#if not earrings then it will be a tiny thing to hang up somewhere like on a rearview mirror

[sea-buns]

even if i was all caught up on cr i dont think id be watching the ep tonight. still not even at the 2 hour mark in the fhjy ep for various reasons but mostly cuz i got trapped scrolling pinterest and sketching ideas for fig/ayda inspired earrings. that meteor shower has taken my attention hostage istg

[sttoru]

‘if there’s anyone in this world who loves being a girl dad the most, it must be your husband — gojo satoru.’

☀︎｜tags. girl dad!gojo x female reader. fluff. you’re married. reader gets called ‘mama, sweetheart’. wrote this at work so not beta read. fic one out of two for satoru’s birthday!

giggles fill the living room — familiar laughter that sounded like your daughters’. a more sultry and manly voice also resonates in the background. one that you could recognise from miles away.

your curiosity leads you to investigate the source of the joyful sounds and soon enough, you find your dear husband and daughters sitting on the couch. though, in a situation you hadn’t quite foreseen.

satoru was talking on the phone about important business whilst your little girls were giving him a rather sparkly makeover. the most heartwarming thing was satoru’s surrender to your daughters’ antics — allowing them to do whatever to his face and hair.

“mhm, yeah..” the white-haired sorcerer hums over the phone, not having the slightest idea about what ijichi was yapping about. probably something that has to do with the recent sighting of a special grade curse in the city.

but, that wasn’t satoru’s priority at the moment at all (even if it should have been). his focus was all on his two daughters that were enjoying their playtime with him.

“papa’s so pretty.” one of them comments with a big smile — a smile satoru wishes to protect until his last moment on earth. her fingers push and pull on a small strand of his hair, trying to tug it into another ponytail.

satoru had already lost count of how many messy and half-done ponytails his snowy hair got divided into. the same goes for the amount of stickers on his face and neck.

the two sisters work together to put another pink and glittery sticker on satoru’s chin — though were no match to their father’s playful attitude. he jerks his head forwards and teasingly nibbles on their tiny hands that came in touch with his face.

this causes almost ear deafening squeals to reverberate through his ears. not that he’s complaining — satoru loves to hear them.

“. . .gojo, are you listening?” ijichi’s shaky voice over the phone interrupts the squeals. satoru doesn’t even try giving a proper response and only mutters a quick ‘yeah’ between snickers. that was enough of a sign for ichiji to understand that he couldn't get through.

everyone knew how much satoru loved his little family. he cherished them and put them above everything, including his work. sometimes it was necessary for you to remind satoru that he's needed outside your home - that he was and will keep being the strongest sorcerer that people depend on.

"wow, you two really made papa super pretty!" satoru coos as his daughters bring him a hand mirror. his phone had already been discarded somewhere on the couch - not even bothering to hang up on ijichi first.

your husband effortlessly picks the children up and cuddles them close to his body, smothering them both in sloppy wet kisses on their cheeks and necks - making them giggle uncontrollably. "y'know, papa will give you both a nice little reward for making me so beautifu—”

a faint cough echoing from the mobile device next to them reminds satoru that he was still on call. he reaches out and grabs his phone, rolling his eyes in a sassy way before clearing his throat;

"i need to attend important business. see ya." the sorcerer declares and hangs up right after. to him, playing around and taking care of his daughters was more than necessary. even in comparison with an actual critical situation: it wasn't like there weren't any other special grade sorcerers that could take on the mission.

the second his phone plops back down on the couch, satoru's hands fly over to tickle his little girls' bellies. they wriggle and squirm around in his lap - squealing for help from their mama.

you had been watching the scene unfold from the doorway and decide to join in on the fun once you hear your daughters’ call. you gasp dramatically before scurrying over to the couch, acting like you were genuinely scolding your husband for his 'torturuos' tickles;

"oh no, my little girls!" you pout, taking in the way your daughters laugh and outstretch their tiny arms towards you, searching for an escape in your arms. you gladly help them away from their dad's grasp, though not without getting a whine out of satoru.

one of your daughters sticks out her tongue at the sulky sorcerer on the couch, the other mimicking her sister's actions. you chuckle and decide to do the same; frowning and sticking your tongue out.

"ack!" satoru clutches his chest, fingers curling around the material of his shirt like he just got shot. he topples over on the couch and acts dead with his eyes half closed, "i can't. . . believe. . . it. my girls hate me. ugh, my heart - can't take it."

you scoff at his exaggerated act. you were used to it after years of dating and marriage, but your daughters seemed to still take the bait. they writhe around in your arms and once you put them down on the floor again, they run back to their 'fallen' dad.

they shake him by his shoulders and harshly pat his cheeks in attempt to bring him back to life. a constant loop of 'papa!'s and 'wake up!'-s echo throughout the house. even some 'we're sworry!'-s thrown in-between.

satoru couldn't take it anymore and his arms move at the speed of light so he could pull both of his daughters in a big hug. he squeezes them a bit too tight to his chest, causing them to shriek and laugh.

"are you not joining us, sweetheart?" satoru asks with a shit-eating grin. it's then that you realise that he was blushing from pure joy — his cheeks rosy. well, you couldn't possibly deny his request when he was this ecstatic.

the high-pitched 'mama too! mama too!' coming from both girls mellowed your heart even more. and thus, you give in.

you happily join the pile - climbing on top of your husband and between your daughters which lay on each of his sides. your head rests on his chest, your eyes closed and your ears filled with laughter.

satoru eventually relaxes, however that genuine smile never leaves his lips. this is where he belongs. with his family - the most important thing of all.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

hear me out..what abt u and miguel in a hotub trying to hide that fact that you guys are literally screwing eachother in front of the others🤭🤭and he’s talking u through it..whispering in ur ear..telling u to be quiet while he’s literally roaming his hands all over u! 😋😋

this is a leeetle bit funny to me bc in real life, sex is the last thing i'd wanna do in a hot tub. But for Miguel..... 😍😍

Wandering Hands

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: Husband!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

summary: You're on a trip away with your husband, Miguel. He gets handsy. (Hot tub sex + Husband!Miguel)

warnings: 18+ , fingering, p in v, instructional, Miguel talks you through it, teeny tiny bit of f!dom, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, very very sappy. Minors DNI

a/n: this is disgustingly sappy and cheesy at some points - I kinda have to apologise in advance. I've had a rough week lmao

very big thank you to my beta reader @tianyhi <33

wc: 2.7k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wandering hands: Miguel has wandering hands. 

It's your anniversary, and that's the thought you're left with as he kneads your thigh, eyes low at a fancy resort. A resort you practically dragged him to, mind you.  He's a workhorse; absorbed in his job and everything that comes with it. Your husband; diligent and devoted, as always; he needed a break. Somewhere hot, somewhere expensive. It’s what he deserved. And whilst he would never take the initiative to book one for himself, isn't that what a wonderful SO was there for?

To his credit, he's been 'unplugged' since the moment you got here - putting away his work laptop and ignoring all the calls he'd get from overbearing clients. His sole focus for this whole week is you; and he's made that abundantly clear. The lingering looks, gentle touches: everything about him screams love and warmth. And he's all yours - a fact that still sends you spiralling, every now and then. All yours. 

"You're not paying attention, cariño." He says under his breath, swirling the wine under his nose like the man in front of him. 

You're both at a wine tasting, like sophisticated adults (...who had made fun of the idea on the way over). Miguel's wearing pressed trousers that hang on his frame just right, and a tank top underneath an open button-up. The peek of flesh makes you hot under the collar like a Victorian housewife, and you flush when you realise you're staring. Miguel pinches your cheek with a laugh, soothing it with a simple kiss. 

Huffing, you take a sip of the expensive wine without thinking. There’s a gasp from the sommelier, and the small group turns to look at you. Your face heats up when you realise what you’ve done - shirking from the pack of eyes silent with sharp critique. A man beside you taps your shoulder with a slimy smile. 

“Miss, that’s a 1978 Monfortino. It probably costs more than your rent.” 

“...I thought this was a wine tasting. So eventually, we have to… taste. The wine.” Miguel chuckles into his drink, squeezing at your waist. You make a fair point.

The man laughs, smug. “With all due respect, it’s an experience of the senses… maybe this is your first time somewhere with this kind of price tag, but it’s quite rude to-”

Miguel clears his throat, flashing a disarming smile at the man to your side. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, with a dangerous veneer you’ve seen before. The smile he gives before closing a big deal at work, calculated and shiny – when he smells blood in the water. 

“With all due respect, watch your fucking tone.” 

His face drops just as quickly, and he downs the rest of his wine, standing up - hand outstretched to take you with him. Gladly, you follow, click-clacking in your heels and little dress; hand tight around his.

“...Pinche idiota…vete a la verga…smug little-” It’s under his breath, but his intensity makes you giggle. 

In the elevator up to your room, he stews, brow creased in little furrows. A force of habit, he pulls you closer, tucking away a stray strand of hair. With a smile, you knead his temples, smoothing the creases. He visibly softens and leans into your touch.

“You’re on vacation, Miguel. Relax, baby.” 

“S’not that simple.” He grumbles, but chases your lips with his own, regardless.

Defiant, you move at the last moment, chin up in the air.

“No, I’m being serious.” He snakes a hand to your ass, dancing over the hem of your dress. 

"I could think of a few ways to decompress, if you're up for it…" Voice low and silky, want pools at the base of your stomach. 

"Miguelito, the bedroom voice doesn't work on me, anymore." You slather on the charm, batting your eyelashes in a way that makes him laugh. He rolls his eyes. 

"Let's do something. I think…I think the spa's still open? We could get a massage-" 

"I don't want a massage unless it's you, baby."

"...or go to the sauna-"

"Didn't pack the right clothes, m'afraid."

"God, don't be mean." It's your turn to roll your eyes. And you whack at his chest, admonishing him gently. "What about the hot tubs?"

He turns his head to the side as if he's deep in thought. Pondering, weighing up the options; when really, the only thought in his head was you in a tiny bikini. 

"If you insist, cariño." 

~~~

The spa isn't too far from your hotel, a stone's throw from the beach. You walk with Miguel in the pleasant evening heat, flip-flops and cover ups light on your back. 

There at the back, open air, behind rows of beach houses and overlooking the sea. You settle into the tubs, each one sectioned by wooden slats and climbing plants - not visible from the main spa, but not completely closed off, either. You can still hear the quiet buzz of other people, although it's not too full this late in the day. 

You slip the light fabric onto the floor, and step out of the cover-up. Miguel, already in the water, watches the light ripple off of your skin. You don't catch him staring, but you feel it. His gaze is heavy as he drinks it in; you are dappled and gorgeous, and his heart is full. You slip in, shuffling up close to him in the dull thrum of the water jets. 

Eyes closed, you rest your head on his shoulder. "You're staring." 

"Yeah." It's so soft, said in the press of warm bodies, that you almost don't hear it. Playfully, he flicks your forehead - in that little triangle between your eyebrows that appears when you're resting. It's cute, he thinks. "...you got a problem with that?"

Laughing, you shake your head. "It's not too much?" 

He moves closer to you, hands on your hips and mouth pressing soft kisses into your neck. 

"The trip, I mean. It was a little last minute, and there was that thing with our passports…" You sigh, turning towards him, hand on his chest to stop him. "I just thought you needed a break. And I know this isn't usually your thing, but I want you to enjoy yourself. If you're not, let me know, and I'll book the first plane out of here, I promise." 

You're looking up at him, clearly worried, and his heart breaks. It's almost as if you've forgotten that an anniversary entails both people, together as one. The truth is, as long as he's with you, and you're having a good time… 

"Doesn't matter where we go, cariño. I'm right where I need to be if I'm with you." He says it like a statement - so matter-of-factly it makes your head spin. Because, you suppose, to him it was a ubiquitous truth: that in every universe, every iteration, the both of you belonged together. What would sound over the top or cheesy coming from someone else, is made so simple by Miguel. A fundamental truth: his home, his happiness, his heartaches and highest highs, were with you, and you alone. 

"Promise me."

"Hand on my heart, baby." He places a palm that spans the crest of his ribcage. "...I promise."

He guides you onto his lap, so your back presses to his. His kisses are so light and airy, you don't notice how his hand creeps towards your thigh and the gentle movement of his hips under yours. 

"You always take care of me," His hand snaps the band of your bikini bottoms, making you writhe on his lap. "Let me return the favour. Relax, cariño."

You nod, gently, eyes blown when you realise what exactly that means. Miguel's large palms dance over your tummy, pinching at the flesh to make you laugh; and then down to your thighs, to paw at them. He shifts, directing you over the jet by the base of the seat, and there is delicious pressure at your clit. 

He cups your pussy under the foam of the water, ripping a heady moan of which you try to subdue. You lean into it: the hand that's now migrated into your bikini, the rock of his hips, and the hickeys he sucks into skin. Coupled with the fact you were in public, he brings you to climax quicker than even he expected. You were so needy, everything about your body telling him you wanted more - needed more. He presses the pad of his finger over your clit, barely there, and you claw at his arms under the water. 

"More?" He coos, dulcet tones brushing the shell of your ear. "Pórtate bien,  okay?" 

So lost in your haze, you don't register the steady padding of a pair of people coming towards you, behind the wooden divider. A head pops over, and you still his wandering hands. 

"Oh, there y'all are!" You see the bronzed face of Jess and her husband, a couple you had met during the trip. She bounces towards you both with dizzying accuracy, donned in a bright swimsuit and sheer cover up around her waist. Her husband is quieter, opting for a nod to Miguel, behind you. 

"Can we join you? Hope we aren't interrupting anything."

Miguel meets your eyes. 

"Is it okay?" He says, a thousand words said in your exchange. We don't have to do anything, it's up to you.

"It's fine," You breathe and then louder, to Jess. "It's fine."

He kisses your forehead and squeezes you closer, shifting so you feel his growing length under his shorts. An action that would seem innocent to a passer-by but below the surface… 

He starts off slow, imperceptible movements as he strokes your clit. It makes you impatient, irritated that he had the audacity to start something he couldn't finish. Or, wouldn't, rather. You make lazy conversation with Jess and her husband; innocuous little things that barely take your mind off of Miguel behind you. 

Some time goes by, and he's somewhat conservative – hand pressed against your pussy like his fingers were made for you. You get used to the pressure, as Jess talks about her day.

"...they're having a sale, as well! We're gonna go back there tomorrow, because, God, there were these earrings that I couldn't take my eyes off of, real gold, and only-" 

"Fuck!" He slips two fingers in, without warning, sinking to the knuckle as your little hole adjusts. Jess pauses, a little confused. 

"I was just…" He scissors them ever so slightly, enjoying watching you squirm. "...t-thinking about how great that deal was. Like… fuck! Real gold!" 

Internally, you wince, hoping she buys it. Jess isn't stupid, but you don't think she knows you well enough to notice your husband fingering you in a hot tub. You hope. 

"Right." She gives you the benefit of the doubt. "Not gold-plated, real gold."

You nod, hoping the foam from the jets is hiding the way you rock into Miguels' fingers. They feel good, curling up into you at that spongy spot he knows too well. 

"There's a good food spot, by the boardwalk. I think they do…" She turns to her husband, who has an arm draped around her. 

"Pasta, baby."

"Pasta! Yes, of course. We had a gorgeous meal and they served mussels, with the dish you were on about, before."

A beat. And then another. There’s a pregnant pause, before Miguel nudges you gently. "Yeah, sorry. It was the… garlick-y… one that had, um…"

You can't concentrate, against his wide torso, his hands between your legs: your brain goes fuzzy. You catch a smile tugging at his lips; and you almost scream. It's cruel, and all he can do is laugh. 

"Miguel's more interested in that stuff, m'afraid." You give her a weak smile, and Miguel rewards you with a thumb to your clit. 

It takes you everything not to jump at the pleasure that rocks your core; and you clamp a hand to his thigh. You make eye contact and he smiles; the smug fuck; gently chattering on with Jess about your trip to a local market, the other day. He's as casual as can be, and seemingly unaffected. 

You try your hardest to nod and smile where necessary; giving simple answers that wouldn't require much thought. In the cool night air, the conversation is pleasant enough, but your husband insists on stretching out your orgasm – watching for the tell-tale signs and pulling away. It's a game of cat and mouse; and whilst you just want to get off, Miguel takes pleasure in the chase. 

"We should be heading off, I think." Jess says after a while. "Just wanted to catch up with you two."

Miguel smiles, dizzying and innocuous. "We're happy to, Jess."

They slip out with a splash, and she nods towards you. "You ok, sweetheart? You just seem a bit out of it, today."

Perhaps too hastily, you nod. "I think…I t-think it was something I ate."

"Oh." She looks a little worried, and it makes you feel guilty. "You get better then. I'll give you a call tomorrow."

"Thanks, Jess." And with that, they make their way out. 

Once out of sight, Miguel speeds up, his other hand on your thigh to wrench your legs open. The speed makes you dizzy, melting with your head back on his shoulder and desperately humping his hand for some relief. The rock and slosh of water over tiles barely registers in your fog. 

As you moan and writhe, he whispers filth into your ear. 

"Quieter, cariño. What if someone hears?" You whine and all he does is chuckle, lowly. "What if they find you, spread on my lap, fucking yourself on my fingers?" 

"You're being mean."

"Eso no es justo, amor." He titters, shaking his head. "You told me to relax, no? This is how I want to relax." 

Tears prick at your eyes, as he uses his other hand to rub circles into your clit, the warm froth washes over you both, but all you can feel is him. 

"¿Dime que quieres, hermosa?" What do you want?

"M'close, Miguel." You bite down another moan. “I’m ready.”

"Want to feel it, baby. Cum for me."

You tilt your head to the side, and he captures your lips with his own – in awe as you clamp around his fingers. Grinding down on his crotch, you ride out your orgasm. The way he makes you feel is hot, and wet and filthy. 

When your shaking legs still, you turn around to face him. He's hard, and too much of a gentleman to take his own pleasure. You slip a hand into his shorts, hand hot against his cock. It's his turn to lean into the bliss: head back and lips slightly parted with pleasure. 

You've always liked his lips, plump and kissable, a pretty pink that just fits against yours. 

"You're teasing." He hisses softly. 

You scrape your nails along his chest, and he keens, clutching your hand close to his heart. 

"...and what exactly have you been doing all night?“ You make a tight ring with your fingers, squeezing his tip and his hips jump up. 

"Vale, vale, vaaale…." He paws at you waist, a little desperate. "Fuck- I get it."

You give him a kiss, wet and needy, before slipping the gusset of your bikini to the side and sinking down on his length. He cries out and you swallow it, pressing yourself even closer to him. With your tits against his chest like that, he can't think straight. You shift against his length, finding a steady rhythm but it's too slow – and Miguel grows impatient. With a growl, he places both hands on your hips, forcing you downwards as you writhe on his length. 

"Dámelo, dámelo…" He slams his cock into you - hard and fast and just the way you like it. "Just like that, baby, just like-" 

That growing coil at the base of your stomach snaps, and you clamp around him. But he doesn't stop, just fucks you through it until he cums, hot and sticky fluids spilling into you. Panting, you capture him into a kiss. You separate, and he's got a dopey smile on his face. 

Content. Relaxed, even. 

