#its hard to swallow that pride and to admit you were wrong

[sereniv]

apologies are hard and can be embarassing

but life is too short to let your grandma go to bed sad

[won4kiss]

⋆ ｡⋆୨୧˚— I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU !

𝜗𝜚 ༘⋆ ⋆˙pairing. enemy! park jongseong x fem! reader synopsis. you and jay had always despised each other- at least that’s what you thought until jay got a girlfriend, your true hidden feelings making its way to the surface- uh oh.. genre. angst ,, fluff ,, wc. 2500. 𝐥u𝐧a notes ⋆.˚ this is so labyrinth coded 🫧 — 𝓵𝗂𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗋𝔂

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YOU HAD KNOWN PARK JONGSEONG FOR AS LONG AS YOU COULD REMEMBER, AND YOU HATED HIM FOR NEARLY JUST AS LONG.

from the very first moment you laid eyes on him in kindergarten, he had been nothing but a thorn in your side. it all started when you had asked the young boy to be friends- instead of a yes, you got water spat on your face as he cackled at you- yes, cackled.

you despised him. his teasing, his smirks, his constant attempts to one-up you in every single aspect of life—it all grated on your nerves, day after day.

the relationship between you and jay was well-known. your friends and family had long since accepted it as a fact of life. you couldn't bare to stand him, and he couldn't stand you. it’s as simple as that.

until it wasn't.

the first crack in your carefully constructed wall of hatred came when jay got a girlfriend. her name was minji, and she was everything you were not—soft-spoken, gentle, and sweet. she was always by his side, laughing at his jokes, holding his hand. it shouldn't have mattered to you at all. in fact, you should have been relieved. if he was busy with his girlfriend, maybe he would leave you alone for once in your years of living.

but it didn't feel like relief. it felt like something else entirely, something you knew was wrong, something sharp and painful that you couldn't quite place. you found yourself watching them more than you would care to admit, your eyes drawn to the way he looked at her, his eyes sparkling, the way he touched her. and with each passing day, the ache in your chest grew stronger, more insistent. more unbearable.

you really did try to ignore it, to push it away deep inside of you and pretend it didn't exist, but it was no use. the feelings you had harboured for so long, hidden beneath layers of anger, resentment, and pride were bubbling up to the surface. you were falling for him, and you were falling deep. it was the most terrifying thing you had ever experienced as a teenage girl.

so, you did the only reasonable thing you could think of, you avoided him. you stopped going to places where you knew he would be, you stopped engaging in the petty arguments that had once been a staple of your interactions and everyday life. you had distanced yourself as much as you possibly could, hoping that the feelings would fade away with time.

but jay noticed. of course he did. and he didn't like it one bit.

one evening after school, after yet another successful day of avoiding jay, you found yourself cornered in the hallway of your apartment building, which he knew the address of from a day where you were sick, and delivered you your missed homework and soup, which he claimed he was forced to deliver to you.

he had been waiting for you, his expression a mixture of confusion, a bit of sadness? and anger.

"what's your problem, y/n?" he demanded, his voice low and tense. "why have you been avoiding me, huh?"

you crossed your arms, shaking off the butterflies from talking to him for the first time in weeks, trying to keep your composure. "i haven't been avoiding you," you lied, your voice shaken and unsteady

"bullshit," he snapped. "you've been avoiding me for weeks. did i do something to piss you off more than usual? because if i did, ill fix it.”

you swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "it's nothing, don’t worry. just leave me alone, jay."

"no," he said, stepping closer. "i won't leave you alone until you tell me what's going on, y/n." he whispered.

his proximity made it hard to breathe, let alone think. the scent of his cologne, the intensity of his gaze—it was all way too much for you to bare. you could feel the walls you had so carefully built around your heart beginning to crumble.

"why do you care?" you shot back, your voice trembling anxiously. "you have minji now. go bother her for all i care!”

jay's eyes narrowed, his expression darkening with a frown. "this isn't about minji. this is about you and me. why are you avoiding me?"

"because i can't stand you! being around you!" you shouted angrily, the words bursting from you before you could stop them.

"why?" he demanded, his voice rising. "what did i do that's so bad you can't even be in the same room as me?"

you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. but the emotions that have been building inside you the past few weeks were too strong, too overwhelming. you couldn't keep them bottled up any longer.

"because i’m in love with you, okay?" you yelled, tears streaming down your face. "i love you, and it hurts to see you with somebody that’s not me..”

for a moment, there was silence. jay stared at you, his eyes wide with shock. the world seemed to stand still, the only sound the pounding of your heart in your ears, as you cursed under your breathe shutting your eyes anxiously in panic.

"you… love me?" he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

you nodded, unable to speak. the confession had left you feeling raw and vulnerable, and you didn't know what to do next.

jay's expression hardened, and without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your heart shattered into a million pieces as you fell onto your knees and sobbed, you sobbed for your broken heart and for the loss of the relationship you had with jay- gone forever.

the next two weeks were a blur of constant pain and complete and utter embarrassment. jay ignored you completely, avoiding you at every turn. you threw yourself into your studies, trying to distract yourself from the aching heartbreak and void inside you. your friends noticed the change, but you couldn't bring yourself to explain. how could you tell them that the person you had hated for so long had become the one you loved? and even worse, broke your heart.

you saw jay and minji together more often than you would have liked. each time, it felt like a knife twisting in your heart. but you forced yourself to smile, to act like everything was fine. it was the only way you knew how to cope.

one day, while you were sitting in the campus courtyard, lost in your thoughts, someone sat down next to you. you looked up to see taehyun, one of your friends from class. his presence was a welcome distraction from the feelings inside you.

"hey," he said, patting your shoulder giving you a warm smile. "you look like you could use some company."

you smiled back, grateful for his kindness. "yeah, i guess i could."

taehyun was easy to talk to, he was kind and understanding, and before long, you found yourself laughing and joking with him. it was a relief to feel something other than pain for the first time in the last few weeks, even if it was only for a little while. he pulled you into a hug, after you had finally opened up about your situation and you let yourself relax in his embrace, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, sniffling away your tears.

unbeknownst to you, jay was watching from a distance. he had come to the courtyard to clear his head from everything, from the confusion and the dull feeling in his heart, but the sight of you with taehyun stopped him in his tracks. the way you laughed, the way you hugged him—it should have made him happy to see you smiling again after breaking your heart. but instead, it filled him with a burning jealousy and sadness.

seeing you with taehyun brought everything into sharp focus. and it suddenly hit him- he realized that he had been a fool, pushing you away when he should have been holding you close. he couldn't deny it anymore longer—he was deeply in love with you. and he couldn't stand the thought of losing you to somebody else.

jay knew what he had to do- that evening, jay broke up with minji. it was one of the hardest things he had ever done, she was a kind and sweet girl, but he knew it was the right thing. minji deserved someone who could love her- and that wasn’t him. his heart had always belonged to you.

the next day, jay found you sitting alone in the library, studying and deep in focus. he approached anxiously and cautiously, his heart feeling like it was about to explode in his chest.

"can we talk please?" he asked, his voice quiet.

you looked up, surprise and shock flickering in your eyes before looking down again. "kinda busy- what do you want, jay?"

he took a deep breath, steeling himself. "i'm sorry. for everything, y/n. i never should have ignored you. i was in denial, i was scared and confused, but that's no excuse."

you stayed silent anxiously playing with your fingers, waiting for him to continue.

"i broke up with minji," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "because i realized something that took a while for me to realize but i’m here now- i realized that i'm in love with you."

your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest. "you… you what?”

"i'm in love with you, y/n. i’m so in love with you" he repeated, his voice breaking as his eyes shined with sincerity. "i've been in love with you for a long time, but i was too stupid to see it. and when you told me how you felt, it scared the hell out of me. i didn't know how to handle it, so i pushed you away. but i can't do that anymore."

tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, your heart aching with a mixture of hope and fear. "do you really mean it?" you whispered.

jay nodded, his gaze unwavering. "i mean it. i love you. and if you'll give me a chance, i promise i'll do everything i can to make it up to you, please y/n.”

you searched his eyes, looking for any sign of deception. but all you saw was honesty, a raw vulnerability that took your breath away.

"i don't know if i can trust you," you said quietly, your voice trembling. "you hurt me, jay. a lot."

"i know," he said, his voice breaking as he cups your cheek, leaning his forehead against yours. "and i'm so, so sorry. but i'll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you can trust me. i promise."

for a long moment, you stayed silent, the weight of his words sinking in. and then, slowly, you nodded. "okay," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "one chance, jay. but if you hurt me again, that's it. i'm done."

jay's face lit up with a mixture of relief and joy. he reached out, taking your hand in his, looking into your eyes for permission as you nodded with a soft grin.

jays lips feel soft against yours, you spent many nights wondering what it would be like to be like to kiss jay, and it’s even better than you could’ve imagined.

and for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

the weeks that followed were a whirlwind of emotions. jay was true to his word, doing everything in his power to prove himself to you. he showed up at your door with your favourite coffee order every morning, walked you to your classes with your hand in his, and spent every spare moment with you. he was attentive, kind, thoughtful, and for the first time, truly present.

your friends noticed the change in him too. they saw the way he looked at you, hearts in his eyes and the way he treated you with a newfound gentleness and adoration. it was clear to everyone that park jay was a changed man, and it was all because of you.

but there were still moments of where you were in denial, times when the past hurt you felt would come back, casting a shadow over your happiness. the moment came to you on a rainy afternoon, the weather complimenting your mood as you sat together in a quiet café. the rain pattered against the windows, creating a soothing backdrop to your conversation.

jay gave you a knowing look as he reached across the table, taking your hand in his.

"i love you," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "i know i've said it before, but i need you to know how much you mean to me. you're my everything, so get those thoughts out of your head, mmh?”

he said pulling you into a soft kiss across the table.

tears welled up in your eyes at his words. it was everything you had ever wanted to hear, but the fear still lingered, a dark cloud over your heart.

"i love you too," you whispered, your voice trembling. "but i'm scared, jay. i'm scared of getting hurt again- it was so bad.” you said as you closed your eyes with a trembling voice.

jay's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes shining with determination and love. "i know," he said. "and i will spend the rest of my life proving to you that you have nothing to fear. i will never hurt you again, i promise baby.”

time passed, and true to his word, jay continued to be the man you deserved. he was patient, understanding, and never once pressured you. he was there for you in ways he had never been before, and slowly but surely, the trust and reassurance began to appear.

one warm night, as you sat together on the same playground jay had rejected you on as kids, he pulled you into his arms, his lips brushing against your forehead.

"i can’t bare losing you," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "you're my everything."

you looked up at him, your heart overflowing with love. "you won't," you said, your voice steady and sure. "we're in this together, you can’t get rid of me that easily."

you both threw your heads back, laughing together as the moonlight shined down on you.

and as he held you close, you knew that no matter what pain he had caused you before- you knew that your love for each other was stronger than anything else.

@won4kiss 2024

[obey-me-mammon-lover69]

im kinda in the mood for angst 😤😤 if u could can i request the demon bros reacting to mc askin " why are you so mean to me" whether they make up or not its up to u

i just started obey me and some of the stuff the bros say get my feelings HURT ajajakkq

Angst is my bread and butter!! This will be fun for me...not for the boys. XD

I tried to make what they’re being mean about sorta vague??

Honestly, I don’t rlly like how this came out, but I don’t like anything I write so maybe it's just me.  I feel I’m missing something...

GN! MC

Warning: Angst

LUCIFER: 

“Why are you so mean to me?” Lucifer froze for a moment when those words left your lips, before quickly brushing them off. He’s a prideful man to a fault obviously. It isn't till hours later that the words start to sink in, he at first assumed you were just being a brat at first but after that, you had refused to talk to him for the rest of the day and it was only now, he was considering if he truly was being a bit to mean to you? No... no...it is the human that is wrong...but his brain continues to nag to him.

How he apologizes:  In a very subtle manner that makes it obvious that he still thinks he’s not fully in the wrong but wants you to stop ignoring him. He gives you a stuffed animal and a letter detailing what had occurred and how he maybe, just maybe...was a bit mean. If you accept that is up to you.

MAMMON:

“Why are you so mean to me?”  This hits Mammon hard, he immediately devolves into stutters and frantically tries to go back on whatever he said. Most likely call you names such as, 'stupid human' honestly. He knows how it feels to be called names all the time and for people mainly his brothers to be mean to him, and he feels really bad especially if you two have a close relationship.

How he apologizes:  Actually does say that he's sorry, and tries to butter you up with gifts he can't afford. He's still a massive tsundere about it tho, "All these gifts don't mean nothin' alright?! I just feel bad is all..."

LEVIATHAN:

“Why are you so mean to me?”  Chokes on his drink and immediately start fumbling with his words. He completely devolves into degrading himself, calling himself worthless and a filthy otaku who ruined his friendship because he's so horrible. He cannot take the fact he might be mean...even if he sorta is.

How he apologizes:  He doesn't. He just degrades himself so badly you eventually kinda just start to feel bad. Though that doesn't mean you have to accept that apology at all. If degrading himself doesn't work he starts trying to just act like nothing is wrong, but then he starts degrading himself again its a cycle...

ASMODEUS:

“Why are you so mean to me?”  Nearly pokes his eye out with eyeliner. He apologizes instantly, but it's not a good one, to be honest. It's something along the lines of, "Oh honey, I meant nothing by it. I'm sorry. Anyways-" Just brushes right past it. He probably doesn't even really think he's being mean. It isn't till you start ignoring him that it gets him...

How he apologizes:  Goes all out, a luxury spa day, gifts galore, praise and everything. He desperately desires attention and for people to like him, but the opinion he ultimately cares about the most is yours.

SATAN:

“Why are you so mean to me?”  Breaks a glass in his hands instantly. Him, mean? Do you have any idea how much meaner he could be? Takes a deep breath and apologize for any actions you may have perceived as rude. That's right, perceived. He does not admit that he may have actually been mean.

How he apologizes:  That's it, that's his apology. It isn't until he considers how prideful and Lucifer-like he's acting that he genuinely reflects and apologizes for his actions. He thinks his words should be enough, so he doesn't shower you with gifts like his brothers as an apology.

BEELZEBUB:

“Why are you so mean to me?”  Does not let this stop him from swallowing a massive burger whole like a snake. Apologizes immediately for making you feel unwelcome and offers you a single fry from his food. Only one. Honestly the sweetest boy tbh, just goes, "Oh my bad. I'm sorry." And goes on with his day.

How he apologizes:  Though he brushed it off at first and apologized, he still feels bad and continues to apologize over the next few days. Ends up giving you bites of his own food even more often than usual because he feels bad.

BELPHEGOR:

“Why are you so mean to me?”  Laughs. He is not as sweet as his twin. He thought you were joking with him at first and brushed it off because he never considered that he may be a little mean. I mean he can be ALOT meaner, and he knows you know that given what happened between you two...He does not apologize until you start withholding cuddles because you're angry with him.

How he apologizes:  Basically says, "I'm sorry. Can I have cuddles back now?" Tries to find out what he did wrong, and ultimately tries to change how he acts to not be mean to you. Though he struggles because he's very sarcastic and sometimes comes off as very mean.

[leighsartworks216]

The Viper: Rewritten

Chapter Three

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7

Jaskier x gn!Witcher!reader

AO3 - I recommend reading it there

Warnings: blood, violence, death, mentions of killing animals + children, grief, a lot of angst in this one boys

Word Count: 4059

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“You would have killed him.”

The gentle clinking of buckles stopped. Within the silence, footsteps approached, heavy and self-assured. Geralt stood like a disapproving parent at the door to the stall.

Determined to avoid his burning stare, you continued saddling up your horse for the long ride ahead. Bayard, a dark brown horse, speckled with white and grey on his flank, bobbed his head at the Wolf.

Your answer went unspoken, and yet was quite clear to him.

“Why?”

Even as you said it, it felt wrong. “Because it’s what I was hired to do.” It left a sour aftertaste in your mouth. Bitter, ugly guilt.

He said nothing. You were young, younger than most Witchers he knew. You were practically an infant still learning the harsh realities of the world and a Witcher’s place in it. He’d made mistakes in his own time - it was guaranteed you would make some, too.

You grabbed the bridle off the wall and slipped it over Bayard’s head easily. You were fortunate to have a horse that enjoyed riding so much. He was a gift, after all; you could not simply leave him behind.

“What happened?” you asked after the silence stretched too long.

Geralt sighed, crossing his arms and leaning against the wooden frame of the stall. “Duny,” he enunciated the strange name, “insisted he needed to repay me for saving him. I called the Law of Surprise.”

“Didn’t learn your lesson, then.” The tease fell flat as he shook his head.

“Pavetta’s with child.”

You stared at him with wide eyes. He studied your horse to avoid your gaze.

“You… So you’re going to claim the child?”

The Witcher grumbled, displeased at the idea of raising a little one of his own. It was no wonder why. All Witchers were ill-suited to family life. The constant traveling, the emotional distance, the contracts they had to take - their whole lives were like a warzone for younglings.

“Mousesack is staying, to look after it.”

“‘It,’” you mimicked, half-amused. “You should have asked for money.”

He hummed, agreeing, as you guided the Appaloosa from the stall. Bayard followed your movements easily, as though he knew precisely what you would do next. You could drop his lead and he would walk to the open doorway of the stable and wait for you to get on his back. You ran a hand down his neck affectionately.

Geralt’s eyes shifted down to your other hand. The cut he made to get you to drop your weapon was wrapped neatly with a fresh bandage. It would heal.

“Where will you go now?” he asked. Word spreads fast, he was really saying. The humans will try killing you before they let you help. You understood nonetheless.

Nilfgaard would be more trusting than the North, since you were one of their own. Your thoughts returned to the Viper Keep, flashes of your brothers bickering and the expansive library held within its walls. It eased your heavy guilt, golden eyes mellowing at the memories.

He followed you most of the way down the stables, but stopped by a separate stall with a brown mare inside. With a foot in the stirrup, you hoisted yourself overtop Bayard and adjusted yourself in the saddle, all the while turning your steed so you could better see the Wolf.

“Home.” Pride swelled and simmered in your gut. You swallowed it down to admit, “I still have much to learn.”

He said nothing, but hummed in silent agreement and commendation. It was hard as a youngling with enhanced abilities and magics to admit when they have done something wrong. At least you could own up to them.

You tilted your head respectfully to the other. “I’ll see you on the Path, Wolf.”

-

After a week in the saddle, you were overjoyed to be home at last. Nights of sleeping on cold, dirt ground and slicing down pesky beasts that got too near to the road would all be worth it to wander the grand halls and fall back into your old, worn-out cot. The time it took to ride up the mountain was over in a brief moment as excitement lifted your spirits-

No.

No, no, no.

Please, no…

Your blood ran ice cold as you bore witness to the horror in front of you. Flames billowed out of windows, banners turned to ash carried along the wind, blood covering every inch of worn cobble.

Bayard snorted and whinnied, anxiously moving his feet as the heat of the blaze hit him.

A body lay prone on the bridge from the Keep. Without thinking, you slid off Bayard's back and rushed forward. The stone scraped your knees as you fell hard by the corpse’s side, but you could not feel it. You didn’t care. Shaking hands turned the scrawny, scorched body over.

A sob ripped from your throat as the face, wide-eyed and mouth agape in terror, came into view. Oalvir. The idiot didn’t pass his final test when you did; he was forced to stay behind and continue training until he could. If he had just killed that stupid ferret, he could have- He wouldn’t have…

It didn’t matter.

None of the scenarios you could dream up would change the outcome. It could not bring back your brother. Hot, fat tears blurred your vision and fell onto his singed clothes. Dead, empty eyes stared into the smoldering sky as you closed his mouth and pushed his eyelids down. Your chest heaved and throat ached as another sob forced its way out. You tried to fight it. You were a deadly assassin - you shouldn’t be crying.

You shouldn’t…

It was useless. You wrapped your arms around him and held his body against your chest, and pressed your face against his silenced pulse, letting your emotions take over as your home was reduced to ash and burnt rock.

“Hey!”

Your head shot up, a flicker of hope igniting in your heart. The scratch of blades being drawn snuffed it out.

“It’s another Witcher!” the man called behind him. He was haloed by the fire pouring from the doorway of the Keep. Your tears blurred him until he was merely a moving smudge of black.

Three men, clad in the armor of the Nilfgaardian, advanced on you. You gently laid Oalvir back on the stone, crossing his arms. May he find rest in a merciful and kind afterlife.

As you stood, you wiped away your tears on the back of your wrist. They would serve you no longer. Dual blades were pulled silently from their leather sheaths. The soldiers held their blades up.

“Stay where you are, Viper,” the first spat. Your very existence repulsed them.

Good.

You rushed forward, reckless, at the man in front. Your steel blade collided with his, pushing him back with the force. With his attention on one hand, your other reached past the interlocked weapons and sliced his throat. He gurgled on his own blood as he collapsed.

The other two hesitated. They did not expect their friend to go down so quickly. The one to your right charged forward with a battle cry. You rolled under his wide swing and came to your feet behind him. Your steel dagger swung in a wide arch behind you and slotted itself under his helm. His body froze as shock took hold. You ripped the blade out. He fell atop the first, a sticky pool of blood stretching out like tendrils as it flowed along the cobble.

The last soldier backed away as you approached. Your steps were calculated and unafraid. You had nothing to lose - your brothers were dead, the mentors were dead, Ivar Evil-Eye was dead. Stuldweck was dead. Everything you held dear was ripped from you. You could walk into the Abyss and face down scores of demons without flinching.

“Stay- Stay back!” he cried. His voice trembled. You did not stop. His foot caught on the uneven stone and he fell backward, helmet flying off with the blow. One arm held his sword up as the other helped him crawl back. “Please! Please- I have a family!”

In one flowing movement, you shoved his sword away and sliced off his hand at the wrist. He screamed. You stepped on his chest and pressed down against his sternum to keep him in place. His hand clawed at your boot, desperately trying to shove it off him. You leaned forward, elbow resting on your knee, until you were nearly face to face with him. He groaned under the pressure.

“So did I,” you hissed. He whimpered. You scowled as his blood tainted your boots. “Who ordered this attack?” He sputtered and pleaded for his life. You pressed your dagger to his throat, an obvious warning. “Tell me, else I’ll cut off all your fingers and toes, your ears, your-”

“Alright! I’ll say! I’ll say!” He sobbed, resigning himself to his fate. You would kill him either way. His chest shuddered under your foot as he inhaled. In his last moments, he wanted to be thinking of his wife and kids. “The Usurper. He ordered it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know!” he cried. Tears poured down his face to the stone below. “Please, that’s all I know, I swear.”

You studied his face for a moment, then sighed. “Rest easy.” His eyes met yours, confused, before the light faded from them. Your dagger lodged itself in his heart, through the tough leather of the armor. A quick death.

You looked up at the school. Memories of kinship and growing up went up in flames with the scrolls and books you studied. Loss and grief filled the hole. Your eyes flicked to the spot in the courtyard where you completed your final trial to become a Witcher. The dark blood against the snow, melting it with its heat. Your precious steed, dead at your hand. You had cried for a week in Stuldweck’s arms.

If you hadn’t killed Bayard, you would not be here to mourn Oalvir’s death, nor the death of all your fallen comrades. You would have fallen with them; side by side, one last time, with your family.

There was nothing left for you here.

You exhaled shakily. Your limbs felt heavy. Your soul felt heavier.

You retrieved your dagger from the soldier’s ribcage and wiped both clean on the cloth of his pants. Bayard watched from the start of the bridge as you slowly trudged back to him. He pressed his nose against your body, sensing your sadness. You only managed a slight pat on his neck. His hooves against stone and the crackling of the great fire followed you back down the mountains.

-

These woods were supposed to be quiet. It was late at night - the moon was high in the sky, and crickets were singing their sad songs. The next village wasn’t for several miles yet. Not only that, you knew there were no individual huts or shelters nearby.

So why did you hear music?

Your first thought was bandits. It wouldn’t be unusual for them to camp out in the woods, waiting for unsuspecting travelers to jump. But, if it was bandits, why would they draw attention to themselves by playing an instrument and singing? It was a lute, or something stringed, by the sound of it. The carefully plucked notes hid a tentative voice. A bard, perhaps?

Then came the second round of questions. Why would a bard compose his music in the woods? Surely, he would prefer the luxuries of an inn or even a brothel, should he desire company.

You couldn’t imagine this being a camp of the men you were after. The village never mentioned any inclinations towards music, nevermind that they ran away several days ago. They would not linger this close to the town they were running from for so long. No, this was something else entirely.

Curiosity took its hold as you slipped off Bayard’s back and led him off of the dirt road into the trees, opposite of the bard’s music. Satisfied he was hidden enough from anyone traveling late at night, you crossed the path and made your way through the underbrush. Only the wind and stars knew of your presence.

Leaves and twigs whispered your whereabouts as you stepped upon them, or as they snagged onto the fabric of your riding cloak. It seemed to blend in to the breeze that rustled the trees. This, after all, is what you had been trained for.

The orange glow of a fire guided you like a beacon through the dark forest. As you creeped ever closer, you were surprised to find the bard from the banquet, alone. He sat propped up against a log, lute cradled in his lap as he seemed to speak to himself. Wasn’t Geralt supposed to be traveling with him? Surely the Wolf hadn’t abandoned him out in the wilderness.

You tensed, your whole body becoming rigid as cold steel touched your neck. As slow as you could manage, you turned in your crouched position to see who your attacker was, hand farthest from them coming to rest on the blade at your hip where they would not see. A tall, hulking brute of a man stood over you, white hair glowing in the moonlight. His eyes were hidden by the shadows of night.  Your face was hidden by your hood; all he could make out was from the tip of your nose down. Two strangers ready to strike at any moment.

Quickly, you pushed his sword away with the back of your hand against the flat edge of the blade and stood, gathering a safe distance. Distantly, the singing stopped.

You each stood there for a brief moment, assessing and waiting for the other to make a move. Your dagger glinted in the firelight as you flipped it around in your hand. He stepped forward and swiped at you with his sword. You easily deflected the hit, using the momentum to guide it along your dagger and away from your body. He recovered too quickly for you to attack within the opening, and struck again.

It was a dance amongst the brambles. You deflected or dodged his every swing, and he shut down every opportunity you could find to attack him. It felt oddly familiar. Everything about the man’s fighting style was reminiscent of the fight you had months ago, within palace walls and along polished floors.

You were briefly distracted by the thought. He swung his blade in a motion that would easily cut off your head at the shoulders. You backed away just in time for it to avoid your neck and catch the skin of your cheek instead. It did not hurt, as adrenaline was pumping through your veins, but you could feel the warm ooze of blood as it slipped down your face.

He seemed… relieved to have cut you, as though you could have been a mere figment of his imagination. The fact you could be hurt only grounded you into reality. You used the opportunity to lunge forward and slice at his belly in a wide arc. Your blade was mere inches from his body, stopped only by the shout that pierced the haze of battle.

“Geralt!”

It was not the fact someone shouted that kept you from reaching out those few more inches - pleas for mercy often fell upon deaf ears. It was the name.

The arc of your attack stopped short as you rapidly backed away. The man you were fighting stood still and tense as he studied your actions. The bard stood just before the underbrush, blocking the firelight as he looked back and forth in horror.

You squinted into the dark; it was almost too thick for your enhanced senses to peer through. Sure enough, as the man turned his head toward the bard (perhaps to tell him to back away and stop being an idiot), the orange light of the flames caught his yellow irises.

Your dagger lowered as realization set in. “Wolf?”

He stopped and stared. You lowered your hood with one hand, revealing your face to his enhanced vision. The bard couldn’t make out any features.

“... Viper?” His sword fell uselessly to his side.

You huffed as you sheathed your weapon and stepped closer to punch him in the shoulder. As you stepped into the light, the bard recognized your eyes and the face they belonged to. You effectively saved his life that night; he wouldn’t dare forget your complexion for the great kindness you did for him.

“You son of a bilge rat!” you cursed, pulling him back to the present. “You should know better than to sneak up on people like that!”

He huffed a laugh. “Look who’s talking.”

-

You rummaged through Bayard’s saddlebags for herbs. He snorted and playfully reached back to nose at your shoulder. You couldn’t fight back the smile as you shoved him away. All the while, Geralt tended to the campfire and the bard talked his ear off.

“This is the Witcher that protected me that night!” he exclaimed in a hushed voice he thought you would not be able to hear. He went on in dramatic fashion. “It’s just as I said: a table, carried by the powerful winds of love, came hurtling toward us! In a flash, they covered me just as it slammed into the wall, shooting splinters in all directions!”

“I was only repaying the favor,” you added on as you joined them by the fire. The bard seemed startled at your input. You expected him to flinch as you leveled your yellow eyes on him. But just as he had months ago, he wasn’t afraid, merely fascinated. “It was you who protected me first after I slammed into the wall and had the air stolen from my lungs. It can’t have been easy to remove all that glass from your hair.”

Geralt looked to the bard, a hint of a smirk on his lips. The bard flushed and nodded his head to the side. “Yeah, well… The selflessness of a hero.”

Geralt scoffed. ‘Selfless’ was not a word that could be used to describe his traveling companion in a thousand years.

You picked apart the herbs you retrieved - celandine and white myrtle petals - and dropped them together into a mortar. The soft grinding sound filled the air. “I don’t think I ever caught your name, bard.”

“Oh, my sincerest apologies!” He stood and bowed deeply, still holding his lute in one hand. “I am Julian Alfred Pancratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, but you may call me Jaskier.” When he rose, Jaskier’s face was split in a brilliant smile.

He sat back down, waiting for you to introduce yourself. Geralt couldn’t help noticing the way your face fell, your eyes distant and unseeing, before you focused back on your herbs. After a moment, you cleared your throat.

“Viper,” you answered. You forced a strained smile at the bard. “You may call me Viper.”

