#led toe kick lighting

[kanskesims]

Minneapolis Dining Kitchen A large, rustic, l-shaped, medium-tone wood floor eat-in kitchen remodel with an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, light wood cabinets, quartz countertops, a black backsplash, a glass backsplash, black appliances, and no island is shown in the inspiration.

[druitts]

Kitchen Dining

[a-leg-without-fear]

No Fucking Way (pt.1)

have some absolutely adorable interactions with you and the students at the mansion (and a surprise guest)

Ship: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader 🩸

Rating: 13+

Wordcount: 4.1k

Warnings: cursing, mentions of animals neglecting their babies, and a story so sweet my teeth hurt

Inspiration: This scene from X2: X-Men United

Series: No Fucking Way

Your feet pounded against the gravel path beneath you. Small rocks and dirt were kicked up by your well-worn sneakers. Warm sweat dampened the cloth of your sweatshirt around your arms and chest. The sun beat down on your flushed face as a cold breeze bit across your nose. 

It was an absolutely gorgeous, autumn day. Occasional spotted clouds glided at a snail’s pace across a great blue sky. Soft breezes made the great trees surrounding the mansion dance like sheets of amber linen. Red and orange leaves skittered across the yellowing grass fields.

You saw a handful of students out on the lawn enjoying the early morning air. Sybil, a brunette with the ability to see through others’ eyes, sat beneath a large willow by the fish pond with a notepad in her hands. Vienna sat beside her. A strawberry blonde, bright eyed girl who could channel electricity into the palms of her hands. The two exchanged ideas about whatever Sybil was jotting down in her notepad.

Yuna sat not too far from the whispering pair, fingers twirling above a quickly constructed tower of stones and blades of grass. Her usual deep brown eyes now glowed a subtle violet. The maroon hijab she wore wrapped around her neck matched the crimson hues of the changing leaves in the trees around her. 

Jane, a kind-eyed tracker, Matt, a red glasses-wearing fighter, and Mads, a short-haired plant bender, sat in a circle, enjoying their morning coffee and tea together. You gave Mads a quick wave as you jogged past, receiving a warm smile and a shower of flower petals left in your wake.

The gravel path led along the left side of the mansion. Emerald ivy crawled up the brick walls like arms reaching from the earth. An occasional window broke up the light colored bricks. Most had their curtains drawn, which you attributed to a large portion of the students being late risers. One or two had the curtains open to allow fresh sunlight into the shared rooms.

You caught a glimpse of Sapph through one of the windows. Her bright smile and blue eyes were almost radiant as she basked in the streams of sunlight. Vases of sunflowers sat on the windowsill in front of her. The light seemed to bend, refracting from Sapph’s palms and hitting the sunflowers’ leaves.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The students were happy, the day was beautiful, and you only had one more lap of the mansion to jog before you’d call it a day.

“MAAAOOOWWW!”

You stopped just short of the empty basketball court. The crimson asphalt was covered in crunchy leaves and green brush from the nearby bushes. Corded nets hanging from the steel hoops swayed in the breeze. You looked around you, trying to find the source of the noise.

“MaaooOOW?”

There it was again. Closer than before. It sounded like it came from an incredibly small source, whatever it was. Your sneakers crossed onto the asphalt, toes kicking at leaves and twigs. You let your eyes scan the area around you. The court was surrounded by a wall of hedges. About waist high to you, it helped keep the court clear of too much debris from the trees. 

The mansion sat against the hedges. Large, bay windows looked into a sitting area. Hira, a telepath, sat in one of the plush leather armchairs with a novel in her hands. A white hijab wrapped around her head, glasses peeking out over light brown eyes. Daniel, a light-haired strongman, and Jacob, a bearded speedster, sat on the green-clothed couch across from Hira. Dice and rulebooks laid on the coffee table in front of them.

A rustle in the hedges to your left drew your focus from the students inside. The lowest branches shuddered, small green leaves shaken off and falling to the ground below. You knelt on the asphalt and strained your eyes to see through the dense foliage.

“MoowwWOAAOW!”

That was the only warning you got before a tiny gray and white fur ball burst out of the hedge and landed five feet in front of you. Pointed ears folded back, blue eyes widened, arched back covered in long fuzz.

A kitten. A small, angry, fluffy kitten. No more than a few weeks old. 

You remained where you kneeled on the asphalt, palms upturned and resting on your thighs. You kept a neutral expression on your face as you blinked slowly at the small creature.

After a few moments the kitten relaxed. Its ears faced forward, tail sticking straight up as it approached you. You gingerly extended a hand for it to sniff. Its tiny, pink nose ran across the tips of your fingers as it grew acclimated to your presence.

“Hi, little one,” you said through a barely subdued, ecstatic grin. You had always wanted a cat. Ever since you were a kid, you dreamed of a tiny ball of purrs curled up in your lap and effortlessly improving your mood. Not to mention they were ridiculously easy to take care of.

The kitten took a few more moments to sniff at your fingers. Its tiny eyes squinted as it seemed to devote its entire being to assessing your threat level. Once it seemed satisfied, it rubbed its chin across your thumb. You could already feel the purrs rumbling in its throat.

It took everything in you to not explode from the cuteness overload. This little thing, this tiny itty bitty little thing, chose you. You could feel a swell of pure adoration overtake your chest, the gentle warmth spreading from head to toe.

The cat continued to rub on your hand, occasionally nibbling on your fingers with the sides of its mouth. You lifted your free hand in an attempt to pet the kitten. Moving slowly to not startle it, you gently ran your fingers across its fluffy back. An explosion of purrs, like a hive of angry bees, met your affection. The cat dug its little head into the palm of your hand. You took the hint, giving it gentle scratches on the soft spots by its ears.

“You are the cutest fucking thing I’ve seen in my life,” you breathed in astonishment. The cat seemed to enjoy the compliment, pawing at your hands and attempting to climb closer to your face. You scooped its tiny body in your hands and lifted it to your chest.

Tiny paws kneaded at the fabric of your sweatshirt. Little needle-like claws pulled at the threads. The kitten looked up at you with squinted eyes. You carefully rose to your feet, doing your best to not jostle the miniature creature cradled to your chest.

The cat nestled into the crook of your neck. Its tiny nose puffed against your skin while a category-5 purricane buzzed in your hands.

You would die for this cat and you just met it a minute ago.

Mentally saying “fuck it” to the rest of your jog, you began to gingerly walk back inside. You avoided walking on the gravel to make as little noise and sudden movements as possible. The cat seemed to appreciate the gesture, with what miniscule amount its tiny brain could comprehend, as a small lick from its rough tongue passed over your neck.

You garnered a few sideways looks from the students on the lawn as you walked by again. Mads cocked her head, fairy themed earrings jingling, at the gentleness in your step and the backtracking in your path.

“You alright, ma’am?” she called out. Jane and Matt perked up at Mads’s exclamation. Jane looked up at you with curiosity written in her features while Matt’s dark brows furrowed.

A quick gesture to the buzzing fur ball in your hands was all the trio needed. Their expressions quickly shifted from confusion to utter joy. They whispered among themselves about the newest addition to the mansion as you passed by.

That method is how you seamlessly moved through the bustling early-risers inside the foyer. One perplexed look was met with a nod to the kitten in your hands and the students parted like the Red Sea. Excited murmurs spread through the students like wildfire. “Is that a cat?” “Oh my god, kitty!” “It’s so cute!” “I hope we can keep it!”

The last student you passed before reaching your destination was Bella, a time manipulator. She was just on her way out of the professor’s study, closing the heavy oak door behind her. A kind smile met yours when she looked in your direction. 

“Morning, ma’am. Need to see the- Wait, is that a cat?” she asked, eyes widening.

“Shhh. Yes, it is. Could you open the door for me?” you whispered. Bella lifted her first finger to her mouth, winking to indicate she understood, then twisted the brass knob and swung the door open before you.

“Good luck,” she whisper-yelled after you.

A grand office stood before you. Comfortable leather settees were positioned in front of a solid, mahogany desk. Rows and rows of bookshelves filled to the brim lined the walls. Trinkets and remembrances decorated available surfaces and empty wall space.

The professor, or Charles Xavier as you knew him, sat in his motorized wheelchair behind the large desk. His hairless head was lowered, blue eyes darting across the pages of a copy of House of Leaves. A single finger raised next to his aged face to acknowledge your presence.

“One moment, please. From both you and your new friend,” he said. A minute passed, seconds counted by the paws kneading into your shoulder, before Charles closed the book and met your gaze. A warm smile matched your enthusiastic one, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I found this little guy outside,” you began. The cat perked up at the mention of itself, eyes blinking up at you then looking at the professor. You ran a finger under the kitten’s chin as you continued, “He was an angry little fella, all bushy tailed, but he warmed right up to me. He was hiding in the hedges by the basketball court.”

“Ah, I see,” Charles replied. He lowered a hand to maneuver his wheelchair. The low buzz of the machinery heralded his movement as he rounded the desk to sit in front of you and the cat.

“I didn’t see any other cats around, but the good news is he seems to be old enough for solid food,” you said. The cat blinked slowly at the professor, its little nose sniffing the air in front of it.

“It seems his mother abandoned him. Weaned him off her too quickly and left him stunted. Poor thing,” Charles said, head tilting and lips pulling into a slight frown. You gawked at him.

“You can read the cat’s mind, too?” you asked. The abilities of the mutants around you never ceased to amaze. Especially one as powerful as Charles Xavier.

He smiled at the kitten, oblivious to your gawking, stretching out his hands to you, “May I?”

You gently lifted the cat off your chest, prying the tiny talons from your sweatshirt, and placed the furball in the professor’s hands. Charles lifted the cat to his chest and ran a gentle hand down its back.

“You’ll need to wake Rogue and Bobby, have them run to the pet store down the road. This one will need plenty of love and nourishment if he’s to thrive,” he said. You stared at him, dumbstruck.

“We can keep him?”

“He can stay, as long as he likes. Much is the same with the rest of those who live here,” Charles clarified. The little gray kitten nuzzled against Charles’s chin, the professor’s smile growing.

“Okay. Okay! Yes! I’ll go get Rogue and Bobby,” you said, absolute jubilation filling your lungs. 

You left Charles and the cat to continue their telepathic conversation as you raced up the giant, double staircase. Ornately carved wooden banisters ran along the edges of the stairs, polish shining in yellow circles from the chandeliers hanging on the ceiling. When the stairs divided into two sets, running opposite directions, you cut to the right. Your feet skipped over carpeted steps in your haste to reach your destination.

Once your sneakers landed on the second floor, you broke into a jog down the hallway. Door after wooden door flew by you on both sides of the hall. Paintings of peaceful landscapes and glowing sconces lined the wooden walls. A large window sat in the white wall at the end of the hall. Daylight streamed in and cast golden spots on the wood floors.

You stopped at the last door on the left. Rapping three quick knocks on the door, you bounced on your toes. There was a cat in the mansion. A cat! One that would live with you! You silently thanked whatever god it was that decided for you to be next in the cat distribution system.

It took another set of knocks on the door for you to hear movement on the other side. Bleary groans and rustling sheets leaked through the cracks in the door. You bit your lip in an attempt to quell your excitement.

The doorknob turned and a ruffled-looking Rogue appeared in the doorway. Dark hair just barely smoothed down, eyes squinted, robe hastily thrown over a nightgown.

“Vampire? Shit, what time is it?” she asked, grogginess laced in her tone.

“Doesn’t matter. We have a cat,” you said. Your smile widened as you waited for her response. Rogue eyed you, up and down, as she assessed her living alarm clock.

“Logan’s not a cat. We’ve been over this,” she said. She exhaled a puff of air through her lips to blow at the white bangs that fell over her eyes. You rolled your eyes playfully at the jab.

“Not Logan this time. An actual cat. A kitten,” you explained. Rogue’s eyebrows rose as her eyes widened.

“Wait, there’s a cat?” Bobby called from beyond the door. His blonde head popped up beside Rogue’s. The couple seemed to be much more awake now.

“Yup,” you said, annunciating the p. Bobby and Rogue looked at each other, smiles growing, before looking back to you. 

“Where is it? Can we see it?” Rogue asked.

“Charles needs the two of you to run and get cat stuff first. Like food, litter, toys. Anything you can think of,” you replied. At the first sign of them objecting, you continued, “You guys can get literally anything you want. Treats, cat towers, little obstacle courses. Just make sure it’s safe for a younger kitten.”

“We’re on it, boss!” Bobby said, happiness palpable and blue eyes sparkling, as his hand clapped on Rogue’s clothed shoulder.

“100%. This cat will be spoiled rotten,” Rogue confirmed. With that situation squared away, you gave the pair a quick nod, beaming at them, then took off back down the hallway.

The run back to the professor’s office was an even shorter journey due to you jumping down several steps at a time. A few students looked gravely concerned at your acrobatics. Especially Ash, who helped Jean with patching students up by being a walking pain-reliever.

Your hand caught on the doorframe of Charles’s office and you swung into the doorway, breathless. He and the cat were much like how you had left them. Tiny gray body tucked against his neck, both having their eyes closed.

“Bobby and Rogue are on their way out,” you said. Charles hummed in response, eyes falling open.

“This one’s taken a shine to you, my dear. Says you’re the first to treat him kindly,” he said, a proud smile painted across his face. You let out an incredulous laugh.

“Guess he really is one of us, huh?”

“More than you know,” Charles said through an amused chuckle. You approached the professor and ball of cuddles carefully, attempting to not disturb the little creature.

“Mrrpp?” the cat trilled. It squinted at you from beneath Charles’s chin, paws kneading into the back of the professor’s hands. You could almost hear its purrs from where you stood.

“Does he have a name?” you asked. You scratched beneath its furry chin as the cat stretched out its jaw into your hand. 

“I was hoping you might know one,” Charles said. He pressed the cat into your hands and you gladly scooped the little ball of love into your arms. You could feel the purrs emanating from the cat’s belly vibrate against your chest. Tiny, thin whiskers tickled along the underside of your jaw.

