes widened. “Wow, that’s rare.”

“Yuppp. Just my mom and I now.”

“Oh, is your mom the one that was out gardening yesterday?” he asks. “Pulling out weeds on the edges of the driveway?”

You sigh. “Yes. That’s her. Er, at least I’m pretty sure it is, because I always tell her not to garden anymore, but she never listens to me.”

He lets out a well-meaning scoff, and you wonder if he’ll ask you more questions about it, but he lets the conversation settle into a silence instead. You discretely steal a glance at his left hand when he untucks it from his crossed arms to scratch at his jaw, and you notice there’s no wedding ring on his finger.

“Do you want some coffee?” he asks.

You blink at him. “Oh, I—…sure.”

He leads you into the kitchen, which you notice is mostly set up with all the appliances out on the counters and glass cabinets filled with ceramic sets of mugs and plates. He has an espresso machine set up in the corner of the stover counter, and you follow him right up to it.

“Woooow an espresso machine, I’ve always wanted one of these.”

He flits his gaze to you with a smile on his face before he grabs the handle of the portafilter, twisting it to release it from the machine, and then he presses some button that pushes steam out of it. “It’s worth it if you’re a daily coffee drinker.”

You sigh, leaning your elbow on the counter as you watch him. “Oh, I survive off of coffee, please. I work as a night shift nurse at the ED over on Main Street, so I need all the caffeine I can get.”

“You’re a nurse? That’s good to know,” he says, measuring out beans on a small digital scale. You turn to face him a little more, entirely intrigued by the process now. “If I’m ever in a life or death situation, can I give you a call?”

“If you’re still able to give me a call, then you’re not in a life or death situation.”

He gives you another one of those smiles, a little cheekily lopsided this time, like he’s really enjoying this conversation with you. It’s probably something that’s pleasantly mentally stimulating to his exhausted mind as he’s likely spent the last three days or so talking to no one except the UHAUL truck people and the melancholic memorabilia within his boxes of stuff. It was as easy as any small talk could be, this conversation, and it’s coming a little too naturally for your own liking as well.

He puts the beans in the grinder, and you hear a whirring sound as they are ground into fine particles that release a rich aroma of bitter into the air.

“This seems awfully tedious. I take back my desire of wanting an espresso machine,” you comment, pushing your knuckles into your cheek now as you perch yourself up by an elbow on the counter.

He laughs as he sifts the grounds into the portafilter, breaking up any clumps, and then he twists it onto the espresso machine before placing a mug underneath it. “Yeah, there’s a steep learning curve with it, but once you perfect it, it’s pretty easy. A lot can go wrong that can affect the quality of the shot though, for sure.”

“Like what?” you ask, a little too interested.

“Uhh, you can over extract, which leaves kind of a bitter taste, or under extract, which makes it taste sour. Usually depends on the ground size or the tamping. Plus, when you switch beans, you’ve gotta experiment on the settings all over again.”

You hear the whirring of the machine plus the delicate steady drip of the espresso into the mug. “I have a headache just listening to that. Why bother at all?”

He nods his head slowly, glancing at the watch on his wrist, and after a set amount of seconds has passed, he turns the machine off then peers into the mug. “Well, taste it and see if it’s worth it,” he says, handing the mug to you.

You take it from him, the fragrance of coffee immediately making your mouth water. And you take a delicate sip of the coffee, a slight bitterness hitting your tongue followed immediately by sweetness from the crema that has your eyes widening.

“Oh. Oh wow. Incredibly worth it,” you say.

He laughs. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Gosh no, I’ll just have it like this, please.”

You both chat a little bit more as he makes himself a cup too. You notice that he has his coffee black, as essentially an Americano, which he pours over ice in a shiny glass even in the cool of autumn. 

Apparently he’s a real estate agent, selling properties a little out further than the county line, in more posh areas than here. Like all those cliff-side homes you see when you’re driving further out of town and always sigh to yourself wondering if you’ll ever get to live in a pretty house like that someday. 

His parents live nearby as well as his younger sister’s family and he has a niece who’s four years old. And you want to ask so badly if he has a family of his own as well, but if he did, wouldn’t they be here with him? 

“Holy shit this is amazing,” he says through a muffled mouthful of the pumpkin bread you brought for him, “you made this from scratch?”

No. You used a pre-made mix. “Oh gosh, yes, I’m something of a little baker, if you will.”

He nods, letting out an indulgent sigh as he chews, eyes shutting close tightly in satisfaction of the taste and you find it amusing. He has a physical build that you could only assume requires an immense amount of discipline, but it’s kind of cute to see he’s somewhat weak for sweets.

You glance at the time on your phone. “Ah, I have to get going. I need to take my mom somewhere, but um, it was really nice meeting you! Hopefully I’ll see you around in the neighborhood?”

He nods his head, “oh, yeah, definitely.”

Your cheeks warm a little.

He walks you to the front entrance, and you briefly glance out the window into his driveway. “Oh. There’s a boat.”

He walks up right next to you, his arm pressed against your shoulder as he stands close, and you note that he smells so nice, like shampoo and clean laundry. The softness of his pajamas brushes against your skin and it makes you borderline dizzy.

Choso would be pissed off to the nines if he knew you were feeling things for your next-door-neighbor. Cut it out already, you think to yourself.

“Oh they finally brought my boat in,” he comments, “sweet.”

“That’s yours?” you ask, turning to face him in surprise, “it’s huge!”

“Yup, just bought it,” he says, shoving his hands in his pants pockets as he walks up to the window to peer out the blinds. “A beauty, she is.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not a she, it’s an it.”

“To you, maybe. But to me?…she’s so much more than that,” he says, but there’s some self-regarding hint of satire in his voice.

“Uh-huh,” you say, slipping your shoes back on at the door. “It’s kind of…lengthy though. Where are you going to park it?”

He shrugs. “Probably right out there. Where it is right now.”

Where it is right now?!?! The hull is dangerously close to the entry of your driveway. There’s no way that would be agreeable with you. How are you supposed to pull your car in?

“Um. I’m pretty sure I’d have difficulties pulling my car in if you parked it there,” you tell him politely as he opens the door for you and you step out onto the concrete step of his front entrance.

You turn around to face him and see him squinting his eyes at his boat with inspection of your concern. Sorry for sounding repetitive, but it's seriously shocking. The way he looks. The way that small little expression—his eyes narrowing, brows furrowing, bottom lip slightly jutting out, all paired with the haphazard way his hair falls over his eyes—makes you stare at him like he’s some Grecian sculpture. It was a little concerning.

But, at the end of the day, attraction is merely cognitive, is it not? A social construct, if you will. Something that can go away just as easily as it comes, and then arrive once more as easily as it went away.

A pattern you’ll eventually realize a lot with your new next-door-neighbor, Gojo Satoru.

“Nah,” he says, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

[end of drabble]

a/n. alternate universe where they fuck on the marble countertop of his kitchen island on first encounter pls

🏷️ @tremendousbouquetflower @semra4 @noctuaism @gojonegs @reinam00n

@bloopsstuff @bbyxxm @yungbloode @elloredef @spriteshawtyy

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@hermizery @manyno @idiot-juice-enthusiast @fairyflorasworld @teramisuyhin

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@electrckchild @vi-ola666 @arishaxml @lavender-hvze @starmapz

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taglist is closed

[iguanodont]

Lineup of metallic dragons, as they appear in my personal setting. From left to right:

Gold: Among the largest and most politically ambitious of dragons. They rarely use their immense might to seek dominion over humanoid races, instead investing their First hoard (typically sea-jewels and their own shed scales) in the success of kings and cities that answer only to them, thus expanding their own wealth through mercantile success. Their wisdom spans generations, making them valuable advisors and patient strategists.

Copper: A mid-sized dragon, and the most playful. Their fascination with humanoids lies almost exclusively in how they entertain themselves. These glittering tricksters make their lairs in the hearts of theaters, theme parks, circuses, and other locales of escapism, stretching and bending the laws of reality to the awe and delight of their audience.

Silver: The smallest and most ephemeral of dragons. Though solitary among their own as all dragons, they are fascinated by the social lives of humanoids. They may spend a majority of their lives playing pretend as ordinary folk, using their silver tongues and seemingly inexhaustible work ethic to worm their way to the top of a corporate ladder or the heart of a secret society, only to leave it headless when the game is won and they seek a fresh start elsewhere.

Bronze: Smallest after silver, and cheeriest of dragons, perhaps because they remain the closest of their kin to Mother Sea, from whence the first dragons are said to have crawled. Likewise their motivations seem the most simple: to create paradise at these sacred shores. They are lorded as guardians of beaches and shallow seas, yet their vision of perfection may prove so infectious that those who visit forget the world beyond the gentle surf and glittering sand, and those who are wrenched from it find Elsewhere hollow by comparison.

Brass: The tallest, and loneliest of dragons. These flightless behemoths roam the desert in their youth, taking in everything from the goings of the skittering beetle to the rise and fall of cities. But over centuries they grow so tall they can no longer interact intimately with the many subjects of their interest. Instead they totter aimlessly from place to place, magically broadcasting their vast repository of histories, biographies, and opinions on the weather to anyone who might be there to listen.

[filled-with-fat]

How to have a RAPID💨 weight gain

You’ve always dreamed of getting fat, you’re obsessed with the idea of being overweight. But no matter how much you eat, the pounds never seem to stick. You’ve become trapped in this ‘skinny fat’ body — too fat to be considered a twink, but too skinny to actually be considered fat. So here’s what you’re gonna do:

1. Start eating earlier. When you’re trying to become obese, you need to change your eating habits to those of an obese dude. Fat guys don’t stick to the normal 3-meal-a-day routine, they’re constantly snacking and eating food. They’ve stretched their stomachs far beyond a healthy size for a human, which allows them to eat an excessive amount without feeling full. And you need to do the same. So, each morning set your alarm to 5am. You probably won’t have much of an appetite this early, regardless, it’s time to start eating. Make sure to chug at least 2 gainer shakes, before moving onto a palatable breakfast, perhaps with a large stack of pancakes topped with whipped cream? Good job, now you’ve had over 1,000 calories before the day has even begun.

2. At 9am, after you’ve slept on those calories, it’s time to fit in another breakfast. It’s important to cram as much in during this sitting! Maybe try another gainer shake, with a different flavour to *shake* things up (no pun intended). Then, move onto a full English, with extra helpings of bacon and eggs, alongside waffles topped with cream cheese and chocolate. Good boy, now it’s time to go and rest again. Remember to limit your movements so that you can maximise the calories you’ve just eaten.

3. Time for a mid-morning snack? You’re probably not even hungry yet considering you’ve already consumed over 3,000 calories in the past couple of hours, but to really start feeling those gains, it’s time to order a McDonalds straight to your door. Grab a BigMac, and a large side of fries, as well as two large cokes and a McFlurry for dessert. Your mid-morning snack should be larger than most people’s lunch. And when it comes, time how long it takes for you to get through it all. Remember, as you eat faster, you’re belly stretches, and eventually it will start getting easier and easier to fit a fuck ton of food inside of you.

4. Then you’re ready for lunch (hopefully you haven’t passed out yet). Invite a (fat) friend over, and order several large pizzas. Given how much you’ve already eaten, you’re probably going to struggle to eat a whole pizza, but with your fat friend by your side, who will doubtless be chomping up his slices, hopefully this should encourage you to do the same. Say goodbye to your friend, then head back to the couch. At this point in the day, you’re probably feeling so full that you never want to eat again, and you’re belly doubtless looks so bloated 🫃 it could pop at any moment. Take the afternoon to rest on the couch. And as soon as you start to feel a little lighter, reach for that chocolate bar you left on the coffee table.