Before Jaskier could ask questions (having missed your constrained emotions), Geralt changed the subject. “Where are you headed?”

Your body relaxed into the new topic. They watched as you set the mortar on the log next to you and drew a blade. The reflective surface, although not perfectly clear, helped you to see where the cut on your face was. With one hand holding the dagger by your face like a mirror, the other scooped up some of the makeshift salve and brushed it overtop the inflamed skin.

“I picked up a few contracts.”

“Monsters?” came Jaskier’s voice, hopeful.

The White Wolf stayed silent.

You shook your head and stood to return your new ointment to your saddlebags. You pulled two flyers from the pouch and held them out for the other Witcher to take. “Deserters,” you explained. “They ran away a few days ago; were headed out this way. Seen them?”

Jaskier leaned over, pressing against Geralt’s side, as they looked over the ink faces.

WANTED

50 CROWNS

DEAD OR ALIVE

“No,” the Witcher grunted.

You sighed and took the papers back. “It’s no matter. If they’re smart, they’ll be heading for Novigrad.”

Jaskier sat up straighter. “How come?”

You stuffed the flyers back into your bag. “Novigrad is the best port to take if one wishes to get to Kovir and Poviss,” you said. You sat back down on the log. “Kovir is bound to strict neutrality; it’s unlikely anyone would search for them once they get there.”

You look at Geralt. He was focused on stoking the fire once again. “Where are you off to, then?”

He hm’d. “Next town over to look for work.”

“Have you ever fought a djinn by any chance?” You and Geralt turned to the bard. He seemed to flounder under the attention. “I just m-mean, uhm, we happened to encounter one recently and I wondered if you’d ever dealt with one before.” Jaskier strategically avoided making eye contact with Geralt, who glared so intensely at the bard he could feel it burning his skull.

“Once, with one of my brothers,” you admitted.

Your eyes darkened at the memory of Oalvir laying on the bridge.

“What happened?” he pressed, fingers resting on the lute’s strings.

You swallowed down the past. “A woman was bringing up water from a well when she found its pitcher. When she realized what it was, she wished for it to grant her freedom from her husband. From what we gathered, he was a right bastard. Nobody liked him.

“It twisted her words. That night, she was hypnotized into killing her husband where he lay. And it forced her to kill her children, so she no longer had any ties to the man. She was distraught with grief at what she’d done. We found her body in the well.

“My brother and I worked to send the genie away before it could latch onto any of the other townsfolk. The only way to get rid of a djinn is to have it grant three wishes. It was a bloody mess when we finished.”

Jaskier’s eyes were wide, mouth agape in awe. He stumbled over his words and himself as he rushed to his own bags to grab his journal and pencil. “Tell me everything. This is- Geralt never tells me details!” You almost laughed at his enthusiasm. “Start at the beginning. How did you get the contract? Where was this?”

“I would love to stay and have a glorious ballad written of my exploits,” you mused as you stood and worked to untie the knot in Bayard’s lead. “Unfortunately, I must be on my way.”

“You’re traveling at night?” Geralt spoke up.

You hummed. Free from the tree he was tied to, he followed as you led him past the campfire and toward the road. “It’s better for my work if I do,” you said. “Most travelers, deserters, bandits, what have you - they travel during the day. Less monsters that way. But at night, they’re stationary. It’s easier to catch up to them this way, and there’s less traffic.” You grinned slightly at the bewildered way they stared at you. Your methods confounded and amazed them.

“Wha- When do you sleep?!”

“When the job is done.” You turned to guide Bayard through the trees, but stopped. You took a hesitant breath and looked to Geralt, watching with attentive eyes from the fire. “Wolf…” Your mouth opened, ready to tell him of everything that happened to the Viper Keep. To warn him that if Gorthur Gvaed could fall, he should be wary of the same thing happening to the Wolves. But no words came out. The wound was still too fresh.

Your face was one of pure concern and seriousness. He couldn’t see the child you were as easily anymore.

“Stay safe out there.”

His brow furrowed, but he asked no questions. He nodded; a silent promise. “You, too.”

Satisfied, you walked with Bayard through the trees and underbrush, back to the dirt road, worn down from decades of travel. Your steed bobbed his head and kicked up the dirt, excited to ride and run once more. You were barely in the saddle before he took off in a gallop.

Back on the road. Back to your contracts, to your job. To your life.

As the last Viper.

---

Tag List:

@writeawaythepain

@sleepyqueerenergy

@lex-caspartine

@lastwandastan

@adozenforks

@plaguedoctorsnake

@solomonsimp

[casitafallz]

LTRL AU | What Lies Under Denial

The exam, Isabela didn’t like but she didn’t try to question the techniques used given Bella was a medical professional and was trying hard. Even to her own, unmedical trained eye, the woman was finding it hard to locate anything potential so she moved on to other exams than just relying on feeling her belly, and a few medical instruments were put to use which seemed far more useful but Isa just lay back and let her work.

Suffice it to say, having her own clothes back on a little later and legs closed was a relief though she was left waiting with a glass of water before Fran herself came in.

“You feeling okay?”

“I’ve had better days,” Isabela admitted, the nerves in her system in her uncertainty were setting up camp and she hated to wait. “I think your Ma struggled to even find my uterus which is funny given she had two gloved fingers wedged up its one entry-way street.”

“Oh, yeah.” Fran agreed, snorting at her colorful expression. “She’s talking to my grandfather about it given he knows a little more about odd pregnancies—if you are pregnant.” She added swiftly at her sharp look. “It’s not actually too uncommon for women to have an odd uterus placement. One in five, if the math of the recent exams is correct.”

“Why do you have access to that information?” Isabela questioned lightly; she wasn’t surprised but she wasn’t fond of the idea that anyone could have access.

“Oh, well I’m sorta been made to sort out medical notes. Since our family’s gotten more attention and demand, more people are coming to us for things like pregnancy and…things. So… we’re considering expanding the clinic to hold an inventory of medical files to keep track of personal and family’s medical history.”

Isabela’s eyebrows shot up. “That sounds…interesting.”

“I’ve been sworn to not use real names and identifiable remarks for the sake of privacy.” Fran waved off casually, “But means we’re getting a bigger work building, my Abuelo and Tios will be finally starting the new medical training for anyone wanting to help.” Fran carried on, somewhat rolling her eyes but there was a low edge of pride to her voice. Of course, despite Fran’s personal issues in regard to her family, Isa could imagine that the medical side and family job development were something to be proud of.

But, she could certainly see the appeal. Especially In her own personal case; if this was hereditary then it’d be easier to know which side of the family it was from. It sounded like a very clever system. Perhaps when Encanto expanded, it would be useful as well.

“A brighter future for the medical industry for sure.” Isabela sighed out, her posture stiffening as she felt a particular…flutter under her ribs though it didn’t last long and was gone.

“What’s wrong?” Fran noted her change in demeanor.

Isabela just swallowed thickly, trying to take a few careful breaths. “Just….a flurry sensation.”

Fran’s head cocked to the side but thankfully, the conversation ended when Bella returned, this time with Dr Lopez who had a thick notepad and pen and looking over the notes his daughter-in-law made.

“Fran, you can go.” He remarked, noting his granddaughter’s presence.

“She can stay….if she wants,” Isabela requested nervously. At least then she wasn’t doing this alone. A part of her did consider wishing Dolores was here but…then she’d get an ‘I told you so’. Isa didn’t particularly want that right now either. She’d settle with Fran.

Fran promptly sat next to her as her answer, a hand resting on her back as support though clearly, very happy with being here and from the looks of it, the doctor didn’t look like he had the energy to argue or insist otherwise.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Nervous, but I’d really like your assessment here, Doctor,” Isabela said dryly.

Dr Lopez's aged face crinkled a little into a soft smile but he remained professional. “Bella here has come to a conclusion you are showing signs of pregnancy despite no obvious bump but that can be common for women with a tilted uterus. It won’t affect a woman’s ability to get pregnant but it does make the bump harder to see in the first few weeks into the second trimester. It may take a few more months until you’re showing—“

“I’m probably seven months pregnant, Doctor.” Isabela pointed out faintly as the words echoed because if the math was correct, she’d give birth in two months. “I don’t have many months left” her mouth felt dry now. She was pregnant.

Two months!

That was not a lot of time to prepare the family for an expansion and…god forbid how’d they even take that. Not well, obviously. Her father was going to be so disappointed… and Abuela… she was going to be furious. Isa knew they wouldn’t kick her out; that wasn’t what she was so scared about but… more shit was about to be delivered and she had no choice but to take it and face the music. It was terrifying but… she should probably break this to Abuelita first; she’d help her if no one else did… Isa hoped.

She had no idea how Mateo would react either and she dreaded how to tell him. His personal life outside their friendship, group and fun was vastly different. Isa wouldn’t allow this…child to be anywhere near Mateo’s sister.

The doctor paused. “Excuse me?” His eyebrows shot up.

“The only unprotected time I had was… Antonio’s birthday. Seven months ago.” She clarified tightly, trying to ignore how her cheeks flushed. “Dolores…said she’s been hearing a heartbeat for months and that was about…four months ago.”

Dr Lopez sighed out softly, running a hand down his face. “Why did you not include this information earlier?”

“I didn’t want it to be true.”

Fran sighed softly next to her, prodding her side “No amount of denial isn’t gonna stop that baby from existing.”

Isa glowered but didn’t remark. What could she say? Denial had worked out well so far and it was the only thing she had. Thankfully, Dr Lopez began to write down more on the page.

“Why’d you want a test if you didn’t want to acknowledge it?” Bella asked, her voice lacking any judgment or criticism but… was carefully soft. “Do you not want the baby?”

Isabela snorted, “You know my family, and the recent history of the last nine months, you should understand why and a baby out of wedlock is another thing my family’s going to be judged upon in this town.”

“Who cares what they think, Isa.” Fran nudged her softly.

“I do! Half the people in town hate me because I hurt my sister, half of my family are genuinely scared of me...including my own mother who couldn’t even tolerate me hugging her.” Isa snapped lightly. “How do you think they’re going to react when they find out that I broke one of my rules and brought more shame upon the family with a baby?!”

Fran rolled her eyes though very passive. “How they react, you can’t control, Isa. But what you can control is you and the baby. Find people in your family who you can trust to help and go from there. You have new skills to put to use in work and a way to earn a living.”

“I know…” Isa groaned, “I just… why couldn’t this be like a normal pregnancy?” She hated the idea of the symptoms but at least then it was easy to spot and didn’t involve so much guesswork and doubt.

“Which part?”

“All of it! I’ve had no symptoms and no bump and the only thing telling me before today was Dolores and her super hearing.”

“No symptoms?” Dr Lopez raised his head, sparing a look to Bella who shook his head to clarify her statement given the woman’s earlier quiz “at all?”

“I’ve…started to feel tender in the chest and my waistband a little tight but… no.”

Dr Lopez nodded tightly, “I see…”

“Look, I only came for a test because… this happened to my Abuelita. She lost a baby because she didn’t know and didn’t feel anything…”

Fran’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, this has happened before in your family?”

“Apparently… my Abuelita’s mother probably had the same thing given she kept coming home with unexpected babies.” Isa relayed briefly, “I can’t…just ignore and wind up losing a baby and put her all through that pain again.”

Abuelita deserved better than to just have that suddenly thrown into her face. The joy of a great-grandchild and the loss at the same time…. It wasn’t worth her denial. How would they see her if she couldn’t tend to a defenseless…vulnerable being that relied on her to survive? She’d certainly suffer more for it and… well her Abuelita seemed to be more open-minded as unexpected as this was.

She hoped.

“Let’s go over the timeline and…see what timeline we have. I’ve heard of this type of pregnancy before but…it’s rare. The fact it appears often in your family is…reassuring at the least.” Dr Lopez leaned forwards, though there was a relief to hear that… this wasn’t unknown.

  -

Vera had been aware of Isabela’s change of demeanor as she helped her set up dinner before her husband would come back from last-minute closing up. Her silence was one thing but she also had a faraway look in her eye which was enough to know she was clearly worried about something and… looked like she had no idea what to do about it. It reminded her a lot of the girl’s first few days here; trying to settle and trying not to feel like an outsider. Yet, it took a proper sit down for the girl to have a cry and then to have a talk about what the problems were before things improved and she actually fully relaxed. Vera didn’t want that to happen again.

Ruben came home happily in good timing as she placed the pot onto the table, hung up his suit coat, and kissed her on the cheek as he came in. “Food smells wonderful, how’s everything today?”

“Work side, all good. The orders for children’s suits are finalized and I’ve got a good number of people to help to get them done. Mirabel will also be joining us in the shop next week as well.” Vera announced, seating down. “One quinceañera dress has also been finished but we have another two in waiting. It’s main bodice and skirts been pinned and ready for sewing.”

“Will we need to keep the shop open for longer?” Ruben asked, helping himself to the dish, and spooning it onto his plate before offering the spoon to Isa who took it wordlessly.

“No, I’ve closed regular times but stayed later the last few nights. I don’t need people interrupting me over a missing button.” Vera replied.

 “Fair enough.” Ruben snorted, though turned his attention to Isa. “How’s your day been?”

Isabela looked up from her plate, looking a little startled at being addressed before she smiled. “It’s…been okay.”

“She’s brought back our instruments from the Castillo’s shop. It’ll be good to…play a few tunes.” Vera smiled. “We should, after dinner.” Isabela was still very rough on the piano. She knew her son had taught his daughter younger but clearly, she hadn’t practiced the last couple of years but at least the fundamentals were still there. But Vera hoped maybe the girl would try the violin. It’s be great to pass on new lessons, much like she had with Mirabel and her sewing techniques.

“It’ll be lovely, my Vida.” Ruben complimented. “Did you do anything enjoyable? I know you had the afternoon empty given you’ve completed your spinning classes. Did you do something fun? I heard that your threads have been praised by those who had bought them.”

Isabela’s hands gripped the cutlery a little tighter. “I...went to see Fran.” Her voice shifted, slightly higher but seemed to smile fondly. “D-Did you know they might expand their work? Making it a bigger workforce than just a family’s job.”

“No,” Ruben’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I’m surprised they’re expanding, The Lopez family aren’t… the most subtle to their…dislikes.”

“I know they don’t like magic.” Isa shrugged, “but… I do like their philosophy of it. It’s not without reason. Mama’s work did make them lose business.”

“That’s hardly a philosophy.”

“If my ma died and the Lopez Family died, who’s healing the people of Encanto?” Isa pointed out. “Abuela said that Mira used that as a point for Mama to have fewer people coming to her for nonsense cuts.”

Vera smiled as the look on her husband’s face lingered at the point made. “She’s got you there.”

Though she began to talk with Ruben, Isa seemed to stop engaging and went back to picking at her meal, eating slowly.

The concern didn’t leave, even as they cleaned up but what pulled Vera’s attention most, was Isabela disappearing to her room before they could touch their instruments for their evening of fun before bed

Something was clearly wrong. She knew better than to just let it by because then it had the potential to get worse. Isa had a habit of not sharing and Vera knew it was a hard habit to break when it seemed everyone in Casita had the same problematic habit. They seemed to hope it’d all go away by ignoring it. Even Agustín was starting to pick that habit up and Vera wasn’t about to let it continue in her home.

With a candle in one hand, Vera knocked lightly on Isabela’s door. “Isa, can I come in?” She asked through the door. “I’m just… worried about you.”

“I’m fine, Abuelita.”  She could hear a shuffling of sounds of things being moved before the bed springs echoed.

“Isa, can we please talk?”

The seconds past were far too long before she heard a soft sigh. “Okay.”

Gently, Vera pushed the door in to see Isabela curled up on her bed, covers tucked in and a rogue potato swimming in her bedside glass next to the large candle that helped light up the room.

Isa had decorated her room well, no too much amount of plants, though the ceiling was decorated with hanging vines that also seemed to drop down the walls, even holding berries that even seemed to emit light. Moss covered the hardwood floor like a carpet and there was a distinct smell of honeysuckle that tickled her nose.

Isa looked more to her lap with her hair down and almost like a curtain to block her view as she pulled the chair from the desk and sat down next to the bed, placing down her candle next to Isa’s to add to the room's dim brightness.

“Did something happen today?” Abuelita asked, “You’re withdrawn and… I don’t want you to go to bed upset. Any problem is fixable here. Nietia.” She reached forwards, pulling back the dark curtain of hair to behind Isa’s ear.

“You’ll be mad.”

“It takes a lot to get me angry,” Vera assured but she could feel this was… probably important if Isa knew she was in the wrong. She had done something and clearly worried on her reaction. Very close to her first few days; fear of breaking something would send her back to Casita permanently. That wasn’t what she wanted Isa to be afraid of. “I’m sure there’s…reason for whatever you did but I won’t get mad at you if you tell me.”

Isabela’s jaw flexed a little, weighing her options. “So… about…Antonio’s birthday…” She started, her fingers gripping the bedcovers tighter, “I...I wasn’t part of the family photos and…no one noticed that and I couldn’t be part of the party because it was in Antonio’s room…”

Vera’s frowned tightly though she could see this was clearly a set-up for what was more recent. But… hearing that was not pleasant, she could imagine how…upset Isa must have been to be left out. Her own birthday had been a barely-stable event. “Go on,” She encouraged.

“I…was really upset so...i invited a male friend of mine up to my room.” Her cheeks were stained with color but Vera felt her eyes widen at that. The implication was clear as day on what they did and she could see which rule had been broken. One that didn’t make much sense, and one they had been trying to get rid of.

“Were you okay?” Vera asked. “You weren’t…pressured?”

“No, I instigated.” She looked down into her lap, still red. “Dolores knows. Me and him… since then we...haven’t stopped but we kept things more casual. You know my reasons, he had his.” She whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Vera stroked her arm, “What happened today? Did he end this with you?”

Isa shook her head. “No.” her voice was quiet but leaned back, her hand coming to her belly before it suddenly clicked.

Oh.

“Oh, Isa…” She moved off her chair, seating herself quickly onto the edge of the bed, and pulled Isa into her arms, the girl broke down into tears, her arms wrapping around her. Pollen and plants both grew and withered around them, random color popping into her hair mostly “You’re okay,” She assured, stroking her back. “I’m not mad… you must have been so scared to tell me.”

 There was no answer to that, it was a statement but could see why it would build up like this. This was far from ideal, but she could see…how Isa would come to act on such behaviors and impulses if the girls of the latter part of the year had been miserable as she had seen her to be. It was to make her happy.

 -

It took a while before she felt her nieta calm in her arms, staying settled though she felt the girl was a little more relaxed. Vera gently stroked through her hair softly.

“I do wish you could have come to me sooner, I could have helped much more.”

“I…I didn’t want it to be true. Dr-Dr Lopez’s daughter ran a check.”

Vera sighed softly, unsurprised to hear that but she felt relief Isa was being more responsible despite that desire. “Can I ask what prompted you to check?”

Isa shifted a little, her hand moving up to move her hair, spreading more colored pollen through her hair. “You.”

“Me?”

Isa sniffled softly, “You…we were telling me ab-about Tio Dante. You-you didn’t know and he died and… I couldn’t let that happen again if-if it was true.” She croaked, “this… this one is like yours.” She looked resistant to touching her belly again, but Vera understood what Isa was referring to.

While familiar pang returned at the mention, her lost son was a healed wound given it was so long ago. She had no time to really bond with him but he had still left an impact on her after his death.. She had only told Agustín and Sofia when they were old enough and they had never ask for anything else on it. She had doubts the two even remembered her stories. Sofia had been fortunate to never be cursed with such a risky unknown pregnancy when she had her daughter. She hadn’t considered it would be further passed down; let alone through her son to his daughters.

It probably added to Isabela’s denial.

No wonder she was so anxious.

This had to be handled well, and delicately. Which did mean the other would have to know for the sake of preparation. If the pregnancy was further along then they may not had the time they’d need. She knew if Isa was anxious about telling her, she must be dreading the rest of the family’s reactions. That was not wise to put her through. The stress would not be good for the child.

“I’ll handle your family. Abuelita’s got this.” She promised softly. “Tomorrow, you should talk to the father and see how involved he wants to be.” Vera didn’t want to have a bastard grandchild but… if the father was not present then it couldn’t be helped. Ruben was against arranged marriages as it was so it’d be unwise to force the two into a union, even for the sake of the baby’s soul. They had to see. It was a lot to process but they had time.

They had time.

[darkmarkets]

The Horror of Self-Critique, pt 1

(Or, why won’t my inner voices just shut up?)

I’ve got a book coming out. It’s small press, and its only loosely horrific so I’m not plugging it here, but suffice it to say the experience has taught me quite a lot about publishing novels. (I’m working out all my industry naiveté before my Great American Gore-Fest Novel is finished.) The most important of all my lessons learned are; decide your pen name early in the process (and I mean early), give the publisher hard specifics on what you want for the cover (else doom befall you), and fix the damn story before you even submit.

It seems pretty simple, the idea that one should fix the flaws in their novel before submitting it to a publisher. But, funny thing—that’s harder than it looks.

Case in point: an advance copy of my book was sent out for reviews, and one review came back…let’s say reliably honest. This reviewer, while liking the book overall, was not catering to anyone but potential readers, which is fantastic—but that also means that she very straightforward when it came to pointing out my book’s flaws. And, there were a handful of flaws. At least two paragraphs’ worth.

But here’s where the bizarre Twilight-zone twist comes in: I read the review, and I knew she was right. 

Everything that she pointed out that was wrong with my novel, I already knew about. It was like an odd sense of déjà-vu swelled over me, as though there was a glitch in the matrix, or I’d gone back in time to read my own critique of my novel. And I sat there, wondering, if I already knew those flaws existed within my novel, why did I send it out before fixing them?

Because, of course, knowing something and admitting something to yourself are two fantastically different things.

I have a feeling that most of us know, instinctively, what’s wrong with our writing. If you’ve ever written more than a paragraph or two, and ever read more than one book, chances are you’ve got the makings of a decent critic spawning in the back of your head like a larval alien. Of course, that inner Predator art critic is going to be influenced by personal taste—writing is subjective, and everybody’s going to have a different opinion on a certain piece of fiction. But, when it comes to the basic building blocks of fiction and genre, there��s some things that many people of similar taste agree on. Its like tapping into the collective subconscious, so to speak. And more often than not, we all are going to hear those collective art critic whispers in our heads like the burgeoning symptoms of paranoid schizophrenia.

It’s not something we can nail down in a formula or label out with tight grammar rules. At a certain point, we just know. If you’re writing the kind of fiction you like to read, at a certain point, your inner reader will tap you on the shoulder and go, “Uh, hey, I like what you’re doing but…” The trick is listening to that reader-voice.

And then, the trick is swallowing a gnarly lump of pride and going back to do more heavy lifting over the story to work it out until those flaws are gone—which is exceedingly difficult and horrible, and I certainly couldn’t do it in this case. But its not just pride that keeps a lot of us from going the extra mile—it’s acceptance. One has to know, and accept that knowledge, in order to properly self-critique.

...And then, at a certain point, that inner reader-Predator drives us absolutely stark raving mad and chases us through the jungle, but that horror upon horrors will be covered in part two.

Lorna D Keach

[plush-rabbit]

Aphrodisiac Induced Brothers + Royals

Word Count: 1K Each

A/N: Lesson 21 was not enough for me. Also let me know if I should do one for Solo and Simmy?? I don’t know if the syrup would affect angels but I could write a different aphrodisiac for them?? (also breasts is used gn!!)

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It’s been a long day for him. His limbs are sore and he can feel a headache approaching as he walks into the house. His steps are met with silence, not a single sound coming from the house, the only thing that he can hear is you rummaging around in your room. He reaches the kitchen, a batch of cookies served on a silver platter, covered by a glass casing. Your name is scribbled on a sticky note and underneath it is a sticky note that reads “do not eat” but he’s hungry and tired. He debates with himself, wondering if maybe he should eat something else- surely there has to be something else in the fridge- but then again, you made these. You must have added love to it, something so sweet that he can taste your emotions.

He gives a cautious look over his shoulder, wondering if you’re standing behind him, almost wanting to have you there so you could let him have a baked good, but you aren’t there. He can hear your music, muffled by the walls and your light steps as you walk around. It’s just one cookie. Besides, you’ve forgiven him for much worse. The glass is stained with his fingerprints, the cookie bitten between his teeth and he moans in pleasure. It really does taste like love- something so sweet and heavy on his tongue that his body tingles in excitement. His tongue wets his top lip, his eyes closed for a brief moment until something settles on his tongue, a bittersweet taste replaces the initial sweetness, his tongue feels as if it were dipped in tart, his brows scrunching together for a moment.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have eaten something that you had marked as “do not eat”. Did you trick him? Play some sort of prank on the unsuspecting person who would eat your food? To be fair, you do live with demons- it would only make sense. The music stops, and you call out to him, and it’s then that he realizes that something is too familiar about this taste. His eyes widen, his hand clawing at the tabletop leaving claw marks in its wake. His pupils dilate and there’s a burning desire deep in him, leaving his chest feeling as if something heavy were resting on it. He walks to your room, arousal making his mouth salivate and heart beat against his chest as his cock begins to harden under the fabric of his pants and briefs.

Lucifer:

The prideful demon staggers to your room, paintings askew in his wake, his breaths heavy and when he’s in front of your door, his mouth is dry. Lucifer doesn’t remember knocking on your door, but you open it, and when he sees you, the scent of you rushes to him. Just by the way that he leans to you and kicks the door close, his body hunched over and hands at your side, it is evident that something is wrong. He’s much heavier than he shows, his body pushing you until you hit the bed post, and when you hiss, he presses himself against you. For a moment, he can pretend that he’s rutting against you, that your sounds are purposeful and caused by him.

He confesses that he doesn’t know what’s wrong- it takes more than a simple snack to drug someone as powerful as him, his voice slowly becoming bitter as his nails scratch against your body. You question him- a simple snack? He shakes his head in response, a cookie- yours, he admits. He wonders what you placed in it? A spell? A prank? Something so devious that it’s making him of all demons act so- so vulgar and odd. Your reply makes his blood run cold- Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup. It has no effect towards you, but it has all the effect towards him. He swallows nervously, his head resting on your shoulder and the room is still, his breath held as he listens to your heart beat. His voice is low- strained and told in a hoarse whisper that he just needs a command- any command, he doesn’t care what it is, just tell him something to rid the effect, it’s too much. Any hint of motion makes his cock rub painstakingly sweet in his pants, and all that he needs is to be told something, given an order to do anything. He’ll go away, he’ll give you his card and let you buy whatever you need, just tell him something to stop the pain.

When you call his name, he lifts his head, his face flushed and shame evident on him. Your voice is gentle, your hands cradling his head as you peck his lips. It only makes him want more, his tongue running over his lips, tasting your chapstick on his tongue. You’re careful with your words, giving soft suggestions and guiding him towards the bed, but never an actual command. You let yourself be beside him, your leg slipped between his legs, your thigh resting against his crotch. His cock is hard against you, pressed against your plump thigh as you cradle him close to you. His nose presses right above your collarbone, his lips wet as they touch your skin. His eyes are half-lidded, his mouth parted and hands fisting the back of your shirt. He can feel your shoulder blades press against his knuckles. Your hand snakes between the bodies, shimming his tie loose and unbuttoning his shirt. The cool air hits his burning skin, his body twitching further into you. He hisses at the feeling of your thigh squished between his legs, his cock rubbing against it.

Shame fuels him, burning his skin off and leaving him bare as he breathes onto you, begging for you to touch him. Sin weighs heavy on his shoulders, his mouth pressing deep kisses against your body. He can’t help the stuttering motion of his hips, the way that the fire in his stomach simmers down with every thrust. His face is hidden, your hands knitted into his hair as you twirl a graying strand around your finger- he is quite literally wrapped around your finger as he humps your leg like some sort of degenerate. He is the embodiment of pride, taking the sin as his own, and yet, here he is, humping a human’s leg while he hides his face that burns with shame. However, you aren’t just some measly human, you’re his, his master and his everything. You know what you’re doing to him, making him hump your leg but his mind is too fuzzy with arousal. All that the demon can think of is feeling your body, the soft press of your thighs, the way that you coo his name as you begin to move your own leg, your hand fisting his hair and yanking on it causing him to spill in his pants, red in the face from either his still ongoing high or from shame, he isn’t quite sure, but he’s sure that he can hear your teasing voice as you pull his head back, giving him a fleeting kiss.

His eyes are a deep red, darkened with his current state as he looks you in the eyes. In a swift movement, he hovers above you, his tie slipping down your neck, curing over and an inch away from your bedsheets. There’s a loud crackling sound, his horns jutting out and his clothing replaced and removed just as quick, your body buzzes with electricity, goosebumps pricking your body and making a chill run down your spine. Lucifer begs you to touch him, to let him just indulge himself, his lips over yours, a hand slipping under your shirt, to cup over your chest. His wings are stiff, a few feathers ruffling as you shift under him, grabbing his hand through your shirt and keeping it place. Your smile is wide, your heart beating erratically and when you nod your head, his lips are on you, wings creating a small breeze that makes you press yourself deeper into him. Your hand is held tenderly in his, your palm wrapped around his cock as he begs for you to relieve him. His pride has slipped, vulnerability bare on his face that it's almost angelic compared to who he is; his cries are loud, hands that grab at you and beg for release. His climax is against your chest, wheezing and panting, his face adorned with a flush that makes him appear even more lovely.

