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sweettu1ips · 17 days ago

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PAIGE BUECKERS x FEM!READER

REQUEST: Can you do one where Paige and get gf get caught making out (or full on doing it) in one of the team facilities and they get bullied (in all good faith) for the entire day but the next day they show up with hickeys on their necks and the whole team including coaches see and teammates make fun of them. Later in the day they see hickeys on their thighs and asked crazy questions again and do not let it go | request here

WARNING(S): (18+) slight smut ⋮ oral (r!receiving) ⋮ hickeys on neck + thighs ⋮ making out ⋮ getting caught ⋮ teasing ⋮ established relationship ⋮ think that's all ..

WORD COUNT: 4.9K

| MAIN MASTER LIST |

THE GYM STILL PULSED with the ghost of motion, the energy of the game clinging to the air like an echo that refused to fade.

The sharp squeak of sneakers on polished hardwood still lingered in my ears, phantom footsteps chasing each other across the court.

The overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting long shadows that stretched and swayed as if they, too, were reluctant to let the night end.

The air was thick—humid with the weight of bodies in motion, steeped in the sharp, briny scent of sweat and adrenaline.

It wrapped around us, a heady mixture of exertion and something else, something less tangible but more intoxicating. Something unspoken yet undeniable.

Laughter and chatter rippled through the gym as teammates gathered their things, shoving each other playfully, shoulders bumping, voices overlapping.

The scent of worn leather and cooling skin mixed with the artificial sweetness of sports drinks, the occasional pop of a water bottle cap punctuating the noise. One by one, they trickled out, disappearing into the night, the open world waiting to swallow them whole.

But not us.

Paige and I lingered, the pretense of duty draped loosely over us like a threadbare excuse. Gathering stray basketballs, stacking neon cones, looping resistance bands over our arms—movements automatic, practiced, but our minds were elsewhere.

The silence between us wasn’t empty; it was charged, humming with the friction of something unspoken but growing louder with every second.

It had started during practice, or maybe even before that. The slow, burning awareness of each other, the weight of her gaze when she thought I wasn’t looking. The brush of her fingers against my back, my waist, my hip—each touch fleeting but deliberate, setting my skin ablaze in ways a full game never could.

This wasn’t just cleanup.

This was stalling.

Dragging out these last few moments before the inevitable pull became impossible to resist.

Every stolen glance, every fleeting brush of her fingertips had been kindling to a fire that had long since ignited—its embers buried beneath my skin, glowing, crackling, spreading like molten honey through my veins.

Heat curled in the pit of my stomach, thick and insistent, twisting like smoke from a slow-burning wick, waiting for the moment it would finally catch, finally consume.

Even now, as I stood gripping a stack of disc cones, I could feel the weight of her gaze—heavy, dragging over me like a painter’s brush, tracing every line, every curve with a deliberate slowness.

Mapping the length of my legs, the dip of my waist, the way my sweat-slicked shorts clung to me like a second skin.

Paige wasn’t just looking. She was studying. Committing me to memory in a way that sent a sharp, thrilling ache curling between my ribs.

"Are you even listening?" I narrowed my eyes, placing the cones inside the storage room, my voice sharper than I intended, though it did nothing to break her focus.

Paige didn’t answer.

Instead, she moved—fluid, intentional, her every step humming with a quiet sort of control that made my breath catch. Her hands, warm and unyielding, found my wrist, her grip sending a jolt of anticipation up my arm, down my spine. She tugged me into the narrow hall, the space suddenly feeling too small, too charged, her body a live wire against mine.

Her eyes flickered around, scanning for stragglers, but the way her fingers tightened just slightly around my wrist told me everything.

I knew that look.

And I knew exactly where this was going.

And then, before I could even shape her name into something solid, before the thought of resistance could form, she was moving—swift and sure, pushing open the locker room door, guiding me inside with a silent kind of urgency that sent a sharp thrill down my spine.

The heavy door swung shut behind us, the world outside fading into nothing but muffled echoes, leaving only the pulse of her presence, the charged air stretching taut between us.

“Paige—”

I barely breathed it, barely formed the syllables before my back met cold wood, the shock of it biting through the heat coiling in my veins.

The wooden locker bench rattled behind me, a hollow clang swallowed by the hush of the room, by the press of her body against mine—so warm, so solid, so devastatingly close.

The air crackled between us, thick with something unspoken, something waiting to snap. My skin burned, every nerve alive with the anticipation of her touch, every cell in my body tuned to her. And then—

Then, she kissed me.

It was reckless, molten, a kiss that stole the breath from my lungs and replaced it with fire. Her lips crashed into mine, not tentative, not teasing, but claiming. A collision of want and heat, of something that had been simmering too long, finally spilling over.

The weight of her against me, the way her hands grasped at my hips like she couldn’t stand the distance—God, it was intoxicating.

I gasped into her mouth, fingers clutching at the fabric of her jersey, dragging her closer, needing more, needing her in a way that felt primal. But it still wasn’t enough.

I needed her like a body needs air. Like fire needs oxygen to burn.

I let my hands slip beneath the edge of her jersey, fingertips grazing the soft warmth of her skin, pulling it up slowly as if I could feel every inch of her body alive beneath my touch.

The smooth curve of her waist, the hard lines of muscle beneath, each shift of her body beneath my hands made me ache with a need that settled low in my belly. Every ridge, every dip of her form seemed to hum against my skin.

A shiver ran through Paige, sharp and electric, as my fingers traced the contours of her body.

The quiet groan that rose from her chest vibrated through me like a low hum, something primal, something desperate, and it cut through the haze of wanting, striking me like a blade to the heart.

My own pulse quickened, blood rushing to my ears, the ache inside me sharp and deep.

And then—without warning—I was lifted.

Paige’s hands slid beneath my thighs, strong and steady, lifting me effortlessly as though I weighed nothing at all. My back left the cool, hard wood of the lockers, and I was weightless for a moment—caught in the air, held in her arms.

Her strength was a kind of magic, and when she set me down on the couch, I could feel the weight of her presence settling between my legs. Her body pressed into mine, full of warmth and heat, every inch of her against me—so close that my head spun, my breath shallow and ragged.

The pressure of her, the force of her body moving against mine, made my chest tighten with a craving so raw it nearly stole the air from my lungs.

Her lips left mine, trailing a path of fire down my jaw, each kiss a whispered promise, each breath a silent plea. Her mouth found the curve of my neck, her breath warm and soft, sending shivers skittering across my skin.

She paused at my pulse, lips brushing, then pressing firmly as she sucked—tender, then teasing, then possessive in a way that made my body arch instinctively towards her.

I gasped, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, not caring if she could hear my desperate need in the way I tugged at her, urging her deeper into me. A sigh slipped from her lips, vibrating against my skin, and I felt it all the way down to my bones.

Goosebumps rippled along my skin in the wake of her touch, each fingertip leaving a trail of fire and ice in its wake, as if her hands were both a balm and a blaze.

The contrast was sharp—cool, electrifying shivers meeting the molten heat pooling low in my stomach, a tension so thick it pulled tight across my chest.

My hands roamed the wide expanse of her back, tracing every sinew, every curve, as though trying to memorize the way her muscles moved beneath soft skin. I felt the subtle shift of her posture, the delicate flex of her body as she adjusted, as she pressed closer, her breath mingling with mine.

Each movement was deliberate, every inch of contact like a silent conversation—an exchange of yearning and promise.

We were caught in the tide of something that wasn’t just lust, wasn’t just the desperate need of bodies craving each other.

No, it was thicker than that, heavier—like a dark, intoxicating storm that rolled in without warning, flooding me with a desire that felt like drowning, but in the best way possible.

The ache in my chest, the throbbing pull in my veins, was more than just physical. It was the quiet desperation to feel her, to be with her, to lose myself in the space where she and I collided. We were fire and fuel, each breath a flame that threatened to consume us whole.

When Paige’s lips found mine again, it was slower, deeper—an unraveling.

The kiss wasn’t frantic; it was a quiet, lingering hunger, a study of each other’s mouth, of the rhythm we created, of the way our bodies knew how to bend and fit together, like two puzzle pieces that had been waiting their entire lives to meet.

Each brush of her lips was a gentle claim, a slow unraveling of tension that had been wound too tight. My hands tangled in her hair, urging her closer, needing the weight of her against me, needing to feel the full depth of her hunger.

My lungs burned, but I didn’t care.

Paige wasn’t just my breath.

She was the wildfire consuming me, turning everything to ash and desire, leaving only the scorched remnants of myself behind.

Paige’s back was faced towards the door, her body a steady, comforting presence against mine. We were so lost in each other, the touch of her hands, the press of her lips, the weight of her gaze—that everything else in the world faded away.

The hum of the gym, the sounds of our teammates disappearing into the distance, the lingering burn in our muscles—all of it dissolved into the quiet intimacy of the locker room.

We were cocooned in our own world, where nothing existed but the electric pulse of our skin against each other.

The only sound was the rhythmic thumping of our hearts, syncing in a frantic dance that echoed through the silence, our bodies swaying as if guided by some magnetic pull.

But then came the footsteps.

A faint shuffle at first, barely perceptible, but loud enough to snap us back to reality, to shatter the fragile bubble we had created. The sound of sneakers against tile grew louder, sharper, like a warning bell ringing in the distance. Panic flared up in my chest, sudden and hot.

Before I could process the rush of alarm, the door slammed open with a loud crack that felt like it shattered the space between us.

The sound echoed in the room, jarring us from the fragile cocoon we had woven around ourselves.

My body jerked back, nearly losing balance, but Paige’s hands were like fire on my waist, quick and strong, anchoring me as I crashed into her.

Her breath hitched in shock, her eyes wide with surprise, but there was a flash of something else too—anger, protective and fierce—as she twisted around, her gaze sharpening into a glare, directed at the intruder as if daring them to even think about encroaching on our space.

Her posture was all fire, like a lioness ready to protect her territory, and I felt the power of it settle deep in my chest. The room felt smaller now, but it wasn’t the tightness of walls—no, it was the weight of being caught, of being exposed, that made the air thicken.

We pulled apart, hearts still racing, our faces flushed with the rush of embarrassment and the remnants of heat we couldn’t shake.

But when our eyes found the source of the interruption, it wasn’t anger we felt—it was an awkward jolt of vulnerability.

Our friends stood in the doorway, their wide eyes taking in the scene, none of them saying a word, but their grins spoke volumes. Ice, ever the instigator, raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly, knowing smile.

My heart was pounding, and I could feel the heat creeping up my neck, my cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and confusion.

The air between us was thick, suffocating with the pressure of what had just been interrupted, but the doorframe suddenly filled with the faces of our friends—wide-eyed, mouths agape.

And then Ice’s voice cut through the tension, teasing, light but pointed, as her grin stretched across her face like a wolf circling prey.

“I’m sorry, were you two...?” she drawled, her voice dripping with mischief as she let the question hang in the air. The rest of the team filed in behind her, already laughing, already knowing—too much, too soon.

“Nothing happened!” I shot back instantly, the words tumbling out too quickly, too defensively. My face burned, hotter than anything Paige had made me feel just moments before.

“Nothing, huh?” Sarah’s voice was laced with playful challenge as she gave us a knowing, half-smirk. “We’ll just tell Coach then, no big deal.”

“Shut up!” Paige muttered, her voice thick with laughter that didn’t quite cover the surprise still rattling through her. She tried to brush it off, but it was clear—she was as flustered as I was, and the teasing was only beginning.

Azzi’s voice rang out across the room, teasing and loud, almost playful enough to pierce through the tension.

“You guys are so cute,” she teased, the words thick with a mix of affection and mockery. “Kissing in the locker room like it’s a rom-com!”

“Yeah, how long have you two been sneaking around, huh? Making out after practice?” KK’s voice joined in, her grin cheeky, her wink a clear challenge.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, leaning into Paige’s side for support, her warmth grounding me even as the teasing escalated.

She wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer, her own quiet laugh vibrating against my ear as we tried to cover the embarrassment we both felt.

But the teasing didn’t stop there. It continued in small bursts—every casual glance from across the room felt like a spotlight, every whisper coated in an undertone of knowing.

The rest of the team didn’t let up. For the rest of the day, we were the subject of every whispered conversation, every sly look, every playful jab.

It was harmless, all in good fun—but still, the intensity of it all made us feel like the center of a universe we hadn’t meant to create.

THE NEXT DAY:

Last night had been something out of a fever dream—clothes flung carelessly across the room, the lingering scent of sweat and skin, the remnants of our desperation painted in bruises along our bodies.

Every inch of me ached, a slow burn of pleasure and exertion coiling beneath my skin, a testament to the way we had taken each other apart, piece by piece, only to put ourselves back together again.

But the morning… the morning was no different.

A slow, building sensation—warmth pooling low in my belly, something slick and wet teasing against the most sensitive part of me.

Even in the haze of sleep, it sent shivers up my spine. My breath hitched, my legs twitching beneath the sheets as pleasure stirred me from the edges of unconsciousness.

Then came the first real stroke of her tongue, languid, deliberate. My hips jerked slightly, a moan slipping past my parted lips.

“Oh, fuck—” My voice was rough with sleep, my fingers blindly searching for something—anything—to hold onto as my body arched against the touch.

My eyelids fluttered open, the dim light of morning spilling through the curtains, and there she was. Paige, mouth hot and eager against my folds, licking into me like a woman possessed.

She pulled back just enough to press a kiss to the inside of my thigh, her breath warm against my damp skin.

“Good morning, baby.”

Her voice was thick with amusement, smug and knowing, before she dove back in, this time wrapping her lips around my clit and sucking, sending a jolt of electricity straight through me.

My back arched off the mattress, a sharp gasp tearing from my throat, my hands tangling in the sheets.

I kicked off the duvet, the fabric pooling at my waist, revealing Paige in all her sinful glory—hair twisted into a messy bun, blue eyes locked onto mine, her mouth glistening with me.

My legs were thrown over her strong shoulders, her grip bruising against my thighs as she held me open for her, completely at her mercy.

And God, she looked starved.

"M’sorry," she groaned, voice muffled as her lips pressed deeper against me, her mouth hot and unrelenting.

The apology was empty—pointless—because the moment her tongue flattened and dragged through my folds, all I could do was arch into her, thighs trembling.

A shuddering gasp tore from my lips as the vibration of her words rippled through me. "Got hungry, baby," she murmured, her grip on my hips loosening just enough to tease me with the absence. One hand left its place, drifting lower, a featherlight caress against my entrance that had me keening.

And then—Paige filled me.

Two fingers, warm and deft, stretched me open with a slow, deliberate thrust, the kind that sent a sharp, needy cry tumbling from my lips. My breath hitched, nails clawing into the sheets as pleasure curled low and deep, winding through me like a live wire.

"Please," I gasped, voice shaking, body trembling against her.

She didn’t make me wait. Paige was never cruel like that. Her fingers curled inside me, finding that devastating spot with a precision so sharp, so consuming, that my vision blurred at the edges.

A white-hot rush seared through my spine, my back arching off the mattress as my legs quivered beneath her touch.

"Right there," I moaned, voice raw, desperate. "Right there, baby."

She hummed in satisfaction, her lips never straying far from where she wanted to worship me.

Open-mouthed kisses burned along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, her tongue flicking over the heat she left behind before she latched on, sucking slow, deep, claiming.

A moan spilled from my lips as I felt it—the mark she was leaving, a deep bloom of purple, a whisper of her possession etched into my skin.

"Paige!" I cried out, my hips jerking when she finally—finally—attached her lips to my swollen clit. The sensation was instant, electric.

The dual assault of her mouth and fingers—sucking, stroking, curling—had me spiraling, toes curling into the sheets as heat pooled molten in my belly.

My thighs tensed around her head, every muscle locking up, strung tight with the unbearable need for release.

My walls clenched around her fingers, desperate, unrelenting, pulling her deeper.

A strangled sound ripped from my throat as my head fell back, drowning in it, lost in her.

"Ugh—baby, I’m so close," I whimpered, voice breaking, pleasure surging in waves. "Please—please, don’t stop."

"Come for me, princess," Paige murmured, her voice dark, coaxing, dripping with sinful intent.

And I did.

The coil inside me snapped, pleasure bursting like a tidal wave, swallowing me whole.

My back arched, lips parting on a silent scream as the world around me dissolved into nothing but heat, touch, and the sweet, unbearable pulse of release.

My thighs trembled, my body wracked with aftershocks as Paige worked me through it—her fingers slowing, her tongue soothing, kissing away the remnants of my pleasure until I was nothing but a boneless, trembling mess beneath her.

I gasped, shuddering as I came down, my mind hazy, limbs heavy, completely undone. The room was thick with warmth, with the scent of us, with the lingering echo of my moans still ghosting through the air.

Still catching my breath, I reached for her, pulling her up—bringing her close. Paige hovered above me, her lips glossy, eyes dark, watching me with a knowing smirk.

But I wasn’t done.

With a lazy, satisfied grin, I rolled us over, pressing her into the mattress, my hands already trailing down, teasing, promising.

"Your turn," I purred, voice still wrecked from what she had done to me.

Then, without another word, I disappeared beneath the duvet—ready to return the favor.

"Morning, y’all," Paige greeted smoothly as we stepped into the gym, her voice dripping with the same ease and confidence she always carried.

But this morning, that nonchalance felt almost too casual—like she hadn’t woken up and stared at the same damning evidence on her neck that I had on mine.

The second we crossed the threshold, the air in the gym shifted. Conversations stumbled to a halt, laughter simmered down, and a thick, buzzing silence settled in its place.

It wasn’t the usual quiet before practice, nor was it the exhausted lull after a hard workout. This was the kind of silence that comes before a storm.

And then—like a fuse finally catching fire—it spread.

Smirks ignited on familiar faces, creeping across lips that barely tried to hold back amusement.

Eyes flickered between Paige and me, scanning, assessing, then zeroing in with a focus so sharp I felt it like a brand against my skin.

Azzi. KK. Sarah. Ice. And—oh, for the love of God—now Aubrey, too.

Goddamn it, Ice and her big-ass mouth.

There was a certain mischief in their gazes, their smirks widening as they took in something Paige and I clearly hadn’t noticed yet. A slow, prickling heat climbed the back of my neck, my stomach twisting with unease.

Paige and I exchanged a glance. Confused. Searching. Unspoken words flickering between us.

And then I saw it. Or rather, I felt it.

A dull ache where her lips had pressed against my neck last night, kissing, sucking, marking. And the realization hit me like a slap.

Shit.

The matching bruises. The unmistakable evidence of last night’s reckless hands and wandering lips, still stamped across our skin like ink that refused to fade.

I didn’t even have time to react before KK’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

“Oh, it definitely was a good morning, huh?” KK smirked.

"Guess you two didn’t just kiss yesterday," Ice hollered, her voice ringing through the gym like a gunshot.

A wolfish grin stretched across her face as she pointed directly at our necks. "More like… full-on making out, huh?"

Laughter exploded around us, bouncing off the gym walls, each chuckle and cackle making the heat in my face burn even hotter.

Azzi let out a low whistle. "Damn, y’all couldn’t wait till after practice?"

KK snorted, elbowing Sarah. "That’s why they volunteered to clean up last night. Thought they were being slick."

Sarah shook her head with a smirk. "More like sloppy. Y’all didn’t even try to cover it up."

Aubrey, of all people, chimed in with a teasing grin. "At least pretend to be ashamed."

And Paige?

Paige had the audacity to smirk.

She loved this. Thrived in it.

She simply shrugged, all lazy confidence, like she wasn’t the reason I was currently dying of secondhand embarrassment.

"Jealous?" she drawled, the smirk in her voice just as clear as the one on her face.

A collective groan. Eye rolls. KK threw a towel at her. A chorus of “oh, shut up, Paige.”

I buried my face in my hands, groaning as the teasing escalated, but even through my fingers, I could feel Paige’s eyes on me. Not just watching—devouring, savoring, enjoying every second of my suffering.

And across the gym, CD finally glanced up.

Her gaze flickered over us, cool and unreadable, before settling back down, like she were choosing peace instead of engaging in whatever the hell was happening. But it didn’t matter. The damage was done.

This wasn’t just any morning at practice.

We could pretend we had walked in like normal. We could act like nothing had changed.

But the proof was already there, written in bruises and smirks and the way Paige’s fingers brushed against mine like last night wasn’t enough.

And judging by the way our teammates were still grinning, teasing, and whispering, they weren’t going to let this go anytime soon… again.

My body was a canvas of aching muscles and fatigue by the time practice ended. Each movement felt like a betrayal, the weight of the day pressing into my bones, the sting of every drill lingering in my skin.

Geno’s harsh words were still burned into my mind, his voice echoing like a drumbeat, demanding more—more effort, more focus. He’d been relentless today, his critiques like sharp stones, each one sinking deeper than the last.

And then there were the girls—constant teasing, their laughter ringing in my ears, pulling at the edges of my patience. Nothing, absolutely nothing, had gone my way today.

I tried to shake it off, willing the exhaustion to loosen its grip on me, but before I could even gather my thoughts, Geno’s voice cut through the air again, sharp and direct.

“Y/N.”

My name bounced off the walls like a sudden storm, filling the empty gym with a weight I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

I turned, locking eyes with him, trying to steady my breath. His gaze was different now, less harsh, almost softened by the weariness of the day.

He ran a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture signaling that he was about to say something important—something that, for once, might actually make me feel like I wasn’t just the target of his frustrations.

“You know I push you because I believe in you, right?” His voice was quieter now, more personal, like he was trying to reach through the tension between us, to calm the storm in both of us.

I let out a breath, slow and controlled, nodding. “I know.” And I did. I knew he was tough on me because he expected the best. Because he believed I could handle it, even when I felt like I was breaking.

But today... today had felt different. The weight of every word, every move, it had all piled on, and no matter how hard I tried, it was impossible to shake it.