“Jeez, uh. I don’t know. Let me think on it,” you responded. It was hard to think when all of your focus was drawn to the fluffy creature cradled in your hands. Charles chuckled at your indecision.

“I’m sure whatever you choose, our newest student will happily respond to it,” he assured. He used his now free hands to dust cat hair off his crisp, navy blue suit. As you turned to walk out, Charles said, “Make sure to give him a bath. This young one’s lived outside for far too long.”

“Will do,” you said. You shifted your arms so you could better support the cat on your chest, then set a course for the upstairs bathroom closest to your and Logan’s room.

It seemed the news of a cat on campus had spread throughout the student body. A large crowd had gathered outside of Charles’s study. Students, an array of ages and stages of dress, craned their necks over their peers to try and catch a glimpse. 

“I wanna see!” Addie, a platinum blonde seven-year-old who could speak any language, called up from the space next to your hip. Your legs were framed by her and Ryan, a nine-year-old brunet with impenetrable skin. 

“Guys, the cat is very small. He needs quiet!” you said, voice coming out as a stage whisper. A hush fell over the group in front of you. Wide, hopeful eyes blinked up at you. You sighed, untucking the cat from the crook of your neck and holding him in front of you. At the sight of the small bundle of fur in your hands, a buzz of excited whispers passed from ear to ear. 

“Does he have a name?” Ryan asked. An echo of agreement sounded around the crowd.

“Not yet, so everyone start brainstorming!” you said. A renewed vigor filled the conversation as names were debated back and forth between students. You used the distraction to slip away, climbing back up the stairs and baring left this time.

This hallway was nearly identical to the one on the opposite side of the stairs. Wooden paneling covered the walls, patterned red carpet stretched down the middle of the floor, potted plants sat here and there. You knocked once on the first door to the right. Receiving no answer, you pushed it open.

Inside was a full bathroom. White tiles lined the walls and floor, the grout a cool gray. Warm patterned shower curtains hung from a steel rod suspended between two walls. A vanity mirror hung on the wall opposite the door. You flicked on the light switch, making the three globes above the mirror glow and send dancing reflections throughout the bathroom.

“Alright, fella. Let’s get you clean,” you said as you sat the cat in the sink. His little, furry body looked like a small sponge sitting in the white porcelain. A confused face looked up at you through squinted eyes.

“Mraow?”

“Yeah, I know. You’re not gonna like this part,” you responded. You leaned over, opening the white cabinets below the sink, and pulled out the unscented shampoo Logan liked to use. Straightening up, you noticed the cat had remained where you sat it. Prim, proper, posture like a little gentleman.

You smirked, scritching the top of his head between his ears. His face tilted up into your touch. 

“Such a sweet little guy,” you cooed. You gave him a few more well deserved pets before scooping his little body and turning on the faucet. You made sure the handle was turned to a warm, not hot, setting and the pressure was nice and low. 

The cat startled a bit in your palm at the sudden rush of water. A little paw raised, batting in the air between him and the running water. You dipped a finger in the water and brought it to his nose for proper inspection. A few sniffs, a couple licks, then his chin was rubbing on your fingertip again.

You took it as a good sign, dipping the same hand back under the faucet and letting the water coat your skin. Once enough water had gathered in your hand you lifted it to the cat’s back. He tracked your movement. Small, squinted eyes followed your hand as you placed your palm on his back. You felt the water droplets sink into the fluffy, gray fur and soak into his skin.

“This ok?” you asked, like the cat could give you an answer. The small creature blinked up at you. He seemed unbothered by the moisture. You gave him another palm-full of water to get him adjusted to the temperature, the sensation. Not a peep from this little sir.

You set the cat back in the sink, just the tail end of his back beneath the running faucet. He hunkered down into the smallest loaf you’d ever seen. Front feet tucked under his fuzzy chest, tail curled around his side, eyes blinking slowly up at you. You cupped water in your palm and let it run through his fur. Before too long you had a drenched, buzzing kitten in the sink.

“You are the strangest creature…” you wondered aloud. You popped the lid open on Logan’s shampoo and lathered up your hands. Thankfully, you didn’t spot any fleas or other parasites hopping on the kitten’s body. Washing out the dirt and grime shouldn’t take too long.

“Why are you hunched over the sink with my soap?” a gruff voice said from behind you. You smiled, looking over your shoulder.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” you greeted. Logan leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. He wore his trademarked white tank top and loose jeans buckled with a brown belt. His dark hair was fluffy and unstyled, long strands hanging in front of his wrinkled eyebrows.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said. He pushed off the wall and stepped up next to you, his boots clipping on the tiles.

“Right. So, funny story,” you began. You ran your soapy fingers through the cat’s soaked fur. Logan’s hip leaned on the counter as he continued to stare at you. Jutting your chin down at the sudsy feline, you continued, “I found this guy outside and he made me think of you.”

“Made you think of…” Logan trailed off when his hazel eyes landed on the kitten.

“You know, with his cat ears,” you explained. You scrubbed at the kitten’s purring body while Logan spluttered next to you.

“Cat ears?!” 

“Yeah. Those hair floofs you get when you style your hair. They look like cat ears,” you said. You pretended to ignore the pure indignation spouting from the man next to you. A knowing smirk stretched across your lips.

“I do not have cat ears,” Logan argued.

“Yes you do!” Rogue shouted, voice echoing down the hall.

Your indifferent mask broke as you doubled over, cackling. The cat’s head tilted as it watched your face disappear below the counter. Logan huffed, arms folding over his chest again.

It took you a few moments to regain your composure. Giggles bubbled up your throat everytime you glanced back at Logan next to you. He rolled his eyes at you.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” he grumbled. But, because you knew him so well, you could see the smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

You cleared your throat, squaring your shoulders to rinse off the cat sitting patiently in the sink. Warm water trailed through your fingers and washed away the suds gathered on the kitten’s body. Squinted eyes watched you, blinking slowly and serenely, purrs vibrating against your hands.

“Happy little fuzzball, isn’t he?” Logan said. The kitten turned its head to peer at Logan. You ran a wet finger between its ears, smoothing the fur back and washing soap away.

“He certainly is,” you hummed. When an idea popped in your head, you felt your grin widen and your gaze slip over to Logan next to you, “You know, he still needs a name.”

“So name him,” Logan replied instantly. A tentative, large hand reached into the sink and ran two fingers down the cat’s soaked back. The kind and delicate gesture only further solidified your idea.

“Actually… I was hoping you could name him.”

Logan’s eyes snapped up to meet yours, relaxed expression melting into pure confusion.

“What?” he asked.

this short story is kind of a tribute to the lovely, lovely folks in the murdock tuna team. i have nothing but love and an endless stream of thanks to give to them. you all have inspired me to be a better artist, a better author, a better person. love you, blob blob 🐟

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[brooklynnbbg]

Elle omg your Luigi fic has me kicking my feet and screaming, please do more with him speaking in italian 😩. I also just had a thought yesterday about Luigi and gf reader backpacking around Europe and attending summer parties in Italy, Greece etc, maybe you could use it as a prompt ?

Anyways have a nice day lovely and I can’t wait to read more fics coming from you ! <3

♡ WARNINGS - None just a cheesy little fic about dorky Lu :)

♡ A/N -  Thank you for the support ml! I hope you have a great day as well <3  

The warm breeze rolled off the sea as you and Luigi trudged along the sandy path, your backpacks bouncing with each step. The sun had dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Somewhere ahead, you could hear the faint thump of music and the chatter of a party already underway.

“Almost there,” Luigi said, glancing back at you with that boyish grin you could never resist. He adjusted the strap of his backpack and reached out to grab your hand. “I told you this would be worth it.”

“You’ve said that about a lot of hills,” you teased, letting him tug you closer.

“But this one leads to a beach party,” he countered, his voice brimming with excitement. “Music, dancing, swimming—it’s the perfect way to end the day.”

When you rounded the corner, the view opened up to a stunning cove. Fairy lights were strung between palm trees, and lanterns floated on the water, casting a soft glow over the waves. A bonfire crackled near the center of the beach, surrounded by a lively crowd dancing barefoot in the sand.

“See?” Luigi said, nudging your side. “Told you it’d be worth it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile spreading across your face. “Okay, fine. You were right. But you owe me gelato tomorrow for all this walking.”

“Deal,” he laughed, leaning down to kiss your temple.

The two of you dropped your backpacks near a cluster of rocks and kicked off your shoes, the cool sand squishing between your toes. Luigi grabbed your hand and led you toward the music, spinning you around playfully before pulling you into a loose dance.

“You’re terrible at this,” you teased, laughing as he stumbled over a beat.

“Terrible?” he gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “I’ll have you know I was the king of high school dances.”

“Were you now?”

“Absolutely. Watch this,” he said, twirling you with such exaggerated flair that you nearly lost your balance.

You both dissolved into laughter, his arms wrapping around your waist to steady you. The sound of the waves and the distant chatter of the party faded away for a moment as you looked up at him. His brown eyes sparkled in the lantern light, his cheeks flushed from the warmth of the fire and the wine you'd shared earlier.

“Ti amo, amore mio,” he said softly, smiling at you. 

The party carried on around you, but when Lu grabbed your hand and motioned toward the water, you followed without hesitation. The moonlit waves lapped gently at the shore as he tugged you toward the edge of the water.

“Swimming?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Obviously.” He grinned, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it into the sand. “You didn’t come all the way to Italy to stay dry, did you?”

You laughed, slipping out of your dress, taking your time. 

The moonlit waves lapped gently at the shore as Luigi pulled you into the water. You hesitated for just a second, laughing at the sight of him wading in, his shirt already discarded on the sand.  

“You’re impossible,” you teased, stepping in after him.  

“And you love it,” he shot back, grinning as he extended a hand to help you further in.  

The water was cool against your skin, but Luigi’s presence was warm, steady. He reached for your waist as you moved closer, his hands firm but gentle as they settled on you. The waves pushed and pulled at your bodies, forcing you to lean into him for balance.  

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice quiet but intense, the words carrying over the sound of the water. His brown  eyes searched yours, and in that moment, it felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist—just the two of you and the endless ocean around you.  

“Stop,” you murmured, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks despite the cool water.  

“Stop what?” he asked, his grip on your waist tightening slightly, pulling you flush against him. 

Before you could reply, his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was nothing like the soft, tentative ones you’d shared earlier on the beach. This was desperate, fiery, and filled with all the passion that had been building between you throughout this trip. His hands moved from your waist to your back, holding you against him as if he never wanted to let go.  

The cool water swirled around you, but all you could feel was Lu—his lips moving against yours, the slight scrape of his stubble against your skin, the way his fingers pressed into your back like he was afraid you might disappear.  

You tangled your fingers in his wet curls, pulling him even closer. He groaned softly against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you and making your knees weak. The kiss deepened as his tongue slid against yours, the taste of saltwater and him intoxicating.  

The waves pushed you further into him, and you gasped as he took the opportunity to trail his lips down your jaw and to your neck. His breath was hot against your skin, his kisses hungry as he found the sensitive spot just beneath your ear.  

“Lu,” you whispered, your voice breathless and full of need.  

“Amore mio,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide and his chest heaving. “I love you so much.”  

You didn’t answer—not with words, anyway. Instead, you cupped his face and kissed him again, this time pouring every ounce of love and passion you felt for him into it.  

When you finally broke apart, both of you were gasping for air, the waves now barely registering as you held onto each other. He pressed his forehead against yours, his hands still cradling your face.  

“Best trip ever,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but full of conviction.  

“Yeah,” you replied, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Best trip ever.”  

The two of you stayed there in the water, wrapped up in each other, as the music from the party drifted faintly across the beach, the world around you fading away.  

[sonotpattismith]

composing a burlesque

pairing: yuta okkotsu x burlesque!reader word count: 10.2k inspired by: nearly witches by panic! at the disco content: burlesque reader, angst, sexual assault, violence, yuta being a little insane, smut, 18+

There was a time when exorcizing curses provided a rush of dopamine to Yuta Okkotsu’s brain unlike any other drug that would ever come to graze his calloused hands. The action was filled with purpose— it made him ooze a certain confidence that felt damn near orgasmic. Being a special grade, being sent off on missions others were deemed incapable of completing themselves, it was all euphoric for the once insecure and helpless boy. 

Yuta had been in the business for years now though, and he wasn’t sure the last time his job felt that addicting. Perhaps in the heat of all that he had fought through, the sorcerer failed to ever acknowledge when he was in his prime. Now though, as he swung his katana over his shoulder and gazed haphazardly at the mission synopsis before him, all he felt was the grueling realization that he had been tumbling down that hill of his supposed peak for quite some time now. 

He longed for it though, the type of purpose he could sink his teeth into and feel the pressure of it achingly caress his gums. With his well surpassing all his peers, at what point did his original purpose for building himself up get lost in the rubble of all his past successes? Perhaps it was the validation of it all that only tasted so nice when it was those he desperately had something to prove to. 

So, the special grade would take every mission thrown his way. Hell, he would even go as far as to seek out especially perilous ones just for a hint of that rush he used to get. It wasn’t a difficult feat, given the fact that the higher ups always found his efforts better suited to higher grade missions anyway. This was why, as Yuta stared up at the red, LED lights flashing down at him from what appeared to be a gentlemen’s club, he wasn’t sure where his skills fit in here. 

The lit up, archway entrance had a mysterious way of luring him in while simultaneously warning him that Yuta Okkotsu was way out of his element here. He could hear the sultry music that was playing inside reverberating on the ground beneath his feet, penetrating deep into the already uncertain depths of his chest. The sorcerer hadn’t even been aware that such places existed anymore, much less that they still drew in such a crowd, judging by the boisterous chatter that also escaped the tantalizing walls of the club. Of course, these types of… establishments were never really his scene. 

Gulping down his nerves, he was more anxious about the human proclivities that would be awaiting him on the other side rather than whatever curse he was sent to deal with. Despite this apprehension, he followed the gold, bulb lights that lead the way to the heavy, double doors. Upon pushing in, the alluring music seemed to increase tenfold, and he could feel the vibrations of the drunken club-goer’s conversations in his chest. 