~~~

Jess calls you the morning after, and you answer. 

"Hey, everything ok?" You yawn into the receiver, a little tired from last night's activities.

"I said I would call, didn't I?" 

You hum. "...suppose you did."

"You feeling better now Miguel's not playing with your pussy in a hot tub?" 

Shit. You almost drop the phone. "Jesus, we didn't-" 

"Save. It." She grumbles something you can't quite hear; something you suspect you're better off not hearing, anyways. 

"...Sorry. We weren't really thinking."

"Damn straight." She pauses. "I'm not mad, sweetheart. Can’t even judge you, to be honest. As I always say, it's not a real vacation until you fuck your husband somewhere you shouldn't-" 

"Gross, Jess."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did the woman who got fingered in a hot tub just say something??" 

You wince at the vulgarity of her words. 

"....Ouch." 

She laughs into the speakerphone, and you join her. Besides you, Miguel stirs, a little smile on his face. Half asleep, he thinks he’s heard an angel, voice light and airy in the space of your hotel room.

_

_

_

Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @tea-earl-grey-thot

[sinofwriting]

Wait - Ollie Bearman

Words: 4,936 Summary: Ollie Bearman doesn’t wear necklaces, it’s just not his thing. So why during the 2023 Mexico GP is he spotted wearing a necklace with a familiar ring hanging from the chain Note(s)/Warning(s): This is in fact the purity ring fic. It’s a bit NSFW. Reader is Max Verstappen’s little sister. I nearly included lestappen because the idea of both Verstappen siblings dating a Ferrari (or Ferrari adjacent) driver was funny to me, but I didn’t. Also, thank you to all the people who told me to write this. I’m going to go somewhere, but I’m glad I did!

Masterlist | Support Me!

A ring sits on her finger. The same finger that will one day have an engagement ring then a wedding band to join. The band is thin with two knots and between both knots are four tiny pearls, barely the size of a grain of rice and in the middle of those four pearls is a mix of her birthstone and Max’s. She had gotten it when she was eleven shortly after she had heard Max joking with some of his friends about sex and she went to their mom asking what exactly they meant and for the past six years it had sat there.

It was the first big purchase Max had made with his F1 paycheck. The seventeen year old had felt ashamed and horrified at his baby sister overhearing the things him and friends were joking about. And even worse when their mom had to give her the talk. It had been nothing however compared to what their father had thought when learning of it. Max had swore his ears were ringing as Jos had yelled at him for first having his friends around her and second talking about sex when he knew that she was in the house and liked to randomly join them.

The ring had been a nice way to ease the tension and though he had been a bit red as he explained what it was to her, she had nodded along with his explanation, looking serious before putting it on and then smiling at him and hugging him.

At eleven it hadn’t really been an issue, wearing a purity ring, promising that she’d wait to be married before having sex. It hadn’t been a problem when she was fifteen and her first spike of hormones hit and suddenly sex wasn’t something that felt so far away or like a weird foreign concept. It hadn’t been a problem at sixteen either when she got her first boyfriend, who Max had quickly run off.

It had started to be a problem after she turned seventeen and got together with Ollie.

Ollie who she was never supposed to meet. Was only supposed to know of because she followed F2 and F3. But then she joined Max for the remainder of the 2022 season in July. Done with school and unsure if she wanted to go to Uni, unsure really of what she wanted to do.

She had planned to stay home with her mom, putter about the house, maybe do some small writing for Redline and Verstappen.com that she’d email to Kris, who would send her the money that they got paid for them instead of submitting them herself where Max would be sure to give her a stupid amount of money for something that took maybe thirty minutes to write.

But then Max had heard about her plans and she was officially employed by her brother. Managing his website, instagram, and Redline’s social media, going with him to every race, which meant that she had far too much free time and meant that she found herself following around Jack Crawford as he finished up his F3 season which meant running into Ollie Bearman.

Ollie, who was so unexpectedly sweet and cute, who made all the blood rush to her face as her heart worked overtime, made butterflies appear in her stomach.

It had been the second time that they saw each other that he had asked her on a date and now a year later, the two are now both eighteen and head over heels in love, and the ring that rests on her left ring finger feels more like a nuisance.

She had never had sex, hadn’t even really touched or been touched until Ollie but as the F2 season had grown to a close it felt like that was all that was on her mind and Ollie’s.

The kisses they shared when alone quickly grew into heated make out sessions and when they had time, they found themselves in his hotel room under the covers, underwear still on but hands exploring each other's bodies.

She falls in love with the pattern of freckles on his back and the way he shivers when she traces them with her fingers. The spot above his heart that always makes his breath hitch when she kisses it. His strong calves that always tense right after his thighs when she settles on his lap. His hands and how much bigger than hers they are. And his fingers that he lets her play with, kiss and nibble at just to see and hear the stuttered breath he gives as his cheeks turn red.

He falls in love with the small tattoo that still only he knows she has, it’s small enough to just barely be hidden by even her more risqué bikinis. The scar she has on her knee that makes her shiver when his fingers or lips touch it. The soft skin of the underside of her breasts, because it feels nice to stroke when he gets the chance to dip his hands underneath her bra. The moan she gives when he settles in between her thighs and rests his weight on top of her as they kiss.

Ollie knows what the ring is, what it means, what she promised Max. It’s the one thing that always reminds him to stop, that pulls him back when he’s about to dip his fingers beneath her underwear to feel her wetness against his fingers or about to ask her to take her bra off, to let him see more of her. The feeling of her ring always draws him back. Makes him refocus on just kissing her and not getting ahead of himself before he makes another mess of himself.

He sees it every time he sees her, he kisses it every time he lifts her hand to his lips, first kissing the ring, a silent promise to himself that one day he’ll replace it with a ring of his own, before kissing her hand.

So Ollie doesn’t think anything when he comes home from simulator work to his flat in Maranello smelling like brownies. It had taken a bit to convince Max that she didn’t want to go home but rather wanted to go on a little trip with her friends. She just neglected to mention that there was no trip, and by friends she meant boyfriend, and really she meant during the week break they’d have she’d be going to Italy to stay with Ollie.

“That smells so good.” Ollie groans, kicking his shoes off before moving further into the flat. She beams at him, accepting the kiss he presses to her cheek. “I know you had dinner there so I made brownies. And not a whole pan.” She adds. “I know you can’t indulge too much.” “Thank you.” He murmurs, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back into him.

He starts to sway them both as he stares at the small pan of brownies, the smell of them mouthwatering.

“Can I have one?” “They like just got out of the oven.” He pouts, bending his neck and pressing his face into her neck. “Please?” “You're going to burn your fingers and mouth.” She laughs. “Pretty please?” He tries. She makes a humming noise, one he feels more than hears. “Only if you give me a kiss first.” “Deal.”

She giggles as he quickly turns her in his arms. “Hi.” She greets as she wraps her arms around his neck. “Hi.” He parrots back and the thought of the brownies are gone from his mind as he looks at her.

She’s got a piece of his merch on, one of the sample sweatshirts, but also a pair of his boxer briefs. It’s like she’s drowning in him and he just wants to add to it.

Pressing their lips together, he grunts when her nails dig lightly into the back of his neck.

“Sorry.” She murmurs against his lips. He shakes his head, “it’s fine.”

They stand there for a while just kissing, but then his hands are moving underneath the top she’s wearing, grasping at her hips before fingers trail up her sides before back down and she’s pulling him to his bedroom.

They’ve done this so much that it takes barely any time for him to take his FDA polo off and then his jeans before joining her in bed, settling between her thighs. It doesn’t however stop him from rocking his hips into hers a couple of times before he can stop himself, hunger only growing when her hips hitch upwards and she’s wrapping a leg around him, pulling him closer.

“Fuck, darling.” He gasps, pressing kisses to her exposed throat. She moans, her hands resting on his bare back and it’s the feeling of her ring that makes him stop. Hips nearly thrusting again when she whines, but he tenses his whole body, not letting it loosen even when he kisses her again, swallowing the next whine she lets out.

His right hand makes his way underneath her top as they continue to kiss, his body relaxing into hers as he gets control of himself again.

As his fingers creep up her side, he wonders what they’ll feel. The spandex of her sports bra? The cotton or whatever it is of the one bra she likes to wear to media days? Maybe lace? His mind spins at the last option and he gulps.

She’s only worn lace once and it was on their year anniversary, their first approved sleepover. Though Max had made sure to get her from his hotel room at 11 am. But he considers they have the rest of the week just them together and he doesn’t have to go into the factory anymore. And she made him brownies, homemade. He knows because of the way she had been standing at the kitchen counter, carefully looking at them. So, maybe another treat for him was her wearing lace.

But as fingers reach where he’d normally feel the edge of something there is nothing. He goes to frown but before he can, her chest rises, his fingers graze the underside of her left breast and his hips are snapping into her again.

“Oh my god.” She moans at the feeling. “Fuck.” He curses and he feels out of breath as he feels more of her. “You’re not,” he mutters. “You’re not wearing anything.” She shakes her head, bucking her hips wanting more friction. “Please, Ollie. Want more, want it off.” He should be saying no, he can already feel his control hanging by thread at the knowledge that she’s not wearing a bra, he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he sees her boobs for the first time, but he’s backing away, letting her sit up, and she’s flinging his sweatshirt off.

His jaw drops at the sight, eyes wide and his dick twitches. He sees the way she bites at her lips, arms starting to come up and he’s quick to react. Fingers touching the soft skin, thumbs rubbing at her nipples as he sort of holds them.

“Pretty.” He manages to get out and feels himself blush. “Can we kiss again?” Ollie nods, eager.

He carefully lays next to her, drawing her on top of him, the two both gasping at the feeling of her bare breasts resting on his bare chest.

His hands dance up and down her back, sometimes his pinky fingers dipping below the waistband of his boxer briefs that she’s wearing before moving back up again as they kiss, hips still moving together.

When she shifts a little on top of him, moaning, he grasps at her hips, stopping her from moving as he feels himself twitch and he just knows that he has to be leaking, creating a wet spot in his underwear.

“We have to stop.” “I’m close though.” His head falls back and he groans. “I am too.” “I,” She stops, thinking of the lingerie she had brought with her, the dinner reservation she had made for herself and Ollie tomorrow night, the necklace chain also in her suitcase. “I want more.” She says, before taking a deep breath and meeting his eyes. “I want to have sex with you.” He’s looking at her wide eyes and she’d think that he didn’t want her back if she couldn’t feel how hard he was underneath her. “But,” his eyes dart to her left hand. “I thought we were waiting.” She feels blood rush to her cheeks at his whisper, at the promise he made for and to her.

She had been nervous when telling Ollie about her purity ring and about she would like to wait awhile, maybe even till marriage to have sex, especially after he shared that he had already had sex before. But he had been surprisingly okay with it after he had a few days to think and wrap his head around it, and not that she knew but to talk to his dad about it, before he came back said that he’d wait as long as she wanted.

“I mean, we did.” She whispers back. “I just, I think you’re the one, ya’know. And even if you aren’t, I can’t see myself ever regretting you.” There’s a stinging in his eyes and he clears his throat. “Okay.” He shifts her down a bit so he can sit up, pressing their lips together. “Okay.”

Her hands cup his cheeks as they kiss while his hands stay on her hips. Not moving or doing anything despite the fact that she’s given the all clear. It’s one of her hands dropping from his face to trail down his body, that makes his hands move, grabbing her ass, pressing her down and closer. It makes her gasp.

“Ollie.” He groans at the sound of her moaning his name. His eyes dart to his nightstand, where there should be some condoms in the drawer with lube as well and then he’s cursing, hands falling away from her. “We have to stop, darling. I’m sorry.” “But,” She shifts on top of him and he swears again when he looks down and sees a wet patch peeking out from where she’s sitting on top of him. “I know, but I don’t have any condoms.” He feels himself flush, “I threw them away after we got serious since I figured it wouldn’t happen for a few years.” “No.” She whines, heading dropping onto his shoulder as her whole body sags.

She hadn’t thought about buying condoms, mainly because despite the lingerie she packed and the dinner reservation, she hadn’t actually planned on them having sex. She just wanted more, even some dry humping or at the very least to feel fingers against her that weren’t her own.

“I could pull out.” The words are weak to his own ears. She lifts her head slightly to look at him. “Do you really think you could?” “I could run and get some condoms.” He really doesn’t feel like getting back in the car, doesn’t feel like leaving her, but he’d do it. "No,” she shakes her head. She didn’t like the idea of being alone, waiting for him to come back with condoms. Or him putting clothes back on, the idea makes her nose wrinkle. She then pauses as something comes to mind. “How’s your Italian?” His brows furrow at the question. “It’s decent. Basic and more strategy and car related. But I get by, why?” “I was thinking of Plan B.” “Plan B?” His brows furrow more before it clicks and his eyes widen, “oh, Plan B.” “Yeah, I’d still want it even if you do end up pulling out, but I don’t think that will happen.” He wants to protest, deny, argue that he absolutely could pull out, but it’d be a lie.

“Ollie.” She whines nearly an hour later as he tries to get her to separate her thighs. “You’re all sticky.” He tells her. “I need to clean you up before it dries.” And god was it a bitch to clean up dried cum. “I’ll be quick.” He promises. She pouts, but lets her thighs fall apart, wincing at the burning muscles. He swallows at the sight of their mixed release. He hadn’t managed to pull out the first time, but the second he had managed to, only to finish practically in her anyways. And it was worse because of her own two orgasms that added to the mess. Taking the damp cloth, he carefully cleans her up, apologizing when she whines when he presses a bit too much on her clit.

“Much better.” He grins, when he’s done. Throwing the cloth in the direction of his laundry hamper. “Cuddle?” She asks, making grabby hands at him and eagerly joins her again in bed, slipping the covers over both of them. “That’s better.” She mumbles, when they settle together and he laughs, pressing a kiss to her head.

It’s hard for him to leave when he wakes up in the morning. They’re still both naked and she’s sleeping peacefully beside him. But he’d rather go and get her the Plan B now, then put it off until later when she’ll be fully awake.

Rolling to his side, he presses a series of light kisses to her face. She mumbles a bit and he chuckles. “I’ve got to go, darling.” She mumbles again, turning to lay on her side as well. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be right back.” “Where are you going?” Her voice is low, thick with sleep. “I need to get some things real quickly. I’ll be back in thirty minutes, okay?” “Do you have to?” She pouts. “I’ll be quick.” He promises, bending to kiss her.

It takes him barely any time to get the Plan B and condoms, though he had stumbled his way through Italian to get the Plan B before just pulling up a picture of it.

“Darling?” He calls when he gets back. “Kitchen.” She calls back, a hint of sleep still in her voice. With the bag hanging from his finger, he walks to the kitchen. “I got you plan b and condoms for me, just in case.” “No, just in case. I’d like a repeat.” He grins at her, setting the bag on the counter. “Yeah?” She nods, bottom lip between her teeth. “Yeah.” Bending, he captures her lips in a quick kiss, humming.

“Want to do brownies for breakfast?” His eyes widen and they dart to the counter. “I completely forgot you even made those!” “I’ll take that a yes?” “Please!”

Cutting him a piece and then one of herself, she puts them on a plate as Ollie gets them both something to drink before they both go to the living room and sit on the couch.

“These are so good.” He mumbles, catching a crumb before it can fall. “You say that everytime.” “Because it’s true! These are really good.” Her brownie was a good bit smaller than his so as soon as she finishes her, she’s standing up and retrieving something from her suitcase, ignoring him asking where she’s going.

Sitting back down, she places a box in his lap.

“What is this?” He asks, setting the plate on the coffee table, only a few crumbs on it. “I bought it for you a while ago and have been carrying it around since, just wasn’t sure when exactly I’d give it to you.” He looks at her intrigued, before looking back at the box and carefully opening it.