5. Dinner time. It’s date night! Let your boyfriend take you to an all-you-can-eat Buffett, and don’t go shy! Make sure to wear a short sleeve tshirt, so that you can use the full length of your arms, to take as many plates of greasy food at a time. And when you start to feel bloated again, take a gut gummy to relieve your symptoms before piling into another stack of donuts 🍩 😋🤤

Repeat this routine daily, and hopefully you should start to feel a little heavier!

[kakujis]

☆ 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒...

“...AND SHE'S FALLING ASLEEP, AS SHE'S WALKING WITH STRANGERS.”

synopsis: satoru’s had his eye on you for a while, who other than his best friend, suguru, to help him get you home?

warnings: dark content/ageless + minors DNI. afab!fem reader, modern au, naive/shy! reader, non curse! au. yandere!satoru. drugging, dubcon, voyeurism(sort of), non-consensual picture taking/recording, dacryphilia, fingering, p*ssy slapping, creamp*e, restraints, possessive behavior, blackmail, degradation, praise, pet names (baby, princess, angel, good girl), drooling, your friends are really shitty, suguru calls u a slut like one time. suguru is mean, satoru is less mean kind of, he's probs ooc at times. that should be it, if i forgot anything pls lmk.

ft + wc: mainly gojo x reader, lil bit of suguru x reader. around 5.8k.

network: @enchantedforest-network

a/n: well. this was a doozy lol. i started it back in mid september and it's taken me around a month to get here which is actually pretty fast for me! this was supposed to be part of my first mini kinktober but u can see with the pace i'm writing at... well LOL. anyways, big thank you to wallaby for actually getting me out of the rut to write this, koca the loml for helping me w satoru's dialogue (dirty talk)!! @sxgars for the banner, and nie, the other loml, for proofreading!

the embers burn under the twilight sky, as gojo satoru’s laugh bounces amongst the crowd. with feet buried in the sand, hands stuck in your hoodie, you stare at the bonfire. every so often, someone’ll throw another log in to keep it burning, the wood crackling like fireworks. it’s an interesting set of sounds, sights, and smells.  

your eyes flicker throughout the people surrounding you, some chatting away, some speaking only through makeout sessions, some are probably even arguing. none of them are your friends, not even acquaintances. you’re not sure why you agreed to come out tonight, coaxed by your own friends, who swore up and down they wouldn’t leave you alone this time, but ditched you when they found their hook up for the night. 

meanwhile, on the other side of the bonfire is gojo, handsome with snowy hair and blue eyes hidden behind his staple sunglasses, but loud and boisterous as he jokes with his friends, a small semi circle of individuals surrounding him. must be nice, you think before sighing and taking another sip of your watered down alcoholic drink, looking away when a voice calls out to you making you jump a little. 

“you alright?” he asks, squatting down to reach your eye level as you sit. when you look back, it’s geto suguru right in front of you, his own drink in hand, illuminated by the fiery light of the bonfire and the pale moonlight, the colors clashing against his skin. 

“i’m fine,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady, but you’re already ready to back away. you’ve always thought geto was handsome, tall, with dark hair and dark eyes, and an aura you just couldn’t read. perhaps it was the infatuation that kept you here on this sandy beach, even when your friends were long gone, eyes always finding him whenever one of you passed by each other at parties like this. “you?” 

“it’s alright,” he shrugs, pulling out a cigarette from his shirt pocket and leaning back, using the bonfire to light it up. you watch as he brings it back to his lips and takes a long drag, cheeks hollowing as he inhales, before making sure to blow away from you. “much better when there’s a pretty girl around.”  

you heat up, looking at your toes, peeking through the sand. “.. thank you,” you reply, struggling to look at him as he takes a seat next to you on your towel. “you’re not so bad yourself. you’re geto suguru, right?” 

“why, thank you,” he says, scooting closer to you, “and i am. what’s your name?” 

you give him your name, heart pounding away at the close proximity. beyond the scent of smoke, he smells woodsy, sort of like incense. you wonder if you smell similarly, your vanilla perfume mixing in with the bonfire fumes. 

“pretty name,” he says before he repeats it back, the syllables rolling off his tongue easily and straight into your stomach, “you staying out much longer?”

he makes you dizzy, and somewhat anxious, you were never planning - at least in this lifetime - on ever meeting him, let alone actually speaking to him. you’re not used to this, more comfortable with people watching than interacting.

you shake your head, “nah, i was gonna head home soon,” you glance out toward the ocean swells, waves crashing against the beach before they recede back into the tide. “my friends are already gone, so there’s not much else for me to do.”

“aw, really? that’s a shame,” he replies and you peek back, his mouth pressed into a hard line, his  thumb tapping against his cheek, before he nods, brightening up. “need someone to walk you home?” 

you pause, “um… no, it’s okay, i-”

“you’re gonna walk home this late at night?” he asks, cutting you off with an eyebrow raised, “by yourself?” 

you glance over at the darkened road, the dim lights of the city sprinkled far off in the distance. it’s foreboding and who knows what lurks in the dark? besides, wouldn’t it be better to walk home with someone? the warm amber light from the fire plays on his face as you glance back at him. 

“i don’t bite,” he continues, giving a reassuring smile as his hands come up playfully, “i swear.”  

“… okay,” you give in, nodding, “sure.” you make a move to get up, but he stops you. 

“wait,” he starts, bringing his drink up closer towards you. “let’s have a toast.”

you giggle, the tension easing out of you, before holding yours up as well, “a toast to what?” 

he smiles back, “to new friendship.” he tips his cup to yours, but doesn’t take into account how much stronger his clink would be compared to yours. the rest of your sticky drink crashes down onto you, spilling and seeping through your clothes, while suguru’s quick to mutter out, “oh shit, sorry!” 

you shake your head, “don’t worry! it’s fine!” but suguru isn’t hearing it, his cigarette dangling haphazardly from his mouth as his brow is scrunched in concentration while he tries his best to wipe at the mess with his hands. embarrassingly, your core flutters at his touch, especially when his fingers swipe across your thighs. 

“let me clean you up,” he says, half mumbled from the cig, handing his drink over to you, before unzipping his jacket. “don’t have any napkins on me, sorry.” 

your nerves continue to fire off, getting the best of you and the words of ‘really! it’s fine!’ die off your tongue. you glance around, looking for something, anything, to take your mind off of geto’s sweater dragging across your exposed skin, especially when he dips down in between your thighs dangerously close to your heat, to dab at the liquid that’s dripping off your body. 

gojo’s laugh booms again, causing you to glance over at him and you welcome the distraction. you catch his eye and he gives you an excited little wave, catching you off guard. you wonder if he can see just how flustered you are, but still, you raise your own hand back and he grins wider, before breaking eye contact as someone else calls for his attention. 

in an effort to calm your nerves, the recent memory of gojo’s affable bright smile definitely not helping, you take a big swig of suguru’s drink, forgetting it’s not even yours. his drink is stronger, thanks to the lack of melted ice, burning as it slides down your throat which makes you cough up some, scrunching your nose as some liquid runs down the side of your mouth. 

but geto uses a thumb to catch it, smirking at the way you blink up at him bewildered, “all clean.” 

you take a breath to steady yourself before speaking, “um, could you…  take me home?” you push his hands away, wanting nothing more than to hide under the safety of your covers. at this rate, you might pass out, the night’s been a bit too eventful for your taste. 

he nods, getting up and dusting himself before reaching out with an outstretched hand. you take it without hesitation, tensing when he starts to brush the sand off your shorts. you let him do that for a few moments, breathing hitching when his hand gets concerningly close to the bare skin of the back of your thighs, heart thrumming in your chest and pounding in your ears.

“just making sure,” he says, before he throws his cigarette into the pit, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. “lead the way, princess.” he grins as he steps off to the side to make room and give a small courtesy bow which makes you laugh. 

he makes eye contact with satoru and gives a small wave before leaving with you, catching you each time you stumble in the sand, marked by shoe and foot prints from excited partygoers. he lets you know that he’s got you each time while you mutter out various ‘sorry’s!’ meanwhile, gojo peers over his friends, eyes honing in on your forms before he says a quick goodbye to them and runs off. 

as the two of you are finally on solid land, you hear a “wait a minute!” and glance back. jogging towards you is none other than gojo satoru and suddenly you feel like throwing up. you’re not too good at meeting a new person, let alone two. 

“hi!” he says as he huffs, hands placed on his knees. 

“are you actually winded from that?” geto laughs, a pretty little tune that plays on your ear. 

“i drank so much, dude. give me a break.” gojo responds. 

you’re even more uncomfortable as the two of them joke around, stuffing your hands into your pockets as you stare at the ground. satoru shifts so he’s in your view, bending sideways, pretty snowy hair falling down his face. 

“anyways… hey.” he says again but softer this time, twinkly eyes on yours as the corners of his lips upturn. “i’m satoru.” 

“hi,” you say, giving a small wave, before you state your name. “nice to meet you.” 

nervously, you glance back up at geto, who smiles reassuringly back at you. with your heart definitely beating a mile a minute, you back away. “it’s this way.” you say, jutting your thumb behind you, and the two friends nod. 

“we’ll follow you,” geto says, nudging gojo to stand up straight, who in turn, elbows him back. “go ahead.” 

you nod, trudging forward, listening to their continued talk behind you. it’s just their voices, the sea breeze, and the sound of shoes on pavement as you walk. you look back towards them, taking a moment to eye them, you drink in their tall, built forms, the matching dark outfits, sweaters and all, and for a bit, you decide to trust them. you trust the easy going smiles, the laid-back banter, and the way that satoru smiles each time he looks at you does a lot to ease the tension in your body. 

it’s not too long into your walk, maybe only 30 minutes since you took the last of your drink, before you start to feel… strange. there’s a heaviness that starts to settle in your limbs, your mind going foggy. you reach out, grabbing onto one of their sleeves, who’s sleeve? you’re not sure, but you grasp it trying to dig your nails into the cotton fabric, as your knees buckle from your own weight. 

“hey? are you okay?” a voice asks, bouncing around your brain as the scenery starts to spin. you must’ve grabbed suguru’s sleeve, as you try to focus on the inky strands of hair that fall past his shoulders. you reach out with your other arm, trying to grab onto something as you continue to fall, a ring starting to settle in your ears. 

“geto?” you call, as you feel another large hand on your lower back, trying to keep you steady. “i think, i need… to go home.” but you don’t hear a reply as the void takes over you, swallowing you up, as you fall completely unconscious into the arms of geto suguru. 

the two of them are quiet, the easy-going atmosphere suddenly gone. you’re thrown over geto’s arm haphazardly, limbs limp, as they stare down at you. gojo speaks first.

“that was quick,” he says, bending down to brush your hair away from your face. “how much did you give her?” he trails his finger down your cheek, poking the skin, before tracing the outline of your lips. he has half a mind to kiss you, but decides against it, wanting his first with you to be when you’re awake.

“the usual,” geto responds and if you were awake, you’d see he feels a little colder, eyes almost vacant. “you wanna carry her? you like her more don’t you?” 

“i don’t just like her,” gojo responds, before he’s lifting you out of geto’s arms. “i’m gonna make her my girlfriend and depending on how well things go, i’ll marry her soon.. ish.” he cradles you gently, carrying you in his arms, princess-style like as he watches you with mirth filled eyes. 

geto rolls his eyes, “oh yeah, i’m sure she’s gonna wanna date you after this.” 

gojo snorts, glaring daggers at his best friend, “she’s not gonna have a choice.” 

maybe if you weren’t so naive, you wouldn’t have ended up like this. you blink awake, body still heavy from whatever drug was, or perhaps is, still coursing through your veins. the lull of sleep continues to beckon you over, the weight of your eyelids aiding in it’s cause, but you try to stay awake. something feels wrong. 

you decide to start with your legs, wiggling them around when you realize you’re in a bed rubbing your legs against the silken sheets. you focus upwards, wanting to move your arms to prop yourself up, until you realize: you can’t.

the rope around your wrists is tight, coiled up and keeping you locked in place. even as you try your best to wriggle out of them, you’re doing nothing but giving yourself rope burns as panic starts to settle within your bones.the room you’re in looks normal enough, a desk off to the side, jacket hanging on the door, but there’s something sinister in how normal it looks. and you wonder just whose bedroom is this? 