His breath left him momentarily as he took in the sights before him. There were very obvious, overwhelmingly strong tendrils of cursed energy that seemed to waft from the very back of the establishment, and he assumed that’s where he should be headed to find what he’d come here for— perhaps he would have had it not been for the fact that he was completely enamoured by the dominating presences on the main stage. 

At present, there were three women on the stage, each doused head to toe in delicately intimate costumes. They oozed artistry and professionalism with each pointed kick and calculated sway of their hips. The men that surrounded the stage must have felt it too, what with the way each of them was glued to performance, eyes unsure where to focus at any given moment. 

Yuta watched as they smirked and hollered over at each other, depraved thoughts that should never have been conjured in the first place let alone spoken aloud being tossed around the room nonchalantly. Of course, the sorcerer wasn’t blind, the beauty that emanated from each woman on the stage wasn’t lost on him, but he couldn’t help but be thrilled by the artistry alone. 

“First time?” 

He was pulled from his gobsmacked trance by a saccharine voice, so sweet and sultry in its delivery that he determined that it just had to have been rehearsed. Spinning around so abruptly, Yuta knocked into the tray of drinks balanced on your gloved, manicured hand. It tipped to the side unceremoniously, and he was jolting forward with an expert reflex to catch it before it fell. 

“Oh!” He gaped frantically, anxiety ridden hands shooting up to steady the martini glasses as their contents began to splash onto you. The awkward man before you seemed to work with such swiftness and tact that you were sure you missed all of what had happened in the second you took to blink. “I— Gah! I’m such a clutz. I’m sorry, Miss—”

“So, yes for first timer?” You teased with an impressed gaze, taking note of the now perfectly balanced glasses on your tray. Carefully shifting the tray in your arms, your free hand reached up to swipe the drops of spilled alcohol from your chest. 

Yuta, finally looking up from the glasses, followed the motion with bated breath. You donned a similar costume to the ones on the performers, a shimmering gold bodysuit that clung sinfully to your every curve, reaching high on your hips and exposing the skin of your fishnet laced thighs. Your red-manicured fingers dipped onto the plush pillows of your chest that were exaggerated by the tightness of your bodice, gathering up the wetness that lingered before returning your casual grip on the tray. 

His heart was beating up higher and higher until he felt its mocking rhythm in his throat, and his wide eyes drifted from your glistening chest, up your neck until they met the intricately painted face attached. The response he meant to give strained to come out as he stared into your shadow-lined eyes with dramatic lashes fluttering up to meet his gaze, and whatever he meant to say came embarrassingly out as a cross between a hum and a grunt. Your red-painted lips curved up in amusement, an expression that reminded him of just how pathetically he was behaving. It was hardly within his ability to care though, not when your smile revealed itself to be the best bit you had seemingly saved for last.

“Am I—” Yuta stammered, desperate to take back any semblance of dignity in this painful interaction. When your brow quirked up, he laughed nervously. “Am I that obvious?”

“Just a lucky guess.” You winked, looking behind him to the stage he had been staring at. “They’re pretty good, huh?” 

“Huh? Oh! Y-Yeah, it’s incredible.” He gushed honestly, stealing another glance at their seamless choreography before turning back to you. “Um… You don’t— uh, dance?”

“I do.” You smiled sweetly at his anxious disposition, picking up one of the glasses to hand to him. “Just not today.”

He stared at the glass for a beat too long, the dark, red lighting in the room illuminating off of the prominent whites of his blown out eyes. After another second, his midnight eyes fluttered back up at you, and he offered a wobbly smile. 

“O-Oh, I didn’t order anything.”

“On the house.” You offered nonchalantly, bending over just a bit to hand out the drinks to the couch of men awaiting their orders. 

Yuta wished he could be a better man in that moment, for he knew his gaze lingered too long on the arch in your back as you flirted casually with the customers. One particularly burly man had cash pressed between his fingers, fully prepared to tuck it into your pronounced cleavage. It was evident then though that you had been in this game too long, and you snatched it smoothly between your shiny, red nails before tutting at the man in playful disapproval. 

As you straightened back up to return to the anxious boy behind you, you gave a mockingly exasperated expression.  The subtle attention made his chest burn, and had it not been for the lighting, he was sure you would have caught the way it spread up to his neck and cheeks. Nonetheless, he smiled shyly back at you, taking a swig from the drink you’d given him in an attempt to cool himself down. The bitter liquid splashed against his unsuspecting tongue, and he had to fix his face in record timing lest he embarrass himself again. 

“Not your poison?” You laughed softly while brushing past him to head back to the bar. His white sneakers squeaked against the floor as he stumbled after you. “I figured you’d need a little liquid courage before dealing with whatever the hell haunts this place.”

His expression fell a bit in surprise at your words. Now behind the bar, you peered back at his dumbstruck expression. 

“How did you know that’s what I was here for?”

Leaning forward, you tugged gently on the swirled, yellow button on his chest, making him pull forward toward you just a hair. 

“Not the first yellow button I’ve seen come through here to take that thing out.” You whispered lowly, and had he not been so close, he wouldn’t have heard you over the rowdy crowd and blaring music. Your confession made his brows furrow. 

“No one’s been able to exorcise it?” 

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it?” You laughed, finally letting go of your grip on his shirt to lean your hands against the cool, glass counter. “Well, I heard that’s why they sent you. Rumor has it you’re stronger than the rest of them. Is that true…?”

“Okkotsu.” He introduced as you trailed off in question, holding his posture just a bit higher at your praise. “I’m Yuta Okkotsu.”

You smiled again, your pearly whites glittering under the neon lights. With a tilt of your head, your pristinely styled curls shifted enough to waft the scent of your shampoo straight toward his face. With Yuta’s luck, it wouldn’t be the martini in his hand that got him drunk on the job. 

“Well, Yuta Okkotsu— are you? Stronger than the rest?”

Your questioning of his talents assured that Yuta didn’t need any alcohol to charge into the back of that club to prove himself to you that night. It wasn’t as if he ever needed any encouragement before, the sorcerer had become more than confident in his abilities over the years, and he knew there was little to nothing that could rival his techniques. Still, it had been a while since he had felt so driven to tear something apart just for the sake of saying he could.

You had informed him that the thing (as you had called it) resided in the boss’s office, and that it never left. Yuta had questioned where the man in question was, but he was informed that he wouldn’t come in until the curse was taken care of. The faintest of red flags waved in the sorcerer’s mind at the thought of the owner of this establishment jumping ship yet still expecting the women to keep it afloat, putting themselves in dangers he wasn’t man enough to face himself. 

He insisted that he didn’t need you to show him where the office was— he could feel it. It was spilling under the cracks of the door, filling his senses with that familiar dread that kicked on his fight or flight everytime. It had been ages since he had the privileged choice of flight though. With the key you’d given him, his nimble fingers worked to unlock the ominous barrier. It creaked open, and, before anything else, a waft of sickeningly sweet perfume wafted into his consciousness. Reaching out blindly, he felt for the light switch before flipping it on. 

A dull light flickered on, flooding the once pitch black room. His eyes met those of the curse almost immediately. Yuta Okkotsu had seen the most grotesque of ghouls and curses in his few years as a jujutsu sorcerer, ones that made the strongest of men flinch back in fear, but he was sure, as he gaped back at this one, that he had never laid eyes on one that made his stomach churn so uneasily. It wasn’t large, or loud— hell, he wasn’t even sure it could be categorized as a grade two. Still, there was something so deeply disquieting about its vacant stare and the whines that left its mangled mouth.

It didn’t move to attack him, it didn’t leave its spot on the worn-down, yellowing couch on the far wall of the office. It laid sprawled out, its limbs almost longer than the furniture itself. Its complexion was pale, but its face was painted dramatically with deep, burgundy rouge as what appeared to be drool dripped out its torn and welted lips, smearing the ruby paint that lined them. 

Yuta’s wide eyes blinked down at it; once, then twice. It mimicked his motions, a tear dropping from its oddly protruding eyes on the second blink. Even as he slowly approached it, unsheathing the katana from his bag, the curse made no move to defend itself. It made his movements falter— they needed a special grade sorcerer for this thing? Gulping down the brimming feeling of nausea, he uncharacteristically turned his cheek as he plunged his katana into its chest, unable to face the demise he was inflicting on it. 

The air in the club was notably lighter as he made his way back out to the main area. From the archway, he could see the new set of dancers on the stage performing a different number. Some of them glanced his way as he sauntered out from the back, but most of them paid him no mind. 

As his haunting eyes sweeped over the crowd of people in search of you, almost instantly spotting you leaned against one of the couches with that performatively provocative smile on your plush lips, he felt that familiar rush of adrenaline flood his system. It almost made him forget about the unease of exorcising the curse he’d come here for, and he pushed through the crowd, shouldering at horny men carelessly in his pursuit. The proximity between you was slowly waning, and it made some of his previous confidence fly out the window. 

Your hand brushed teasingly over the shoulders of the customer you were currently buttering up, and it made Yuta’s chest burn with the fiery hope that it was just the artistry of it all. Still, his logical mind must have abandoned him in favor of something more primal, as he pushed past his doubt to make his way to you. The sorcerer, practically buzzing with a high unlike any other, wasn’t sure what he planned to do when he reached you, but he wouldn’t find out because you turned to face him just as he opened his mouth. 

“Wrapped it up already?” You quipped, a knowing smile playing on your lips. In your eyes though, there was an underlying darkness that he couldn’t quite place. Nonetheless, he followed beside you this time as you made your way back to the bar. 

“All clear, Miss.” Yuta confirmed, feeling almost lightheaded as he awaited your reaction, but you only hummed in response. He huffed out a nervous laugh, watching you distract yourself behind the counter. The blues of his eyes darted about incredulously. “You sound like you don’t believe me.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant, sweetheart.” You peered up at him through your heavy false lashes with a slight tilt of your head. The exasperated furrow of his brow was almost endearing, but it wasn’t your intention to step on his ego. “I’m sure you got rid of it for now— just like the five that came before you did.” 

“The five…” His bewildered tone trailed off as your words sunk in. Whether unconscious or not, he leaned in closer to you. “What do you mean for now?”

A soft sigh had your pristine posture falling a bit. It had begun feeling like whatever organization these people were coming from were simply throwing shit at a wall and waiting to see what stuck. After the third attempt though, you had started to lose that spark of hope that lit up each time you’d see one of those familiar, yellow buttons. 

“Well, it usually goes like this—” Yuta’s breath hitched ever so slightly as your stiletto-clad foot pulled the stool beside him closer, now a mere inches away as you sat down gracefully. With an elbow rested casually on the bar, your long, fish-netted leg shifted, brushing against his as you folded it over your thigh. “A bright-eyed and bushy tailed recruit comes in here, all high and mighty that they’re going to take care of everything for us.” 

As you recounted, your finger trailed absetmindedly up his arm, making his shoulders tense in anticipation. 

“And you do. You do whatever the hell is you do, and you leave. Everything is fine for a while.” Your fingers squeezed at his bicep teasingly, and you couldn’t help but be a bit surprised at the firmness that seemed to be hiding under his baggy, white shirt. 

Continuing your exploration, you could feel the heat of his blush under your fingers as you trailed up his neck, grazing your nails against his nape. Yuta’s lips parted, leaning his head back unconsciously against your delicate touch. His eagerness made you smile softly— it was almost second nature to tease him, and you wondered when the last time a man so green walked through the doors of this place. 

“And what then?” He breathed out, trying with everything in him to keep his concentration on the conversation at hand. 

Your hand curled around his nape, and you pulled him in closer to you. The abrupt motion had his hand shooting forward, steadying himself with a clammy hand against your thigh lest he fall face first into your chest. 

“And she always comes back.” You whispered, almost losing yourself in the way he stared up at you with those hauntingly wide eyes.

“S-She?”

You nodded softly.

“She, it, the thing. Whatever you people call them. It comes back everytime.”

At your explanation, Yuta forced himself to pull back a bit from your grasp in an attempt to collect himself. With furrowed brows, he shook his head in disbelief. You quirked a brow at this motion, as if both offended and amused that he didn’t believe you. 

“Sorry,” He chuckled nervously, your words still ringing in his head. Never in his years as a sorcerer had he come across a recurring curse. Sure, new ones would arise; usually different in appearance, strength, location, but never the same curse repeatedly. “I’ve just never heard of anything like that, is all.”

“Tell you what,” You countered, your hand finally falling from its gentle caress in his hair and allowing him to think a bit straighter. “Give it two weeks, come back here, and see it for yourself. Make sure it’s a Friday.”

 In truth, he still highly doubted that the curse would come back, but he wasn’t about to pass up on an excuse to come back here and see you again. So, he nodded slowly in agreement, biting back the anticipation that rose in his stomach at the idea that this wouldn’t be your last interaction. 

“Why Friday?” He questioned suddenly, just now processing your request. 

The sly smile that creeped onto your lips almost had him falling to the floor like puddy, the sight sparking an incandescent warmth in his chest that set every nerve in his body ablaze. Sinful. It was the only word Yuta could think to describe the way you looked at him. Maybe it was how you looked at all the men that came in here— it was your job to make them feel wanted, after all. Still, that little spark in your glowing irises did such intricate work in making sure he felt like the only one. 

Leaning in closer to him, you reached up to brush a tuft of his dark hair behind his ear before grazing your lips against its sensitive shell. The hand that had found your thigh to support him squeezed gently at the sensation, fat mushing between his fingers deliciously.

“I always dance on Fridays, Okkotsu.”

Yuta spent the following two weeks in an all-consuming rut, thoughts smoked over by the smell of your perfume and the sensation of your fingertips trailing up his neck. Perhaps he should have given more thought, paid any mind at all to your claims that no one had been able to fully exorcise that strange curse in months, and maybe he would have had he not still been able to feel the plush of your thighs against his fingers. 

In addition to that, his befuddled mind wouldn’t even process the fact that you had invited him back to assure the job was done. No, because as he replayed the scenario in his mind each night, your lips whispered that they wanted to see him again— they wanted him to see you. Of course, it didn’t help that he had become so grossly confident in his cursed techniques. To Yuta, there was no way the thing would come back, not with how cleanly he’d sliced through it, not after he watched it disintegrate before his very eyes. 