The gym was emptying out now, the sound of bag zippers, shoes squeaking on the floor, and quiet chatter filling the space.

I bent down to grab my bag, my fingers brushing against the cold floor as I tried to push all the noise from my head. But then, behind me, a sharp gasp broke through the hum of the room.

“Oh my god…”

It was Paige’s voice, thick with disbelief, and the instant she spoke, the whole world seemed to stop. I froze. I didn’t even need to turn around. I already knew what she was staring at.

The marks. The dark, unmistakable hickeys on my thighs.

I swallowed hard, my heart stuttering in my chest. No. No, not now. Not here.

Azzi’s voice rang out, light and teasing, as if she’d just found the greatest treasure. “No way,” she said, her words drawing a sharp laugh from the rest of the team.

“You guys are out here with hickeys on your thighs now? What’s next? A map of your entire body?”

And just like that, the weight of my embarrassment crashed into me, a flood of heat rushing to my face. I wanted to disappear. To sink into the floor and never come back. But of course, that wasn’t going to happen.

“Stop it!” I groaned, half-laughing, half-wincing. The teasing was relentless, each word digging deeper, a playful but pointed reminder of my private life spilling out into the open. “You’re making it worse!”

Sarah stepped forward, arms crossed, her expression dramatic and serious, but her eyes sparkling with humor.

“Where’s the line, huh?” she asked, her voice dripping with mock concern. “Are we gonna see them on your backs tomorrow?”

The entire team erupted into laughter, the sound of it echoing in the gym, bouncy and light, as if the day’s weight had been lifted by this moment of shared chaos.

Even our coaches, who’d been trying so hard to stay professional, couldn’t hold back a chuckle under their breath.

Paige stood next to me, her face a mirror of my own—exasperated, embarrassed, but also unable to do anything but laugh with the team. We exchanged a glance, our eyes saying everything without a word.

This was the price we paid for trying to keep something private in a world that was far too eager to share it.

And yet, there was something freeing about it too. Every time they found a new angle to tease us, every time the jokes started back up, it felt less like an invasion and more like a badge of honor. We had earned this moment. We were owning it, because what else could we do?

The teasing didn’t stop, but neither did we. And as the laughter rang in my ears, I realized it wasn’t the worst thing in the world after all.

…or maybe it was.

requests are open! Also just wanted to say that I loved writing this <3

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x fem!reader #paige bueckers imagines #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x you #paige bueckers x y/n #paige bueckers smut

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whytheylosttheirminds · 6 months ago

Text

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 3

(Rafe Cameron x reader, series, 5.7k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

additional chapter cw: suggestive language/themes, heavy drinking, mature readers only please

⇢ series masterlist

The game was on, and Carter wasn’t one to go down without a fight.

You however, were much less invested in her scheme to set you up with Tom, already feeling tired and confused after 24-hours of this little reunion trip. You laid in bed for quite a while replaying the almost-moment you’d had with Rafe in the kitchen in your head before taking a long, dreamless nap. It was the smell of the barbeque wafting through your bedroom window that woke you up. You threw your hair up in a bun, too groggy to care about putting any more effort into your appearance.

As you reached for the handle, you heard two hushed voices arguing behind your bedroom door. You opened it slowly to reveal Carter and Topper facing each other, both with their arms crossed as they carried on a heated whisper-argument.

“What are you even doing up here Topper?” Carter demanded.

“I don’t know, what are you doing up here Carter? Trying to get a leg up?” Topper snapped back, towering over her in height yet still somehow looking small under her glare.

They were so locked in on each other that neither of them had even noticed your appearance.

“Um, hi,” you waved your hand between their faces to get their attention. “Can I help you?”

They looked at you, startled as their arms fell and stances softened. Carter eyed your outfit up and down, trying to hide her distaste at your choice of leggings and a t-shirt.

“Well, I don’t know what he’s doing up here but I came to see if you needed help getting ready,” Carter replied.

“I am ready,” you said, eyeing her suspiciously.

“You’re, uh,” Topper scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

You squinted at him, you could understand Carter critiquing your outfit, knowing she was trying to set you up with Tom, but what stake did Topper have in your outfit choice?

“We’re literally just going downstairs,” you countered.

“Maybe throw on something a little nicer,” Carter urged gently.

“Okay, fine,” you gave in. “You two are being so weird today.”

Topper gave you a thumbs up as you closed the door in their faces.

A few minutes later you reemerged in a new outfit, a crocheted halter top and some cut-offs. You had let your hair down and ran a brush through it, dabbed on some mascara and lipgloss. It was the maximum amount of effort you were willing to put into a big night out in the backyard.

Despite everyone’s relentless teasing, Topper actually was a pretty good cook. The food was great and everyone thanked you, Rafe, and Tom for going out to get it.

“Tom paid!” you announced. “So everyone make sure to be really nice to him or he won’t bankroll us anymore.”

You smiled at Tom, who grinned back and waved you off in joking modesty. You let your eyes linger as he leaned over the firepit on the other side of the sprawling patio, skillfully stacking the wood before lighting a match and holding it under. He crouched low to blow gently on the kindling, causing the fire to roar to life. You could see a sliver of his toned lower back peeking out from his shirt as he reached for another log, dropping it straight into his newly sparked flame with a bare hand. The whole thing was unbelievably attractive.

The only thing better was the stoney look on Rafe’s face when you caught his eye, realizing he’d noticed the way you were looking at Tom like you wanted to have him for dessert. Good.

Playing and replaying the scene from the kitchen in your head all afternoon, you came downstairs determined to freeze Rafe out. Sure, he remembered your favorite candy and maybe almost even apologized, but it wasn’t enough to erase the sting you felt when he pulled away from you like you had the plague as soon as anyone else entered the room.

After dinner, you were perched on the railing of the porch, sipping something strong and chatting with Carter and her childhood best friend, Maddie.

Maddie was nice enough, the Kook academy prom queen two years in a row, but she had never shown much interest in you. Until you showed up here looking much more instagram-worthy than you had in high school.

“So, omg,” Maddie started, playing with a strand of your hair like you were the closest of friends. “When are you gonna drop the workout routine? You look gorg.”

Never once had one of Carter’s friends complimented your looks.

“Thanks,” you grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I play a lot of volleyball and jog a little.”

“Well it’s working!” Kelce hollered from across the porch, already wobbling slightly from his inebriation.

There it was again, your blush, always showing up at the least opportune times. All eyes were on you, such open talk about your body making your skin crawl with self-consciousness. You looked over the railing to the sand a few feet down, wondering how badly the jump would hurt.

As always, knowing you better than anyone, Carter felt like she could read your mind. Protectiveness roared in her chest, she set her hand over yours to silently tell you she understood before turning to the party and announcing, “okay, we’re playing a game! Everyone around the fire pit!”

No one argued with her wishes, they never did. The group gathered around the bonfire, each with a full drink in hand as Carter unnecessarily explained the rules to never have I ever as if this same group hadn’t played it a hundred times in high school.

You appreciated Carter moving the attention off of you, but clearly she didn’t know this was your least favorite game in the world. The second the name of the game came out of her mouth, your heart dropped to your stomach, hit with memories of sitting off to the side while her friends played, all of your fingers embarrassingly still up, revealing you had done nothing interesting or scandalous in your life.

Sure, you’d definitely added a few notches to your belt since then, but you knew these people and had no doubt you were still way behind. The sad thing is you didn’t even care, but you knew they would and you couldn’t help that nagging desire to prove that you were just as cool as them. You sighed as you settled in your chair next to Carter, frustrated that just as you were starting to feel somewhat normal, you were transported right back to your loneliest days.

Carter went first, “never have I everrr…shoplifted.”

Sabrina took a giggly sip from her solo cup.

“Isn’t your dad’s networth like a billion dollars?” Kelce asked.

“Yes, but he never would’ve bought me those red panties, so I took ‘em,” she winked at him, and he scooted his chair closer to her.

Everyone else still had all ten fingers up, making you think maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

But your relief didn’t last long. One by one they went around the circle, revealing each other’s secrets and leaving you with ten fingers up.

“Never have I ever done a body shot.” Your fingers stayed up.

“Never have I ever kissed someone of the same sex.” Your fingers stayed up.

“Never have I ever hooked up in a public place.” Your fingers stayed up.

As the group got tipsier, the revelations got dirtier. You were sure some of them were lying and there was some temptation for you to put a finger down as a lie too just to level the playing field, but that was such teenage bullshit. You might not have as a high of a body count as some of them, but you still had your pride.

The blood rushed from you face when Maddie said, “never have I ever been with two people at once” and Rafe put his last finger down, smirking as he finished off his beer.

A few more rounds passed and everyone else had put at least a couple fingers down while you still hadn’t done a single one of the things listed. You chewed on your lip, wondering how early was too early to excuse yourself to go to bed.

You were about to make a break for it, when a now sloppily drunk Sabrina pointed at you and slurred, “aww bambi’s still got ten!”

Bambi was another one of the many teasing nicknames they’d called you in high school, and it might just be your least favorite.

“You’re still such a good girl,” Sabrina jibed.

She must’ve been beyond wasted. She wasn’t necessarily nice, but she wasn’t usually this much of a bitch.

Your breaths got short, the anxiety erupting like fireworks in your chest. You could feel Carter’s mind spinning next to you, trying to come up with some way to defend you, but another voice beat her to it.

“Well,” Rafe said, drawing all eyes off of you and across the firepit towards him. “Never have I ever gotten so crossfaded at a boneyard party that I pissed my pants in someone else’s truck.”

He shot Sabrina a vindictive smile.

“Rafe!” She protested. “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!”

At her admission, everyone broke out into laughter, aimed at her.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Rafe chuckled, “you just did.”

“Bruhh,” Kelce hollered. “That’s nasty!”

Sabrina went red, completely humiliated. You tried to be a girl’s girl, but after years of her teasing and making you feel like a loser, you couldn’t help but join in the laughter at her expense.

As she emptied her cup spitefully, you caught Rafe’s gaze across the fire, the air between you wavy with the flame’s heat. He smiled a crooked, satisfied smile at you, and you mouthed “thank you.” He gave you a reassuring wink and your stomach did cartwheels.

Carter straightened in her lawn chair next to you, kicking herself for giving Rafe the chance to save you before she could.

“I’ve got one!” she announced, and the crowd hushed to hear their queen. “Never have I ever skinny dipped in the campus fountain and got caught by campus security but successfully flirted my way out of a citation and ended up getting the cop’s number.”

Everyone looked around the circle quizzically, wondering who that incredibly specific anecdote was aimed at.

“No fucking way!” Topper shouted when he saw you put down your pinky finger with a bashful smile.

Topper and Kelce whooped, and the girls all gave you impressed looks.

“Okay baddie!” Maddie gasped. “Was he cute? Did you call him?”

“I mean he wasn’t not cute,” you mused, taking the obligatory sip of your drink. “We hung out a few times.”

“So does that mean you’re into handcuffs now orrr…” Kelce chimed in.

“Oops, I put the wrong fingers down,” you lifted your hand and theatrically put all down except your middle finger, aiming it at Kelce.

The crowd erupted with laughs and amused ohhhh’s. Even Rafe was smiling, and you couldn’t help but wish you knew what he was thinking, noticing his soft eyes on you as you bantered with his friends, all attention on you. This time, you weren’t blushing, you were just enjoying yourself. It felt so nice to have such a naturally fun and easy moment, but it was short lived.

“Never have I ever,” Sabrina interrupted, hiccuping. “Failed an entire semester of college.”

The crowd fell silent once again, no one daring to bring their eyes to Rafe, the clear target of her comeback. He just rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair nonchalantly, like it didn’t bother him at all. But you could see the hint of shame in his eyes, a rare glimpse of vulnerability hidden under his tough facade. You used to spend so much of your time digging for those deeper layers that it was easy for you to pick up on them when they rose to the surface, even if it was just for a second.

Maybe you should let him flounder, leave him hanging like he’d done to you so many times before. But tonight, for the first time ever, he had jumped in to defend you, and maybe one act of kindness wouldn’t kill you.

“Fuck this game. Topper, didn’t you say something earlier about a beer pong tournament?” You prompted him, hoping desperately he’d see what you were trying to do and play along.

Topper looked confused at first, so you smiled tightly and flicked your eyes to Rafe and back as quickly as possible, urging him to understand.

Ever the king of subtlety, Topper’s eyes went wide as he mouthed “ohhhh!”

Rafe saw the whole thing.

“Beer pong! Yes!” Topper said, excited to finally be in the loop. “Let’s do it!”

“I wanna play!” Sabrina stood quickly from her chair, immediately tripping over her own feet.

“Woah,” Carter caught her and held her up with some effort, Sabrina so far gone she couldn’t even use her legs. “I think you’ve had enough fun for tonight.”

Carter stabilized Sabrina and guided her towards the house. You knew she was pissed at Sabrina for picking on you, but Carter would never leave a drunk girl to stumble around a party by herself. She looked at you apologetically, but you nodded to let her know you were fine.

After they disappeared into the house, Topper and Kelce got to work clearing the long outdoor dining table for beer pong, filling cups and placing them with great attention to detail. You chuckled at the way they were arguing over correct cup spacing and fill levels as you reached down into the cooler for another drink. When you stood, Tom appeared by your side.

“I didn’t realize I was sharing a house with a criminal,” he drawled, mouth quirked with a crooked smile.

“Oh yeah,” you played along, popping the top of your drink. “I’m wanted in four states and Puerto Rico.”

“And Puerto Rico, wow,” he leaned his arm against the porch rail, his body angling towards yours in a way that made your skin prick with goosebumps. “I need to hear that story.”

“I’d tell you,” you lowered your voice and lifted your mouth towards his ear to whisper. “But then I’d have to kill you.”

“You’re in that deep, huh?” He placed his other hand on the railing on the other side of you, effectively caging you in, though he held himself back far enough to give you some space. You didn’t want space, though, the enticing scent of whiskey and the smoke from the fire drawing you to him.

“Mhm,” you leaned in so your chests were almost touching, a smile tugging his full lips when he noticed the way you intentionally closed the space between you. “If you thought the campus fountain story was bad…”

“I didn’t think it was bad,” he shook his head.

“No?” You grinned, eager to see where he was going with this.

“Not bad, kind of hot, but not bad,” he confessed.

“Only kind of?” You furrowed your brow in mock offense.

He broke into a smile and blushed, flustered as he said, “I mean, uh…”

You giggled. His bashful, dimpled smile was so painfully cute you were suddenly seeing the value to Carter’s matchmaking plan.

The alcohol in your system mixed with the warmth radiating off of him made your body go hot, tingles shooting up your spine as his eyes fell to your lips. He was so damn pretty. Warm brown eyes and messy hair you wanted to tangle your fingers in.

Rafe grabbed the fire poker and busied himself by tending to the flames, which didn’t really need it, considering Tom had built such a sturdy fire. The sound of your sweet giggles floating through the air as you flirted with Tom made him want to walk straight off the porch and into the ocean. He’d surely put his lifelong friendship with Sabrina on the line, not to mention his own pride, to keep you from running away in embarrassment, and now Tom was reaping the rewards of his chivalry.

He remembered, though. Maybe you didn’t think he did, but he remembered. The nights you sat in the corner, lonely, pining, and the go-to butt of his friends’ stupid jokes. And he’d just sat by and let it happen, so many times. It’s no wonder you were leaned up against someone else, sharing stories about a whole chapter of your life he’d missed. He only had himself to blame.

Once the table was set up, Topper turned and frowned at the way the group had split, you and Tom cozy in the corner while Rafe stood by the fire alone, shoulders tense. He needed to step up his Cupid game, like, now.

He clapped his hands loudly, voice booming as he announced to the party that it was time to play. The startling sound forced Tom away from you just as you were about to ask him if he wanted to walk down to the water. Topper pointed right at you and pronounced you would be on his team. You were going to protest before you remembered beer pong was your idea in the first place, your ruse to protect Rafe. You couldn’t back out now.

Beer pong was another thing you’d added to your skill set in college. In high school, you were never asked to join when parties inevitably broke into a tournament. Instead you’d sit quietly and watch with hearts in your eyes as Rafe played with the competitiveness of an Olympian in a gold medal race.

He was known for his terrible sportsmanship, everyone expected a full tantrum if he didn’t win. The same went for school sports, you’d spent every night after a rare loss up on the phone with him listening intently while he ranted about all the ways the refs were wrong or the umps were blind. At the time, you took it as an honor that you were the one he wanted to find solace in. Now, grown and mature, you saw it for what it really was; no one else wanted to listen to him bitch and moan, so you were just his only option.

“Let’s go, Little Carter!” Topper raised his hand for a high five as you approached the table.

“If you call me that, I’m not playing,” you left him hanging.

“My bad, my bad,” he conceded.

You gave in and high fived him, stepping up to the table with your game face on. Kelce and Maddie stood across from you. They were both terrible shots, and you sunk every ball, but Topper was keeping them in the game with his many misses.

Topper was great at beer pong in high school and you were sure he’d had plenty of practice at U of F, so there was no reason he should be playing so horribly.

“Dude, what the hell is up with you?” You scolded him after another throw that was way off.

“I dunno,” Topper said with an exaggerated drunken slur in his voice. “I think I’m just too wasted to play. You might need another partner.”

Before you could mock him for his dramatics, he had called over to Rafe, who was sitting back in a lounge chair looking at his phone, anything to keep his eyes off of you.

“What?” He grumbled, eyes lifting from his screen and avoiding yours.

“Need you to sub in for me,” Topper fake hiccupped and you rolled your eyes.

You were sure Rafe would see you were his proposed partner and pass on the opportunity, but then he and Topper had some kind of silent conversation with their eyes that you couldn’t interpret, and Rafe stood from his chair.

“You don’t have to,” you offered as he stepped up and took the ball from Topper.

You hated that your instinct was to apologize for inconveniencing him. He shrugged and lined up his first shot.

“Someone’s gotta show ‘em how it’s done,” he said with an easy grin that made your heart beat a little faster.

If only your younger self could see how your night was progressing. Impressing everyone during never have I ever. Flirting with a gorgeous boy from another school. And now, Rafe smiling at you and acknowledging your presence in front of all these people, willingly agreeing to be your teammate. She’d have died and gone to heaven.

He had every right to be cocky; he was really good. And to his great surprise, so were you. You and Rafe made quick work of Kelce and Maddie, then Kelce and Jack, then Kelce and three more partners that tried to step up to the plate, Kelce’s aim worsening as he teetered on the edge of a blackout.

“When did you get so good at this?” Rafe asked you after a partcualrly skillful shot.

“I was always good at it,” you scoffed. “You just never let me play.”

After that comment, Rafe was suddenly an extra encouraging teammate. Before each shot he’d pull you back, leaning down to whisper in your ear conspiratorially about which cup you should call, like an NFL coach rallying his quarterback.

“I can’t hit the far corner, my aim isn’t that good,” you said when he proposed the risky shot.

Self-doubt filled your face as you bit your lip, Rafe recognizing the nervous tick instantly.

“Nah you got it!” he grabbed you by the shoulder and shook you playfully. “You just gotta believe in yourself.”

Despite yourself, you broke into a smile, making a feeble attempt to brush him away, though he could tell you didn’t mean it.

“Let’s go slugger,” Rafe placed the ball in your hand and guided you into position by your shoulders. He stood behind you and leaned in to bring his mouth close to your ear. “You got this.”

You loved it. You hated it. Your head swirled with conflicting thoughts, but when you sunk the ball with a flick of your wrist, they all faded.

“Let’s fucking gooo!” Rafe yelled.

He lifted his hand for a double high five and you stood on your tiptoes to reach. Your arms came down, but your hands were still in his.

“Told ‘ya,” he said tenderly, smiling down at you as his large hands enveloped yours. “You just gotta believe in yourself.”

Despite the alarms blaring in your head, telling you to run, you let it all linger. The deep sound of his voice in the air, his eyes on your lips, his rough hands folded in yours.

“Okay!” Carter chose that minute to emerge from the house after Sabrina finally fell asleep. “That’s enough wins for y’all, time for some real competition.”

The sound of her voice snapped you out of the moment, and you pulled your hands away from Rafe quickly, nervous about all the eyes on you for the first time since you’d started playing.

“I need a partner,” Carter said, surveying the group on the patio. “How about…”

You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly where she was going with this show and wishing she’d just fast forward to the end.

“Tom?” She raised her eyebrows in his direction, as if it was a crazy idea she had just come up with. “Do you play?”

“I may have taken part in a tourney or two,” Tom said humbly.

“Bullshit,” Kelce exclaimed, slumped in a chair as his head spun. “This guy was the Alpha Tau champion all four years. He’s got a plaque and everything.”

“Damn, I didn’t know we had Alpha Tau royalty in our midst!” Carter bantered.

“Jesus, enough with the fanfare, are you playing or not, dude?” Rafe snapped.

Carter eyed you, her lips twisted in a satisfied smirk. No one was surprised at Rafe’ gruffness, more than used to his competitive mean streak. It was not one of his more attractive qualities. The pull you’d just felt to him faltered a little at the reminder of this particular weakness. You were sure that’s exactly what Carter was hoping for.

“Alright I’m in,” Tom said, stepping up to the table and rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ‘ya.” He winked at you.

“Yeah, yeah, just call your shot, champ,” Rafe said.

The four of you reset the cups, not much work needing to be done on you and Rafe’s side of the table since almost no one had scored on you. As Tom lined up his first shot, he stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, adjusting and readjusting his stance to get comfortable.

Rafe crossed his arms over his chest mumbling something along the lines of “this fuckin’ guy” and you couldn’t help but smile, admittedly also kind of getting the ick from how seriously Tom was taking this.