“oh, hey, you’re up.” you hear as the bed dips under the newly added weight. it’s gojo, peering down at you. he’s taken off his top and jacket, leaving only his pants, and if you weren’t terrified, you’d probably appreciate the sight. you can see his eyes clearly now, his sunglasses sitting atop his nightstand and as beautiful as they are, you can’t be lost in them for long. 

“gojo?” you try, voice barely louder than a whisper. 

“call me satoru.” he responds, a pretty smile gracing his features. 

“where..” 

“are you?” another voice chimes in, a voice that’s sweet, almost mockingly so. you glance towards the direction it’s coming from to see suguru, head leaning against his open palm. he smiles when the two of you make eye contact, the same disarming smile he gave you a few hours ago. “heyo~”

you’re still disoriented, glancing back between the two of them as you try your best to slide out of the binds. 

“hey, hey,” satoru starts, placing a hand over your wrists, “you’re gonna hurt yourself, baby.” his warmth isn’t comforting, it’s terrifying and the way that pet name falls off his tongue so easily freaks you out further. just where the fuck are you?

you can feel your tears welling up, nevermind the fact that your consciousness is still foggy. you’re exposed - vulnerable - with two men you’ve only met recently. there’s goosebumps on your skin, clad in nothing but your panties as you try to curl in on yourself, but gojo won’t let you. instead, he wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer, your head resting on his thigh. 

“gojo,” you plead, starting to sniffle, “i wanna go home…” 

“satoru.” he reminds you gently, before his hand starts to trail up and down your side, trying his best to comfort you. “i’ll take you home later, okay?” 

you shake your head, tears starting to fall, little droplets stain his pants, “why not now-”

“told you,” suguru drawls, interrupting you while his expression remains uninterested, “she’s scared out of her mind.” 

“thanks suguru, great input.” satoru deadpans, shooting him a glare before his focus is back on you. “i can’t take you home yet, but i will. i promise.” and those words shoot straight to your stomach. it’s so eerily similar to earlier, when geto promised he’d take you home and that he was safe. 

“my friends…” you mumble, “are gonna notice i’m missing.” it’s a pathetic attempt of a threat, your friends are already long gone and home for the night, but there’s the hope that when morning comes and your “i’m home” text doesn’t show up, they’re bound to notice, right? 

“hm? which ones? the ones that left you or the ones that let us take you here? oh wait, those are the same ones.” suguru taunts, snickering as the pit in your stomach grows by the moment, “it’s really funny what people will do for money.” 

you furrow your brow, heart shattering at the confession, because there’s no way your friends would sell you out. but the shit-eating grin that won’t leave suguru’s face, almost as if it’s etched in stone, silently confirms your worst fears. “i don’t…” - understand is the word that should be said, but it escapes you like the sand between your fingers on that fucking beach that you never should’ve been at in the first place. 

“okay, so, don’t freak out.” gojo starts, before muttering, “well i guess you already are, huh.” on the brightside, the drug suguru gave you is strong enough that the disorientation nestled so deeply within you is able to keep your screaming at bay. 

satoru’s focus, unlike yours, is almost too sharp. he’s been chasing after you for a while, but finally having you in his headlights is driving him insane. the tips of his fingers continue tracing up your arm til they find the depressions in your neck, that he has half a mind to wrap around to see what you’d look like with his hand as a necklace. but that can wait, he’ll be soft with you for the first time. 

“the important thing is that you’re here with me. you came out to have fun right? have fun with me and i’ll take you home.” he winks, his easy-going front still on full force as he tries to calm you down, but you flinch when he gets a little too close to your lips. 

in your mind you know, there’s always a catch. “what do you want from me?” you ask, voice featherlight, but everyone in the room knows what it is he wants. 

“i think you know,” suguru chimes and if you could curse him out, you probably would. “why else would we bring you here?” 

“hmm,” gojo hums, his thumb gliding across the top of your cheek to swipe at some of your tears. “you know, you’ve been coming around to our little get togethers for a while, but this is probably our first real conversation.”

gojo’s always liked you. when he first saw you, he thought you were cute. doe-eyed and clumsily searching for an open spot to sit while you did your best to hold onto your friend’s shirt, you caught his eye. cuter still were the pretty laughs that came from you, sometimes even snorting when something particularly funny was said. 

there was a minor issue though: you’d never look at him, no matter how much he bounced off the walls, even when he’d head over and say ‘hi’ to your friends, you scampered away much more interested in your hands situated in your lap. and maybe that was the charm, you were prey he wanted to catch. 

it wasn’t long til he noticed your quick, continued glances at suguru and how you only did it when you were sure he wouldn’t notice you. he was sulky at first, irritated that his best friend seemed to take his spotlight, but who is geto suguru if not gojo satoru’s closest and greatest friend? and with enough prying, geto got the information out of him and simply laughed. gojo was a little hesitant when geto suggested a plan, something they haven’t done in a while. 

“i dunno, i thought we decided we were over that.” satoru pouted that day as he stared off, focused on the others at the park. 

“you got any bright ideas, lover boy?” suguru retorted, leaning back on the park bench, hands in his pockets. 

“nah.” he shrugged, elbows on his knees and bent forward. and so they ended up here again, except, in gojo’s bedroom for once. 

“you know your friends were pretty easy to convince,” satoru grimaces, his thumb swiping at your tears. “you should really get some new ones.” 

you’re unsure if you’re more mortified than flattered that satoru feels so strongly for you. but there are no words that spring up in your mind, there’s nothing you can possibly say. 

“listen, the goal here, princess,” suguru starts putting emphasis on the pet name as he gestures between you and gojo. “is that satoru fucks you, you’re his girl, and you guys get to live happily ever after.” 

“...and if i refuse?” you counter, but your voice is still barely above a whisper as tears continue to fall down your face. 

“dunno if you wanna do that.” satoru sighs, before he catches the phone that suguru throws over. he opens it up, before turning it towards you revealing the photos they took of you earlier, tied up and exposed. “i mean you do look really cute in these, but i’d rather they stay in our circle for now.” 

the weight of that word is heavy, because there is no universe in which you’re allowed to say no. you’ve fallen deep into their sticky web with no chance of climbing out, the only thing left is for their fangs to sink into you. the images they’ve taken burn into your mind and you steel yourself to find your resolve. 

there’s a few pros when you think about it. gojo’s handsome, a little funny, and seems to actually like you. you’re not entirely sure if it outweighs the con of fucking drugging and then kidnapping you, but what can you do with the cards you’ve been dealt? geto is whole nother can of worms you don’t feel like delving into. 

“fine.” you sniffle and gojo perks up, lips curling up into a smile. “… i’ll do whatever you want.”  

“told you she’d say yes.” he singsongs as the other rolls his eyes. “that settles it, you’re officially apart of the gojo clan!” neither you, nor suguru, have the heart to tell him that you didn’t actually agree to marriage. 

“well then!” suguru claps, making you jolt. “let’s get started, yeah?” he shifts from his spot, moving til he’s back up against the headrest. “let’s get you a little more comfortable,” he says, pulling you up til your back is flush against his clothed chest. “that’s better.” 

you don’t have time to worry about just how fast things are going when satoru slots himself between your legs, heart racing in fear mixed with anticipation when he pushes your panties to the side as his fingers flutter around your clit. 

meanwhile, suguru is pulling your thighs back, locked beneath his elbows. as much as you want to close your legs, you can’t. suguru’s too strong for you. 

“you don’t need these, right?” gojo mutters, hands gripping one side of your underwear, but there’s no reason to answer as he rips them clean apart, chucking them onto the floor. 

it’s silent for a moment as satoru watches the rise and fall of your chest, quickened in your panicked state, before his eyes meet yours. he grins, “man, you’re so fucking cute, you know?” 

you heat up under his gaze, and you try to look away, but he simply leans in, so close your noses almost touch as he stares deeply into you before looking down at your lips. your breath hitches again as his lips ghost over yours and you shut your eyes when he asks, “can i?” 

it’s an odd first kiss with your hands tied up and his best friend in the same bed as you in a tangled mess of limbs but he’s surprisingly soft. you’re falling, so deeply into the kiss that you don’t notice the way suguru pulls your knees up more so he can get better access to your chest. 

you squeak when you feel a pinch on your nipple, suguru seemingly getting bored and deciding to pass the time playing with you. your squeals soon turn to moans as he rolls the nub between his fingers and satoru uses the opportunity to slip his tongue in, spit mixing with yours as your mouths mesh together. 

his fingers find their way downward again, lightly trailing up and down your folds with feather light touches, making you twitch each time he brushes against your clit. you jolt when he sinks a finger in, encouraged by the wetness of your hole, pushing back against geto in an attempt to squirm away, but you can’t, sandwiched between two men who can do whatever they want, however they want.  

gojo’s good, adding in another thick finger to your slick heat and sliding in your gummy walls. it’s different from when you do it, your digits are slender and smaller than his. you keel, moaning and thighs trembling, but gojo’s lips stay firmly on yours as does geto’s hand which continues to pinch and palm at your breast, sending ripples of hot pleasure through you. 

“you gonna cum on his fingers, pretty?” geto murmurs, voice low as he nips at your ear. 

satoru continues to pump away, fingers curling into your sweet spot and dotting your vision in stars of white. he picks up the pace when you mewl louder, the sound rushing straight to his dick as your slick rolls down his hand. you press further into suguru, whimpering and thighs tensing before you cum messily on satoru’s fingers, bucking and kicking as much as he allows you. 

“that’s it,” suguru drawls, his hot breath on your ear, “good fuckin’ job.” he says it like he’s the one inside you, churning up your insides. 

satoru pulls away, a small trail of saliva connecting the two of you that he laps up with his tongue. he slightly groans at your pretty spit slicked lips, before he’s taking out his aching cock. he’s big. big enough to make you whimper as he rubs your juices over his cockhead, precum already beaded on his tip, before running it through your sensitive folds. he’s slow, wanting to enjoy his first time with you, as he lines up to your still twitching entrance. 

“fuck,” he hisses as he sinks inch by inch into your dripping pussy. the stretch drives you insane even with the prep beforehand and he stills when he bottoms out, hips flush with yours. “sucked me all in, huh?” 

suguru and satoru move like they’re sync’d, somehow knowing what the other wants to do. suguru’s hands are replaced as satoru pushes your knees back up against your chest as your head lolls backward onto suguru’s shoulder, mouth agape.

“ah, ah,” suguru tuts, cupping your cheeks with one hand before forcing you to look back at the other. “let him see your pretty face.” 

“s-sorry,” you manage to say before satoru starts moving, your breath getting caught in your throat as you mewl out, “oh, fuck.” 

a breathless smile falls on satoru’s face, as he watches yours contort in pleasure with each slow drag of his cock within your tight walls that seem to swallow him up with each thrust. your embarrassment is long gone, replaced with a fervent need as satoru fucks every single thought out of your brain. 

“satoru,” you whimper and he digs his nails harder into your thighs, to not blow his load right then and there, but the way you plead his name as you stare up at him with needy, glass-blown eyes almost sends him over the edge. “satoru.” 

“yeah?” he coos, leaning in and tilting his head, as he slows the pace down, “what do you want from me, baby?” 