Ollie’s brows furrow at the thin chain that rests inside. It was nice, very nice, though not by a brand that he recognized. It was also a weird gift considering he didn’t wear necklaces, though if he was going to wear one, it would be this one.

“What’s it for?” He asks. “I, uh,” she stutters a bit over her words, playing her ring before carefully pulling it off, flexing her fingers at the odd sensation of it not being there. “It’s for this.” And she drops the ring she’s worn since she was eleven into his palm. “But this is yours.” “And I can’t wear it anymore.” She tells him. “I intended to wait longer to have sex, but I don’t regret last night and I won’t regret anything we do in the future. It’s yours now and I kind of liked the idea of you carrying it with you wherever you go.” He stares at the ring, tries to ignore the pulse of want and smugness, because he got to have her first and he was fairly certain he’d be her only and last.

Lifting the chain out of the box, he carefully unclasps it, threading the ring on, before clasping it around his neck, the ring resting just below the hollow of his neck, easily hidden behind any shirt he wears if he has it tucked in.

Turning his neck, the sensation of something there is odd and he says that. “It’ll take some getting used to, but I like it.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

It doesn’t take him long to get used to the necklace and he practically never takes it off, only in the shower or when doing certain training sessions and it hasn't happened yet but when he has to get into the F1 car and then his F2 car, he’ll be taking it off then as well.

No one really notices his new accessory, he’s not doing much on social media, his mum and dad had asked him about it and he had flushed but just said that it was something she had gotten for him and lucky they didn’t press for more. It gives a false sense of security that comes crashing down in Mexico.

He’s on a bit of a high for doing his first free practice and not placing dead last even though it’s only free practice and placing doesn’t really matter. He’s out of his race suit, having been able to not shower but wipe himself down with a damp towel before getting back into the Haas polo and jumping in to do more media. And as he does some interviews he doesn’t notice the way her ring that’s kept underneath his shirt is on full display.

But it does come to his attention when he finally gets his phone and sees so many mentions and a strange text full of exclamation marks that has him quickly hitting the call button.

“Is everything okay? I got a weird text from you.” “Ollie.” “What’s wrong?” He’s about to exit the Haas hospitality, he could be at Red Bull’s in about a minute at the strained sound of her voice. “My ring, everyone saw my ring.” His eyes widen and he’s cursing. “Oh no.” “Yeah.” “And they all know.” “Yeah.” She confirms again. “Because Max had to make it clear what the ring was.” She laughs, but it’s clear that she’s on the verge of tears, her voice tight. The sound has him wanting to wrap in his arms, shield her away, but it also has him confused. She never cared about what fans thought of her. She was very much like her brother in that matter. It was all water off a duck’s back. “What’s wrong, darling?” He asks, dropping his voice as someone looks at him weirdly. “I just, Max hadn’t noticed, no one has really. And I don’t regret it Ollie, but that was a promise I made to Max, to save myself.” The last three words come out as a whisper. “And now he’s going to find out because the whole of F1 twitter is talking about it. I should’ve told him.” “It’ll be okay.” He reassures her, but now the realization has hit that he’s going to have deal with Max and not just Max, but Daniel and Charles and fucking Arthur, which is a bit insulting because it’s Arthur of all people, but the Leclerc’s liked her a lot, Charles liked to argue with Max that she was actually their younger sister and not Max’s, which lead to a headache of bickering between the two drivers.

“Can I come to you?” He looks down at his watch even though he knows that he doesn’t have any more interviews, just needs to stay to watch the last session play out since he already did his debriefing as well. “Yeah, do you want me to walk you over?” “No, I’ll be there in a second.”

Meeting her at the doors of the hospitality, he quickly ushers her in before leading her to a back corner, the both of them sinking to the floor, somewhat hidden from view by a couch.

“You alright?” “Yeah.” She breathes, pressing close to him. “I just should’ve said something to Max. I just didn’t want to say anything y’know?” And he can feel her nose wrinkle at the idea and his does the same. Because yeah it was a bit gross to think about telling your sibling that you’ve had sex just so they won’t be blindsided by the media. “He’s gonna hate me again.” She doesn’t say anything and he groans, throwing his head back against the wall. “I just made some progress with him.” “I know, bear.” She murmurs, kissing his cheek. “I could put it back on? Say that I gave it to you as a good luck charm.”

It’s a good idea, a perfect solution for their problem, but it’s clear that she doesn’t like the idea and he doesn’t like the idea either. He’s grown used to the small weight of the ring resting below the hollow of his throat and he’s not fond of the idea of seeing a ring that’s not his on her ring finger again.

“Maybe I should propose.” She jerks away from him like she’s been burned. “Fuck, that’s not what I meant.” He quickly says. “I just I don’t want to give it back. I don't want to see you wearing it again and I just,” he waves his hands around. “My brain was running. I’m sorry.” Her eyes are focused on his and she slowly presses back into him, though she keeps her head pulled back so they can look at each other. “Is that something you really want in the future? To be married to me?” “One hundred percent.” She blinks at the quick response, a smile starting to bloom on her face. “Not now, just because I don’t want to rely on nothing but sponsors and my dad for money, but maybe once I got an F1 seat and then got a contract extension or new seat. I’d have money to help support us, to buy you a nice ring, house.” He hopes that she can’t tell how much he’s thought about this, how much he’s rambled to both Jak and Fred about this even though if either of them got the chance they’d happily rat him out for being such a preteen girl, and he just knows that Jak told Fred what that means. “I want that too.”

Ollie wonders if him intending on marrying her, on putting a ring on her finger will lessen the brunt of anger he’s sure to receive and it doesn’t.

“You defiled my sister!” The eighteen years old both make a face at the Dutch man’s words. “No one defiled anyone.” Max ignores her, glaring at the British driver. “You touched her.” Ollie nearly reaches out for her hand, but keeps his hands to himself, as he gives a tiny nod. “Max, it’s alright. I wanted it.” Max and Daniel both make a face at her words. “Ew. You shouldn’t even know what it is.” “Well, Max kind of ruined that for me when I was eleven.” She snarks and her brother flushes. “Which is why I gave you the ring! You were supposed to save yourself for marriage! Keep yourself away from boys like Ollie!” “What’s wrong with me?” He asks, offended. “You’re a teenager.” Daniel tells him with a shrug. “And you’ve got a dick. That’s all it really takes.”

“What happened to waiting?” Max asks, voice a little quieter as he looks at her. “Max,” she starts and then includes the Alpha Tauri driver who’s inched closer. “Daniel. I thought I was going to wait for marriage, or at least a few more years, but Ollie,” she pauses, feeling blood rush to her cheeks. “Ollie feels like the one.” She reaches out for his hand, intertwining their fingers. “And even if he isn’t, I won’t regret what we did.”

The two older men stare at her, at them. One who can remember holding her just hours after she was born, and the other who got to know her shortly after Max’s fuck up when she was eleven. Both her brothers, one just a bit longer than the other.

Max swallows harshly, the full realization hitting him that his baby sister isn’t a baby anymore. She’s an adult and he’s never really had the right to get mad at her for things she does but he really doesn’t now. He can feel Daniel standing behind him, and knows that the older man will go with him whatever way he chooses.

Stepping forward, he pulls her into a hug and wonders where the time has gone. “As long as you don’t regret it, yeah?” She hugs him back tighter, tension in her shoulders loosening at his acceptance. “Yeah. Love you, Maxy.” He laughs, a quiet thing. “Love you too.”

@arshiyuh @mangotaitai @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @copper-boom @topguncultleader @iloveyou3000morgan @benstormy

[uc1wa]

18+ minors dni

tags: fem reader, oral sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (pulling out), alcohol, dick (being a slut), frats (?)

dick grayson had a questionable reputation on campus. playboy, daddy’s money, beer pong champ, finance bro, and the king of hookups and god does everybody he’s been with know. there’s a reason all of his previous partners shoot him 2am texts asking what he’s doing.

but tonight he has his eyes on you.

loud music blasts in the frat house that feels awfully tiny with the mass of half naked people who are standing and grinding inside of it, random strobe lights are placed in all corners and the theme of "save a horse, ride a cowboy" is obnoxiously obvious with random cowboy hats hanging on walls and flannels being worn by everyone.

you were dragged by your friends to attend this party, one of which you’d never attend, knowing the man-whore personality of the house you’re standing in right now.

you’re leaned against a counter, solo cup of jungle juice in your hand as you’re buzzed, but still aware enough to know you still don’t want to be here.

the only thing giving it away is your bored expression—because your shorts that are uncomfortably too short, the tied flannel, and cowboy hat on your head tell a different story.

people watching was fun at parties, the outfits, the who’s talking to who, and the who’s dragging who upstairs was entertaining to your tipsy self.

your eyes didn’t spot the ravennette who was familiar with everybody coming towards your way till he was beside you, his body heat radiating onto yours and his breath against your neck as he tries to talk to you.

and the appeal of the man wasn’t hard to understand. he’s wearing a white crop top that his abs are peaking out of, an open flannel and jean shorts that show his quads beautifully.

everyone thought the man was hot, but to be attracted to him was another thing.

"can’t tell if you look lost or don’t wanna be here anymore," the smell of liquor too apparent in his breath that touches your neck, making you slowly meet his blue eyes and obnoxious smirk.

you only raise a brow, scoffing and leaning into his ear now. "don’t wanna be here," you say, leaning back on the counter.

and if anybody knows dick, you know he gets what he wants, and tonight his eyes are on you and your pretty tits that are held up by a push-up bra that you obviously wore for him, he just knows it.

he leans over again, this time snaking an arm around your back and moving his fingers along the exposed skin. "c’mon, i gotta room upstairs that’s practically sound proof." and honestly, you wouldn’t put it past him. the man has money to spend, and maybe he did soundproof his single in his frat house, just because he can. or, maybe he says that so that you can scream and his brothers can fist bump him in the morning. who knows?

but your mind is a little hazy and your speech a little slurred and dick’s arm doesn’t feel awful around you, so you lean in again, this time with a grin playing on your lips. "what’s in it for me?"

dick’s eyebrow arched, his smirk upturned and his hand tightening around your back at the question.

"wanna find out?"

and a few more teasing words of banter were said, a shot thrown down both of your throats, and a few inappropriate gropes placed on your body before he had your hand in his, leading you up stairs shamelessly while smiling at his friends on the way.

dick’s door closes with a kick of his foot, not locking it because… why would he? he doesn’t care if somebody walks in on the two of you.

when he turns around and you’re sitting on the bed for him, he’s grateful you’re wearing skimpy clothes, less hassle and easier access. he can only smirk, asking himself how dumb you are, you obviously dressed like this for him.

the man walks over, kicking his shoes somewhere in the dark room and slipping his flannel off, his biceps seem bigger than they did in your finance class you had with him last semester. his hands are big, veiny and long and fuck they feel good when he cups your face, looking down at you and moving his knee to spread open your thighs.

his thumb moves to your bottom lip, pressing the soft skin until you open your lips all pretty for him, taking his thumb in your mouth and sucking.

"good girl," he says, the hand that’s not cupping your cheek going down to unbutton his jean shorts.

then, dick takes a step back, slipping his thumb from between your lips and moving to the other side of the bed, sitting down and looking at you expectantly. "c’mon, show me more of your pretty self," he leans back on the heel of his hands, his broad chest sticking out and his lap looking like the perfect seat right now.

and all you can do is nod with wide eyes and listen to the man who was slowly but surely talking his way into your pants.

his dark blue eyes watch as you rid yourself of the cowgirl boots you were wearing. he licks his lips when you take your flannel off, eyes darting down to your hands that fumble to take your shorts off. you stand there with your cowboy hat sitting on your head and dick chuckles, "you’re doing real good with the theme, y’know?" he slurs.

you roll your eyes, "not proud of it," you slur right back, stepping forward while placing your knees on either side of his hips, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning in.

"i’ll make you proud," dick says, his big hands resting on your hips, fingers playing underneath your thong that should just be considered a string at this point.

he leans forward, biting your bottom lip enough to make you whimper before he attacks your lips, forcing his tongue in and kissing you sloppily. saliva coating both your lips, threatening to spill out by how feverish his force is, his hand pushing you against his cock that’s already hard. and jesus you’re glad you wore the stringy panties you decided on because the feeling of him—even through the shorts he’s still wearing is painfully delicious.

you pull back, eyes half lidded and view not as straight as a sober persons, "gonna make me wait?" and maybe if you were sober the quickness of dick’s moves would seem normally paced, but he was quick to push you off of him to the side of his bed and throw his shorts to the side, followed by his boxers. all he’s wearing is a little white crop top and fuck he looks real good.

he’s toned and defined beautifully. not jacked like some guys are, letting it know that they’re juiced up. no, dick was the most naturally beautiful man to exist. (unfortunately, you weren’t the first to realize that… and definitely won’t be the last).

you lean back on your palms this time, watching him walk over to you painfully slow, his cock hardened all for you. "take a picture, it’ll last longer," he smirks, climbing on top of you while pushing you down and letting your legs wrap around his waist that feels so small in comparison to his broad shoulders. he takes your cowboy hat off, setting it to the side because that will definitely come back up.

you roll your eyes for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, arms wrapping around him and lips reconnecting again. the man is quick to arch your back off the bed, one finger sliding behind you to unclip your bra—which almost feels sickening how fast he was to do so—but your brain doesn’t let that register with the alcohol in your bloodstream.

dick remembers your words from earlier, gonna make me wait? and next thing you notice when you look down is your bra thrown on the ground and dick’s lips on your stomach, kissing down with hands on either side of you on the mattress until he’s sat at your pussy that’s embarrassingly wet for him.

"next party’s on thursday, you should come out," he starts while tugging your panties to the side with a curl of his index finger. "dress real pretty for me again."

and dick says that to every girl, sometimes giving a hint on what he wants them to wear, knowing once he hits, he will always quit and find the next person untouched by him.

"i’ll think about it," you say, broken into a whimper as his lips are quick to suck on your clit and his index and middle finger plunge into your wetness. if the music wasn’t booming from downstairs, maybe the sounds of your wetness would be more embarrassing, but dick just thought it was hot and your moans were real pretty.

and again, if you were sober, you’d probably arch a brow at the minimal time dick stayed down there, but you weren’t and were real hungry for him to fill you up.

"show me what the hype’s about," you say as he climbs up to you, one arm beside your head and one groping one of your breasts enough to illicit small whines from your throat. "i’ll see if you can handle it," he says cockily, voice dripping in ego as the hand that’s groping your breasts goes down to line his cock up with your hole.

in one quick motion he’s filling you up, your back arching off the bed and a loud pitched moan leaving your lips with eyes squeezed shut. dark blue eyes watch your face, cocky smirk not leaving his lips for a minute until he’s sucking on your neck. dick is shameless, he’s purposely leaving marks wherever he wants on your body, knowing he won’t let you do the same even if you tried.

the man above you is going to make sure you remember him fucking you, even if it’s just by you waking up with blotches on your neck and chest in the morning.

"too much?" he asks teasingly, showing no remorse with the deep groans he spills out with every time he fills you up. and dick is girthier than you thought he’d be, everytime he pushes into you feels like the first no matter how wet you are. it feels like he’s ripping you open with the hard and fast pace he’s maintaining.

an answer to his question is impossible, the only sounds are moans and whimpers, more so when his lips are on yours. your sounds mixed together are delicious to your ears and you pull him closer, sweaty body’s and breath tasting like liquor feels intoxicating.

he flips you both over with ease, his toned back resting on his mattress and pillow with you on top now. a loud groan escapes your lips, his full length filling you up but from another position was brutal at first. dick gave you a few more seconds to adjust before his big hands guided your hips up.

"you got it baby," his voice is low and full of desire, blue eyes taking over your frame that feels made for him. one hand comes off your skin to grab the cheesy cowboy hat and he motions for you to put it on with a shit eating grin.

coming to realization, you roll your eyes, "really?" you ask, rolling your eyes with a small laugh. but you put it on, and then fall back onto dick, riding him slowly and at an angle that makes him hit the spot deep inside of you repetitively. "fuck, fuck, fuck," you moan, your eyes closing and neck thrown back from the delicious feeling.

while dick is groaning, he can only smirk up at you, knowing he’s getting exactly what he wanted when he chose the theme for the party that night. "you look so fuckin’ good, riding me so good, yeah?" he’s verbally and physically fucking you at this point.

"takin’ this cock so good, baby," he groans, feeling himself twitching and turning you back over again, so he’s on top when he finishes.

in no time dick’s pulling out to spill his cum all over your lower abdomen, chuckling to himself as he pulls off of you and looking down. it’s his favorite view, flushed red cheeks, chest heaving up and down (making your breasts look even more delicious), and his cum painting your sweaty body.

if he was feeling more like an asshole, he’d ask to take a picture. but he knew you were a nice girl from one of his past semesters and decided not to be a total dick.

"you look good," he says it like it’s a reminder, like you’re already supposed to know—because why else would you be in dick grayson’s bed if you weren’t hot? and he walks away, going to the bathroom that’s connected to his room and returning with a wash cloth, cleaning you up with a laugh. "i’m leaving after this," you say, wiping your lips with the backside of your arm.

and dick let’s out an internal sigh of relief at that, he hates when girls are insistent on spending the night or staying for more of the party, latched to him. "fine by me, want me to get an uber?" he asks, throwing the rag to the side and sitting there for another second, looking at your fucked out state—the one he put you into.

you nod your head, sitting up in the bed, knowing if you stay with spread legs that dick will attempt a round two before the car he’s called you gets here. "wanna hand me my clothes?" you ask, not as slurred of words as before, the fucking sobering you up slightly.