Then he sunk every ball. After a few particularly good rounds, he made his third shot in a row, and Carter called “fire.” She handed him balls one after another like he was taking free throws, wiggling her eyebrows at you to make sure you were paying attention to his triumph.

You drank each cup obediently, ever the rule follower. After your fourth, you were getting so sick of the stale beer, you and Rafe’s cups had been sitting untouched all night and the cheap hops had soured significantly. When Tom sunk another one you grabbed the cup hesitantly, queasy, nearly gagging.

“It’s okay, I got it,” Rafe volunteered, grabbing the cup from you.

“Y’all don’t have to drink those if they’re really that bad,” Tom offered, pausing his next shot when he noticed how disgusted you looked.

“I got it, man,” Rafe waved him off, holding his nose and shooting back the beer as quickly as possible. He dropped the empty cup with a grimace.

“We can just call it a game,” Tom suggested, clearly feeling bad.

“Do you want to forfeit?” You asked Rafe, dropping your voice so Carter and Tom couldn’t hear.

“What and just wave the white flag?” Rafe replied, eyebrows raised. “Do you?

Your lips spread in a slow smile, “not a fucking chance.”

“Atta girl,” he nodded, returning his gaze to Tom. “We’re no quitters, hit us again big guy.”

And he did, over and over, until there was only one cup left on your side of the table. As he prepped for his final shot, Rafe turned to you, a playful, tipsy smile on his face.

“We had a good run,” He said, reaching out shake your hand. You took it with a smile.

When Tom and Carter won, high fiving each other in a loud celebration, all eyes fell to Rafe, waiting to see how he’d react to losing. You tensed, hoping his chipper attitude when you were winning would carry over into a graceful loss. But then he rounded the table, striding towards Tom, and you cringed in anticipation of a classic Rafe Cameron Temper Tantrum.

“Oh boy,” Carter mumbled under her breath. “Here we go.”

But there was no blow up, just Rafe extending his hand to Tom, who took it with a friendly shake.

“Good game, man,” Rafe said.

“Yeah, you too, dude,” Tom smiled, not realizing this show of sportsmanship was a historical first.

Rafe tilted his head in a friendly nod towards your sister, “Carter.”

“Rafael,” she returned his sarcastic tone, purposefully using his least favorite nickname.

With that, Rafe walked away from the table, one last glance towards you as he returned to his seat by the fire. You watched him go, feeling sad not that you had lost, but that your fun night with Rafe had seemingly come to an end.

It was dizzying, your ever-changing emotional state, and you suspected it had very little to do with the beer. Thinking over all the events of the day gave you whiplash. One second you were about ready to ask Tom if he wanted to come back to your room, the next it felt like you and Rafe were finally sharing the moment you’d dreamt of for years. All the while, you weren’t sure you actually wanted either of them, or if you even wanted to be here at all.

“Wanna play again?” Carter asked, noticing the distracted look on your face.

“I’m good,” you smiled at her appreciatively, deciding you’d had enough excitement for one day. “I think I’m probably just going to bed now.”

“Aww, but it’s so early grandma,” Topper called over to you from the firepit.

You walked over to his chair and peched on the armrest.

“Ah yes, another one of my favorite nicknames,” you joked. “No one’s called me that in four years.”

“Another inside joke?” Tom inquired, joining the circle, he and Carter each grabbing a chair.

“In high school, she was always the first to leave parties. She’d rather be at home in bed with a book by 9pm,” Topper explained to him.

You rose from his chair, eager to ditch this little trip down memory lane before it got too embarrassing. You almost made a clean escape, but then a very drunk Kelce decided to chime in.

“Unless Rafe asked her to stay,” he laughed. “Then she’d be there allll night.”

Embarrassed doesn’t even begin to cover it. You’ve been embarrassed a thousand times in your life, but this was something different. You looked down at your feet, not sure what you were supposed to do. No quick, face saving remark was coming to mind.

Carter smacked Kelce on the arm, while Topper shook his head with a disapproving, “dude…”

Your eyes drifted to Rafe, who was looking down at his hands uncomfortably. Whatever protective instinct that had inspired him to stand up for you earlier was clearly gone as he left you to drown in the painfully awkward silence.

“Oh, were you two…?” Tom asked, pointing between you and Rafe quizzically.

“Nope,” you told him with a stiff smile.

He looked like he was about to ask more, but caught on at the last second, reading in between the lines. There it was, the last person here who didn’t know about your pathetic past was now caught up to speed. Yeah, you’d definitely had enough.

“Kelce, you’re such an asshole,” Carter began reprimanding him.

“Just stop,” you urged her. “It’s fine, I’m just going to bed.”

“Wait!” She called after you, but you were already walking toward the house, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. She gave Kelce one last slap and rushed after you.

Kelce, barely conscious, still hadn’t caught up with his own party foul.

“Where’s she going?” He asked Topper.

Rafe stood from his chair suddenly.

“Will you get him out of here please?” He spat at Topper, sidestepping the fire as he stormed off toward the house.

Rafe followed your path into the kitchen, not sure what he was going to say when he caught up to you, but suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to make it right. He should’ve said something as soon as Kelce put his foot in his mouth. He’d deal with that dumbass later.

He slid the kitchen door open, headed towards the stairs that lead to the second floor, but he stopped short when he heard your voice. He stayed back, out of sight but close enough to hear your conversation with Carter on the stairs.

“Carter, it’s fine,” you sighed.

“No it’s fucking not, he made you cry,” Carter practically growled.

Rafe’s heart dropped. You were crying? He was gonna kick Kelce’s ass as soon as he was sober enough to feel pain.

“I’m just tired,” you sniffled. “Please, just drop it for now. I just wanna go to sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” Carter said, her voice starting to crack. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to stay.”

“It’s not your fault,” you assured her. “I knew he was gonna be here.”

Rafe frowned. Was the ‘he’ you were referring to still Kelce, or was it him? Was his presence really so distressing to you that you were in tears?

Carter reluctantly bid you goodnight, and Rafe slipped into the pantry so she wouldn’t see him when she descended the stairs back into the kitchen, storming towards the backyard, surely on her way to give Kelce hell.

He stood in the walk-in pantry for a minute, collecting his thoughts.

Maybe he should be the one to leave. If his presence really was such torment to you, it would be the right thing to do. But you didn’t seem tormented earlier when you were playing beer pong with him, cheering each other on and laughing like friends. Or before, at the fire, when you’d come to each other’s defense. Even his two best friends hadn’t seen that Sabrina’s words actually hurt him, but you did. You always knew him better than anyone.

While he stood in the pantry, illuminated only by the single light bulb above his head, his eyes grazed over the shelf. Between a stack of paper plates and some hamburger buns, sat the candy he had picked out for you at the store. He smiled at the memory of your many car rides as teenagers, fueled by the snacks you had brought when you picked him up. Maybe you regretted those times now, but something about the fact that this was still your favorite candy made him feel better.

His stomach twisted with worry that after what Kelce had said, you would decide to leave. The only worse thought was that he might let you go without finding the courage to say the words he’d been holding onto since he saw you on the beach. Maybe you’d slam the door in his face, but he couldn’t let you leave without trying.

Rafe grabbed your candy off the shelf and climbed the stairs two at a time, eager to knock on your bedroom door before he lost his nerve.

(Chapter 4)

a/n: I LOVED hearing all your Team Tom vs. Team Rafe opinions!! The competition is heating up!!!! (not my outline for this chapter starting with “note: google rules to beer pong” lol)

Ch 4 predictions? 👀

please note, the taglist for this series is currently closed. For updates, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs 💕

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fic #obx fic #drew starkey #rafe obx #rafe fanfic #rafe fic #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron imagine #obx #outer banks #outer banks fic #topper thornton #x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #don't call me kid

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eclipseslayer · 5 months ago

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• CW: Alucard Tepes x f!reader drabble; cunninglingus on period, descriptions of blood.

"Alucard, I'm on my period..."

"I know, love."

Alucard, sandwiched between your thighs, looks up at you with those golden eyes of his. They're sharp, and pointed—eyes that are full of need, full of want and desire—like a tiger, as if they're about to pounce.

He groans as he nears your panties—the scent of blood fills his head, and it makes his fangs tingle, and he feels his tongue begin to salivate. Drool nearly seeps out of his mouth, but he swallows, thickly, needing to keep himself composed, because otherwise he would ravish you.

He knows he'd tear you apart if he didn't control himself, so, he goes slowly.

Slow kisses are pressed onto your stomach, and then onto your lower abdomen. He closes his eyes and you can feel his blonde lashes flutter against your skin while his nose nudges against your skin, inhaling the scent of you deeply, as if he were getting the fresh smell of his food.

His fingers come up and they touch the hem of your panties; sharp claws brisk along the fabric there before tugging them down, and tossing the bloodied fabric away, revealing that delicious, coppery, sweaty scent that fills Alucard's nose as he inhales deeply.

"So... sweet..." Alucard mumbles before he moves in, spreading your legs apart even more for him so he can see the filthyness of your pussy.

It's a seeping, red mess. Blood is smeared between your thighs, and all over your folds. It's a mess, but to Alucard, it's a pool of ecstasy, to which he decides to dive in, nose first, nudging along your folds like a needy cat, he smells deeply, making his head dizzy with desire. Then, finally, he opens his mouth, darting his tongue into the deep hole of your pussy, tasting the blood that plagues your very being.

Well, to Alucard it wasn't a plague. No, in fact, this plague is making him groan, and he moans from how good it tastes.

Sharp talons dig into the meat of your thighs which makes you wince, but the feeling of Alucard's tongue makes you easily forget about the pain.

"Alucard..." You moan his name softly, and Alucard grins.

Blood stains his teeth while a pair of daggered, golden eyes meet yours.

"Your blood tastes as good as I imagined, my love," he replies in that soft, sweet tone of his before he buries his face back in between your thighs, where he begins to lap his tongue at your hole, tasting the blood that lies there.

He groans as he does, enjoying the feeling of the blood on his tongue, swallowing it, savoring it on his tastebuds... he enjoys it all, getting lost in the feeling of your blood on his tongue.

"Alucard."

Your words are quick, and filled with a shortness of breath; it snaps Alucard out of his dreamlike state. When he looks up at you to find narrowed eyes, his face flushes from embarrassment, realizing that he probably wasn't bringing you too much pleasure by simply lapping at your folds, so, he apologizes quickly.

"Apologies, I was too... hungry."

You forgive him quickly, and so he eagerly moves back in between your thighs, except this time, he focuses on sucking your clit.

He wraps his lips around the sensitive nub, and begins to suck, fervently, which pulls out moan after moan after moan from you.

Your head spins from the feeling, feeling as if you're at the top of the world, on the highest mountain, while Alucard sucks intently onto your clit.

"God, Alucard," you moan, and your hands grip his hair even tighter.

Alucard hums against your clit, finding your moaning enjoyable. He's pleased, really, with how good you sound that his nails dig even more into the plump flesh of your thighs, telling you how much he's really enjoying it all.

You, on the other hand, feel as if your very body is on fire. Each nerve feels as if it's been lit as Alucard sucks eagerly on your clit. The fire kindles lowly at first, but it grows into a roaring flame as he continues his onslaught, making your skin burn with desire as your stomach tightens into a knot, needing to be released.

You warn Alucard of your oncoming release by tugging on his hair and murmuring his name in a lull before finally, you arch into his mouth, your legs shake and you cry out his name,

"Alucard!"

until finally, your body stops trembling as you fall flat against the bedsheets.

Alucard hums, and pulls his lips away from your clit. Saliva and blood coat his lips when he looks up at you with those golden eyes of his.

"May I continue, love? I'm afraid I haven't had my fill, yet."

#🌑 postings #🌑 my fics #alucard tepes x you #alucard tepes x reader #alucard x you #alucard x reader #alucard smut #alucard tepes smut #castlevania x you #castlevania x reader #castlevania smut

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tottentz · 9 months ago

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IN PRIVATE ── honkai star rail, nsfw, mdni ౨ৎ⠀⠀or little nasty things they do during sex ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ gender neutral reader⠀/⠀ft. aventurine, dr. ratio, gepard, blade, sunday, dan heng, jing yuan, argenti. ♡ˎˊ˗

— AVENTURINE ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho guides your movements. aventurine becomes a gentle orchestrator, leading you through the delicate dance of intimacy. aventurine's presence becomes a steady anchor, guiding with a gentle yet confident touch a soft guidance that navigates the contours of desire with a tender assurance: his hands are soft, gentle, at your skin, at your hips, but his mouth is always brutal, suckling and nipping at any accessible skin. aventurine always busy himself by cleaving at every inch of your skin as if integrating every square inch of your withering figure into memory. each caress is a testament to his innate understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the deeper yearnings that he does not allow himself to express in words. and you just know he mean it when he holds your face with both hands, soft eyes smiling along with him when he succeeded; obtained your focus

— DR. RATIO ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho has gentle but firm control. dr. ratio's touch is a blend of gentle guidance and confident assertion, navigating the dance of desire with a poised assurance. his touch, though restrained, carries a profound sense of understanding and expertise, navigating with precision and care even if he purposefully teased you to receive an earful of whiny whimpers that suggested he promptly exhort additional efforts or his cute, little lover would be compelled to execute empty threats. veritas presence exudes a calm authority, tempered by a keen intellect and a meticulous attention to detail. he struggles when conveying his harbored ardor, submitting to the intensity of heat that blossomed from the kindled fire of his heart, and so he claws the blunt tips of his fingers into your dough-like middle, eyelids fluttered to a gentle close as if he’d never receive another opportunity to hold you in his arms

— DAN HENG ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho likes to mark your body. he doesn't even realize he has this thing until he finds himself immersed in fantasies where your body is adorned with the evidence of his fervent affection—subtle bites and tender marks, and then it became a tendency to leave something of him in you: whether a gentle bite or a lingering touch, it's his desire for connection and a need to leave a lasting impression. dan heng blames his counterpart for such a primal urge to claim and be claimed in return, but he had become so fascinated, bewitchingly enamored, by illustrated wonders of your body, yet he so quickly abandoned his previous enchantment to consume himself with your intoxicating touch. dan heng's gestures reveal a raw honesty, he fervently irons an abundance of disorderly suckles to your neck, bruising the heated skin with contortions molded as the shape of his lips.

— ARGENTI ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho pace is slow and deliberate. argenti's touch is deliberate and measured, his movements are methodical and precise, revealing a patient nature. in the quiet moments shared, you feel his presence as a steady anchor, guiding the rhythm of shared desire with a tranquil assurance. argenti's deliberate approach reflects a respect for the moment and a commitment to mutual pleasure, because he can’t find the resolve to peel his eyes away because you are a descendant from the heavens; a gift of abundant blessings to an unforgiving mortal who had deemed himself unworthy of your grace, but he were no saint. his calm and composed presence creates a sanctuary where time seems to slow, as he leisurely swallows your exhales of bliss as if previously deprived from the touch of intimacy. argenti always strives to leave your knees weak and buckled.

— BLADE ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho makes intense eye contact. blade harbors an ability to easily strip away what provisional confidence you previously claimed to possess. his gaze is impish; dark, divulging an impending uprising of unruly mischief. his crystalline optics glimmer beneath a murky coating, heavy lids droopy and irises fixated onto your figure as if he were presently eating you whole. blade just love the way he hums softly, cupping your cheek, thumbing away the tears you didn't notice spring into your eyes when he rendered your brain to mush and melted his forefront conscious into a haze of red lining. splotches of white dotted his vision, the colorless patches occasionally fading to reveal roads of gravel that endlessly stretched for miles. blade refuses to blink away the lovely sight of your countenance and meticulously etches the mesmerizing taste of your lips into lasting memory.

— JING YUAN ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho needs to breed you. his focus is singular, his touch deliberate yet gentle, as if every gesture carries the weight of unspoken promises. you always end up burning up, flesh flushed and eyes distant as if you were captivated by reminisce. he always apologizes with a "just one more, please?" and you just know he is not sorry at all, not with his breathy groans and hearty moans, eagerly asking if you'd let her try again. she convinces you that the last attempts were flukes; a warm up for the final challenge he kisses you so so sweet, makes you forgot about the ache in your thighs. he never fails to leave your puckered lips swollen and quivering by the conclusion of his endeavor, leaning away to observe your dazed state with a satisfactory hum of approval, drawing near as to rekindle the bruising force of his lips upon your own.

— SUNDAY ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves to see you cry. i'ts nothing, really. he just loves when you are brainless, thoughts melted into pretty pink goo oozing out of your ears onto the sheets, not a single brain cell active enough to answer him; because you are always good for him, always so sweet and kind and willing to give him whatever he wanted. his heart always softens at your tears. how could he say no to you? how could he deny those pretty eyes, so full of adoration and desperation then? so sweet. so lovely. he presses his forehead to you, and promise him the world. he makes you cum all over you again, only so he can see your teary face. and you always do, whining pitifully as you milk his cock for what it’s worth. he’s exhausted and broken and covered in cum and spit and lube, eyes filled with adoration as he looks at you. sunday, who gives you the loveliest pain.

— GEPARD ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho overstim you. he hushes you, pace not even slowing down as he chases his own high. but even when you’re gasping for air, for consciousness, fucked into another realm now, he’s still relentless, fucking deep and hard. he fucks you through his own orgasm, not even caring about how sensitive his cock’s gone. he doesn’t care, just wants to take you over and over and over. but you don’t tell him to stop, never tell him to stop. how could you, when you’re the only thing he can take so freel? you’d rather die than take it away from him, so you let him overstimulate you and himself as he murmurs, “one more, please" and then he's holding you so close to him. he’s burning hot, skin flushed and calloused but you find no greater heaven than in his arms, in his embrace, against him flaming skin to flaming skin.

#honkai star rail x reader #aventurine x reader #dr ratio x reader #jing yuan x reader #sunday x reader #argenti x reader #blade x reader #honkai star rail #dan heng x reader #gepard x reader

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dont-look-its-embarrassing · 2 months ago

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Inner Ace

This summary is a bit long winded, so I apologize for the pre-read to the actual story, it just gives a lot of contexts to where I am going to start the story off.

Summary: When the Archerons where all but banished to the forests, struck with bad luck and poverty from their once luxurious lifestyle, there was one person who cared how the family survived. Y/n. Having always lived on the edge of society and just above starving from her forever grieving mother and recently vacated father, she learned to keep her life afloat. Running into a young Feyre in the woods, almost mistaking her for the wind, elder (although only by a couple years) Y/n took her under her wing and became the mentor and sister that she never knew despite the two of them that shared her name. When Feyre was taken by the Fae, Y/n was distraught, waiting and searching the border every day during her hunts. That is, until one day there is a knock on her door, behind it stood the very woman she ever considered family, but she isn't alone, and why are her ears pointy? Who are these men with wings? Why can she not look away from one of them?

Warnings: slight swearing, Nesta AND Elaine SLANDER (sorry you cannot have one without the other), slight anxiety, alcohol mention, family reuniting fluffy feelings, (almost) instant attraction (Idk if this is a warning but some people don't like it moving quick), slow burn (to an actual established romance)

I do want to make this a series, as I adore the thought of Feyre having a best friend before the IC who taught her the ropes. Plus, there could be a fun little spin and some angst with a potential mate that is SO low hanging fruit to me.

Enjoy!!

The wind howled outside the thin walls of Y/n's home. The slight chill in the air despite being housed within them made her shiver and shift herself towards the kindling fire in the quaint fireplace in her living room.

It was bitter out when Y/n heard a knock come from her front door. Not expecting company, she had figured it was Elaine with some other excuse to get her to sway Nesta into doing some task. Responding with a small “Coming” she hustled to the door.

Who she opened it to was not who was expected, but only someone she had prayed every day to see again.

“Feyre?” Her voice shook and she swore she saw a small shadow dart out of the corner of her eye. Blaming it on the still boiling water for the food she had yet to make in the kitchen, she dismissed it.

“Hey Y/n.” The smile that overtook Y/n's face as with a motion of open arms, her best friend all but launched herself into her embrace. The strength in which Feyre landed made Y/n take a step to steady themselves, but she didn't think twice to return the embrace.

“Oh thank the gods." her voice was a whisper as Y/n's habit of stroking the younger girls' hair picked up. Although, it seemed to have missed a couple inches as instead of meeting the crown of her head, her hand landed at the back of her skull. "I thought I would never see you again.” The last breath of air in her lungs followed this exclamation, followed by inhaling as much of the girl as she could.

“Didn’t have faith I would make it back huh?” Feyre raised a brow before hearing a small chuckle. When that corrupt Fae had taken Feyre, he had allowed her a simple visit once (to y/n's knowledge, she never trusted Feyre's sisters to tell her the truth about her visits). Through this, Y/n was unable to see her best friend even the off chance she would come back over the border. From the mouth of the middle sister, Elaine, Feyre had asked them to send message that she was okay and not to worry as she would see Y/n soon. This was before the Archerons gained the financial backing of the very Fae that stole Feyre. It was a jarring image of a once fragile Elaine (although still beautiful) now adorned in clean and well sewn dress. The whole situation was still sour in Y/n's mouth.

“Not even. I knew you would get out, don’t discredit my teaching skills like that.” Pulling back from Y/n, Feyre couldn’t help the smile that took over her features, as if analyzing the girl's condition, before embracing the Y/n once again.

When returning to the oddly taller Feyre's embrace, a slight brush of skin coming from the girl upon Y/n's cheek startled her slightly. Only then did Y/n take note of the small physical change her friend had adorned.

“Woah there," She pulled away turning Feyre's head to the side while scaling her appendage with confusion, " you are going to poke my eye out with this.”

Lightly flicking the now sharpened ear Feyre took in a breath, turning her head back and taking her wrist, gently pulling it down to rest still intertwined by her side. Sensing the slight nervousness from Feyre, Y/n pulled her inside fully positioning herself to begin closing the door, scanning the area to make sure nobody had seen her best friend enter.