So, when he walked through those familiar double doors two weeks later, running his fingers through his hair and straightening his posture to assure he looked the part, the wave of cursed energy that hit him nearly sent him falling onto his own, lovesick ass. Gone was the dreamy, far-off look in his eyes, and, in its place was a fierce confusion as he pushed past the typical group of men oogling women who were far too young for them. 

There was no way. 

He searched for you, unsure if it was to apologize for having brushed off your accusations so rashly, or simply because of the ache that had settled within his bones from the second he left two weeks prior. It felt like he was jumping out of his skin, rubbing at his neck and licking his dry lips incessantly, begging himself to get a grip. It didn’t help that he feared his strangely timed obsession was clouding his judgment on what might actually be going on in this place. 

There was an almost overstimulating ringing beginning to invade Yuta’s mind. His thoughts were scrambled with the sheer force of the energy permeating through the building, ideas fleeting in and out about what could possibly be lurking behind the shadows of this place. Shoulders of rowdy club-goers were pushing into him, only adding onto his state of unnerve with every shove. 

His senses were drawing him toward the back, but just as he began to push through the crowd, the lights of the club died out dramatically. At an almost cosmically slow rate, Yuta turned his head to face the stage that was now being lit up one by one by gold, fluorescent lights— all building up for the grand reveal that was you. 

You— Yuta gaped up at the stage— you with your crimson, glittering bodysuit that clung so sinfully to every curve of your body. You with your calculated sways and pointed, sensual kicks of your heeled feet. You with your sultry eyes that seemed to scan the crowd as you leaned over yourself, shining hair falling teasingly into your intricately painted face until you spotted him. Your brows popped up with a delighted smile, and you winked at the awestruck boy before snapping up in tandem with the beat to continue your choreography. 

The cursed energy continued to swirl around the sorcerer like dark tendrils, but the captivating sway of your hips was fighting for the dominance of his attention. Halfway into your number, he wasn’t sure if the burning that was seeping from his chest and down his stomach was due to the fight or flight instinct triggered by the energy or by the sheer heat that you seemed to shoot into him with each teasing glance over your shoulder to him. 

He seemed to have more depth than the other sorcerers that passed through here, you thought as the number was coming to a close. The others had a different aura to them, almost as if trying to fill shoes they had no business stepping into in the first place. Yuta Okkotsu though, with his tired eyes and messy hair, seemed so humble for a man his organization had deemed stronger than the rest. The bashful tint on his confounded face made you smile, throwing a wink over your shoulder at the crowd of forgotten watchers as you stepped off the stage. 

Yuta thought he might trip over his feet or start a bar fight, whichever came first as he stumbled through the crowd to follow the path you’d taken to the back. It was as though the lingering scent of your alluring perfume guided his trek, utterly indifferent to the people he was elbowing on the way. His once determined walk faltered as he read the ‘dressing room’ sign on the door before him. Tucking his bottom lip nervously between his teeth, he glanced around the vacant hallway before lifting a hesitant fist to knock.

“Come in!” Your muffled voice responded from the other side of the forbidden room. Okkotsu’s wide eyes blinked rapidly, and he bounced on his heels once, then twice, as if it would summon up any courage that might be hiding within his otherwise powerful body. With a final, anxious gulp, he resorted to covered his eyes with one large palm splayed across his face while the other pushed the door open. 

“Uh… sorry, I don’t mean to—”

“You can take a peek if you want, Okkotsu.” Your teasing voice filled his ears as he allowed his outstretched hand to guide his path. 

Yuta stopped dead in his tracks, mouth opening and closing unassuredly with twitching lips. A few unintelligible stammers left him before a soft hand wrapped around the wrist of the hand shielding his eyes and pulled it down. Squinting one eye open as if unprepared for what may be awaiting him, he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed to find you fully clothed before him. 

There was an amused smile illuminating your features, further emphasized by the bright lights on the mirror in front of you. You shook your head softly at him before continuing to take the countless pins from out of your hair. 

“I was only messing with you..” You laughed softly, turning your attention to your reflection as you prepared yourself to go help out with the bar the rest of the night. 

“Right.” Yuta forced a laugh, shifting from one foot to the other as he stood before you. It was silent for a beat too long while he surveyed your concentrated expression. You quirked a curious brow at him, and he seemed to snap into action. “Uh— y-you were incredible out there!”

Tucking your chin into your shoulder, you offered a bashful smile, fluttering your lashes dramatically at him. 

“You think so?”

“Of course I do. What you do— it’s art, really.” He continued to gush sincerely as you shook out your hair and stood. 

“I’m glad you liked it, Okkotsu.” There was a fondness in your breathy laugh as you turned your back to him. “So, did you come here just to give me feedback on my performance? Get the zipper for me, will ya’, sweetheart?”

“Oh!” Yuta stammered out, staring down at your expectant form. Willing himself to man the fuck up, he wiped his perspiring palms on his pants before grasping the zipper, placing his free hand shakily on your bare shoulder to steady his movement. He turned his head to the side as the little metal accessory slid down your bodice, grasping at straws to maintain his composure. “Uh, no. I-I actually wanted to talk to you about the curse.”

“Curse?” You questioned absentmindedly as you stepped out of the sturdy body-suit and reached for your silk robe. 

“The thing in the owner’s office.” He peeked around carefully just in time to catch you tying the smooth fabric around your waist. “It’s back.”

“Didn’t I tell you it would be?”

“Well, yes, but it just doesn’t—” 

“Help me!” A desperate voice tore into the conversation as the door flew open and smacked against the wall before shutting dramatically. Two girls in similar outfits to those you had just donned on the stage flooded into the dressing room, one of them sinking to their knees theatrically before you. 

Yuta stepped back in astonishment at the scene before him, suddenly feeling very much out of place— moreso than he already did. 

“I know you’ve shown me like a hundred times, but I can’t for the life of me keep my bangs up the way you did.” The frantic girl rambled, grasping at your hands and shoving what looked to be hairpins into your palm. “Please, can you please just fix them? I have to go up in like three minutes!”

The smile that graced your lips at the girl’s theatrics was different from the ones you’d previously shown Yuta, and all the other club-goers for that matter. It was softer, holding a fondness in it that your teasing smirks and sultry pouts couldn’t quite convey. Your freshly undone hair swayed as you shook your head affectionately at your fellow dancer before motioning her to sit with her back to you. 

“You girls are going to be the death of me.” You quipped, opening a hair clip with your teeth as you pinpointed her traitorous bangs. “What if I get sick one day? Hm? Your bangs will never be the same— and you’ll remember when I told you that you’d regret cutting them! I told her she would, you know.” 

You glanced up at the sorcerer with a humorous smirk before turning your attention back to her hair emergency.

“And who might you be, mister?” The other dancer that had accompanied on the ‘rescue mission’ drawled out with an airy giggle, looking down at her friend gleefully. 

“Girls, this is Yuta Okkotsu.” You introduced knowingly as you reached for the can of hairspray on your vanity. “He’s helping us out with some maintenance this week, so talk nice to him, hm?”

Both girls glanced knowingly at each other at the sound of ‘maintanence’. Yuta got the vibe suddenly that they were all very aware of what was going on in this club, no matter the efforts you seemed to have made to keep them in the dark. 

“Must be real strong then, huh?” The girl beside him estimated, wrapping her arms around his bicep. He felt his heart leap into his throat, his shoulders seeming to tense on their own accord. “How about a private dance— whaddya’ say, Yuta Okkotsu?” 

“Oh, that’s really not, uh—” His mind couldn’t seem to work fast enough to keep up with his anxiety as he watched the two girls glance at eachother with tickled smiles. It felt like he was back in highschool, feeling as though half of the time everyone was in on a joke he’d never be privy to. 

“They’re messing with you, Okkotsu.” You finally chided, giving the giggling girl in front of you a playful tap on the side of her head. His ever-pleading, midnight eyes shot up to meet you, and he was once again forcing a laugh. “We don’t do private dances around here.”

“And we can’t make an exception?” The hands around his arm tightened as the girl pouted dramatically at him. 

Your bubbly laugh filled the air around them again, and you could hardly get onto the vibrant girls for being so giddy around the sorcerer. It wasn’t often that young men came around here— attractive ones that is. Better yet, attractive ones with manners. You assumed that they, like you, couldn’t help but push the wide eyed recruit a bit upon sensing his jumpy personality. 

“Go on— you all have hungry customers waiting.” You joked, giving them both a playful tap on their rears as they stood. 

Twisting on their heels, they hooked arms as they gave the poor, stammering boy one last look over. 

“Let us know if you change your mind, Yuta Okkotsu.”

“You’ll know where to find us, handsome.”

Yuta could only wave silently at him, whatever cat that had his tongue seeming determined on keeping it far from him. Behind him, you snickered quietly. There was so much warmth you held in your heart for your fellow dancers— one that was clear even to Yuta himself even if only seeing it for a few minutes.

“You ladies are… really happy here, huh?”

“Of course we are.” You responded immediately, almost defensively. Truthfully though, the boy didn’t mean it in any sort of way. You had been a dancer long enough though to know what others thought about the way you all chose to express yourself artistically. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Well, I only meant—” Yuta paused, looking down at the stray hair pin hiding within your locks. He hesitated once before carefully reaching out to pluck it gently from your hair. You seemed to have been caught off guard by his tender actions, the typical bravado front you donned falling into a soft expression. Smiling apologetically at you, he muttered something about forgetting one before placing it on your vanity and continuing. “Curses; they usually manifest in areas where negative emotions are common. With this one reoccurring, I just thought…”

His explanation made you snap from your stupor. You looked up at him inquisitively. The slight urgency in your posture made him tilt his head in question. Leaning forward, Yuta had to seriously concentrate to keep his gaze respectfully on your face as the movement made your robe fall forward just a hair. 

“They… they come from negative emotions?” You questioned, searching his wide eyes as if he was lying to you. 

Reaching up, he rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. 

“Um, yeah. They—”

Before he could finish, the door flew open once more, but this time no pretty, giggling women accompanied the abrupt entry. Instead, a short, burly man stumbled in with purpose. The irritated look on his perspiring face had Yuta moving almost instinctively to step in front of your indecent form. Had he been given the chance, the sorcerer would have asked the man if he’d stepped into the wrong room— given him a chance before assuming he was a rowdy club-goer perhaps pushing for a private dance that he’d already been made aware did not exist. Just as his fingers twitched to reach for his katana though, the man began blabbering. 

“You—” The man pointed over Yuta’s shoulder at you before stepping forward with little care. “We need you at the bar, the new girl is useless back there. And you—”

The man, who Yuta had now deduced must be the owner with the way he was speaking, jabbed a stubby finger into the center of his chest. The boy made no movement, staring firmly at the demanding man in assessment. It unsettled something deep within him, the way this man seemed so comfortable bursting through the door of the girls’ dressing room without so much of a warning knock. 

“You were supposed to be getting that shit outta my office— not sampling my dancers.” 

The use of the word sampling also didn’t sit quite right with him, but he was already being led out of the dressing room with a firm grasp on his shoulder. He whipped his head around to look at you, but you were only shaking your head in disdain, searching for your bodysuit. 

There was something, Yuta determined as he took the familiar path to the office, that was lurking in the walls of this place. Something wasn’t clicking, and he knew as he slayed the curse once more that evening that it wouldn’t be the last time. 

He found you later that evening as he was hesitantly making his way out and slipped you his phone number. You raised a brow at his forwardness, an expression that had his neck warming embarrassingly fast. 

“I-In case something happens.” He quickly explained as you folded up the small paper and tucked it into the chest of your bodice. “Just call me— I’ll come.” 

Little did he know, you had been sitting on your own assumptions since his explanation earlier in the dressing room. You weren’t sure though, as you looked around at the glittering faces of the women you’d practically taken in as your sisters, that you were ready to face the implications that explaining it to him would mean. This type of artistry, this industry wasn’t easy to build yourself up in, but you had all cultivated something so beautiful here. With everything in you, you were torn on what was the right step to take to protect it. 

Yuta Okkotsu, unaware of the internal battle your mind was raging, wasn’t expecting a call so soon. It had taken everything in him to quiet his thoughts long enough to slip into unconsciousness. His mind kept racing with possibilities— with the feeling that something was crawling under his skin, much like he assumed something was crawling through three very essence of that establishment. 

He thought of you and the look on your face when he’d explained how cursed manifested. He thought about what you may have revealed to him had your boss not interrupted. He thought about your boss— that man that seemed to have zero regard for the delicate position he was put into. Men who had that kind of power over women and liked it. 

Those kinds of assumptions would only drive him insane without any real basis for them— Yuta assured himself as he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. So, he thought of you instead; the way your silky skin felt under his finger tips, the way the sight of your genuine smile made his heart soar, only partially sour at the thought that it wasn’t one he’d caused. 

Of course they’re happy. 

It was what he told himself in hopes of getting any sleep that night. Just as his prayers had been answered though, and his mind drifted into a state that graced him with images of you and your torturously supple hips, his phone sliced through the first pleasant dream he’d had in ages. 

Sitting up with a jolt, Yuta felt almost unnecessarily violent toward the offending device. Grunting in frustration, he tossed his pillows about the room until his frantic hand gripped the vibrating phone. It was an unknown number, but that wasn’t an unusual sight for him. He often got calls regarding missions at ridiculous hours of the night— only adding onto his already abysmal sleep schedule and perpetually tired appearance. 

“Hello?” The exhausted man rasped out, rubbing at his eye roughly. 

“Okkotsu?” The voice that had just been lulling him to sleep via fleeting memories and desperate fantasy rang through the device. 

“Is everything okay?” Without a second thought, the once begrudged boy was swinging his legs over the side of his bed. Snatching the shirt that was hanging out the side of his drawer, he frantically shrugged it on. “What’s going on?”