"y’don’t wanna borrow a shirt?" because dick has a drawer full of old shirts from varying events on campus that he gives to his hookups, another reminder to everyone else that he’s the one who fucked you good tonight.

"fuck no," you roll your eyes, moving to get your clothes yourself and slipping them on as dick slips his boxers and shorts on, staring at you as you get dressed from the ledge of his bed.

the clothes weren’t as comfortable as what could’ve been a comfortable and baggy shirt, but you were trying to move as quick and invisible as possible out of the party and to the uber that just rang its arrival on dick’s phone. "it’s here," he says, standing up beside you and wrapping a hand around your waist. "sure you don’t wanna spend the night?"

"positive," the exact answer he knew he was going to get.

"this was fun," he says, leaning into you slightly. "you have my number, i’m always available," if it wasn’t dick, that sentence would’ve been cringey and gross, but his voice sounded too good right now and you nodded. "i’ll keep that in mind."

his hand moves to your cheek, tilting it to press a kiss to your face. "i’ll follow you out," which was code for you to leave and close the door behind you as dick freshens up.

and now you understand. dick knew how to fuck.

[c4ttheart]

closer , sae itoshi

half proofread bc it’s 2am 🙁 (no this is not based on that one chainsmoker song)

you always talk about your day, blabbering on and about. he has heard it all, the meals you ate, how you made them, the shape of the moon through your tiny bathroom window because it’s the only one you can see the moon from in your appartement, your outfit and how different people reacted to it and how you always manage to stub your toe on that one desk corner at work.

sometimes sae wonders why you love him- you could talk for hours on end and he’d only listen. often, his mind wanders down treacherous routes, all leading to thoughts of you. how come you aren’t bored yet ?

he knows you like physical touch. he never really minded it, not when it came from you, and he feels bad because the last time you saw him in the flesh was way too long ago for his liking (almost a month). you stay up until ungodly hours just for him, just to hear his muffled ‘mhms’ through the phone. sae never even calls first; you do everything: the talking, the calling, maybe even the loving.

do you doubt if sae loves you ? because he does, and he wishes he could say it, but the words get stuck in his throat whenever he tries to make them come to life. it’s not like he can really place a word when you’re talking, the blabbermouth that you are, but he doesn’t mind. he knows you do that so he doesn’t have to answer. you know what time his practice finishes at and you wake up everyday just to call him. you knew what you were doing when you accepted his confession, and it makes sae feel bad.

he doesn’t know what to do, or how to act. sure, he’s dated people before (he will argue with his life that the girlfriend he had in primary school counts), but no one was as good to him as you. you’re so kind, and so sweet, and when you hang up after a while he stares at his ceiling and wonders why you stay with him.

having a one sided relationship sucks. everybody knows that, you know that, and when your friends tell you to drop him you just laugh because it’s not a one sided relationship, it never will be.

sure, sae never calls first, or texts first, or a lot of other things- heck, sometimes he doesn’t even answer verbally when you talk through the phone. it’s fine, you just hope his ear doesn’t fall off each time. maybe sae doesn’t tell you that he loves you, or does the boyfriend shit you see on tiktok, but you know he cares.

if he didn’t, he wouldn’t pick up the phone on the first ring, wouldn’t listen to the entirety of your five minutes voice messages in 1x speed, wouldn’t wait for you to hang up and just do it himself. sae tells you he loves you when you receive a package with those boots you tried on once at a store (and sent sae a very cheesy picture with them) but didn’t buy them because even though they were cute the price wasn’t worth it. he tells you he loves you when you tell him you’re hungry on your way home and as soon as you arrive a clueless uber eats guy is standing in front of your door. he tells you he loves you when he’s half asleep and he accidentally reveals that he listens and remembers your gossip by butting in the conversation with a question involving the tea from a month ago.

and you know you love him when he does all of the above and never once talked to you about love. you know you love him when you find a packed pretty diamond ring from your favourite jewellery brand somewhere inside his closet when you come over. you definitely know you love him when he holds you close like a starved man, burying his head in the crook of your shoulder- he missed you so much. (the feeling is mutual, but his ego is already higher than the soaring rockets they sent to the moon some time in the 1900’s)

« you’re heavy! » you say, jokingly, because he actually isn’t but he doesn’t have to know. it isn’t common for him to be this clingy, and you think that if he doesn’t stop you’ll feel like you’re in highschool again: young, dumbstruck, and utterly in love.

he just hums in response. you’re used to it, and you would be upset if he wasn’t pulling you closer to his chest in a sae way that screams ‘i love you.’

you just smile, until the quirks of your mouth reach your eyes and until you’re sure he can feel it too, the intensity of your happiness. and for once, you stay silent, letting him do the talking with the way he grabs your waist.

maybe sae itoshi never got the best boyfriend award (and he probably never will), but it’s fine, because you are a version of yourself that molds perfectly with the puzzle piece that is itoshi sae. and he likes that, he loves the talkative and dramatic person that you are. you just wished he knew how much you loved his hot headed and attentive enigma too.

wrote this instead of my economics project that i had 3 months to do 👍 hope u enjoyed

[poppy-metal]

fail marriage when ur hella ovulating and you’re lonely and you miss him and you’re only separated, he’s still your husband really, so you call art. you tell him,”we don’t need to work anything out today. we don’t even have to talk. i just want to feel you. i miss touching you. i’m lonely. hang up if you’re coming over.”

you hear the line go dead and ring in your ear. you smile softly. he’s still your art. he still answers your call within one ring. he still wants you without thinking. he still needs you without caring what it means or if it will hurt him. you feel bad, guilty, but you feel so good to have him. when he knocks on your door, that special rap, you’re already waiting and open it. he spills through it, sweeping you up in his arms, embracing you before he even thinks about anything sexual.

“i love you.”

he says it without meaning to.

“i love you.”

“i love you.”

“i love you.”

“i love you.”

and it goes on like that. neither one of you can leave the others confession unsatisfied, unrequited. as you kissed with tongue and entire mouth, as you shed layer after layer of clothes and struggled around each other into the bedroom of your tiny apartment (normally, art was furious you lived here at all, furious you felt you should have to pay for yourself. he would pay for a bigger place, begged you to get somewhere in a safer part of town on his dime, but you wouldn’t hear it. quietly and graciously, you denied him more of you.) as you tugged and clawed and groaned and entered each other you chanted your mantra. i love you. all that shit that broke you up, none of it mattered tonight. none of it. you were his and he was yours and tonight, nothing would change that. i love you, the only true thing in the world, just for one night. and another night. and another and another and another.

u want me dead......

Its so evil of her too, it's like shes testing to see if it really is true that he wants her that badly - if he'll let her use him and hurt him by giving him her body but not her heart - art has always wanted to be a martyr for those he loves, always lets his love abuse him - and its sick you'd do that to him when you remember how he'd brought it up in therapy, back when you'd tried therapy together, how he felt like he was never good enough, but he was kind of addicted to that feeling - because its what kept him chasing for more, more, more, even if he suffered.

you'd never wanted to make your husband suffer. never in your whole time together had you wanted to inflict pain. but maybe thats where you went wrong with eachother. each of you unwilling to inflict pain on the other, unwilling to take risks, to dig your claws in, to demand things and hurt and be loud and messy and raw.

you want to hurt him now. you want to take his love and abuse it, put it to the test, push its limits to see how strong it really is - its why you walked away in the first place. nothing was gonna change between you without carnage. you'd both suffered too long in the silence of your quiet wanting for anything else to bring you back together.

you dont know how long you plan to drag it on for - how long you'll keep pushing and pushing him. until he breaks, maybe?

you're getting close to that point when you invite him over - allow him to touch you and pour confessions into your lips - but you keep your own lips tightly sealed. even if you echo it back everytime in your head, when he kisses down your body, between your legs and you almost say it, almost gasp it when his tongue rolls your hot clit in his mouth. the words are on the tip of your lips, ready to pitch over when he makes you cum around his fingers knuckle deep inside you - you're grateful when he licks into your mouth before they flow out - moan against him instead as you shatter apart in his arms, clenching and clenching around him.

"there, baby, there. cum for me - you're so beautiful, fuck - i missed this. i miss you, i love you -" and you kiss him this time, to shut him up.

your body wants his. it wants to take his cock inside her and wrap legs around him and never let him go - you want to kiss between his legs, suck him between your lips and worship him back with long pulls of your throat - you want to sink down on him, feel him stretch you out - you want him to take you roughly, push you back and yank your legs apart and growl and snarl at you for leaving him. fuck you with punishing snaps of his as he reminds you why you're meant for eachother.

but he gasps, "please. let me-"

and you come back to yourself. make yourself go cold instead of melting warm.

you push him away again, pretending the wounded fawn look he gives, he's always been such an open bleeding wound, doesn't affect you.

"you should go." you tell him instead.

you hear him inhale sharply. see suprise, and loss, and hurt and, most startilingly - anger, flash in his blue eyes. they darken. you swallow, your breath catching as you watch eachother.

he clenches his jaw. he obviously wants to push back. but he just looks away, and jerks his chin in a nod. dejected - "yeah, okay."

you deflate.

you dont look up when you hear the door close. empty fucking apartment. you'll probably cry yourself to sleep at night.

and tomorrow you'll be back to pushing. always pushing. something has to give, eventually.

[vhstown]

miles morales x you headcanons

— 1610!miles x gn!reader (friends to lovers)

warnings: just fluff lol (miles is a dork)

note: normal spider-man au, a little tiny bit long. v self indulgent and oddly specific but i tried to keep them in character + inclusive 😭 wrote this at 3am, somewhat edited

For context, you were Miles' first real friend at Brooklyn Visions. You kept running into each other, and he had a strong liking to you after you helped him escape the wrath of the hall monitors without question. Becoming fast friends, Miles is quickly involved in every part of your life at the academy, and he even more quickly develops a crush on you. Luckily for you, he completely forgets about the shoulder touch. The man has no game when he's around you, his best friend, though it's not like he needs to.

Miles draws you a lot, to the point where it's almost obsessive. You're in his sketchbook, class notes, a loose scribble on the back of a receipt. You have your hair different one day and he scrambles to capture it somewhere without you noticing. He has it down to a science, and he tries to convince himself it's absolutely normal to be able to draw you perfectly from memory.

When you find out, he wants a portal to open up and swallow him whole. It's more endearing than anything, though. It's not like you haven't been stealing glances of his portraits in the middle of class anyway.

You may or may not tease him relentlessly about it, but eventually, you get comfortable whenever he slips out his favourite pencil and you pretend not to catch his subtle, studying glances.

Miles loves his headphones, sure. He begged his mom to get them for him ages ago, promising he'd put them to good use. They're basically glued to his ears, that is, unless he's talking to you. He always takes them off, listening intently to whatever you have to say, even if you're making small talk or just saying hi.

Sharing music with you is always at the back of his mind until he finally caves and buys a pair of wired earphones. It becomes routine to listen to something together whenever you hang out, pulled a little closer to each other by the wire playing Sunflower between you.

And yes, he made you a playlist. He's definitely embarrassed about it at first, and listens to it a number of times beforehand to make sure you'd like it. It's full of songs that make him think of you and ones you expressed interest in. He's definitely overthought it, but it's worth your reaction and seeing the Spotify like count increase to one. He listens to it more than you do, though.

Miles is nervous about telling his mom about you. About the both of you. Yeah, he's already told her every detail of you and your life, but he's scared of what she'd think of meeting you in person; it's not like she's hyperaware of the boy she's known for all his life suddenly changing when you're brought up, right? Rio is definitely a mama bear, even if Miles gets the brunt of it sometimes, but when he brings you over for the first time you feel more than welcome. Miles' mom and dad are constantly whispering to each other during dinner trying to make you feel comfortable, and you catching one of Rio's half-scowls at her husband when he asks a stupid question. Either way, there are hugs and kisses at the door, and you leave with your heart and your stomach full. They might just be your new parents. (Maybe in the future?)

Miles definitely helps you with school when he can, especially with more technical subjects. He always drops everything when you message him with a math problem or right before your science finals. He's up on call with you til the sun's up, the both of you questioning your sanity and basic reason when it's really just an excuse to spend time with each other (though the circumstances are unideal.) You send him your English essay to read over one day and he painstakingly looks through it to find things to compliment you on; he has no idea what you're talking about.

And calls with you are one of his guilty pleasures. When he's sure Ganke's not paying attention or his mom's checked his room for the last time, he drops you a hopeful message. You're tired, but you find yourself justifying each time you call until 3 in the morning, talking about the same couple of things. He likes hearing about your day, where you've been, what hilarious or strange thing happened in your classes. He likes hearing your voice most of all; it's even more comforting when it's muffled by sleep and your thoughts come out in jumbled repetitions of the same thing. One day, you fall asleep on call. Miles doesn't bother to decline it, pulling his blanket over him and letting his eyes close to the sound of your breathing.

When the two of you actually get together, he's even more nervous than he was bringing you over for the first time. His brain short-circuits when you say you like him back, and he just says "yeah" or nods to everything you say. He can't believe you like him. Outside of being Spider-Man, he's a bit of a nobody (he just likes keeping to himself). Not to you, though. You're his only other friend besides Ganke (more like the sneaker thief) at Brooklyn Visions, and now he's yours. Despite the ample advice from his uncle, he misses your first kiss. (You try again after a lot of laughter and it's all okay when he gets used to it.)

But... he might be getting too used to it. In fact, now that he knows you're okay with the scary concept of kissing, he's always holding your hand, brushing away strands of your hair, even just holding onto your sleeve by his fingertips. Miles always steals kisses, especially before he runs off to his class on the other side of the academy (he insists on walking you to yours. Yes, he's been late multiple times.) You swear you'll get him back for those one-sided kisses, but the debt piles up, and you eventually get used to it too.

When he hasn't seen you in a while (after slinking off for his friendly neighborhood duties), he pulls you into the most enveloping, bone-crushing hug. His head is pressed into your shoulder and arms almost double-wrapped around your torso like he hasn't seen you in years. It feels like he could pick you up, no matter how much you insist he'll never be able to lift you. It gives you a strange sense of security, and you never question why someone of his stature could probably throw you like a tennis ball.

Though, when you do manage to show him affection before he slips away, he totally melts at your touch. It's like his crush forms all over again, like it's your first kiss all over again. You like to bombard him with love just to see him go quiet and flustered and hear that very specific laugh he's had since his crush formed. He likes having you close, no matter what you're doing. Even if you're both on your phones, he always lets you lean against him or has an arm around you. When you catch him off guard with a little peck on the face, you notice him frantically looking through his home screen like it's the most interesting thing in the world.

You'll get him back one day. Until then, you'll chase him around the whole of Brooklyn if you have to. He's happy to be caught, even happier to be your boyfriend. Maybe one day he'll even give you his drawings of you. Or his entire sketchbook, it's basically all just you. Recently, it's been made up of your smiles. Maybe he'll just keep the sketchbook for himself.

🕸️💫🎧

thank you for reading ^^ this is my first post so any suggestions wld be appreciated. this is my secondary blog so i can't reply but feel free to drop an ask! (not taking requests atm)

read the rest of my atsv headcanons here!

[ghostaholics]

I’m laughing so hard with the enemies with benefits trope, it’s the only thing keeping me sane right now.What if she gets badly hurt during a mission, and ends up unconscious for days, and Ghost stays by her side waiting for her to wake up and when she does, instead of a heartwarming conversation they instantly start to insult each other

The amount of time it took for them to stabilize her had been... long.

Too long.

So long, in fact that they'd had to resuscitate her twice during transport and somewhere in between their (inadequate, by his standards) attempts at life-saving measures and him taking over compressions (he'd bullied his way onto the carrier, of course, much to the displeasure of the rest of the medical flight personnel and was the only one willing to continue even after they'd seriously considered calling the time of death), there was a brief moment where he'd really thought she wasn't going to make it. And for exactly 34 minutes, he'd kept thinking to himself what a goddamn shame it'd be to lose her (not for himself, but for the 1-4-1, the good of the team, obviously). Except then they'd found her pulse again, faint and barely hanging on just under skin, albeit still there – thank-fucking-Jesus – and Simon had finally allowed himself to let out a sigh of breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding the entire time.

It's been about 72 hours since she was initially transferred to the trauma center by helo (or 71 hours and 53 minutes if he wants to get really technical, not that he’s keeping track). This surly, hulking beast of a man managed to fold himself into that tiny hospital chair – has a damn crick in his neck now, stiffness in his muscles from that pathetic excuse of a recliner. And he's had to camp out as a sniper for lengthy intervals before, slept on the ground or up against a fucking tree depending on the situation without complaint, so this should be any different, but he's had to shift positions frequently just to take the edge off because it's bothering him that much; Christ, the things he does for her.

And after waiting all this damn time, he's finally rewarded with some evidence of actual consciousness – the too-thin, threadbare hospital sheets stirring with movement out of the corner of his eye. Simon rises from his seat, completely neglecting his lunch (hadn't even really been able to eat properly until recently, because his appetite was pretty much shite after the whole cardiac arrest thing) and strides over to check on whether or not she's waking up.

She blinks, groggily, eyes adjusting to her surroundings and trying to place where exactly she is before a shadow passes over her line of vision and blocks the annoying fluorescent lights. It’s – oh.

Simon's face comes into view, peering down at her with an expression that she doesn’t quite recognize. This one’s new; she doesn’t have a name for it, but if she were to hazard a guess, it seems an awful lot like concern – or at least his version of whatever that may be. She watches him quietly. Her gaze isn’t as disoriented anymore and she tracks his hand, the way it comes up to cup her jaw, warm palm sliding over her skin in an invitation to lean into his touch.