“They kind of suit you Fey, but I do expect a full explanation." The breath Feyre held released and an easy smile lifted her face once again. She knew Y/n would still be on her side. The countless days they spent together, the things they learned together, the secrets they share. Feyre's body visibly relaxed realizing that despite all that her best friend had heard and experienced with Fae, she truly just cared that Feyre was okay. "Although, if you plan on going outside, I demand you take the hood I made for our hunts. The bigger one. I don't need any nosey neighbor seeing you and coming for your head with a spike.

“Of course.” The door shut behind them before the Feyre realized as she lost her train of thought and why she was truly here. Quickly, as if the little lock clicking switched her brain back to focus, she rushed out a quick, “I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything, you know that.” Y/n slightly scorned as she turned away to go heat up some drinks for the two of them in the kitchen. Seriously, she didn’t care about the trouble; she was just happy her friend was back and healthy (although the new appendages did have her at a bit of a loss). Feyre smiled before making way over to the small living room, sitting down on one of the now plush seats that sat around the fire. It was updated from when she last remembered this room. Back then it was colder, less like home, but the little decorative flares of Y/n brought the small and impoverished place to life.

“Me and some friends have to try and talk to my sisters into helping us win a war,” She stated. Rip the band aid off and all.

“Don’t see how they are going to be much help.” Y/n couldn’t help but mutter but given the slightly scorning glare from Feyre she raised her hands in submission. “Just saying’.”

“As I was saying, a few of my friends need to rest for the night before going over there. Is it okay if we take a couple days and stay here whilst we try and figure out how this is all going to work?” Y/n smiled before setting a cup of warmed tea beside her friend.

"Are they..." Y/n didn't know how to go about asking without making it sound like her best friend was a monster now, but Feyre understood once she trailed off.

"Yes." Looking off to the side Y/n watched as her best friend's face bloomed into a smile she thought only reserved for when they were together. As if Y/n's heart couldn't get any warmer. "I do have to add though, they have some extra... Attributes."

Y/n quirked her brow in question, but if their heritage was any louder than Feyre's in front of her, if word got out that she willingly let them in, it wouldn't end well.

To put it bluntly, Fey was asking something of her that could get her maimed, tortured and killed.

“Of course.” She replied without much else behind her reasoning aside from the love she had for who asked her. Feyre’s friends were hers (despite the rather ominous implication of attributes) and she lived with loyalty for the girl. Plus, she had an inkling one of the reasons Feyre looked so happy and healthy was from these ‘friends’ so she didn’t mind as much.

Without missing a beat, the fae girl looked to Y/n with warmth and took a drink of her warmed beverage.

“I missed you.” Feyre spoke as another knock sounded at the door.

“Have they been outside this whole time?!" The possibility of the 'friends' being seen while waiting outside the house sent Y/n into a flurry of motion to open the door again. With her Feyre chuckling behind her. Without so much a glance to who she was inviting in, Y/n had ushered them in quickly. “In, in! It’s cold and I don't need the town coming for my head sooner rather than later.”

The girl didn’t even give herself time to process that two of them had wings and the third no doubted was simply hiding them as his stature imitated the other two.

Shutting the door, a beat of silence passed over the house as she truly looked at each man.

There where Fae in her house... Three rather large male Fae.

The attributes comment made sense now.

Y/n took a shaky breath with a wavering 'okay~' to follow before darting off to the small kitchen to prep herself and provide some hospitality to the newfound friends of Feyre.

Only for a second however, for she returned with three more mugs of the warm drink that Feyre was already halfway done with.

“These are for you.” Y/n emphasized keeping her voice steady as she handed them the steaming beverage. One of them had glanced at Feyre in a slight question as she raised her mug towards him.

"It's better than I remembered actually." Feyre's statement had Y/n glancing over to her but assumed that the conversation between them had taken place a time ago. He had taken a sip with the assurance and nodded in appreciation at the beverage.

"Thank you." His voice was smooth, that with his partnered purple eyes, Y/n had shrunk slightly under his gaze. Although it was nice of him to show an appreciation. The other two next had also nodded along, Y/n didn't see them take a swig but assumed they had tried it as well.

“Please, sit and make yourself comfortable.” The human girl mentioned to the couches and took the opportunity to analyze more closely the people in her house. The one who talked was the shortest, but not by much. His stature was also the leanest, but she doubted it meant any lack of strength with the way his posture stood. Following him was one of the winged ones. Taller, in fact looking over him again Y/n believed him to be the tallest of the bunch. He was the strongest looking out of the three, with longer hair and red stones adorning his attire. The final man to take a seat seemed to be the most reluctant to do so. Adorned with blue stones that seemed to pulse with his slight nerves that Y/n spotted above his brow bone, she imagined he was just as hesitant as she was. His gaze was unwavering as he briefly met Y/n's, the color hazel had her lost in them. However, that wasn't the only thing that caught her attention, but the silk tendrils of what looked like smoke that wove through the air around him. Even in the sheer moments it took for them to situate themselves, Y/n found herself engrossed in watching the way they danced through the air.

It was then she realized she wasn't scared of them, at least not that one

As they placed themselves, Y/n met eyes with her best friend once more, catching the furrowed expression on Feyre's face as she attempted to read her. Upon catching Y/n's eyes trailing the last male, that notorious shit eating grin spread over her face but hid it with the ceramic mug still in her hands.

Y/n narrowed her eyes at the girl.

As they sat, purple eyes were next to Feyre, red stone guy in the middle and blue man closest to her on the homemade seating. Luckily, she had made another seat not too long ago when she was sick and couldn't hunt for the week, this was where she situated herself. Although, it didn't help that the most distracting man was sat not a couple feet away from her. Not that she minded, just the slight breeze of the darkness countered the heat of the being which already had her attention drawn over to him in curiosity. As the men with wings shifted the tug of nerves in her chest seemed to relax when he specifically folded his wings slightly behind himself to make room on the couch. If he caught her staring at him, he didn't make any motion in showing her.

“Normally we wouldn’t just crash into a place like this unexpectedly, but we thought the best idea was to configure what was going to happen these next few days.” The wingless one started, breaking the ice quickly and efficiently. Y/n nodded along and offered a small smile but glad that she didn't have to start the conversation with such strong presences in the room.

“That's understandable.” Y/n offered a small nod as she caught Feyre's gaze. One thing the Archeron girl knew for sure was that Y/n didn't want to step on any toes or speak out of turn. This was a new area for her despite how these males where family now to Feyre. So, as Feyre watched Y/n look towards her with a slight ask for an introduction all she could do was nod and allow her to initiate it herself.

Trial by fire and all that. Feyre knew she would be fine but a part of her couldn't help but glean with amusement as she had never seen her best friend so hesitant. Just as she knew she would, the human girl spoke up.

"I'm sorry, but what are your names?" Y/n had tried with all her being to keep her head about her and steady her vocal cords. For this however she suffered the price of being quiet. "I don't want to be rude and refer to you by your colors."

"Colors?" The red stoned one inquired. It wasn't taunting or teasing, but simply curious and slightly amused in tone. Without so much as opening up her mouth to speak, Y/n pointed a hesitantly to the man closest to hers' stone on his hand.

An almost silent chuckle from the said man next to her caused a small heat to run its course to her face before she sipped her drink quickly to cover the color that followed. It wasn’t unnoticed by Feyre who all but whipped her head to her and looked between the two of them. Her eyes widened and shot a look back at the wingless man, again that same smirk adorned her face. He seemed to nod her way before starting. It sent Y/n into a small spiral.

“I am Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court." The breath was caught in Y/n's throat. "Here you have Cassian, my lead general for my armies,” mentioning towards the red rock male accompanied by a small wave by the man. He seemed to try and break the ice slightly by offering a large grin towards the girl, “and Azriel, my Spymaster.”

The weight of who exactly sat in her little house sat heavily on Y/n's shoulders. These weren't just Fae; these people were important and extremely powerful.

The nerves that were settling tidal waved her body again. However, with or without her knowledge, a slight breeze against her ankle had her thoughts disrupted and nerves paused as her attention was taken back to the more broodish male next to her. His eyes seemed to have been gaging her reaction prior to her catching him as he held the gaze for a moment. Y/n was thankful for the reprieve as she still let herself linger on his outline.

The Spymaster slightly bowed his head in her direction and she did it back out of pure instinct to brush off the ogling she had obviously been doing. Without noticing a small hand brushed Rhys across the room to assess the building curiosity and tension of the two.

Without Y/n's knowledge, during Feyre's time in the night court, she had recalled memories of Y/n and her while telling her new family about the few happy memories she had back in the human lands. The males in the room had all known about the human best friend prior, even holding her in a very high regard through the love and care that she had for their now high lady. As Feyre had gone more in depth with these memories, conversations over wine and late-night chats with the inner court had taken place, most of these concluding that Y/n would not only be an asset amongst them but someone's (specifically a silent-type spymaster) favorite person to talk to.

Feyre had insisted behind closed doors to her mate that the two would be a match made by the gods. Seeing them in person, Rhys couldn't help but agree.

Their personalities eerily matched, the strength. Hells, even their outward looks matched each other.

Taking a breath, the human girl let the conversation continue.

"It is a pleasure to meet all of you." Going on out on a limb Y/n had cleared her throat, "Any friend of Feyre is a friend of mine so please make yourselves at home and I will add more servings to dinner tonight.” Quickly, Y/n excused herself before she could make a fool out of herself once again with her eyes towards a certain man. She opened the pantry to grab some of the preserved meat to begin a marinade and placed it on the counter.

More hushed whispers made its way into the room from no doubt her friend poking for information, but Y/n paid no mind and allowed herself to become engrossed in the work ahead of her upon realizing that she would need to go out before the sun set any further to get some more supplies for the week as her stock was not enough as is.

In the other room, the high lady was all but giddy.

“What was that?” Feyre asked towards the shadowsinger. The lot turned to look at Azriel, all expecting some sort of answer.

"I don't know what you mean." Bluntly put, he didn't. To go more in depth with the strangeness of the past couple minutes, he had tacked it up to the budding affections for the woman based on the loving stories he had heard from Feyre, nothing more. Although the others where not convinced in the slightest.

"She seems sweet, hesitant, but sweet." He attempted to take the attention away from himself before Rhys knocked back the rest of the tea in his mug.

“Keep telling yourself that.” He smirked and turned towards his mate. Cassian, ever so clueless, gave a shrug and turned towards Feyre as well.

“I agree though, she is nice.” He began, “I thought humans hated us.”

“They do, you will see that when you meet my sisters and evidentially the queens.” Feyre began, also playing with the homemade ceramic cup as she had finished moments ago. “Y/n is different. She doesn’t judge and is loyal to no end. If you three showed up without me asking for help she probably would've shot you," Cassian winced but nodded at the image, "however she has made it clear growing up together that anyone that gained my trust has gained hers.”

"Well, hopefully we can all gain another ally here in the human lands. Give someone Azriel can bunk with when he's over here." The smug tone in Rhys's voice was obvious. The Spymaster stiffened in his spot at the inclination and tease but relaxed upon hearing the girl return from the kitchen, realizing she had most likely not heard the comment. Although, he didn't understand why he was so on edge around the female.

“Now I don’t have that many bedrooms, and by that many I mean I have two. You four should be able to fit fine as long as a pair of you share, there are only three beds.” The human girl began sitting down ever so slightly closer, to who she now knows as Azriel, and then continued. “I’ll be down here on the couch so you all can have your privacy.”

The aspect of the girl before him sleeping on an uncomfortable plush chair didn’t jive the best with Azriel as he watched Cassian turn towards her and give one of his show stopping smiles with a small ‘Thanks’ to follow. She returned it and then looked towards Rhys offering herself slightly. She seemed more confident now, settled with the information that had been piled onto her prior.

“If you guys want some privacy, I can go make myself busy for a couple hours. I need to see if there is any migration in the hunt this year so I can start curing it. The sun is setting soon so I need to go sooner rather than later” Feyre turned towards her with a confused startle, one that Y/n took as her calling her out on trying to leave. "I just need to be gone for a bit, it'll give you all time and me time to make sure you also weren't found." She attempted to assure, but that wasn't what had Feyre so obviously now upset.

“You still hunt?” The girl knew the dangers of the woods just outside the door purely because Y/n had taught her such, but why would she still need to exert herself and put herself in danger, Feyre didn't know. She was still young, older than Feyre had been prior to meeting Rhys yes, but why she would willingly still put herself at risk was a loss to the group. All of them had the understanding that a specific high lord was supposed to provide for the loved ones of Feyre. Call it protective instinct, but they had grown slightly attached to the girl, even more so now that they had officially met. "Y/n, why would you still go out and hunt. I mean I know you like your time and I this house holds memories, so I see why you stayed despite it all..." Y/n had tilted her head in question, taking a moment as Feyre continued to speak. "But you taught me yourself, it isn't safe out there and to put yourself in danger unnecessarily seems reckless."

It clicked with Y/n upon hearing her best friend finish her thoughts. The hunch that she had about the Fae and Feyre's sister's status came back into her mind as all her theories about her being left for the wolves (figuratively and literally) were confirmed. Sighing, Y/n placed her bow around her back, looking to Feyre with warmth. She had to try and break this gently as not to further ruin the strained relationship amongst her sisters.

“The Fae you bargained with said he would provide for your family, loved ones...” All tension left her as understanding emanated through her pores, it was almost palpable. He didn't know why, but as she met Feyre’s eyes made Azriel’s heart throb, “I’m not blood related Feyre.”

"That shouldn't have mattered. I said family and loved ones. The aid that came to Elain and Nesta should've been extended to you as well." A small wince ricocheted off Y/n's features, but she schooled it back quickly as to not enrage the fae woman more.

"They needed it more."

The realization upon the girl's face crushed Y/n slightly and she backtracked quickly.

“Don’t worry though! It’s not like I had any family to care for since everyone left so my sources weren't drained as much,” She winced as almost all eyes turned to her as she was not helping her case, “Hunting isn’t too bad lately and I have some leftover stock when I need it.”

“He didn’t help you. They didn't help you...” Y/n chuckled before pure disbelief rooted from Feyre’s. “Ace, I am so sorry. I thought you would be involved in the aid or that they would make sure you got some, I didn’t mean for you to be left-”

The nickname pulled strings within Y/n's heart, all the while everyone in the room had felt theirs crack and fill with flames towards the high lord of spring and the blood relatives of Feyre.

“Angel, it’s okay. To be honest it didn’t register with me either until the riches came for your family and I was left.” The boys glanced towards the human girl, one looked prolonged and had an urge to send her a comforting word despite his confused mentality. Rhys sensed the distress his mate still felt as she watched Y/n try to break the awkwardness as she slipped the bow off her shoulders and picked up her quiver. All the while Azriel couldn’t control the small lick of shadows that wrapped around her ankle and gently rippled towards her in a comforting manner, pulling her gently back to the sitting room and hearth.

“What is this?” She questioned before reaching out and having another small tendril wrap around her wrist and lay in her palm almost as if looking at her. The swirl of the black and what seemed to be a small abyss entrapped her attention as an Illyrian held his breath in a slight surprise. “Well, hello.”

The shadow rippled towards her and ran up her arm slowly as she murmured at how pretty it looked. Y/n didn't truly know to what extent the fae's hearing could go as if she did, she most likely would have kept her mouth shut about the beauty of the wisp. Heat had flushed Azriel's ears, subtle enough to hide, but not enough for him to ignore the stir in his chest. Normally, Az would pull the darkness back, not allow them to roam as freely as not to scare someone by accident. However, with the girl's soft expression from her moment with Feyre, and the gentleness that she held her hands out to cup the shadow. He couldn’t help but allow the shadow to explore and settle before the girl’s ear. He allowed the shadows at his back whisper everything they found about her as they did their assessment.

Genuine. Gentle. Keep. We like. We like. Soft. We like.

For a human, Y/n was beautiful, effortlessly so. Azriel didn't need his shadows to tell him that much.

Y/n didn't know if this was offensive to partake in or just a normal weeknight occurrence with the dark tendrils. She had glanced at Feyre from across the room but couldn't catch her eye as she seemed lost in thought.

A breath in her ear startled Y/n so much she jumped. Someone had whispered in her ear, but taking count of everyone as they were, nobody stood next to her. Y/n naturally queried her head and listened further as to hear it again if it decided to repeat its' actions.

“Is it talking to you?” Cassian prompted, almost awestruck. The human gave a quick shake of her head, still remaining quiet.

"No, no. I don't think so anyway." Turning her head back to them again she shrugged, "It just felt like someone breathed against my ear."

"They are cool aren't they?" Feyre goaded from across the room. "When I first met them I couldn't help but want to know more."

"Feyre darling, when you first met them, Cass had to assure you they didn't bite..." A small thwack sounded in the room as Cassian laughed at the memory and now narrowed eyes of the High Lord to his lady.

“They are soft.” She muttered back, not truly focused on the now appeased atmosphere. “They feel soft.” A sigh escaped Azriel in a twisted sense of relief. However, without realizing it, that one breath costed him a split second of control on the wisps as a larger bunch followed the single to where it stood wrapped around the nape of Y/n's neck. As a physical reaction, he had attempted to grab it back, but to no avail.

Y/n had frozen, looking at the Spymaster in a slightly panicked fashion.

"This isn't going to like..." Y/n winced again but deadpanned her features to bring a little humor into the situation, "...kill me, right? I don't think they make headstones explaining 'death by mist' here."

Cassian and Feyre had let out a laugh at the image while Rhys let a smile reach his eyes. As for Azriel, all the poor male could do was shake his head, not trusting his voice. As he watched her, he could've sworn there was a twinkle within her eye at the darkness that normally shrouded him.

It did bring a sense of peace to himself and satisfy an urge he didn’t know he had.

“These things talk to you?" The question rung out of Y/n with confidence. Whatever nerves she had prior with the bunch seeming to truly run from her body. Rhys looked towards the shadow singer in confirmation, while again, Azriel simply nodded his head. This girl truly had him lost for words.

“Well do you all have a name?” The question was not asked towards the bunch in front of Y/n. No, Y/n believed to ask the wisps that were at Az's beck and call if they had a name. Azriel cocked his head. Did she just ask if the shadows had a name? The smile that spread over Azriel's face was almost contagious. A small giggle fascinated him from his thoughts and Y/n noted the ripple of dark that now snuck fully away from the winged man she was undeniably but in denial about being attracted to.

“Is that a weird question?"

"No, not at all." Az tried to play it off, his image was on the line here.

"His shadows are basically an extension of himself Y/n." Cassian slung an arm around the back of the seat to turn more towards her. "It's his 'emotions and unconscious thoughts' type stuff that controls them if he doesn't think about it."

"Oh." Her face flushed. "Oops."

"Don't worry about it." It was rushed, but the assurance hit Y/n as she offered a smile.

“Az, I think your shadows have a new favorite.” Azriel shot Cassian a glare before slightly softening towards the girl. For some reason, he didn’t mind the slight intrusion. The aspect of her being close to something that could protect her and be with her no matter what eased an instinctual itch that he could only remember feeling towards his High lady upon her ascension. This ran deeper, but the itch was there, nonetheless.

“I’m glad you like them." Another small lick of the tendril eased its way behind her ear as the rest slinked back towards the spymaster and he immediately found himself focusing on questioning what they talked about and why they reacted to her in such a way.

Warm. Sneaking glances. Hope.

Busy bodies.

“Oh, they definitely have a new favorite.” Rhys couldn’t help but give a smirk towards Y/n before standing and asking where the rooms were for the night, he wished to wash up from their journey. Jumping, Y/n had corrected herself before reaching for the door, adjusting to the leftover sunlight of the forest.

“Of course! Where are my manners? It's up those stairs and to the left for you two.” She turned to Feyre, “You get my room. You know how to work the bath.”

Grateful, Feyre bowed slightly and sent a wink before following the man up the stairs.

“You two are getting the guest room, there are two beds which should fit,” She shot a look towards the massive wings behind them, “most of you.”

Cassian laughed.

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed! I am going to hopefully continue this with little inserts throughout the story to keep it interesting. I had a whole years' worth of one-shots that I am trying to re-vamp to this plot line, but if anyone has any requests do let me know! I don't have anything on my page about requests, but my inbox is open if anyone wants to shoot one my way.

#acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #cassian #rhysand #feyre archeron #azriel x you #azriel acotar #slow burn #azriel x human reader #best friend feyre

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heliosunny · 2 months ago

Note

Then can I ask for something with Nanook and a darling who's a bit of a walking calamity? They don't do it on purpose. Just they presence tends to Tigger chain reactions that bring civilizations down. Whatever it's the reason they interest Nanook or of if it's a manifestation of they interest is the darling is up to you.

Yandere!Nanook x Reader

Y/N L/N is your name. But instead of calling you by that, you had been called many things—an omen, a harbinger of ruin, a god of misfortune. People feared your presence, though you had never once raised a hand against them. Their crops withered, their cities fell, their stars dimmed in the sky, and yet, you were only ever a traveler.

But you had learned not to dwell on it.

The galaxy was vast, filled with wonders beyond comprehension. If one world collapsed, there was always another waiting, glimmering in the distance. And so, you wandered, a being untethered by time or fate, carrying nothing but the echoes of places left behind.

You had long stopped trying to stay.

People either feared you or sought to use you. The few who welcomed you with open arms never lasted long. You had learned to laugh at it, to brush off the weight of it all.

"Well, that was unfortunate." you would hum to yourself, standing at the edge of yet another ruined city. "Guess I'll be moving on."

It was easier that way.

-----

The planet had been thriving once. You could still see the remnants of its beauty—the intricate spires of its capital, now crumbling under fire and smoke. The streets, once filled with life, were now silent, save for the crackling embers of ruin.

You had only arrived yesterday.