“No— it’s fine, everything’s okay.” Your tone didn’t convince him, and he moved to shimmy into his pants. On the other line, you chewed apprehensively at your bottom lip, toying with the tie of your robe. Your throat felt like it had its own heartbeat. “I just— what you said before, about there usually being lots of negative energy where curses manifest…”

“If there’s something going on you need to tell me.” Yuta urged, his fingers gripping the phone a little tighter. 

“Say we get rid of the negative energy… would it stop?” 

“What do you need to get rid of?” His tone was almost desperate at this point, wanting so badly to have his endless questions answered. He was shoving his shoes haphazardly onto his feet before tossing his katana over his shoulder. “Whatever it is, I can take care of it. You just need to trust me.” 

Take care of it— his words echoed in your mind, reminding you of the uncertainty you’d be left with should he succeed. Looking over at the three dancers that had just rushed in, all huddled close and giggling plans about a choreography they had been working on, the confidence you had when you dialed his number seemed to dissipate. Your shoulders dropped, and you shook your head. 

“Nothing, just… curiosity I guess.” You attempted a laugh, though it sounded bitter falling from your lips. 

“It would stop.” Yuta finally assured in hopes of getting through to you. “If you got rid of the influx of negative energy— the curse would stop coming back.”

“Okkotsu—”

Your voice was cut off by the sound of the door opening, and he could hear your bosses muffled voice on the other end. It sounded as though he was calling for you, making the sorcerer curse with his poor timing.

“I’ve gotta go.” You dismissed dejectedly.

“Wait—” But the line was already beeping, indicating that you had ended the call. No sooner than it ended was Yuta shoving his phone into his pocket and making his way to you once again. 

When he arrived back at the now familiar club, they were clearly in the process of wrapping up for the night. There weren’t any performers on the stage, and there were only a few more patrons left, all huddled by the bar and finishing up their drinks. 

“Yuta Okkotsu!” One of the girls called out excitedly. He recognized her as the one with the bang crisis, and he managed a tight lipped smile at her, eyes darting around in search of you. “Change your mind already?”

“Oh, haha,” His laugh was forced and awkward, and the girl could tell. She smiled knowingly at him. “No I uh— have you seen—”

“She’s with the boss.” She explained, leaning down to collect a few empty glasses from the table. Her sharp eyes peered at him from her peripheral— almost in warning. “You can wait out here for her if ya want.” 

“It’s an emergency.” Yuta explained halfheartedly, already making his way toward the back hallway. The girl was calling out to him, but it seemed an indescribable force was keeping him moving. There was something, so clearly being displayed before him, but he couldn’t seem to place it. It made his skin crawl, an unbridled sense of doom looming in his chest. He couldn’t stand by— not when he knew in his heart that something wasn’t right, and not when he knew he could do something about it. 

As he pushed open the owner’s door however, he wasn’t prepared for the nature of his revelation. Your back was facing the door, those cascading locks of hair that he felt he could pick out of a crowd, knelt in front of the couch before you. That beautiful frame that had haunted Yuta’s dreams was positioned between the legs of your boss, his pants pooled around his knees. 

It was silent, as both you and the man you had in your mouth turned to face the intruder. Your eyes were wide, glossy, and fluttering around anxiously as you met the sorcerer’s gaze. There was no explaining your way out of the situation, a clear picture painted already. 

One of the man’s burly hands was tangled almost aggressively in your scalp, pulling at the roots in a manner that was pinching the skin of your face back ever so slightly. Tracks of tears painted your face— one that was for the first time bared to Yuta, free of the makeup and the glitter. In the absence of the art laid your raw fear, the humiliation, and regret. It was an expression so familiar, so haunting since the first time he’d seen it. It was the same one the curse wore before he exorcised it both times. 

Everything was clicking into place, but all Yuta could bring himself to do was blink slowly at the scene before him. The owner, already red in the face with sweat dripping down his temples, seemed aggravated at the intrusion.

“Get the hell—”

“Go.” Yuta demanded with an eerie calmness, his eyes directed at you. Your mouth open and closed, chest heaving with uncertainty. “Go and get all the customers out of here.” 

As if sensing the overwhelming waves of instability that seemed to be rolling off of the wide eyed boy, you could only stumble up, the hand that gripped your hair falling as Yuta took a threatening step forward. 

“Okkotsu—” Your frail attempt to stop him from whatever he might do was futile as he silently offered a hand to help you up, eyes still locked on the dumbfounded man sat on the couch.

“Go.” 

With a heaving chest, you took one last look at the two before rushing out. 

“Who the hell do you think you are?” The owner finally stammered out, working quickly to fasten his pants back up.

Yuta watched as the door shut behind him before slowly turning his gaze back to his target. 

“How many?” He questioned lowly. 

“The hell are you talking about?” 

“How many of these women have you taken advantage of?” His voice finally rose to match the fire burning within his bones. It wavered with the intensity of his fury, but not once did his stance falter. 

“Taken advantage of?” The boss tutted, standing up to grab a glass of scotch as though he hadn’t just been exposed as the true piece of scum he was. “You should have seen where half these girls came from. They all have it made here, so what if they all have to pay their dues every once and a while?” 

The sorcerer felt his fingers twitch in anticipation for his next move. His sanity felt as though it was ever so slowly slipping down the drain of his psyche, replaced by a carnal desire ringing from deep within him. 

“All of them?” It was more of a statement than a question as Yuta lunged forward to grip the man by the lapels of his suit. The glass of alcohol in his hands slipped with the sudden jostle, crashing against the floor by their feet. “How many are there?” 

“You’re picking a fight with the wrong guy, kid.” The man warned, though he didn’t know the half of what the seemingly lackluster boy before him was capable of. “Cut the hero bullshit. You were hired to get rid of the shit that was in my office. No need to get all holy on me.” 

“You’re the only shit around here that needs to be ridden of.” Faster than his own mind could even process, his fist had collided with the man’s nose. 

The sickening sound of skin pounding against flesh seemed to drown out the last bit of restraint Yuta had been hanging onto as he poured his energy into this scum’s demise. He thought about the curse that he’d exorcised in this very room, how she cried yet made no move to fight back. The man gurgled up spats of blood as Okkotsu’s knee lodged between his ribs, thoughts flooding his enraged mind of how powerless these women must have felt to have manifested a curse incapable of doing anything but accepting her fate. Yuta thought about you, about all the women just like you who were backed into a corner for the sake of their own artistry— their passion. 

“Pl-ease,” The man gasped out, grasping weakly at the hand Yuta still had curled around his suit. “I can give you anything. Connections, money, the girls— anything. Please don’t kill me.”

The girls. 

The thought made his stomach churn. Until his very end, he still only saw the very pillars of his success as items to be used.

“No,” Yuta breathed, an unnerving smile splitting across his since enraged face. “I won’t kill you. That’s not my job.”

The frantic chatter of the girls in the main floor filled the otherwise vacant club as Yuta stepped up onto the stage. Behind him, the bloodied and thrashing form of the owner was being dragged up by the neck of his suit. All eyes in the room snapped up to the stage in shock as the tall boy wiped at his blood stained cheek with the back of his hand. The girl’s collectively gasped as he tossed the man forward and unsheathed his katana, positioning it pointedly at the boss’s back. 

“Tell me what you want me to do with him.” Yuta announced, blown out eyes sweeping across the room. He found your gaping gaze almost instantly, taking in the way the other girls seemed to huddle beside you in search of solace. After a moment of stunned silence, he elaborated. “I can take him to the police station now if that’s what you want.” 

He took two slow and calculated steps forward, placing his foot on the man’s back as he attempted to get up. A loose strand of his dark hair swayed in his eyes as he looked back up dangerously. “Or I can kill him right here.”

There was a glint in each one of the dancer’s eyes, one that said they didn’t find his latter suggestion as outrageous as they perhaps should have. Each one of them glanced at one another, unspoken uncertainty bouncing between the group heavily. After a pregnant silence, it was you who finally spoke up, stepping closer to the stage to look up at Yuta. 

“You can’t kill him.” You urged, even if there was nothing that would satisfy you more than watching the life drain from his eyes. Okkotsu peered down at you with furrowed brows, and you felt the tears well up in your eyes. “This place is all I have— all any of us have.” 

The thusfar impossibly tight grip he had on the hilt of his katana seemed to loosen at your confession. 

“If he dies— we don’t know what will happen to it. Anyone can buy it— turn it into whatever they want.” Leaning forward, your own indecisiveness was making your chest heave. On one hand, it killed you knowing that he had gotten away with the hurt he was causing for so long. Even moreso, it killed you each time a new girl was brought in, hopeful for the family she would make in the tight-knit group, only to be subjected to the same fate as the rest. Alternatively, you knew what the lives of many of these girls were like before finding their place within their artistry, and none of you were quite prepared to risk it— even if it meant enduring his putrid displays of depravity. “All we have is each other, Yuta.”

His heart broke with each tear that rolled down your cheek and onto the freshly cleaned stage. Yuta had seen it first hand— how you all reveled in your craft, how each of you breathed life into this place. He had also seen the way you all kept eachother afloat despite the shared, unfortunate circumstances you found yourselves in. 

“He’ll hand over the deed.” The suggestion tumbled out more like a demand, and the man beneath him began to grumble something along the lines of like hell I will. Yuta pressed the tip of his katana into his back before snatching his head up by the little hair he had left on his scalp. “I wasn’t asking.” 

It was almost half an hour of timid shuffling around his office, katana still pressed against his back as he sifted frantically through his papers for the damned property deed. He was blabbering some half-assed excuse about their needing to be a proper transfer signing for the business, but Yuta quickly reminded him that they’d have plenty of time to work those details out while he was rotting in a cell. 

The police came shortly after upon one of the girls’ call. After taking him into custody, Yuta stayed back as each girl gave their statement to the officer, chiming in as a witness when needed. It was uncomfortable— listening to each one of them recount the atrocities they’d been subjected to for so long. The unease almost had him wanting to wait somewhere else for the time being, but he felt he owed it to them to stick it out. 

So, he hovered close by until the last officer left the building. It was already almost early morning hours, all the girls clearly exhausted having not had the chance to rest following their shift. Despite their worn out auras, they summoned enough energy to grin gleefully at Yuta as he stacked the last chair on the table. Gone was his somber and frankly intimidating demeaner, and in its place was that shy, wobbly smile as he took in their hopeful expressions. 

“C’mon, don’t get all shy on us now, Yuta Okkotsu.” 

“Yeah, who knew— it really is always the quiet ones.” 

In spite of their teasing tones, they were all stepping forward to envelop the boy in a tight, group hug. There were hushed thank you’s being whispered into his ear as the sea of dancers seemed to squeeze him at all angles, him not sure where one ended and the other began. It was coming back to him— that high for his job that had thusfar been missing. He was realizing with each appreciative kiss to his cheek that it was never about the curses, but the lives that were spared in the wake of his chaos. 

“Don’t crush the guy, he’s got the deed.” Your voice rang out from outside the swarm. They slowly released him, and you had to bite back your laughter at the various red lipstick marks that were now covering his face. You wrapped your arms fondly around your sisters, a soft smile gracing your features. “Now go on, get home. I’m calling a mandatory meeting tomorrow, so you all better be bright eyed and bushy tailed when you come back.”

Each girl said their respective goodbyes, and Yuta got a few more rushed hugs and bows of thanks to which he waved off each time. 

“You could have told me, you know.” He stated as he watched you lock up the front door. You turned to peer at him with an unreadable expression. The closer you grew to him, the more his previous confidence was sinking into the wood floor beneath him. 

“Yeah, I guess I could have.” You reflected honestly, your hand trailing up his chest and toward his face. 

The delicate pads of your fingers gripped at his lip-stick stained cheeks, and you determined that red really was his color. Yuta gulped anxiously under your watchful eye, and he quickly reached into his back pocket to pull out the folded up deed. 

“I, uh, believe this belongs to you now.” He chuckled breathlessly, watching your gaze soften as you took the deed into your hands. “You’ll do great, I know it.”

Your eyes skimmed across the miniscule writing before looking back up at him through your lashes. The paper fell to the floor between you two. 

“You think so?” You breathed with a tempting smirk beginning to take form on your lips. At once, your hands came up to rest on his surprisingly sturdy shoulders, and you pushed him down into the chair behind him. 

He could feel the way he was embarrassingly already straining against the fabric of his pants, making him shift skittishly in his seat.

“I-I do.” The sorcerer attempted to keep his voice level as you stepped between his spread legs. 

“You’ll come back to visit, won’t you, Yuta?” 

The heels of his feet dug into the ground as he pressed himself back against the chair, willing himself to pull it together with each dig of his fingers into his thighs. Nonetheless, he nodded quickly at your question. 

“Yes, yes, I promise I’ll—” He cut himelf off with a stunned gasp, watching you sink to your knees before him. Not wanting to get ahead of himself, he only watched as your palms met his knees, trailing up tantalizingly before confirming his suspicions with a purposeful palm against his aching length. Somewhere between a choke and a moan, Yuta forced himself to sit up, grasping your hands gently in his. “Y-You don’t have to do that.”

The way you gazed up at him, pressing your cheek against his thigh, almost made him reconsider his stance as a decent, respectful man. Twisting your hand in his grasp, you laced your fingers in his. 

“And if I want to?”

“You just— I wasn’t expecting anything from any of you.” He explained sincerely, toying absentmindedly with your nimble fingers. “You don’t owe me anything.” 

“Yuta,” You drawled out, sitting up until you were at least level with his chest. His shallow breaths fanned out against your face as he hunched over to accommodate the space between you. “Let me be the one to choose for once, yeah?” 

And he couldn’t possibly argue with you any further as you worked his pants down his legs. Any apprehension or semblance of restraint drained from him with the first daring stripe you tongued up his cock. Tossing his head back with a strangled whine, he missed the way you stared up at him. The sight of his stained cheeks and mustled hair had you unintentionally moaning against him, and you weren’t sure when blood-soaked clothing started ticking off boxes for you. 

Your tongue lapped against his sensitive tip with every bob of your lips down his length. His fingers dug into his thighs once again, surely leaving scratches in their wake, but he was determined even in his lust clouded mind not to guide your movements as he so desperately wanted to do. Yuta wanted you to be in full control of the situation.