Mammon:

He isn’t entirely sure why he rushes to you so quickly, his eyes already half-lidded and jacket slipped off and clutched in his hand. Mammon is barely at your door, and he’s already burning with heat, sweat slick against his back and face burning. If he wasn’t so focused on seeing you, he’s sure that he would’ve believed it was melting off with every step. He knocks rapidly at your door, breathing heavily and jiggling the door handle before you can. He’s begging for you to open the door, his speech slurred as he tells you that it’s important- something about his charger or his cologne, even he can’t decide what to say. He might not know exactly what’s affected him, but he’s aware that it’s not something natural- at least given how sudden the change in his nature was. He’s calling your name, pressing his forehead against the door, hissing when the wood cools him off. His hands stay firm around the doorknob, a crack in his voice as he begs for you to let him in. He's unaware of how much time has passed since he’s come knocking at your door, but it’s far too long for his taste.

When you open the door, you are met with a disheveled demon- his hair is messy, strands that stick to his forehead from sweat, his cheeks a deep hue and his eyes nearly closed as if he were exhausted. It’s a normal occurrence for you to have him make himself at home in your room, erasing boundaries between the both of you until they’re nothing more than blur. The door closes behind you and his stomach is in a knot, every step that he takes inside of your room is sluggish, a weight tied around his ankles and pulling him back with every step. He tosses his jacket onto your chair, not bothering to look to see if its slipped. As he lies on his side on your bed, a neatly folded blanket at the foot of it, covering his already feverish body. He’s shaking despite the heat, his erection almost painful and a part of the blanket stuffed into his mouth to prevent himself from moaning out. Whether it be pain or pleasure from the smallest of movements, he doesn’t care enough to think about it. All his mind can focus on is you laying beside him, your lips pressed against his as he holds you down and fills you with his cock. It’s much easier to think about that than thinking about anything else at the moment. Maybe he shouldn’t have laid himself on your bed- something that you use every night, something that holds your scent in.

Your bed dips as you sit upon it, your hand curved over his shoulder, a deep frown set on your lips. He doesn’t answer any of your questions, he’s only focused on trying not to pleasure himself as your hand curves from his shoulder over to his neck- where you hiss at how his skin burns, no doubt- to his cheek, and finally over his forehead as your other hand turns him onto his back. He stares at you through bleary eyesight, his blue eyes squinted as they stare at you, your body illuminated by the light behind you making you appear as if you are glowing. He reaches for you with open hands, pulling down above him. He murmurs how hot his body feels, your weight crushing above him, and his voice grows hoarse. Yet, no matter how much he tells you how much it hurts having you so close to him, he does not let go of you, keeping you pressed against him with his hands digging into your sides, holding you down as if you’d leave him given the chance. His lips are dry, scratching against the curve of your neck and brushing up to your jawline, and you can feel a kiss against there, his lips pursed, pulling away with a heavy gasp.

His leg twitches, soft movements turned into constant ones that press deeper against you. You realize with wide eyes that he’s grinding himself against you. Not normally so open with his feelings, you ask him what’s wrong and he answers that he only started to act this way when he ate something of yours. You turn your body, laying beside him, his eyes never leaving yours and hands reluctant to let go of you for even a second. In a hoarse whisper, you confess how you placed Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup in them. His chest trembles as he lets out a breath, his hands covering his face as he realizes what that means for him. He turns to you, a pout on his lips and his leg placed above yours, trapping you there. Your heartbeat quickens and you’re sure that he hears the difference but if he does, he chooses not to comment on it. There’s a minute of silence, and he stares at you through the gaps in his fingers, his rings shining under your light. You blink and he’s above you, his hands placed on either side of your head, the comforter pulled under his hands.

With a shaky breath, he asks for you to indulge him- to take care of him in the way that he needs you to. Mammon leans close to you, his lips ghosting over yours, his breath still sweet with the aphrodisiac, as he guides your hand to cup his erection. He begs that he’ll be good- that he’ll listen to what you have to say as long as you let him relieve himself in your room. Surely, you could have stopped his suffering with a simple command, but that’s not important right now- what’s important is that he got himself into trouble, and he’s seeking you out to help him. Your lips meet his, a tender kiss that soon turns passionate, clothes removed and tossed, his erection springing to life and already dripping with his seed, spilling onto your thigh in syrupy strands. He wastes no time, wanting to spill inside of you- a part of him hoping that that will be all there is to the damned aphrodisiac and another part of him hoping that it won’t, that he’ll continue on until he's completely spent. Inside of your warm walls, he spills, pumping in and out, the base of his cock stretching you until you’re arching your back and calling his name. The sight is enough for him to pull you into an intense kiss where he spills yet again. Any and all stimulation is welcome, your hands tugging on his silvery hair, your teeth pressed into the soft spot of where his neck and shoulder meet, to your words sweet and silk, praising him with every thrust.

Leviathan:

Leviathan feels sleazy, rushing to your room for some odd reason with his shirt being pulled down in an attempt to hide his erection. Perhaps this is what the otaku deserved for eating something that wasn’t his, but he couldn’t have known that you would have added some sort of trap into it. It was just his luck to eat something that was cursed. His ears are tipped red, his face no doubt beet red as he rushes to your room, hoping against all odds that you’ll spare him a cure. He knocks rapidly at your door, bouncing in place and hissing for you to hurry up, his words slowly being slurred together as his anxiety rises. He doesn’t even know why you would put this type of humiliating curse onto a simple treat. He calls your name again, only to be interrupted when your door opens, revealing you with raised brows. His frantic words and worry get stuck in his throat, his erection now throbbing at the sight of you. It was a bad idea coming to you, he concludes. He’s debating turning around and hoping that dealing with the matter himself will be the end of it all, but then you call his name and hearing you say his name in such a sweet tone nearly makes him spill into his pants. He groans, doubling over, your hands now on him and pulling him into your room. Your hands both feel fantastic and horrible on him.

His eyes are on the floor, unwavering and when you call his name, he flinches. He would rather not tell you what’s going on, but he needs the cure because the longer that he’s around you- and in your room no less- the longer he wants to pleasure himself. Shame floods him as he confesses that he ate something of yours- a cookie to be exact. He would have rather not told you but he wants the erection gone because the sooner it's gone, the sooner he can go hide in his room until you’ve forgotten this image of him. You voice confusion, and it’s until he clarifies what exactly he ate, that he hears you hiss between your teeth. When he looks up at you, you have a sheepish look on your face, clearing your throat and looking away from him, a hand rubbing the back of your neck as you confess that you used a certain ingredient when baking. He presses further, standing up, his worry for his erection fading as he presses further, hoping that perhaps hearing it will cause him to find the curse on his own, but fear also settles in, and when he hears the words “Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup,” do his fears have become reality. His stomach drops and he falls onto your bed, shaking his head.

It’s humiliating for him to be put under such a dumb effect of a simple thing, but he can’t change it. Thankfully, he knows what he’s dealing with and how to fix the entire thing. He looks at you for hope, begging for you to give him a command, something to simply ease the erection so the effects will wear off. However, he notices the glint in your eyes, the sly, kittenish smile that curves your lips as you approach him. Your hands cup his face and with the aphrodisiac still heavy on his tongue, he leans into your touch, swallowing nervously with his eyes stuck to how your lips move. You’re allowing him to relieve himself with you. He doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a sick joke, but his cock seems to love the idea, leaking heavily and making his briefs stick to his skin. There has to be some sort of catch to this- why would you want him- especially in such a deprived state. However, he can’t deny how appealing your offer is, his face inching closer to you with every second, his legs bouncing and your body already so close to him, your chest pressed against his and when you pull him into a kiss, he only deepens it.

You bring him onto the bed, your hands knitting into his hair, twisting the hair around your fingers and tugging on them hard enough for him to whimper into the kiss. Your touch burns him, clothes removed, your bare skin making his chest ache and mouth salivate. He lays beside you, his body bare and cock leaking against your thigh. His eyes are clenched tight, colors appearing behind his closed lids as he grinds himself against you. Your voice is sweet even if your words are less so, names being told lovingly in his direction, ordering him as he ruts against your bare thigh, begging to at least have your thighs pinched around cock. He’s sloppy, his mouth parted as he spills against your thigh. He inches closer to you, pinching your thighs around his cock, giving out a moan when you pinch at his skin. Your body is warm, soft and plush as he spills once more, a thin strand of drool spilling from the corner of his mouth.

It isn’t fair that you aren’t letting him slip inside of you, Leviathan whines. He can feel your sex press against his, his face hidden in the crook of your neck and his hands gripping onto you. He isn’t sure how much longer he can last, already feeling his demonic form press against his skin. When you tell him in a soft voice that he can finally slip inside of you, he kisses you harshly, the smell of the ocean strong in the air, and when he pulls away, his tail presses against your sex as he he enters you. The scales in both his cock and tail add a sensation that makes you clench around him, enough for him to spill inside of you. He lets the tip of his tail curl around your sex, rubbing against the slit and brush against your chest to have your nipples go pebbled, to wrap around your neck in a heavy necklace. His cock is buried deep inside of you as he ruts inside of you. He whines into your chest, cooing about how good you feel, begging for you to touch him, his cheeks a deep red as you tighten yourself around him. There's a lovesick smile on his face, his head bowed as he thanks you, burying himself inside of you.

Satan:

The one time that Satan decides to indulge himself in something of yours is that time that he chooses a cookie that has him desperately trying to his erection. He goes to your room and he isn’t sure why. He has an inkling of a thought on what you might have used for the recipe, but he still goes to your room. He knocks on your door, clenching his hands in an attempt to stop them from creeping towards his cock and teasing himself. You're taking far too long to open the door- he can hear your footsteps, the way that you shuffle and try to catch your breath. The logical part of him wants to believe that you’re simply cleaning or putting something away but the more aroused state of his mind is picturing you with your hand touching tenderly at your sex, bringing your fingers up to taste your own arousal. His canine sinks into the inside of his cheeks, something bitter filling his mouth as your doorknob turns. You stand at the door, a smile on your face, as he stands before you, red in the face and a cock that strains in his pants. He is wrath, but he is also someone desperate for attention, wanting to lay on your lap and try to keep all your attention on him.

He enters your room, not waiting for your reply, already so close to creaming himself just from your look and his imagination. Your voice sounds as if it's in the distance, a mere whisper compared to his raging thoughts that don’t seem to end. Your hand presses between his shoulder blades, and despite the layers, he can feel the warmth of your hand. His eyes glow as they dart to your figure, a crackle of energy sparks out of him, popping against your skin and if he was hot before, he’s burning in hell as he takes in ragged breaths. Despite being in his demonic form previously, he can feel every sensation burst out as his horns emerge from inside his head, the way that his tail pushes against a barrier and curls around his leg, the sharp claws of his hands that jut out. He turns to you, his brows knitted together and lips pulled into a thin line. His arms wrap around you, his tail uncoiling itself from his leg and wrapping around your waist, the small edges pressing against your skin as his arms tighten around you. With you so close to him, he can feel every small movement of your body- your heart beating, the sharp intake of breath when his nails glide over your skin, and even the way that you try so hard to stay still for him.

Being so close to you is slowly making him grow groggy, thoughts muddled as his erection pokes against your thigh. His lips brush against the shell of your ear, his breath hot as he speaks in a strained voice. Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup. That has to be the reason why it’s so difficult to control himself around you, isn’t it? Why he can’t think straight nor why he can’t seem to get the image of you out of his mind. His forehead rests against your shoulder, his hands clammy as they wrap around your wrists and beg for you to do something about the state that he’s in. He needs you to do something. His tail is attentive as it slides under your shirt, tugging on the skin and when you hiss, his lips press against your neck. His tongue is sharp, pressing the tip of the muscle against you, savoring you as he thrusts lightly against you. He’s pleading for you to give him a command- to do anything to get rid of the ache that’s in his pants.

You pull away from him and he whines, shaking his head and inching closer to you, stumbling on his feet and his eyes wet with tears. You cradle his face in your hands, his lips in a pout and hand clutching at the front of his shirt. His tongue peeks to wet his lips and in the same breath, it’s hidden inside his mouth. When your lips press against his, he lets out a whine, shifting in place and holding your hands, his tail still around you as he guides you to the bed. His moans muffle out any noise from the outside. The aphrodisiac does it’s work well, your tongue swirling around his, brushing against the roof of his mouth that leaves him melting against you, his whines low and his hands guiding you to touch at his cock. He doesn’t know how it’s come to it, a demon so powerful as him being reduced to such a weak mess with a simple ingredient. He never thought himself to be so sensitive to touch, your lips pressed against the curse of his horns leaves him rutting against your sex, his hands clawed at your back as every touch just sends him closer to his high.

He’s always been a giving lover, wanting you to feel pleasure before he’s had the chance to and even just seeing your climax is enough for him to start dripping in thick strands. However, now, Satan is selfish, pulling you in for a kiss, slipping his cock inside of your hole, the head of his cock stretching your rim and when you whine, tears pricking your eyes and his name nothing more than a mess of syllables, does he release inside of you. His lips are tasted with salt, kissing your tears and thrusting wildly into you, his tail curling around your legs and keeping you situated above him. He latches to your breast, leaving marks behind with every kiss and suckle, begging for your hole to clench around him, the soft walls that wrap around his cock and pull him deeper despite being nearly at the base. He pants and pulls you close, letting your hands roam throughout his body, pull at his nipples and curve around his horns.

Asmodeus:

He knows what it is the minute he arrives at your door. If there’s one thing Asmodeus is excellent at, it’s identifying his sin- no matter the shape it comes in. It’s just a surprise he hadn’t noticed that it was in your baking- perhaps there’s a level as to when aphrodisiacs can become apparent to him. No matter, he knocks on your door, clicking his tongue when he notices that his erection has begun to show itself. He knocks at your door, the inside of his cheek bitten as he awaits for you to open your door. He can handle lust just well- it's who he is, it's the entirety of his being- but he also knows that you’re on the other side of the door. Lust is a fickle thing- a strong desire that overpowers even the strongest of minds, and he’s mastered it, he’s been the one in control but now, he isn’t sure. He stands outside your door, his first two knocks, polite but after a moment of waiting, his knuckles burn as they continuously knock against your door. He needs you to open your door, he needs to see you and to just take you in. His erection pulses and he can’t risk staining the inside of his pants with his seed. His forehead is against the cool wood of the door, begging you in a cracking voice that he simply cannot stay outside, not like this- not when he needs to see you so badly.

When you open your door, he’s pushing past, falling into the grace of your arms and burying his head into the rook of your neck. Somewhere in the distance, your door closes, the click echoing throughout his entire body. He chuckles lowly, nuzzling himself against you, replacing your scent with his. Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup. What a little minx you are. Surely you had to have an idea on what you were doing. There’s a lovely aroma in the air- vanilla and roses mixed, a lingering scent of perfume that fills your lungs and his horns press against your plush cheeks. He pulls away, a lovesick smile gracing his features as his face fills with a blushing shade of pink. Was it some sort of joke? Or were you perhaps hoping that it would get his attention? His lips hover over yours, the smell of your baked goods thick on his tongue, as he guides himself closer to you, attracted to your entire being. His hands rest on your waist, pulling you close, trying to close the gap as slowly as he can. You have his attention, if that’s what you wanted. His lips meet yours in a breathless kiss, your hands curling around his neck and grabbing his face, pulling him closer to you. A kiss from lust themselves is sure to make anyone’s knees buckle. It takes a simple kiss for him to nearly stain the inside of his pants and he pulls away quickly, his lips bruised and the clear balm that he wears is now resting faint on the inside of his mouth.

Your bed is soft, pillows fluffed under him as he relaxes, his mind now drunk off of lust and the taste of you. He simply can’t think at this very moment. He’s torn between wanting to take you and wanting for you to give him a command. A command will surely snap him out of it and push him to go do something- anything else that isn’t staying here and potentially resulting in him jerking off in your bed from a mere kiss. He looks over to you, a heavy blush across his face, ears tipped hot and chest rising and falling slowly. He appears almost lazy in your eyes, but still beautiful as ever. His hair is slightly askew, small curled strands that stick out of place, his eyes half-lidded but still looking at you with lust, and his lips parted, the balm that wears gleaming off the to the corner of his lips, small hints of glitter that shine across his bottom lip. Give him an order, he begs. He’s felt lust before- something so heavy and thick that it made him completely lose his mind and focus only on pleasure- but it's never been like this, never been with you. He wants you to kiss him. He wants to feel your body grind against his. He wants everything that he’s ever felt before with you because he knows that with you, it’ll be amplified. He wants your body to rest beside his, to touch your bare skin with his sinful hands and let him take over for the both of you. But he also wants to stop himself, to let the lust wash over for a moment. He can’t think, he wants to different things but he also just wants the one- he wants to have sex with you while his mind is thick with lust.

The bed creaks as you weigh it down, shifting and moving close to him and somewhere in the back of his mind, he makes a note to get you a new one that won’t make noise. Your body sits perched above his, his head tilted upwards and his gaze dark. His hands find themselves at home against your hips, rubbing small circles with his thumbs as you press yourself close to him. Your chest presses against his, your heart beating loud enough for the both of you, echoing in your chest and vibrating against his. His mouth moves in a quiet whisper, begging for you to touch him- to at least kiss him once more before he truly loses his mind. Your lips meet his and as opposed to the more passionate one early, this one is softer, your lips moving against his in a slow embrace, your hands freeing his cock. You pay special attention to each fold of his cock, the petal-like ridges that flare around his tip, your hands working softly around him. The kiss is intense, heated and breathless, your lungs burning as you need to pull away, your face on fire and darkening with each lasting second until he pulls away, licking his lips as if to savor you on his tongue.

Rather than letting him take the lead, you do, your hands knitting into his silky hair, threading your hands into his hair and tugging lightly, breaking the kiss as you catch your breath. His lips, on the other hand, don’t leave your body. His wings flutter and tense, his teeth prick at your neck and when something warm burns against your skin, the flat of his tongue wipes it away just as quick. It isn’t long until Asmodeus is buried inside of you, his face contorted to pleasure, tears forming against the corners of his eyes and sliding down his face. He isn’t ashamed to admit that the kiss was enough to send him over the edge, spilling inside of your warm hole, pumping inside of you until he floods out and warms the base of his cock. He gets to feel you orgasm just as quick, the way you clench around him, pulling taut and fluttering your walls against his already sensitive cock just makes him hold tighter onto you, begging for you to continue your movement.

Beelzebub:

He really hadn’t meant to eat something of yours. Well, he did, but he felt guilty afterwards when his body became engulfed in flames, his tongue heavy and his mouth salivating with every movement of his tongue. Beelzebub knocks on your door, a pout on his face as he tries to ignore the aching sensation in his stomach. It’s familiar, but he can’t quite place his tongue on it- his mind too rattled by guilt and shame to do anything more than think about how the cookie practically melted into his mouth. When you open the door, he’s greeted by your smile, your head tilting as you step back and welcome him into your room without a word being said between the both of you. A guilty smile crosses his features, his eyes downturned and hands fiddling with each other. Once inside your room, does he take notice of how much more prominent you’ve been.

His sin is gluttony, and while the others- and even other demons alike- might have a stronger noise than humans, his nose is even stronger. He could always smell you from a mile away- your aroma, the difference of body wash or cream that you use, what snacks you’ve eaten if your mouth is freshly filled with mint- he can smell it all. Yet, even with his sin, your aroma has never been so heavy, so potent and filling his lungs with something that makes him feel as if he were about to implode. He sits on your bed, his stomach churning as if he had eaten something awful, and he just stares at the floor. He doesn't know what to think, he doesn’t know why he’s acting as if his mind is muddled, his mouth stuffed with cotton making him unable to speak. But, it isn’t stuffed with cotton, it’s flooded with his saliva, threatening to spill from the corners of his mouth and he’s forgotten how to swallow. Your hands are lifting his head, a plea for him to look at you and when you do so, his mouth parts, drool spilling from his mouth and landing onto your floor. He mumbles an gargled apology, even more of saliva spilling out. He can smell your cream- citrus that makes his lungs fill with the sweet air of it, grapefruit that leaves the lingering bitter sweetness that still rests on his tongue and the freesia petals that make you smell so sweet that it's making his jaw feel as if were being pricked by pins and needles. In a slurred speech, he confesses that he ate a cookie of yours, his arms wrapped around your body and pulling you close to him, his head resting on your chest as he apologies. He just wants whatever curse you placed on it to go away.

There’s a crackle in the room, building and sparking inside of him, his wings pushing against his back as they're begging for release from the confines of his more human appearance. He doesn’t know what’s going on, only that there's intense pressure coursing through his body, making him feel as if he’s slowly going insane. His hands clench, dragging your shirt into fistfuls as he can hear your beating heart echo against your ribs. Your hand runs through his hair, a soft shushing sound and he subconsciously nuzzles closer to you, his breathing ragged and heavy, his cock aching in the confines of his pants, a thick strand of pre-ejaculate staining him. You confess that it wasn’t a curse, just an ingredient you used that perhaps you shouldn’t consider who you live with. The ends of his hair are pulled gently as your fingers wrap his strands in a soft taunt. You used Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup. He groans, tears in his eyes as he lowers his head, pressing himself against your stomach, his hands moving lower until his pinkies tease at the curve of your rear. He repeats the words back to you, his mouth growing heavier with each syllable, and when he pries away, your shirt now sports a dark spot of where his mouth had pressed against you.

It wasn’t a curse then? Just an odd ingredient to add to your baking? Relief floods throughout him, a brief pause to his current heated self, and his shoulders drop. With the guilty feeling now out of the way, he has to focus on how to relieve himself, his erection making a noticeable tent in his pants as he falls to his back on your bed. The action is akin to pollen that floats off of a flower, your bed drenched in your entire essence, dripping and sticking onto his skin and when he closes his eyes, he can only focus on the faint scent of your sex, the arousal that dripped onto your bed covers and laid there. Your hand curves over his breasts, his nipples pert and he stares at you through half-lidded eyes. He’s in pain- the good type, the sore muscle type that lets him know that he’ll wake up feeling a certain type of way. He’s under your command, his hands covering yours and pulling your hand to his mouth where he kisses at your knuckles. Please, he’s begging in a hoarse whisper, to give him a command so he can leave or allow him to be a toy for you. He won’t mind either option, just let the aching pain in his stomach- the twisting and turning that doesn't let him think straight.

Feeling your lips on his is enough of an answer. He returns the kiss eagerly, his tongue filling your mouth, twisting and turning, thin trails of saliva that spill between the open gaps and drip on your chins. He cries in the kiss, his hand palming at his cock, his seed staining the inside of his pants. Beelzebub is one to give into his sin, so eager and giving despite his intimidating appearance. Your clothes are discarded, thrown show here to the empty room as he pulls you up to his face, his mouth parted as your sex rests on his tongue. Your arousal is heavy, thick and sweet like honey as it slips down his throat as his tongue wraps itself around your sex, licking at the slit as your nectar fills his mouth. One hand is curved over your breast, teasing at your nipple until your hand is covering his, tears in your eyes at how it’s all too much, while his other hand is wrapped around his cock that is gleaming with his seed and burning in his palm. He continues past the overstimulation, mumbling into your sex, suckling on you and pushing himself close to you, letting the tip of his canine glide against your pulsing sex.

Belphegor:

His knuckles knock against your door, a deep frown on his features that makes the middle of his brows crease. Belphegor doesn’t offer a moment of explanation when the door opens, simply pushing past you and resting on your bed. His arms remain open, his expression solemn as he stares at you, waiting for you to join him in bed. He’s always been one to rest with you, telling you that you’re so warm and soft, a perfect body pillow for the Avatar of Sloth. He doesn't know what is wrong with him right now, all that he’s aware of is that he’s restless, his mind too fuzzy and chest too tight. He’s coming to you, asking for a nap, hopeful but pessimistic that that will cure him of his current ailment. However, for whatever reason, being in your room proves to be a horrendous experience. Has your natural scent always been this strong? Has your heart always beat so loud that it makes him feel as if he’s going crazy? Has your hand on his chest ever felt this heavy?

He’d never describe your room as the attic- the loneliness, the cramped space, the emptiness of it all except for red eyes that were filled with regret- but right now, as he lays on your bed with you at his side, he feels like he’s back. Or rather, he wishes that he were back. Your room is cramped, every inch of it thick with your and your presence, your beside him, your index finger drawing organic shapes over his abdomen and he’s reminded that he isn’t alone. He’s with you at this very moment. He confesses that he ate something of yours. A cookie that was left out. He apologizes in the same breath, his hand over yours, gripping it tighter and tighter with every uneven breath. What was in it? Why is it making it so difficult to breathe and why can’t he stop focusing on how frail you are compared to him. He turns his head, eyes meeting yours, his blown out and face flushed with an almost lovesick look on him. Why is it now that you’re making him act so tense around you?

Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup. That explains so much and it leaves him with a heavier weight on his chest. Just give him a command, let him be done and over with it. The effects of it are too painful- too much pressure that rests on his stomach and he’s suddenly aware that his erection isn’t due to whatever he had hoped it was, but it’s due to your little treat. There’s crackling in the air, a sweet scent of chamomile and honey in the air as his horns grow and tail elongates, the end of it wrapped around your wrist, tickling at your palm. It pricks your forearm, a sharp breath between your teeth when he tightens around you. He inches closer to you, his chest pressed against your and his eyes half-lidded- he asks you to give him a command, to let him sulk off to the attic and bury himself under the covers with a hand around his cock. Your lips meet his and his tail tightens around your wrist. You let out a muted whine between the closed lips and he nearly climaxes in his pants, his tail slowly loosening it’s grasp.

Your hands move from the side of his face, slowly creeping up until they hook over his curled horns. He presses closer to you, hands so desperate to hold onto you- wanting to touch every inch of your body and memorize every rise and dip. Your shorts are thin enough to feel what lies hidden, the way that your own sex throbs and aches from him with just a simple kiss. If it were any other day, or at least a day when he wasn’t aroused by some aphrodisiac, perhaps he would have teased you- played with your sex and make you edge yourself on his thigh, but right now, he’s bratty. He wants to feel good, wants to actually touch you and get off like that rather than some fantasy. He pushes closer to you, his hands spread on your back, a leg nudging into your, a silent plea to remove your clothing. He’s eager for sex, but he won’t show it, so desperate to have you do all the dirty work and slip yourself onto him. Just the thought of falling asleep as he’s been drained with every ounce of his semen makes him buck his hips, his cock rubbing against the fabric and tight space. A nail drags down your back, straight from the base of your neck to the end of your spine, your clothes tearing away. You bite his tongue and he spills inside of his pants.

The air in the room is mixed with your scent, the thick arousal that drips between your slit and onto his stomach, mixed with his own arousal, his cock that throbs, the base of it thick and the hottest part of his entire cock. He’s ended up with you below him, his cockhead pressed against your pubic bone, a hand squeezing at your chest as he pulls away, a trail of saliva still connecting you to him and him to you. His cock slides down, meeting your sex and he hisses almost painfully, bowing his head and burying himself into the crook of your neck. His head shakes, his cock not even inside of you yet as he begins to thrust himself against your body. He breathes heavily, panting and groaning as he reaches his high, spilling himself against your sex. Your legs are bent, his smile wide and almost unnerving as he leans over, his cock pressed against your rim. His tail feathers around your abdomen, tickling your sides until the rest against your nipples, the fluffed end feathering until you become pert with the attention. He leans for a kiss while his cock is hugged by your warm walls.

Barbatos:

Every step to your room feels as if pins and needles are shooting throughout his body, every step painful and uneven breaths that puff out as sweat sticks to his brow and a fever burns his body. Barbatos knocks against your door and he hates to admit it, but when you open it and greet him, all he can think of is pressing you against the floor and letting himself let go for just a moment. But, he clears his throat and asks to be let in, wandering inside with staggered steps. He sits on your bed, fully aware of just how much of you in your room. You invade every nook and cranny of it, your entire essence drenched in the room. His mouth salivates when he can hear your blood pump and heart echo against your chest. When he meets your eyes, he can see your lips move but the only sound is ringing in his ears. He can’t seem to focus on anything- eyes constantly moving to every feature of you, watching as your eyes mix with color near the pupil, and how your lips are cracked near the inside of your mouth, the way that your tongue licks at your lips and he has to force himself to look away.

He shakes off your worry, telling you that he had something- he doesn’t want to say bad, it’s quite the contrary to that- he decides to go with something new. He lets out a low laugh, short and breathless as he confesses that he had one of your cookies. There’s a part of him that already knew what it was- the intoxicating taste, the way that it lit him on fire and made him act so... irrational. When you give him a look of surprise, he can only nod his head. You tell him that you used Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup- just as he expected. He almost wishes that you had placed an alcoholic drink, something that wouldn’t make him feel so hot around you. He can’t be with you right now- not this close, not when he’s so drunk off of lust that the only thought that swims in his head is how pretty you look. This is a situation that he got himself into, one that he should have known better than to take something of yours. He had only visited to retrieve something, or perhaps it was to drop something off, he can’t remember, not when his erection aches and pulses in his pants. Truth be told, he’s surprised you haven’t commented on it, but maybe that’s his only saving grace when he’s in your presence.

Your hand presses against his forehead and he leans into your touch. The dutiful butler is gone, replaced by a demon so drunk off of lust that he’s whimpering and palming himself through his pants, mumbling apologies as he keeps your hand stationed against his face. He’s weak under you, loyal to one but so desperate, so distant from everyone that he falls before you. Your hand pulls away and he can hear you mutter, your breath close to his and he falls into your embrace. Your breath is cool, smelling like mint and your perfume faint, lingering against your skin like a kiss given by the sun. Your heart beats, your neck pulsing as you cradle him close to your body as he palms himself. Static is thick in the air, his head tilting just at the right moment, his horns pressed against the side of your head. He promises that if you tell him to leave, he will, his hands knitting into the back of your shirt, his erection aching in his pants as it’s lost touch. Just tell him to leave, let him be gone from your sight.