“use your words,” suguru says, pressing hot kisses to your cheek, reminding you that he’s still there. “c’mon, i know you’ve still got some in that pretty little head of yours.” you can feel his erection pressing against your back, as his hand snakes down to your clit to rub slow, sticky circles on your sensitive nub. “or are you too dumb on satoru’s cock, hm?”

gojo laughs, spurred on by geto’s continued teasing, “aww man i think she is. wanna be my lil cocksleeve? get fucked stupid everyday?” 

he laughs harder when your eyes roll back, cunt clenching at his words, the first time you’ve been talked down to like this. meanwhile, suguru switches to hook a finger into your mouth, digging his nail into the wet, warm cavern of your cheek, hot breath puffing onto his hand. when your eyes flutter up at him, he snickers, “you good?”

you feel a tap on your cheek and shift your blurry focus back on the one inside you, buried up to the hilt while his hips still slightly grind into you. his blue eyes burn through you and in moments like this, you truly can’t read him. “answer me.” 

through the haze you nod, but it’s not a good enough answer in suguru’s book. “you can do better than that.” he chastises bringing his hand down onto your puffy clit, slapping hard enough to make you squeal and bite down on the digit keeping your mouth open.

tears prick your widened eyes as he does it again, “that’s for biting me, brat.” he hisses, and you find your words again, stumbling out ‘sorry! ‘m sorry!’ as drool runs down your chin and his hand. but suguru is fucking mean, swatting down at your puffy pussy, each hit just as hard; a stark contrast to the sneer on his features while he hooks in yet another finger to pull your cheek further out. 

although the nicer of the two, satoru can’t help but be enamored with everything you do, especially if you’re screaming and crying trapped between the arms of his best friend. his cock twitches in your cunt, “well fuck, aren’t you pretty when you’re cryin’ on me?” he groans, pulling back out just to slam his hips back into yours at a brutal pace making you squeal louder.

you’re incredibly overwhelmed, glancing back between the two of them as the tears start to leak down your face again, chest heaving. you hate that it feels so fucking good to be used like this, having absolutely no control. still, you fight against your restraints once more, trying to raise your hands just enough to push against satoru’s abs to slow down, but it’s all moot, he won’t stop until he’s satisfied.

“shh,” suguru soothes, starting to play with your clit again, trying to ease the sting. “sorry for getting carried away, you’re just so fun to ruin.” his hand once again moving to cup under your chin, smearing drool and tears across your skin and  tilting you so that his tongue is able to press against your cheek, licking a stripe to taste the saltiness of your tears as his chest vibrates with a low groan. he can’t wait til it’s his turn to get his hands on you. 

“suguru - oh fuck - ‘m sorry, fuck, ‘m really sorry,” you blubber between moans, still whining and writhing, he raises an eyebrow at you with a hungry grin, liking the way you call his name. 

but satoru’s the one who answers, breathless and groaning, “it’s okay princess, shit, don’t worry about it. just focus on me, alright?” 

you’re pliant and close to your high, easily shifting back to satoru, watching him through muddied vision and mumbling out, “mkay, satoru.” 

the sweat rolls down the side of his brow and he’s so close to letting go, but satoru’s a bit of a romantic, thinking it’d be best for you to cum at the same time. still, the way you call his name has him glaring up at suguru, letting him know what he wants. 

his friend nods in acknowledgment as the speed of his fingers quickens, expertly working over your clit. “c’mon,” suguru taunts, already caught on to how much you like it when they’re mean, “be a good little slut and cum on satoru’s cock, yeah?” 

his words run straight to your core, as you babble out “mhms,” body tensing and jerking as your orgasm is finally coaxed out of you.

“fuck,” satoru hisses, groaning out, “good fucking girl.” as he unleashes his load deep into you. 

you hiccup and whine a few more times before you go limp in suguru’s hold, falling asleep. 

“shit, i think she passed out again.” suguru mumbles before he undoes your bindings, uncharacteristically kind as he rubs his palms over your tired and sore wrists. carefully, he slips out from underneath you, letting you fall back onto the bed. “you overdid it, satoru.” 

gojo’s unresponsive, chest heaving as he stays within you, so geto takes it upon himself to do the finishing touches. he reaches over, grabbing his phone and unlocking the camera app. 

pressing the red button, he captures the scene. you’re effectively passed out at this point, arms sprawled at your sides and head lolled back. this is always his favorite part, even more so than the actual fucking. there’s just something so fun about recording the aftermath, messy and dirty and oh so wet. 

satoru swoops down into view, throwing a wink and a smile, before reaching out for the phone. suguru obliges, tossing it over to let gojo capture what he sees. 

“you stayin’ over?” gojo asks, paneling down the expanse of your skin, littered in sweat, cum, and marks. he makes sure to record when he pulls out, as slowly as he can, to show off your swollen hole leaking out his seed.

“yeah, i’ll knock out on the couch.” geto replies, grimacing as he notices the wet patch of cum and fluids on his pants. he swipes a clean pair of gojo’s hanging on the back of his computer chair before heading out. he stops at the door with a quick turnaround to ask, “let me play with her sometime?” 

“of course,” his friend responds, kneeling down between your legs, spreading open your folds to further watch his sticky cum drip from your abused hole. “i owe you big time. let me know if you need any help yeah?”

gojo’s like a kid in a candy shop, delving his fingers in between your hole and your folds to catch some of the sticky substance dripping to the floor before bringing it up to the camera with a whistle. 

suguru shrugs, hungry eyes scanning back to your sleeping form before his lips curl up into a smirk. “nah, don’t think i’ll need to.” 

and satoru’s the same, just as insatiable as his friend, tossing his phone to the floor before he’s crawling up over you again, nose burying into your dizzying scent. fuck, he should’ve asked if you were cool with somno. well, maybe it’d be alright. it’s not the worst thing he’s done tonight. 

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Alrighty, beautiful human, I have a request for you if you have the time: I desperately need fluffy Ford. I need kisses and cuddling. The general story is up to you, but I NEED sweet, loving Stanford.

hello, sweetheart <333 thank you for requesting this because I also need sweet, loving Ford myself :,,) but I’m so sorry, about the cuddling part - I got carried away and missed it aghhh I hate myself :(((

ps - I’m absolutely in love with ur fics💗

tags: kind of awkward Ford, coffee date, autumn, forest, fluff, sfw

Leaves crunched underfoot as you and Ford wandered through the forest, the path framed by trees ablaze in shades of red, orange and gold. The air was crisp, carrying the earthy scent of damp moss and fallen leaves. Ford seemed to take it all in with a kind of wonder, like he was seeing the world with new eyes — which, honestly, wasn’t far from the truth. After so many years spent away from this dimension, you thought it was cute how he marveled at simple things like sunlight filtering through branches.

“Thirty years,” Stanford started. “thirty autumns I missed. I almost forgot the way the colors seem to breathe in this season." 

He reached up, fingers brushing a low-hanging branch laden with scarlet leaves, and you smiled at that. There was something so sweet about his awe, his joy, so obvious at moments like this.

“Guess you’re getting to be an Earth tourist now,” you teased gently. 

Ford chuckled, giving you a sidelong glance. “Ah, yes, perhaps. But I think I like this. . . rediscovery.” a small smile tugged at his lips. “some things are even better than I remember.”

The path opened to a clearing with a breathtaking view of the valley below, a sea of trees stretching into the distance, every shade of autumn imaginable. You stopped, a thought popping into your head as you took out your phone. “Hey, Ford,” you called, grinning. “take a picture of me?”

He looked at you, surprised, then down at the phone like you’d just handed him a puzzle box. “A picture?” he held the phone with both hands. “Of course, but. . . er, bear with me. These things were a bit. . . different last time I checked.”

You stifled a laugh, nodding as you struck a pose. “Just press that button,” you said, pointing at the screen. “It’ll be easy, I promise.”

Ford cleared his throat, focusing intently as he poked at the screen. "Alright. let me see. I just. . . press this here?"

But as he tried to get his bearings, he accidentally tapped the wrong icon. Suddenly, the camera flipped and his own face filled the screen — caught mid-frown, brow furrowed in confusion. He froze, staring at his reflection like it had personally betrayed him.

“Oh. . . uh. . .” his cheeks flushed as he looked between you and the screen, thoroughly bewildered. “It appears I’ve become the subject instead. Hold on. . . where did— no, this— ah, infernal contraption. . .” Ford mumbled, eyes squinting in concentration as he fumbled to switch it back.

You couldn’t help it — laughter bubbled out and you doubled over, nearly losing your balance. “Awww, Ford! you look so lost, it’s so cute!”

He looked up, flustered but laughing along with you. “Yes, well,” he grumbled, a crooked smile breaking through. “I can navigate alternate dimensions, but apparently, your ‘smartphone’ remains beyond my understanding. I think it’s mocking me.” with a sigh, he handed the phone back, an embarrassed grin still tugging at his lips. “Perhaps. . . perhaps I’ll leave the photographs to you, sweetheart.”

You took the phone from Ford’s hands, still chuckling as you swiped the screen to switch back to the camera. “Alright, here we go, Mr. Genius. Just try not to look too cute when you take my picture or I might just keep it as blackmail.” 

“Blackmail?” he feigned horror, eyes widening dramatically as he stepped back. “Sweetheart, you wound me! I thought we had an understanding! I’m an esteemed scientist, not a criminal mastermind!” 

You giggled and turned your back to him, posing with the beautiful autumn scenery as your backdrop. “Okay, now I’m ready!” 

Ford cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure as he positioned the camera. “Right, focus,” he told himself. “just like in my journals. You know, I could’ve cataloged the beauty of this moment scientifically, but no, I’m reduced to a photographer.” 

He pressed the button, and you could hear the faint click of the shutter. Turning to face him, you couldn't help but brighten at the awkward seriousness in his eyes. “You’re doing great! Now, maybe try a few more. I want options.”

“Options,” he repeated, still smiling, shaking his head in amusement. “Isn’t one good photo sufficient? the universe won’t implode if I don’t get a perfect shot.” 

“Yeah, but what if I want to look cute in a different way?” you teased, putting your hands on your hips.

With a smirk, Ford nodded. “Alright, what would you like? a ‘mysterious thinker’ look? of perhaps a ‘fierce scientist’ pose?” 

“Definitely the fierce scientist!” you exclaimed, throwing your head back dramatically. “I’ll pose like I just discovered a new dimension, just like my man.”

“Very well,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “On the count of three. . . one, two—”

But before he could reach three, you struck a ridiculous pose, one hand on your hip and the other dramatically raised as if you were battling interdimensional forces. “take that, Bill Cipher!”

Ford burst out laughing, shaking his head. You were just too adorable in his eyes. “Sweetheart, I’m pretty sure Bill would be quaking in his. . . well, whatever he has in place of boots.”

He snapped the photo and you saw the corners of his mouth twitching, clearly trying to suppress his laughter. “Okay, now that was an excellent one. Hold on. . .” he leaned closer, inspecting the image as if it were a rare artifact. Ford seemed to have caught fire with the idea of photographing Bill's defeat.

“Let me see!” you leaned over, your shoulders brushing against his as you peered at the screen. 

“Oh, this is just splendid. You look so cute, darlin.” Ford leaned closer to examine the screen, fixing his glasses. 

Your heart fluttered at compliment and you nudged him playfully. “Now, you should get in the next one. I want a picture of us!”

He looked a bit apprehensive again, glancing at the phone like it might explode. “Are you sure? I mean, what if I fumble it again?” 

“Trust me, you’ll be fine!” you shot him an encouraging smile, and after a moment, he relented, taking the phone back.

“Alright, alright,” he said, adjusting his glasses as if preparing for a complex experiment. “just don’t move too much. I need to concentrate.”

You stood beside him, leaning into his side, feeling the warmth radiating from him. “Okay, how’s this?” you asked, flashing a big grin.

“Perfect, hold still.” he raised the phone, staring intently at the screen like it contained the answers to the universe. 