 It was proving difficult though, much more than he’d anticipated as the hand that wasn’t clasped around the base of his cock creeped under his shirt to feel his lean abs tensing under your touch. Despite his best efforts, his hips seemed to buck up on their own accord to match your steady rhythm. 

“Shit!” The uncharacteristic profanity slipped from his mouth as he panted up at the ceiling. Sparing a glance down at you, he resorted to crossing his wrists behind his chair, his fingers twitching to grasp at you. 

You were almost surprised at the pitchy moans that continued to fly out of him, but they only encouraged your efforts. It was cathartic watching him fall apart beneath you after all the anxious smiles and respectful distance. Under all of it, this Yuta Okkotsu was hidden the whole time, waiting for his respective turn to snap— much like all the other parts of him, you’d gathered. There were no nervous laughs anymore, just frantic writhes against the already wobbling chair while his chest heaved dramatically. 

As he spilled his release, perhaps a little too soon, but hell, it was almost endearing, you couldn’t think of any man more deserving of this part of you. His tongue darted out to lick his dry lips, eyebrows drawn together as he attempted to collect himself. You snaked up his body, working to push his dark locks from his perspiring forehead. His wide eyes shot open at the sensation, and he found himself flushing under your tender gaze. 

Hesitantly, his hands moved from their crushing grasp behind his chair to cup your cheeks, searching your face for protest. There were remnants of him pooling at the corner of your mouth, but he simply wiped at it haphazardly with his thumb before pressing his lips against yours with a boyish aim. Your eyes remained wide open for a moment, surveying the way his were shut tightly. You slowly allowed yours to do the same. 

“I—uh,” Yuta’s lips were nearly still pressed to your as he stammered. Against you, you could feel him smile shyly. You pulled back a bit, wondering what he could possibly be nervous about now that he’d just practically licked himself from your mouth. He couldn’t help himself though. In his imaginary book of social norms and world fallacies, guys like him didn’t end up with girls like you. “I know this is a little backwards, but do you think I could take you to dinner sometime? Maybe?”

You smiled, that genuine smile he’d been dying to be on the receiving end of since the first time he saw it. Placing yourself comfortably in his lap, you pretended to hum in consideration.

“Hm, I don’t know, Yuta. I’m a business owner now— not sure I’ll have time for shady, ghost-buster characters.” 

He laughed at your accusation, his once shy demeanor melting away with your playful banter. His hands slid around your waist to hold you steady as he tilted his head. 

“Guess I’ll have to come every Friday night then, huh? Wouldn’t want to miss a dance.”

a/n: this song came on while I was driving, and I almost crashed the car when the inspo for this fic hit me

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[axeeglitter]

Sensius: A story of manliness

Ethan’s heart pounded in his chest, the fear coursing through him like ice in his veins. He had been separated from his twin Josh and his friends Nathan and Brad, only moments ago, and he had no idea where he was being led. The room he now stood in was stark, metallic, and unforgiving, a far cry from the comforting familiarity of their shared lives. The heavy door sealed shut behind him with a final, echoing thud, trapping him in this sterile, alien space. Ethan didn’t even want to be here, he only agreed because Josh forced him to come and Nathan and Brad insisted for him to join. He didn’t really enjoy video games, VR, or any surprises.

“Hello? What is this place?” Ethan’s voice cracked with a mixture of fear and frustration. He scanned the room, eyes darting over the sleek, unfamiliar machinery. In the center stood a pod—its dark, glossy surface gleaming under the harsh, clinical lights. It looked like a high-tech coffin, humming with a low, ominous vibration.

Before he could make another move, a voice filled the room. An engineer entered the room, wearing a white blouse and a big smile on his face. “Ethan, right?” he asked with joy in his voice as he approached him. “Great, well I’m Christian, I’ll make sure your test is going as planned. Now if you can climb into the pod on your left, your trial will begin real soon.” Ethan didn’t know if he could trust this men, but not wanting to back off in front of his friends, he started to walk to the pod with a shy path.

Ethan climbed into the pod and tilted his head to look how the machine looked like from the inside. It was slick and futuristic, and under his back was a soft mattress made of light blue silicone.

The interior was disturbingly soft, molding perfectly to the contours of his body and as Ethan relaxed a bit and lay back, the lid descended with a sharp hiss, sealing him in complete darkness. The sound of his own breath filled the small space, fast and shallow as he tried to calm himself.

Then, out of nowhere, restraints clamped down, metal arms snapping into place around his wrists and ankles, pinning him with unyielding force. Ethan gasped in surprise as his stress and anxiety raised back up.

“Let me out!” Ethan screamed, thrashing against the restraints. But the claws only tightened, digging painfully into his skin.

“Restraint sequence activated. Beginning clothing removal.”

A thin red laser beam appeared above him, scanning the length of his body. The beam left a tingling sensation in its wake, and then his clothes began to disintegrate into fine ash, leaving him completely naked and exposed. The cold air hit his bare skin, and he shivered, vulnerable and terrified. “Stop it please! I don’t even want to be here! Help me!” Ethan tied again as he took in the fact that he was now restrained and exposed.

“Clothing removed. Initiating physical modification protocol.”

Ethan’s heart skipped a beat, his body tensing with fear. “No, please! I don’t want this! What is happening? Who is even talking?! STOP”

“Beginning foot structure modification.”

A deep, bone-crunching pain lanced through Ethan’s feet. He screamed, his toes curling involuntarily as the bones inside them cracked and shifted. It felt like someone was snapping each bone in half, then forcing it into a new shape. His feet elongated, the arches lifting painfully as the structure of his bones realigned. He could feel the skin tightening over the new form, every nerve alight with agony.

“Foot sized increased. Adding athletic template.”

His soles burned as thin calluses formed, rough patches developing as though he’d spent years running around. It was as if his skin was being sandpapered from the inside out, layers building up to create a tough, hardened surface to preserve his feet.

Ethan’s breath came in ragged gasps, the pain relentless. He tried to kick out, but the restraints held him firm.

“Starting leg restructuring. Thigh and calf enhancement.”

The agony spread up his legs, a deep, tearing sensation as his muscles began to swell. His calves bulged, the sinews stretching and thickening beneath the skin. It felt like his muscles were being inflated, the pressure building until he thought they might burst. His thighs followed, ballooning outward as the tendons and ligaments pulled taut, adjusting to support his new, powerful form.

His pelvis snapped painfully, bones grinding together as his hips narrowed. He let out a strangled cry, the sound muffled by the pod’s interior.

“Pelvic adjustment complete. Now modifying genitalia and pubic region.”

Ethan’s eyes widened in terror. “No, no, no!” he pleaded, but the AI continued without pause.

A deep, throbbing pressure built between his legs, unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was as if something was pulling at his very core, stretching and reshaping the most intimate parts of his body. His penis contracted and spasmed without him being able to control his muscle. It felt like someone was tugging on his dick and it was about to snap. He felt it lengthened, the skin tightening painfully as it grew thicker and heavier. Every nerve seemed to explode with hypersensitivity, a wave of raw, searing sensation that made him gasp.

His balls felt like they were being tugged downward, the weight increasing as his they swelled, doubling and then tripling in size. The skin grew coarser, darker, as thick, curly hair sprouted across his pubic region. The sensation was unbearable, like a thousand needles pricking his skin at once. He felt them grew more and more but to his shock, he saw them getting short, like if he had shaved a week or so ago. His new pubes were feeling sensitive and were about 1 inch long but very dense, starting to shape waves dancing around his new thick dick.

Ethan could feel the rough hair brushing against his thighs, the unfamiliar weight of his transformed anatomy pressing against his skin. His entire groin ached, a deep, pulsing throb that radiated through his pelvis.

“Please��� make it stop,” he whimpered, tears streaming down his cheeks. But the AI continued its cold, mechanical announcements.

“Genitalia modification process completed. Moving up to abdominal and chest expansion in 3,2,1…”

The muscles in his stomach clenched, then seemed to explode outward, stretching the skin painfully tight. He felt his abs forming, each individual muscle carving itself out into a sharp, defined shape. His chest followed, his pecs swelling outward, becoming thick and heavy. It felt like his ribs were being pried apart, the bones bending to accommodate his new size.

He tried to scream, but his voice was caught in his throat, the pain overwhelming every other sensation.

“Shoulder width increasing. Arm muscle enhancement in progress…” His shoulders cracked loudly, broadening as the bones shifted. The muscles in his arms ballooned, biceps and triceps thickening until they felt like they might burst through his skin. His forearms followed, the sinewy muscles bulging as veins snaked across the surface. His fingers elongated, the knuckles thickening, nails reshaping into black claws before retracting into a neat, masculine trim. His hands felt foreign, strong, capable, and unfamiliar.

“Neck and facial structure realignment. Initiation Voice modulation in 3,2,1…”

Ethan’s neck thickened, the muscles bulging against the restraints. His throat vibrated as his vocal cords stretched, his Adam’s apple becoming more pronounced. He could feel his face being pulled apart and reshaped, every bone shifting painfully beneath the skin. His jawline squared off and off settled a bit, his cheekbones sharpening, and his nose adjusted, becoming broader and more defined. Ethan’s eyes started to go bling as a new invasive sensation started in his iris. It felt like his eyes were burning from the inside and he couldn’t see anything anymore. But the second after, when he finally opened his eyes again, vision came back. It was perfect now, like a high-definition camera. Ethan saw a golden hue in his vision before he turned back to a normal natural one. Unbeknown to him, his eyes just went from golden orange back to a rich chocolaty brown.

His lips tingled as they grew fuller, curving into a confident and natural friendly smirk he wasn’t used to. He could feel his hair thickening, dark strands cascading down to form a tousled, messy styled look.

When he tried to speak, a deep, rich voice came out, one that wasn’t his own.

“Body hair enhancement and musk modification.”

A prickle spread across his chest and stomach as thin transparent hair sprouted, covering his new, muscular frame. The scent of his own body changed, becoming earthy and masculine, a raw, potent musk that filled the pod, overwhelming his senses. His pubes vibrated as they started to emit the same potent musk merged with a ball sweat odor. Then when he thought everything was done, his pits started to burn as thick dark and curly hair started to grow under them, far away from his natural almost hairless pits he used to have. “Please, make it stop… I can’t hold on anymore. I want… to go … home.” Ethan said in his new manly and rich voice as tears of pain and fear started to pearl in his new rich brown eyes. The AI didn’t care what he was saying and begging for as a new burning started on his legs where they started to grow dark hair all around and them climbing between his new muscled ass cheeks to recover in a dense forest of thick hair.

He could feel sweat dripping down his ribs from his pits, his heart racing as the final adjustments were made.

“Final height increase. Completing modification and assignation.”

His spine stretched, each vertebra popping as he grew taller. His entire body felt like it was being pulled apart, every joint cracking into place as the last pieces of his transformation locked in.

Ethan lay there, panting, tears streaming down his face. His naked body was no longer his own, it was something new, something powerful and alien.

“Conversion complete. You are ready for the next step. Digitization will start in 3,2,1…”

Ethan tried to scream in his new louder and manlier voice but no one answered. He was trapped inside this monstrous new body, feeling every sensation, every shift of muscle and bone. He had become something unrecognizable, and the pain had only solidified the terror that now consumed him.

All Ethan could do was lay in the pod, his body transformed beyond recognition, his mind reeling from the agony he had just endured. He could barely breathe, his chest heaving as he tried to process the changes, the unfamiliar weight of new muscles, the roughness of his new skin, the potent musk that filled the air, unmistakably masculine and raw.

“Phase two initiated: Digitization process commencing. Please stay still.”

Ethan’s eyes snapped open; pupils dilated with fear. “What now? What are you doing to me?”

But the AI ignored his panicked questions. He felt a strange tingling sensation spread across his skin, starting at his toes and quickly moving upward. It was as if every cell in his body was being scanned, analyzed, and recorded in microscopic detail.

The pod began to hum, vibrations growing stronger beneath him, resonating through every bone and nerve. He could feel his entire body buzzing, the sensation almost unbearable.

“Subject’s physical data captures. Initiating digitization.”

A bright flash of light engulfed him, blinding him for a moment. He screamed as his body seemed to dissolve into pure energy, every atom pulled apart and then compressed into a tight, confined space. His consciousness was squeezed into a single point, a spark of awareness floating in a void of nothingness.

He felt himself being transferred, data streaming through what felt like endless tunnels of code and light. The sensation was nauseating, like being stretched and twisted beyond his limits. He could feel the AI rewriting him, his essence being stripped away and stored in a vast, cold digital space.

“Digitization complete. Subject now online.”

Suddenly, he was slammed back into reality, his new body reconstituted piece by piece. Ethan gasped, blinking rapidly as his vision adjusted to his surroundings. He no longer was in the pod, he was standing in a dimly lit, cluttered bedroom. The walls were covered in posters, the floor scattered with clothes, sneakers, and Lacrosse gear.

Ethan stood up in a hurry from the bed as he turned his head around, trying to understand where he was now. Panic raised inside him as his sight landed on a wet dirty mirror standing on the wall in the bathroom. Ethan approached it, his body drenched in sweat as his new hands raised to touch his new hair. Ethan gasped when he saw his new reflection. That couldn’t be possible he was...

“Uploading Subject: Ethan Brown… Assigned File: Scott McCall” the AI voice resonated inside the room. Ethan turned around and walked out of the bathroom and took a look once again at the bedroom around him, the jerseys, the posters, the pictures and posters on the wall, the lacrosse equipment all around, the messy bedroom, the bathroom on the left side of the bed. This couldn’t be possible. Ethan couldn’t believe it, it was a nightmare. And why was he stuck inside this new body as Scott, he wasn’t even a big fan of Teen Wolf. What was all of that?!

He could feel the soft carpet beneath his bare feet, the air cool against his exposed skin. He looked down, and a shock of confusion washed over him. He was only wearing a pair of tight, gray boxer briefs that clung to his body, highlighting every curve and bulge of his transformed physique. His thick, muscular thighs were covered in dark hair, his abs hard and defined, with a thin trail of hair leading down to his groin where the prominent bulge strained against the fabric.