There’s no warning when you push him further onto your bed, your hands pressed against his chest, his eyes dilated with arousal and mouth open. His tail slithers out from under him, poised above you, the split ends of it standing straight as you rest above his stomach. His hands rest on your hips, and he’s hoping that you’ll allow him to indulge, for just a moment, he watches as your tongue wets your lips and he wishes that it were him touching your lips. He calls your name, his hands curling against the fabric of your shorts, and when he begs that if you tell him to leave, he’s silenced with a kiss that he reciprocates. The touch of your lips makes his body heat up, everything in his mind screaming and silent all at once, enough for the poor demon to whimper against you, his hands shaky as they go to grab at your body, desperate to feel any type of warmth. Your hands cradle his face, sliding up until his horns are teased by your fingertips, playing dangerously close at the barbs and thin spikes. His hands feel around, his breaths heavy as he pulls away, spit shining on his lips and his hair askew from the constant movement.

He removes his clothing, tugging at the hem of yours, pleading with you to remove the fabric, begging with his lips and tongue, his tail wet as it teases the base of your spine. Your hand is soft compared to his, wrapped around his cock, your lips against his neck as his tail wraps around your neck, the ends of it just below your bottom lip. Barbatos begs for more, pleased for you to do something more than just a steady pace that leaves him wanting more. His back is arched as he climaxes against your covered stomach, his seed an opalescent color that lingers with hints of blue. Your ruined clothing s removed and you sit bare chested above him, your nipples pert and his hands come to cover your chest, rolling the pebbled buds between his clawed hands, his cock rutting against your clothed sex, already so close to yet another high but the aphrodisiac is still flowing through him, begging for more until he’s satisfied. His tail flexes, a part of it catching in the light, gleaming with color as if slides to your sex, breathing out a halfhearted apology before his lips move to your neck.

Diavolo:

The prince knows what is on his tongue right as he’s standing in front of your door. His cock aches, calling for his attention. Right behind the wooden door, he can smell you. Diavolo can smell your shampoo, your body wash, your cream, the way that your cunt is already slick. If he could focus on his hearing he could probably focus on how you rummage throughout the room, the way your footsteps are much softer than those of demons’ or even how you clear your throat. He’s had his ruts before, always satiated with demons and others alike coming into his room and taking care of it for him, but it was only that- a rut. He’s dealt with the common fling, never anything romantic as he never had the time, so it was easy for him to simply let his mind be filled with desire rather than something more intimate. It was anything like what he’s feeling now; something so strong that it's propelling him to knock against your door, his vision bleary and mouth wet as your scent- already so filling- grows closer. When you open the door, he leaves his mark on the wall beside him- four deep, jagged lines that stretch from the wall to the doorframe.

You open the door to him, the straps on your shoulders loose- one already slipping off and stopped by your bicep. He welcomes himself in, toppling over and breathing deeply. He’s on his hands and knees, his mouth open as spit drops onto your floor. While his body burns hotter than it’s ever done before, your hand on the back of his neck and cradling his face burns him even more so, igniting something in him. He is focused on your eyes, the way that they crease with worry, how your emotions are so clearly written. A part of him feels a tad guilty- he knew what he was doing when he entered your room, he could stop himself, he’s sure of it, but if you kept touching him so tenderly, the way that he’s always craved, then he’s sure he’d grovel at your feet and stain the inside of his pants.

On his knees, he’ll joke about it, looking towards you as sweat begins to form, his mind focusing on your hands, the soft grooves and how they’re small compared to his. He has to forcibly stop his thoughts from straying any further. He’ll make a small joke of it, an easy way to ease your worry while also answering your questions. Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup, huh? You really couldn’t pick something else, could you? His smile is crooked as he slowly rises, removing your hands from his body- you should know to ask him if you need anything else to substitute the flavor that it brings to you. The knees of his pants are dirtied by your floor, your lips parted and he’s sure that he can see your pink tongue that rests in your mouth. There’s various ways to rid the symptoms of the aphrodisiac- you must know that- and he wants you to give him an order, a helpless attempt to finally ease the tight knot in his lower belly. Inching closer to him does nothing but make him recoil, his body shaking and brows knitted, ears tipped with heat. It was a mistake to linger at your door when he realized what he had consumed- he should have walked away, dealt with this on his own, but he’s here now. He’s stuck in a room that mocks him with your being.

With every attempt that you make to get closer to him, is a step that he takes back, moving with the heels of his hands, his legs kicking at the floor beneath him. His back meets the wooden edge of your bed, the back of his face comforted by your blankets. You rest between his parted legs, his hands still when yours lingers on his knees. He wants you to give him an order, just to whisk him away so he doesn’t succumb to his desires. Your lips are ghosted above his, a phantom that pulls at his heartstrings like the ghost of wishful thinking. He leans closer, wanting the gap to close, needing to have you kiss him. But you pull away and he’s whining, shaking his head, a plea under his breath as his hands finally move, gripping at your shoulders and begging for you to come closer. Tell him to kiss you, he’s begging on the floor beneath you, wanting to just taste you once and even if he’s so drunk on arousal, he’s sure that he’ll remember the feel of your tongue.

He’s asked a simple question. Does he really want this or is it simply the aphrodisiac making his judgement cloudy? His kiss is enough to answer your question. He wants this- he needs this. He wants to feel you wrap around his cock and moan that it’s too much to take it. He wants to feel your gummy walls hug tight around him and milk him for his cock. It’s all a blur of the moment for the future king- his clothes are off and you rest above him, your sex leaking onto him, sweet and making him salivate with just the scent of it. His cock pulses in your hands, throbbing, the thick veins that burn under your fingertips, the ribbed rings around his cock that leaves him throwing his head back, his semen already staining your hands. Diavolo pleads with you to stop the teasing, to just do what you want, use his body while he’s still too drunk with lust to fully take control over the situation and let his cock stretch your pretty hole. His hands grab at your breasts, kneading the muscles and pulling taut on the nipples, grinning when you let out a yelp. His mouth is filled with your tongue, something bittersweet fills his mouth, his tongue desperate to suck every last of the taste into his mouth.

[elysianslove]

secrets that you keep; iwaizumi hajime 

synopsis; in which his best friend is secretly a camgirl. part 1, part 2 

pairings; iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader

genre; smut

trigger warnings; i highly recommend reading the first two parts before this. they’re only drabbles that introduce everything! anyways, this is absolute filth. don’t read this if any of the stuff mentioned could trigger you, please! masturbation, camgirl stuff, one mention of the word ‘daddy,’ self choking, degradation, humiliation, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, creampie, a lot of choking, accidental breathplay, not proofread unfortunately 

she knows. 

does she? 

it’s an ongoing inner battle he’s been having for weeks now, ever since he’d been directed to that trending video of yours. he sees you in his dreams, hears you loud and clear, moaning and crying for him, and worst of all, he feels you, so perfectly, against his, around him, and it’s overwhelming in the worst way possible. even maintaining eye contact is tiresome at this point. 

but he does wonder whether you know or not, more often than he should— were you deliberately calling out for him, in hopes that he’d find this video somehow? or had you said it because you’d assumed this is your safe place, that there’s no way he’d be able to find these videos? had it been a slip up? or, more accurately, multiple slip ups? what were the chances anyways, that it had been an accident, or unintentional, or intentional and he had been losing sleep over it, or that he wasn’t the hajime you were crying out for? 

his heard hurt. awfully. there’s already the constant worry of regulating his breathing around you and cleansing his thoughts of anything he’d seen of you the moment you meet, but this added dilemma is in no way helping. every day that you text him for a coffee date, or a night out after a rather stressful week, or a night in at your apartment, and he agrees, his mind diverts immediately to where it shouldn’t as soon as he lays eyes on you. and the worst part of it all is how aware he is of how wrong this is. he knows it’s wrong to choose the revealing shirt over the other when you ask him for his opinion, just because he wants that effortless glance at your cleavage. it’s also so wrong of him to give a higher rating to that obscenely short dress than that other, knee length one because of the way your thighs squeeze when you sit. it’s definitely wrong of him to offer clasping your anklet, the one he’d gotten for you, the one that had been the dead giveaway to your secret online persona, just because your legs feel so soft against the rough pads of his fingers, when he resists the urge to trail upwards, upwards, upwards—

it’s fucking ridiculous. 

he can’t believe just how deep of a rabbit hole finding one of your videos is, how it’s impossible to climb out and away, and even worse, how he keeps falling deeper. the one time he decides to jerk off to porn. it’s really ridiculous. 

about a week ago, three weeks after finding that video of yours someone had uploaded— which had been taken down because of copyright, and hajime personally thinks that’s fair, considering there’s a reason you pay people to watch your videos and look through your photos, otherwise you would’ve taken the liberty to post everything for free yourself— hajime gives in, and subscribes to you. it’s with a randomized account name, something he tried his very best to make as anonymous as possible, so that it would in no way lead back to him. he doesn’t check in on your account as often, also having taken the time to turn off notifications and not have anything sent to his email, and it’s mostly out of shame. he already feels dirty enough having seen this much of you, even more that he’s fantasized about you. he’s not about to make it worse for himself.

every once in a while, though, especially days where he’s sure he’s completely free of responsibilities, he logs on, and finds your page. it just so happens that tonight, you’re hosting a live stream. swallowing his pride and shame, literally so, he shifts on his bed, sitting up straighter, and clicks to join. 

he’d been a little late apparently, because you’re already bare, sitting on a chair. your legs are lifted up, knees bent and hooked over the chair’s arms, the camera angled to show everything, from your cute eyes to the flesh of your ass. there’s a vibrator in your hand, buzzing lightly as it hovers by your clit, dipping between your folds, sliding back up again to rub lazily at your clit. beneath you, on the chair, is a small damp spot, leaking from your cunt. hajime stops himself before his jaw falls slack at the sight of you, and instead, he clears his throat, gritting his teeth and watching carefully. 

you’re not so talkative during your videos, just exclamations of pleasure and (the most beautiful of) noises, so he hadn’t expected you to be during your lives. to his surprise, you are, and it’s filthy. 

whimpering lightly, you press the vibrator harsher on your clit, your other hand traveling up to squeeze at your breast. “m’so needy,” you admit with a soft pout, adding, “want you to tell me what to do, mmh.”

he’s assuming the ‘you’ is the audience, whoever’s willing to speak up, and it’s then that he notices the chat option. his eyes flicker curiously to it, hands twitching where they sit fisted at his lap as he sees the chat explode with orders and commands and suggestions for you. 

one writes, stuff urself full, and hajime gapes. 

another commands, wanna see u cry tn, and hajime privately agrees. 

someone else writes, gonna squirt princess? 

hajime’s hands twitch again, and he frowns, digging his nails into his palms. you’re ignoring all the suggestions, and it’s obvious because you’re reading through them, mouthing some of them, giggling at some, curiously gasping, ‘oh,’ at others, eyebrow quirking. the vibrator trails down to your hole again, and you experimentally dip it inside slightly, shivering visibly as the vibrations rush through you, and the moment he hears you moan so loud, he thinks, fuck it, and his hands reach for his keyboard. 

choke yourself. 

fuck, fuck, fuck, he did not just do that. 

his heart is racing embarrassingly fast beneath his ribcage, loud and pathetically deafening in his ears as he watches your eyes read through the rest of the messages, and you’ve stopped mouthing them, your eyes are widening— which one are you at now? are you just going to ignore him? why wouldn’t you? of course you—

“you’d like that, huh?” you teasingly slur, a lazy, cheeky grin painting your lips, your teeth biting down on your lower lip and your hand— your hand— 

it’s trailing upwards, upwards, upwards, until it finds its way around your throat, resting lightly, and just as he sees your fingers squeeze at the sides of your neck slightly, carefully, you pout at the camera, looking straight at him, and asking, “like this, daddy?” 

a low fuck wheezes past his lungs, and his hand quickly presses down at the bulge in his sweatpants, squeezing and rubbing at his clothed dick as he watches you, entranced. people watching you with him have taken to thanking him for the idea, and to praising you, calling you a good girl, cursing, rapidly typing out something along the lines of you’re so hot i wanna fuck you so bad, and god, hajime hates that he relates to something as stupid as that. 

your hips roll and your head falls back, hand not once leaving your throat. if anything, your grip tightens. you click on the vibrator, and the buzzing becomes louder, your moans with it, as if you were competing. you cry and gasp and sob, writhing in your own hold, your thighs tensing and your hole clenching around nothing as you harshly rub the vibrator against your clit. your cunt gushes and drips as you bring yourself closer to your orgasm, as you cry out a string of, “m’gonna cum, so close, so close!” and a mixture of lewd curses, until finally, you cum. you’re sent over the edge, legs swinging on the chair, high pitched squeals falling from your lips— which hajime can’t decide are real or not, or whether he wants them to be or not. you thrash and cry, tears, as promised to some other watcher, dripping down your cheeks. 

the last straw however, is your comedown from your high, sobs hiccuping and muscles twitching, eyes half closed and body limp as you mewl out, “hajime, hajime, hajime,” like you’re not even aware you’re doing it. like it’s subconscious. 

hajime swears again, a deep, low, “fuck,” and looks down to find a damp spot on his lap. he really came from barely any friction, all because of you. this really is as ridiculous as it gets. 

the next time he sees you, there are the faintest of bruises on your neck. it’s not so obvious that just anyone would notice, but ever since becoming hyperaware of everything that is you and everything that you do, it’s hard not to have them be the first thing he sees. to ensure that the atmosphere between the two of you remains easy, he flicks at your neck and tuts with a smirk, asking you jokingly if you were in your hoe phase. 

“so vulgar, hajime,” you sarcastically retort, teasing him. “you like calling me mean things?” and he has to avert eye contact because all his walls crumble so quick. 

it’s just the two of you tonight, in his apartment, all your other mutual friends having cancelled at one point or another. it’s not an unusual occurrence; more often than not, the two of you are alone. however, it’s been a while since you’d been alone, privately. a while meaning ever since hajime had discovered your side hustle of a sort. he hadn’t been purposely avoiding this— no, maybe he has, but to be fair, he’s still yet to recover from the initial shock. 

it also doesn’t help that since today had meant to be a relaxing night in, you’re dressed casual, but in the hottest fucking way possible. he hopes he hadn’t been blushing as hard as he thinks, and feels, he was, when you’d first stepped into his home. on your hips is a short, black skirt, flowing out to your upper thighs, where just above your knees start a pair of dark thigh highs, squeezing at your thighs and accentuating your legs as you strut around his apartment, feet bare of any shoes or slippers. he can’t decide whether it’s cute or just plain hot. somehow, with you, it’s both. your shirt is off the shoulder, a dark, navy blue bardot, and beneath it, peeking out to rest at your collarbones, is a black bralette. he can barely just see the intricate lace designs, but it disappears and dips beneath your shirt before he can see more of it. 

you’re spread out on the couch, laying along it on your stomach, a pillow tucked in your arms and beneath your head, your clothed legs bent and swinging up in the air. he sits right by you, thigh right by your head, his body as tense as ever. it’s impossible not to be you, not with you in such close proximity to him when only a few days ago he’d watched you make yourself cum, and had heard you whimper out his name after. who can blame him, really?

with your eyes trained on the screen, he hadn’t been expecting you to speak up. 

“iwa, what type of porn do you watch?” 

he nearly chokes, eyes widening as he spares you a glance. your legs continue to swing innocently, your eyes unmoving, your voice unwavering. the suddenness of the question certainly threw him off, but it’s your nonchalance that really shocks him. but, considering everything, it really shouldn’t have. 

“uh, what?” he offers weakly, wincing slightly at the barely there crack in his voice. 

you sigh, shifting to sit up. you plant yourself on your knees, spreading them apart slightly to get comfortable, and shrugging at him. “i’m just curious,” you say. “or,” your eyes squint cautiously, your head cocking to the side slightly, “do you not watch porn?” 

challengingly, his arms lift up to cross at his chest, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes momentarily glance at the way his biceps bulge. it makes his confidence spike slightly, nervousness ebbing away. “what type of porn do you watch?” 

you gasp dramatically, joking, “take a girl out to dinner first, my god.” he laughs, relaxing lightly at the banter, before his eyes fall back to you. you inch forward curiously, cautiously, still on your knees. now closer to him, you ask again, “seriously, i’m really curious! confirm my suspicions for me.” 

“oh?” he quirks an eyebrow. “so you think you know?” 

at this, you offer him a knowing smile, eyes slightly half lidded. you’re somehow even closer now, leaning towards him with your hands resting on the small space between you and him in the couch, helping you in lifting yourself up slightly on your knees as you say in a low voice, “baby, i think everyone knows.” 

at the sight of you by his side, he feels himself shiver, and an idea invades his mind before he can even process it. “oh, do you now?” he’s not sure where this boldness is emerging from, especially with how cautious and shameful he’d been and felt for weeks now, but he accepts it either way, because the way you’re staring at him like that, he never wants to let it go. and although he wants to drag out this intense eye contact even longer, in order to do what he wants to do, he has to break it, reaching for his phone instead. unable to contain your curiosity, you peak over, watching with confusion as he types out a link. 

the blood drains from your face when you recognize your page on his browser, and he’s logged on— he’s subscribed. 

“what type of porn do i like to watch?” he wonders rhetorically. the phone is pushed aside, and he sits up straighter so that even on your knees, he looms over you. his eyes are skimming over you, along your body, up to your neck, to your lips, to your shocked, wide eyes. and just as his hand trails up to your throat, his palm resting at the base and one finger tapping lightly, he says, “the type where my favorite girl cries out my name when she cums for the world to see.” 

the hand around your throat—

“you,” you breathe out, and finally, finally, when your brain makes sense of everything, your body relaxes, sags against him, leaning more into him until his hand’s properly wrapped around your throat. 

with your mind hazing over, you reach over, and kiss him. 

he meets you halfway, as if having expected it, lips pressing harshly against his. his hand tightens as he pulls you closer, lifting you up slightly and bringing you closer to him as his mouth parts, breathing you in, and kissing you deeper, lewder. you shiver and gasp, hands grasping at his wrist and forearm, not to push him away but rather to urge him closer, as you kiss him back just as eagerly. it seems like hours, with his hand around your neck, tight and a daunting reassurance, and your lips wet and hot against his, but eventually, his hand slides down, the other mirroring it, finding their way to your waist, squeezing and bunching at the skirt as he, with complete and utter and shocking ease, lifts you up off the couch. 

you gasp as he stands up with you, your legs quickly wrapping around his waist as he pulls you to him. as he blindly walks the two of you to his bedroom, he breathlessly asks in between your kisses, “is this— you sure this is okay?” 

with a sharp tug at his hair, you jokingly spit out, “iwa shut up.” 

he tosses you onto the bed, allowing you a minute to strip yourself of your shirt while he slips out of his own, before quickly falling above you, caging you in with his arms as he kisses you again. “not iwa,” he quietly asks of you. 

for a moment you’re confused, before everything clicks again— your slip ups— and your legs lift up, wrapping around his waist and pulling his hips closer to yours just as you mewl out, “hajime, please.” 

god, he is way easier than he thought he was. 

his entire body shudders above you, one hand lowering to push at your skirt to grind his hips down against yours until his clothed crotch meets your bare cunt and— holy fuck, holy fuck. 

“fuck, you slut.” 

you gasp at both his words and the feel of his bulge pressing down against your clit, his lips meeting your neck instead. “you do like calling me mean things,” you say, and he scoffs, his hand traveling upwards to squeeze at your breasts instead. 

“you like me calling you mean things,” he notes, and you let out a muffled moan as he pinches at your nipples through the bralette, lips biting and sucking at your neck. 

“i do,” you pant, arching up into him. “i do, i do.” his hands are fumbling at your chest, and god, they’re so large, so big and warm and harsh, it’s fogging up your brain. 

“yeah, yeah, fucking whore,” he growls, pushing himself slightly on his knees, hands tugging at the bralette. his fingers dip past, gripping the fabric tightly, and as he says, “can’t fucking— take this shit— off,” he tears through it, knuckles whitening as he pulls it away from your body, or what’s left of it. the frills of the ruined bra fall off the edge of his bed, and he watches your wide eyes and gaping mouth follow it, so he grabs at your jaw, twisting your gaze away from it and grunting a low, “shut up.” 

you pull away from the kiss, breathing heavily as you say, “that was so fucking hot, hajime,” before kissing him again. he parts his mouth as you lead him to you again, tongue easily meeting yours. 

it’s a messy kiss as he slips himself out of his sweatpants, taking his boxers with it and discarding them somewhere in his room. his cock slaps against his stomach, a single string of precum messily staining his tan abs. your eyes are quick to gaze down, lips painted a dazzling grin as his hand finds his cock, squeezing at the head and smearing his precum along. 

“knew you were fucking big,” you gasp, eyes trained on him as he strokes himself above you, and he is. he’s so big, thick and heavy, and veiny and your mouth waters at how that’s going to feel when inside of you, stretching you out so good, so much better than any of the toys you had at home. “i thought,” a squeal hiccups out of you as both of his hands grab at your hips from beneath your skirt, one sticky and warmer than the other, “about you all the time.” 

your confession draws his attention, and when he’s pulled you close enough, two of his fingers trail to your cunt, quirking an, “oh?” just as he dips his fingers inside. the lack of resistance he’s met with is surprising, and he chokes out, “did you stretch yourself out before coming here? fuck yourself on some fake cock?” 

tightlipped, you moan, brows furrowed and back arched into him. god, his fingers were not enough. “yes, yes,” you gasp, head falling back. despite not needing to, he still fingers you, his thick digits fucking into you slowly, driving you insane by the second. “yes, i— pretended t’was you,” you whine loudly. at your words, he curls his fingers inside of you, twisting his wrist and pressing his palm directly on your clit. 

“do you always?” he lowly asks, dipping closer to you as he fucks his fingers deeper. his fingers were inside of you, the cunt he’d spent over a month marveling at through a screen, the pretty pussy his dick had drooled over for hours. you’re real, as real as ever beneath him falling apart, making a mess of your black skirt, drenching it with your arousal. 

you moan out a hum, nodding dumbly as his fingers vibrate with the intensity of speed inside of you, your toes curling in your thigh highs and face twisting to press into his mattress. “always,” you cry out, like a promise. “always think of you— hajime!”

it’s an unexpected orgasm, hitting you so fast and quick that it’s outright dizzying. it has you lifting your hips up into his fingers and palm, grinding and trembling, your legs falling and spreading open, shaking wildly by your side and above you as he fucks you through the orgasm. 

“hajime, hajime, hajime,” you chant, words trailing off into tiny sobs and shuddering breaths as your hips slowly fall back onto the bed, body still trembling with aftershocks. 

you’re fucked out beyond words already that you genuinely don’t feel a thing until he’s pressing inside of you, the fat head of his cock stretching you out. he’s really no match for your toys, and if seeing him hadn’t been enough confirmation, the feel of him pressing inside of you definitely is. he doesn’t ease himself in slowly, urgently grabbing the back of your thighs with either hand, keeping your legs spread for him as he bottoms out. 

“fuck, fuck, knew you’d feel so good,” he grunts, brows furrowed harshly as he digs his fingers deeper against the flesh of your thighs, forcing your legs closer to your chest, and somehow pushing himself even deeper within you. you whine and mewl, toes curling and uncurling and legs trembling. “knew it the moment i saw your pretty pussy creamin’ around that thick cock.” 

at the reminder that he’s watched and witnessed you, multiple times, that he’s subscribed to you willingly and curiously, you clench down around him. you feel him twitch inside of you, groaning loudly as he falls closer to you, your legs falling to his waist. 

“you like knowing i was watching you?” he sneers, his hand reaching up and gripping at your face, squishing your cheeks and forcing a pout on your lips. your eyes nearly fucking cross as he rams into you, his fingers digging into your jaw. “you like that i fucked my fist every night to you? to your pretty cunt and your pretty noises and your pretty face— yes, good girl, that one.” 

your eyes do cross this time, spurred on by his words, your tongue peaking out through the small gap he allows with how harsh he’s gripping your face. he’s pushing out little mewls and cries from you, but otherwise, you quite honestly feel braindead. 

“fuck, you’re a gorgeous little slut,” he gasps. “all mine to fuck and use.”

you’re quick to nod rapidly, whining and moaning for him as you grip at his biceps. you’re choking on your breath as you struggle to keep up with him while he fucks you into the mattress, so fucking hard and rough that you’re sure there’ll be an indentation of you once you leave. you can feel your cunt gushing, and you can hear it too, squelching loudly with every thrust of his hips, every time his cock fucks into you. your skirt feels sticky and gross, and so does the rest of you, but you’ve never, never, felt this euphoric, this blissed out. 

your stomach tightens impossibly, the tension gradually increasing as your walls tightly squeeze and clench at his cock. slowly and surely, the pressure within you increases, your hands flying to hajime’s arm, the arm whose hand grips your face, which quickly moves to your throat at your simple gasping warning that you were close. 

“gonna cum, gonna cum, hajime, fuck!” 

he tightens his grip, pressing harsher on the sides of your neck as your eyes shut tightly, your head falling back once more. 

“yeah, come on, show me how pretty you look cumming on a real cock,” he whispers by your ear, using the hand that’s around your throat to lift up your head, before roughly pushing it back down, squeezing tighter. “you like it this rough?— shit, shit, you’re tightening.” 

you scream, voice cracking and broken as he slams into you again, his hips grinding against yours momentarily, pelvis hitting your clit— and you’re gone, thrashing in his hold, fat tears streaming down your cheeks as you sob and heave, your body shaking uncontrollably beneath him, hips shaking as your orgasm rocks through you. it’s not a few seconds later that he’s spilling inside of you, accidentally pressing his palm down against your throat as he cums, blocking your airway momentarily. 

“hngh,” he gasps deeply, cock twitching inside of you as he cums, hips barely grinding. you’re gasping, a little painfully, struggling to take in any air as he blinks dazedly, before he finally takes notice. “shit, shit, i’m sorry.” 

his hand flies away from your throat, and you inhale sharply, coughing lightly as air fills your lungs all too suddenly. the strength of this man, holy fuck. 

“i’m so sorry; are you okay?” 

chest still heaving, you fall onto the bed, body relaxing as you try and regulate your breathing. “s’okay, i’m okay,” you reassure him, hands reaching up to pat at his cheeks and comb through his messy, sweaty hair. 

he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and it’s so endearing that you nearly forget he’s still inside of you. but you feel the shift of his cock, feel his cum slowly start to ooze out of your cunt, and he winces from the oversensitivity, shifting away to instead pull out of you. his soft cock falls from your cunt, a steady flow of his cum following. hajime has to physically resist from reaching out to fuck it back into you. 

“i’m sorry i wasn’t careful ‘nough with the—“ he makes a gesture with his hands around his neck, “—the choking.” 

you laugh lightly, tiredly, hands slowly caressing at his sweaty biceps. “stop apologizing,” you reassure him again, shrugging with a small smile as you add, “just be more careful next time.” 

his breath gets caught in his chest, and he only softly exhales when he falls on the bed, to your side, carefully repeating, “next time.” 

from beside him, you lift yourself up on your side on your elbow, palm cradling your head, trying your best not to wince in pain. “hajime?” 

he spares you a glance as he mumbles, “hm?” opting to stare at the ceiling and contemplate whether what had just happened was real life or not. 

“do you wanna do a video with me?” 

he all but chokes. 

end note; please this took me like 4+ hours. please please please don’t flop, and more importantly, i really hope i don’t disappoint. i know this has been a long awaited piece, so i’m praying and hoping you guys love it. 

love you all, mwah <3 

[aemonds-sapphire]

Caution: Slippery When Wet — Dabi x Reader (Smut)

Summary: Dabi just wanted to take a shower, and he didn’t care that you were in the way.

Warnings: NSFW. Orgasm denial. Overstimulation. Vaginal fingering. Quirkplay. Unprotected sex. Praise. Creampie.

Word count: 3.6k

A sudden loud bang snapped you out of your steam-induced daydream and had your heart skip a few beats in distress.

“What?!” you gnarled, eyes gazing through the foggy shower door only to be met with a pair of turquoise eyes.

Dabi.

“You done in there or what?”

Panic filled your entire body at once. “Get the fuck out!”

Any indication that you might be blessed with a peaceful shower session soon flew out the window as the young villain showed no intention of budging.

Thoughts on Dabi? You’d rather not have any. And not because you loathed him. Far from that Your body made sure that the most hostile emotion you had towards him was unquestionable sexual tension. Therefore, you really, really needed to train your mind not to fixate on him or the possibilities that might come from any interaction with him. In order to cope with this, you tried your best to mask your genuine feelings with resentment.

On the off chance your paths crossed while living together with the rest of the league, you always had your mind set on antagonizing him. You dreaded the possibility of anyone figuring out that — albeit buried deep within you —, you craved him.

“Not happening. I need a shower.”

Sliding the glass door, you peaked your head through the narrow slit only to be met with Dabi covered in... slime? From his dark hair all the way down to his boots.

“What is that awful smell?” you grimaced as the foul stench filled your nose.

“Collateral damage,” he said with a blank expression, eyes on yours. “You can thank Toga for that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Go wait outside. I’m almost done here.”

No answer.

“Out!” Yyou half-yelled, feeling heat creep through your cheeks, thoroughly glad that the fog glazing the shower door kept most of your body hidden from his gaze.

No answer yet again.

“Dabi!”

He shrugged and proceeded to remove his knee-length coat showing no concern that you were intensely staring at him, mouth agape in shock.

His filthy shirt went off next, revealing the uneven edges of his staple-covered skin across his upper chest. Your heart was racing at double speed and all your brain could conjure was that you most definitely should not allow your eyes to roam across his body like that. Dabi was too fucking hot — pun fully intended— for his own good, and suspected he knew that

That proved to be enough to snap you out of your trance. “Why are you taking your clothes off?!” Yyou blurted out, failing to realize how ridiculous that sounded given the context.

Dabi paused briefly as he was about to undo his belt. “Not showering with my clothes on... the fuck?” he remarked, arching a brow and glaring at you like you’d grown a third arm.