“Really glad you woke up,” he murmurs, low but still loud enough to be heard over the rhythmic beeping of the bedside monitor. And Simon, being Simon, doesn't forget to add, “There's so many reports I've been waiting for you to sign off on.”

She closes her eyes with a small smile gracing her lips. Her voice is rough from disuse, but the sarcasm behind it is a familiar sound. “Wish I'd been out for longer. Was nice not having you nag my ear off – best damn sleep I've gotten in ages, y'know.”

[jtl-fics]

PREV

Aaron likes FF.

He’s a good friend to have and he’s been doing Aaron a huge favor this semester by tutoring Katelyn in German. He’d tried to tutor her but his teaching style and her learning had not been very compatible and it had been leading to some fighting between the two of them. Nicky had been the one to suggest that FF was a pretty good teacher and he wouldn’t take any sort of advantage of the inherent romantic setting of being a tutor (whatever the hell that meant).

FF was a good tutor.

Aaron liked to hang out while Katelyn and FF had their tutoring sessions and FF’s gaze never strayed down from Katelyn’s face when he was talking to her. He gave her German children’s books that he himself had used to better understand the written language and Aaron quite enjoyed the nights he spent over at Katelyns where she’d clumsily make her way through them as they were winding down for bed.

There were other things to like about FF.

He liked how FF could disagree with him without fighting with him. He liked how FF had the confidence to just leave any situation he didn’t like. He liked how FF sang to himself when he was distracted (he had a pretty good voice). He liked how FF could watch horror movies without blinking. He liked how he could sit in easy silence with FF and the two of them could just do their own thing. He liked how bad FF was at video games.

He liked how FF never confused Aaron for Andrew no matter what they were wearing or if they were aiming to confuse people. FF never said how he managed it when even Matt and Nicky got them confused every once in a while but FF never failed to know which twin he was talking to. He also played along when they were going about messing with the other non-FF freshmen by vacating the area instead of alerting anyone to them having switched.

(Aaron is completely unaware of an entirely uncomfortable talk that Nicky has had with FF where he asked FF how he could tell Andrew and Aaron apart. The answer was that initially Aaron always had a very tiny pen mark on his ear somewhere because he had a habit of putting his pen behind his ear. The answer in the long run was that they stood slightly differently and Andrew had a wrinkle that Aaron didn’t. Nicky had asked why FF was looking so closely at his cousins, “Well, I thought that Andrew might swap with Aaron at some point to lure me into a false sense of security and then he’d kill me.” FF answers unaware of why Nicky went still, “I realize now that Andrew isn’t like that.” FF had rushed to assure.

“Yeah…” Nicky had said awkwardly.

“Really, I honestly don’t think Andrew would pretend to be Aaron to kill someone.” FF had said again.)

The thing Aaron probably liked the most though was how happy his cousin was to have someone who was ‘his’ person. Andrew had Kevin and Neil, Aaron had Katelyn, and now Nicky had FF. They were hardly separate from the other Foxes nowadays and they roomed with Matt but there was always a difference for their group between ‘family’ and ‘friend’. FF was someone that Nicky had claimed as family and they had all agreed.

Aaron also enjoyed watching how Andrew and Neil both couldn’t fully comprehend how FF had ended up as Nicky’s when they had both made quite a few efforts. Nicky had always just shrugged and said that they’d understand when they were older before heading off to go see FF at Abby’s house as if the rest of them weren’t following right behind him.

FF was healing nicely and would be moving back into the dorms in the next week or so but he still spent a fair bit of time in Aaron’s room. He had heard Nicky talking to Wymack about possibly having him moved into their room which Aaron wouldn’t mind even if it mean that he’d have to do the ‘Smith Shout’ more frequently.

The ‘Smith Shout’ entails walking into rooms that you thought were empty but theoretically they could also contain FF. If you didn’t mind a minor heart attack later then you didn’t need to complete the ‘Smith Shout’ but if you were perhaps…interested in making out with your beautiful girlfriend?

The ‘Smith Shout’ was a must, they were all trying to get better about the levels of hanky and panky that FF was subjected to just because they failed to realize he was right there.

FF never made a big deal about it but it always felt embarrassing when they heard the click of the door as FF left the room they were making out in.

There was no need for the ‘Smith Shout’ today as FF was helping Katelyn with some basic vocabulary and going over conversations and pronunciation with her. Aaron was sitting nearby going over some micro-biology homework when they heard a door slam open down the hall, pounding foot steps, and then their door slammed open to reveal a pale-faced Kevin

“Kevin, what-“

Kevin shushed Aaron before he could ask what was wrong and came into the room and shut the door with shaking hands. His phone was held in his right hand so tightly that his knuckles were white from the strain.

“Lord Moriyama just called me.” Kevin said shaking badly enough that Aaron wondered if he should guide the Striker over to their couch so that he could sit. “He…he let me know that he’s dropped the percentage I owe him to 65%” Kevin’s gaze slid to FF who was sat at the desks with Katelyn still. “He…he said to give you his…regards?” He says.

Aaron’s own gaze whips to FF.

“Ok.” FF says with an awkward shrug.

Aaron almost laughs at the lack of response but he holds it in unsure of how Kevin would take it.

“Kevin, it’s a good thing right?” Aaron says instead.

Kevin looks at him and nods frantically, “Yes. It’s a good thing.” He agrees. “35% makes things so much…so much easier.” Kevin says his shoulders sagging and it always bothers Aaron when he thinks about the deal that Kevin and Neil live under. He knows that Andrew has only been even listening to offers over a certain amount since he plans on helping Neil.

“I’m glad.” FF offers before turning back to Katelyn, “Ok, have you finished reading that book I gave you last week?” He asks apparently more interested in tutoring than in what Lord Moriyama had to say to Kevin.

“Oh, yes!” Katelyn agrees.

Kevin looks at them and Aaron has known Kevin long enough to recognize when he’s thinking about something. He even knows him well enough to sense when he’s thinking about something irritating.

Kevin leaves the room though so Aaron figures that it will be someone else’s problem.

He is, unfortunately, incorrect.

45 minutes later Kevin bursts into the room again and grabs Aaron, “I need your help with something.” He says, hands cold around Aaron’s wrist, and before Aaron can complain he is being dragged out of his room and into the room his brother shares with Neil and Kevin.

“Kevin, what the hell?” Aaron complains finally managing to pull himself out of Kevin’s grasp.

“I’m going to take control of Smith’s recovery.” Kevin says as if that was a normal thing to say, “Lord Moriyama wished him a speedy recovery and…and I owe him.” Kevin admits.

“You don’t need to take control of Smith’s recovery to thank him. You could just thank him?” Aaron points out the obvious answer but as per usual very few members of the Foxes were amiable to hearing the simple solutions that Aaron offered.

“No this is better. He’ll appreciate it more than just a simple thank you.” Kevin dismissed, “Now, do you think I should start with basic protein or more vitamin based smoothies for his recovery?” Kevin asks and only now does Aaron see the grocery bags of fruits, vegetables, and various other things littering the kitchen.

Why the fuck was everyone on this team so damn weird?

It was 20 minutes of Aaron trying to wrangle Kevin away from the weirdest combinations. The only thing that made him feel better was the knowledge that Josten was going to see all of these veggies and probably hiss like a vampire as he backed away from the fridge.

Still, 20 soul crushing minutes and they had a green beverage sitting in the blender that Josten had bought the room his sophomore year for Kevin. “I’ll be asking you and Katelyn for assistance on this project.” Kevin says.

“No thanks.” Aaron says exhausted from the last 20 minutes.

“Then I’ll just do it alone.” Kevin says and Aaron thinks about the various things that Kevin had wanted to put into the smoothie, thinks of FF tutoring Katelyn without asking for anything, and how FF had lied to protect Aaron’s brother even from federal agents when he had nothing to do with the mess of two years ago.

Fuck.

“Fine, I’ll help.” He grits out because he couldn’t leave FF to the nutritional whims of Kevin Day. He already feels bad enough about the drink that FF is about to be subjected to but he can at least stop Kevin from crushing actual multi-vitamins into the drinks and claiming it would make for good ‘texture’.

They come back to the room and Aaron hears Katelyn and FF talking about a new smoothie place that might be good for FF to try, “…have a peanut butter and banana one that would probably be easy on your stomach.” He hears her say unaware of the monstrosity Aaron has just had a hand in creating.

“No need for that.” Kevin says confidence unshaken and undeserved as puts a glass of green juice down in front of FF. “Drink that.” He says.

Aaron is immediately filled with a desperate desire to both apologize and slap the glass out of Kevin’s hand. Inevitable stained carpet be damned.

“Sure.” FF says as he takes hold of the glass.

It feels as Aaron watches it happen in slow motion. He sees Katelyn’s own revolted face and wishes he could tell her that this really was the best he could do in terms of saving FF. FF, unaware of Aaron’s inner turmoil, takes a sip of the green beverage full of Kale, spinach, sprouts, protein powder (plain), and some crazy Chinese health supplement that Kevin swore by but smelled vaguely alcoholic despite Kevin’s INSISTENCE that it was not.

“I know alcohol, this isn’t alcohol.” Kevin had said and honestly it was hard to argue with that logic.

FF brought it to his lips and drank it.

Aaron felt like he should have gotten a garbage bin ready but instead he watches on in horrified awe as FF drains the entire nightmarish glass.

“Cauliflower?” FF asks as he wipes the remnants of the smoothie off of his upper lip.

Aaron’s head whipped towards Kevin who was smiling as he accepted the glass back from Smith, “I’m surprised you would notice.” He says visibly pleased even as Aaron bristles.

“How the fuck did you put cauliflower in there, I was watching you.” He hisses.

“Katelyn texted you, I put it in then.” Kevin shrugs.

Aaron regrets nothing.

***

Kevin continued to hand FF bizarre healthy combinations of fruits, vegetables, and god knows what. Aaron and Katelyn did their best to keep Kevin from going too wild with his purchases but Kevin on a mission was a difficult thing to stop.

It didn’t help that FF accepted any and everything that Kevin handed to him without a single flinch. As far as Aaron knew FF didn’t even know that Kevin had decided to take control of his recovery and diet for the foreseeable future.

He had been making a run to buy Katelyn some tampons when he found FF in the stomach pain aisle looking between a two-pack or an extra large bottle of Pepto Bismol. “Smiths, if Kevin’s god awful smoothies are hurting your stomach you can just tell him.” Aaron says as he drags FF out of the aisle knowing that Pepto Bismol would not be good. “You can’t take anything with aspirin. Nicky had me read your care instructions to him in plain English I know.” He says.

FF didn’t say anything as he let himself be dragged to the register where the girl there seemed surprise that FF wasn’t buying anything. “Nothing for you?” She asks looking at FF.

FF nodded, “Nothing for me.” He agrees.

“I’m glad! You deserve it!” She says smiling as if she hadn’t just said something that felt wildly rude to say to a customer.

Aaron grabbed FF by the arm, scowled at the cashier, and dragged him out.

“They don’t hurt my stomach. I ended up there more on auto-pilot than anything.” FF says and Aaron remembers the conversation they had been having in the stomach relief section. “I think what I had yesterday was a bit too much.” He admits and Aaron rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything else.

Kevin’s nagging about their health had gotten a combination of better and worse since FF had started accepting the smoothies without comment.

Better because now Kevin had someone who he could unleash his full overbearing nature on and who didn’t seem to even care or notice just doing as Kevin ordered. Worse because now Kevin had a taste of what it was like for one of them to follow his orders.

This building irritation had lead to Josten and Andrew grabbing FF before he could be ambushed by Kevin for his usual lunch smoothie and drag him off to an off campus Deli that they both liked. Josten had probably wanted to feel just a little bit superior to the multi-lingual Freshman since it was a Russian Deli where the owner only really got what you ordered if you did it in Russian. It had happened on the day where at morning practice Kevin had implied that FF would be a better protege since he listened while Neil continued to refuse vegetables.

He could just imagine Josten offering to order for FF.

What an asshole.

He remembers coming into the room the day previous and finding them dumping the contents of a styrofoam bowl into the blender. “What is that?” Aaron had asked.

“Borscht.” Josten answered.

“Why are you putting it in a blender?” Aaron asks knowing that Josten didn’t have an ounce of social awareness.

“So Smith can eat it?” Josten said back to him slowly as if Aaron was the idiot between the two of them.

“Does Kevin know?” Aaron had asked

“Kevin can’t bitch, there’s plenty of vegetables in there.” Josten said with absolute certainty.

Kevin can, in fact, bitch.

“Andrew ordered the borscht for me.” FF says as they continue towards the dorms interrupting Aaron from his memory. “It was good, it was just too much. Like what Kevin said yesterday.” He adds.

Aaron can’t believe Josten is so opposed to ordering vegetables that he made Andrew order FF’s food for him.

What an asshole.

***

“A leash. I will find the largest child leash I can get and I will put it on you. Smithy, what the fuck.” Nicky bitches as they made their way out into the crisp December air. “I can’t believe you fell asleep and we almost left you again.” Nicky adds. “My sweet baby boy,

Aaron thinks his cousin is being over dramatic.

FF could walk back from the Fox stadium to the tower on his own just fine. He was a big boy no matter how many times Nicky claimed him to be his ‘sweet little baby boy’.

“I’m not your baby. Don’t call me that.” FF grumbles through his yawn sounding very much like a cranky little baby.

“Maybe stay awake through the game and I’ll consider it.” Nicky teases.

“The game was boring enough to play let alone just having to sit and watch.” Kevin says and it was only because Kevin had his ‘post-game’ smoothie for FF to drink that they realized he wasn’t there before they left the stadium. “We can hardly blame Smiths for falling asleep.” Kevin shrugs elated by the win but disappointed in the competition. “Drink your smoothie Smiths.” He says and FF went back to sipping at the unknown concoction, “The tart cherries and avocado should help you go to sleep when we get back to Abby's.” He says as if that combination was a natural one.

“Tart Cherries and Avocado?” Josten asks in obvious disgust.

“They’re-“

“Hey, Granny Boy!” Came a shout that interrupted Kevin’s explanation.

Usually, anything that interrupted Kevin from some going on another lecture was a good thing but Aaron, bringing up the rear, can see how FF’s posture went from relaxed to painfully alert in a matter of seconds.

“Daniel.” FF returns.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

[gabessquishytum]

Dream and Hob are friends with benefits. This wasn't planned - certainly not by Dream - but one thing led to another, and after one of their dinners, which became frequent after their reunion, they ended up upstairs, with Dream on his back and his legs on Hob's shoulders. Dream has never been in an FWB arrangement before, but he's a huge fan now (and why did Hob waste so much time talking to him about chimneys when humanity has invented this utter masterpiece??). Hob treats him like a pillow princess, takes him with equal vigor and enthusiasm in all his forms, and they fuck all around the Dreaming and in the most exotic locations of the Waking world. They also hang out as friends, learn more about each other's lives, and all that sans mindfucking that comes with relationships. Oh yes, Dream is a huge fan. He is, in fact, in love with Hob, but he'd never lay such a burden on Hob's shoulders. Love of an Endless is a heavy thing, and Dream doesn't want to see his dearest friend crumble under it. Hob is also in love with Dream, but if 1889 taught him something, it is not to ask Dream for more than he's ready to give. And Dream already gives much more than Hob has ever hoped. The teeny-tiny problem arises when they have an especially cathartic sex: Hob is so relentless and passionate, and they go rounds and rounds, switching between the Waking and the Dreaming. As Hob whispers filthy, unbearable things into his ear about how much he'd like to breed Dream and keep him, Dream gets lost in a fantasy of them having a home…and a child. It wouldn't be enough to get preggers if Hob didn't actually mean it and dream of it, too, but Hob very much meant it and dreamt of it. Dreamt of it for centuries. And that's how mere days later - because Dream is inhuman and his awareness of what's going on inside him is unmatched - Dream feels a new life stirring somewhere deep inside. He is ecstatic and confused and scared and everything in between. But besides being afraid of failing as a father (again!), he's afraid of Hob's reaction. Apparently, their arrangement didn't involve babies. Dream briefly considers keeping his pregnancy a secret but eventually decides to come clean to Hob: his friend deserves to know he'll be a father soon, even if this child is unwanted. Another thing is, Dream can already feel that the baby isn't human: they're taking more after his nightmarish side...If only the Dreaming's library had a book How to Tell Your FWB He Got You Pregnant with a Creature 101! Perhaps it'd appear there after tonight...

Awww this is so good!! Poor Dream. He's feeling like such a stereotype - an unplanned pregnancy, potentially losing his best friend. Why is his life like something out of a bad human soap opera?! He arranges to meet up with Hob and nervously sits with his hands covering his stomach. If nothing else, he's going to love his baby a whole lot. He's actually a little bit excited by the prospect of having a little creature to love and care for. He created a dozen little baby sleepsuits with multiple limb holes already.

Hob is rather shocked, of course, because he never expected to be a father again. But after the shock wears off, he's ecstatic! He's been so desperate to forge something permanent with Dream - fwbs has been great, and Hob will always want to be Dream’s friend, but he's greedy enough to want more. He's not scared of Dream’s love, he's excited to drown in it and reciprocate everything that Dream wants to give him.