A sigh left your lips as you stood at the edge of the city, hands on your hips.

This one fell fast.

Usually, it took weeks, sometimes months, before the cracks started showing. You hadn't even had the chance to try the street food yet.

You took a step forward, the dust swirling at your feet.

It's not my fault, you reminded yourself. It never was. You didn't start the fires. You didn't bring the war. These things simply... happened.

You had accepted that a long time ago.

Still, there was something odd about this one.

The destruction felt too clean, too deliberate. Normally, disasters were random—an accident here, a misfire there, the slow decay of systems failing in impossible ways. But this?

You crouched, running your fingers over the cracked stone.

There were scorch marks, yes. But beneath them, you could see the symbols. The same ones you'd glimpsed on other fallen worlds, carved into ruins, etched into broken walls.

No.

Not again.

The realization settled over you like a suffocating weight.

You had always known there were those who whispered your name with reverence. You had heard rumors of a sect— fanatics who believed in the divine cycle of destruction. But you had never given them much thought.

People believe all sorts of things. You had told yourself that more times than you could count.

But this was different. This was too much.

The symbols, the way the city had burned—it wasn’t coincidence. This had been orchestrated.

Had it always been like this? Had your travels, your carefree wandering, been nothing more than a trail of kindling for someone else to set alight?

You stumbled back, shaking your head. No, no, that couldn’t be right. You had seen worlds fall before—seen them unravel by sheer misfortune, by the unseen force that clung to you like a curse. But this?

They were doing this in your name.

And then, the air shifted.

"Why do you weep?"

The voice was smooth, slow, and laced with amusement. It came from behind you, curling around your spine like the first tremor of an earthquake.

You turned.

A figure stood amidst the ruins, haloed by golden light. His form was vast, shifting between something human and something impossibly cosmic, as if the very fabric of existence bent to accommodate him. His eyes burned with the light of dying stars, watching you with something akin to fondness.

Nanook.

But why in that form?

You had never seen them before—not in all your wanderings, not in all the deaths that trailed in your wake.

But they had been watching.

"Why do you despair?" Nanook asked. They gestured to the ruins, to the smoldering city beneath your feet. "You were not made for weak, fleeting things."

Their presence swallowed the world around you, vast and consuming. As Nanook stepped closer, and the ground trembled beneath them.

"You were made for me."

Nanook’s words rang in your skull like a bell, reverberating through your bones with an awful certainty.

"No," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I wasn’t made for anyone."

Nanook only chuckled. It was a deep, resonant sound, something that should have belonged to a being incapable of laughter.

"Is that what you believe?"

Their gaze swept over you, and there was something terribly fond in the way they looked at you—like a collector admiring the rarest piece in their possession. "You have wandered for so long, destroying all that you love, running from the truth carved into your very existence. And yet, you still resist."

Your nails dug into your palms.

"I never wanted this" you snapped, the weight of it all crashing down. "I never wanted them to—" Your throat closed up, bile rising in your chest as you gestured wildly at the ruins around you. "They did this in my name, Nanook! They burned this city to the ground, they slaughtered people because they thought it would please me!"

Nanook watched you, unbothered by your outburst.

"And?"

The word made you flinch.

"And—?" you echoed, voice cracking. "And you think that’s fine? That this is—" You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "No. No, I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this."

Nanook sighed, as if indulging a stubborn child.

"You misunderstand." Their hand remained outstretched, waiting. "This is not about what you want. It never has been."

"You were never meant for fragile things, my love." Nanook's voice curled around you like silk, patient and inescapable. "You were never meant to hold, only to break. You have always known this."

No, no, that wasn’t true. You had held things before. You had loved cities, people, fleeting moments of warmth. You had admired the way life bloomed in the strangest places, had marveled at art, at music, at the endless wonders the universe had to offer.

But all of it—all of it had crumbled the moment you got too close.

The child who had given you a flower had fallen ill the next day, their village lost to an inexplicable plague.

The man who had offered you shelter had perished in a fire that consumed everything he owned.

The kingdom that had welcomed you as a guest had been swallowed by war before the week’s end.

No matter what you did, no matter how carefully you walked, everything you loved was destined to die.

The realization hit you like a blow to the ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs.

Nanook took another step forward, closing the distance between you in an instant. They towered over you, vast and endless, a being that could not be escaped.

"Come, there is nothing for you in this fragile world. Leave it behind, and I will give you something eternal."

"And if I refuse?"

Nanook’s smile widened, slow and knowing.

"You won’t."

Their hand finally met your cheek, warm and firm, and the cosmos cracked open beneath your feet.

Nanook’s fingers brushed against yours, warm and steady.

You didn’t pull away this time.

There was no fear in their touch, no trembling hesitation like the mortals who had once tried to hold you. Nanook was not afraid that you would break them—because they could not be broken.

"You think you understand me" you murmured, lifting your gaze. "But you weren’t there."

Nanook tilted his head slightly, waiting.

"You weren’t there when the child who gave me a flower grew sick the next day." Your voice was even, but the words weighed heavy. "You weren’t there when I was chased out of cities for bringing ruin to their gates. When people cursed my name, when I—" You swallowed. "When I tried to stay, only to watch everything fall apart."

A quiet moment passed. The cosmos stretched endlessly around you, golden constellations pulsing like a slow heartbeat.

Then, Nanook spoke.

"And yet, you still sought fragile things."

You looked away. "Of course, I did."

"Why?"

You hesitated. The answer should have been simple. Because they were beautiful. Because even if you had lost everything, for a brief moment, you had been happy.

But saying it felt foolish now.

"Then why are you here?" you asked.

"Because you are mine."

You felt the weight of those words settle deep in your chest.

"If I were truly yours, Nanook," you murmured, "wouldn’t I have gone to you long ago?"

Their lips curved into something almost indulgent.

"You were always coming to me." Nanook lifted a hand, tracing a single golden finger along your temple—not forceful, just a reminder of their presence. "You simply took the longer path."

"If I stay," you said carefully, "I need to know one thing."

Nanook watched you patiently. "Speak."

"Are you keeping me because I interest you? Or because you care for me?"

For the first time, Nanook was quiet.

Not because they didn’t know the answer—no, you could tell that they did. But rather because Nanook understood why you were asking.

"Do you think an Aeon incapable of both?"

You weren’t sure.

But for now, you listened.

------

The journey back was unlike anything you had experienced before.

Nanook did not walk. They did not travel.

Instead, the universe itself bent around them, folding and shifting, until the mortal world disappeared entirely—until there was nothing but golden infinity.

You had always assumed the realm of Aeons was a void of silence and solitude, but now… you realized you were wrong. Well maybe.

Because there were others.

They stood beyond the light, their forms shifting, flickering between shapes that barely registered to your mortal perception. Some resembled human figures, adorned with celestial robes, their faces obscured by divine masks. Others were puppet-like constructs, their limbs moving with an eerie smoothness, as if they existed outside of time itself.

Aeons.

They had gathered here. Just to witness a sight. You and Nanook.

The air in the realm hummed with energy, shifting with unspoken words. The Aeons did not communicate as mortals did, yet their attention was unmistakable.

They were looking at you.

Not with the wary glances of mortals, nor the outright fear you had grown accustomed to.

No—this was curiosity.

A voice, layered and eternal, echoed in the void.

"A mortal…? No. Not quite."

A figure wrapped in deep blues and endless constellations observed you with something akin to amusement. Their presence felt like an ocean of knowledge—one that could drown you if you ventured too deep.

"How strange" another mused. "How fragile. Yet still standing beside the Destroyer."

You stiffened, your hands clenching the cloak Nanook had given you.

Nanook did not react at first. They simply stood beside you, golden light radiating from their being. Unmoved. Unbothered.

Until one Aeon took a step forward.

Unlike the others, this one was smaller, their form shifting between a marionette-like construct and something more fluid, their movements unnatural yet entrancing.

"Tell me, Nanook…" Their voice curled through the air like silk laced with hidden thorns. "What makes this one so… special?"

The moment the words were spoken, a shift occurred.

The golden void around you grew heavier, denser, as if unseen hands had pressed against reality itself.

Nanook did not move, but you could feel it—the silent command, the unspoken warning.

"They are mine."

The Aeons did not challenge Nanook’s claim.

But they did observe.

Their gazes weighed on you, some in curiosity, others in calculation. You could not tell what they saw—what conclusions they drew from your presence beside Nanook.

But you knew this:

You did not belong here.

And yet…

You looked to Nanook.

They stood beside you, their golden radiance unwavering.

You did not belong anywhere else, either.

The weight of the Aeons’ gazes still lingered on your skin long after you and Nanook had left. The journey through the cosmos was not something you could truly comprehend.

One moment, the void stretched infinitely around you, the stars shifting in ways that defied logic. The next, reality bent, and you stood on solid ground.

Except…

It wasn’t solid at all.

You looked down, and the "floor" beneath you was a sea of golden dust, shifting with unseen currents, swirling like sand caught in an eternal storm.

Yet, despite its movement, you did not sink.

Above, the sky was fractured light—not a sun, not a moon, but something vast, illuminating the endless horizon. Floating structures loomed in the distance, remnants of something once grand but now long destroyed, left to drift as ruins across the golden expanse.

The air was not air. There was no wind, no temperature—only Nanook’s presence, filling the space like a constant hum beneath your skin.

This was not a place meant for mortals.

This was their domain.

And you… You were standing within it.

You took a slow step forward, the golden dust shifting beneath your weight, parting as if making way for you.

Nanook observed in silence, their humanoid form beside you as still as the remnants of the world around you.

“…This is your universe?” you finally asked, your voice quiet.

They turned their head slightly, their unreadable golden eyes locking onto you. “It is.”

You exhaled softly, scanning the endless horizon. “It feels…” You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “...Lonely.”

"It was."

Was?

You turned to them fully. Nanook simply continued to watch you, their expression unreadable—divine and unknowable, yet something about them felt so terribly certain.

A strange emotion settled between you, unspoken yet undeniable.

You were not sure if you should break it. But you did.

“...Show me more?” Your voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. “Of your world?”

Something shifted in Nanook’s gaze.

"Come."

They did not need to take your hand, nor did they need to guide your steps.

And yet, as you walked forward, they remained beside you.

-----

It started as something subtle.

At first, you thought it was simple exhaustion, the weight of everything that had happened, the endless journey through Nanook’s realm, the way the golden dust never settled beneath your feet.

But then… it got worse.

Each day, moving became harder. Your limbs felt heavy, your breath came shallower, the energy that once surged through you was slipping.

And Nanook knew.

They had known before you even realized.

"You are fading."

You felt their touch, felt a hand at your back, another cupping your cheek.

"This universe does not welcome you."

This was Nanook’s domain—a universe meant to be ruled, not inhabited. The very essence of destruction that pulsed through it rejected you. Slowly, surely, it was breaking you down.

And yet, Nanook would not allow it.

"You need me."

The words were absolute. Not a question. Not an offer.

At first, you resisted.

You tried to manage on your own, ignoring the weakness in your limbs, the slow ache in your bones. But Nanook was always there.

And the moment you staggered—just once—their arms were around you, catching you with terrifying ease.

"Enough."

You felt the shift before you saw it, Nanook pulling you against them, their energy pouring into you, wrapping around your very being.

It was intoxicating. Like warmth after a bitter cold, like air after drowning. Like salvation.

Your fingers clutched at them before you even realized it. Your body betrayed you, seeking them, clinging to them.

And Nanook smiled.

"You understand now, don’t you?"

"You are mine. And I will never let you wither."

It became routine.

Each day, Nanook would feed you their energy, keeping you whole. A hand at your nape, fingers ghosting over your wrist, an arm slipping around your waist. Constant.

Every moment, you became more reliant.

Every moment, Nanook tightened their hold.

-----

"I want to go back."

Your voice was quieter than you intended, but the weight of it still hung in the air of Nanook’s realm.

The Aeon of Destruction did not answer immediately. Their form loomed above you. Their fingers, which had been idly tracing the curve of your wrist, stilled.

"You wish to leave me?"

"Not... leave" you corrected quickly, gripping their hand before they could pull away. "Just… visit. A planet. Somewhere familiar. Just for a while."

"You do not understand your place yet."

Their fingers trailed to your chin, tilting it up, forcing you to meet their gaze.

"But you will."

You expected them to refuse.

But instead, light surged around you, and before you could react—

You were falling.

When you opened your eyes, you were standing on solid ground.

The sky stretched endlessly above you, the air crisp and filled with distant voices. A city hummed with life ahead, its streets bustling, its towers standing tall.

It was beautiful.

It was alive.

For the first time in so long, you felt real again.

And yet, the moment you stepped forward, something cracked.

A distant sound. You turned sharply.

Nanook stood behind you in silence.

"Go on" they murmured. "Walk."

You frowned but obeyed, moving toward the city. And as you did, the streets darkened, the lights flickered, the air grew heavier. A ripple of unease spread through the people, their voices faltering, their steps slowing. You barely noticed it at first. But then a single, horrifying scream ripped through the air. Buildings trembled. Glass shattered. A wave of unseen force spread outward, like a silent explosion tearing through the city.

You stopped.

The destruction stopped.

Your breath came fast, uneven. Your hands were shaking. Your presence alone had done this.

"Do you understand now?"

"You were never meant to walk among them."

You turned to them, chest heaving, the weight of reality crashing down on you.

"This is why you will never leave me."

Nanook stepped closer, fingers brushing against your cheek—not cruel, not forceful. Just… inevitable.

"You belong at my side."

Their lips ghosted over your ear, their voice a whisper of divine possession.

"Come home."

And despite everything—despite the fear, the sorrow, the ruin you had witnessed, you did.

Because Nanook was right.

One moment you were still on the planet, the next you were back in Nanook’s realm. You barely had time to catch your breath before warm hands were on you.

"You see now" Nanook murmured, drawing you closer, deeper into their grasp. "There is nothing for you beyond me."

You had fought for so long, fought against the weight of your own existence, fought against the inevitability of Nanook’s grasp.

But now, standing before them, shaken and drained, you felt the exhaustion settle into your bones. You felt the relief of being caught.

Of being wanted, despite it all.

"I have you" they whispered against your ear, their touch firm, unrelenting.

"I will always have you."

The next breath you took was shaky. Nanook’s presence was too much—too close, too overwhelming.

Their fingers traced over your wrist, the touch left an energy that thrummed beneath your skin, lighting your nerves aflame.

"You were made to fit into my hands" they murmured. Heat curled in your stomach at their tone.

Their lips brushed against your temple, soft at first. Then your cheek.

Your breath hitched as you felt their warmth ghost over your skin, testing, savoring. Their grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly, pulling you flush against them.

"You need me" Nanook whispered against your pulse, their lips barely skimming it.

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you—leaning into them.

"Say it."

Your fingers curled into their clothes, nails pressing against them in silent defiance. But your body had already surrendered.

"Say that you are mine."

"I’m yours."

The words left your lips barely above a whisper—shaky, breathless.

But Nanook heard.

"Good."

"You belong to me. No one else will ever hold you like this. No one else will ever touch you like this."

You let them guide you, let them mold you into the shape they desired. Let them worship you.

"Mine"

And you accepted it.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #nanook #nanook hsr #hsr nanook #nanook x reader

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fireya-x · 4 months ago

Text

skin on skin

This one is for @the-californicationist's writing challenge! ❤️

【 AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist 】 ✦ John Price x Reader ✦ A surprise waits for John when he returns home earlier than you expected… ✦ 1.4k words ✦ tags/cw: smut, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, creampie

It just felt too fucking good, thinking about your husband’s cock, stretching you, nudging against your walls in all the right places – it had been too long; he had been gone for a week, seven excruciatingly long days without his touch – and your hand rubbing and pinching your swollen clit barely did anything to clench the need you had for him.

The explicit whispers spilling from your earbuds only fueled the fire, painting a scenario of what you so desperately craved.

The sight before him was something else. Almost divine.

You were lost in a haze of self-pleasure, sweating, your face distorted, lost in concentration as the blanket moved frantically where your hand worked against your cunt. It took maybe seconds before his pants felt too tight, his dick responding to the frantic breaths and whimpers that left your lips.

You hadn’t noticed you were being watched, at least not for a while.

His gaze burned into you, dark and hungry, and as if suddenly very aware of a presence at the door, your eyes shot open. The sudden movement ripped the earbuds out of your ears, and your heart hammered against your chest as your eyes met his.

A wave of heat flooded your cheeks, but before any flicker of embarrassment could form, you saw the raw lust in his eyes.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he murmured, dark and velvety, gently cupping his hardening length through the cargo pants he was wearing. The one thing you craved so severely, hidden only behind a thin layer of fabric.

He slowly stalked towards you, and with one swift motion, the blanket was gone, exposing your naked body and your hand, now frozen between your folds. A predatory smile spread on his lips as his eyes devoured every inch of you, lingering on the glistening wetness between your thighs. He couldn’t resist, and one large calloused hand closed around your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, while the other worked at his belt buckle with practised ease.

“What’s gotten you so worked up, hm?”

“Been thinking about you,” you confessed, breathing heavily, your eyes not leaving his.

His smile widened. He captured the wrist that had been attending to your needs and brought it to his lips. He kissed your knuckles, then took your fingers into his mouth, sucking gently, swirling his tongue around each digit as if savouring the world’s most delicious meal.

Your whole body shivered, and the emptiness between your legs was a painful void, reminding you of what he could be giving you. “Fuck, John, I need you,” you whimpered, the words torn from your throat.

“I can see that.” He released your hand and placed it back between your thighs.

“Please.”

“You were doing just fine on your own.”

“Please.”

He tilted his head as if thinking about it. “No.” With both hands placed on your knees, he pulled your legs apart even wider. He walked around and stood where he got the best view. “Go on. Keep going.”

You were too lost in him now that he was finally there; you didn’t even remember the words to protest. Like a puppet on a string, controlled by his presence alone, your finger parted your folds for him to see, and with one finger, you began drawing little circles on your clit.

“Yes, like that. Just let me watch.”

His voice was the kindling you had needed before; without it, you were unable to get lost in the sensation. No story or audio could do what he did, pulling and pushing the strings that drove your body to pure euphoria, and he didn’t even have to touch you.

He stood before you, a towering figure consumed by lust. He began to stroke himself, the slow, deliberate rhythm mimicking your movements. Your eyes darted between the intensity of his gaze and the mesmerising movement of his hand on himself. His thumb brushed over the tip, drawing a groan from deep within his chest. “Yes, just like that,” he groaned, his eyes fixed on your hand working between your legs. “Fuck, you’re driving me insane.”

You increased the rhythm; your fingers moved faster, mirroring the frantic pace of his hand on his cock, your gaze holding his. “I was imagining your fingers here,” you confessed, your voice breathless, “imagining your mouth, your tongue…”

A guttural groan ripped from his throat. “Tell me,” he begged, “tell me what you were thinking about before...”

“You were…mmm,” you sucked in a breath as the pleasure built. “You had me bent over – fucking me so hard and deep I saw stars –”

“Fuck,” he hissed, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He suddenly moved, his body crushing yours, skin on skin, pressing you into the mattress. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating, a brand against your sensitised flesh. His face was buried in your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You hadn’t even noticed his shirt was gone; your senses were overwhelmed by him. The hard planes of his chest, slick with sweat, seared into you, his muscles flexing and shifting against your body. Your breasts were crushed against him, and your nipples tightened against the rasp of his chest hair.

You could feel everything - the strength of his arms on your sides, the wiry hair of his forearms tickling your skin, the frantic drumbeat of his heart echoing your own.

He ground his hips against you, once, twice; as if to test whether he could still move while keeping your body flush against his. “Come on, you can do it. Keep going. Faster.”

Your body was writhing, shaking; you could have sworn your clit must have been screaming at the abuse – the peak was right there, so painstakingly close –

“You can do it. Hm? You don’t need my cock.”

You felt his hips move against you; he was fucking his hand beneath him, pressing you both into the mattress. With each thrust, the tip of his hot length moved against the skin of your thigh like a burning brand, creating friction that had him panting into your ear. Your overstimulated nerves were crying for release, but you couldn’t reach it.

“I do!” You almost screamed, frustrated.

“No, you don’t.”

The heat between your legs was unbearable, your entire being focused on the pleasure building within you. He leaned even closer, pressing a kiss against your temple. “You were so desperate, you would have fucked yourself without me here. So come on, do it.”

“Pleasepleaseplease…” you begged, your voice barely coherent.

“Yes, that’s it, dirty little thing. Mmm.”

You focused on nothing else but the moans in your ear, the touch of his cock against your thigh, his hips stuttering against yours, and the finger you had managed to somehow push into your aching hole.

“Come for me, love.” His lips brushed against your ear, and his teeth nipped at your lobe. A ragged moan ripped from his throat as he thrust hard, his body pressing against yours. The friction was unbearable, exquisite, pushing you over the precipice. “Be a good girl and come –”

Your world shattered. A searing wave of pleasure ripped through you, your body arching involuntarily, your stomach pressing hard against his. He groaned, a primal sound torn from his chest, as he felt the ripple of your orgasm against him. The involuntary clench of your muscles, the frantic thrum of your pulse against his skin, the moans caught in your lungs as your chest crashed against him.

He wasted no time sheathing himself inside you; the feeling of him filling you, stretching you, was almost too much to bear. He rode out your climax, the involuntary clenching of your walls around him a sweet torment that sent him spiralling over the edge. He spilled deep inside you, so hard he thought he might faint, a shuddering sigh escaping his lips as he finally came home.

“Hi,” you whispered after coming down from your high and as your hand threaded through his sweat-dampened hair. He pressed a kiss to your belly, then to your breasts, before finally meeting your gaze.

“Hey.”

“You’re home earlier than I thought.” You smiled, a soft, content smile that reached your eyes.

He shrugged, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Got myself a nice surprise.”