Panic hit you instantly. “Uh—Just wait!”

His slender fingers unbuckled the belt swiftly. “Doll, you’re wasting time. All that rambling and staring... could be done already.”

He was not wrong.

It suddenly dawned on you how easily he’d always manage to crawl under your skin. Whether he knew the effect he had on you or not, it remained unclear. But something inside you clung to the idea that, whatever it was that you felt for Dabi, it was somehow reciprocated.

Patches of suds began trailing down your temples and forehead, causing further distress.

“Just...” your voice trailed off, but sudden outrage burst from within you. “Don’t you have some decency?”

“No.”

He had managed to strip all of his clothes off until he was only left in his underwear, and he was about to—

“No! No fucking way!” you shrieked in dread, quickly having to wipe a few suds that were stinging your eyes. “Leave it—“

But before you could mouth further protests, you saw him yank his underwear down, which caused your eyes to reflexively close tightly.

A low chuckle was heard. “Calm down, princess. I won’t even look. Just wanna rinse off this slime.”

You were positively mortified from all this mess, and a large part of you cheered in pride as you managed to kept your feelings towards him out of the way.

For now, at least.

Immediately, you withdrew your head from the rack, and shoved the shower door shut, with one hand keeping it in place while the other reached out to grab a bottle from the corner shelf.

Dabi tugged at the door a few times before sighing. “Seriously? You gonna throw a... bottle of shampoo at me?” he drawled out, a slight hint of amusement taintIng his voice. “Terrifying. I can see why Shigaraki scouted you,” he added in blatant mockery.

The sudden confrontation had you wish some random hole in the ground would prop open and swallow you whole, effectively putting an end to this.

Your eyes flew open at once and you glared at the bottle in your hand that read: ‘Strawberry passion — let your senses be filled with bliss and calmness’. Now that was fucking ironic.

Another tug.

“Don’t make me burn this shit down.”

You scoffed. “You keep your eyes fucking shut, then. Not even a peak.”

“Sure, doll.”

Admitting defeat, you scooted to the corner of the stall, your back facing him as you heard the door slide open. You felt him brush past you, but managed to keep your composure. There was no point in stressing about this. Dabi was merely your... colleague? Coworker? Fellow... villain? It came with the territory, right?

You grasped the shower head and raised your arm to have warm water pour down on you. For a brief moment, you were able to ignore the man behind you, and just kept on rinsing as fat as you could to terminate this awkward situation.

Just a few more seconds...

But, of course, life seldom went as planned.

“Sharing is caring, doll,” his low voice rumbled, and you felt his breath fanning the nape of your neck, causing you to jolt.

The sudden proximity sent your brain into overdrive. Every single hair in your body stirred as goosebumps spread from the shiver running down your spine. Your breath caught in your throat when you felt his hand wrap around yours.

You tried to muster a few words, but the overwhelming sensation of having someone you felt so attracted to being so close to you, definitely proved to be a harder task than you’d imagined.

“Eyes shut...” you managed to mumble as a reminder, feeling the curtain of water shift to your back and ultimately leaving your body entirely.

Dabi let out a sigh of relief. “Fuck... this feels good.”

His choice of words had heat spread across you like wildfire. Unfortunately, the sudden loss of a heat source had your body quivering in an attempt to keep your temperature from dropping. You wrapped your arms across your chest out of reflex, but it did little to help.

That din’t go unnoticed by the young villain. “You cold?”

“Ju-just... hurry up...” you said between teetering teeth.

Silence fell between you two before you heard vague splashes of water. “I can warm you up.”

He was close to you once more. Too close. Close enough that you could feel his hot breath near your ear, and something else nudging at your backside.

Your head turned to glare at his half-hooded eyes. “No, thank you...”

His lips were dangerously close to yours, and from that angle you could see the way the metallic hoops on each side of his face strained but a little when he drew a faint grin.

“You sure you don’t want me to fuck you?”

That gave you a whiplash.

As soon a those words left his mouth, you gasped in confusion. “What?!”

But there was nothing to be confused about. It was a rhetorical question from him. You were suddenly aware that he knew. That he had been able to read your signs all along.

Dabi placed the shower head back in its holder, pressing his back fully against yours in the process.

That’s when you felt all of him.

From the hardened nipples to the cool edges of his staples, and all the way to his hard cock pressed against your ass. You shuddered under his touch, causing it to settle right in between your ass cheeks.

“Dabi...”

He bucked his hips lightly, his slippery cock gliding with ease as a deep growl ripped from him. Haziness swarmed your mind, and you pressed both hands on the cold tiles for support, welcoming the water that poured on you from the shower head.

“Say my name again...”

“Why...” you mewled back, swaying your hips sensually against him.

What the fuck...

This was probably a bad idea. You weren’t even sure how you allowed things escalate this quickly. Dabi could snap anyone in half if he felt like it; he could also incinerate anything just as easily. You supposed the dangers of meddling with someone this volatile added to the allure.

And he was aware of that fact.

He fed on it and used it to get you to surrender yourself to him.

“Say it,” he repeated his request, bringing both hands to grasp your hips.

Your eyes snapped open once he pressed a soft kiss on your neck.

“I hate you.”

You mentally slapped yourself for being so weak. Those words carried no weight whatsoever, and they only served to heave a taunting chuckle from him. Even though this entire situation had your face burning with heat, the rest of your body still struggled to keep your temperature up, causing you to shiver from time to time.

Dabi excelled at reading body language like no other. He took pride in being able to know someone’s true intention just from the way their body reacted to his presence. He was no stranger to the inner workings of women when it came to him; he knew precisely which strings to tug in order to get them to crave his touch.

You were no different.

In fact, you had completely and miserably failed at keeping your thirst for him at bay.

And with unprecedented expertise, Dabi had your body to bend to his will, granting you one of your deepest desires.

You felt his palms heat up against your skin.

“I... hate you...��� your voice came out in a weak tremble.

Were you trying to convince him, or yourself?

His hands began sliding up your sides, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. You realized you were no longer quivering from loss of warmth; your shudders were stemmed from the way Dabi was slowly and carefully feeling you up. His heated hands moved to your breasts, and without any notice, he had both your nipples being rolled in between his fingers.

Instinctively, you bucked against him. “Fuck...”

Dabi let out a hiss in response. “Sure you hate me?”

He pinched your nipples lightly before grazing his staple-covered palms along the sensitive buds.

“Yes,” you blurted out firmly.

The metallic hoops spread across his palms teased you further.

But before your throbbing clit could welcome the new stimulus, he halted and the heat pooling on his fingertips quickly died down. “So you want me to stop.”

“No!” you protested as his hands abandoned your skin.

“Then what?” Dabi inquired, bringing one finger to trail down your spine, prompting your back to arch downwards and your ass to spring up invitingly. “All these mixed signals... tss.”

You managed to suppress a moan when you felt his slippery cock slide down to tease your entrance.

“Dabi...” you let out, trying to find a few words to say. “Eyes shut.”

He chuckled. “Doll... I have my cock pressed against your ass and leaking for you... does that even matter?”

Of course not. You weren’t even sure why you had said that... your mind was playing tricks on you.

Even so, you weren’t so lucky the second time around, and when he slapped your swollen clit with the tip, your mouth fell open in a strangled cry. You highly doubted the slick tiles would be able to support your body as he proceeded to place his cock in between your damp folds.

“Hold on tight, doll. I need to prep you for my cock first,” his voice dripped with lust. “Be a good girl and bend over.”

Your pussy clenched impulsively.

To say you were completely and ridiculously turned on was the understatement of the year. No amount of rationality would help you now. You were too far gone, and your desire for him clouded any shred of judgement in you.

There was no point in resisting him any longer.

You strongly held on to the shower faucet, in the hopes of it being enough to keep your knees from giving out on you from the overwhelming pleasure spreading across your clit.

He kept sliding his thick cock along your pussy lips coating it in your wetness. It was faintly embarrassing to think of how quickly you’d gotten soaked for him, but on the other hand, you couldn’t really blame yourself for it. Dabi was definitely a natural. You figured he had enough experience to get you all riled up in no time.

You felt him snake one arm around you as his hand travelled down to your pussy. In all honesty, you felt too empty. Even though you hadn’t seen his cock, you had felt it and you craved it more than his fingers at this point.

The palm of his hand brushed against your clit, earning an instant moan from him.

“Dabi... just... fuck me...” you panted in between groans as he teased you with the staples carved into his skin.

Those staples had long caught your attention, but you never thought in a million years that you’d find pleasure in having them brush against your most intimate parts.

His velvety voice came out in a low purr. “Patience... I need you soaked enough to take my cock.”

“I am!” you half-yelled, bucking your hips in an attempt to have his cock placed at your entrance.

The hand teasing your clit stopped abruptly. “Really? Lemme check, then,” just as soon as he whispered those words, he pulled back from you momentarily, pressed one hand on your lower back to have you at a desired angle, before shoving two long fingers inside your wet cunt.

It took all of you to hold back a guttural groan from echoing throughout the bathroom. You bit down on your lower lip, an you reckoned it wouldn’t take long to draw blood. He held you firmly in place with his free hand gripping your hip while he fucked you with his fingers.

“You’re not just soaked... you’re fucking drenched,” he said in bewilderment, curling his digits inside you. “Think you can take a third one?”

You felt another fingertip prodding at your entrance, but you could only nod. There was no way you were going to open your damn mouth. The implications of doing so were far too severe, and you dreaded the idea of anyone outside being able to hear you moan for Dabi.

His third finger struggled at first to join the others. “Tight... just part your legs, doll...”

Doing as he instructed, he finally managed to get the slender digit to slide all the way in, until he was buried in you knuckle-deep. You’d never felt this stretched out before, and the newfound sensation was enough to finally have you let go of your lip and have your mouth fall open in a sigh of pure bliss.

“Now that’s a good girl,” he praised you, while finger-fucking you at a steady rhythm. “You’re literally milking my fingers...”

From the way his voice was starting to emerge fully strained, you figured this was also taking a toll on him. Having your walls involuntarily clench around his moving fingers and hearing him occasionally growl from it, had your ego soar dangerously high. Your entire body was urging you to cum, and as despair overcame your senses, you hand one han settle between your legs to rub your needy clit.

Dabi suddenly stopped thrusting his fingers, and clicked his tongue. “Stop.”

Annoyance hit you hard from the loss of his stimulation. “Fuck!”

His hand grabbed yours. “Let me make you cum. Just me.”

As soon as your gripped the faucet again with both hands, Dabi jumpstarted his ministrations in order to help you reach your much desired high.

“Say my name.”

You truly didn’t want to do that. The fear of losing control and having your moans being heard, kept you from heeding his request once again.

But Dabi had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Both his index and middle fingers pressed against your clit, and you felt the fingertips starting to heat up. He was definitely using his quirk in order to help the heat in your lower belly to intensify. It was a neat trick coming from him, and it was most welcome as you felt the familiar coil of an upcoming orgasm build inside you with each passing second.

“Say. It.”

Obscene soppy sounds left your tight pussy as he showed no signs of faltering his pace. Your eyes fluttered shut and your mouth hung open as you tightened around him, preparing to let a peak of pleasure wash over your body.

“Fuck... fu-fuck... I...” you mumbled incoherently, not able to muster any comprehensible thoughts.

You were so close.

Your hips jolted into his hand, and just as you were about to cum, you felt sudden emptiness and were left clenching around nothing nothing.

“What the fuck?!” You cried out indignantly. “Why?!”

The high inside your suddenly plummeted back to the ground, leaving you on the verge of tears.

Dabi gave your ass cheek a light smack. “Told you to say my name.”

You turned your head to give him a death glare. “Fuck you!”

He pressed the tip of his cock at your entrance. “Besides, I want you milking my cock.”

With one hard thrust, he pushed himself halfway inside you, unable to hold back a satisfied growl. Right then you understood exactly why he insisted on preparing you for him. He was definitely thicker and bigger than average. The sudden discomfort had you clench tightly around him in reflex, preventing him from going balls deep at once.

“Stop... fuck... stop being so fucking tight....” Dabi growled, stilling inside you. “Relax, doll...”

Your took a few deep breaths as your pussy adjusted to his unexpected size. He placed his hands on your hips, brushing his thumbs in circles across your flushed skin. It was most likely Dabi’s own way of offering comfort.

You weren’t sure how many seconds passed, but you were genuinely grateful he was waiting for you to finally loosen up and allowed his cock to finally slide all the way in.

A sudden gasp emerged from within you as his fingers gripped your hips vigorously, guiding you along his length. He started out slowly, but his self-restraint wasn’t enough to keep him from thrusting faster and deeper into you. The pace he set resembled that of someone on the edge of losing their sanity.

“You really wanna make me cum fast with that tight pussy of yours...”

His words were like fuel to the fire that once more threatened to get out of control soon enough. Your hands desperately grasped the faucet as pleasure overwhelmed you. A few more thrusts had your thighs starting to quiver.

Dabi had his fingers on your clit once again, determined to deliver all the pleasure he could possibly provide.

“Dabi... Dabi!”

His hips faltered for a split second. “Fuck... such a good and tight girl...”

You could hardly breathe once he set a new rhythm, which nearly had your face getting pressed against your hands from the brutal force.

“Dabi...” you mewled, feeling droplets of water mix with your own saliva as strings of spit hung from the corners of your mouth. You were officially drooling for this man.

In no time, your vision started to tunnel as you were thrown into the pinnacle of sheer bliss. Your mind went blank for a brief moment, with his name coming out in broken moans. The ecstatic orgasm had your pussy ripple and squeeze around his cock mercilessly as you kept rocking your hips against his desperate to ride out your high for as long as possible.

“Fuck this...” you heard him mumble at one point, his groans overcame your own. “Fuck!”

His own release was nearing, that much was certain. He was pounding into you hard and fast, jackhammering into you like his life depended on it, driving the breath from your lungs.

You had long descended from your orgasm, but you were still left to deal with the overstimulation from his cock sliding in and out of you relentlessly.

Tears soon prickled the corners of your eyes. “Oh my... god... enough.... Dabi...”

He responded by rubbing your clit harder in unison with his thrusts.

“Fuuuuuuck!”

His long drawn out groan let you know he had finally reached his peak. Your own knees began to tremble from having to hold your body in that position for so long, but he made sure you weren’t going anywhere. With a few pumps of his hips in a broken rhythm, you felt hot sprays of cum shoot inside your pussy.

He slapped your ass cheek once he was done, enjoying the sight of your pussy still tightly wrapped around him.

“What a pretty pussy....”

Your heart was still racing and your breath coming out uneven.

In one swift motion, he fully slid from inside you, and you immediately felt his cum drip as your walls contracted. “Let’s get you all cleaned up. Then we can take a proper shower.”

You were fairly certain you might regret what just happened later on, but for now, you chose to brush that aside.

Dabi wasn’t someone easy to read.

He most definitely wasn’t someone easy to get.

For the time being, you’d relish on the fact that you had made him cum. Probably not something curriculum worthy, but it was good for you and your ego.

-

Masterlist

[undead-merman]

I really enjoyed all of your siren/mermaid obey me headcannons and fics! The descriptions of the boys were so cool and well researched!

In the beach event the boys have you swallow a pearl that lets you breath under water, but mention one that actually turns you into a mer! Hopefully foreshadowing for a future event.~

But with your yandere sirens how would the boys react to a darling that after seeing how sad they get because of separation, or limited underwater time finds one of the mermaid transformation pills and surprises them with it?

I loved all of your siren stories so much but loved Simeon, Lucifer, and Asmodeus' the most. So maybe dealer's choice between them?

I'm glad you enjoyed them, underwater monsters are some of my favorites to write as I enjoy reading about marine life, and I agree I'd like to see some kind of future event around this though who knows... I didn't see the beach event, so I just made up shit as I went.

🧜‍♂️Yandere Siren Lucifer and Simeon🧜‍♂️ with an S/O who wants to become a Mer GN- Reader

Lucifer

The Struggles of Before

He thought it was cute seeing you pout or jump to him when he came back from being gone for so long his tail would dance behind him as he brought you into the shallow water, you wrapped in his arms.

At first he had a difficult time gauging how long and how far a human could dive and he admits to taking you too deep once because of it, though he has never stopped apologizing for that. The world beneath the sea is so bright and colorful, very different compared to life on land and being a mer had such a charm to it compared to an ordinary human.

He didn’t mind you being human at all; he enjoyed the differences the two of you had. It helped him have a broader view on even the littlest aspects of his life. Though if you mentioned you’ve wished to turn, he would let you explore the idea and mention there being a pearl that could fulfill that desire. He described its look, feeling, and where it was typically found but informed you that they’re rare and extremely difficult to find.

He does take a moment every once in a while to think of how enchanting you would be as a mer, perhaps you’d be a bright and shining mer with dazzling colors or perhaps deeper and darker colors more suited for twilight.

Seeing your transformation

You just happened to be strolling along the shore when you spotted an interesting looking object, discovering it to be exactly like what Lucifer described the pearl to be. You felt a bit of pride surge in you for finding something so incredibly rare just laying around.

When he returns home he feels something amiss and when he breaches the surface to call out for you. When he spots you, you can see his eyes go wide in a way you've never seen before. He doesn't say anything for a moment, but after some silence he asks you if you had your first breath underwater. He’ll lead you down into the water holding both of your hands as you flick your tail to follow and when you take a breath it feels no different than breathing air. He pulls you into his arms overjoyed to finally see how you would look and it's so much better than anything he could have imagined.

He does nag you for doing something like that without him there though, saying that something could have gone wrong or maybe you had misidentified what you had seen and taken something dangerous; however, if you kiss him he’ll stop and just relish the feeling.

When everything has calmed down he takes you to explore and shows you more of what the ocean has to offer though he demands you hold onto his hand. You're not used to your new body yet and he wants to keep an extra close eye on you until you are.

Adjusting to life After

It takes time for you to adjust to a tail rather than legs. Even if you're good at swimming it takes time to feel out your new more flexible limb and build muscles. You tire easily and your taste buds change, leaving you with a period of finding many foods that taste terrible, though starving you eat it regardless. Lucifer is able to find a palatable meal for both of you to enjoy.

During the time of adjustment he refuses to let you wander around by yourself and you must have him with you. He can’t trust anyone around you and he’s very content to have an excuse to keep you by his side 24/7.

After everything is settled he’s still sure to find a way to keep you by his side, now more than ever, since you can swim alongside him. He’s weary when he feels another siren around you; compared to sirens, you're much more of a gentle creature. He needs to protect you and keep everything away.

Now that you’ve become a mer he'll be thrilled to spend the rest of entirety with you. Together and bound.

Simeon

The Struggles of Before

He felt just the way you did. He got anxious when he had to part with you, always feeling sad having to leave you all alone, though that made reunions all the sweeter when he returned and called out for you with open arms and had you run into them. Oh it makes his heart sing when you run into his arms.

He did admit to you that he wished to take you farther and deeper to explore his home, but understood your human limitations; you can see how much he wished he could though. He’d give you a gentle smile and tell you you’re perfect the way you are, he fell in love with you, not your form.

Though if you told him you have an interest in changing, he tells you no matter what form you take he’ll love forever; though his shaking tail and blushing face give away how excited he is about the idea.

He tells you about the pearl, in a fairytale fashion, all while he is looking to see if you're entertained. He does let you know how rare they are but he'll find it for you if you truly wish to change.

He won't admit it since he doesn't want to influence your decision but he often fantasizes about how you'd look swimming with a dazzling mer tail playing along with the sea creatures, or as a fierce siren with large fangs and claws, powerful with no mercy.

Seeing your transformation

You just happened to be looking into the water when he was away hunting and found the exact pearl Simeon described. You scooped it up and gulped it down excited to find something so hard to find just in the cave.

Simeon comes home with alarm bells ringing and completely forgets his prey to swim like a bullet to you to make sure you're safe when he sees your new form in the water. He stops for a moment before a huge smile splits across his face and he is swimming up and tackling you while grabbing your hands, shoving his face into the crook of your neck and wrapping his tail around yours.

He's so excited you can tell he’s crying even in the water, he asks you if you're okay but it only takes a few words before he’s admiring every new detail, from the luster of your tail to the webbing of your fins.

He’s quick to ask if you’d like to go out with him, tugging your hand as he leads you out of your cave to the overlook of the dark depths and shows you some of his favorite spots all without letting go of your hand.

Adjusting to life After

Getting used to new limbs is a long and difficult process, your tail gets sore easily since it’s like a baby deer trying to walk for the first time. Not only that but your taste buds are slowly changing so your food preferences are changing. Simeon is there every step of the way and is extremely supportive of you.

Simeon brings you a wide variety of foods for you to try and he’s happy to prepare and feed it to you, his tail beating the ground as he playfully asks you to open wide. He now takes you out slowly so he can teach you how to hunt if you desire but he’s more than happy to provide for you.

Every once in a while Simeon will play with your tail like he did with your toes and admits he misses the little things but he’s still so happy you’ve decided to become what you are now and smothers you with affection.

Somehow he’s even more protective of you, now more than ever. He knows mers are much more gentle creatures than siren’s and he’s terrified of a siren finding you, so whenever you go out he’s right behind with fins flared keeping a hostile eye out for any threats.

He sleeps next to you in the water, tails wrapped around one another and his hands around you smiling as he finally has his happy ending with you. You're both together forever and will always be.

[beels-burger-babe]

Melodious Mourning

***Ben Platt?! Hell yes! Okay! I am so so excited about this! Thank you so much @ester-is-here for reminding me how much I love this song. I hope everyone enjoys it. You can listen to the song, if you haven't already, here. Disclaimer: In Case You Don't Live Forever and its lyrics do not belong to me. They belong to the brilliant Ben Platt*** Poly!MC Summary: It's MC's anniversary of their relationship with the Lords of the Devildom. They've planned a little something special to share with them; something that will express how much they love the brothers, while also preparing them for a tragic truth. The time had come. After a long night of celebrating your anniversary with the seven sins, it was time for you to finally show them the surprise you had prepared for them. You giggled as you dragged a tired Belphegor into the music room by his hand, the others following closely behind you. Asmodeus made a small noise of disappointment and leaned against the grand piano in the middle of the room. "You know when you said you had a surprise for us, I must admit this wasn't exactly what I had in mind, " you snorted as Satan smacked Asmo on the back of the head. Asmo yelped and held his head as he glared at Satan. "Though I'm sure that whatever this surprise it will be equally as lovely. Geez, let me finish before you ruin my hair!" Mammon came up beside you. "But what is this surprise though? Is it a diamond? Money? Jewelry? That lost treasure that we never found?" You smiled softly at the Avatar of Greed and poked his nose. "It's better than that. Or at least I hope it will be," You sat down at the piano and took some sheet music out of your bag. "I um...I wanted to sing a song for all of you," you nervously tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "With our anniversary being today, I've been thinking a lot about us and all the time that's passed and the what the future will hold, and I-I just thought that this song would be the perfect way to express all of that."

Lucifer placed a hand on the small of your back as he looked down at you with an awe-filled, adoring expression. "I wasn't aware you could play. I would've loved to play with you sometime." You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips. "There will be time for that in the future. For now, it's time for your surprise," you hovered your fingers over the keys and hesitated. The song the message shared was important but would be hard for your lovers to hear. You glanced over at them. "J-Just listen, please. Okay?" Beel frowned at the serious look on your face and nodded. He could sense that there was something important about this performance, something almost dire, that clearly frightened you. "Of course." You took in a shaky breath as you began to move your finger across the keys.

"You put all your faith in my dreams. You gave me the world that I wanted. What did I do to deserve you?" Your smooth voice filled the room and wrapped around the hearts of each of the demons. They smiled gently at your words as a warmth filled their chests. In the years that they were fortunate enough to have you in their lives, they had spent every last second doing their best to keep you happy. They would give you the world if you asked for it, and you knew that. "I follow your steps with my feet. I walk on the road that you started. I need you to know that I heard you. Every word." Since coming here, the brothers have shown you a number of things. Lucifer taught you to be more confident and take pride in the things that you've achieved. Mammon taught you that it was okay to be selfish sometimes to do the things that you wanted. Together, you and Leviathan learned that the only opinion that truly matters is your own. Satan taught you that you define your own fate and meaning and that no one can say who you are except you. Asmodeus taught you to appreciate the pleasures in life, no matter how big or small. Beelzebub engrained in you that your body is a temple that you must cherish, look after, and love. And finally, Belphegore taught you that it's alright to take time for yourself. Each of them had impacted you and fundamentally changed the way that you looked at life, and you would never be able to thank them enough for that. "I've waited way too long to say. Everything you mean to me," you swallowed down the lump that was beginning to form in your throat. You had waited too long to tell them this, that much was true. By now they were irreversibly attached to you. Though you were grateful for it and loved them in return, there was something all of you had been avoiding discussing. You took in a shaky breath; you couldn't hold it off anymore. "In case I don't live forever let me tell you now," You could hear their breaths get caught in their throats. Lucifer's hand froze on your back, while Belphie quickly sat up from where he was laying on your shoulder. "MC, what are y-you saying? What are you-" Levi's voice stuttered from behind you. You couldn't bring yourself to look at them as you continued, "I love you more than you'll wrap your head around," you finally glanced over at Levi. The otaku's eyes were wide and filled with fear and concern as he scanned you for any missed injuries or signs of illness. At finding none, his eyebrows narrowed in confusion. You offered him a reassuring smile before looking back down at the keys. "In case I don't live forever, let me tell you the truth. I'm everything that I am because of you." Satan's trembling hand gripped onto your shoulder as he placed a kiss on the top of your head. "MC, my love, that is beautiful. But you can't just say something like that and not expect us to be concerned. Are you alright? Should I be getting a doctor or Barbatos or do I need to take you to a human hospital?" You paused for a moment to turn to your lovers. "I'm okay. There's nothing wrong with me, only that I'm human," you watched as they tensed in realization. "Treasure, that's not-" Mammon stepped forward, but you lifted a hand to stop him. "I've been thinking about the passing of time a lot lately, a-a-and I need to say this. Please, just let me finish?" The sound of your voice close to tears had the brothers wanting to do nothing more than wrap you up in their arms and never let you go again. But there was this desperate glint in your eyes, that none of them could deny. Belphie laid his head back down on your shoulder and buried his face into the fabric of your top. "Go ahead, angel. We're listening." You turned your head to lightly kissed his head, whispering a small thank you, before picking back up the song.

The music filled the room once more, but unlike before where it filled your lovers with joy at the thought of such a sentimental gift, a feeling of dread and unease now swirled in their stomachs. "I've carried this song in my mind. Listen it's echoing in me. But I never helped you to hear it." Your mortality was something that had weighed on your thoughts for years now. You never mentioned it for you knew that the brothers would just brush off the subject. They had lost so much already; they didn't even want to begin thinking about the day when you would no longer be with them. But with each passing year, the subject had become more and more crucial, yet you were still too much of a coward to bring such a distressing topic to light. You had hoped the song would lighten the blow, but based on the way Mammon's eyes were squeezed shut and his fists were pressed to his mouth, as though whispering a prayer, it hadn't. Tears pricked your eyes at the sight as you felt your throat tighten. "We, we've only got so much time. I'm pretty sure it would kill me if you didn't know that pieces of me were pieces of you." It was true. You carried the boys with you where ever you went, both literally through your pacts and figuratively through the pieces of their personalities that you have mirrored throughout the years. You often find yourself mimicking Lucifer's eye-brow raise when someone is acting particularly stupid. The sight of food or beautiful clothes causes your heart to thrumb with excitement, just like it does for Beel and Asmo. You have a deeper appreciation for anime and astrology from your many nights with Levi and Belphie. You're more knowledgeable and educated in literature from your countless hours in the library with Satan. You were more conscious with your money after your few attempts of trying to teach Mammon how to budget. You were one with your boys; a beautiful collage of the experiences and times that you had all spent together. You just hoped that they knew that. "I've waited way too long to say. Everything you mean to me." Asmodeus claimed your other side, as one of his hands moved up to delicately wipe a tear from your face. You noticed, with an aching heart, that his cheeks were tearstained as well. Your lip trembled as you opened your mouth to sing the chorus. "In case I don't live forever let me tell you now. I love you more than you'll ever wrap your head around. In case I don't live forever, let me tell you the truth. I'm everything that I am because of you." At this point, you weren't singing so much as you were sobbing. You could feel your hands tremble heavily as you pushed them to keep playing. The only thing keeping you from breaking down completely was the solid feeling of the brother's touch supporting you as they lent you their strength. You squeezed your eyes shut and played hard on the keys, causing the brothers to jump a little as you began to belt. "I have a hero if ever I need one!" Flashes of the countless times that they had come to your rescue flashed in your mind. Unknown to you, the brothers weren't thinking of them rescuing you at all, but rather how you had saved each and every one of them. "I just look up to you and I see one! I'm a man 'cause you taught me to be one," your voice quivered with emotion as you held the falsetto note at the end. You leaned over the keys, suppressed cries falling from your lips as your shoulders shook. Beel placed a hand over top of one of your own and met your gaze. "You don't have to finish this MC. We understand what you're trying to say and we can just end the song here and talk if you want." It was tempting. Honestly, your hands our practically useless with how much they were shaking. But this wasn't just for them anymore. Speaking the words that had been swarming your mind for too many years out loud, although painful, also freed you from a sense of guilt that you weren't even aware that you were carrying. "I-I'd like to finish it. I-If you all don't mind." Belphie's arms came to wrap around your waist and Asmo

pressed a kiss to your cheek. Lucifer's hand on your back moved in comforting circles, while Satan repeated the motion with his thumb on your shoulder. Levi moved closer to lean onto the piano for support. Mammon gave you a tearful smile as Beel lifted his hand off of yours. "Of course. Take your time, honey bun." You took several deep breaths to calm yourself before lightly playing the chords. You met the eyes of your partners and hoped that they could see the utter adoration and passion that was flooding through your veins for them. "In case you don't live forever let me tell you now," you playfully elbowed Belphie and turned your head to kiss Asmo's cheek. "I love you more than you'll ever wrap your head around." As the music picked up the tempo once more, you couldn't help but grin even as tears poured down your cheeks. "In case you don't live forever, let me tell you the truth. I'm everything that I am-" You closed your eyes, tilting your head back, as you allowed yourself to give in to the music and fully feel everything that you had been suppressing. "Woah, Woah, Woah. " As you began to sing the melody again, your eyes snapped open as you heard the brothers harmonize alongside you. Lucifer, Satan and Beel's low voices rang deep like the growl of thunder. Asmodeus and Belphie hit the higher octaves, chiming like bells ringing in the wind. Mammon and Levi sang the original notes with you, remaining strong and pure like waves against a shore. You laughed brightly as a radiant sensation of love blanketed you in warmth and soaked up any traces of fear that lingered. "In case I don't live forever, let me tell you the truth." You looked around at the brothers tenderly and softly played the final notes. They all smiled back at you, eyes gleaming with that same sense of passionate affection that you had felt moments earlier. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you came to a realization. No matter how much or little time you had left with each other, you would spend every moment of it at each other's side loving another unconditionally. "As long as I'm here as I am," you rested your head on top of Belphie's and smiled softly, "so are you." *** This was so sweet and sad at the same time and I just LOVED writing it! Oh my goodness, I haven't written a song fic in ages, so this was a little challenging, but I just loved it so much. Thank you @ester-is-here for this beautiful request!*** TAGLIST: @thegrimgrinningghost

@henry-and-the-seven-lords

@satans-beloved-riv

@cosmixbun

@sufzku

[chironshorseass]

133 for percabeth please :)

Pre-TLO era. I can’t help myself :)) also this was inspired by @posallys post lol hiiii bestie this one’s for u ig <3

writing prompts 

.