Hob is like "I did say I wanted to breed you and keep you, sweetheart. Well, let me prove to you exactly how much I meant it." He wants Dream to live with him, at least some of the time. So he can take care of him and the baby. Of course he doesn't want Dream to abandon his work and function, but wouldn't it be nice to have a domestic life together? Can't they be best friends who are also deeply romantically in love and having extremely hot sex? Well, it's not something that Dream has tried to before. He's never actually been friends with any of his romantic partners. Could that have been the problem all along?

He senses that he'll need all the help he can get with the baby (who is living up to their function and being a proper little nightmare already). And if he moves in with Hob, at least he can get footrubs on demand. Maybe he'll finally get to be happy with Hob and the creature they've created through their love?

At least he's going to try. And Hob is so proud and grateful for that. He'll give footrubs 24/7 <333

[sentientgolfball]

i love soft phantom but how about a scenario of a new ghoul or some other demon species acting predatory towards reader and phantom being all protecting and aggressive!!! 🤭

When I saw this one I knew I had to save it :> consider this Golfball's Halloween special

Tags: nothing too overtly gory, but there's some description of injury, demon Phantom, blood drinking, extremely brief mention of suicide

My requests are open !

Phantom has always been a cheerful ghoul, ever since the day he was summoned. He was always willing to help where it was needed and eager to learn about the strange world of humanity. He was talkative and affectionate, kind and curious. He’s someone you considered a friend with how often he’d swing by to help you where he could. But something has been off lately. 

It started with snide comments and jokes that were a bit too personal. That quickly turned into stealing your things and hiding them where you’d never find them. Bleeding into the shadows just to pop out when you thought you were alone. The worst part was nobody else seemed to notice his change. You tried venting to your friends one night and all you received were confused looks and questions. He only seemed to be treating you like this. You felt crazy. And now here he was sitting on your desk. 

“Come on, is it really that important?” He snatches the paper you were looking over from your hand. His eyes roam over it quickly before a sick grin crosses his face as he tears it up. 

“Phantom what the fuck!” You feel your gut twist at the sight of the contract now in tiny pieces all across the desk. 

His once sickeningly sweet laugh sounds grating to your ears. You look at him only to be met with a horrible Cheshire grin full of fang. 

“What? You said it yourself we couldn’t hang today cause you were busy. Now you’re not busy.” 

You stare incredulously at him, mouth slightly agape “Get out.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Get the fuck out!”

“Aww come on you’ve got nothing to do now.” He purrs 

“No. Now I have more to do! Leave!” 

He shrugs with a chuckle before hopping off your desk and out the door, tail flicking happily as he goes. You dig the heel of your palm into your eyes and let out a frustrated groan. What the hell was up with him? You felt crazy. He’s been like this for weeks. What’s even worse there would be days that he seemed completely normal and you could almost forget how much of a pain in the ass he’s become. He’d flip so often you were beginning to wonder if he needed to go see Omega. You started to loathe seeing him, it was getting exhausting dealing with the whiplash of demeanor. 

A soft knock on the door interrupts your thoughts. Whoever is there waits only a few seconds before slowly opening the creaky door. 

“Hey” a smooth voice calls out “you missed lunch so I thought I’d bring you something small.” 

Your irritation spikes. You actually couldn’t believe him. The audacity of this ghoul. 

“Phantom do you really fucking think a little sandwich is going make me forgive you?” 

You remove your hands from your eyes and glare at him. 

“What?” He asks with genuine confusion, ears drooping. 

You huff and stand, shoving your chair in with a shrill scrape against the floor. You gather the rest of the papers before Phantom has a chance to shred them. You shoulder past him and out the door. You couldn’t be near him anymore. You went to go find somewhere to finish your work without a little demon bothering you. 

You had spent the rest of your day fixing the mess Phantom caused and catching up on what you had to put on pause. You were now alone in your room trying to alleviate the headache that had plagued you for the last few hours. You were laying in bed staring off when you heard a knock at your door. You didn’t answer. You really didn’t care who was on the other side, you didn’t want to deal with it. 

“Please let me in.” A soft whine came as you stayed quiet. 

“Go away Phantom.” 

It was quiet for a long time. You started to settle believing that he actually listened and left you alone. Until you heard a whisper you would’ve missed if it hadn’t been dead quiet. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You rolled over and looked at the door, weighing your options. You had been sick of the way he was acting towards you, but he was your friend. He had been so kind to you much longer than this new asshole side of his. Maybe he was going through something ghoulish that you couldn’t understand? You sigh. If he was coming here to apologize then he at least realized he did something wrong. You’d be willing to forgive if he could mend the tears in your relationship. 

You push yourself out of bed and open the door. You stand in the doorframe eyeing his downtrodden posture. He was slouching, ears drooped and eyes wide with his tail wrapped around his leg. Little pricks of guilt began to soften the anger steaming in your mind. 

“I’m sorry” He squeaks again “for everything.” 

“Phantom” you sigh and cross your arms “I don’t know what’s up with you, but it’s really hurt.” 

“I know, I know I’m sorry I just need to exp—“

“I really don’t want an excuse just…fuck.”

“Please let me make it up to you.” 

You consider him for a moment. You really hated the way he’s been acting, but you had a fondness for the sweet little ghoul you once knew. You wanted to believe he could make it up to you. You wanted to have the Phantom you knew back. Maybe you would regret it. Maybe you would come to realize he’s a demon no matter how soft his smile is. Maybe you were just stupid and naive for thinking it could change. But if he’s willing to apologize, willing to admit how fucked he’s been maybe he deserves a second chance. 

“Okay.” 

His ears perk up. 

“Not tonight. I’m still pissed about the paperwork, but if you haven’t flipped out again overnight then maybe we can work something out.” 

“Yes it’ll be different I promise, no more bad Phantom. I’ll make sure he’s gone.” 

“Goodnight Phantom. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow.”

He stays and watches you close the door before departing. You sigh heavily, shoulder slumping before crawling back into your bed. You were exhausted. Everything’s been so exhausting lately. Though, on the bright side it seemed like your headache finally went away.  

After Phantom’s apology everything seemed to go back to normal. Well almost normal. He refused to leave you alone now. Granted he was always a little clingy, but this was a whole new level. He was always hanging around the same area as you even if he wasn’t directly interacting. You honestly didn’t care at this point, you were just glad he seemed like his sweet self again. He even kept his promise. He had begun getting you small little gifts of crystals and flowers and helping you with your tasks around the Ministry. It was nice. About a week of this passed and you felt good, great even. You wanted to do something with him, show him you’re no longer mad at him. With Samhain right around the corner you both decided on having a gigantic movie marathon.

You were waiting for him in your room, everything needed for the night already set up. You were just waiting for him to get out of rehearsal. A knock at your door startled you. You furrow your brow opening it to see who was there. 

“Phantom?” 

“Hey hey we were let out early. Come on, let's get this party started.” He shoulders past you into your room. 

You shrug it off and close the door behind you. He flops onto your bed as you start the first movie. You offer up the snacks you gathered but he declines scrunching his nose in disgust. You get a weird feeling. You try to ignore it though as the movie begins. You settle next to him on your bed, eating since he won’t. Another sinking feeling creeps in when he doesn’t move closer. He’s always been physically affectionate, but now he stays leaning against the wall with a rigid posture. You try to focus on the movie. 

Your phone buzzes after about thirty minutes into the movie. You check it. A text from Phantom. 

I’m on my way! Copia just let us out….please tell me you remembered my candy 

What…? 

You stare at it. The sinking feeling in your stomach twists. You feel nauseous. You try to sneak a glance at the Phantom sitting next to you. He’s staring right at you with a sick grin. You jump out of the bed away from him. 

“Something wrong?” He asks nonchalantly. 

“Who the fuck are you?” 

“That’s a stupid question. I’m Phantom, your favorite ghoul.” That Cheshire grin splits his face. 

“No you’re not. You’re not him. Who are—“ 

“Oh ouch guess my time is up. Or no that’s not right. Your time.” 

The thing wearing Phantom’s face stands from the bed, eyes rolling back joints popping sickeningly. You don’t waste another second. You run out of your room determined to make it to the practice room. Find Phantom. Find Papa and the other ghouls. Find anyone before this thing turned you into prey. As you ran you heard its wicked laugh bounce through the halls, the scraping of claws against polished floor. You didn’t dare spare a glance behind you. You needed to get away from it. You turn sharply at the next corner hoping to either lose it or find somewhere to hide until it was safe to run. 

You dipped into an alcove throwing a hand over your mouth to stifle your breathing, praying to whoever was listening that you'd be safe. Your eyes widen as the creature stalks forward. It still wears the appearance of Phantom but there’s something so unsettlingly wrong about it. He looks thin, too thin. Bones clearly visible through skin that was drawn too tight. Its hair was long, greasy like an oil spill. Everytime it moved you could hear its tendons snap and pop. You could see black ichor under its skin where its veins popped on its neck. 

“Where are you?” Its cracked, layered voice sang out as it stalked down the hall. 

Lucky, it passes right by your hiding spot. You wait just a bit longer for safe measure before ducking out. It’s gone. You move at a brisk pace towards where you knew a pack of ghouls was hanging. You end up slowing down after a while. It still hasn’t caught up to you. Maybe it lost you? Or maybe one of the sentry ghouls caught it? Either way, you felt safe enough to slow. It hadn’t appeared and you were almost to the practice rooms. You were so close. 

You were so close. 

You stop dead in your tracks when you feel a thick substance drip onto your face. You swipe it, seeing a black ichor coating your fingers. 

“Hello” that voice laughs. 

You try to run but it’s faster. It grabs you, claws digging deep into your skin. You feel the blood flow before you see it, but when you do see it you’re suddenly snapped into the reality of the situation. You panic. You freeze. You don’t know what to do. All you can think about is the gory demise that surely awaits you. It drags you forwards and you stumble. When you fall to the floor the thing pounces. You stare in horror at its gaping maw, filled with hundreds of needle-thin teeth. Spit dripped from his mouth coating your face as it leaned in. You flinch when it springs forward and it latches onto your arm biting down hard and sucking the blood from the wound. It burns. It feels like fire is coursing through your veins as its saliva infects you. The imposter Phantom rips its teeth from your arm and grins, licking the excess blood from its mouth with a sick tongue. 

“You know…I was not going to hunt you” it’s cracked voice says “you were feeding me so well. I would have taken from you until you ended your own life, but that vermin that horrid guard dog pushed me away. Starved me.” 

It brings its mouth close to your throat, jaw cracking and popping as flesh rips so it can open its mouth wider than should be possible. You make one last attempt to push it away, but the burning all but consumed your mind. You couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could barely feel. All you could do is watch in paralyzed horror as the beast that wore Phantom’s face prepared to end your life. 

You hear a sharp trill and you close your eyes waiting for the final blow. But it never came. The force of the beast is suddenly knocked off you. You blink your eyes open and you see Phantom. The real Phantom crouched between your broken body and the creature. He growls low in his throat at the thing, tail lashing dangerously. The Phantom you see before you is not one you’ve seen before. It’s definitely him, but something is different. He looks bigger, taller. His horns are long, more sharp. His quintessence pops and cracks haphazardly over his body. His claws look sharper. His eyes are gone, completely black and hollow, swallowed by the void within his very core. His physical form is barely contained as wisps of smoke and stardust curl around him. 

The creature screeches and jumps up, form twisting as it does so. Its joints pop as it grows, thin limbs becoming thinner. It’s leathery skin is stretched so thin you can practically see every ichor filled vein. It still wears Phantom’s face but it looks half melted as it struggles to maintain the appearance. It’s sharp, every ridge and bone visible. It lunges at Phantom. 

He growls and disappears in a puff of smoke before reappearing behind the beast. He rakes his claws down its back, black ichor spilling onto the pristine floors. He warps away again when it turns, landing another blow to its side. He does this again and again, but the beast catches on. The minute he puffs away it spins and catches him when he reappears. It throws Phantom against the wall with horrible force. He lets out a pained wheeze, rolling over trying to gather himself before it’s too late. He’s not fast enough though. The creature sinks its teeth deep into his shoulder and Phantom wails. Its teeth dig in. 

Phantom screams and digs his claws into its head. He sets his jaw and unleashes so much raw quintessence from his body that the hallway is filled with a purple glow. The beast falls limp, sparks jumping from its body. Phantom doesn’t hesitate. He sinks his fangs deep into its throat and pulls and pulls until it’s ripped from its neck. He spits it onto the floor and bends back down, drinking the ichor like blood that pours from the wound of the dead creature. He pulls back when he’s satisfied, swiping his forked tongue over his mouth collecting the remnants. He growls at the body of the beast. 

You scream at the scene, or at least you try to. It comes out more as a whimper as the venom works its way through your system. The moment you do, though, Phantom’s head snaps to your body laying on the floor. Immediately everything about him changes. The quintessence stops rippling over his body, he goes back to his normal size, his form becomes solid again, his eyes return to their normal purple. You see his mouth move but you can’t hear it over the ringing in your ears. You see him run to you before your eyes fall shut. 

When you finally blink open your eyes, you're met with the sterile white of an infirmary room. Everything hurts. You felt slick with sweat and cold. Your head was absolutely pounding as you looked around trying to get your bearings. That’s when you notice a little ball of purple curled up at the foot of your bed. 

“He’s been there all night you know.” 

You whip your head around at the voice before you can stop yourself. You groan feeling like someone took a hammer to the side of your skull. 

“Don’t move so quickly. Your body is still recovering from the venom. You’re lucky I was able to make an antidote.” 

“Thanks Omega.” You wince both from the pain and how that came out a lot more sarcastic than genuine. 

He chuffs “Don’t mention it Sibling, however next time a trickster spirit is within these halls please alert me before another scene is caused.” 

And with that, he walks out. You lay back in the bed and close your eyes against the annoying fluorescent. You replay the night's memories over and over again until you feel a weight shift as Phantom moves from his spot at the foot. A smile ghosts your face as he curls closer to you and mumbles a sleepy “You’re thinking too loud” before he falls back asleep with a purr in his chest. 

[cowpokeomens]

Good morning I saw this post and it rotted all three of my remaining brain cells because

Word gets around to you that sweet Matty is a virgin, and by no means are you one to take that lightly! But :-/ you know as well as I do about his MCE, and you just wanna take the horse for a ride 😔🫶 and he’s been flirting with you for months now in his own weird passive-aggressive mean way! So it’s not like your feelings aren’t reciprocated! It’s fine! You’re fine! Nothing morally corrupt to see here! So yeah just imagine your shorts get shorter as the months get warmer :-/ you ditch the hoodies for crop tops, then you ditch those for bralettes because “it’s sooooo hot Matty what the hell is up with this weather??” And you know you’re getting under his skin with the way his hands linger on you, at the small of your back, direct skin to skin, as he guides you in front of him somewhere busy; the way his eyes are absolutely lingering on your legs in your tiny little shorts :-/ you laugh at his jokes with your chest because you know it makes your tits bounce :-/ you press your whole body against him in a way that never mattered when you wore hoodies and sweatpants, but makes him shove you off now with pink cheeks. It all comes to a head when you’re getting ready to go out with some gal pals. He’s hanging out at your place while you get ready; once you’re done with your makeup and changed into your clothes, you do a little twirl to show him your outfit- which is absolutely lingerie and a mini skirt :-/ your fishnets have a few suggestive holes ripped in them, the boots you wear elongate your legs without having you teetering on a heel precariously :-/ Matt sighs, which makes you genuinely frown. You ask “What is it, Matty?” To which he responds “I dunno, it seems like you’re dressing really… provocative lately.” And you try not to focus on how that hurts because he is right after all!!! And you’re gonna respond when he mumbles “it’s distracting.” And oop! Wrong thing to say Matty! Because you drop your eyelashes and walk over to him slowly, sitting so close to him you’re practically on his lap. “Distracting? How?” It sounds innocent enough, right? No ulterior motives here! And his cheeks are sooooo pink omg baby is soooo flustered by your proximity and your question and your everything. But he’s nothing if not honest! So he says “it’s just, like, I’m straight edge, right? So the idea is that you avoid…. Promiscuous sex. But like-“ he pauses and you nod to encourage him, sensing something big is coming, “I’m just not sure what constitutes as ‘promiscuous’ if that makes sense? Like do you have to be married? Do you just have to really care about the other person? What are the parameters?” And you can’t help but tuck a little piece of hair behind his ear, thinking before you respond. “I think,” you begin slowly, “that sex is a natural part of being alive. It’s fine if you don’t want to have it, it’s fine if you do what to have it. But it seems unfair for some straight-edge higher being to decide what the ‘healthy’ limit looks like, because that limit will be different for everyone.” And his wee shoulders relax a bit which makes you fight back the urge to beam with pride but then he says “I’ve never- I haven’t like, done it before. What if I’m not good? What if no one wants to stick around because I suck at it?” And your little heart just breaks because :-( Matty :-( so you tell him that anyone who only cares about sex obviously has different priorities and isn’t worth keeping around! And then you can’t fight the urge to say “but. If you want to practice. I’m always here for you < 3” hehehehehehe and his eyes get all wide bc?? You’re so hot?? And he just admitted he’s a virgin?? And you offered to fuck him??? And maybe :-/ maybe you offer to take some of the edge off for him :-// maybe he just needs to relax :-/// and he seems perfectly willing to hear you out so you slide onto to floor between his knees and his breath hitches as you start to palm at him where he’s absolutely chubbed up and you were right- Monster Cock Energy! Yippee!