“Uh, Ford, i think you need to press the button now.”

He blinked, breaking out of his focus. “Right! the button!” he pressed it, and just as he did, his finger slipped, causing the phone to snap a picture of you both in the most ridiculous pose — your mouth still open mid-laugh and Ford’s expression a mix of shock and concentration.

You burst into laughter again as Ford stared at the photo, face turning a shade of crimson. “Well, that’s certainly not going to be framed,” he muttered, trying to suppress his smile.

“Oh come on, it’s adorable!” you pressed your cheek against his.

However, your laugh made the corners of his lips twitch upwards. “I suppose it has a certain charm to it,” he admitted, chuckling softly. 

You grinned, putting your hand on his arm. “Let’s take another, hun, but this time, we’ll get it right. Just be yourself, Ford. No need for dignity.” 

“One, two. . . three!” you both said at same time.

Click! 

As the image captured, you both broke into laughter, the sound echoing through the autumn trees. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this free, this happy, sharing this moment with your couple. 

When Ford looked at the photo this time, a satisfied grin spread across his face. “Now that’s more like it,” he said, glancing at you with that spark of affection in his eyes.

As you admired the photos, a realisation suddenly struck you. “Wait!” you said excitedly, grabbing his arm before he could put the phone away.

Ford looked at you, curious. “Wait for what?”

“You’ve been gone thirty years, right? that means you haven’t tried my favourite coffee at that little café by the lake!” you could barely contain your enthusiasm, a wide genuine smile spreading across your face. “we have to go there right now!”

Ford raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smile as he followed your lead. “Well, you know I can’t say no to my seasoned guide of modern luxuries.”

🍂🍂🍂

The café was a cozy little spot nestled on a quiet corner, with big windows that showcased the lake outside. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans, warm spices, and just a hint of something sugary, like caramel or maple syrup, filled your nostrils. You spotted a chalkboard behind the counter listing their seasonal drinks and pointed eagerly at one in particular.

“That’s it! The ‘Golden Harvest Latte.’ It’s a mix of espresso, steamed milk, cinnamon, nutmeg and a swirl of caramel. It’s like autumn in a cup, I swear.”

Ford eyed the menu with interest. Well, considering his last ‘caffeine experience’ involved coffee brewed over a campfire in another dimension. . . he was open to something a bit more refined.

The barista greeted you with a smile. “Hey there! the usual?”

“Absolutely! and I have a new fan who needs to try it,” you said, motioning to Ford.

You turned to him, your eyes sparkling with happiness. “You won’t regret it! just wait until you taste it.”

And soon, the barista handed over two steaming cups topped with a dusting of cinnamon and an artful swirl of caramel. The scent hit you first, warm and sweet, making your mouth water. You handed Ford his cup, watching as he eyed the foam with curiosity.

He brought the cup to his lips and took a careful sip, eyebrows lifting as the flavors blossomed across his tongue. The richness of the espresso and a hint of spicy warmth from the cinnamon and nutmeg, all balanced by the buttery sweetness of the caramel.

“Wow,” he murmured, eyes widening. “yeah, this is delicious. I didn't know that a drink could have such a complex taste.”

You laughed, pleased by his reaction, and took a long, indulgent sip of your own. “Right? It’s like drinking a warm hug, this is my absolute favorite fall treat.”

Ford took another sip, clearly savouring it this time, his expression softening as he looked out the window at the golden leaves falling. “It’s funny,” he said quietly, “I’ve been to so many places, seen so many strange and alien things, but it’s these little, simple moments that feel the most surreal. Sitting here, with you, drinking coffee.”

You reached across the table, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Well, lucky for you, there are plenty of little things like this to rediscover. And I’ll be here to make sure you try them all.”

🍂🍂🍂

Stepping out of the café, the refreshing autumn air greeted you both, still tinged with the scent of cinnamon and coffee. Ford held the door for you, the smile never quite leaving his face as he watched you rummage in your bag for something. Finally, you pulled out your lipstick, a soft, rich shade that matched Ford’s turtleneck perfectly. 

“Would you look at that,” you said, holding it up beside his collar with a little grin. “I guess I’ve got a good eye.”

Ford chuckled, glancing between the color and his sweater. “It seems I’m unknowingly fashionable. I’ll take that as a compliment.” his eyes lingered on you as you applied the lipstick, your lips soft and inviting, the color blooming in a way that seemed to suit the season and Ford watched, clearly entranced.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you capped the lipstick, noticing the way his gaze softened.

“Oh, nothing,” he replied, though his voice had a gentleness to it, he swallowed, shifting his stance slightly. “just appreciating the moment.”

You took a small step closer, lifting a hand to rest gently on his chest. Ford’s breath hitched, neither of you spoke, both letting the warmth build in the silence, the soft murmurs of the town around you fading away.

“I think you might need a little color yourself,” you whispered, your thumb grazing his cheek as you leaned in. His eyes closed as your lips met his, softly, tenderly and you smiled in a kiss. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours and you could still taste the coffee and caramel. Ford’s hands found their way to your waist, holding you.

The world seemed to blur, the only thing that held you back was the feeling of his lips against yours, soft and warm, as if they had been waiting for this. Ford’s fingers brushed against your back, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss with a mixture of gentleness and longing.

When you finally pulled back, his eyes fluttered open, looking at you with a softness you’d rarely seen. He reached up, brushing his thumb across your cheek, unable to take his eyes off you.

“What’s got you so captivated now?” you asked, a smirk creeping onto your face.

“Just realising how lucky i am.”

you noticed the gleam in his eyes, as if he had finally, after all these years, found his way home.

[vaultdwellerbarbie]

drew a map on your bedroom ceiling

boone (twisters)/f!reader (3.4k wc)

summary after weeks of being with boone, you officially cannot handle how badly you need him any longer (sequel to mary's song)

content warnings smut, unsafe sex, multiple orgasms, cannot be read separately from the first part it won't make any sense

so when i realized that i wanted to write smut about boone i wasn't sure what, and then i was like... huh... i'm just gotta write a sequel to the last boone fic. this is kind of a mid-quel because there was a time jump of a few months in the fic and this takes place in between that. yes this is also named after taylor swift lyrics who's surprised

It had been about two weeks since the nature of your relationship with Boone had changed. Though you had both decided to sleep in the same bed as each other every night, nothing beyond that had happened. Everyone you knew believed that something beyond that had happened, but nothing had. 

Sure, you’d made out with him a little bit. You had gotten a bit aroused while kissing him, and you knew that he did too, but neither of you went any further than kissing each other. He’d get a little handsy, kiss your neck, make a little noise when you did the same to him - but neither of you knew how exactly to approach anything further than just making out. You’d been friends for so long, it was different when it came to actually sleeping together. To be clear, you both wanted to, you just didn’t quite know how to approach it. 

Perhaps the only way to approach it was just to confront it head-on, at this point, it sort of felt like you were losing your mind. You almost always sat beside him when you were on camera, you would spent most of your time with him - you were always close to him, and it always made you happy. It wasn’t a new phenomenon to have him beside you, or even to have his leg pressed against yours in the truck. It was a new feeling to have his hand gripping your hand during videos, to have it resting politely on your thigh while you try to act like that wasn’t having any real effect on you. 

The moment you were back in the room that you were sharing, you weren’t even positive that Boone had locked the door before he had you pressed against him. This was customary, you would make out like your lives depended on it and one of you would have some sort of interruption. Whether it was Boone deciding that he wanted to take a shower because he ‘smelled’, or you deciding that you were too nervous to push too far - one of you got nervous, and one of you backed out before it got too far. 

But what was ‘too far’? You wanted to be with each other, you’d already told each other than you’d loved each other, you worked in one of the most dangerous paths that you could possibly work in and you had to trust each other to stay safe and protected. There was something intimate about everything that you had already done together, but for whatever reason, you were both scared to cross one line. It almost felt silly to you. Boone had been there when you almost got hit by debris more than once, he’d been there when you were doing a bit too much and having a bit too much fun and needed to be reminded that tornadoes were - in fact - dangerous. Namely, though, he had been there with you when you both almost died in that movie theater. Never before had you come closer to death, and never before were you more glad to see anyone than you were to see Boone in that moment. 

Reaching behind you, you were quick to make sure that the door was actually locked before pulling away slightly from Boone. He watched you, his breath intense and fast, his eyes curious. This was where you always cut off, actually, it was before where you always cut off. There was something else in those eyes, though. A question he didn’t know how to ask, a feeling he didn’t know how to convey.

Perhaps it was embarrassing that neither of you really could figure out how to broad the subject, and reaching down to pull him against you by his belt probably wasn’t the best option, but it was the one that you decided upon regardless.

Boone was a bit surprised by your sudden movements, a noise leaving his throat as you pressed your lips back against his. The kiss was hungry, needy, and he had no qualms in intensifying it as he brought a hand to the back of your head. His fingers tangled in your hair, holding your face against his as he slowly tugged you with him toward the bed. You’d done this before, you weren’t unfamiliar with the feeling of him sitting down and pulling you on top of him. Typically, it would end with you under him, with his lips on your throat, before something got in the way. This time, you were determined to see this through. 

Boone’s hands rested on your hips, your own hands holding onto his shoulders as your legs straddled his thighs. You could feel him bringing a hand lower, resting on your backside and squeezing the flesh there - again, normal, customary. He wasn’t doing anything that he hadn’t done before, meaning that it really was up to you if you were interested in taking things any further.

He let out a groan upon feeling your hips grinding against him, his hands tightening on you as your timid movements became a bit more fluid. It was subtle at first, it could almost be mistaken as accidental, as your body simply moving on its own. But you could feel him getting hard beneath you, and you could feel him rubbing up against your core, and it very quickly became incredibly apparent to him that you were acting on your own volition. 

“Honey, you gotta stop doing that.” He pulled back slightly, his eyes blown out in a way that you hadn’t seen them before. “I’m not- unless you want to-” 

“I want to, of course I want to.”

“You’re sure? If you’re not ready-”

“I’m ready, Boone. I want you so badly.” 

“I want you too, princess.”

His lips were on yours in an instant, a yelp leaving your mouth at how abruptly he used his strength to get you to the top of the bed. Boone broke the kiss to get your shirt over your head, his hands quickly moving to your back to undo your bra. Still, he made sure to get your confirmation before taking it off, and you couldn’t help but appreciate just how much he cared about making sure that you were fully comfortable above anything else. 

But Boone was still a man, and you couldn’t help but be slightly embarrassed by the way that he stared at your chest like you were some sort of art piece. Your hands tugged at the hem of his shirt, which he quickly removed for you before bringing his hands to rest on your torso. He pushed you down against the bed, and his lips covered yours again but it was softer than it had been before. 

The feeling of his hands exploring your skin left you feeling energized; despite this being the first time you were with him like this, exposed for him like this, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel nervous when it came to Boone. 

A sigh left your mouth as you felt his hands finally moving up to cup your chest, your back arching slightly as you felt his thumbs brush against your nipples. He pulled back to look at you, his hair hanging slightly in his face. This was probably the quietest that he had ever been in the entire time that you’d known him, but he seemed to just be savoring the moment. This was new territory in your relationship, and he just seemed a little bit in awe that it was actually happening. 

“You’re sure?”

“Boone-”

“I’m just making sure.”

“I appreciate that,” You replied, a warmness in your tone as a smile covered your lips. “But I really kinda just need you to fuck me.” 

“You’re gonna give a man a heart attack talkin’ like that.” He responded, but quickly dipped his head down so his lips were against your neck. Your fingers gripped his hair with one hand, your other hand moving down to explore the warm skin of his torso. You didn’t often see him with his shirt off, so you were typically taken aback by how well-defined his torso was. He leaned into your touch, allowing your fingers to trace his skin as his lips trailed further down than they ever had before with you. 