“Next time,” you teased, your fingers tightening in his hair, “just fuck me when I’m already begging for it?”

He chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest. He leaned down, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. “Where’s the fun in that?”

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daryltwdixon · 3 days ago

Text

Chapter 1

series masterlist Summary: In the time between when he took you to now, something changed. His hands grew gentler. Your fear turned quiet. And somewhere in the stillness, love kindled. || angst, trauma, captor!joel, raider!joel, a little bit of dark!joel, kidnapping, dark themes, morally gray comfort, Pre-Boston QZ, slow burn, I know this is different than what I usually write but just hear me out okay, mentions of reader's body being thin / starved, promise she won't hate him forever ||

“Come here.” His voice commands. Though it’s…soft. Not cruel, not mean. Not anymore.

You move without hesitation, the old floorboards warm beneath your skin as you settle in front of him. The fire crackles before you—not roaring, not needed, but kept. For cooking, maybe. For comfort. For the hush it brings. Its glow paints you both in amber and shadow. His old armchair groans when he shifts, knees spread, a hand already reaching.

His fingers are warm and gentle when they gather your hair, no longer forceful or angry. The brush is missing bristles, its wood worn soft with time. He drags it through your hair from scalp to ends in slow, even strokes. It used to make your chest seize. Now, it soothes.

The brush catches slightly on a knot near the base of your skull. Your breath hitches. Slowly, his fingers work to ease it loose, and the fire shifts—another log settling into embers, sending a soft crackle through the room.

Your eyes stay locked on the flames as you exhale. They flicker and split, burning low and orange, lapping up dry pine with bursts of ember. You watch one flare brighter than the rest, then fade back down.

It’s calming, in a way. Destruction that doesn’t scream anymore.

You don’t scream anymore either.

“No!”

“Stop fightin’ me, you stupid girl.” he said, hauling you inside the cabin. Your fingers scrabbled for the frame of the door, nails catching and tearing on splintered wood. It bit into your skin, but you held on anyway, fingertips screaming in equal protest as your lungs.

“Please!”

You thrashed in his grip, every breath a sob.“I’ll be good—I swear—I swear—I won’t tell anybody, just—please—”

He slammed the door shut with his boot, and the sound echoed through the empty house like a warning.

Then he dropped you.

Your knees hit the cold wood with a sharp crack that made you cry out again, but he didn’t flinch. He stepped around you, unhurried, as if he had all the time in the goddamn world. He set down his rifle next to the dusty chair, peeled off his gloves, and sat down. Dust exhaled into the air as he made himself comfortable, knees spreading as he sat forward.

“Come.”

You did no such thing.

“Please–” your voice broke as you cowered away, “please, just take me home. I won’t say anything. No one will come after you.”

His face turned cold, lip curling into a snarl as he reached forward for you, hauling you between his knees.

“No!” you yelped, bracing your hands on his shins. But to your surprise, he turned you around, your back to him as he held you by the hair.

“Stay.” he said, voice deep and rough before releasing you.

He rooted through his bag until he pulled out a battered old hairbrush. You saw it coming and tried to move, but he yanked you back by the collar.

“Don’t make me hurt you.”

That stopped you.

The first pass of the brush was rough—tugging, catching, dragging through the nest of knots like they were punishments. You whimpered, tears falling down your face, but he didn’t pause.

He kept brushing.

“You think they give a rat’s ass where you are, girl?” he grumbled, the brush catching on one especially nasty tangle. He tried to force the knot to loosen, your head snapping with every brush through.

“I saved you from those fuckers,” he growled.The brush yanked again and your breath hitched, a fresh tear tracking down your cheek.

“You took me,” you whispered, voice shaking.

The man didn’t answer right away. Another brutal pass through your hair. Another wince.

“I did what needed doin’.” he said, low and final. “You were already dead there. Damn skin and bones. They just hadn’t finished the job.”

You didn’t understand. Not really. Not then. You were too raw—scared down to your bones. His words were smoke in your ears. Meaningless. All you knew was the pain. The cold floor biting into your knees. The sharp tug of each stroke through your hair.

“You’re hurting me,” you whispered. Small. Barely there.

But he paused.

His hand came to the nape of your neck, and you flinched—but he didn’t grab. Instead, he cupped your hair in his calloused palm, bracing it so he could brush again without jerking your head back anymore. It was still rough, but no longer violent.

Eventually, the brush stopped. You didn’t move besides the trembling in your body, tense in fearful anticipation.

He didn’t say a word. Just took your hair again, fingers scraping the back of your neck as he pulled it together. Goosebumps rippled across your skin. You squeezed your eyes shut.

The only sounds in the room were the pull of your hair being gathered and your own quiet sniffles, the rustling of his pack. He dug for something, muttering low under his breath as he pulled out a strip of some sort of material. He fastened your hair and let it drop back down onto your spine. Without thinking, you reached back to feel it.

Your hair was pulled neatly into a three-plait braid, tied off at the end with some kind of string—maybe leather. Maybe cloth. It didn’t matter. It was tight. Secure.

Your fingers lingered over it, uncertain.

“Look at me.” His voice cut through the stillness—quiet, but sharp. It made your stomach lurch.

You stayed staring at the cold, empty hearth.

“Look at me, girl.” More firm now. A command.

You sniffled again before hesitantly looking over your shoulder.

He was scary. Broad and thick and scarred. His worn, weathered face carved by years of hard living. There was a horizontal scar deep across the bridge of his nose. His jaw was clenched, the muscle twitching with restrained fury. There was a permanent crease between his brows, like the world had never given him a reason to relax.

He looked like violence wrapped in denim and flannel.

But God—He was beautiful.

Not soft, not safe. But striking in a way that made your throat tighten. His features were sharp and grounded, the kind of face you’d see in an old war photograph, kept in someone’s wallet long after the man was gone. There was something ancient in the set of his mouth. Something sad, maybe.

And his eyes. Hazel, a thousand colors flecked in them: gold, green, something earthy. For a moment, you wondered what they’d look like on a summer’s day.

Then he pointed to the floor beneath you.

“This is your home now,” he said, voice cold and sure. “You run, you try anything—I will find you. If you don’t do as I say, there will be consequences. Do you hear me?”

You swallowed, breath shivering as his words soaked into your skin like ice water.

“When I speak, you answer, girl.”

Your lips parted. You couldn’t think. Could barely form sound. The fear was still there—thick, in your lungs—but underneath it, something else was rising. Something wrong.

“Please, sir,” you whispered. “Why are you doing this? Please take me home.”

His face didn’t change. But his eyes—they dimmed a little. Like you’d said something that hurt.Or maybe something he didn’t want to admit was true.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Just looked at you.

And then, quiet and final:

“I saved you.”

The minute he stepped into another room, you ran.

It didn’t matter that your feet were bare, already torn open from the icy ground and jagged underbrush of late winter. It didn’t matter that every root, every thorn, seemed hellbent on keeping you close—slashing, snagging, clawing at your legs like the woods themselves belonged to him.

It didn’t matter that you had no idea where you were.

When he’d taken you, your panic had been so complete, so loud, that he’d had to knock you out just to haul you over his shoulder. You remembered the swing of his elbow. The flash of sky. Then nothing. Just waking up at the edge of this old cornfield, body limp against his back as he brought you here.

But now—now your hands were outstretched, heart slamming in your chest as the tree line formed in front of you.

Freedom.Freedom!

You could almost taste it. Cold air in your lungs. Your braid whipping behind you, your knees buckling but still moving, still flying toward the shadows of the woods, the camouflage it would give you. Even if you got lost. Even if you died of frostbite. You’d take that over this.

But fate had never been that kind to you.

A shadow surged behind you. Too fast. You didn’t even have time to scream before an arm looped tight around your waist, hauling you backward mid-step. Your body crashed against his hard chest, heavy breath, arms like chains locking you in place.

“Let me go!” you shrieked, thrashing in his grip. Your nails clawed at whatever you could reach—his arm, his coat, the skin beneath. “GET OFF ME!”

“Stop it—” his voice was a harsh bark in your ear. “Stop.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You threw your elbow back, aiming for anything that would give. You screamed like an animal, legs kicking, dirt flying beneath you.

Then your momentum shifted and he lost his footing. You both went down hard, bodies hitting the cold ground in a tangle of limbs and breath and fury. He landed on top of you, the weight of him knocking the air from your lungs. You tried to crawl forward, to squirm away, but his hand slammed against the dirt beside your head, pinning you there. His other arm looped under your chest, dragging you back into his body as you bucked and sobbed.

“Get off me!” you sobbed. “Let me GO! You’re a monster—you’re a fucking monster—”

“I told you not to run,” he snarled, face pressed to the side of your head. “I told you.”

You writhed harder, but he held you firm. His grip was bruising. His breath hit your cheek in hot, angry bursts.

“Dammit, girl. I told you not to make me do this.” he growled, and suddenly his weight was off of you, but as you tried to pull yourself up, something hit the back of your head.

And suddenly, there was nothing.

Your head throbbed.

Not just pain—a pressure. Like the inside of your skull was pulsing against your skin, trying to split itself open. A migraine made of lightning. Every breath sent a bolt of nausea down your spine.

You tried to move, to shift onto your side, but something stopped you short. Your arms tugged, and a scraping sound echoed beside you. Your wrists were bound, fabric biting at tender skin, looped through the cold metal bars of the rusted radiator beside you. One good yank and you’d dislocate something—but you tried anyway.

Panic flooded in like water through a crack.

You kicked, scrambled, your back pressing flat to the wall, shoulder blades scraping rough drywall. The room spun too fast, too bright, too loud, and your stomach turned as you realized the weight of the restraint wasn’t going anywhere.

You screamed.

It was a ragged, broken sound, high and wet and animal.

“LET ME GO!”

No one answered.

You screamed again anyway, throat raw, vision doubled, bile creeping into your mouth.

There was a mattress in the corner, no frame, no sheets. A chipped dresser near the boarded window. A dusty mirror leaning against the wall, turned away. This house was dead, abandoned, stripped of anything good.

You curled tighter into the corner, knees drawn up, arms pinned awkwardly by the ties at your wrists. Your breathing was shallow, rapid. You were crying and you barely realized it.

But above the sound of your shallow sobs, you heard something more terrifying. Heavy footfalls on the hardwood, floorboards creaking, and you flinched when the door opened. It creaked on warped hinges and let in a blade of silver light from the hallway.

He saw you curled there, eyes wild, lip trembling, and his mouth twitched—but it didn’t turn cruel. Didn’t even turn cold. It was something else. Weariness, maybe. Or guilt.

You hoped it was guilt.

“I brought food,” he said simply.

You lurched backward into the wall as he moved towards you with a tray in hand. Your legs kicked uselessly at the floorboards, and your voice exploded out of you before you could stop it.

“Don’t touch me!”

He didn’t. Just crouched low by the door, setting down a dented metal cup and a chipped plate. Bread. Dried meat. A few slices of canned peaches still glistening in syrup.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, slow and quiet.

“You did hurt me,” you spat, voice cracking. “You fucking hit me—!”

“I know.” His eyes didn’t leave yours. “I’m sorry about your head. I brought some painkillers.”

You didn’t believe a word of his sorries. But your eyes were already on the cup of water. Your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. You hated him. You hated him. But you were so thirsty it felt like your chest was full of sand.

He picked up the cup, took a long sip, then held it out to you.

“Not poisoned,” he said quietly, holding it toward you.

You didn’t move. Just glared. But your hands were bound, you couldn’t take it. So he inched closer, slow like approaching a scared animal.

“I’m gonna bring it to your mouth. Understand?”

You said nothing, but he moved anyway.

The rim touched your lips. You almost jerked away. But then—your tongue worked before your mind did, poking out to touch the cold of the rim of the cup. You nearly let out a sigh of relief, your mouth opening and throat soothing. The water was lukewarm and a little metallic, but it was clean. You drank, coughing halfway through but gulping it anyway.

When you finished, he set the cup down and picked up a slice of bread.

You clamped your jaw shut.

There was a long pause. He sighed, setting down the food again.

“What’s your name?”

Your head throbbed harder as your teeth clenched. He sighed again.

“I tied you up ‘cause I had to,” he said. “You ran. You wouldn’t listen.”

You didn’t respond. You just rolled your eyes, tears shining there, looking out into the sky that beckoned to you out the windows.

“You can live here,” he continued, voice quieter. “We can live here. It’s quiet. Ground’s good for crops. Don’t think this area gets many Infected. Found a well, too.”

Then his voice hardened slightly, just enough to cut through the quiet.

“But there are rules, girl.”

Your head snapped toward him. Your eyes locked with his in a glare that was wet and burning. His gaze didn’t flinch. There was no cruelty. Just seriousness. Like he was stating the facts of gravity.

“You don’t run. You don’t fight me. And you don’t lie.”

You swallowed dryly, throat raw. Then he started to stand, turning away from you.

Your voice stopped him. Barely a whisper. “Are you going to…”

The words died before they could reach your lips. Your stomach knotted hard, rising with nausea. You knew what you were asking. You just couldn’t say it.

He paused, back still to you.

“I ain’t gonna touch you,” he said. “Not unless you ask.”

And something in you snapped.

Your foot lashed out, catching the plate. It skittered across the floor and slammed against the toe of his boot with a loud, hollow clatter.

“Don’t go counting the days, asshole,” you snarled. “I’m not your fucking pet.”

He sighed. Not angry. Just tired. He crouched to pick up the plate, glancing back at you one last time.

“The name’s Joel,” he said quietly, and then added, “Goodnight.”

You didn’t eat.

Not the first day, or the second. He did move the mattress from the opposite corner to underneath you, though. And brought you a blanket. Small comforts. You still hated him for all of it.

He kept bringing you food—bread, dried fruit, whatever he could find—but you stared at the far wall, your lips tight, your arms limp at your sides. The knot at your wrists chafed worse now. The fabric was stiff with blood. But you didn’t complain. You didn’t speak. You wouldn’t give him that.

You were tired, but not hungry. Not for anything he brought you.

On the third night, he opened the door again. This time, the smell hit you before he even spoke.

Roasted meat. Maybe rabbit or deer.

Your stomach cramped violently, and you hated it. Hated the way your body responded, hated the betrayal of saliva in your mouth. You hated him. More than ever.

Joel crouched beside you, setting down a plate and a tin cup. You didn’t look at him.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then: “You’re not starvin’ yourself,” he muttered. “Not here.”

You clamped your jaw shut, but your stomach groaned in betrayal.

The scent from the plate was thick and nauseating from your intense hunger. The meat smelled like it was cooked in its own fat, crisp at the edges, seasoned with something smoky and wild. It smelled like life. It smelled like care.

You didn’t move. Then suddenly, the mattress shifted beneath you.

Joel’s hand grabbed your face. And not gently.

His fingers dug into your cheeks, tilting your head back hard enough to make your neck pop. You squirmed, instinct kicking in, but your hands were tied, and his grip was firm.

You snarled, a sound more beast than girl.

Joel’s face was close now. Too close. His voice was rough and low and full of something tight.

“You wanna die here?” he snapped. “You think that’s gonna prove something?”

You tried in vain to shake your head out of his grasp, but he was stronger.

“I ain’t gonna let you waste away ‘cause you’re feelin’ proud. You hear me?”

He grabbed a piece of meat off the plate and God, it looked so juicy, still steaming, and shoved it toward your mouth.

You fought it. Lips closed, jaw locked.

“Open.”

You didn’t.

Then his voice broke, barely above a whisper.

“Don’t make me do this.”

It was the way he said it. Like he wasn’t angry anymore, just tired. Like he was pleading, but didn’t know how.

You went still.

Slowly, shaking and furious, you opened your mouth.

He slid the food between your lips.

You chewed as tears stung your eyes. The flavor hit your tongue and your body melted around it. It was good. It was so good it hurt.

You hated him for it. Hated him for making you want the next bite. But when he offered it, you took it, lips barely grazing the tips of his fingers. He released your face as you accepted more. He fed you in silence, one bite at a time. Like you were something fragile. Like you might break in his hands.

When the food was gone, he lifted the tin cup to your lips. You drank.

Then you leaned back against the wall, chest heaving like you’d outrun something you couldn’t see. The plate was empty, the ache in your belly softer now.

Joel wiped his hands on his jeans and sat back across from you.

He didn’t speak. There was no smirk, no gloating, just those unreadable eyes on you. And for the first time, you felt something in your chest uncoil. It might not have been warmth or safety, but it was a kind of stillness.

Like surrender. Like a storm just passed.

“I’m gonna boil some water for a bath, alright?” he said, voice low, softer than it had any right to be. He stood slowly, the plate now empty between you. He watched you for a beat longer than you liked, then turned toward the door.

Your eyes followed him as he moved, as he reached for the knob. And before you could stop yourself—before you could remind yourself not to care—you spoke.

“Why are you doing this?”

He paused.

Didn’t turn around. Just looked out the small window beside the old door frame, face lost in shadow.

For a moment, you thought he might answer. But then his hand fell to the knob, turned it, and he stepped out without a word. You sat there, silent. Drowsy.

The food in your belly settled heavy and slow, a warmth you despised your body for enjoying. It made your eyelids heavy, your thoughts fogged. You were still tied, still bruised—but your body was full for the first time in days. Maybe weeks, really.

By the time he came back, you couldn’t even summon the energy to fight. The bindings at your wrist tugged gently as he pulled you to your feet, his grip firm around your forearm.

“Come on now,” Joel murmured. “Nice and easy.”

The hallway was dim. The floor cold under your bare feet. He guided you with careful pressure, down a few steps and into a narrow bathroom—walls faded yellow, mirror cracked in the corner, clawfoot tub steaming gently in the center of the room.

That’s when your mind caught up. You realized what this meant.

You stiffened. Began to squirm, breath picking up fast. He caught your movement instantly, hands tightening just enough to still you.

“Hey.” His voice dropped low in warning.

“I’m gonna untie these, alright?” He nodded toward your wrists. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

You opened your mouth—panic sparking again—but he cut you off, though not unkindly.

“I’m leavin’ you in here. Alone. Against my better judgment.”

That made you pause.

Your eyes met his—wide, wary. And again, he looked so much bigger. You thought of how easily he’d thrown you over his shoulder. How quickly he’d knocked you down in the woods. How he could still do it now, even tired, even softened.

You swallowed, but eventually you nodded.

“You’ll be good?” he asked.

Your voice came out small. “I’ll be good.”

His gaze held yours for a second longer, like he was searching for the truth in it.

Then his hands softened and he began to untie you. The rope fell away from your wrists with a soft tug. Your skin stung where it had rubbed raw, but you didn’t look down. You could barely will your body to move.

Joel straightened.

“I’ll be right outside,” he said. “Don’t make me come in after you.”

And then he left.

The door shut behind him, and you stood there, breathing. Still.

Steam curled in the cold air, and the smell of the soap, old, sharp, something like cedar, lingered near the tub. Your fingers ached. Your knees were stiff. But the water…

It looked so inviting.

You stepped in slowly after you undressed, the warmth biting at your skin in the best way. It climbed up your calves, over your thighs, and then you sank into it—sighing before you could stop yourself. Like your body had given in before your heart could.

The soap was just a sliver, set beside the tub in an old chipped dish. You picked it up with shaky fingers and began to scrub—at the dirt, the blood, the sweat from days of fear.

You didn’t cry. You just kept washing. Kept breathing.

Kept wondering why it felt more like being forgiven than being cleaned.

The soap slipped from your fingers and clattered softly against the porcelain edge of the tub. It echoed in the small room like a slap.

That was when your shoulders started to shake.

At first, it was just a breath. A short, sharp inhale that caught in your throat like something you'd forgotten to swallow. Then another. And another. Until your chest was heaving, and the tears were falling before you could stop them.

You pressed your face into your hands. Tried to muffle the sound. But the sob escaped anyway—wet and broken, punched straight from your lungs like a wound torn back open.

You hated him.

God, you hated him.

You hated how he fed you, how he touched you gently like it made any of this okay. Yes, he’d been rough with you at first—grabbed too hard, snapped too fast, yanked you around like you were a problem to solve instead of a person. But that was before. Before you began to understand him better. Before his cruelty dulled into silence, into careful hands and fewer threats. Before the rhythm of the house made space for you. He let you bathe. Gave you warmth. Let you sleep on a mattress like you were some stray dog he’d half-decided to care for.

You hated how your body was starting to believe it was safe here.

You curled tighter into the water, forehead resting against your knees as the tub slowly cooled around you. Steam faded into the air. The silence pressed against your ears.

And in that silence, you made a promise.

The second he leaves you alone again, you’ll go. No plan, no food, no map—just go. Even if it kills you.

Better to die in the trees than stay in this house and forget what the outside felt like.Better to be free for one breath than trapped for the rest of your life.

You wiped at your eyes with the edge of your palm and sat up straighter.

No more crying.

You would play along. You’d dry off, let him lead you back to that corner, let him tie your wrists again if he had to. You’d nod. You’d keep your voice soft.

And the second he trusted you—

You’d run.

#that house in nebraska #tlou #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller fic #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic #tlou joel #joel tlou

315 notes · View notes

jacaeryssworld · 8 months ago

Text

sea salt and snow

pairing(s): cregan stark x fem!manderly!reader

genre: fluff

word count: no clue, just started writing on here & couldn’t bother to transfer it to a google doc/document

warning(s): arranged marriage, heavy on the childhood friends to lovers trope, cregan being a lovesick fool for reader (as he should!), short but sweet! (lowkey hate this & might rewrite it later)

note(s): i need this man so bad 😫

Your Mother loved to remind you that your blood ran thick with sea salt and sand. How the very turbulent ocean outside the castle walls was apart of your very being. Seeped into your system when you were still just a babe in her womb. She continuously reminded you to be proud of the house you came from, of the surname you carry. And you were, very much. Except that was doing nothing for you at the moment as you shivered and shuttered at the numbing cold Winterfell always had. Being of sea and sand brought you no warmth while in the halls of the most freezing castle you’ve ever been in.