“Calculating the need of this game… Done. This game miss Alpha. Initiating behavioral enhancement protocol. Upgrading “Scott McCall” to “ALPHA” in 3,2,1…”

Ethan felt his body freeze on the spot. He tried to move, to take control of his own body, but he couldn’t. He felt like a passenger, trapped inside his own mind. His body moved on its own, a confident grin spreading across his lips as he flexed his biceps, feeling the thick, solid muscle.

“No… no, this isn’t me,” Ethan thought, but no voice came out of his mouth,

“Upgrading dominance traits. Increasing testosterone levels.”

A wave of heat surged through him, starting deep in his core and spreading outward. He could feel his muscles swelling slightly, his skin tightening over the expanded mass. The scent of his own sweat filled the room, mingling with the strong, musky odor that seemed to ooze from his pores, it was becoming more and more potent, filled with testosterone. His pecs and abs spasmed as his thin hair started to get a darker hue, getting more and more visible and emitting an earthy scent too.

His groin felt hot and heavy, his bulge growing larger, pressing insistently against the fabric of his boxer briefs. He couldn’t stop it, his cock twitched, hardening involuntarily, the outline of his erection visible through the thin material. A small wet spot formed at the tip, where pre-cum leaked through the fabric.

Ethan’s mind raced. He wanted to cover himself, to find clothes, but his body refused to obey. Instead, he stretched his arms over his head, his biceps bulging, and let out a low, satisfied groan. His eyes flashed the golden hue before starting to change into a deep crimson red. His nails flashed and turned into sharp, dark claws before retracting back into his normal nails. Ethan felt his palms and soles starting to burn as callouses started to appear in them, making sure his feet are safe when he runs bare feet in the forest and every time, he grabs his lacrosse stick to play on the field. His left biceps started to burn as two black thick lines appeared on it to mark him as the new enhanced version.

“Enhancement complete. Initiating behavioral sequence.”

Ethan felt his head tilt slightly, a cocky smirk forming on his lips. A wave of unfamiliar pride washed over him. He looked powerful, every inch of him screamed dominance, from the confident set of his jaw to the way his broad shoulders filled the space. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, admiring the way it fell perfectly into place.

Ethan’s mind screamed in protest. This wasn’t him. He was trapped inside this body, watching helplessly as it moved on its own, flexing and posing like it was enjoying its own reflection.

“Dominant behavior activated. Loading clothes and restrictions.”

Ethan’s eyes widened in horror. His body turned toward the pile of clothes on the floor, a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a hoodie. He reached down, fingers brushing the fabric, but then he stopped. Ethan felt his hands grab his soaked underwear between his hands before tearing it apart, leaving him naked in his room. Then he grabbed a pair of dirty jeans on the floor and smiled as he raised his torn apart soaked underwear to his nose and smelt it. Ethan felt his face light with a smile as pheromones invaded his brain, the scent of an alpha he thought. He then threw the underwear in the corner of his room and jumped in the pair of jeans commando, making sure to adjust his sensitive leaking cock in the right leg. His bulge throbbed against his hairy leg, a bead of pre-cum leaking through the fabric and staining it darker. He couldn’t stop it; the pleasure radiated through his groin, making his breath hitch.

“Stop… please, this is not … me,” Ethan begged, but his voice was not to be heard. He couldn’t control the grin that spread across his lips, the way his hand ran down his chest, fingers brushing over his hardened nipples, then lower, tracing the line of hair that led to his waistband.

He flexed again, the thick muscles of his torso shifting under the skin. He looked like a god, unapologetically masculine, raw, and primal. Ethan wanted to cry but he couldn’t, he was frozen and forced to look at himself as he felt his new leaking dick coming closer and closer to orgasm.

“Welcome to the Sensius: Teen Wolf Gay Fantasy experience,” the AI announced, its tone disturbingly cheerful. “You are now an integral part of the interactive environment. Follow your programming and enjoy this experience.".”

Ethan felt his body tense as the orgasm was coming closer and closer, his dick spasming and restrained inside his pants, rubbing his sensitive leaking cock head against his hairy leg. The AI talked once again, this time echoing through the whole game like if it was a scream in an empty cave. “Player loaded. Rebooting behaviors in 3,2,1…” His head snapped up, eyes gleaming with a new, fierce confidence. He felt his heart rate slow, the fear draining away, replaced by a wave of calm, dominant energy. He didn’t feel like hiding anymore. He felt powerful, unstoppable. He came. Ethan felt the cum rushing out of his cock and soaking his jeans into wetness. “Scott McCall’s routines starting.” He heard his new voice talking inside his head and he realized he was trapped as Scott from now on until he found a way to free himself.

Ethan was trapped, screaming inside his own mind, but Scott’s body wasn’t listening. It adjusted itself, standing tall and relaxed, hands resting on the thick bulge in his jeans. He gave it a squeeze, the sensation shooting through him like a jolt of electricity. He then grabbed his lacrosse stick and helmet and threw them on his bed before sitting on it. He looked at them with awe in his eyes as he felt the pulsion to play and to fuck in the locker room. Yea, his beta bitch will take it tonight, that’s for sure!

He turned toward the door, taking a deep breath, savoring the scent of his own musk filling the room. He knew he had to leave, there was somewhere he needed to be. He could feel the pull of the programming, guiding his steps.

He grabbed a pair of boots and a tight well used black tanktop then walked confidently out of the bedroom and into the hallway. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He was ready for whatever came next, his mind sharp, his body humming with newfound strength.

And inside, Ethan’s thoughts were a jumbled mess of fear and confusion, unable to break through the iron grip of Scott’s assertive, dominant programming. He was trapped in a body that wasn’t his, forced to feel every touch, every pulse of pleasure, as the new Scott took his first steps into the world.

And he wasn’t going to wear a single piece of clothing to hide what he had become.

______________________________________________________________ Hey everybody! Here is the second chapter about the Sensius project. Hope you guys enjoy it and I'll see you guys real soon for the next chapter! As always, feel free to send me messages if you want to talk about it or to talk about ideas. I love to read your messages and itneract with you all. See you soon and take care of yourself! Part 1

[sillysowa]

･ﾟ:* DAZED AND CONFUSED *:･ﾟ

pairing: Hobie Brown x Fem!Spiderperson!Reader

genre: smut! porn with a bit of plot and a lot of foreplay.

word count: 4k

warnings: sexual content, slight exhibitionism kink, hair pulling (reader has at least enough hair to fist), bondage with spider webs, a lot of praise, oral sex f&m receiving, squirting, biting, scratching, choking, dacryphilia, size kink if you squint, literally writing out Hobie’s british accent, Hobie is kind of a switch, a little use of Y/N, lots of pet names, reader and Hobie use the color system, spider abilities used during sex, reader is sort of fighting back but it’s all consensual!

authors note: first time writing smut! If I missed any warnings let me know, ty!

synopsis: You and Hobie are in a secret relationship, but that never stops him from teasing you suggestively infront of your friends.

—

Hobie adored teasing you, but it’s not like you could blame him—you made it too easy.

You walked into the headquarters common area after a short mission, seeing Hobie hanging out with his friends. Miles and Gwen were sitting together and Hobie was sitting with a very energetic looking Pavitr. You searched for a place to sit as you walked up to them, when Hobie lifted his head, your eyes locking. His expression slightly faltered, a mischievous glint flashing through his features, gone just as quickly as it arrived, but before you could think too hard about it, his smooth voice pierced the air,

“Nice’v you to join us, Doll.” He said, smiling with his eyes as he motioned with an upturn of his head for you to take a seat across from him, next to Gwen. You looked down to avoid showing the others the sight of your face scrunching up, visibly flustered by just a pet name. Gwen and Miles made a space for you, and you sat in it, looking around at the group of spider people you called your best friends, along with your secret lover. The air seemed thick this time around—like something was about to happen. You leaned back in your seat, scrunching your eyebrows at your man. Hobie’s deep eyes bored into yours when no one was looking, your head ringing with your spider senses. You braced yourself for the worst.

“Oooh! Hobie and Y/N, don’t think we can’t see all of that intense eye contact!” Pavitr teased, his eyes lighting up as he rapidly looked between the two of you, talking over you when you started rambling to defend yourself, “You should play that song you promised you’d show us, Hobie! It’s getting late and we all really wanna hear it!” Pavitr groaned, changing the subject, also leaning back and kicking his feet up, Gwen squealing out something about his bare toes. Hobie knew the gang had their suspicions about his and your relationship—they speculated and accused, saying that ‘normal friends’ don’t look at each other the way that you and Hobie do, and ‘normal friends’ don’t touch each other as much as you and Hobie do, but through it all Hobie still had yet to blow your cover, able to expertly tease you in ways that are only humiliating and obvious to you and balance out the physical touch by being equally as touchy to everyone. However, he decided tonight he was going to tease you like he had never before. He was going to play the song that played when he was between your thighs the night before. The deep bass chords that buzzed around in Hobie’s bedroom while he mercilessly ate you out for hours, bringing his lovely doll to her release over and over again.

“Yeah, I did promise didn’t I?” Hobie smiled smugly, pulling his colorful, sticker coated, bass guitar out and leaning forward, his brow furrowed in concentration. Your eyes bore into his, staring at him despite him doing his best to not look you in the eye. Without even looking at you Hobie could feel your nervousness. 

“Need a pick, love,” Hobie flicked his middle and ring ringer twice in his direction, beckoning you forward. Your eyes widened, and you slowly leaned forward and looked down, feeling Hobie’s long fingers come up behind your neck, plucking the guitar pick necklace, his guitar pick necklace, off of you. No one else knew of the necklace, something you kept hidden under your spider-suit to keep a little piece of Hobie with you everywhere you go. Pavitr glanced over at Miles and Gwen, all of them equally stunned. They all shared a ‘Are you seeing this?’ look before quickly looking back over at the two, not wanting to miss a moment of the drama.

Your gaze locked onto Hobie’s for a moment, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you glanced down to his fingers, and when they plucked at the strings, the deep bass chords of ‘Dazed and Confused’ caught you by surprise. The air instantly felt heavy, suddenly, you were transported back into last night. The song sent a shiver down your spine, and you did everything in your power to not lunge at Hobie. He played with passion, making faces that were all too familar—your nipples hardened under your spider suit and your thighs clenched together. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of your obvious need, remaining silent and bringing your knees up to your chest. However, nothing could stop you from staring directly at Hobie’s long fingers, mind clouded with unhealthy amounts of lust. It was just an innocent song to your friends beside you, but it meant more to you and Hobie, obvious in the way he was playing it. He threw his head back at times, adams apple bobbing in his pretty neck, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, sending a surge of need though your core, and he even had the gall to look at you the same way he had last night, when his tongue was deep inside you, and his hand clutched your thighs, keeping them spread apart for him, keeping you still for him. It was too much, and he could tell by the way his spider senses were starting to go off frantically—a sign of your desire and unease.

With a large palm over the base of the gutiar, and a sling over his shoulder, Hobie was dont playing, “That’s all for tonight mate,” he quickly stood up, grabbing your hand in his, his other hand on Pav’s shoulder, looking down at his stunned friend and doing nothing more than sending him a smirk. “Come to one’uv the shows!” He shrugged, glancing at all his friends and then opening a portal with his bootleg watch, “I’ve go’ta finish what i’ve started.” He winked, pulling you flush against his chest and stepping back into the portal, vanishing just like that.

—

“Easy love, didn’t know my li’l stunt was gonna have ya this bothered now.” Hobie smirked as you pushed him down onto his bed, the glint in his eyes still obvious in the low lighting of his room. You had stripped out of your spider-suit the moment you landed in Hobie’s dimension and now you were in just your pretty underwear. Your lips were on his neck, straddling him with his hands pinned on either side of his head…because you couldn’t look him in the eyes. Whenever you dominated Hobie, he just found it amusing, because in reality he was still fully in control. He could break free from your hold any moment, but he didn’t, not yet. Hobie wasn’t done teasing you.

“You knew damn well what you were doing Hobie, you thought you were going to embarrass me.” You snapped, kissing up his neck and sucking a hickey into the spot that you know makes his knees weak, satisfied with the grunt he fights back and the way his wrists tense up. “I hold up pretty well though huh?” You whisper next to his head, biting his earlobe and tugging on his silver earring between your teeth. Instantly, one of his hands shoots out of your grasp, long fingers fisting you hair and yanking your head back as a shocked and agonized grunt spills from your throat. Your left hand clutched his wrist, as you looked at him with more intensity than he had ever seen from you in his life.

“Say whatcha want doll…but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this angry.” He grinned, You sure I didn’t get under your pretty skin? Not even just a li’l?” He held you in place, your hands tightening around his wrists, struggling for dominance as he leaned in,

“…Hobie,” You whispered, looking down at his plump lips, fighting the need to kiss him and the need to make your point.

“Yeah, baby?” Hobie teased, a slight tilt in his voice, his other hand fighting for dominance against yours. You close your eyes, tilting your head back as he leans in. It would be so easy to get the pleasure your body desperately wants If you just gave in, but you just couldn’t give him that. You tug your wrists back, expecting him to release you, but Hobie’s grip just tightens and he laughs airily,

“What, you really thought I was gonna let’chyou call the shots, love? You know you love being good f’me.” He smiled, dark eyes piercing through you as he releases you just so that he can drag you back to him by your ankles when you inevitably crawl away from him. You gasp, kicking your legs helplessly just for Hobie to web shoot your legs open, silky strings connecting your ankles to the walls. He laughs as you sit up with your hands ready, his long and lanky form crawling over you like a black widow spider as he uses his webs to restrain them beside your head. You’re out of breath, he’s out of breath, and he just looks down at you squirming, admiring his work.