"I hope you have a cold shower."

He turned to her, surprised—if only for a few seconds. Then a smile spread across his face, once he caught on to her expression. "A cold shower, huh? You know I can change the temperature, right?"

There was something enchanting about Percy Jackson, she had to admit. Even if she loathed him.

She loathed him, but then again, she could appreciate the little things.

Like how he'd raised himself from the lake waters and into the pier as easily as flicking a wrist, brown skin flashing in the blinking light, muscles contracting. How he'd left a puddle by his feet like a following shadow, and how, despite getting wet in the first place, he was still able to take out the goddamned water from his ears while she was left struggling, tilting her head over and over like a cartoon glitch.

So again. She loathed him. Despised him, even.

"Yes, yes—yippee, you're a son of Poseidon," she said, with little to no enthusiasm. "Now stop staring at me or I will make you regret it."

"You just kinda look like you're having a hard time, is all."

"Wow"—She cocked her head again, this time with more force, and still the water won't fucking go away—"You noticed?"

"Hey, hey. Stop"

He placed his hands on her cheeks, freezing her mid head-tilt. Her entire body froze, more like, if she wanted to sound cliché. They’d been okay for the past week, she supposed, but there was still that question in the air, that doubt about whether he felt the same way about her as she did about him or if it was just her own bias. Her false hope.

“I can take the water out, you know,” he said softly, green eyes earnest and so so beautiful. 

Annabeth wanted to cry. Yes, it was a simple request. Yes, it was only because Percy possessed the unfair ability of hidrokinesis. Of course it was only because of that. It was her fault that she had a tendency to read between the lines. Emotional. Stupid. She would feel his thumb dancing across her cheek, accompanied with that smile on his face, and suddenly her mind would mark him as a boy filled with love and life. With power coursing through his veins, ready to use it for her and only her. But one day, she thought. One day the life and love in him will leave.

She tried not to think of the prophecy. But it always came in the worst of times. 

Quickly, though, she blinked those tears away. Swallowed back her pride. When she nodded, she made it seem as if she was reluctant, as if she were annoyed.

She wasn't.

“Fine,” she sighed. “Take it out. But only because I could have brain-eating amebas in there or something like that.”

“Or if you don’t properly take out the water stuck inside, you could just have a plain-old ear infection.”

“Yes. Or that. Not only I would have to experience a a war, but my ear would hurt for the rest of the summer.”

“Would definitely suck.”

“Although, I still think the brain-eating ameba is worse.”

He shook his head. “What the fuck, Annabeth. I thought we where over this—”

“And I’m still traumatized from what Grover said. Ninety nine percent of the people infected die—”

“Psh. Only if you get infected in the first place. I’m pretty sure you have to swallow or breathe in the water for the ameba to get you, anyway.”

“Oh, goodie,” she said dryly. “I did that plenty as well. All because of you.” 

“Aw, come on, it was funny—”

She pushed him away, and he laughed; it was a booming sound—or maybe it was like a fire, igniting first on his belly only to shoot out from his throat, contagious and free.  

“So,” he said, coming to her again. “You gonna let me help you or what?”

“Maybe.”

His smile grew. “Say please?”

Gods, he would be the end of her.

“...Please.”

Then he added, “And also take back the cold shower threat. That was super rude.”

“Oh, totally. So rude of me, I am so sorry.”

“That’s better.”

And her hearing cleared away—something she hadn’t realized was wrong in the first place—once he that stray water trickled down her ear, warm and obeying to Percy’s will. Maybe being a son of Poseidon had its unfair advantages, but at the very least, those advantages extended to her.

Too bad for the others, though.

[aenaxes]

omg!! congrats on 200!!!! 🥰🥰 ur my fav crosshair writer so: crosshair + trust, with a gender neutral reader? nsfw or not, it's up to u!! congrats again 🎉🎆🎉

kinesthesia

[crosshair x gn!reader] with precision, there is control, and with control, there is tension, not easily soothed. you take it into your own hands to prove that wrong.

warnings: nsfw, fellatio, (kind of) sub!cross

w/c: 3.0k

a/n: prince my he a r t 🥺💕 ily bb ! this was also a super fun prompt to write hehe, and look i openly accept that i’m a pillow princess bottom, but i think i would enjoy making crosshair squirm. uno reverse card on his oral fixation—mine now.

“I’m still not entirely sold on this,” Crosshair admits as he takes a seat at the edge of your bunk. His toothpick bobs anxiously between his lips, chewed down flat where his lips brush up against the bleached wood. It’s not often that this breed of restlessness finds hold: stiff shoulders and hands folded tight over his lap.

Nerves.

“That’s why we have the safeword,” you quip from across your quarters, voice rising as you struggle to twist out of your heavy uniform jacket.

(Un)surprisingly, Crosshair makes for a quick study. Beneath the stony, oftentimes sullen disposition, he’s a simple man. Of course, that simplicity didn’t necessarily limit himself from branching out into an actual person, but you could boil him down to one thing and one thing alone: control. Whether it was his genetic acuity that shaped him into the sniper persona or vice versa, control centered him, grounded him, tied him so close to his sense of duty and personhood that sometimes it was hard to tell the two apart.

So when you had offered two rotations prior to take the reins—offered both as something new and the hypothetical of release from, well, everything that kept him in a perpetually alert state of coiled tension—you honestly hadn’t expected for Crosshair to pause, rolling his toothpick thoughtfully between his teeth, and accept.

There’s certainly a part of you that hopes the manufactured brevity to your tone is enough to soothe the anxiety radiating from where Crosshair makes himself prim and small on your bed, smaller still without the bulk of his dark armor weighed over his shoulders. But, against your better judgement, a low-lying anticipation simmers at the base of your lungs when you finally shuck the day’s sweat and blaster smoke to the side.

He’s seen you undone under him time and time again, beads of sweat following the smug lines of his expression as he bent you to his—and, to be entirely fair, your own—pleasure. And as satisfying as that arrangement has proven itself to be, curiosity has always been that single, nagging vice at the back of your head.

Who can blame you for wanting a taste?

“You remember it, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, and you catch the heavy dregs of uncertainty (perhaps even bashfulness, ha) dragging at his voice.

“Then say it,” you prod. You gently nudge the point of your knee up against Crosshair’s calf and offer him a mirthful glance. And when that doesn’t seem to banish his withering hesitance, you drop down onto the bunk beside him, grasping his hand in yours and squeezing snug.

“I—” he clears his throat with a soft wince: embarrassment. “I don’t think I’ll need it.”

“Cross,” you warn. Because if you were going to do this, you were going to do this right.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, scrubbing his palm over the highest points of his cheeks. You wonder if the warmth over his cheeks is the same as your own, desirous and shy as you venture into those dark, uncertain places hand in hand. “Tooka, happy?”

“Very happy,” you grin, and you lean close to press a quick peck to the corner of his mouth.

Crosshair leans towards you, lips parted to chase your touch, more, more. But he’ll have his fill, and you’re quick to dart away, leaving him even more disoriented than he already is, all wide eyes that seek you like fading light.

You’re tempted to indulge him because it’s not often that he looks like a kicked loth cat (and he does a damn good impression when he does). But you manage to stuff down the creeping sympathy, opting instead to reach into the pocket of your trousers and produce a well-worn headband.

“Please tell me that’s not Hunter’s.” The rosy edge of desire vanishes from Crosshair’s voice as he catches sight of the broad black swatch of fabric in your palm. In its place, the testing edge of judgement so often home in Crosshair’s snide play.

“Ew, no—what? That’d be weird. And gross. Who do you think I am?”

That seems to do what your previous efforts could not, and your heart jumps when Crosshair responds with a soft snort and shrugs. He’s not resentful, not in the slightest. It’s just trepidation, jumping into uncharted waters with nothing but the trust that your hand, snug over his, would hold fast.

But the laughter settles, drawing back to reveal something that hums quiet between the small eternity between you. Even with your thigh pressed close against Crosshair’s own, you feel him drawing away, hesitant and wanting all at once. You gently pull his hand between you, squeezing once.

“Trust me?” you murmur.

Crosshair offers you a tremulous look, more nervous than apprehensive. You suppose it’s only fitting of him that relinquishing his steady grip over control might be more appealing in concept than on the eve of practice. Nonetheless, when you meet his gaze, you find the kind of uncertainty that heralds excitement, careful but enamored all the same. He nods.

“Then let me take care of you.”

Finally, as you raise your hands to his temples, pressing the dark fabric over his eyes, the tension pulls away from his coiled muscles, dropping his shoulders and bowing his head as you reach around him and tie a knot over the back of his silvery hair. He exhales long and slow as the knot settles snug over his scalp, warmed by the creases left behind by your fingertips and the sudden comfort yet complete unpredictability that shrouds his senses.

Testing the waters, you bring one hand to his cheek, just barely ghosting your fingertips over the lean lines of his jaw, and you are rewarded with a full-bodied shudder that shocks through Crosshair’s form as his lips gently part around his toothpick. Without that precious ability to see, he sits in your palm at your every whim.

You lean forward, gently biting your teeth around the tapered free end of his toothpick, and you feel him swallow hard when you free it from his mouth and drop it to the floor.

“Trust me.”

Chest heaving, he nods again.

“Safeword?”

This time, there is no snark to accompany a begrudging response. “Tooka.” Instead, his voice dips breathy and low between the long breadths between his soft exhales, his beating heart.

“Good boy.”

You surprise yourself at how natural the praise feels, rolling from your tongue and rising over the ambient hum of the ship around you. It fills your chest with something like affection, bordered pride that only swells as you watch him shudder, his lips parting just a little wider to pass that barely-there whimper riding on his exhale.

The hard planes of his body, that star map you’ve committed to the deepest parts of your heart, are familiar terrain under your skin as you flatten your palms over the sharp jut of his collar and travel lower. You pause the heels of your palms over the base of his ribs, pressing softly against the quickening rise and fall of his chest. Satisfaction curls sweet and rich over the tip of your tongue as his stuttering inhale shifts the air around you.

With slow, firm force, you push him backwards onto the bunk, Crosshair’s elbows catching his slow descent over the dark grey sheets until finally drops his head back onto the firm mattress. His chest heaves.

Your fingertips pass over the sinew and soft scar of his abdomen, chasing how his breathing expands from his chest and leaches tension over the length of his torso. You’re certain this isn’t new, not when your intimacy has you stealing the other’s breaths between stuttering gasps. But to feel it under your palms, thrumming and deep—it sets your nerves on fire.

Control. It’s wholly and entirely yours.

You still as the pads of your fingers catch the faint ridge of his waistband. And a part of you is smug with the power of reversal, that it wasn’t Crosshair offering you a knowing smirk as he parted your thighs and pressed close, that it was you, privy to only the deepest intimacy Crosshair could offer.

But it’s exactly that which keeps the power from rushing to your head, stymying the teasing mischief for something warm in your stomach when you trail lower and gently cup over the straining bulge in his blacks. And it grows fonder when Crosshair’s legs jerk with a labored puff of breath, the same one he breathes into your ear when he finally pushes up deep inside you and presses his skin close against yours. He whines, a straining, soft noise through his bitten lips, and you’ve teased long enough.

Crosshair makes a soft noise, somewhere between a gasp and a whining moan, when you finally hook your fingers over the hem of the dark fabric and expose the curved strain of his cock. He’s so open, you think as you reach forwards (though, you suppose being deprived of the one sense that reigned king would do that to you).

You don’t need to be able to see the half of his face rising above the bridge of his nose to envision the soft knit of his dark brows, eyes squeezed shut and lashes fluttering with every soft noise that passes his lips. You don’t need to see the half of his face bound under that broad swath of fabric to envision how his expression breaks from restraint to unbridled euphoria when you trace the edge of your nail down the underside of his cock.

“Please,” you think you hear him whisper past a breathy moan.

Whatever he might have had prepared, the whole gamut of biting, bratty demand to wide-eyed pleas, tumbles back into his throat when you finally climb onto the bunk by his hips, lick the flat of your tongue over your palm, and wrap it snug around the middle of Crosshair’s cock. Instead, you watch with a satisfied awe as he jerks up into your touch, spit-slick lips parted in a silent cry.

“You want my hand or my mouth?” you croon, pumping slowly from the thick base of his erection to the ruddy tip. You want him to feel every quiver of your touch as you run your thumb over the pearly drop of precome beaded at the crown of his cock, reveling in his shudder beneath you. You want to be the only thing he feels.

“Mouth,” he chokes out. “Please.”

“You’re so polite today,” you muse, reaching up with your free hand to rub your thumb over the plush bitten skin of his bottom lip. Emboldened, you slip your finger past his lips, grazing over his teeth as you push the pad of your thumb over his tongue, all the while slowly working your hand over his cock. “The good boy gets what he wants, then. Right?”

For a brief moment, something like disbelief occupies the warm air between you—you, amazed at how easy it is to hold the reins tight; him, stunned that somehow, you in control was as good, if not better, than being the commandeering weight to push your face into the pillows.

Crosshair nods, trembling as you squeeze softly over the base of his cock.

“I need to hear it, mesh’la.”

The last line of his restraint crumbles at the sound: one only ever given from him to you, yet suddenly brought back to him with the full brunt of lust, affection, the secret words you’ve come to call your own. Crosshair bucks up into your hand with a low groan, gasping soft and breathy when you slip your thumb from his mouth and hold him down to the mattress.

“Yes, please.”

You smile and dip low.

Unlike the slow deliberation of your earlier touch, you seal your lips over his ruddy cockhead with one smooth motion, pressing your tongue flat against the underside and hollowing your cheeks. And the heady taste of salt, of trembling anticipation, of him, only sweetens when you flick your eyes up to catch Crosshair tip up his chin, dig his heels into the mattress, and sob.

You sink his cock deeper into your mouth, achingly slow while you continue to work your fist around the base of his cock, and close in a way that coaxes soft, whimpering noises from his lips as he turns his head and clenches his jaw.

Flicking your eyes upwards, a pang of regret shocks through your chest that you aren’t able to see Crosshair come undone from the slightest of touches, tame in comparison to some of your particularly energetic nights. But you do away with the thought as quickly as it comes as his blunt cockhead brushes over the back of your tongue.

His pleasure has always been yours, yours his, you think as you pull back, just until your lips part around the tip of his cock while he shifts and gasps beneath you. You’ll have your turn soon enough.

Before you can sink back down, swallow him as deep as you can, the air by your cheek shifts, and expecting the worst, you lift your chin. But where you expected some stifled yellow light, Crosshair’s fingers feel blindly around you until they find purchase over your cheek. His relief is palpable as his stuttering touch curls over your skin and holds you close.

You smile.

“Trust me?” you ask again, your lips mouthing softly over his cock, catching thick smears of precome over your skin.

“I trust you,” he whispers.

Crosshair cries out, hoarse and as loud as he’s been all night, as you drop your mouth near-midway down the straining length of his cock in one motion, lavishing your tongue under his pulse. His hand tenses over your jaw, blunt nails digging light into your skin as his fingers curl with that bone-deep shock of pleasure. And if the breathy, desperate noises he whimpers into the alcove of the bunk are of any indication, you have a good feeling he’ll want to do this again.

You moan around him in answer. It doesn’t matter to you that his brothers might hear, only a few panels of durasteel away and connected by the reverb of a narrow ship corridor. They probably do hear, but all that matters now is Crosshair, coming impossibly more undone under your tongue as he runs his trembling thumb over the skin of your cheek.

His hips buck up towards you, catching the back of your throat with a soft sting that reaches your nose. If you weren’t so desperate, you might have pinned him down harder or pulled away entirely to let him think about what he had done. But as much as you want to chase this power play, hearing him lose himself to you has you desperate for his touch.

You follow him with every uneven jerk and thrust up into the wet heat of your mouth, letting him take his fill. You simply stroke firmer as his skin warms over your tongue. It’s all so hot, the air heady and thick as you breathe in sharp through your nose and lean into his palm, and you wonder what it feels like, anchored to nothing but you, his sole light in a world gone dark.

His motions fall uneven, his hips twisting against your touch, his breaths becoming deeper, louder as they bounce over the steel ceiling overhead. He’s close.

You twist your fist over his cock, redoubling your efforts. You sink down so far over his cock that your eyes water as you crush the head up against the back of your throat. Heavy and thick, it muffles down a soft gag for you—it’s the deepest you’ve ever taken him. Crosshair notices, and he nearly wails.

He’s been good, you decide as you all but choke around him. He can take that coveted control back. You gently rub his hand, unspoken assent, and his hand slides up your jaw to finds purchase at the back of your head to fuck you down onto him in earnest.

And you take it, eyes blurring with tears and shallow inhales through your nose, holding still and letting him fuck over your tongue until he’s taken his fill. It doesn’t take long for him to spill down your throat, a low, hoarse groan passed between his lips as you struggle to breathe between every dutiful swallow of his thick come down your throat.

“Good boy,” you rasp as you pull the blindfold from over his head.

Crosshair meets you with unfocused eyes, full of wonder and a shaky haze that finds focus on you alone in the low light. Over the ache in your knees, you crawl up to meet him, collapsing down beside him with a soft sigh. He meets you with habit, practiced and true as he tips down his chin and presses his lips to yours, tasting himself on your skin when he swipes his tongue over your lip.

“How was that?” you whisper, breathing soft over his lips.

You tilt your head up enough to catch your nose over Crosshair’s. He still meets you with that same stupor, but you see it begin to mellow into something other than the shock of enjoyment in submission in a man who has only ever known control to be his. It’s quiet and raw, splitting open your chest with that rare kind of warmth that the broad expanse of space and war leave little space to grow.

Yours, whispered and cradled close between your beating hearts, yours alone.

“I’ll remember the safeword,” Crosshair says finally, his voice distant and soft as he still rises out of the aftershocks of his orgasm. But in that weary daze, you catch the rosy relaxation, vulnerable and yet increasingly less rare in your palms. Relief, pride, joy, honeyed goodness rises to the apples of your cheeks at the sound.

“I still think I won’t need it, though.” And you both laugh, curling close.

[niksfics]

↬ FATE

↬ PAIRINGS: kenma x f!reader (side aka rebound mention) miya atsumu x f!reader

↬ WARNINGS: a whole lotta angst, breakup, it’s an online relationship, kenma is cold and hurts ur feelings

↬ SUMMARY: your relationship with kenma really had felt like the last one. He was it, turns out he didn’t have similar feelings.

↬ A/N: alright loves!! This isn’t proofread at all it’s 2 in the morning I’ll edit when I wake up, butttt Thanks to my lovely ex girlfriend you are now being graced with this steaming pile of trash. (Lovely was not meant sarcastically at all she is in fact very lovely.) Ngl almost, if not all of this story is about my relationship with my ex gf. This is how I cope people. ￫ It’s taken me awhile to actually be able to right something that’s why things kinda stopped. Tbh after she broke up with me it’s been very hard for me to write so hopefully this helps! And I hope you enjoy!! I would also just like to say if it feels a lil weird it’s cause these are things I’ve actually written in my notes I tweaked it a little to fit the story but it’s straight from the source 😩

WC | 2.5K

You sighed as you opened your notes app. Your eyes scanning over all of the little facts and quirks he had told you about himself. All the stuff you’d wanted to remember. The stuff that had seemed so important to you before. Now it was meaningless, almost like facts about a stranger. Almost as if you hadn’t spent four months learning about and growing with eachother.

You scrolled down a little bit right under, how his favorite marvel character is Spider-Man and you chewed on your lip. Your fingers hovering above the keyboard on your phone. You looked over the facts again. The things he dislikes and the stuff he adores, the things he likes to collect to the way he feels passionately about a certain topic. You begin to type.

Friday June 25th 2022 12:22 Am

I cried again tonight, because I still love you. It’s been a month and six days since we broke up. It feels like there’s a hole in my chest. You seem to be doing fine though, so I’m happy for you! This is the second time since we’ve broken up that I’ve felt actual physical emotional pain in my chest. Remember when I told you how bad it hurt after we broke up? Remember how you didn’t even ask if I was ok? Didn’t even bother to answer. Do you remember that? I remember. I’ve thought about it every day since. I remember it being so bad I genuinely thought I was having a heart attack. Wasn’t until I’d called tetsu crying that he’d told me it was just emotional and I should probably try to relax.

I read through our old messages. I’ve never wanted something back so bad. Never wanted to beg anyone to stay till now. I wish you loved me like I love you. I wish I hadn’t grown so attached, wish I hadn’t fallen so deeply into love with you. I wish it wasn’t my fault that we broke up. I wish I wasn’t so fucking scared. I wish I was fearless. Wish I could rise into love bravely. I wish I was brave when it came to you. I keep telling myself it was me. It was me not you. You didn’t love me anymore. You don’t love me anymore and you’re just too nice to say that. So you told me in the only way I could handle. Except you hadn’t used the words you should have. You got bored. We both know it’s true. You were bored of it, and I don’t blame you. I know we’ll never talk again, and part of me is so glad. Another part of me forces myself to read through all our messages though. I wish I could just tell you one last time. I love you.

You sighed saving it before closing out of it. Tears you hadn’t known were falling finally became known to you as they streamed down your cheeks. Your eyes puffy as you wet your lips, the salt of them coating your tongue. You were bitter and so were your tears. I briefly wondered what he was doing right now. Probably playing a video game. You knew his schedule all to well by now. Probably testing out a new game for his stream.

A new set of fresh tears fell as you remembered how you used to call him right before he went on. Being lulled to sleep by his occasionally curses and the clicking oh his controller or his keyboard.

You never expected things to end this way. You really thought he was the last one. Yes it had only been four months, but the way he made you feel. The way that it had felt. It had felt final, and you’d been friends before you even started dating.

You sniffle moving yourself to the kitchen to poor yourself a glass of water as you remembered how nervous you were when you first texted him. You had acumulated quite the crush on him back in high school. As Inarazaki’s manager you were required to go to the games, and even after your team lost you had stuck around. Watched him play and cheered him on. Two weeks later you had begun to text, as friends of course. It wasn’t until four months ago that you’d gotten together.

Your anniversary was only two days prior to your break up. You both had never been one to even care about that stuff. You had agreed early on in the relationship that we wouldn’t do anything due to the distance, and the business of our schedules. You were never one for remembering things like anniversaries anyways.

He really did feel like the one. Sometimes you just know. Sometimes you can just feel it. Like, you know that feeling you get when you know something is off or you know for sure something is about to happen even without being told it’s going to. That’s what it felt like to be with kozume kenma.

You thought you knew, you thought this time, this time its for real. You thought it was finally safe to say, that he was the one. You both had even admitted to looking for each others initials in those stupid soulmate tik tok videos.

You were finally in a mature relationship with someone you could talk about anything to. You had gotten so caught up in it, that you didn’t even see the end creeping up on you.

↝

You’d finally gained the courage to text him again. Unfortunately it was in a drunken daze. Your hands shaking as you fumbled with your phone typing things you’d come to regret in the morning. You’d sent him a series of texts telling him how much you missed him, how you didn’t understand how he was so okay. You had been a wreck that night. One of your friends puking in her toilet as you cried. You were happy of course that he was doing so well, but you’d been a wreck for so long and he hadn’t even changed. You told him you wished you could be okay.

When you’d awoken the next morning hair knotted in a complete mess and wiping drool from your chin your heart had sunk even lower. His response was cold. You knew that kenma could be cold. You knew that it was just who he was, but this particular text had felt so unfeeling and unfamiliar, it was as if he hadn’t even sent it himself. He had only ever talked like this to you once and that was when you first became friends all those years ago.

Kozume ❤️

Hey, it’s okay. And yeah you see what I choose to put up. I could be better. But I choose to stay optimistic and busy. Sorry that things are this way.

You had never seen so many periods in a text before. He only used grammar like that when he was peeved, and maybe you were wrong, maybe he’d done that on purpose, but it had hurt so bad. It had caused an ache so deep in your chest that you weren’t sure if you’d ever even dated him at all.

Yeah.

It was the only thing you could bring yourself to respond back with. How were you supposed to respond to that? You’d stared at it for so long and after you’d sent it you wished you had said more. Wished you would’ve said something more insightful than a simple, heartbroken, “yeah.”

Not too long later there was another ping and you held your breath. His name briefly appearing across your screen.

Yeah. I could be better. But I hope you do well soon. I’m sorry that I can’t really do much to help out

And of course you did the only thing you could do. Deflect. Pretend like you hadn’t said what you’d said not even fourteen hours ago.

No it’s fine. I’m fine. You don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry that you could be doing better.

He left you on seen. You knew you sounded like an asshole. At least to you, you felt like an asshole. Why couldn’t you have come up with something else. Why couldn’t you tell him the truth. Tell him how you felt. Tell him that you didn’t think you should be broken up anymore. That the month long cruel joke was over and you were ready to spend your nights falling asleep to him playing video games again. You didn’t though, and you never would. You’re not brave enough, too prideful to even try.

You swallowed down the bile rising in your throat as you realized even if you did beg him. Begged him to take you back. Tell him that you still love him. You were too late, and you just couldn’t be selfish when it comes to him. He is over you and it was so plainly obvious. You know that deep down. Know that he’s moved on, and it kills you inside. So you did the only thing you could do. Try and put it into words.

So as you lay in bed the warm body you let occupy your space sound asleep beside you, his toned blonde hair tousled slightly and you sighed. Finally away from the shenanigans of your friends you took a deep breath before you closed your eyes.

You opened up your notes app again and scrolled past the last entry. You swallowed again as you blinked the tears out of your eyes. Your thumbs beginning to move before you even gave them permission.

Wednesday June 30th 2022 1:39 Am

Here I am again. Stuck. Stuck in the same place I’ve been for so long. You know, I write so beautifully when I’m broken. I’m most of my best work is written when I’m being torn apart. But I just, I can’t seem to find the words. I can’t seem to put it into a document and turn out little story into a different story to cope. Can’t seem to write it out. Can’t seem to move on.

I hovered over the unfollow button on your page today, to keep myself from scrolling through your things again. To keep myself from getting hurt. So I don’t have to be reminded. I want to delete it. Delete where we officially met. On a chat through my screen. I wanna wipe the messages clean. And I’ve tried. Oh how I’ve tried. But I can’t.

I want to delete our conversations. The hours long talks we had, but then, what happens afterwards? What keeps the memories alive. I’d never been so in love with someone before. I’ve never actually…. Been in love before. I thought I’d been in love, but it didn’t feel like that, and losing them never hurt like this. Losing someone has never hurt this bad before.

I’ve never felt the emptiness you left so deep in my very being with anyone I’ve ever met before. I can’t seem to pull myself together. And it’s pathetic I know. It’s pathetic that I’m still here. In the same place I was a month ago. It’s about to be two months we’ve haven’t been together. I’m hurting. Hurting so bad. It’s painful to look at you.

I haven’t deleted the photos even though I probably should. They’re still tucked away in an album in my camera roll labeled “us <3” the one one I made specially just for you. The way I’d been so excited when I was finally ready to tell my friends. I even have this stupid notes folder from when we were dating where I wrote all the little things about you that I never wanted to forget. I find you so endearing. Everything you do. I just couldn’t help but right it down to keep it safe so it never leaves my mind. So that I never forget. But now, forgetting is all I want to do.

I never thought there’d be a time in my life where I was more emotionally stunted that I normally. So stunted I can’t even put this, our split up, into words. Make it something entertaining for somebody else to read. Write a book about it. My publicist keeps asking when the sequel for my book will be done. I don’t know if it’ll ever be finished. I can’t do the one thing I’ve always been good at. I’m crying as I write this.

And I wish it would just end here in this little notes app. Wish the love would die in here. I always think I’m over you and then I see you again, and nowadays your everywhere. A very big hit and I’m happy for you and your success, but seeing you makes my heart squeeze in my chest.