A moan escaped you as his lips connected with one of your nipples, his other hand continuing to explore down your body before reaching the button on your shorts. You lifted your hips off of the bed, allowing him to unbutton and unzip the article of clothing which you did your best to shimmy out of. 

Boone, seemingly with a new fire lit in him, wasted no time in continuing to kiss down your torso.

“You don’t have to-”

“Let me make you feel good, I want to taste you.” You felt a fluttering in your stomach upon hearing his words, your eyes locked on his as he continued to move down your body before he was settled in between your legs. 

“Sorry I didn’t wear sexier underwear.”

“You could make anything look sexy.” His words came out instinctually, his eyes focused on your core as he slowly removed the last layer of clothing from your body. The cool motel air against your skin told you that were definitely incredibly wet, and the sharp intake of breath that came from your boyfriend’s lips confirmed that. “This all for me?”

You nodded, a whimpered “I want you so badly,” exiting your lips as you felt him run his finger from your clit down, experimentally pushing a finger inside of you before pulling it back out. 

“You’ve got me.” He reassured you, his eyes locking with yours for just one more moment before he moved his face to where he knew that you needed him. 

The feeling of his facial hair against your skin tickled a bit, but it wasn’t course. That feeling was very easily masked by the feeling of his tongue against your clit, your eyes clouding over as you tried to focus on him. When he made a promise to make you feel good, it was incredibly apparent that he was devoted to keeping it. Boone moved his mouth against you like his life depended on it while you bit down on your bottom lip to try to keep yourself quiet. He kept his hands placed firmly on your thighs, keeping you from fidgeting too much so you didn’t interfere with what he was doing.

“That feel good, baby?” He asked, breaking his lips from yours as his fingers ran across the skin of your thighs.

“Why’d you stop?” You complained, his smile widening at the deep pout on your lips.

“Just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.” 

Truthfully, he just wanted to be a tease. But he didn’t tease you for much longer as he reconnected his mouth with your cunt. The feeling of his lips against your clit had your hand on his hair, tugging it just slightly but not enough to hurt him. He didn’t mind the feeling of your fingers tangled in your hair, it really only spurred him on do do more and more to bring you closer to the brink. 

Boone’s movement’s didn’t slow, his tongue pushing slightly inside of you before moving back up to your clit. It seemed that he was dead set on giving you the first orgasm you’d received from him (directly, because you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t gotten off to the thought of him before and you knew that the’d done the same) from his mouth alone, and it was working wonders. 

The moment you felt that coil building in your stomach, it was incredibly difficult for you to keep quiet. You knew that the walls were thin, and that you didn’t want to deal with the teasing from your friends in the morning if they all overheard you, but he was also making you feel just so good that it was harder than you would’ve liked to admit for you to keep quiet as you quickly reached your very first orgasm of the night. 

When you came down from that high, you figured that Boone would pull away. He, instead, moved a hand from your thigh and pressed two fingers inside of you. Feeling a bit oversensitive, you squirmed at his touch, but couldn’t deny the fact that he was still making you feel good.

“Boone,” You whined, bringing his attention back to you. “You’re not- you should-”

“What was that, baby?” He was full-on teasing you now, moving his body again so he was on top of you. His face was in front of yours, his breath hot against your lips. “You better use your words.”

“I want you to feel good, too.”

“I will, promise. I just need to get you ready, okay? I don’t wanna hurt you.” He responded, his fingers continuing to pump inside of you. “Just wanna get another one out of you before I fuck you. Think you can do it?”

“Can you kiss me?” 

“Happy to.” He replied, leaning down to press his lips against yours. It was sloppy, you could taste yourself on his tongue, but something about that turned you on. Not because you could taste yourself, but because it was from kissing him - because you knew that this was intimate and personal, and because you sincerely knew and hoped that nobody else would ever do this with him again. 

Boone brought his thumb up to rub circles against your clit, adding a third finger inside of you. He brought his hand down to rest on your stomach, holding you down to stop the way that you were fidgeting underneath him. 

“Come on, baby, just one more and you can have what you want.” His voice was almost pleading, but you knew it was because he needed relief, too. Bringing your hand down to his pants, you could feel him straining against them. A grunt left his lips at the feeling of your hand against him, rubbing him through his pants so gently that he almost forgot that he was trying to make you cum first. The feeling of his hips bucking into your hand excited you, a slightly satisfied smile covering your lips as he clicked his tongue. “Thought I told you-”

“I just wanna feel you so bad.” You responded, his eyes softening for a split second before he leaned down to press a kiss against your cheek.

“You will, just cum for me again.” 

It didn’t take you more than a little over a minute for your cunt to squeeze his fingers, his free hand moving from your waist so he could press it over your mouth to keep you quiet. As much as he wanted the world to know that you were his, and that he was the only one who could make you feel like this, he also didn’t really need all of your friends to hear you - it would be embarrassing for both of you, and you’d never hear the end of it. 

Despite your absolutely out of breath, slightly sensitive, state your fingers were undoing his pants before he even had time to register that you had opened your eyes again.

“You’re so eager.”

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” You admitted, letting him shimmy out of his pants. Your eyes caught on the bulge underneath his boxers, bouncing back up to meet his gaze as he let you remove them from his hips. Boone let you touch him for a moment, his head falling back as your hand wrapped around his cock. He knew that you were going to need a moment to come down from that, and he couldn’t deny how good it felt to have you touching him.

“How long have you wanted this?” He responded, his voice catching for a moment as he felt you rubbing the precum on his tip down his shaft. 

“Remember that one time you tripped and knocked me over?”

“That was like- two days after we met.”

“Mhm.”

“I knew I wanted you when Tyler introduced us.” He admitted, his voice a bit darker as he tried to focus on talking to you and not just the feeling of your hand wrapped around him. You were experimental with your movements, but just as you gained a bit of confidence in what you were doing, he removed your hand from him. 

“You got a condom?” 

“Uh-”

“It’s- I’m on the pill, it’s fine.” 

“You sure?”

“Please, I need you.” Bringing your hand up to his face, you smiled at the way that he leaned into your touch. “I love you so much, Boone.”

“I love you too, so much.” He pressed a gentle kiss against your palm, leaning down to capture your lips with his. It was slow and steady, just like the movement of his hips as he pushed into you. He did his best to ease you into it, to make sure that you were comfortable at every step. It was clear how much he was holding himself back, but the moment you gave him the go-ahead, any apprehension that he was feeling was lost.

The feeling of his hips pumping into yours was new, and there was no arguing that he was somehow bigger than you had expected, but it felt so good. It felt so good being with him, being this closer to him, having his forehead pressed against yours and his eyes gazing into your own.

“You feel so fucking good.”

You weren’t sure what came out of your mouth in response to that, a line of gibberish that made him fully laugh as he leaned down to kiss you again. There was a smile on his lips, one that made you smile. But he didn’t slow his movements down for a second, and the moment he realized that he hit that spot in you that made you see stars, he made sure to hit that over and over again until you were putty in his arms.

Pulling back, he pressed his hand against your mouth again. “You sound good, baby, but you’re too loud.” 

You nodded in agreement, knowing that everyone else would be able to hear you as he brought you closer and closer to another orgasm. Boone’s moans were more subdued, but it was clear that he was trying to keep himself quiet. His face was so close to yours, his hair brushed up against your face and his breath fanned over your skin as his hips continued to pound into yours. It wasn’t until you felt yourself reaching your third, and final, orgasm of the night that he finally allowed himself a release.

There was a scattered arrangement of words coming out of his mouth, you really couldn’t make out what he was saying, just that he felt good. When he finally did open his eyes again, he quickly removed his hand from your mouth so he could kiss you again. His kiss was gentle, but it was also messy. While you both felt relieved, you also felt incredibly, incredibly exhausted when you came down from your high.

Boone pulled back when he felt your face falling slightly, shaking you awake a little bit. “That good?”

“So good.” You replied, a sleepy smile covering your mouth as he pulled away. He was gentle with how he pulled out of you, his eyes caught between your thighs for a moment before he grabbed a clean pair of boxers and walked into the bathroom. 

You were half-asleep by the time he came back, waking up to the feeling of him cleaning you up but listening as he did his best to soothe you back to sleep. Boone would help you put one of his shirts and a pair of underwear on before climbing into bed with you. He smiled warmly at the feeling of you cuddling into his body, your face nuzzling into his chest as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

All in all, it became a lot easier to focus at work after you both relieved the tension that was eating away a little bit at the both of you.

[indecisivemuch]

Foolish Ones

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: What if...there is a Prom at Camp Half-Blood? Aka, a story where the both of you are just blind fools who finally crossed the line between friends and something more (best friends-to-lovers, angst, fluff, pining, a lot of longing, lowkey jealous luke, HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE!!!)

Note: Not proofread thoroughly. Idk, thought it would be funny if Prom was a thing at Camp Half-Blood. Sorry for the long break, I've been really busy but Easter break is coming soon! Inspired by a couple lines from "Dress" by Taylor Swift.

Word count: 3.8k

Despite the abnormal life of being Demigods, campers still buzz in excitement at the announcement of a prom happening at Camp Half-Blood. Never would they think that that would be a thing. But now that they knew it was an upcoming event, talks, gossip and bets started infiltrating every corner of the camp — who do people think would ask who to prom, who would reject who? After all, they were all still teenagers.

There was one thing that neither you nor Luke knew: the bet with the leading amount of participants was on the two of you. Some theorized he would take up this opportunity to finally confess his feelings and ask you to be his prom date. Some people bet that you would be the one to do the asking. Others claimed they had zero hope because it seemed like you two had been dancing on this line of something and nothing for too long that they could not remember when it started. 

Now, where to even begin on you and Luke. You were his first friend at camp. Despite the fear of opening up after the Thalia incident, it somehow felt so easy when it came to you. Then came your five years of friendship, and somewhere in between, glances turned to looks of longing. It became so evident that if you were to ask any campers about it, they’d have something to say — perhaps theories on when this all began or speculations on when the two of you would finally cross the line. Yet, somehow, the two of you were the only people who did not know of this slow-burn mutual pining.

The announcement of Camp Half-Blood’s Prom was in April, with the date of the event happening mid-May. You have rejected two prom date offers solely due to a pinch of hope that your best friend would ask you. You were hoping all his little actions that you sensed as things beyond the line of friends were true. But as time ticked, your confidence slowly diminished.

It was now the beginning of May, and that slight hope that Luke would ask you has now been reduced to the size of a grain of sand.

“I don’t think it’s gonna happen, Clarisse. Prom is two weeks away,” you sighed, hands on both sides of your face.

“Well, why don’t you ask him instead?”

“I would have…but by now, if he has not asked me, that probably means he is not interested, so I don’t see the point in doing so myself.” Gods, it was slightly exhausting for Clarisse to watch the both of you pine after each other for years only to stop right at the boundary of stepping into something. She watched as you sunk into some kind of self-spiraling moment. It was evident on your face that your brain was trying to convince you that Luke only felt platonic things. Sometimes, she believed you both must be utterly blind to not realize how the other felt.

“Well, I think—” Clarisse stopped when she saw you look behind her, mouth slightly agape with a shocked look. She smirked at this, almost letting out a breath of relief that Luke finally asked you to be his prom date. The girl turned around to face the sight that you were looking at, but she almost jumped upon seeing what was behind her. “Oh…?” The response left Clarisse’s mouth before she could think twice.

There he was, standing with a singular rose in his hand and a nervous look on his face.

“Y/N, will you be my prom date?”

The whole area was silenced. You were convinced other campers could even hear your thoughts in this deafening quiet. Gods, you could even feel their eyes glued onto you like hawks waiting on their prey.

In front of you was a boy from the Hermes cabin. Honestly, you did not even know his name. You just remember seeing him around occasionally. 

No, it was not Luke.