The Stark family was a close friend of yours, the history going back since the establishment of Winterfell. So, it wasn’t anything new—the cold that is. Yet every time you went back, you found yourself chittering in your boots and quivering from the cold. But that was something you needed to get used to as you’d be staying in Winterfell for the foreseeable future.

“You’re practically shaking like a leave, darling,” a deep voice chuckled out, scaring you out of your stupor as you jumped.

“Gods, Cregan! You nearly scared the soul out of me!” You exclaimed, hand over your racing heart as you tried to slow it down from the fright.

Cregan Stark laughed, gently apologizing as he took the hand over your heart up to his lips, placing a barely there kiss on the chilled skin.

“Why don’t we go to somewhere more warmer, my lady” he suggested, wrapping your hand around his bicep, gently dragging you down the corridors to the library where he knew new kindle had been added to the burning fire in the fireplace.

You rolled your eyes in kind, huffing as you spoke: “There is no need. I must get used to the cold anyway if I am to stay here for the remainder of my life”.

Cregan and you had been betrothed since you were both ten and three, being friends way before that, frequently traveling to each other’s home to strengthen the bond. But just recently had it been decided that you were to stay there permanently as the wedding was just a few moon cycles away.

“I would like to marry you before you turn into an icicle. Plus, you’ll have time to get used to the snow and cold over time. You do not need to put yourself through this in order to get a head start. You could possibly get hurt,” Cregan responded, rubbing his thumb on the hand that rested on his bicep.

A small smile crept onto your lips, blushing at the fact that he said he’d like to marry you. “Well,” you started, “we must hurry then. I’m afraid if I stay in this cold any longer I will certainly freeze”.

Cregan grinned widely as he tightened his grip on your hand ever to slightly, chuckling at your words before speeding up his pace.

“We can’t have that now can we?” He mused.

“No, we can’t. Plus, I’d haunt the halls of Winterfell for eternity if I froze to death on your watch”.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, my Lady”.

And with that, a woman from salt and sea felt her entire body warm at the man from snow so carefully guided her into the heated library, love ever present in both of their expressions.

#jacaeryssworld #jacaeryssworld fics #house of the dragon #hotd fic #house of the dragon fic #hotd fanfic #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #cregan stark fic #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #fem!manderly!reader #hotd cregan #cregan stark x fem!reader #cregan stark x female reader

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obeymeluv · 19 days ago

Text

His Favorite Part of You [Random TWST x Reader]

None of this is planned. Just writing whatever comes to mind.

Leona likes the heat of your body and the softness of your skin. The women of the Sunset Savana can be their own kind of soft but nothing compares to you. He gets the best, deepest sleep when he snuggles into your thighs. Your stomach is a close second but your thighs are literally magical to him and he will take every opportunity to touch them, squeeze them, and sleep on them.

---

Jack finds himself in awe of your hands and doesn't really know why. Consciously, at least. He likes that they're smaller than his and gets a kick out of those blunt little nails that could never compare to claws. The more he thinks about it, though, your hands are always reassuring and supportive. They've patted on him on the shoulder and tugged him at the elbow when you're begging for him to slow down so you can catch up on your little legs.

Warm and soft. Perfect for helping him reach spots he can't scratch or work knots out of his muscles.

They're perfect.

Lilia finds your expressions adorable and charming. He can't pick just one because you have so many! You've a very honest face and for some reason it just tugs at his heart. The way your eyes get steely and determined when you're facing someone down makes him proud. His favorite expression is the one you make when he swings down from the ceiling; you jump, seize, and look like you want to fall back before everything snaps back together and you try to set him ablaze with your eyes. After the fire in your eyes burns low, the tender amusement kindles (even if you snort dismissively).

---

Rook can only chalk it up to his penchant for hunting, for identifying the common weak points in prey, but he thinks your neck is especially lovely. No matter how you turn, you always look picturesque. The neck is delicate and intimate; he could trace his lips up the column of your throat and whisper in your ear or pepper kisses down the length of it until his chin finds its resting place in your shoulder.

When he gives you jewelry, you give him absolute trust at the back of it. You're so unguarded, soft, and vulnerable. He could wrap his hands around it or make you completely limp with a grab but he would never do so unless you desired.

---

Silver likes your lips. It's hard enough to pay attention when he's so sleepy but something about your lips just moving is captivating to him. He could watch you recite the alphabet or just read a grocery list and it's like he's hearing someone for the first time. The way your lips pull, plump, thin, but most importantly smile.

Ugh. Those lips are in his dreams. A lot of dreams. But he'll never tell you.

---

Vil has found himself falling in love with the most unusual thing. Something he would've never imagined, at least. You have the cutest scrunch to your nose and he lives for it. He first picked up on it when you wrinkled your nose in disgust at a pop quiz in Trein's class. When he notice it also scrunches in delight, like the time Deuce surprised you with a cupcake, he found himself very amused.

His favorite, however, is when you're sitting in front of him with your eyes closed. Vil never lets you see until he's done but promises perfection every time. He's got a myriad of different brushes and delights in brushing them over your face. Your nose scrunches as he tickles you with a fluffy brush and he can't help but steal a kiss.

---

Deuce didn't know he was a leg man until he was looking at yours. Ace found a way to dip on the yardwork Ramshackle so desperately needed but he wouldn't bail. Given the bramble, he was surprised you opted to come out in shorts but it was kind of hot.

And so were you.

Your legs just kept going and going! The way your muscles rippled as you squatted and tugged weeds was mesmerizing. He's clearing bundles of dried branches and you're right there with him, almost keeping step as you drag forward and he's impressed!

It was going good until he spent too much time looking at you instead of where he was going and face-planted in his branch pile. Nothing was hurt but his pride, thankfully.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

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diejager · 1 year ago

Note

I know I already sent you an ask but could I get something for monster!141? Specifically Dragon!Price? Sorry for asking again but I love price and your writing!

Dragon Heart

Pairing: Dragon!John Price x fem!reader

Cw: knot, breeding kink, creampie, smut, fluff, morning sex, implied somnophilia, slow sex, romantic sex, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1.7k

You knew dragons ran hot, their bodies powered by the kindled fire in their hearts, breathing smoke and fire with every breath they took. European dragons were creatures synonymous with fire, the powerful blaze that humans coveted for warmth, protection and destruction, but Price was all but the latter with his ragtag group. You once thought that Soap - sweet, rambunctious Johnny - ran the hottest, his body exhuming heat in plumes of vapours, his body exhausting itself from rapid muscle growth. Now you knew better, nothing burned more than a dragon itself, his heart pulsing in powerful waves, warm and soothing, his body warmed by the will of fire that thrived within him. You felt it all, his body calling to yours, naked under the sheets of his bed, cradling his face between your arms after your nightly activities that would follow in the morning —a promise he whispered on your lips.

You woke up to his soft kisses, severing his mark on your body just as his hands did on your wrists, and the rough scruff of his beard, tickling your cheek and throat as he moved down. He was hard between his thick thighs, the flushed head of his cock pushing inside you in a slow roll of his hips, your slick walls stretching around his girth. Price liked waking you up with slow and gentle sex, watching your eyes crack open while they rolled back and lips cracked open to let out a few sleepy mewls, feeling him fill you up. There was something in being woken up with Price inside of you on slow mornings, to feel the warmth of his body pressing you into the bed, soft sheets hugging you, and the heaviness of his cock, carving the shape of it inside you.

Mornings like these were full of love and affection, unhurried pleasure and gentle caresses. Price - John, you called him behind closed doors - was a devoted lover, giving you much more than he received, finding pleasure in giving rather than receiving. He was a firm, but kind hand, soft but guiding, he took the reins and watched you unravel beneath him —much like a flower blooming, petals unfurling into the prettiest blossom he knew. Price was a strong lover, caring for you through anything with strong conviction, grounding in anything he ventured into, a strong hand reminding Ghost that you were here for him, a gentle hand grounding Gaz from his slight fears, a firm hand keeping Soap in check, and a protective hand holding you close. He was everything and nothing at the same time. He gave and never asked for more, taking what was given to him with a smile and warming eyes.

While you liked the moments of shared animosity, clawing and biting at him, pressing him down on his desk and riding the life out of his cock, milking him for all his worth while he grasped and bucked into you, holding you captive under his burning gaze; you cherished these moments of domesticity, where he was neither captain nor were you his corporal. You weren’t restrained by duty or regulations, you simply held one another out of passion, one that had his heart soar and yours skip a beat. You loved him, you knew you did as much as he did, and he loved you so much that it hurt his old heart. He whispered your name, pressing his lips against yours, a soft and sensual act drawn out in lazy mornings and passionate gazes —he never failed to look you in the eyes when he expressed himself, telling you how much he cared and how much he would give for any one of you.

“Love you, John,” you gasped, hips bucked up, searching for his cock to hit a certain spot inside of you, the gummy part of you that made you cry and mewl. “I love you.”

His kiss tasted like cigar and smoke, a woody taste similar to Ghost’s earthy bourbon, but Price’s was more powerful, a distinct taste of him. It laid heavy with love, it clung to you with such boiling joy that you smiled, eyes closed. Your fingers found his spine, the curve that went up to his singular wing, a vestige of an accident that left him crippled in the air, you pressed down, hitting a knot while he fucked into you at a steady pace. He groaned, his pace stuttering, jerkily bottoming out, his balls flush against your ass and his wild pubic hair scratching your throbbing clit. He shuddered and you knew he liked it, the relief it gave him when you pressed a certain knot in his back, the one that released tension and gave him more leeway to move about freely and without restraint. It was your way to give back when he wouldn’t take.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he rasped, brows furrowed and blinking away the daze you put him in, having his cock milked and his back popped felt amazing, the immediate relief painted on his face, “You’re a blessing.”

He felt like a blessing to you, his heart, his body, his mind, and everything about him was a blessing to you and his team. A gifting dragon to his hoard, keeping and protecting what belonged to him. Words wouldn’t be enough for you to show him how much you appreciate him, you used acts, favours and everything you had to show it to him. Whether it be a sudden kiss on his lips that brought a smile on his face, the skin under his eyes wrinkling from how happy he looked, or the massages you gave him, unwinding all the tension in his body after a hard mission, hearing his pleasured groan and his struggle to stay still, to stop himself from snatching you up and give you all the love he deemed you worthy of.

You murmured confessions, praises directed at his character rather than his duty, proclaiming little whispers of love. You raked your nails down his back, fleetingly touching the base of his tail, thick and robust, curled around your leg, holding it over his hip for deeper penetration, the rounded head of his cock kissing your cervix despite your prone position —a vanilla morning sex in missionary. Your hands slipped under his arm, roving over his hairy chest and pinching his perky nipples, rolling the rounded nubs between your thumb and index. You felt him twitch, a soft moan leaving his swollen lips, still kissing you with feverish need. His nipples were sensitive, especially in the mornings when his body reacted much more than at night, he’d succumb to your little tease, jerkily thrusting into you. Every drive of his cock thickened the ring of white around his cock, the ribbed girth of it catching the edge of your cunt when he pulled out, bringing you mind-numbing ecstasy.

You could feel the coil in your core tightening, the unwinding pleasure that followed the first spasm, walls clinging onto him. You let out a shuddered breath, feeling the ribs rubbing your sweet spot and his leaky cock throb against your cervix. Slick oozed out of your hole with each thrust, the motion pushing out yesterday’s load, cream jostled out of you, squeezed around his shaft.

“Touch yourself, sweetheart,” he groaned, bowing his head over your shoulders, his breath hot and mouth nipping at your skin, threatening to sink his teeth and mark you for the others to see, for them to strew in jealousy that he had you all night long and the following morning. He spoiled and cared for you. “I want to hear you moan.”

Moan, you did, thighs tensing when your fingers circled your swollen clit, rolling the twitching nerve in rapid motions. You breathed laboriously, panting and gasping into his ear, mewling his name with teary and burning eyes, rolling back from pleasure and the thin veil of grey smoke that rose from his lips. It smelled like cedar, a smoky incense mixed with the natural scent of cedar and his strong cigars, a soothing and bitter smell. It drove you off the edge, his smell, his warmth, his body, and his voice sent you careening over the precipice of your pleasure, an explosive fire blinding you in white light, stars dancing around your sight as you clung to him. Your walls gripped in him a vice, clenching down on his cock and hand stuttering on your clit, the bundle of nerves sensitive and slick.

He was sloppy, growling out praises, telling you how good you were for coming for him, confessing how he lived to bring you over the brink of relief and much farther, and mumbling how he’d ruin himself for you. It was wet and messy, he came with a single buck, snapping into you, his green-tinted balls slapping your ass wetly, and bottoming out, his knot catching and inflating with a deep groan. Hot cum filled you, ropes of potent semen shooting out of his red tip, engorged and throbbing against your gummy cervix. You felt like you’d bloat from how much he was spewing, imagining the bump of cock and cum under your skin, poking out in an erotic sight.

His back slumped over, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you towards him, face pressed under his chin and his wing covering you. You listened to his purr, a low sound meant to comfort you after sex or any other straining activity —similarly to a cat showing its joy and pleasure. Price always cuddled you while waiting out his knot, pressing his burning body against yours and spoiling you with words and kisses. His knot comfortably seated inside of you, keeping his load from going to waste, preventing his fertility from leaking out of you like the faucet-like jet of his tip, he murmured into your hair, nosing the few strands that clung to your forehead and kissed you deeply. You kissed back, fingers carding through his beard and bushy hair, nails scratching his scalp, being careful of his sensitive horns.

“We have the day off, darling,” Price smiled conspiringly, blazing, amber eyes brimming with mirth, “Reckon we stay in bed a while longer?”

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-222 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @virginalsacrifice @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @kaelysia @mixplara @notspiders

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dee-writes-anime · 5 days ago

Note

Imagine tamaki dating an emotionless ‘freak’ ? But she isnt really a freak if u get what i mean?

So reader has a very dangerous fire quirk! Remember the ask i did with reader x the mha boys with a strong fire quirk, so smt similar to that!

So she has burns all over her back and tamaki walks into her dorm while shes wearing a tank top and he notices the scars from her quirk

He asks about them and reader just shuts DOWNNN. Showing her real emotions:D maybe angst and a tiny but of fluff? :3 take ur time on this if youd like!

ALSO I HOPE MY LAST ASK DIDNT MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!!! IT WAS INTENDED FOR LIKE TIMESPICK DEKU!! If it made you uncomfortable let me know🥹😭

-monty eat,sleep, drink!

Kindling: You

FEATURING Amajiki Tamaki x Reader, Katsuki Bakugou x Reader (INDIVIDUAL)

SUMMARY Facing the flames is scary, it's hard, but the weight will always feel lighter when you aren't doing it alone.

CONTENT WARNINGS healing myself through my characters!!!, angst to fluff, reader has problems controlling their quirk, descriptions of scars, bullying, Bakugo mentioning his sordid past (insert pained sigh), I just love them your honor

AUTHORS NOTE I am just on a role with these ending one-liners, I cannot be stopped! Punch your ticket on the healing train I guess! <3

SUNEATER ☀

The dorms were quiet, mostly — that late evening lull where most of Class 3-A had either gone out for dinner or retreated into the haze of headphones and study playlists. The common room lights were off. Outside, the sky was melting from lavender to indigo.

Tamaki wasn’t trying to snoop. He swore he wasn’t.

He’d only come to return the book you'd lent him — that old, worn one with the broken spine and folded corners, the kind of book someone lives in instead of just reading. He liked that you’d trusted him with it. Liked it maybe a little too much.

He knocked once on your door. Quiet. Hesitant.

You didn’t answer.

That alone wasn’t strange. You weren’t the type to rush or shout across the room. You were still and composed and sharp-edged in a way most people didn’t know how to interpret — fire held tight behind glass. People whispered emotionless, but Tamaki knew better. He saw the flickers in you. The quiet corners.

So he tried again. A soft knock. A pause.

Nothing.

And then—your voice, muffled through the door, low and listless. “It’s open.”

He stepped in carefully, fingers curled tight around the book. “I just— I wanted to bring this back. I hope I’m not—”

He stopped.

You were standing at your desk, back to the door, tank top slung loose over your shoulders. The room was dark but not dark enough to hide the way the firelight from your quirk — that ever-present, flickering aura you didn’t seem to notice — cast shadows over the skin of your back.

Scars. So many of them. Some jagged. Some smooth. Some new. Some old. The kind of damage only fire leaves behind when it doesn't care who it's burning.

Tamaki didn’t mean to stare.

But you’d never shown anyone this.

Not on purpose.

His voice caught in his throat.

“…You’re hurt.”

Your body stiffened. The air in the room snapped colder, like oxygen pulled away from a flame.

You didn’t turn around. “Get out.”

“Wait, I didn’t— I didn’t mean to intrude, I swear—”

“Get out.” It came sharp this time. Low and cold and final.

But he didn’t move.

Instead, Tamaki took one breath. Then two. Then closed the door behind him, just as gently as he’d opened it.

“I’m not looking because I’m curious,” he said quietly. “I just… didn’t know. I didn’t know you were in pain like that.”

“I’m not,” you lied.

He stepped forward. One slow step. Then another. “You don’t have to hide it.”

You finally turned then — not quickly, not with drama, but with a kind of resignation that cut deeper than any fire ever could. Your eyes met his and God, Tamaki had never seen you look like this. Not angry. Not cold.

Just—raw.

“Of course I do,” you said. Flat. Final. “You think anyone wants a hero who can’t even use her quirk without setting herself on fire?”

Your voice didn’t shake, but something in your hands did. He noticed.

“You think it makes me strong?” you asked. “You think I’m special? I burn everything. I can't even touch anyone when I’m angry, or scared, or— or anything. I’ve destroyed gear. I’ve burned through gloves. You know the first person I ever hurt was my mom?”

You stopped yourself. Bit your lip hard, like maybe you’d said too much. You turned back toward the desk, like you could disappear again if you just stopped looking at him.

But Tamaki didn’t leave.

He set the book down gently on your dresser and crossed to you, slowly, quietly — like approaching a creature you don’t want to startle. He didn’t say anything at first.

Just slipped off his hoodie. Stepped closer. And draped it around your shoulders, careful to avoid the healing scars, letting it hang like a barrier between the world and your skin.

Your eyes widened. You stared at the floor.

“What are you doing,” you mumbled.

He fidgeted, cheeks already flushed, voice soft as ever.

“Giving you something warm that doesn't hurt.”

You choked on your breath — not crying, not quite, but your chest stuttered like it didn’t know how to take it. Not tenderness. Not like this.

Tamaki wasn’t great with words, but he didn’t need them right now. His hand hovered near yours, not grabbing, just there. And when you didn’t pull away, he gently brushed his fingers against yours. Not afraid of the heat. Not afraid of you.

“You’re not a freak,” he said. “Not broken. Not scary. You’re just—” he hesitated, eyes flicking up to meet yours— “You.”

“And I… I like you like that.”

The silence after that stretched long. Not awkward. Just… real.

Finally, your voice cracked, too small to be angry anymore.

“…Why aren’t you scared of me?”

Tamaki smiled. Barely there. But he smiled.

“Because fire only hurts when you don’t know how to treat it right.”

And somehow, some how, that made you want to cry more than any insult ever had.

GREAT EXPLOSION MURDER GOD DYNAMITE 🧨

You were the kind of person who made people think twice before they spoke. All hard glances and sharp one-liners, emotionally locked behind iron doors with no keyhole in sight. Even in the dorms, you kept to yourself. Quiet. Cold. Unapproachable.

The rumors helped. “Emotionless.” “Freak.” “Too dangerous.” Whatever. You let them talk.

The truth was worse.

You weren’t numb. You weren’t a freak.

You just knew what happened when you felt too much.

The fire didn’t listen when you were sad. It didn’t stop when you were scared. It didn’t care that you were just a kid when it first burst out of you and left your mother screaming. It just burned.

It always burned.

So you shut yourself off.

Better to be nothing than be a danger to everyone.

You thought Bakugou of all people would agree with that. That he’d take one look at you and think too volatile. Too much fire. Not worth it.

But instead, he looked at you like you were built from molten metal. Something forged, not broken. Something strong enough to keep.

He didn’t fall for the mask. He fell for what was underneath.

Which was exactly why it hurt so fucking bad when he saw the truth.

You hadn’t even heard him walk in. You’d been changing in your dorm, tank top halfway over your head, back to the door, heat still clinging to your skin after an unintentional flare-up in training.

Burns. Old. Faded. New. Raised. Raw.

A map of every moment you lost control.

You froze when you heard the door creak open.

Then his voice, too casual (for Bakugou at least): “Oi! You left your gear in the—”

Silence.

Dead silence.

You turned like a shot, yanking your shirt down, voice low and shaking. “Get out.”

Bakugou didn’t move.

His eyes were locked on your back—on the places where your skin still peeled around scar tissue. His jaw was clenched tight.

You could practically feel your body temperature spiking. The shame, the panic, the heat rolling off your core like smoke.

“I said get out,” you snapped, voice colder now, trying to kill it before it became anything else.

“No,” he said simply.

You blinked.

“What—?”

He slammed the door shut behind him.

“No,” he repeated, louder. “I’m not fucking leaving like that.”

You felt the heat spike again. You turned your back to him, like that would hide anything. Like you could retreat fast enough to make this moment un-happen.

“I didn’t mean for you to see—”

“Tch. So what?”

You blinked.

Your voice cracked. “So what? So what? You saw what I am—”

“What you are?” he snapped. “You think those scars change that?”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your throat was closing up. You hated this.

He wasn’t supposed to see.

“Look at me,” he growled, voice low and steady.

You didn’t.