I think I’m over you until I play that stupid fucking game that causes me to scream at my phone, or my laptop in frustration, but I just can’t seem to delete it because I know it’s something that you love. That show we used to talk about. I know you know which one, I can’t seem to watch it without thinking of what was. You’ve ruined it forever cause now it only reminds me of you. I know you’ll never see this, but I like to imagine you can. That my time for closure has somehow come.

When you told me you were sorry that things were this way, it was a real slap in the face. It stopped my false hope. My wishing. It all came to a halt. I’m glad. Glad that you’re happier. That you’re better without me. But god, now I’m so fucked up and I can’t even talk to you.

You were the only person I had left. The only one who understood me. And now you’re gone. You took a part of me with you that night. A part that I’ll never get back. I should’ve known that you would leave. I’ve never been able to get someone to stay for longer than three to four months.

I thought I could let my guard down though. I thought we were in the clear. I’d thought finally. Finally someone is gonna stay. I thought you were my person. I still think that to this day. I thought we were gonna make it. And now I’m with this guy I don’t even like. He’s not you, he doesn’t act like you. He doesn’t like video games like you do.

He doesn’t talk to me like you do. Like you did. But you know how it ended I don’t need to put it here. Unfortunately I’ll always love you even if you don’t love me. This is so scattered, I’m sorry I couldn’t make you happy.

With that you closed the app and put down your phone. Plugging in it and as it dinged miya atsumu rolled over in his sleep. He reached for you his hands wrapping around your waist to tug you against his strong body.

His gravely voice whispering through sleep, “mmm finally decided to come to bed?” You hum moving an arm under on of his to wrap around his thin waist. “Mhm, thought you might need the company.” You began to draw little shapes and letters against his back as he chuckled, “oh yea? How thoughtful of you princess.”

Suddenly it was quiet and your closed eyes opened to his wide brown ones, his eyebrows furrowing .

“Did you just spell kozume on my back?”

[elysiadjarin]

Sword and Shield 10

Tags: Bad Batch x reader (you), fem!coded, poly!relationship, multi-part series, nonhuman!reader, Echo later on

Part 9: Shatter

Warnings: very much 18+, minors DNI you have been warned, TW for trauma and PTSD, PIV unprotected sex (irl please be safe and use protection), everything is consensual, overstimulation, oral, cockwarming, dom/sub interactions, choking, subspace mentions, poly relationship. Also I swear Wrecker will get a chapter too, don’t come at me!!

I know it’s been a while but I hope this long chapter makes up for it!

10: Recover, Relive

Two more smaller missions later, the Bad Batch had been given a break. You’d pushed through the healing and the expected night of nightmares just fine thanks to being able to curl up to the warmth of Tech and Wrecker. The entire team had been pretty careful with you for the past couple of days, letting you have your space to recover while you continued to work alongside them for missions.

Crosshair hadn’t said anything, really, but his willingness to just let you quietly sit in his presence or in the back of his mind and polish your Rifle form was his way of showing support that you appreciated.

You'd been relieved for the break, knowing that you needed a moment to reset and devote everything to recovering. While you'd started to get over the worst nightmares and the last of your injuries had completely healed, you were still struggling with flashbacks and keeping your focus.

Sitting curled up on Hunter's bunk, you leaned your chin against your knees pulled up to your chest and sighed. Everytime you closed your eyes, you could see Skarla's maniacal eyes and bloodstained grin as she reached into your body and reveled in your pain. You could still hear your own screams echoing through your memories. You'd buried them so deep, the inhibitor chips having contributed to the suppression, and now... well, it was coming back and demanding to be dealt with.

The 501st had already helped you deal with so much of your past. But not everything. And this... these memories had been ones that you’d barely disclosed to even them.

“Shiv.”

You looked up to see Hunter standing in front of the bunk, carefully sitting down on the edge. “Oh... hi.” You smiled faintly.

He observed you carefully. “Are you doing okay?”

For a moment, the temptation to just say “I’m fine” hovered on your lips. But you remembered how disappointed all your Vod’ika had been when they discovered you’d been suffering and hadn’t told them. And the Bad Batch... the ones you loved, deserved better. You knew that.

So you looked down at your knees, then back up at him. “A memory for a memory?” you offered.

Surprise flickered through his eyes, then he scooted backward and leaned against the wall. “I guess that’s fair,” he admitted. Eyebrows furrowing, he thought for a minute before finally answering. “There was one mission,” he said slowly. “It was pretty early on. Everything... almost went wrong to the point of failure. In the end, it was my fault that I didn’t listen and got Tech nearly killed.” His chest heaved with a sigh, his head shaking. “It taught me a valuable lesson, and made me a better leader. Tech forgave me. But sometimes... I still hate myself for it.” Bitterness laced his tone. “I can still hear him screaming in pain, and remember how I felt when I realized what I’d done. I’ll never forget how my own stupidity and pride allowed me to fail the team. In some ways... what happened to you on our first mission reminded me of that.”

You sat in silence for a minute, mulling over his story. In retrospect, it would make sense why Hunter had seemed to loathe himself overmuch and take too much blame for your injury on that mission. Still, you knew that most of it had been your own fault for getting distracted and allowing yourself to get sidetracked from the mission.

“Skarla,” you said abruptly. You felt his surprise over the Bond before it faded away. “She...” Your lips twisted. “She is who she is for a reason. But she’s also... extremely cruel. I... I can survive and heal from wounds that most can’t, because of what I am,” you said, feeling a bit uncomfortable. “So my wounds sometimes— they seem a lot worse to others than to me because my scale of survival is different. Skarla has... well,” you said, shifting, “she’s well aware of that fact. Every time I would fail to defeat the Guardian, she would be allowed to punish me for fifteen minutes in whatever way she pleased.”

Fifteen minutes of Nine Corellian Hells. Fifteen minutes of begging for death.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve been torn open, ribs cracked, my guts rearranged,” you said, exhaustion lining your voice. “Honestly, I’ve forgotten a lot of it. My brain... couldn’t handle keeping the memories and still staying sane, I was told. I guess it’s better I don’t. What I do still remember... it haunts me. Just the memory of the pain, wishing for death. Staring up at the ceiling of the chamber and hearing my own blood splatter against the walls, hearing myself scream like a stranger. They’re some of my worst memories. Being back there... it was hard but...” You looked down thoughtfully at your hands.

“As hard as it was... it wasn’t unbearable. Not anymore. Knowing that- that all of you were there, and that— that you believed in me, trusted me... Even Tech: he trusted me. It gave me a strength to face not just my past but my nightmares and memories now because... because I have all of you.” You gave Hunter a small but genuine smile. “Being able to feel that strength... it helped me to defeat my past.”

Hunter met your gaze with a softness in his eyes that warmed you. He held out his hand, and you took it gratefully. “We’re here for you, Shiv. In whatever way you need.”

You nodded, then scooted closer to him and leaned into his side. “I’m here, too. I want... I want to return the strength you’ve given me.”

He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you into him. “You do already. In more ways than you know.”

Despite yourself, you had to duck your head as heat rose to your face. Your mind wouldn’t stop supplying you with memories of Hunter thrusting into you, his hands gripped around your waist and siding down your back, pulling you into his hips. His face buried between your legs, fingers sliding into you— Crosshair’s lithe fingers wrapping around your throat as Hunter came inside you, moaning—

Hunter let out a quiet chuckle. “Oh, did you remember something else in particular, Shiv?”

Thoroughly embarrassed, you buried your face in your hands with a whimper, knowing he could feel the heat coming from you and probably even smell you at this point. But for some reason... the memories wouldn’t stop. You.... wanted it. Wanted him.

Hunter’s mouth brushed against your throat, even as he pulled you back and into his chest. “If you want to make new memories, I’d be glad to help with that.”

You whined, biting your lips. “I...”

He kissed your neck, sliding up to your jaw. His hand reached up and gently tilted your chin to his face. “Is this what you want, Shiv?” he asked it in a low, husky tone, his dark eyes darting down to your mouth with a flare of desire.

You swallowed, then nodded. Yes. You wanted Hunter.

He bent and kissed you. His kiss this time was a bit different. Maybe because this time you were alone, you didn’t know, but... there was something about his kiss that was more tender, more... slow, as though he were savoring you, memorizing the feel of your lips against his.

“Come here,” Hunter rasped, turning you towards himself. Reaching up, he pulled his shirt off and dragged you close again, his hands sliding down your back as he kissed you. His mouth was hungry, his hands taking yours and placing them against his chest. His fingers gently slid under your top, and he pulled back for a moment.

“Can I?”

You nodded shyly, letting him slide your shirt and bra off. His hands slid up, cupping your breasts in his hands and admiring them for a moment.

“Can’t blame Tech for being obsessed,” Hunter admitted after a moment, teasing your nipples with his fingers.

You whimpered, shivering under the touch as you bit your lip. His calloused hands were warm and firm, and the deft confidence in the way he touched you brought back memories of his hands effortlessly wielding you as a blaster. Hunter’s touch was one of a leader, confident and respectful of the power he held, knowing its limits and its capacities and treating it accordingly.

“So you feel that, too,” Hunter murmured, making you realize that his Bond with you was alight with shared sensation.

His hand moved down, splaying over your bared stomach. He paused, his eyes curious as he simply gazed at his fingers, his palm covering your navel. Your chest heaved with breath as you wondered what he was thinking. A little embarrassed at the intensity that had crept into his gaze, your fingers twitched on the waist of his trousers.

Hunter bent forward, then, and caught your mouth in a long, languid kiss that brimmed with appreciation. His hands swept down to your waist, settling on your hips. “You’re beautiful, Shiv,” he murmured against your mouth.

A little surprised, you pulled back to blink up at him. Hunter had never really struck you as one to pay attention to that sort of thing, so his soft, earnest comment surprised you.

He reached up, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. “I know all of us love all of you, and admittedly some of us might be especially appreciative of specific things. But whenever I see you, all I think of is... you,” he said slowly, eyes trailing over your face. “Watching you interact with the team, seeing you get excited when you’re successful in Transference, or even just... sitting on a bunk somewhere. I think just your astral form is enough for me to know it’s you, mesh’la.” He leaned his forehead against yours.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you had to smile and close your eyes. The warmth curled in you, and you let your happiness spill over the Bond.

“Mm. Although I do think that you’re a different kind of pretty when you’re clearly enjoying getting fucked,” Hunter chuckled, his voice deepening as he leaned closer to your ear.

The filthy words accompanied by the way Hunter’s hands sensually trailed up your front made you bite your lip and flush, looking down. Despite yourself, a thought popped into your head and you suddenly giggled, reaching up to press your fingers against your lips.

“Something funny?” Hunter asked, amusement lacing his own voice.

“My Vod’ika,” you giggled. “They’d all be losing their minds if they knew that I—“ you burst into a fresh wave of laughter, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Maker, Kix is protective enough, he’d want to kill all of you- and Fives, oh, Fives—“ Tears of laughter welled in your eyes as you thought about it. Fives wouldn’t know whether to tease you or want to fight the Bad Batch. Hawk and Dogma would be in shock that you were with four people.

Hunter laughed with you, shaking his head. “Not sure if I should laugh or be offended that you’re thinking of other men while I’m touching you,” he teased.

You suppressed your laughter, grinning up at him. “Sorry, Hunter,” you managed. “I promise I’m paying attention to you.” You lifted his hand to your face, leaning your cheek into his palm with a smile.

His eyes darkened, and he tipped you back. Catching you gently, he lowered you onto the bunk and pulled the pillow under your head. Shifting himself above you, he bent to kiss you and pull your body against his. His fingers played against your shorts, and you had to squirm a little at the way your body sparked at the friction. Letting out a little noise into his mouth, you canted your hips up as he ground against you.

Hunter let out a quiet grunt into your mouth, nipping at your lips. “You want these off, mesh’la?” His hands tugged at your shorts.

You lifted your hips, letting him slide them off. To your vague surprise, he left your underwear on. He started to kiss down your neck and chest. His fingers slid around the thin underwear, and he grunted as he felt how slick you’d already gotten. His fingers found barely any friction as they slid into your core.

You gasped, back arching as he pressed his fingers up into you. He worked you in a way that had you whining, entirely at his mercy as he proved how diligent he’d been in exploring your body and leaning your curves and edges. He traveled down your body, kissing your thigh as he continued to work his fingers and stretch you. The way he stared at your drooling core sent a flush of heat through you.

Then his thumb pushed aside more of the underwear, and his face lowered.

You let out a strangled gasp, back arching as your hands flew down and found purchase in his hair. His breath was hot against your core, his tongue dizzyingly familiar with your body. He grunted as your fingers tightened and twisted in his hair, his fingers finding that spot that had you arching into his mouth with a moan.

“Hunter,” you moaned, trembling against him as you felt that coil tighten in your abdomen.

After one last, long lick, Hunter lifted his mouth and licked you off of his lips with a satisfied look. Shifting himself back up your body, he slid his fingers out of you and instead brought them to your mouth.

You let him slide his fingers between your lips, the flavor bursting in your mouth. His fingers pushed against your tongue, and he surveyed you with dark eyes and a lazy smile. After a moment, he pulled his hand away and slid his trousers off, bending to kiss you again. He settled himself between your legs, his cock resting heavily against your core and up your lower belly. Something slick dripped onto your skin, warm and thick.

“Is this okay, Shiv?” Hunter asked, his voice strained.

You nodded, reaching up to slide your hands up his shoulders. Over the Bond, you could feel the way his utter desperation to be inside you heightened. His mind, as he lost control of the Bond, kept focusing on the way your body melted into his hands, the way his body burned as he pressed against you, the way he gravitated towards you. He let out a quiet gasp as his cock slipped against you, his eyes squeezing shut above you.

He slowly, ever so slowly, eased into you. Every inch earned you another low groan, and you had to stare up at his face in awe. Hunter’s face twisted in pleasure, his jaw clenched and his eyelashes fluttering.

“Maker, mesh’la,” he choked, shuddering above you as he completely bottomed out, buried deep inside you. “I can’t— you’re so kriffing tight.” His eyes, when he opened them to stare down at you, looked practically drugged.

You abruptly remembered Hunter’s enhanced senses, especially as a wave came over his side of the Bond of his overwhelmed pleasure. Reaching up, you cupped his face in your hands, trying to make sure he wouldn’t overdo himself.

“Just relax,” you whispered, feeling the way he trembled against you. You knew that the moment he started moving you’d be dangerously close to the edge thanks to his own pleasure he was sharing across the Bond. Not to mention the way Hunter was practically collapsed on top of you, his body pressed against yours, his low groans spilling into your ear as his mouth pressed against your skin. His arms braced himself on either side of you, your legs propped up against his hips.

“Gonna— gonna move,” he hissed, slowly pulling back out so only his tip stayed in you. “Kriff,” he mumbled under his breath.

You were already making sloppy sounds, and you whimpered as he pushed back into you. The way his movements were so precise and sure, the way his mouth pressed against yours with a burning need made that tightness in you start to snap. You whined, already so close to coming.

“You gonna cum, Shiv?” Hunter chuckled, his voice raspy. “You’re so kriffing wet around me.”

You moaned, eyes fluttering as he started to thrust, pitching into you smoothly. His hand reached down between you, and his thumb found your clit.

“You feel so good, so hot and wet and tight,” he murmured, beginning to praise you even as his hips started to stutter. “Kriff, mesh’la, you take me so well. So pretty, under me like this.”

You whimpered, reveling in the soft praises and touches that he showered on you. You could feel him starting to get close himself, his movements a little more erratic as he lost control.

“So lucky to have you, that you love us,” Hunter rasped against your neck, his kiss almost reverent. “Gonna— gonna cum, mesh’la—“

His finger twitched against your clit and you were arching, crying out his name as the heat washed through you, white hot. Pleasure burst behind your eyelids as you came, just as he slammed into you and ground, groaning your name. He spilled into you, filling you up, then shuddered and collapsed against you. His body leaned against yours, his face burying into the crook of your shoulder.

The heat that pooled in your belly as Hunter kept you plugged made your eyelashes flutter. Letting out a soft sigh of contentment, you reached up and gently drew your fingers through his hair.

His chest heaved for breath, and his hands ran down your sides appreciatively. “I love you, so much,” he whispered, his voice getting heavy.

You reached up and pressed a shy kiss to the corner of his lips. “I love you too, Hunter. Thank you for taking care of me.”

He fell asleep rather quickly, though you guessed it was in part due to the overstimulation. You waited until he was asleep before carefully sliding out from underneath him. You quickly adjusted your underwear to catch Hunter’s cum starting to run down your leg. You needed to make it to the fresher, but had to lean against the wall halfway there as your knees almost gave out.

You finally managed to go get yourself cleaned up, and went to go change underwear and fetch your bra. You made rounds to collect laundry, putting in a load and blowing out a breath. Pushing hair away from your face, you went to the common area to go find a T-shirt you knew you’d left in there.

Looking around, you finally caught sight of the large shirt and perked up, going to go grab it and slide it over yourself. Tech was the only other one in the common room, and you made a quick decision as you walked over to him.

“Tech?” you asked softly.

He looked up at you, blinking owlishly as he registered your presence. “Ah, Shiv.” He readjusted his goggles. “Can I assist you with something?”

You tilted your head, clasping the edge of the shirt in your fingers. “If... if you’re not busy, can I— can I talk with you?” you asked, suddenly a bit nervous.

He turned fully toward you. “Sure, Shiv. I was just working on a few odds and ends anyway.”

You glanced down at his legs. “Um, can I— can I sit?”

Some confusion flickered across his face. “Of course-“

You got closer to him and slid into his lap, facing him with your legs on either side of him and your hands twisted in the hem of your shirt. He let out a small noise of surprise, his hands coming up to your hips to steady you.

“I wanted to thank you,” you said softly, still not looking up at his face.

“Thank me? For what, Shiv?” Tech asked curiously. His hands tugged at you, bringing you a little closer to him.

“I know I said it before, but— but I really wanted to thank you properly,” you said, scrambling for words. “For how you trusted me, back during the... the ritual.” You made a little, nervous gesture. “I mean— it means more to me than I think you realize. It’s— the ritual is one that’s... that’s fueled by blood, whether yourself or your Champion. Skarla— she’s always been very powerful and- and she... she was very cruel to me, a long time ago. Going back there was...” your face twisted in misery as you looked down. “It was really difficult, and I— it brought back a lot of fear.”

Taking a breath, you made yourself look up at him. “But you trusted me, believed in me. You didn’t even question me when I led you towards dangerous places, and did everything I asked without hesitating. You trusted me to the point that when faced with something unusual... you readily gave your blood for me.” Your heart was in your throat even as you said it. “It— it meant so much to me, Tech,” your voice wavered, your eyes welling with tears. “The only reason I actually won that match... is because of you.” You met his eyes, trying to convey how much it truly meant.

Tech’s eyes widened as he gazed at you with surprise, his fingers tightening around your waist.

“You gave me the strength I needed to push through, and the way you believed in me...” You reached up and wiped away the grateful tears that had sprang to your eyes. “I fought a battle against my fear and the memories of my failure, too,” you whispered. “But your faith in me was what really gave me the power to win. And I wanted— I needed to thank you. So you know... know what it means to me.”

Tech leaned forward. Your eyes widened as he kissed you, taken a bit aback by the suddenness. But it felt so good, the way his mouth pressed against yours and the way his emotions started to spill over the Bond to you. Tech was... his kiss always made you lean into him, eyes fluttering closed as you melted into the gentle, desperate affection. His precise, clinical nature softened whenever he kissed and touched you.

“I am glad that you are all right,” Tech said, his voice quiet and earnest. “It was... frightening, to see you fight alone. I am pleased to know that I could give you strength in any way I could.”

You leaned forwards and hugged him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Thank you, Tech.”

“You’re welcome, cyar’ika,” he murmured back. He let out a sigh as you shifted, his hands gripping around your hips. “Shiv— could I ask a favor?”

You blinked, pulling back to look up at him.

He glanced down at the hem of your shirt, and an image flashed across the Bond. You, leaning against Wrecker’s chest, fast asleep, Wrecker’s thick cock buried inside you as your chest rose and fell with breath and your face flushed with the arousal. Color crept up Tech’s neck.

“I— um—“

You looked up at him with a shy smile, a bit embarrassed but also flattered that he seemed to be so enamored with your body as well. Leaning down, you grasped his hand and brought it up to the hem of your shirt, pushing his fingers up under it.

Tech swallowed, his hand trailing upward, sliding to the edge of your bra. He glanced at you for permission, and you answered by reaching down and unzipping his trousers. His breath hitched as you began to slowly pump him, your fingers playing a little with his tip. His hand slid under your bra, brushing over your nipple as you bit your lips at the stimulation. Your body was still a little sensitive after Hunter, and you were starting to feel the tiredness pluck at your eyelids.

Tech slid his fingers around your underwear, only to feel you dripping wet and still leaking a bit of Hunter. He brought his fingers up and didn’t seem to be surprised at the white, simply sticking it in his mouth.

“Shiv,” Tech murmured, bending to press a kiss to your throat.

You scooted forwards, letting him guide himself into you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you had to let out a soft moan as he sank fully into you, stuffing you so perfectly. Tech really was the perfect girth for this, you thought dizzily. He just hit every spot inside you as he stuffed you full and kept you sitting still on his cock. It almost made you feel torn between wanting to move and wanting it to stay there, resting perfectly inside you, lighting you up in the best way possible.

He let out a groan against your ear, his hands keeping your hips pressed against his, keeping you completely pressed into his chest, every curve of your body melting against his. Letting out a shuddering breath, he shifted and scooted forwards, beginning to resume his work.

Despite yourself, you had to open your mouth against the crook of his neck and shoulder, biting down gently and beginning to absently suckle. His skin had a hint of salt, but just the warmth of his skin comforted you, your eyes fluttering closed as you suckled a mark into his neck.

Eventually you fell asleep, happily cradled against him and stuffed completely full.

~

“Oh, hey, there’s Shiv! I was wondering where she was.”

Stirring, you started to wake up. Reaching up, you rubbed at your eye and felt the yawn build in your mouth.

“You woke her up, Wrecker,” Tech sounded a bit morose.

“Huh? Oh— sorry, Shiv.” Wrecker’s voice sounded closer.

You sat up a little, arms still flung across Tech’s shoulders. Stretching, you let the yawn stretch your mouth and your eyes flutter open. Sleep still sticking in your eyes, you blinked up at Wrecker, lips parted.

Wrecker grinned. “Did you have a good nap?”

You nodded belatedly, reaching up to rub the sleep out of your eyes. For a moment, you just blankly stared at Tech’s collar as you woke up more fully. Then shaking your head, you looked up at his face. He gazed back down at you, his hand lightly resting on your thigh. He brushed his thumb across your skin, and you suddenly realized why your lower body felt warm with a pulsing heat. He was still buried hilt deep inside you, his cock thick and hard as it pressed up inside you.

“You’ve been asleep for a chron,” Tech said, his voice surprisingly even.

Your mind fizzled for a moment. He hadn’t moved for a whole chron? He hadn’t cum, obviously, so... Then your lips parted, and you tilted your head at him. But your breath caught in your throat, and you instead shivered and looked down, your face blooming with warmth. Reaching up, you pressed the back of your hand against your mouth to suppress your whimper.

“Ah— th-thank you, I— I think I needed that nap,” you admitted, trying to scrape yourself together. “Um-“ You glanced up to see Tech’s knowing, little smile that he gave you. His hand slid down to your inner thigh, his fingers pressing into your skin. His eyes glittered with the knowledge that at the moment, the T-shirt was the only thing hiding the way your body was clenching around him, making a wet spot against his trousers, drooling all over him, coating your thighs in slick. Every time he pulsed, you felt his cock press up against your g-spot.

“Wrecker, can you hand Shiv her datapad? I think it’s still on the table,” Tech said, his voice still frustratingly calm considering how clearly desperate his body was.

You glanced up at him in a bit of despair, wondering if he was really going to still not move. Though it didn’t surprise you that Tech’s patience and endurance were so high, still. This was on the verge of being cruel. Your body clearly had been frustrated this whole time you’d been asleep, denied movement and friction.

Wrecker handed you the datapad, and you took it with a weak smile. “Thank you,” you murmured.

Tech’s hand squeezed a handful of your thigh. Stay still for me, cyar’ika. And because it was Tech, somehow the order was still coated with that enamored desperation that made you want to obey, just to give him whatever he wanted.

Leaning forward again, you rested your chin against Tech’s shoulder and propped your arms over his shoulders, opening up the datapad. You also realized that Tech had taken off your bra, though you wondered where he’d put it. Not that you cared, particularly. He leaned forward a little as well, reaching for a tool, and pressed your breasts against his chest.

You whined across the Bond, pouting at how mean he was.

He just chuckled, the loving affection pouring across the Bond a satisfactory compensation.

Wrecker sat across from you, beginning to chatter about how he’d been training. You listened, humming and nodding as you pulled up the schematics that Tech had uploaded to your datapad for Wrecker’s combat gloves. You’d been studying and modifying them so that hopefully Wrecker would be able to have them by the next mission.

Just then, Crosshair strolled in. “Hunter says there’s a bit of turbulence ahead,” he drawled, just as the ship jolted.

You let out a choked gasp as it made you rise a little and slam back down on Tech’s cock. Eyes widening, you tried to keep your composure as you gripped onto your datapad. Tech’s grunt had been lost, but the way he throbbedinside you was a sweet sort of revenge.

“Whoa.” Wrecker grabbed onto his seat. “What is it?”

“Asteroid belt,” Cross said, grabbing onto the nearest steady surface. “We have to manually fly through some of it.”

Your mind was already short circuiting. Tech had somehow gotten bigger inside of you, and you were almost on the verge of tears thanks to the way he was pressing into all your sensitive spots. At this point, you were just desperately trying to hold still while your body clamped down on his cock and inched so much closer to the edge. Tech’s hand on your lower back still somehow kept you grounded, reminding you not to move. You didn’t want to disobey. You wanted to make Tech happy.

“Hey Shiv, what’re you working on?” Wrecker asked, turning to you. The ship still dipped and swerved once in a while.

You fumbled with your datapad, connecting it to the holoscreen and transferring the data. “Your- your gloves,” you managed, trying to keep yourself at least coherent. But it was so hard when Tech’s warmth was engulfing you, his hand sweeping down your back, across your thigh, pressing your chest into his.

“I’m trying to modify them before our next mission,” you continued, highlighting the list of mods you’d created off to the side of the schematic. “These are the ones that have already been done, and these are the ones that I’d like to try to do-“

The ship jolted, taking a sharp turn up before coming straight back down and banking. This time, you barely managed to keep yourself from letting out a filthy, desperate moan. Tech had slid his hand down as though to brace you, but his thumb slid under the hem of the shirt and instead slicked up your clit.

You’re doing very well, Shiv, Tech’s voice puddled in your mind. You already came twice while you were asleep. You were so good for Hunter, do you think you could be good for me just a little longer?

So you bit back your sob and instead sank your teeth into your lip so hard you swore you’d leave a mark. You weren’t surprised that Tech knew about you and Hunter’s earlier session: Hunter always projected unconsciously once he was on sensory overload.

“That looks super cool, Shiv! I can’t wait to test it out.” Wrecker was grinning.

“Ah— sorry, Shiv. I need to grab this for a moment,” Tech said, just before moving forward and pressing his hand against your lower back. He grabbed something, then leaned back again and trailed his hand up your back.

Crosshair met your gaze across the room, his lips tilting up in a knowing smirk. His eyes swept over you, a hint of appreciation buried in his dark eyes. He said nothing, but you knew that he’d figured out exactly what was happening. You were past the point of embarrassment. Not only because your body was desperate, but also because the boys all quite clearly appreciated the projections over the Bonds and the sight of you being made a mess over and over.

The final jolt back into hyperspace proved to be too much for you. The way it pressed you wholly into Tech’s front and caused your clit to grind against his hip. The way your body clenched even wrenched a grunt from him.

The datapad fell from your weak fingers, clattering to the floor. Your head dropped down, your breaths quick and shallow as your entire face flushed, eyes fluttering closed. Lips parted, you peeled open drugged and teary eyes.

“Shiv? You okay?” Wrecker asked, looking at you in some surprise.

“Cruel, Tech,” Hunter’s amused voice came from the doorway. He jerked his head. “I’m going to go get some more shut-eye. Take care of her.” He disappeared down the hall.

“Huh?” Wrecker looked thoroughly confused.

Crosshair rolled his eyes. “Wrecker, she’s been sitting there for over a chron.”

Tech turned the chair to give Wrecker the full view. His hand slid up your thigh, bringing the edge of the shirt up as his hand traveled further up your hip and waist. “She’s been cockwarming me,” Tech said almost casually. “I wanted to see how sensitive she could get. A... pleasant experiment, if you will.”

You were shivering at that point, your mouth watering as tears slipped down your cheeks. The overstimulation was a pleasure you simultaneously wished would end and yet never stop. Your entire body felt like you were trying to completely melt into Tech, legs trembling.

Wrecker laughed, eyes lighting up. “Whoa Tech, I guess you really must have wanted it. A whole chron?” He shook his head, but his eyes trailed over you. “I mean, Shiv does look really pretty like that, though,” he admitted.

Crosshair approached, bending to tilt your chin up to his face with his finger. “Well, it looks like our little kitten is rather happy about your experiment. But also getting... desperate.” A smirk curled the corner of his lips as he stared at you through half-lidded eyes. “How... appealing.” He brushed a tear off of your chin, then straightened and walked back toward the door. “Take care of her, Tech. I’ll be back to talk to her once she’s... available.”

“Good luck, Shiv. I’m gonna go get a snack,” Wrecker said cheerfully, following Cross out the door with a wave.

“It seems as though we all liked the results of this experiment,” Tech remarked, sounding satisfied.

Your fingers curled in his shirt, nails scraping across his back. Lips parting, you breathed his name in a soft, half-drunk voice that dripped with pleasure. You wanted to cum, yes, but more than that, you wanted the satisfaction of hearing Tech praise you for not moving, for being good. Just his hand on your back and the steady affection that poured over the Bond was enough to make you seek more, whatever the means.