A short laugh left Clarisse’s mouth before she could stop herself, but she quickly did upon seeing you look in her direction. But to Clarisse, it was obvious, especially when you and Luke have had this long history of mutual feelings that everybody could see — Surely, the boy knew better. You have even turned down two others —

“Yes, I’ll go to prom with you.” Murmurs among campers came as soon as you said those words. You swore you heard gasps as well, though you ignored it as you stood up to take the flower from the boy’s hand. You gave him a half smile while deliberately ignoring the confused look Clarisse was sending you.

Somewhere between realizing there were merely two weeks before prom and getting asked out by this Hermes boy, your brain has prompted you to say yes. Your mind finally convinced you no good would come along with crushing on your best friend, not when he was not interested in you, and neither were you planning to be a fool to wait around any longer. Maybe getting asked out by other guys were signs you should move on. 

You could feel your heart aching and screaming at you to take your prom proposal acceptance back, but you ignored it. You have made up your mind. You knew moving on would hurt, especially after liking Luke for such a long time, but you deemed the pain as a necessary part of the process.

Little did you know, in the corner of the same area, stood a frozen figure.

Luke was standing still where he was emerging from with his breath stuck in his throat. His heart sank at the sight of what he had just witnessed. The boy's eyes fluttered as if hoping he could blink away the sight before him. However, as the situation sunk into his bones like claws digging and ripping through his skin, Luke let out a chuckle of dejection. 

“Luke?” Chris called out. Though upon seeing the sheer look of sorrow on Luke’s face, Chris tried to comfort his friend, “Come on, you can—”

“I can what? It’s too late, Chris. I took too long...” The Hermes cabin counselor looked down at his and Chris’s hands. He blankly stared at the poster he had made yesterday, the bouquet of your favorite flower that he had hand-picked for you, a box filled with gifts, balloons and photos of you two. 

If only you knew Luke had spent the last month preparing this prom proposal. He snuck out of camp multiple times to buy the things he needed, including hunting down the items you have always talked about. He wanted it all to be perfect because, to him, you deserve nothing less. Hence, it took him so long to ask you to prom…too long. 

Luke shut his eyes and let out a deep breath. He shook his head before deciding to hand everything to Chris, who was spilling out words of encouragement. However, realizing they were useless, Chris stopped. His eyes widened when Luke muttered at him to just throw away all the stuff that was now in his hand. Before he could object or change Luke’s mind, the Hermes cabin counselor had already vanished to clear his mind. 

Left alone, Chris looked down at all the stuff in his hand and sighed — Oh, you two were blind fools.

For the next two weeks, camp seemed duller from the lack of interactions between the two of you. The bet among campers was nullified since no one had bet that either of you were going with anybody else. They were so sure the two of you were meant to be.

Just like the rest of camp, you have felt off. You haven’t seen Luke since the day that boy asked you to be his prom date. It seemed almost like your best friend had been avoiding you, though you ruled it as his counselor duties filling up his schedule, especially considering prom was tonight, maybe Luke was helping with setting up the event.

You made your way back to your cabin to get ready, though you felt uneasy because of a negative feeling looming over your mood. You remember being so excited for prom when it was first announced, even anticipating it would be the night you had the most fun in your life. Yet, here you were, foot feeling heavy while heart feeling disconnected. You stopped in your step as you spotted a familiar figure, and the feeling that was weighing you down lifted slightly.

“Hey, stranger,” you could not bring yourself to say his name because you knew doing so would make your own heart tug. His name has somehow become part of your vocabulary — a word so endearing that it warmed your heart and brought a smile to your face every time you said it. You knew learning to unlove him would be a hard task, but not having him around felt was also daunting, “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy with counselor duties,” being best friends meant being able to pick up the slightest of signs that something was off, and you could hear the alarms ringing in your head. You started picking your nails but stopped when you saw him eying your hands. Curse his ability of knowing you too well.

Luke’s eyes softened at your nervous habit. He wanted to hug and comfort you over whatever unease you had, but the boy knew that would do more damage to his heart. To be so near you and knowing you didn’t like him that way. After all, you rejected two guys before agreeing to that one specific boy. Surely, that must have meant you thought the guy was cute or something.

“Oh, well…” you paused before quickly blurting out, “I’ll see later, then?” You could hear your brain scowling at your heart. You wondered if you seemed desperate.

Meanwhile, Luke felt his heart soar at the thought of you wanting to see him, yet at the same time, it ached. He felt pathetic, really. But nevertheless, he was willing to take anything you were willing to offer him, even if it was just a small glance his way. 

Luke wanted to mock his own heart sometimes, calling it sadistic because how could it want you so badly that it was willing to hurt itself doing so? Yet, deep down, the boy knew if crushing his own heart into pieces would bring a smile to your face, he would do exactly so. Gods, you were going to be his demise.

“Yeah, see you later, Y/N” he answered, and you quickly waved him goodbye before entering your cabin and going towards your bed. You sat down on your bed, feeling the mattress sink while your heart also did the same slightly. Something has changed between the two of you, and you hated this awkwardness looming around.

Your eyes landed on the dress you bought a month ago. Your eyebrows scrunched whilst trying to ignore how your heart was aching.