Anyways! You pull his cock out and it’s so pretty and pink and you want it in your mouth so you flutter your eyelashes and ask if you can suck on it and he stares at you open-mouthed for a minute before saying “it doesn’t. It doesn’t count, right? Because I’m not fucking you. So it doesn’t count.” And you nod because that’s what he needs right now and reassure him that no, it doesn’t count, Matty :-) what you don’t say virginity is a social construct that you can hit reset on whenever you want bc it’s not real but that’s a conversation for another time bc right now Matt’s cock is in your mouth and it’s hot and heavy on your tongue and you think he might actually pull a muscle with how hard he tenses up :-/ he’s soooo vocal ugh never learned that men are supposed to be stoic and silent so he’s moaning so so so prettily and clawing at the cushion underneath him as you take him deeper and deeper and when he hits the back of your throat he’s gargling out shit like “holy fuck, oh my god, you’re perfect, you’re so hot and perfect and I’ve thought about this for weeks now-“ and you’d be bashful if you hadn’t been so intentional in your seduction! Oops! He’d manage to get a hand into your hair and it’s over from there, once he gets a taste of fucking your mouth he’ll never recover I fear! It’s wet and messy and there’s lipstick all over your face and mascara running down your cheeks and his thrusts are erratic and fast until he finally cums with a loud, breathy moan, pulling you down to the base and keeping you there for a solid 10 seconds as he shakes through his orgasm :-/ doesn’t hesitate to pull you right into his lap to kiss you deeply, smearing cum and lipstick all over himself now too :-/ anyways that’s all I just wanted to share thanks for letting me have the conch bye!

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. / chapter one.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F!Reader (Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin)

Word Count: 2.8K

Summary: They say that, before all of this, you dedicated your heart to the Scout Regiment. They say that you're respected as a soldier, trusted as a comrade, and fiercely protected by a Captain. They tell you a lot of things. You remember none of it.

Warnings: Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Eventual Romance, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Flashbacks, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Nonbinary Hange Zoe, Unhinged!Levi, Other Additional Tags to be Added As the Story Progresses

( Read on AO3 )

Next Chapter. / Masterlist.

ONE.

A guttural gasp.

Ugly, brutal, forced; it's the first sound you hear with your own two ears — and you're pretty sure it's coming from your mouth.

From your chest down to your belly, your lungs fill with a deep surprise as they wretch you from nothingness to this — choked airways, freezer-burnt skin, and a splitting headache. Your fingers twitch. Your toes curl. Limb by limb, you body returns to the land of the living. Blinding sunlight invades from all angles, forcing your waking eyes to water profusely at the corners.

Every cell in your body stretches thin in the primal fight for consciousness.

You inhale once more. A pained sound emits somewhere in the back of your throat.

Up.

Get up.

Your hands tremble at your sides, working up your elbows to your shoulders, but it takes another minute for your fingers to flex on command. Determined to fight, you press your open palms to soft, starchy surfaces and push —

It hurts like a bitch.

Then the blurriness of your weeping eyes sharpen, focus, on white — sheets, bandages, gowns. The walls morph from shapeless grays blotches in your peripheral to a stark contrast of sturdy stone.

(Where the hell are you?)

Shaking to oblivion, you finally — finally — sit up. The cot beneath you creaks with protest. Sweat beads along your hairline and onto your brow.

Then an oval-esque shape separates itself from the wall, freezing you in place.

Beyond your shaken breath is a voice, caught at the edge of a tongue.

“She’s—”

You and the shape — blink twice and it's a man in a doctor’s coat — stare at one another. He sports an expression of disbelief, providing little comfort in your state. Too drained to feel the fear rolling off of him, you only mirror his confusion.

Tightening his grip on the clipboard at his chest, the man clears his throat.

His voice cracks, high pitched and lacking assertion.

“Nurse, please alert Commander Erwin and Captain Levi immediately.”

Who?

“They will wish to know at once.”

Why?

“Right away, sir.”

Are you in a hospital?

Your voice doesn’t find you in time to ask the nurse as she hurriedly exits the room, closing the heavy oak door shut behind her. 

“James.”

You swing your attention to the doctor, expecting another nurse at his side, but no one else is here. It’s just you, this cot, and a nervous balding man in a deathly quiet room.

And he’s staring at you.

Birds chirp melodically through the open windows, singing of temporary peace.

“Miss James?”

You blink twice.

“Are you—” You pause, eyes widening at the demolition of your vocal chords. Razor blades cut your voice into tiny little pieces, startling you.

It’s like you haven’t spoken in years.

“Please, Lieutenant, do be careful,” the older man cautions softly, nearing with purposeful steps. The label of authority has you opening your mouth, but no sound emits. “It’s normal to feel disoriented after such a long passage of time.”

“A long pass—” 

You swallow heavily, brows knit in discomfort, before pressing both palms into the cot. Your limbs shake violently as you force yourself to sit taller. You push with the heels of your bare feet, digging them into the mattress to your back to the wall.

The doctor hurries to your side to help, hovering as your spotter.

This is ridiculous.

Why does everything hurt?

Why does everything feel new?

Teeth clenched, you drop the back of your head against the wall and breathe through your nose. The beads of sweat forming on your forehead drip down the sides of your face from exertion. “I don’t know what — you’re implying—”

“Lieutenant—”

“I’m not a Lieutenant,” you finally force between your teeth, strong and assertive.

The man at your side stops fidgeting, and you see his jaw drop at your confession.

Frozen.

Like you’ve said the worst thing he could have heard.

.

.

.

.

Of course these brats had to use up the rest of the good cleaning solution.

The next expedition is scheduled to depart in the next forty-eight hours. Levi Ackerman doesn’t have time to stalk down the new recruits to put the fear of God in them for raiding the shelves, so he makes due with what he has.

Diligently his fingers rub the corner of a rag into the crevices of his ODM gear, laser-focused on eliminating every streak. It’s about the only thing left on his personal agenda before the Scout Regiment load up the horses and supply carts.

The Captain only pauses when he can feel a set of eyes watching the crown of his head.

Waiting.

He hates when people don’t just come out and say what’s on their mind.

The ODM unit flips between his palms to start work on the opposite side.

“Are you going to say something?” he inquires, dripping with boredom.

“Depends: am I interrupting something important?”

His hands stop.

Without moving his head, Levi’s attention flickers high to meet the stern and somber gaze of Commander Erwin. 

“Extremely important,” Levi baits, monotone. “Clearly.”

Erwin hums in acceptance.

“Nurse Phillipa spoke with me,” Erwin starts like he's going somewhere with this, but the statement stops there.

Levi’s eyes roll right into the back of his head and back onto the nearly-spotless gear.

“I’m sure it was grating as always.”

Maybe one day the worried wart would retire and return to the stables before she keels over while treating the next dumbass that gets hurt.

Wait.

A second too late, Levi realizes his sarcasm is not returned. No. Erwin says nothing at all, allowing him to connect the dots on his own. He raises his chin this time to look at the Commander, really look at him, before the slight knit in his brow dissipates.

Wordless in confirmation, Erwin nods once.

The cleaning cloth drops clear from Levi’s hand when he shoots up from the bench.

“When?” Levi demands, but it’s a loaded trick question.

(When did she wake up? When did you find out? When should I — should we — see her?)

There is something Erwin’s not saying right away, too.

“Twenty minutes ago,” replies Erwin.

Levi’s expression darkens. “That long?”

“It took Nurse Phillipa a moment to find me,” he tells him. “She tried locating you first but was unsuccessful.”

“Sounds right for her,” Levi bites, hoisting a leg over the bench to make his way around the table and past Erwin.

Almost past Erwin; he quickly steps in the smaller man’s path, brows high and expectant.

“Levi.” The Captain stops when motioned to do so, but his nostrils flare. “You cannot barge straight into the medical wing—”

“I can,” he challenges. “Easily.”

“—without hearing the preliminary report first,” Erwin finishes.

Levi’s jaw sets, staring straight through the Commander’s chest.

“I know the extent of her injuries.”

Erwin sighs heavily, deflating in his uniform-clad shoulders. The longer he waits to say anything, the thicker the air in the room becomes. 

“Physically, yes, you do.”

Levi’s blood runs cold.

“The fuck does that mean?”

.

.

.

.

“I know it, just give me a second.”

Start with the basics, the doctor suggests.

First he asks if you knew where you were.

You didn’t.

Then he asks if you recall your home town.

You can’t.

Finally, he asks something so basic that you open your mouth with confidence you should not possess:

Tell him your full name.

Your voice cuts out with a singular syllable, a vowel, until… nothing. 

Everything is a blank space on an untouched piece of paper.

Why can’t you say anything at all? These are simple questions with simple answers. You’ve known them your entire life.

Right?

“Perhaps just your first, then,” the doctor woefully suggests when you linger in silence for too long.

“I’m getting there,” you warn, low and dangerous.

“Oh— Of course, t–take your time,” he stammers.

So you do.

For two whole minutes, you marinate on the possibility of your first name. Maybe three letters? Or three syllables. Something to do with threes.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

“Is James—” It sounds foreign on your hibernating tongue. “—my last name?”

Your face falls when the doctor frowns.

The impending panic is interrupted by a sudden woosh where wood slams into stone.

The door swings wide as a short man with jet-black hair and intense gray eyes emerges from the hallway. He says nothing, staring in your direction with a purpose. He wears a tan jacket with an emblem etched to the sleeve — Scout Regiment?

Is this a military hospital?

“Captain Levi!”

You want to look at the doctor to gauge the reaction in conjunction to his relieved exclamation, but the stranger's eyes have yet to leave you.

“Doctor,” he agrees, curt in tone.

“I sent Nurse Phillipa to find you.”

“I was found.” The man remains locked at the room’s threshold. “So? Tired of sleeping yet, or are we looking at six more months of winter?”

The strange question is directed to you.

You blink with a squeeze, brow knit.

“You only look like total shit, so I guess that’s a good sign.”

Oh. So he’s rude.

“Captain—”

“Apologies for Levi’s intrusion, Doctor Rini.”

Your attention leaves the Captain long enough to acknowledge the taller man that now stands behind him. Blonde, built, and strong — he holds himself with authority and grace.

If you could take an educated guess, then this must be the Commander the doctor requested the nurse to fetch a half hour ago. He smiles plainly to you, though it’s cautious. 

Where the captain barges in, the commander handles what is in front of him with kid gloves.

“Nurse Phillipa was able to locate me in my office. I had to retrieve Captain Levi personally. Is it alright if we come in, or is she not yet lucid?”

And where Erwin remains at the door, Levi takes the first rebellious steps forward.

“She is… lucid, Commander.” An unfamiliar fear grips at your heart from the way in which Doctor Rini speaks with fragility. There’s a but coming — you can feel it.

“But?”

Apparently so does Captain Levi, who narrows his eyes their way when he speaks.

The doctor sighs in defeat and gestures his right hand to you.

“Lieutenant, state your name.”

Both Erwin and Levi turn their attention to you.

Shit.

Suddenly the world feels too small.

When you hesitate, something indistinguishable flickers over Levi’s face.

“...you originally stated she suffered a major concussion,” Erwin says.

“Yes, I did,” the doctor agrees. His hand drops to fidget with his other, “and I also stated on the report that the probability of temporary to permanent post-traumatic memory damage was high.”

“In other words, sustained amnesia.”

Erwin is the one to deliver the blow to the room. Your chin dips to stare at your own hands that have been bandaged and re-bandaged again and again. The glue from the wraps have left sticky trails on your skin.

Memory loss.

Where you are, where you’re from—

Your own damn name.

“It never said anything about permanent,” Captain Levi argues under his breath. He stalks towards your bed, shrugging off Erwin’s hand in the process. His slender fingers catch on the back of a visitor’s chair, dragging it carelessly with him.

Until he’s face to face with you.

This man, this captain, has immense bags under his eyes. Sunken sockets, like he’s never slept peacefully for a single day in his life. Everything about him is unnervingly calm, as if he’s one bowstring pluck away from an explosion.

Theatrically he sits down at the side of your cot, legs spread and forearms pressed to the tops of his thighs so he can lean forward.

“Where are we?” he interrogates.

“Levi,” Erwin warns, but he ignores it.

“Answer the question.”

You run your tongue along the seam of your lips. “I don’t know.”

“You do know.”

“I don’t.”

“Where — are — we?”

“Stohess District?” you guess, and his jaw sets.

“Try again, dumbass.”

You can’t hide the surprise on your face from his crude name calling. “Excuse me?”

“Levi,” Erwin warns again, this time stronger.

Levi doesn’t let up. “What is this building called?”

“I said I don’t know.”

“Do you know what titans are?” he asks instead, cocking his chin.

Frustrated, you ball your hands into fists. “Of course I know what the fuck titans are.”

“Good,” Levi says without skipping a beat. “And do you know what the Survey Corps is?”

“Yes,” you answer, exasperated. “Why does this matter?”

“Do you know where you’re from?”

This was one of the doctor’s questions before Levi came bursting through the door. You stare the blank-faced man down, determined to answer — but nothing comes to mind. Nothing substantial, anyway.

Just a feeling: dampness surrounded by darkness.

“I don’t,” you resign.

“You do,” he argues. “You just aren’t trying hard enough.”

“I am trying, asshole,” you hiss. 

At that, Erwin takes an authoritative step forward. “Levi, that’s enough.”

Levi considers this heeded warning for only a beat.

“So that’s it, then, huh?” Levi starts instead, icy calm. “You’re going to lay down and happily take being a nameless has-been after being stuck in a coma for months?”

“It’s been months?” you yelp, deciding to instead direct your question towards Erwin.

If the commander feels any sort of way about your condition, then he’s chosen to swallow those emotions to his belly. He sports a neutral expression (opting out of a good cop performance to Levi’s bad cop) so you push to communicate with him instead.

“I’m sorry, but none of this makes any sense. Did I do something wrong to a Scout or something?”

Commander Erwin closes his eyes once his index finger and thumb touch his chin in contemplation. Slowly he inhales, debating his choice of words. 

Levi, for the first time since his arrival, says nothing.

“I know this must be very difficult for you,” Erwin begins, “but please know we will do everything in our power to make you feel as comfortable as we can. However, I must ask: do you truly remember nothing about your accident?”

“No.”

“Not even an object, a phrase… a name?”

(Fuck, this emphasis on fucking names.)

“I think I’d remember the name of this piece of shit.” It takes a moment to realize it’s your voice blurting unfounded venom towards the captain, who remains seated staring intently at you. You sigh heavily, frustration climbing. “I’m sorry, but no. I’m sorry I can’t be of much help. It… Doctor Rini told me my last name was James.”

You wince hearing the name with your own voice again.

The jagged puzzle piece continues to not fit the three mens’ narratives.

“What he tells you is true,” Erwin confirms gently. “It is James.”

Your next words come out faster than anticipated; a straight-from-the-brain thought at the tip of your tongue. “It doesn’t feel like my last name is James—”

The chair scrapes along the floor. 

Abruptly, Captain Levi rises to his feet and turns towards the medical wing entrance.

“This is a waste of time,” he mumbles to Erwin, head bent.

A swirl of emotions hit you like a swift punch to the gut. You physically move with it, jerking like you’re about to vomit.

‘Fuck this.’

A voice echoes in the back of your skull, creating a fuzzy feeling along the nerve endings of your arms. Although you cannot see or dream it, you hear it: like a whisper in the wind curling from the open window.

‘I’m going whether you want me to or not.’

It’s your voice but stronger. Certain. Angry.

Angry about what?

‘This is a waste of time.’

—but that voice isn’t yours.

Before you realize what you’re saying, you call out to the departing captain:

“You're always so quick to walk the fuck away."

Instantly the sound of his steps cease against the floor.

The room falls silent, deathly so, and your widening eyes meet the back of his beige jacket. The Scout Regiment emblem glistens in the protruding sunlight. Levi waits with his back to you, chin bowed to his chest.

Are you hallucinating his voice in your head?

Why were you so compelled to say something to him?

Your empty stomach churns.

"...I didn't mean to say that," you whisper. "I don't know why I said that, sir, forgive me."

Without another word — without looking back — Levi exits the room.

Commander Erwin watches the shorter man depart, waiting a beat, before walking out after him.

In the event of their leave, the doctor takes the opportunity to rush to your side. His fingers gently press into a pulse point, observing your heart rate.

You’re sure it’s spiked, but you can’t stop staring at the open door frame.

You don’t know him.

You don’t know either of them.

Right?

Author's Note: Some disclaimers - I am an AOT baby earning her lore degree bc I just binged AOT for the first time last month and have been writing this story like a fiend ever since. I haven't read the manga, so forgive me if I get details wrong. This story is in 2nd Person POV i.e. 'you', but the reader has a last name the characters reference often.

Also I only just found out that the AOT2 game calls Levi 'Lieutenant', which is hilarious and I'll be putting my own spin on that later. This is just my little passion fixation project, so I hope you enjoy reading as much as I'm enjoying writing it! There is no set update schedule at this current time.

[byuntrash101]

break up with him

reader x dom!jongho ft. yunho

smut | angst | nsfw | mdni

unrequited love, jealousy, cheating, spanking, oral (m), deepthroat, unprotected sex (not even the pull out method), degradation (slut, whore, sow), guilt, mean jongho is kinda mean but i luv it, bf!yunho cameo, getting caught kink, this one is kinda ansgty

requested | part of my 2023 prompt event [closed]

jongho is tired to be the bad guy. tired of acting like he doesn't care when you kiss him. tired of lying to his best friend. and he's ready to put everything on the line. he wants you for himself only.