So he crossed the room in three strides and gently—not soft, but careful—grabbed your wrist and turned you just enough to face him.

His expression was a storm. Anger. Fury. Pain. But none of it was directed at you.

“You think I don’t know what it’s like?” he said. “To hurt people by accident? To lose control of something that’s part of you?”

You stared at him, wide-eyed.

“I’ve blown up shit I didn’t mean to. I’ve cracked ribs, burned hands, ruined friendships. You think I don’t carry that every day?”

“But it doesn’t scar you,” you whispered. “Not like this.”

He stopped. Something shifted in his face.

And then, carefully—his hands touched the hem of your tank top.

He didn’t move it. Just hovered there. Waiting.

You gave the smallest nod.

He lifted it. Slowly. Gently. Only enough to see. Only enough to show you he wasn’t afraid.

And then—quietly, roughly—he let out a breath.

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

He let the fabric fall back into place.

Then, to your shock, he took a step forward. Close enough that you could feel the warmth off him. Not scared of the heat. Not flinching from the fire.

His voice was quieter now. Like gravel worn soft. “These don’t make you weak. They make you someone who survived something no one else could.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

He looked at you, and his eyes weren’t pitying. They weren’t disgusted. They were burning.

“You’re not a freak,” he said. “You’re fire. And fire doesn’t apologize for being strong.”

That broke you.

Not into tears. But into silence.

The real kind. The raw kind. The kind that says, someone finally sees me.

And Bakugou—Katsuki—he didn’t push.

He just reached for your hand. Wrapped his fingers around it like a promise. Held on, even as your temperature spiked again.

“You burn?” he said. “Then burn. I’ll stand right fuckin’ here.”

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shalomniscient · 3 months ago

Note

okayokay but reader who teaches inexperienced mavuika to be better at pleasing them omg

anon u get my vision. u GET me like [nsft utc]

poor mavu who’s a little rusty at this whole thing having been incoporeal for the last 500 years. her expression is carefully schooled confidence but you can see the way her throat bobs as she settles between your legs, hands almost shy as she rests them on your parted thighs. her lips are ever so slightly parted, part awe part desire, as her eyes zero in on the folds of your cunt. her fascination draws a breathy giggle from you, and you wind your own hand in her sun-warmed hair.

“go on, baby,” you coo at her, lightly tugging, an encouraging pressure. mavuika swallows again, then leans forward to press a wet kiss to your mound. you breathe a soft sigh of pleasure, the wamrth of her breath on you sending little shivers up and down your spine. mavuika takes your reaction in stride, mouthing more at your dripping sex, two fingers sliding up to part your labia and then she’s licking a long stripe up from your entrance to the stiff bud of your clit.

you mewl at that, tightening your grip on her hair, and you swear your hear mavuika moan. “good girl,” you manage, keeping your eyes trained on her as she bobs her head with the movement of her tongue, and you see her entire body shiver at the praise. her expression is pinched into one of desperation as she laps at you, and it makes you want to praise her more. but you hold back for now; saying it too often makes it lose its strength, after all.

“mavu,” you call to her sweetly, and she opens her eyes to look up at you obediently. the hand in her hair travels lower to stroke her cheek, and you smile as she leans into the touch. “suck my clit, baby, please?”

mavuika groans at your words—you’re polite, yes, but it’s only cursory. she knows a command when she hears one. with a little hesitance she takes her tongue away from teasing your entrance to travel a little higher, over to the bud of your clit. her eyes flick up, little suns, as her lips seal around it and she gives a small, tentative suck. you were expecting it, but the bolt of pleasure shooting through you still has your back arching and your head being thrown back against the pillows.

“mmgh— good girl, mavuika,” you pant, seeing stars behind your eyelids. “good girl, just like that— use your fingers, baby, please? put those pretty fingers in my cunt.”

mavuika whines at that, scrambling to rearrange herself in a way that’d give her the best angle to slip two of her long fingers into your tight, wet heat. through it all she keeps her lips wrapped around your clit, refusing to leave it for even a second. you groan when you feel the pads of her fingers prod against your entrance, only to taper off into a moan when they push in, stretching your aching walls. mavuika breathes your name like a prayer at the sound of your pussy drawing in her digits, the wet squelch only rivalled by the smacking sounds of her sucking and kissing at your clit.

mavuika learns you like a skill. relentlessly, intently, thoroughly. when she finds those spots that have you keening and writhing she targets them over and over, stoking those embers in your gut into a raging fire. she's burning hot to the touch, a firestarter, and for all the obedience you demand from her you're nothing but kindling in her hands. you tip over the edge like a lone spark to ignition, only distantly aware of the curl of her fingers or the lash of her tongue as you lose yourself in the pleasure, the world reducing down to the woman between your legs.

the flame of your orgasm eventually peters out into low, slow-burning embers, and you can't help the twitch of your hips when mavuika withdraws her fingers. her eyes are blown wide when she sits up, lips and chin glossy with slick. her hair, once sunset read, has almost turned noon-bright, and you manage a weak chuckle at the sight of her obvious arousal. you reach out a trembling hand, encouraging her to come closer, and she crawls over your spent body into your touch. your thumb brushes over her lips, wet with your slick and come, and they part with a thready moan when you call her a good girl and that she did such a good job.

you push your thumb against her lips and she opens her mouth, letting you rest it gently on her tongue. "pretty girl," you rasp idly, a thought spoken aloud, and mavuika makes a low noise in response. it's only then do you notice the drag of her hips along your abdomen, and you remember that your pretty girl has yet to come herself. you slip your finger from her mouth and drift your hand to cup her nape, pulling her in close to whisper your next orders against her lips, and to relish the way her entire body shudders in response.

"let me teach you a different way to ride next, baby."

suffice to say, for the next day or so, natlan's archon was not seen astride her beloved flamestrider.

#sev.thirsts #[nsft]#mavuika x reader #mavuika smut

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tottentz · 10 months ago

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KISS ME FROM THE RUSH .ᐟ ── honkai star rail ?! ❛ i can't get enough ❜ 🗝 ﹢を ˒ㅤ ft. aventurine, blade, dr. ratio, argenti, sunday, jing yuan.

ֶָ֢⊹𐙚 WARNINGS ! mdni. reader has no pronouns but has afab anatomy, soft dom ! character & inexperienced ! reader, dry humping / aventurine, praising, pet names, fingering / boothill + jing yuan, oral ( receiving ) / blade, blowjob + cum swallowing / dr. ratio, implied multiple orgasm + overstimulation, dacriphilia, lil of corruption kink ( if you squint ). ♡ˎˊ˗

mature content ahead ! + please take care of yourself before proceeding.

aventurine .ᐟ

slender fingertips dig into the excess squish of your hips, prompting you to wriggle your waist and forcibly slot your pelvis where aventurine ushers you atop his lap, bunching your skirt in his fidgety palms as you delectably initiate a merciless roll of your hips that had his cock straining against the crotch of his jeans and his own hips eagerly bucking upwards.

he devours you in his embrace, and presses a brief kiss to the corner of your mouth before swallowing every mewl-like cry that parts your lips.

the lengthening drag led your clit to the silver buckle of his belt; pulpous bud sinking against the metal and flattening whenever aventurine thrusted his hips and temporarily pinned the bundle, catching the sensory mound before it dislodged and continued its previous rut.

you hissed through your teeth, breaking away from his lips to speckle rosy contortions into his skin. aventurine impatiently rocks his hips as if a mutt graveling in his heat, stiffening cock occasionally bumping your clit before the imprint would card through your soiled unde, gliding trough the dampened fabric with a friction that could kindle fire.

"that's it, baby," he coos, "almost there..."

he sounds breathless as he speaks, body shuddering when you placed a hot palm to his nape, grounding yourself and forcing coarse friction where you straddled him, desperate to clash against his pants as if you'd soon wear the denim to nothing and leave him bare.

"see...now isn't that nice?" he breathlessly laughs, "you're doing so well..., does it feel good?"

his hips erratically jerk, and the breathless pants from his mouth divulged his own craving, lips blowing against your collar before biting his presence into your skin. he's just as far off as you. ruby red and temple coated with sweat, aventurine is flushed and trembling under your hold.

all he gets as a response is a pathetic whine, making him grin, "of course it does, sweetheart..." he so desperately wants to ravish what sensible though remained of your dizzying head; fuck you until you couldn't discern the hour of the day, but he refrained. not yet.

"that's it, sweetheart, that's it, cum for me. c'mon give it to me, show me how you pretty you are, yeah?."

and you do, you gasp and squeal when the high finally crashes over you. he slows his thrusts, barely letting you go before carefully pressing back in, working you diligently through the high s you tremble and cream all over his pants like the sweet thing you are.

blade .ᐟ

to his surprise, you don't yelp or squeak or become flustered when he occupied himself between your legs, only biting your lip as wild pulsations rendered your brain to mush and melted your forefront conscious into a haze of silver lining.

matching the complex twist of the interstate, your abdomen began to tie its knot of arousal and nervousness, your posture tensing into a deep arch that forced your head against the leather seat and a whimper to fall from your glossed lips, and before you could cover your face with your hands, blade quickly hold your wrists down again.

"don't." his voice is mereley above a whisper as erratic shivers shook your withering figure against the bed.

"you okay?" you choke intead a series of strangled moans following his order.

"i'm okay." he muses on that notion for a time, flicking his thumbs over your throbbing clit, the strokes stimulating the hardened bud that felt as if would burst in due time. nimbly dragging the anxious tips of your fingers between your legs. "it feels good?."

you sniffle and nod, "really good..."

he hums and leans down, kissing your clit for one fleeting second before his hands are on your knees, keeping them pinned to your chest while he sat between your thighs as he licks at you, tentatively until he hears you quietly moan. then he's lapping, eager, pressing his face firmer against your cunt.

the pressure was unfamiliar but it wasn't bad. in fact it felt really good, all the while your taste fills his mouth, floods his tongue, and he knows without a doubt that he would try this over again.

"blade-!" you gasp, reaching down to tangle your hands in his hair, effectively messing it up.

his cock is painfully hard in his pants but he can't bring himself to care -- not when he's got your spread like this, working your towards your high with every touch he gives you.

and when you finally cum, it's with a harsh tug of his hair. drawing his name from your lips, you arched further into the sheets as the last of your orgasm shook your weak limbs. his name carried significance. the tenor more than just a lovely echo of your rapture.

he hums, opening his pretty eyes to look at you. when he pulls away, theres a string a spit connected to his lips before he smiles, letting you close your thighs and curl up. the sight of you breathless and teary eyed from the intense orgasm makes him want to go for seconds.

dr. ratio .ᐟ

"what do you want?" veritas asks. he shifts a bit, the mattress creaking again. a hand lands in your hair. it doesn't pull or tangle. gentle. too gentle. he never pulls when asked; for now, you slowly relaxe into this.

"it would be good if you hurry up, too,"you remained at attention. readily awaiting as if a devoted minion who had yet to receive orders.

"impatient."veritas hums, his touch unhurried. he takes his time more than he takes. you have never known what to do with it. you still don't, now, with goosebumps on your skin.

"and you're awfully slow," you say. "i just wanna make you feel good, you know."

there's a low, thoughtful hum. veritas is always thinking. you never know what he's thinking about, but veritas Ratio is a beautiful frowner, anyways.

"very well" a sigh. tiredness, fondness. you are too dizzy on pleassure to tell "open," veritas directs, lightly touching beneath your chin. his hands are warm. he touches with purpose. efficiency, but no lack of gentleness. he touches you like a craftsman touches his work. you open your mouth.

you impishly swiped your tongue past your lips before bringing your parted mounds to the base of his dick. puckishly dragging your tongue against his pulsating sex, you followed the protruding vessels of blue, soon hallowing your cheeks as to sink your head towards his pelvis.

it earns him a soft hiss. veritas is never loud, but he's always honest. you rub your tongue along the underside, tracing the crown, flicking the slit.

a whispered curse word. veritas' hips press up a little, his hand settles on your head, there is too much saliva in your mouth, you don't know how to do it, and so you let it make a mess instead.

veritas curses again, his hand stays in place, though he's not trying to hold you in place. he makes a few shallow thrusts, cock sliding deeper, rubbing the back of your throat until you gag on your own spit, and then veritas eases you off to come up for air.

"good," veritas tells you, low and rough at your water-welled tear ducts glossed your eyes in crystalline solution. veritas is gentle even in this.

he warns you that he's close, and you moan like encouragement. his pace gentles. you are allowed to control the pace again, to pull off if you want to, but you stay.

veritas' thighs tense on either side of you, his breathings hallow and unsteady. he's always been beautiful in pleasure. all of him. veritas comes in waves on your tongue a moment later.

"pretty." veritas says contemplatively, careful not to waste a drop, so when his hand falls from your hair to your spit-slick chin, examining you, he can whip the mess from your chin with his knuckles. ever kind, ever considerate.

boothill .ᐟ

"stop staring" a moan rises in the back of your throat, and he thinks you look beatiful, how you shie away, hiding your mouth behind the palm of your hand when your moans begin to get loud, closing your eyes in ecstasy, letting the unintelligible noises melt away as boothill's hand slips inside your underwear.

"'m'enjoying the view." he runs the other hand down from your face to your chest, it dances on your body, caresses the curve of your neck, the valley of your breasts, rolling the sensitive bud beneath his fingertips, mindful to place bruising kisses along your neck where deep shapes of his ministrations would be left for you to cover.

his lips latche onto the skin of your shoulder, and he worked his away along the base until kissing the incision of flesh that dimpled behind your ear.

“look at ya,” perceptible to his observant gaze, your shoulders trembled enthusiastically, accompanying the quiver of your knees that were soon to clamp around his hand. “fudge, you're gon' be the death 'o me, darl.” he cooes against your heated skin, noting the way your hold on him tightened.

his fingers press inside, and the both of you groan together. his digits are slender, dangerous maybe, and he eases them in so slowly it makes you whine. your hips buck up against his hand, back arching, and he chuckles, a cold hand pressing down on your navel to keep your steady.

"there ya go. not so desperate after all, hm?" the sensation so riveting that you are tender into his arms as he fucks you, somehow both gentle and rough.

his fingers are sharp but slow, calculated to hit against your sweet spot with every thrust. he's filling the silence with gentle hums, encouraging you as you wither away, gasping and panting and begging.

"too good f'me," he whispers, crowding himself against your chest so you feel the cold metal of his own pressed up againts your skin, all over you. "aren'tcha?" there's a retort on the tip of your tongue, but the moment you open your mouth to speak, his hand squeeze your cheeks together "aren'tcha?"

you're nodding before you know it.

"i am," you whimper, hands bracing yourself up. your arms are quivering from the endless sensation of his big hand on you, slicking up and down and up and down slowly. he is bringing you to your climax with every soft kiss he press into your shoulder. "i'm good for you."

and you can't help the words that spill out of your mouth as you cum hard around his fingers, that twinge into the air between you. you shuddered and almost screamed through your last orgasm, a slow rolling thing after the two ecstasies preceded it.

unfamiliar with actions that caused your pretty little lips to squeal, boothill was sure to conduct each one, refusing to yield his practice until you had been blinded by sheer white, breathless and convulsing in his arms.

argenti .ᐟ

you hook your arms around argenti's neck before bringing him down for another kiss—one with more fervor, more intensity than you would otherwise offer. he doesn't reciprocate for a moment, seemingly astonished with your sudden vigor. but in time, he melts against your lips until one after the other.

such as now, his heavy body draped over yours, hips flush against you with his thick cock buried inside you.

"shh," he coos, fingers laced between yours as you sob and wail into the bed, feet mindlessly kicking as you cum around his stationary cock. he presses his lips against your shoulder, "how do you feel?" he teases you as you sniffle and tearfully look at him over your shoulder.

"s'good," you whisper and he smiles so sweetly at you that it makes your heart flutter.

he chuckles again, soft and reassuring as he lifts your thighs with strong hands, bracketing them again across his hips.

"i know it does," he responds, carefully rutting his hips against you, stirring his cock within your walls, "you came so quickly."

"'again-!" you cut off to moan when he suddenly pulls back, "wanna cum again"

"again" he considers, and you jolt when he pins your hips in place with one hand while seizing your wrist with the other. his look immediately morphs into something more captivatin, chuckling, "i'll make you cum again,"

but contrary to your expectations, argenti doesn't start fucking you into the mattress like a wild animal. instead, he hoists your hips even higher, holding your body at an odd angle. you're about to ask what he's trying to do, but when he plunges his cock back into your weeping hole, the words evaporate on your tongue.

"you are so beutiful," he assures. his sudden, unrelenting pace continues from then on out. argenti grips your thighs hard, but not enough to leave bruises.

his discretion makes your heart flutter, but you can't quite bask in the sentiment given that his cock is hitting all the spots that make stars dance in the seams of your vision.

deep. he's so impossibly deep that you fear it'll take you days to sweat him out. a trail of saliva dribbles on your chin as argenti slowly guides you to the apex of an orgasm.his name sounds like an incantation on your lips, and you wonder if the aeons would let you have this man forever.

"argenti!" you squealed, gasping as you reached down to grab his wrist, "oh! wait, 'm gonna-!"

"it's alright," he assures, voice just as soft and even as ever, "just let it happen. want you to feel good for me."

your eyes roll back in your head and you gasp, al the while he whispered praises as you trembling and gushed, soaking his hand and cock. but he didn't mind, he just enjoyed the sight of you feeling good all because of him.

sunday .ᐟ

mass against his own. his chest is keenly pressed into your breasts, pinning you to the mattress with an intimidating vigor and a punishing snap of his hips.

your ankles knock together behind his nape, and your knees crudely tense by your ears. a palm is cleaved at your waist, nails shoveling into the fat of your hips as the other hooks the bend of your knee into a firm mating press.

your fingertips fiercely claw at his shoulders, scrambling for a pillar to keep your conscious ground and aware, but you can count the stars behind your glossy lids, another flitter of light flickering into the dark as the male slotted between your legs commences another tunneling of your tiny cunnie.

"'s too much—" tears descend the swell of your heated cheeks, droplets streaking your skin and smearing the mascara you previously applied to your fluttering lashes, brows tense and crinkled as your eyes lulled towards the back of your head and exposed the reddened white of your dazed optics.

"is that so?" a hum colored his tone, mocking and high, "i just want to be selfish and feel you cum around me. that's okay, isn't it?"

he lets your head fall to the bed again as he pauses the pounding of his hips to reach for your face, grabbing the fat of your flushed cheeks before he presss his thumb on your bottom lip.

you're embarrassingly compliant, parting your lips at the same time—tongue swirling around his skin as you cover them in a sheen of saliva. sunday doesn't say a word, but there's an uncharacteristic glint in his eyes that you never would've associated with him earlier.

"but do look pretty like this." his strong hand lets go of your face, instead moving to gently move your hair from your face where it's stuck to the mix of saliva and tears- the juxtaposition reminds you again of how much he actually cared."you know i always want to make you feel good."

a tap to your temple brings you out of your stupor- you're mindless, you're a mess, it's humiliating, but he smiles down at you. "you can give me one more, hm?"

you whimper; mewl as if language were unknown to you. all you can do is cry, sob, as his splits your little pussy in half. your name echoes from his kiss swollen lips as his fucks you harder into the mattress. his brain is in shambles; cluttered and screwed as if he had lost reasoning, but he was aware of himself; aware of his present endeavor-

he won't stop until you are sobbing his name, eagerly arching your tremoring pelvis into his own because he had begun to relentlessly hammer a delicate plot that induced your vision to flicker and blurrily haze with spangled glimmers of hot electricity.

jing yuan .ᐟ

there's just something so sweet about your voice when you are desperate. when you are laying in front of you, legs trashing as jing yuan watches, a small smile on his face as you try, try so hard to angle his fingers just right.

"can't," you whimper, free hand reaching out for him. but he leans back, smiling in faux sympathy.

the nimble pads of his fingertips pried apart your slicken folds to clamp at the inflated bud between your legs, amber optics indifferent to your puppy-dog pout and repetitive mantra of plea as he forcibly held your thigh apart, eyes flittering the expanse of your skin when you pitifully cried and spoke incoherent requests he blatantly neglected to acknowledge.

he hums softly, shifting closer to you and hoisting you up by your armpits, he settles you in his lap. "better?" he murmurs against your skin, taking the vibrator in your hands and pressing it up against her drooling cunt, buzzing along her clit. she chokes out a small, yes, before burying her face in your shoulder.

"feels good, doesn't it?," he whispers. "tell me."

he can feel you tensing every time he pushes his calloused fingers just a little deeper, the way your toes curl and your ankles dig into his back. he knows you feel good. he just wanna hear it. "'s good," you whimper. "good!— feels really good."

"gonna cum?" he cradles your face with his free hand, dipping his head down to press a small kiss to your lips, swallowing your breaths. "gonna cum for me, yeah?"

you nod. your brain's melted into pretty pink goo, oozing out of your ears with every second his fingers keep fucking into you. he pushes you, keeps pushing you into ecstasy, until your unravelling on his fingers. "oh," he coos. "so pretty, look at you."

you don't know when you start cumming. you don't know when you stop. he doesn't stop though, never stops. he keeps fucking into you, the sensation so riveting you don't even feel your third orgasm until it materialises in your trembling legs.

jing yuan hushes you. "just let me, dear," he makes quick work of your clit, having you gasping his name "so good f'me, yeah? cum, come on. i know you got it in you."

you stifle your cries into his shoulder, and he smiles softly. it's times like these where he looks at you with hearts in his eyes, when he brushes the soft hair and tuck it behind your ear in a move of adoration. it's times like these when he thinks that you are so good, so sweet, you'd do anything he say, right?

#aventurine x reader #blade x reader #dr ratio x reader #boothill x reader #jing yuan x reader #sunday x reader #argenti x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader

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