It was in Luke’s favorite color. 

~~~~~~~~

Shawn, your prom date was a nice guy. He gave you a flower and said you looked pretty, and you thanked him before complimenting him back. Then, the two of you joined others around the campfire, swaying along to the music while engaging in small talk. You tried your best to ignore the feeling that was weighing down your chest. Though, you could not help but zone out from whatever Shawn was saying.

Luke hated knowing Shawn and knowing he was not at all a bad candidate for you. However, Luke also hated knowing he could be better than Shawn and could offer you so much more if only he had done so sooner. 

You looked ravishing tonight. Luke felt as if he had been bewitched at first sight. You left him stunned and speechless. Every inch of you left him mesmerized. 

Oh, your dress was in his favorite color. His heart leaped at that as his eyes lingered on how the fabric hugged your body. It’s been an hour since you arrived, and Luke’s eyes have not left you at all, as if they were made just to look at you and nothing else. Even with the music and conversations around him, he could only focus on your occasional laughs and murmurs. He sighed in longing at the thought of having you in his arms as the two of you danced the night away, leaving this one night branded in his heart as one that would redefine his life. Instead, here he was, a spectator rather than the lucky one. 

Luke looked away, trying to breathe out the envy that was overfilling every organ in his body. The boy knew he was to be blamed for the anguish he was drowning in, but he still despise the situation. Luke felt his chest was hollow like an empty glass frame with only his crumbled heart hanging up to be displayed, and worst of all, everybody could see it. If he could, he would abandon his Demigod life to go build a time machine. 

Oh, the despair of losing something and someone he never had. Maybe your acceptance of Shawn’s prom proposal was Aphrodite telling Luke to move on. However, that was the last thing he would ever do. He’d much rather love you in the dark forever instead.

You have re-painted his notion of love and rearranged his understanding of it. Now, whenever he even remotely thought of the word, he could only seem to think of you. Luke could not fathom thinking of anybody else ever when thinking of love.

Luke turned back to where you were, hoping to steal one last look before leaving the event. He thought that maybe this was it. Perhaps it was time to forever close the door on the idea of ever letting you know of his feelings. However, his heart quickly hitched when he saw that your eyes were already on him — those eyes that could talk him into doing anything. 

He wanted to turn away, he really did. But how could he be the first to break eye contact? Gods, you were his Achilles heel, and forever would you have him at your disposal, even if your heart does not belong to him.

His mind started rewiring. You hadn’t stopped looking at him, and the expression on your face was enough to spark a speck of hope in him. But like always, anything related to you would spread through his heart, mind, and body like a wildfire that he never had bothered to put out. 

Before Luke could think about it, his foot took him towards you and through the bodies of people dancing. By the time he reached you, he was not sure if it was the campfire or the nerves that were heating up his cheeks. 

“Can I steal Y/N for a second?” Luke spoke as Shawn spotted him. However, the second Shawn saw the look on Luke’s face, something seemed to click in his mind. He turned to you next, and that was when he knew it was time. There was no competition here, at least from Shawn’s point of view. There was a love story, and it was clear as day who you were meant to end up with. Part of him knew of this even before asking you out, yet he wanted to give it a shot anyway. But it was time for him to step away, and Shawn did it without much bitterness. He nodded and patted Luke on the back before walking away.

One of your favorite slow songs started playing, and Luke smiled when your eyes glimmered at that. Luke felt that heavy feeling in his heart lifted for the first time in two weeks. He never realized the extent of it, but just seeing you happy was enough to make him feel the same. You mirrored Luke’s smile, letting out a small sigh of relief when noticing he was no longer distant. Gods, you missed the way both his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and that’s how you knew he meant it. You were elated at the thought that maybe things are returning to normal for you two.

“May I have this dance?” Luke offered a hand to you. There was something so sincere in his voice that caught you slightly off-guard. Though, you brushed it off like always, still convinced that your best friend did not see you that way.

Before you knew it, the two of you were swaying while giggling along with the song. You almost snorted from the jokes Luke was whispering in your ears while Luke would proudly smile at himself when you playfully hit his chest from his cheeky comments and remarks. You both swayed to the music that was slowly fading away. He softly leaned his head on yours, closing his eyes with contentment as he caught the smell of your perfume, which would always linger behind, leaving traces of you every time you departed.

The song finished, but Luke’s feet continued swaying despite the silence between songs. He would dance until his legs deteriorated if that was the only way to keep you near him.

Oh, to have you but not have you. It felt as if somebody had cut Luke’s heart open and sprinkled salt on the wound. It hurt him, but nevertheless, he looked at you like you were the only one that he could imagine himself being with. His eyes lingered on every detail of you, swallowing them whole as if he intended to make you the subject of all his paintings, like an obsessed artist.

“Luke?”

Luke closed his eyes briefly as his breath quivered at the sound of his name on your lips. You said his name, and his world just stopped. It has been a good two weeks since he had heard his name from your lips, and it suddenly reminded him how much of a desperate man he was when it came to your words, your touch, your looks, and everything that had to do with you. He was utterly defenseless.

“I don’t want you like a best friend,” Luke breathed out before he could think twice. Realizing what he had just said, he decided right then that he wanted you to know everything. He wanted to let you look into his heart and understand it has always been yours.

“What?”

“I want you—I want to be yours,” he spoke, tripping over his words as his mind spun around what to say next. There were too many things he wanted to say, and he desperately wanted this moment to be perfect. 

“I really, really like you, Y/N,” he spoke, hoping it would send the exact message he was trying to convey. “Like in a hopeless and irrevocable way… it’s driving me insane.” He added, his voice slightly shaking, though his heart burned when you didn’t reply. 

“Please say something,” he whispered, any bit of courage he had earlier evaporated faster than he could imagine.

Your mouth hung slightly agape at his words. His words has seemingly took all your breath away.

He wanted you. 

You almost laughed at how pathetic it was that both of you had been sulking the whole night over something that could have been avoided if either of you had the guts to speak up. Just an hour ago, you were so determined to get over him. Yet, here you were. This moment felt like having your dreams come true and unsure what to do with it. But deciding enough time has been wasted, you wrapped your arms around his head and pulled him down towards you.

Luke met you in the middle. His breath trembled slightly as your lips met his. He immediately put his hands on both sides of your face, caressing it ever so delicately like he was holding a national treasure in his hand. The boy felt his angst melting away, heart tangled in his throat as the moment rendered him speechless. If he could pick one singular moment to remember in his next life, this moment would be it.

You giggled as Luke unintentionally whined quietly when you pulled away. You mirrored his actions and set your hands on the sides of his face. Your thumb rubbed his face before uttering, “I like you too…” You watched as a grin grew on his face, and you mirrored it, quickly adding, “In fact, I think I like you a little too much.”

“Gods, you don’t understand how much I like you.”

“I’m sure we’ll have time later to find that out,” he grinned at your words.

The sound of someone whistling pulled you both from your little moment. Turning both your heads, you saw Chris with a big folded piece of paper, balloons, flowers, and a rather big box. Luke let out a chuckle in disbelief. He was grateful his friend did not follow his words and threw away the items. 

You watched as Luke left your side for a second to grab the box and muttered something to Chris. The other boy unfolded the paper, and your eyes widened slightly at the sign.

“I was gonna ask you to be my prom date, but Shawn beat me to it,” Luke approached you with your favorite flowers and the box, opening it to let you peer in. When your eyes landed on the things in there, your heart almost melted. Some of it was your favorite treats, a small photo album of the two of you, and gifts you always mindlessly said you wanted to have. Some were hard to find, and the thought of him going out of his way to hunt down these items warmed your heart.

“It’s too late to ask you to be my prom date now…but I do have another question I want to ask,” you looked up at him, and the way he looked at you right at that moment made you realize you were screwed forever because nobody would ever measure.

“Will you be mine instead?” Luke watched as you smiled at his words and took the flower out of his hand.

“How could I ever say no to you?” you pulled him in again, and Luke, once again, sank into the kiss like an addiction he welcomed with open arms. 

Oh, you were the best thing that ever happened to Luke, and he was never intending on letting you go.

-------------------------

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[mapis-putellas]

Trust in me

Pairings: Natasha x you

Words: 2418

Warnings: none that i know of

Summary: Natasha gets injured on a mission, and as a result, allows you to carry her for the first time.

It had been a complete accident. Something she knew could have been avoided had she only been paying attention. One second, her widow bite had attached itself to the metal grating, and she was falling with the knowledge she'd land safely on her feet. The next, she'd hit the concrete with a thump, and a cry of pain she didn't even know she was capable of emitting had slipped from her lips without permission as her hands clutched the gravel below.

It hurt. Oh god did it hurt. But she had no time to really take it in before she found herself being hauled to her feet by non other than Clint. He'd all but dragged her back to the quinjet, and Natasha had collapsed onto one of the seats doing everything possible to swallow back the sobs she knew were desperately trying to escape.

She didn't know what happened. She doesn't know what went wrong, even now after making it back to the Avengers compound. She'd fallen from further heights before. More times than she could even count and every single one of them she'd come out completely unscathed. Not a single bruise on her.

She stares down at the bruised and swollen appendage with a look of distaste on her face, eyes stinging with tears she refuses to let fall. How could she have been so stupid?

You rush into the compound slightly winded, skin clammy with sweat as you head straight towards the medbay. You'd been in the middle of dinner when a phone call from Clint had halted you mid task. It was Natasha. She'd fallen and had hurt herself in the process. She wouldn't let anyone near her, not even the doctor on call.

You hadn't waited for further details before you were grabbing your things and scrambling out of the house. Natasha was hurt. She was alone and you had to get to her. You were pretty sure you break several laws doing so in fact.

You hadn't been dating for long. A little over six months perhaps so the honeymoon phase was still very much in progress. You spent practically every waking moment together with the exception of missions and such, and you knew full well you'd never loved anyone as much as you'd loved her.

That very L word had yet to be spoken aloud however, because despite how much you clearly adored one another, she was still Natasha, and Natasha's walls were built so high you sometimes feared you'd never be able to tear them down. There were moments though. Moments when you see that soft gaze and hoped that one day, she'd let you have her completely.

When the medbay door comes into view, you hasten your pace slightly until your hand was pushing on the handle and you were stepping inside. The sight that greets you all but breaks your heart. There Natasha was, sat on the large medical bed clad in only her tactical suit that was half off and tied around her waist. Her leg was elevated in front of her, bruised and swollen beyond recognition and your stomach all but clenches at the sight.

What breaks you further was the look on her face. She looked small, so scared, and when those green irises meet your own, they immediately become shiny with tears. Instinct alone seemingly has her reaching for you, and you don't hesitate to comply with her silent plead. You cup her cheeks first, thumbs tenderly grazing over the soft skin. That seems to be permission enough alone for the dam to break, the first hot tear of what you suspect would be many streams down her cheek leaving a wet trail in its wake.

"Oh baby, it's okay." You murmur as you bring her into your arms, her hands immediately scrambling for purchase and clutching the material of your shirt at the small of your back. You cup the back of her head, pressing your lips against the slightly tangled and sweaty tresses. "You need to let them look at you okay?" You find yourself somewhat pleading as you run your hand up and down her back, but Natasha simply let's out a choked sob as she shakes her head.

Her hands tighten around you, almost as though she was terrified you were going to push her away. In a desperate attempt to sooth her fears, you tighten your arms around her trembling frame and take a small step closer to the bed. It was a few minutes later before you dare to speak again.

"Baby, you're hurt. Please." But Natasha's almost silent cries seem to grow slightly in volume, and you decide it would probably be best to give her a few moments. You continue with the gentle ministrations against her back, your lips pressing continues tender kisses against the top of her head and to any part of her body you could reach from your current position. Her body soon becomes still, and you crane your neck slightly to peek down at her.

Her eyes were red and bloodshot, nose tinged red and cheeks soaked with tears. Feeling your own throat constrict at the sight of seeing your girlfriend so upset, you give her hip a gentle pat to get her attention. In response, you get an almost timid hum of acknowledgment.

"Would you let them fix you up if I held you?" This wouldn't be the first time Natasha had allowed you to hold her. In fact, behind closed doors, she was quiet the snuggle bug contrary to popular belief. It had taken a while for her to get to the point though. When you first started dating, simply resting a hand on her arm without warning appeared to be too much, and she'd often flinch away without really meaning to.

She'd always apologise though, eyes shy as she'd cautiously reach for your hand to encourage it back to her body, and you'd comply with her silent implication, using the pad of your thumb to trace gentle circles on her skin making sure your hand remained within her line of sight at all times.

It took many months if trial and error, mainly on your side, to get her to the point of being comfortable enough with affection, and now, a part of her body always has to be touching your own, and she was always the little spoon when it came to cuddling.

Her favourite position, however, was laying completely on top of you with her head nestled just beneath your chin. Her legs would curl up on either side of your hips, and she'd spend hours in your arms if you let her, hands clinging to your shirt whilst your own would slip beneath her sweater and simply rest on the bare skin at the small of her back.

Outside closed doors however, she couldn't be more different. The most she accepted was hand holding and the occasional kiss on the cheek or forehead, and even then it wasn't often. It was why you were so wary of asking despite the fact you knew it was the only thing that would sooth her.

Natasha remains silent for a while, so long in fact you feared you may have said the wrong thing. But then you feel it. A timid nod against your chest, and you knew then she must be in some pretty horrific pain.

"Okay, hang on tight angel." You murmur after pressing another kiss to the top of her head, coaxing her arms to wrap around your neck as opposed to your waist. Once you were sure she was hanging on, you slip an arm beneath her legs and situate the other around her waist. You then, for the first time in your six month relationship, lift your girlfriends body up into your arms.

It was no secret that Natasha was petite, and it was also no secret that should she allow it, you could lift her with absolutely no issues. But Natasha wasn't the kind of person who lets herself be coddled to that extent, even behind closed doors, so you take a few moments to relish in the feeling of holding her like this knowing you may never get the chance to again.

She was lighter than you anticipated she'd be, and the way she clings to you has you falling all the more in love with her. A few quiet moments pass before you turn and gently ease yourself down onto the spot she'd just vacated, the red head sat comfortably on your lap with her legs sprawled out on the bed next to you. Her upper body twists slightly as her arms curl up in between both your chest, and she hides her face in the juncture of your neck before you could really get a good look at the current emotion on her face.

With the knowledge of how hard this must be for her, you allow her to remain hidden in her little safe space as you murmur gentle words of encouragement into her ear, one arm holding her close to you whilst the other rubs gentle circles across the length of her back.

It was only after her nod of consent a few minutes later do you finally allow the doctor into the room, and just like you had suspected, her ankle was well and truly broken. Natasha doesn't utter a single word as her ankle was casted, nor when asked about her pain on a scale of one to ten so you take it upon yourself to answer for her and listen to whatever instructions the doctor throws your way.

An hour later, it was all over, and it was just you and Natasha again. Your lips quirk up into a gentle smile when she finally peaks her head out of your neck, letting out a quiet huff at the sight of the massive, bulky cast on her leg. It went from her toes all the way up to just below her knee. She turns to you, a pout on her lips, and you tenderly lean up to kiss it away earning yourself a shy, yet genuine smile.

You secure both hands against her hip and give her a gentle squeeze before speaking.

"Are you ready to head home?" The pad of your thumb slips beneath her tank top, grazing gently against the bare skin of her hipbone.

Natasha doesn't hesitate to nod her head, a soft exhale slipping from her lips and hitting the skin of your neck leaving a pleasant sensation in its wake. You give her another soft squeeze before beginning to rise to your feet with her in your arms with the intention of grabbing a wheelchair.

"Me too. Let me to grab-"

Before you could even begin to lift your butt from the bed, a small no slips from Natasha's lips prompting you to look up at her up at her with your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Baby, you can't walk." You regretfully inform, but Natasha shakes her head again. Her lips part, and you wait for her to tell you the problem but not a single syllable seems to want to escape her lips. She lets out a deep, slightly frustrated sigh before trying again, clutching the material of your shirt in her hands in what you knew was her attempt at keeping you sat. You comply, knowing that whatever she was trying to tell you must be important if it was so hard for her to say,

"I.." she trails off, letting out another sigh before shaking her head, "No wheelchair." She mumbles, her voice holding an air of finality despite its quiet tone.

"Nat," you try, but she cuts you off with another shake of the head.

"No. No wheelchair. I want...will you..."

"Will I what baby?" You soften your tone slightly, giving the side of her thigh an encouraging squeeze.

Natasha looks down at her lap, her quiet, almost bashful voice filling the room just moments later.

"Carry me."

It was said so unsurely, so hesitantly you feel your throat constrict with the onslaught of tears. Pushing them back, you reach up and cup both her cheeks before pressing a gentle kiss to the spot just between her eyebrows.

"Of course I'll carry you, angel." You reassure, and Natasha flushes a light shade of red when your lips move down to meet her own in a tender kiss. That doesn't stop her from reciprocating however, and she does so without hesitation, her hands rising to cling to the shirt situated either side of your waist.

After a few moments, you force yourself to pull away knowing you'd never make it back home if this were to continue. Natasha pouts, and you can't help but playfully nip at her bottom lip as you rise to your feet with her cradled in your arms. That earns you a quiet giggle, and your stomach flutters at the sound as you somehow find it within you to temporarily set her down so you could pack up her things.

Once everything was stored away in her ops bag, you temporarily set it aside before heading back over to Natasha. You bend with the intention of lifting her up again the same way you had before, but before you could so do, she leans forward and wraps her arms around your neck.

Your hands rest on her sides for only a moment before her intentions become clear, and with a soft kiss to her neck in acknowledgment, you slip a hand beneath each of her thighs and lift her slight frame up into your arms. You bounce her up slightly before bringing both arms down to rest underneath her behind, easily supporting her weight in your arms as you bend to grab the discarded ops bag and throw it over your shoulder.

As silly as it sounded, she fit absolutely perfectly in your arms, and you knew for a fact  holding her like this was going to be your new favourite thing. Her chest was flush against your own, arms secure around your shoulders as she buries her face into your neck. You smile at the feeling of the tip of her nose grazing against your skin.

"Ready baby?" You give her behind a few soft pats, and all Natasha was able to give you was a sleepy hum of content.

Your heart melts at the sound.

"Okay, angel. Let's go home."

**

It took a little more time than intended but I finally got this finished. I’d love to hear your thoughts!!