Tech shivered under you at the sound of his name spilling from your lips, and his fingers tightened on your waist. “You’ve done so well, cyar’ika,” he murmured, kissing your ear. “Thank you for being patient. Can I make it up to you, now?”

Your mouth watered at the idea, and you pulled back a little to be able to look up at his face. You knew you were a wreck, lips trembling and tear streaks down your face, but you wanted it. Wanted to ask.

“Can I-“ You swallowed thickly, feeling your face flush. “Can you...” You licked your lips. “In my mouth?”

Surprise flickered in his eyes for a moment, then he reached forward and cupped your face in his hands. His thumbs brushed away the tear-tracks, and his eyes softened. “If that’s what you want, of course. But I’d like to make you feel good, first.”

Your mind fuzzed with confusion. Make you feel good? But that’s literally all you’d been feeling the whole time, wasn’t it? He was the one that hadn’t cum yet.

All remaining coherent thought flew out of your head the moment Tech’s fingers found your clit. He leaned forward, drawing you into a tender kiss that sharply contrasted the way he dragged his fingers against you. His hips snapped up into you once, and you broke.

You wailed.

The pent-up release that had been building as he edged you over and over had you seeing stars, fireworks, whole galaxies. It burst inside you with a heat that washed over you and stole your breath, searing into your bones and wrenching a shattered sob from your mouth. You hardly registered that Tech’s name was spilling from your lips in a litany of prayer, too wrecked to even remember your own name.

You slowly wound down from the devastating high, trembling, tears rolling down your cheeks. Your body sparked and shuddered, humming in the aftermath in a way that left a glowing ember of satisfied warmth deep inside you. Coming undone had never so intensely walked the line of pleasure just this side of pain.

Tech’s arms were wrapping around your waist, one hand coming up to cup your face as he pulled you to lean against him. You started to register his steady stream of praise as he kissed your cheek and trailed his lips down your neck and shoulder.

“You did so well, cyar’ika. You deserve to feel good. So pretty, cumming for me.”

Your eyelashes fluttered as you slowly recovered, your body all but boneless against his chest. Snuggling into him, you tucked your face into his neck and sighed softly. You just... wanted a moment. To just press against Tech and feel his presence, his hands gently skimming over you, soothing you.

“Are you okay?” Tech checked, his voice low and inquisitive.

You hummed and nodded against his shoulder, basking in the glow of the high. “Thank you, Tech,” you murmured shyly.

He coaxed your head back so he could press a soft kiss to your lips. “For what? You’re the one who had to put up with my experiment.” The words were half-teasing, but his thumb stroked over your cheek with a tenderness that showed his mild concern.

You shook your head, reaching up to delicately brush your fingers across his face, peering up from under your lashes. “You take really good care of me, even though you’re feeling it a lot too...”

He had to be almost on the verge of pain. The way he was still buried inside you at the moment gave you an acute knowledge of how much his cock was throbbing, straining inside you.

His breath came out a bit shaky. “You come first, cyar’ika.”

Reaching up, you pulled him into a grateful kiss. Before the 501st, and even then rarely, no one had ever put you first in anything. The way the Bad Batch had taken care of you even in the middle of war had been a first in so many ways. And even now, Tech had put your wellbeing and comfort first, before his own. You wanted to return the favor.

Tech leaned into the kiss, clearly growing desperate for relief. Still, the kiss was tender for all its hunger, and his hands smoothed over your waist gently.

Pulling back, you slid out of his lap and all but puddled to the floor, your knees completely weak after the force of your orgasm. Still, that’s all you needed. Scooting forward a little, you reached out and brushed your fingers against the swollen, almost purpled head of his weeping cock. He was straining, and he let out a hiss as your fingers dragged across him. A thought struck you, and you tilted your head.

“What do you want, Tech?” you asked, your fingers smearing with your own slick coating his cock. You looked up at him, wanting to please him in the way he wanted.

He lurched forward a little, then looked down at you and panted. “I— wh-what... I...”

You paused in your stroking, your thumb rubbing on the underside. “I want you to feel good, too.”

Before he could quite help himself or stop it, a thought rocketed across the Bond. Color burst in his neck, creeping up to the tips of his ears. Despite yourself, you had to stifle a giggle and instead smile a little, wholly unsurprised even if his reaction did amuse you.

Shuffling forward, you pulled your shirt up and over your head. You had to think about it for a moment, but you decided to just give it your best shot regardless of the potential awkwardness. For Tech... you’d try your best. You pushed yourself closer to his lap, letting his straining cock fall between your breasts. Reaching up, you pushed your chest together and felt the slick slide against your skin.

Tech let out a low, tortured groan that made your already-battered body pulse with appreciation. He shuddered, eyes squeezing shut as pure pleasure flashed across his face. His eyes peeled open in time to see you kitten lick the tip of his cock just peeking from between your breasts.

Readjusting yourself, you found a position that let you move a little bit while still having access for your mouth. Sliding lower, you took the whole head into your mouth. It had swollen to the point that it was almost a struggle to get it in your mouth. The moment the heat of your mouth hit his cock, he let out a strangled moan and lurched, shuddering.

“I’m not— not going to last, Shiv,” he gasped, his whole body starting to tremble.

You lifted your mouth. “S’okay, Tech,” you said shyly. “You can use me.”

You knew that he was close, but you really had underestimated the effect the visual was having on him. You’d just stretched your mouth open around him again when he let out a half-choked cry. It took you by surprise, not expecting it that quickly.

Taken off guard, the first burst into your mouth made you squeak. Every spurt of his cum kept gathering in your mouth faster than you could swallow, and soon your mouth was completely full. It started to trickle out of the corners of your mouth, while you braced yourself for balance by splaying your palm against Tech’s stomach. His hand reached down and tangled in your hair, twitching weakly as he groaned.

He was gasping for breath by the time he rode out his high. His fingers loosened, and your mouth popped off of his cock as you fell back onto the floor. Mouth still full, you whined in protest as it started to drip out of your mouth. Some splashed onto your chest, and you lifted your fingers to your lips as you swallowed. You still hadn’t swallowed all of it by the time you opened your mouth for breath, so more of it ended up on your chest.

You pouted a little, wishing you hadn’t wasted so much. Tech’s cum, for some reason, was just enough of that tangy-sweet flavor with a hint of salt to make you not hate it. Besides, now you’d have to clean yourself off more than you’d normally have to otherwise. Looking down, you smeared a bit over your chest with your slick fingers, sticking them in your mouth.

Tech had slumped over in his chair, getting his breath back.

You crawled up closer to him again, getting his attention. “Are you okay, Tech?” you asked, a little concerned.

Tech looked at you, and his eyes riveted on your mouth, trailing down to your chest. Swallowing thickly, he nodded. “Maker, yes,” he murmured, dragging a hand through his hair.

You smiled up at him. “I’m glad.” Looking back down at yourself, you hummed. “I should go clean up again...”

“Sorry,” Tech blurted.

You looked up, surprised. “F-for what?”

“I— I made a mess...” He glanced down at you. “Didn’t get to warn you.”

You giggled. “It’s okay, Tech. I don’t mind.” You gave him a smile, standing slowly to make sure your knees would get you to the fresher. Scooping up the T-shirt, you headed for the door. “I’ll be back.”

You cleaned up, pulling the T-shirt back over yourself before heading back to the common area. Finding your poor datapad, you picked it up from where you’d dropped it. Tech came up to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Thank you, Shiv. I’m going to go get cleaned up.”

You nodded back, giving him a smile. Turning back to your datapad, you decided to resume a bit of work you’d been doing. Taking a break from Wrecker’s gloves, you pulled up a series of footage you’d meant to assess from a recent mission. Hooking up the datapad to the holoscreen, you started to scrutinize the footage.

You’d wanted to see if you could better understand Crosshair’s personal preferences as far as vantage point and strengths went in order to better accommodate for him. Though you did know a few of his tells as a sniper, you still felt a little in the dark when it came to any patterns he had. You wanted to try to see if you could learn anything more, also wanting to see how he handled you as a weapon from an outsider’s perspective. Sometimes, it helped you adjust better.

As usual, you lost yourself in the familiar work and completely lost track of your surroundings. Hands wrapped around your waist, settling on your hips and bringing you out of your focused haze.

“Well, it looks like I found our little kitten doing something interesting,” a voice hummed into your ear, low and smooth.

Color leaped into your face as you gasped, pulled back into his chest. “O-oh, Crosshair...”

One hand anchoring your hip to him, his other hand started to trail up your front. “And what exactly were you doing, Shiv?” he drawled, lazy but not displeased.

You swallowed. “I— I was trying to analyze footage a little more,” you answered, voice pitching a little higher. “I just— I feel like I don’t know your preferences enough, and- and I wanted to see if I could do— do better for you—“

Crosshair’s fingers came up to your neck, tracing the side of your throat down to your shoulder. “Is that right? Don’t you think we should be the ones analyzing you a little more?”

The comment had something.... else to it. An edge that made you pause, tilting your head to look up into his face. Was he upset about something?

A soft sigh blew over your skin, the only way you even knew he’d done it at all. “We stood by and watched as you fought the Guardian and weren’t able to do anything. Didn’t even know you could fight like that. What’s the point in having you be our weapon if we don’t even know anything about you?”

You closed your eyes. “It’s not your fault if I didn’t tell you,” you pointed out quietly. “And I... I should have, I know. That’s on me, not you.”

Cross grunted. “You blame yourself too much,” he grumbled.

You gasped as his teeth sank into the crook of your neck, not hard enough to bruise but definitely enough for you to feel it. Your back arched automatically, though his fingers tightened around your throat and held your head back and neck accessible.

Your eyes squeezed shut as your fingers grappled against his trousers for some sort of stability. Everything seemed to be spinning, Crosshair’s mouth hot against your skin. His hand on your hip pulled you into him, and he ground against your ass in a way that left you squirming on the verge of embarrassment. He chuckled.

“Is my little kitten going to be good for me?” A hint of stubble rasped against your neck, leaving you shuddering.

“Yes,” you whimpered, already trembling. Cross may not have been physically as large or intimidating as Wrecker, but the lithe strength in his arms and the deft confidence of his thin, calloused fingers did something to you that left you utterly weak.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured, voice slick. His hand slid under the oversized T-shirt, trailing up your hip. His fingers hooked on your underwear, playing with the fabric. His mouth moved lazily over the back of your neck as he tilted your head forward a little for access.

“Next time we make a stop, I think we’re going to have go get you some... things, hmm?” he remarked casually, just as his hand twisted.

The underwear snapped, slipping off of your hips and leaving you feeling oddly... vulnerable. You trusted Crosshair with your life, of course. But somehow... you felt so much more self-conscious around him than the others. Maybe it was the way you couldn’t read him as easily as the others? Or just the way he tended to not be as expressive as the others toward you? What was it that made you cherish his affection in such a different way compared to the others?

Crosshair nudged you forward, letting your hands land against the holotable for support. His other hand let go of your hip, only to slide your shirt up over your back before reaching back to unzip his trousers.

“You seemed to enjoy Tech’s experiments,” he noted, fingers sliding around your hip. His fingers spread you open, revealing how slick you were already. “And do you think you can take me too?”

You nodded faintly, then gasped as his cock slid against you. “I don’t think I heard you, kitten,” he drawled.

“Y-yes, I-I can,” you stammered, already shivering. Your body felt hypersensitive, both from your previous session with Tech as well as the way Cross somehow knew exactly how to touch you in every sensitive spot. Had he really observed you that much-?

He slid two fingers into your mouth, letting you suck on them as he kept a vise-like grip on your jaw. The movement was simple, but the way it made you feel so completely controlled, trapped between him and the table, made you go pliant. He handled your body as confidently as he did your Rifle form, tracing over you with a sort of muted reverence that you began to recognize as your memory drew parallels. The confidence was reassuring, as though he were subconsciously saying that you could trust him, that he knew how to handle you expertly, that you could leave it in his capable hands.

You whimpered around his fingers as your mind fully leaned into the reassurance, leaving you open and pliant to him.

“That’s right, Shiv.” Crosshair’s voice slid around you, through you. “Bend over.”

You obeyed almost without thinking, sliding down onto your elbows and then completely collapsing against the table. The cool metal pressed against your cheek, and your eyes fluttered closed as your breath shallowed. Your lips parted in a soft moan as you felt Cross start to slide into you.

For a moment, he only kept the tip in you, letting you flutter around him and adjust. Then he reached down and pulled both of your legs up, pushing them up on the table so you looked like you were in a sitting position, your legs both on one side and pulled against his hip. His fingers wrapped around your ankle like a vise, just as he thrust up into you.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the table as you choked.

It was the first time Cross had actually penetrated you, and it was already about to drive you over the edge. His cock was long, and while not as thick as Tech, it definitely stretched you in different ways. He pressed up inside you in depths you didn’t know were possible. You swore you could taste him in your throat, he was so far inside you.

Bending over you, Cross started to mercilessly fuck up into you, barely giving you a moment to breathe. The way he had your legs together and bent up put a pressure on your clit that spiked every time he bottomed out; and at the pace he’d set, you could feel yourself careening closer to the edge. He grunted, his iron grasp on your hips definitely about to leave bruises littered over your skin.

His hand tangled in your hair, pulling so he could lower his mouth back onto your throat. Every other thrust was punctuated with a sloppy kiss to your neck, a contrast that only made you moan louder. Your body rocked with the brutal pace, and you could swear that Cross was molding you around his cock.

Somewhere in the jumble of your mind, his name managed to slur off of your tongue. You weren’t sure how or why, but your mind was starting to blur and fuzz, focusing solely on the way Crosshair’s body was hunched over yours, his hands controlling you so deftly, taking control over your body, your pleasure. Everything else faded into the background, until all you knew was him, and the way his fingers wrapped around your throat as he fucked you into the table.

You weren’t sure how long you drifted in the haze, but when you managed to focus, you found yourself gazing up into Crosshair’s dark eyes. His thin lips tilted in a smug smile as he noticed.

“Looks like someone’s back.” He raised an eyebrow. “Well then. How about you cum for me, hmm?” a hint of amused indulgence laced his tone. “You want it Shiv, don’t you? To cum all over me like the cock-dumb kitten you are?”

You whined, the pressure around your throat grounding you just enough to keep you present. The pleasure kept flowing through your body like a steady, unrelenting stream, smothering you. You did want it. Wanted to please him.

He leaned closer, not letting up his pace as his hips continued to snap up into you. “Such a good kitten,” he murmured, “with my fingers wrapped around your pretty little throat. Cum for me, Shiv. Show me how good I make you feel.”

It drove you off the cliff. Your orgasm seemed to burst from inside you, rippling up through your veins, your limbs, arching your body. It sent a wave of white heat washing through you, leaving you weak and completely lax in its wake. A sob spilled weakly from your lips as you opened tear-filled eyes to focus on him through the pleasure.

Crosshair let go of your throat, his jaw clenching as he stared down at your face. His hips started to stutter, his chest heaving with breath.

Swallowing thickly, you reached up and traced the tattoo that ringed his eye and trailed down his cheek. “Please, Cross,” you murmured dreamily. “Please, cum inside me.”

His shoulders locked as he snapped his hips into you one last time. A low groan hissed between his gritted teeth as he came, still buried deep inside you.

The liquid heat pooled inside you, and your eyelashes fluttered with contentment.

Crosshair's breath washed over your ear. "You're ours, Shiv," he murmured, voice husky with the high.

"Yours," you repeated obediently, your fingers tangling in the front of his shirt. Sleepiness plucked heavily at your eyes, the aftermath of three sessions tugging insistently at your consciousness.

"Mmm, fresher first, kitten," Cross chided. His arms slid around you, lifting you up as he slid out of you.

You whined in protest, leaning against his shoulder, even though you knew he was right. Everything was too comfortable, the sleepiness heavy and warm.

"I'll take you to Wrecker's bunk once you're done. Clean up." Cross stayed unmovable, his voice dry as he set you down on your feet in front of the fresher.

But you still clung to his shirt for another moment, looking up at his angled face and dark eyes. A wistfulness flitted through you as you wished that you could stay with him for a little while longer. But you didn't want to ask, didn't want to bother him.

He raised an eyebrow, his hand on your waist steadying your weak legs. "Unless you want to start dripping everywhere, Shiv," he glanced pointedly down at you, "though I wouldn't complain." He smirked.

You swallowed, then looked down. "O-okay," you mumbled, shuffling into the fresher. Even as you sluggishly cleaned yourself though, you had to swallow back a few tears. You weren't entirely sure why, but something in you so desperately craved to be near Cross, to just receive some form of quiet reassurance from him through just a touch or word that he... he cared.

Shaking your head and smearing away the tears, you sucked in a steadying breath and walked back out of the fresher. You'd slowly lost some article of clothing to each of them along the way, so now all you had was the oversized T-shirt. Wobbling back out, you found yourself a bit startled to see Cross still standing there by the doorway, a toothpick clenched between his teeth.

He jacked himself off of the wall and approached you. Bending a little, he picked you up effortlessly and began walking down the hallway of the ship. Ducking into a room, he walked over to the bed.

Wrecker looked up in surprise. "Oh, Cross, Shiv." He grinned. His head tilted as he observed you. "You alright, Shiv?"

You nodded faintly, not trusting your voice not to break. Cross set you down on the bed, while Wrecker shifted over to make room. Then Cross rolled his eyes.

"Move, Wrecker."

"Alright, alright, I'm moving," Wrecker whined, shuffling to the back of his bunk. Lying down next to you, he reached out and gently pulled your back to his chest, wrapping his large arm around your waist. His warmth pressed up behind you, easing some of the pain that curled in your chest.

Then, to your surprise, Crosshair slid into the bunk in front of you. Wordlessly, eyes half-lidded, he scooted closer and ran his hand down your side.

Hesitantly, you squirmed closer, tangling your fingers in the chest of his shirt again. You could feel the warmth of his body under your fingertips, and you bit your lip and glanced up at him tentatively.

Something flickered through his eyes as he gazed down at you, his hand gripping your thigh. "Do I make you uncomfortable?"

Your eyes widened, and you immediately shook your head adamantly. "No!" you blurted, your face crumpling despite yourself. "No-" your voice cracked.

Cross sighed, his thumb stroking over your bare skin. "You seem hesitant around me."

Tears welled in your eyes. "No— I-I'm just never sure if... if I'm bothering you, and-" You sniffled, the ache in your chest deepening. "I—I look up to you so much, Cross," you confessed. "Every time you let me Transfer with you and- and I can be near you or with you, I... it makes me feel so safe. I just-" your shoulders hitched, "I want to make you happy, but I feel like... like I never know if it's okay to get close to you. I don't want to bother you..."

Crosshair pulled you closer, tucking your leg up over his hip so you fit against him like a puzzle piece. "You don't bother me, Shiv," he said, voice low. "We've all been... worried about you."

You nodded, pushing your face into his chest. You decided to take the risk and reached out over the Bond, asking for attention. The Bond lit with acknowledgement, more subdued than the others' but still undeniably there. Crosshair's attention was quietly intense, making up for its more subtle nature.

Shyly, you pushed across your feelings. The way you felt safe around him, the way you looked up to his stern concentration of his craft, his diligence in working, his attention to keeping his teammates safe. The way whenever his lithe fingers handled you, whether weapon or body, it soothed and comforted you regardless of what was happening. The way you wanted his approval, his attention.

Cheeks flushing, you peeked up at him from where you'd buried your face into his chest. A hint of a smile crossed his thin lips, and his dark eyes softened as they observed you.

Reaching up, he brushed his thumb across your cheek. "Good girl, cod'ika," he murmured.

Relief burst through you as he accepted your feelings. Even though all you felt over the Bond was a soft pulse of acknowledgement and a hint of pleased affection, it was more than enough. Cross didn't need to say much to make his point, and you realized better than before that every word he spoke to you was deliberate, honest. None of his words even in the heat of pleasure were idle or empty. You clung to the knowledge, soothed with the reassurance that Cross did care, in his own unique way.

"Thank you," you whispered shyly, knowing that he didn't have to reassure you. But he cared enough about you to listen, to answer.

Wrecker grumbled behind you, scooting forward so he pressed more tightly against your back. "Share a little, Cross," he groaned, "Shiv is soft and warm and I wanna feel."

Cross rolled his eyes, the moment broken. "Selfish."

"Hey!" Wrecker protested, leaning his chin against the top of your head. "You're the selfish one here-"

You giggled, tugging at Wrecker's hand to drape over both you and Crosshair. "Let me take a nap, Wrecker, and then I'll let you cuddle more," you promised. Letting out a wide yawn, you snuggled into both of them. "Love you," you murmured sleepily.

"Love you too, Shiv!" Wrecker squeezed you.

"Kar'taylir darasuum, cod'ika," Crosshair murmured in your ear.

You fell asleep to warmth, content.

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Vino

Day 25, Post #1 by @thedistantdusk

Title: Vino Author/Artist: TheDistantDusk Pairing: Harry/Ginny Prompt: In Vino Veritas Rating: E (to be safe) for smutty references.    Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Drinking (everyone of legal age). Frank discussion of sex acts. 

They started drinking at 1 PM. 

It seemed the best way to spend the day together before the Hogsmeade day — not weekend, much to Harry’s disappointment— reached its untimely conclusion. He had to cancel the upstairs room he rented for them, too, which he’s still not chuffed about, and not just because they’d definitely have shagged.

Because with Ginny, It’s more than just physical. It’s always been more than just physical. He misses her… deeply, hollowly misses her. It’s a constant ache in the pit of his stomach, like there’s always part of him that’s somewhere else. They had to settle for a heated snog behind the Three Broomsticks before heading in to escape the cold, but that hadn’t been enough. For either of them.

Of course, on the surface he pretended to understand the sudden change of events. It’s a particularly cold February, so cold that McGonagall was close to canceling the Hogsmeade visit altogether. According to Ginny, she only settled for an early dismissal instead when the student body threatened to mutiny. So Ginny’s due back at 6 now, which truly is shit, but anything is better than not seeing her at all.

Harry blinks at his beautiful girlfriend across the table and wonders why she’s been withdrawn today. Distant. At first, he chalked this up to school stress. After all, she is quidditch captain. He knows firsthand how stressful that can be— and while he’d held the captaincy, NEWTS hadn’t even been on the horizon yet. He also hadn’t dealt with a castle full of ghosts and sadness and distorted memories. 

After the drinks started flowing, though, it became clear that school stress wasn’t the issue. Or at least not the biggest one. When she finished her first pint, she started sending him these fleeting looks of puzzlement in between updating him on the Hogwarts gossip. Her second and third pints brought even greater looks of scrutiny.  Now that she’s midway through her fourth pint, she’s full-on staring at him. For the past twenty minutes, he’s felt a bit like an animal in a zoo. Harry hasn’t known what to do about that, really. As much as he loves her, Ginny’s not known for her subtlety. Or patience. She’s always come outright with any concerns or problems, always addressed them head-on. So this constant look of confusion has been… well, confusing. Harry handled the last twenty minutes the best way he knows how: drinking more, holding her hand across the table, and waiting for her to take the lead. He offers a tiny smile and reaches for his pint. He’s content to wait as long as she needs, for whatever she needs.  As it turns out, though, he decides to take a drink at the worst possible moment. Had he been looking, he would’ve seen her cock her head and open her mouth as she reached some sort of internal breaking point. Unfortunately, he just brings his pint glass to his lips instead. So for better or worse, all he hears is the question itself.  “Why do you go down on me so much?” Harry immediately chokes on his beer. It splatters down his front, coating the table in amber specks. He apologizes through a cough and grapples with a napkin, but Ginny remains unfazed. “I… erm.” He coughs again, shaking his head. “Sorry. Wasn't expecting—” “And I’m not complaining,” she says quickly, resting her chin on her palm. “I mean, obviously.”  Oh? He relishes the blush that creeps up her neck. “Then what are—” “It’s just…” She sighs, peering down at her pint glass. “I’ve spoken to Luna about it, and as much as she—"

“You’ve… you’ve spoken to Luna about this?” he asks weakly, head spinning. “Who else—?”

  Ginny plows on as if she hasn’t heard him. “I just figured, I guess, that when we properly started shagging you’d do it less. But you erm… haven’t. So.”

  There’s a pause as the blush from before creeps over her entire face. 

  Harry takes another cautious sip of his pint as a raucous peal of laughter erupts behind him. A firm reminder that they’re very much in public. He squints at the woodgrain on the table. Why is that turning him on even more?

  “Erm… what exactly do you want to know?” he asks after a minute, surprised at how graveled his voice sounds. 

  Ginny sighs, still holding her face in her hands. “Just that, really,” she murmurs, tongue coming out to wet her lips. Fuck. He grips his glass even tighter. “I just… I want to know. Why do you do it so much?” 

  “Erm…” Harry winces. He realizes he’s been saying that a lot.

Ginny’s hand comes up to rest on his, and it’s only when she speaks again that he realizes how drunk she truly is. “Take as long as you need,” she slurs sagely, peering into his eyes. “I’ve been waiting to hear these words for a long time, Harry.” 

And he’d laugh, probably, if this entire concept didn’t terrify him a bit to explain. 

  Bloody words. 

  He twists his pint glass, watching as foam overlaps its white-capped ring. Words have never been his strong suit. How, exactly, is he meant to convert this string of images and feelings into something resembling an explanation? 

  But it’s clearly something she wants answered. Something that’s probably bothered her for longer than she wants to admit. So Harry shuts his eyes, trying to remember, trying to think. 

  He honestly hadn’t given the concept much thought until sixth year. He knew that… general activity… happened before they started dating— obviously. The twins (perhaps deliberately) left enough moving magazines around the Burrow to leave little to the imagination. So he’d seen wizards doing it. They seemed to enjoy it almost as much as the witches splayed out in front of them. Harry just hadn’t considered, really, that he’d ever do it for any reason other than paying his dues. It seemed a simple act of reciprocity. Something one did out of expectation rather than genuine interest. 

  A wry smile creeps across his lips when he thinks about that particular misconception. Because that’s the furthest from the truth, isn’t it? Their relationship flashes through his mind like a film reel. The first time his thigh slipped between her legs as they snogged on the lawn. The pride that swelled in his chest as she wrapped her thighs around it, clutching it as close to her center as she could as she rocked, rocked, rocked. 

  Fuck, how he’d cherished the trousers he wore that day, too. For over a year, they were the closest thing he had to her knickers— and even then, he stole that first pair of knickers right off her. Though perhaps “stole” was the wrong word, because that implied some degree of secrecy… and there was nothing secret about it. He just winked at her as he pulled those blue knickers down her thighs and stuffed them in his trouser pocket. Ginny stared down at him, her chest flushed and heaving. He felt like the most powerful person alive before he even started, and when he actually did… 

  Fuck.

  He returns to the present and adjusts himself beneath the table. 

  “I… erm,” he starts, clearing his throat. “I guess I’m… well, I’ve never been good at….” He makes a broad gesture. “Touch. Yeah?”

  Ginny blinks. “Touch?”

  Harry nods, biting inside his cheek. “Erm. When I kissed you in the common room in sixth year, that was the first time I really understood I could, you know, touch you. To make you happy. To…” He huffs out a sigh, his thoughts growing more sluggish. He sifts through them for a few seconds before reaching the answer he’s searched for all along. 

  “I erm. I figured out pretty quickly that I could use touch to turn you on,” he admits to the woodgrain. “And erm… for someone who wasn’t used to touching, that was pretty… nice. To learn I had that power.” 

  His whole face feels red-hot, like it might combust at any second, but he takes her silence as a cue to continue. 

  “Anyway. As soon as we started snogging, I really wanted to do it, but obviously we didn’t get the chance at school. So instead I thought about it. Wanked about it. For months.” He lets out a slow breath through his nose and focuses on a wood beam above their heads. 

  Has he ever admitted to a specific wanking fantasy before? He doesn’t think so. 

  “Continue.” Ginny’s voice warbles through his thoughts. 

  He swallows and tilts his head down to face her again, pleased to see that confusion has evaporated from her face entirely. Now she’s looking… uncomfortable… for entirely different reasons. 

  Harry smirks; he’s liking this whole opening-up thing more than he thought. But what else to tell her… hmm.

  “Well, we both know I wasn’t great at first, of course,” he says, shrugging. “But you were erm. A good teacher.” He bites his lip again and remembers those early, awkward days when she still needed to shift against his face, to direct him where he needed to go.

Even back then, she lost all sense of decorum pretty fast; that was always his favorite part, really… when she started in with the deep moans, commanding him to add more fingers, to keep them in place, to crook them against her. There was no sense of accomplishment greater than the way she gripped his ears, his hair, his shoulders, her thighs clenching around his entire face as she choked out his name. Being surrounded by her— pressing his tongue against the final pulses of her clit as she rhythmically clenched against his fingers— made him feel more complete than anything else. It left her dazed and gasping; it left him feeling not only useful, but powerful. Necessary. 

  The whole ordeal's made him come in his trousers, actually. More than once. And speaking of trousers…

  Harry clears his throat. “You could’ve asked a while ago, you know,” he says as casually as he can with a raging hard-on. “Back when I took your knickers, even. I want you to tell me if you have a question about anything. Ok?” He swallows, finally blinking up at her.

  Shit. 

  If she looked distracted before, it’s nothing compared to now. She’s just peering at him with lips parted, chest heaving, eyes unfocused. One hand is balled into a fist on the table top, the other gripping on her thigh.

  Ginny eventually rips her eyes away with an annoyed whimper. “Fucking fuck,” she mutters, rubbing her temples. “I’m so fucking turned on.” 

  Harry laughs and finishes his pint, his chest bubbling with pride. “I guess that’s a yes.”