[❛ you look like you were jealous. ❜ + ❛ say you want me, and i’m yours. ❜]

TUMBLR IS BASED ON REBLOGS. PLEASE REBLOG MY WORK 🖤

Jongho didn't understand how he got there. 

How did he fall in love with one of his best friends' girl. But how could he not? Given the sinful things you both did in the private company of each other. How could he not when his name sounded so melodic hanging on your perfect lips, rolling off your hot tongue between moans and pants. How could he not fall for you ? Knowing that when Yunho will be sleeping tonight you'll come over to his room again. Do it all over again, stomp on his heart to protect your boyfriend's.

Because Yunho was the love of your life. Of that you were deeply convinced. It was love you felt when he held you in his arms and you rested your head on his broad chest. It was love you heard when he murmured sweet nothings in your ear. It was love when he made you smile. It was love when he made you laugh. It was love. True Love.

So why didn't you feel complete? Why was there something perpetually missing ? You tried so hard to find that thing in Yunho. But it was in vain. That something you couldn't name, you couldn't identify…

On one drunken night at the dorm you finally put your finger on it. Only you and Jongho were left. All the others were either blacked out drunk or just sleeping. Neither of you thought of anything beforehand. It wasn't planned, it all happened naturally. You were drawn to him, drawn to the missing puzzle piece that your boyfriend couldn't provide. That night was electrifying, that raw feeling of thrill, of excitement. That was the danger you've been missing. The risk, the edge. The sin.

That night was a slip up, a mistake you were both too drunk to think straight. It was unplanned and it should have stayed that way. But all the other nights that followed didn't really stick to the fortuity of the first one. The others were all prepared. And this one too.

Jongho couldn't handle it anymore. The secrecy, the way he had to act unbothered while you sat across from him in Yunho's lap. Your arms draped around his neck, your nose nuzzled against his cheek as he smiled so fondly at you. Two love birds completely oblivious of the world outside of their small lovey dovey bubble.

The rest of the group were used to the public display of affection and everyone was eating, drinking and chatting away, paying no mind to the gut stirring array of love… No one paid attention to the both of you except Jongho for whom the conversations around him felt like a distant whisper. Because he could only hear the screeching sound of his heart breaking. Pieces being broken up into tiny fragments, fragments grounded into dust until the wounded organ was unrecognizable even for its owner.

Jongho balled his fists under the table over both his knees, his nails dug into his palm but the muted pain was incomparable to the gaping agony he felt in his chest, threatening to swallow him whole. 

And nobody even picked up on it. Nobody knew about his anguish and he couldn't share his burden with anyone. He was the bad guy; fucking his best friend's girlfriend behind his back. Yunho was the main character and he was just the villain that everyone wanted to see defeated at the end of the movie. Nobody routed for him. Maybe not even himself. Somewhere deep inside he believed he didn't deserve sympathy.

This thought was unbearable and in a weird reflex Jongho shot up his chair, maybe in an attempt to distract his mind from the blackhole that was taking over in his chest. All eight heads whipped in his direction, confused faces looking back at him, searching for some kind of insight on the unexpected and sudden gesture.

"Something's wrong?" Yunho was the first one to ask.

Shut the fuck up.

That was what Jongho wanted to say but he bit the inside of his cheek to keep the heinous words behind his teeth. He hated that Yunho was such a good friend and he was the bad one. He hated him. He hated himself.

His eyes fluttered to you looking back at him just as confused as the other one.

But why couldn't he hate you?

Was this an act, were you that much of a good actress or didn't you really understand what was going on in his mind ? Were you oblivious to the feelings he developed for you? Either way it did nothing to soothe Jongho's chaotic mind.

"Jongho?" Seonghwa spoke up. And the older's reassuring voice brought Jongho back.

"Yes... I'm just kinda dizzy" he started, rubbing circles on his temples. "I think I should go for the night. I-I need to rest." and he stormed off to his room, escaping the confused and concerned gazes but also and primarily the source of his misery, you.

Silence fell over the once joyous table of friends as Jongho disappeared in the hall.

"You should go talk to him" Hongjoong interjected. All eyes followed his own, all turning to you.

"Me?"

"Yeah you guys are really close" San said, shrugging right beside you. You nearly choked on air at the remark while everybody nodded their heads in approval. Stress started to bubble in your guts as you cracked an awkward smile.

"Come on babe he obviously needs you" Yunho encouraged you, big large palms gently pushing you up, encouraging you to get off his lap.

What were you supposed to do? You had to go not to raise suspicion. You dragged your feet made heavy with the weight of guilt to the hall. Heart swelling with remorse as your unsuspecting and caring boyfriend gave you an approbating nod.

"Take good care of our maknae" you heard Mingi shout as you closed back the door.

Somehow the hall felt chilly, and you didn't even bother turning on the light as you velvet threaded to Jongho's room. You walked that path at night a thousand times before.

You knocked on the door but didn't wait for an answer before pushing the door and inviting yourself in. It almost felt weird to not lock the door behind you. Because this time your visit had a different purpose and somehow it felt even more immoral than usual. Maybe because this time Yunho himself sent you here. Right in the wolf's dent.

Jongho was sitting at his desk, his back facing you while he was browsing on his computer. You didn't need to see his face to know he wasn't well. It was written all over the walls, it was in the heavy air, soaked with humid tension.

"Jongho are you okay?" you asked, genuinely concerned. Jongho was first your friend.

The soft and caring tone drove a dagger through his heart. He couldn't handle lying to himself and to you right now. He couldn't handle being close to you right now.

"Yeah I'm okay I think I'm just getting sick maybe" he answered back, perfectly mastering the unwavering and monocorde tone. Being careful to not let his body language betray him.

You bit your lips. You knew it was a lie but part of you wanted to accept his response and turn on your heels. Part of you didn't want to deal with what you had created. But it was your responsibility and you owed at least that much to Jongho.

"You look like you were...jealous" the heavy word seemed to fall from your lips on to crash at your feet in an impossible blare making your ears ring and your heart pound.

Silence fell again. And the brief moment seemed to have transformed into a century.

Then Jongho spinned in his chair to face you finally. You didn't have time to scan his face before he spoke.

"Break up with him"

Jongho looks up at you, eyebrows furrowed, lips pinched into a pained pout. Merely looking at him breaks your heart and you can't help guilt sneak up on you again, crawling under your skin, making you squirm in discomfort.

You opened your mouth to speak but Jongho seemed like he picked up on the excuse you were about to mindlessly throw his way to get out of this situation and he interrupted you. He stood and walked to you to face you. So he could see you, so there would be no doubt left, no space for interpretation between your two bodies.

"Say you want me and I'm yours"

This was Jongho's last chance. He was putting everything on the line, presenting his damaged heart to you. It was in your hands and your hands alone. Offering you the wounded and pathetic organ. Yet it was everything he had left. 

It was up to you to either pick up the broken pieces and nurture them back into a beating and loving heart or stomp over it one last time and finally put him out of his misery. Squishing the last drops of blood out of the atrophied muscle until it laid there immobile and cold.

You didn't know what to say. Nothing you could say could ever make it right. Not even if you had an eternity to think about the words you were going to use. An eternity to weigh in every little variation in the semantics, every single nuance of the chosen terminology. Nothing could fix the damage you had done.

But you didn't have an eternity. You only had a few seconds and you used them all up being sorry and silent.

Stomping it was then…

And just like that Jongho had his answer.

Your heart crinkled into a small ball when you saw him hang his head in defeat.

You couldn't offer a comforting word but you could still offer a comforting touch. You lifted your hand to the crown of his head hoping to maybe gently pat it. Like you have done a thousand times. Usually, that always made him smile. But you didn't have time to reach him. He caught your wrist in a strong grip. You hissed at the sudden pain. With a quick jerk of your arm he pulled you into his chest.

"Since you didn't come to speak maybe you came to fuck?" his voice was as cold as ever. A tone you never heard from him even in the deepest and darkest of nights when you were to see a version of him that nobody knew. This time the coldness was unmatched. The biting tone didn't come from pent up lust. It came from anger.

And you hated yourself for the way your body reacted to it. Reacted to his low voice, to his strong grip, to the burning eyes. To him. Nobody could talk to your body, to your primal instincts like Jongho.

"Jongho" you whimpered in a mere whisper. Trying to conceal the bubbling arousal in your gut by pushing your thighs together.

Jongho crashed his lips on yours to silence you. Without giving you a choice he pulled you into the sinful act. Drowning you into his embrace, dragging you into the abyss along with him. You felt his hand creep up on the side of your face before his thumb pried your jaw open, tongue lapping at your own as his other hand slipped from your wrist up your forearm to your nape. Bending your neck right into position, making your face look up so he could explore you deeper and gouge out every single one of your secrets.

You lost track of time and space as he made you drunk on his minty taste and strong musky cedar wood cologne. You moaned into his mouth while his warm palm was pushing you deeper into him.

"Touch me" he commanded and you immediately lifted a febrile hand to his groin. You gasped when your fingertips grazed the hard member. Somehow, even after a thousand times, you still managed to be suprised by the girth and length of it. But above all it was incredibly hard. Harder than it ever was with just a simple kiss.

You started to palm him through his black trousers which he responded with a hum of satisfaction. Catching your bottom lip between his teeth and pulling on it until it snapped back against your teeth.

"On your knees. Now"

You dropped to the floor before you could even think about it. Your mind being completely bent to Jongho's desire. His hand left your nape to untangle with your hair and you felt goosebumps rise from your heated skin as the cold air hit your neck.

"Help me with this, whore"

The term of endearment made your guts gush with arousal. Your feeble hands unbuckled his belt, the cold metal contrasting with your hot skin. You unzipped his trousers and hurriedly pulled them down along with his underwear. The lively length sprung in front of your face, making your eyes round up in need and your mouth water with anticipation.

"What are you waiting for?" Jongho spat your way, the unwavering biting tone making you flinch and bite your lip. "Do what you came for. Do what you do best" He growled as he pulled you by the hair, bringing your trembling lips right to his tip, precum forcing its way on your tongue making you yearn for more of his alluring taste.

You let your mouth be guided on his length, opening your wet hole and letting Jongho control you like a puppet until the tip of your tongue reached his balls and your nose his pubic bone. He stayed just like that for a few seconds as your eyes prickled with tears. His girthy member occupying your mouth as it was his birthright. Making a home out of the narrow and wet cavern.

Jongho grunted as he slowly pulled your head back. Thick strings of spit still linking your swollen lips to the angry twitching member.

"That's all you're good for, right?" he moaned as you nodded your head. Jongho couldn't tell if you were just bobbing your head on his length or if you were answering him but he didn't care. He was done listening to you.

"That’s right take my cock" he grunted, pushing his hips forward as your knees scraped on the wooden floor. "You think he knows?" Jongho smirked when he picked up on the small soubresaut of your body.

"You think that's what he had in mind when he sent you to comfort me?"

Your guts slushed around swimming in the guilt you were desperately trying to forget.

"You think he thought it meant for you to let me fuck your throat like that, huh?" He gave you one powerful thrust. 

Jongho grew angrier as he took your head in both of his hands, strong grasp keeping you in place as he smashed himself inside, his length stretching your throat to breaking point. The burn made your head dizzy as you struggled for air and big tears trailed down your burning cheeks.

"I'll have to say thank you to hyung. Sending over his precious girl for me to use like this." He then popped his length out your mouth while you were already missing him brushing the back of your throat. With one coercive pull he brought you back up on your feet.

"Strip" he commanded while maintaining the grip around your hair. You awkwardly struggled to open your blouse letting it float to your sides and wiggle out of your pants. Without thinking Jongho tore away your bra and panties off your bodies as you whimpered in shock, leaving you exposed to his gaze.

He harshly cupped your breast squeezing the lumps of flesh as you mewled under his touch. Briefly pulling on your hardened nipple before flipping you and pushing you against the door. Your upper half pressed against the cold wood while your ass hung up in the air. Jongho tapped on your feet with his heels and you immediately spread your legs.

"Good little whore. Ass up" he commanded and you perched yourself on your tippy toes.

Jongho took the base of his length and hissed when his tip made contact with your heat.

"Jongho" you whined. "Do you have a condom?" you asked, wiggling your ass up in the air only to be hit by a large palm clashing against the thin skin of your unclothed bottom. You whimpered at the burning sting biting your lip to refrain to ask for another one.

"Shut up. Sows like you are fucked raw"

Your breath hitched in your throat to the thought of Jongho's length digging deep inside you raw, taking over like it was its righteous place. A privilege once only reserved to your beloved boyfriend.

He ribbed small circles on your clit as you arched your back. You couldn't believe how sensitive you had become without being touched.

"Isn't that what you wanted, little slut?" he asked, bending over you his warm clothed body warming your back. You nodded as you squirmed again, yearning for the relieving friction.

The daring gesture only earned you another harsh slap.

"Speak whore"

"Y-yes. Please please Jongho please"

You were pathetic barely making any sense, your mind barely able to form coherent words. Fucked out before it even started.

You could have died from pure bliss when Jongho finally slid inside you. He parted you so deliciously, with every inch that he shoved inside you you were becoming more and more breathless. Catching your bottom lips between your teeth hissing all the way until he bottomed out.

"Ahhh Jongho please. Fuck me. Please please" you begged without restrain shame not even crossing your mind.

And Jongho didn't ask for more. Immediately he aimed for the stars and threw his hips into yours making the squelching wet sounds of your dripping pussy bounce off the walls of the small dimlitted room.

The angle, the rhythm, the depth. Everything was perfect. He was fucking you exactly like you needed to be. Each stroke bringing you closer to completion, each thrust turning your mind into an amalgame of lustful and unholy thoughts until you were ready to give out.

Knock knock knock

"Are you ok in there?"

It was Yunho.

You both freezed for a second. But you were the first one to catch up.

"Yeah don't worry baby. I think Jongho feels better now." You stated in the most neutral and steady voice you could manage, glancing over at Jongho over your shoulder.

"Yeah hyung. Don't worry I'll be fine"

Your heart was pounding in your chest and resonating in your ears. As your feet barely held you anymore, your pussy pulsing around Jongho's large cock. So close to completion that you might just cum from imagining your boyfriend standing right outside unsuspecting of how good his friend was fucking you.

"Okay don't take too long you two" Yunho said before you heard his footsteps fade away in the hall.

You both took a deep breath but before you could think again Jongho was back smashing himself into you this time with even more force.

"Does he fuck you like this?" he growled. The sinful sounds of skin clashing against skin.

"Noooo nobody can fuck me like you do Jongho" you whined as you felt your center growing tighter and tighter. He spanked you again, making you jerk on his length.

"Say how much bigger my cock is"

"You have the biggest and the best fucking cock Jongho please don't stop."

Jongho grunted and you felt him twitch inside you. You both approaching your high, flirting with the edge.

"Say it again"

"I love your cock. I want only your cock. Yunho can never fuck me like you do." you whined as your legs began to shake, threatening to give out at any second.

"Fuck baby." Jongho panted. "Fuckkkk y/n" his thrusts started to become sloppy, the rhythm falling short, strokes becoming more and more shallow.

"Jongho I'm cumming" you announced as you finally grasped your climax, the wave of pleasure crushing your body into a million of incandescent pieces, taking over your mind you couldn't think of anything other than him, getting drunk off his moans and grunts as he perfectly smashed against your sweet spot, cutting your breath and making big tears of bliss roll on your cheeks.

"Fuck y/n. I love you" he let the words roll off his tongue as he finally came undone. 'I love you. I love you. I love you" he kept on chanting, painting your unguarded walls a brand new shade of white. Thick ropes of burning cum making you quiver around him, milking him to the last drop until his groans died down in hushed short breaths, beads of sweat running down his temples and pearling on his lip.

When he slipped out of you guilt crept under your skin again while you looked back at the younger man through your lashes.

You wanted to say those words back to him. But there was only one man you loved.

a/n: this one was a angsty one. i hope you enjoyed it. if you did please tell me in the comments or drop by my asks. i love your feedback guys <3

[offical-ouroboros]

John Doe x Bat-Like!Reader HCs

※ This posed some issues at first...

※ Being nocturnal, it took Doe a bit longer to find You.

※ If it's at work, or you're just walking around at night, like always he falls in love with just a glance.

※ His heart beats for you-- Which is kinda awkward since it's in his head, making his body tremble as he watches you do whatever it is you're doing.

"Hi."

※ You're startled when he speaks to you, as you didn't expect many people to be out this late.

"You smell good."

※ No matter what you do, where you go, he always seems to be lurking around somewhere, wide eyed and smiling.

※ He loves your wings and fangs the most, and when he finds out you have a tiny tail he thinks it's the cutest thing ever.

※ Please bite him.

※ He'll be gentle with your wings, but absolutely fawn if you wrap them around him.

※ Doe love love loves everything about you, and having a partner who can understand the struggle to fit in makes him extra happy

※ If you've got the claws to hang upside down, or some kind of hammock to at least keep you up high, he'll love to cling to you and sleep together.

※ Leaves kisses over your big bat ears when he snuggles you.

※ If you happen to eat meat/blood, expect lots of gifts matching that.

※ Speaking of matching, he'd love to match with you!

※ If you're the type to lean into the goth/victorian fashion, he's totally getting outfits to dress up similarly.

※ A lot of stuff you get is stolen. He's unemployed, what can I say?

"My love!! Look what I got you! Do you love it?"

※ If you do, great! He's getting more of the same kinda things later.

※ If you don't... He's still getting more! He's getting anything you'd like! Just stay home, he'll go out during the day so you can rest and he'll get you as many gifts as you'd like!

※ Anything for You.