“Come on love, all that talk just to end up writhing under me.” Hobie coos, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip before thrusting it into your mouth, ignoring your gasp, “It’s adorable how you always fight back knowing you’ll just end up crying under me.” He tilts his head, lost in the way you suck his thumb and then his fingers when he slides them over your tongue, moaning at the sight. “Mmm, good job doll. So obedient f’me.” He grunts, “What’s your color baby?” He asks, pulling his fingers out of your mouth, a newfound softness crossing over his features as he check in on you. Hobie loves to treat you like a toy and to absolutely wreck you, but that’s only because if want it,

“Green.” You whine, holding eye contact with him and curling your toes at the smirk that covers his face. He flicks his head to the side, going you a beautiful view of his side profile, web shooting to his open record player where his Led Zeppelin vinyl sits. He expertly swings his webs around to start the soft thrum of ‘You Shook Me,” allowing you to admire the veins in his hands before he turns his attention back to you. Looking down with a devilish toothy grin, watching your eyelashes flutter. He drags his fingers over the expanse of your chest, trailing them behind you to unclip your bra and tossing it across the room, ignoring your protests on how its your favorite. Suddenly, he’s leaning down and capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, looking up at you while his large hand palms your other breast. He moans at your taste, swirling his tongue around your nipple and tugging on it between his teeth.

“Always keen on the sight of my girls.” He mumbles, kissing your chest all over. You tip your head back, feeling dizzy as a soft sigh escapes your parted lips. Hobie’s eyes flicker up to you, his hand languidly coming up to your neck and applying pressure, smiling into your skin when you lightly gasp. He trails wet kisses all over your smooth skin, paying close attention the parts of you he knows you like less than him, until he makes his way to your thighs. He licks and sucks them slowly, holding eye contact with you and softly biting into your flesh when you look away. You liked it at first…

“Hobie, please!” You cry out, tugging on your web-restrained wrists and thrusting your hips up. He instantly flattens his large palm over your lower stomach, looking at you with his piercing gaze,

“You’re not getting anything if you’re not patient, angel.” He slurred against your skin with a leering tilt in his tone, deciding to give you what you want, “Be good now, y’gonna be a good girl f’me, Y/N?” He whispered the last part, leaning down and running his nose over your covered pussy, hooking his deft fingers under the elastic band and slowly starting to pull your underwear down. You let out a shuddered gasp, his face lips and nose bumping on your throbbing clit, a primal grunt leaving his lips.

He slides your panties down your thighs, balling them up and and sitting on his knees, “Open up baby,” Hobie taps the side of your face gently, his half lidded eyes boring into your slightly shocked ones as your jaw goes slack. Hobie proceeds to shove your wet panties into your mouth and webbing it shut, grinning from ear to ear,

“I’m so hungry love,” he leans down to your ear, whispering absolute filth that rattles around in your empty skull. You moan helplessly as his long fingers begin their torture on your clit, rubbing it the way he knows makes your limbs weak and your eyes roll into the back of your skull. You look up at the ceiling, your eyelashes fluttering as he sucks hickeys into your neck, swirling his fingers around your sensitive nub until you make a noise that sounds like a muffled whimper of his name.

“I know, I know, I’ll quit torturin’ the both’v us.” He coos mockingly, pecking your nose before getting back on stomach between your legs, spreading your pussy lips open with two long fingers and thrusting one of his fingers into your tight walls with the other hand, looking up at you to catch your every reaction. Hobie was always careful to not hurt you or cause you any discomfort when you couldn’t tell him how you were feeling—But he knew you’d be on cloud nine from just one of his spindly digits. He leaned down and roughly licked your clit, moaning deeply at your taste, looking directly into your soul as he spits on it, continuing his assault on your pussy. You groan loudly with your eyes clamping shut, as you aggressively tug on your restraints. Hobie fucks another finger into you, laughing through his nose when your pussy sucks it in. Hobie curls his fingers up; watching when, like clockwork, your eyes shoot open, muffled moans ringing out through the room. He sucks, kisses, and licks your bundle of nerves, rhythmically pleasing you as one song ends on his record player, and the notorious bass of ‘Dazed and Confused’ fills the room through his speakers. Hobie ravenously eats you out, shaking his head side to side and getting his whole face involved. He meant it when he said he was hungry because he was eating you like a starved man, his face piercings glistening with your wetness. He would speak into your folds, grunts of ‘love this pussy’ and ‘all mine’ tearing out of his throat. Your hips were now shaking, a telltale sign of your approaching orgasm. Hobie absolutely devoured your pussy, thrusting his hips into the mattress at the sound of your non-stopping moaning and whimpering that steadily increased in frequency, Hobie whispered one last time into your sweet, throbbing pussy,

“Cum on my tongue, love.” He grumbled out, a slightly desperate whimper present as he grows needy. You whine, and whine, crying out as your back arches and your thighs desperately try to close as you cum. Hobie eats you out with so much fervor, slurping up your cum and spitting it back onto your pussy again, making a complete mess of your overstimulated sex. Hobie is completely lost in the deep electric guitar chords and the muscle memory of eating his girl out that he almost doesn’t notice your overstimulated cries and the way your hips and thighs are shaking. He gives your pretty pussy one last kiss before tearing the webs off of your ankles, watching them fall onto the soft mattress instantly. He tears his webs off your wrists, and gently peels them off your face, his knees on either side of your thighs. He works faster when you whimper,

“I’m comin’ baby.” He pants, pulling your panties out of your mouth, staring at your parted lips and glossy eyes. Hobie wastes no time in cupping his hand behind your head, pulling you into a sloppy kiss. You’re both moaning and clutching at each other, hands all over. You can taste yourself on his tongue and he knows it. Pulling away and gently lowering your head, hanging it off the edge of the bed. You knew what time it was.

“Hobie~” You smiled, viewing your lover upside down. He stripped naked, down to his boxers. You admired his beautiful dark skin, his beautiful wicks, and his mouth-wateringly beautiful cock that sprung free from his boxers. “Hobie,” you repeated, “You’re so pretty, Hobie, I love you~” You whispered, fluttering your eyes closed as he lined his dick up with your throat, grunting at the sight of how deep in your throat he’ll be when your words catch him slightly off guard. He crouches down, kissing your forehead and your cheek, cradling your head and whispering ‘I love you too’ into you ear. He knows you get all soft and lovey after your first orgasm, craving to please him. He stands back up, slapping his tip onto your lips and gently thrusting into your wet mouth,

“Now show me how much you love me, doll face.” Hobie grunts, thrusting at a steady rhythm into your throat, eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open at the sound of your gagging and the slapping of skin-on-skin. You’re focusing on breathing through your nose while he fucks your throat, all of him sliding in and out faster, and faster. Hobie loses all decorum, panting and moaning like an injured animal as he looks down at you. Fat tears slide down your cheeks from all the gagging, your hands reaching to hold onto his hips while his throbbing dick absolutely mauls your throat. You swallow and gag until you’re sure you’ll pass out, vision bleary while Hobie praises you relentlessly,

“Take it, take it, take it…oh fuck. You feel so good, baby…so good…so filthy love, taking this dick like you were made for it~” Hobie moans, needy and chasing his release. You feel his hips stutter and thrusts pick up in speed, his whines becoming more frequent as he rapidly pants, a mantra of ‘I’m cumming’ spilling from his pretty lips as his semen shoots down your throat, gasping and swallowing as he looks down at you, unbelievably turned on. Hobie slides his length out of your throat slowly, watching you through his dark eyelashes. His cock pops out of your mouth, a string of saliva from his tip to your tongue and he nearly cums again just from the sight. He leans down and scoops you up with ease, using his super-human strength, placing you on your feet and kissing the top of your head as the both of you slowly walk backwards. Hobie’s hands were massaging your skin gently as he backs you against the wall. 

“On the wall, my li’l spider.” Hobie whispers, kissing your forehead as you use your spider abilities to cling onto the wall with your palms, spreading your legs for him and hooking your ankles behind his back, panting. Hobie places his elbows on the wall, lining his cock up with your entrance and slowly slipping the tip in before pulling it out and slapping it against your pussy. You gasp at the feeling, snapping your head up and glaring at Hobie,

“Don’t be a tease.” You groan, eyebrows furrowing and hips lifting. “Hobie!” Your lover just looks down at you, cracking a smirk,

“Hobie! Don’t be a tease!” He moans, mocking you and plastering a fucked out look on his face, drinking up your pissed off face. He trails his hand up to your chin, holding it keeping your eyes forward as he leans down to your ear, “You know you love it when I make you beg dollface.” Hobie whispers, biting your earlobe as he snaps his length fully inside you. You gasp loudly and moan uncontrollably, scratching up Hobie’s toned back and making him groan.

“O-Oh fuck! Hobie! Shit!” Your pussy throbs, his long dick kissing your cervix with every thrust. You’re so soaked he slides in with absolutely no effort, fucking you with so much energy you’d think you just started. You both grunt and moan, Hobie staring at you, you staring at where your bodies meet. He follows your gaze, grabbing your hips and fucking into you even faster, loving the way you’re nearly screaming for him. 

“Y’like the view lovely? Yeah, I know you love this dick.” He grunts, fucking your pussy ruthlessly, completely hell-bent on fucking you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow. He wants to make sure all the people at HQ can’t help but wonder what could have possibly happened to you to leave you so destroyed, only to see him, the infamous Spider-punk right behind you, kissing the purple hickeys all over your neck. 

The room smells like sex and it feels like heaven. Your lips are permenantly parted with moans spilling out and your lashes soaked with tears, pussy clenching around him, in dire need of an orgasm when Hobie suddenly pulls out and tosses you over his shoulder.

“What the fuck, Hobes!” You yelp at first, mumbling at the end of your sentence out of exhaustion. Your back hits the bed with a thud and Hobie crawls on top of you, hooking your legs over his shoulders,

“Just craving a change of positions.” Hobie enters you again, his thin waist and glistening abs a sight for sore eyes. You admire Hobie until you feel your eyes melt, not even aware of the animalistic sounds coming from your throat as he pounds your pussy into oblivion, the bed creaking and Hobie’s fingers feeling like searing hot lava on your skin as he circles your clit with his calloused guitar fingers. To think that you were here because Hobie embarrassed you in front of your friends—you wouldn’t change a thing. The delicious drag of his dick in your warm walls, and the sounds of his impending orgasm are driving you insane. Steadily, your orgasm is building inside you. 

“Hobie I-“ 

“I know love, I’ve got you, cum f'me, gimme one more.” Hobie groans a long, dawn out groan, throwing around profanities as he speeds up, fucking up into you with reckless abandon. He reaches down to your empty hands beside your head, locking his fingers with yours and kissing your open mouth as you both chase your high. The melody of muffled moans, creaking wood, and wet skin slapping reverberate in your ears as your eyes clamp shut and you squirt all over Hobie and the sheets, whining into his mouth as you struggle to kiss him back. Hobie thrusts vehemently, losing himself as he eventually stills and fills your pussy up. You both ride out your orgasms, breathing heavily and breaking the kiss, completely out of breath. Hobie rests his forehead on yours and you’re lost in the moment--He took you to cloud nine like no one ever had. Your chest rose and fell, your breathing slowly stabilizing as you hold eye contact with the man who made you feel this good. He pulls out panting and hissing in overstimulation, getting up with a promise of being right back.

You don’t even process that he left the room until he’s back with a wet cloth and cleaning you up, your head cloudy as you mumble,

“Thank you, Hobie.” 

He focuses on gently wiping you clean with the warm cloth, kissing the bite marks and hickeys that cover your thighs. 

“Don’t thank me love. ’t’s always a treat to make m’girl feel good.” He replies, genuine love filling his each and every word. Hobie tosses the cloth into his laundry, pulling the covers over the two of you and holding you close to him, spooning you. “You did so well baby, I’m so proud of you.” He whispers, kissing the crown of your head and massaging your skin as you sigh, curling up and relaxing after all you did. “I love you, Y/N.” He whispers into the thick air.

“I love you too, Hobie.” 

——

Back in Pavitrs dimension, the rest of the gang are chilling in Pav’s room in various seats eating all his snacks and chatting. With a mouthful of popcorn and a hankering for a juicy discussion, Gwen fills the random silence by addressing the elephant in the room,

“So…do you guys think Hobie and Y/N are like…a thing?”

[fullsandwichmiracle]

 "Oxford: A Year Abroad”

Paring: Felix Catton x reader 

Warning: 18+, nsfw, alcohol MDNI

Word count: 1622 

01|02|03|04|05|?

Y/N was enrolled at Oxford as an exchange student, specializing in economics. Securing a solo dorm since her roommate was a no-show, the room radiated old-money featuring two beds on either side, accompanied by a desk and a drawer. Opting for a rearrangement, she transformed the space by fashioning a king-size bed on one side and situating the desk and drawer on the opposite side, creating an illusion of more space. Following the successful room makeover, Y/N took a swift shower to freshen herself up to make a favorable first impression.

Y/N proceeded to the hall where all the international students were set to gather for campus information. The tour guide, Venetia, with bleached blonde hair in braids, began by extending a warm welcome to the international students and then led the group towards the library. The library exuded a cozy atmosphere, and Y/N noticed a guy sitting on a couch with some mates, engrossed in studies. He quickly glanced Y/N up and down before Venetia remarked, 

"Hi Felix, nice to see you studying for once."

Felix chuckled in response, saying,

"Nice to see you sober for once."

With that, Venetia briskly continued the tour, urging everyone to follow, casually dismissing the encounter. The reminding part of the tour was rather uneventful, and Y/N returned to her room after its conclusion. On her way back, she encountered Felix again, this time standing in a door frame engaged in conversation with a girl. It was evident that he towered over Y/N by at least a head, if not more. He appeared unfazed and his hair was roughed up but looking perfect. Realizing she was accidentally staring, she looked away, hoping he hadn't noticed, and continued walking back to her dorm.

Upon entering her dorm, Y/N glimpsed into the mirror and noticed a flush on her cheeks from the encounter. Felix, tall and quite attractive, struck her as unlike anyone she'd ever encountered. The remainder of the evening was dedicated to packing up the remaining items and dressing the bed in light pink covers. Y/N then changed into her pajamas, gearing up for the upcoming first week of lectures.

At the end of a full week of classes, Friday arrived, and all Y/N desired was to join her new classmates for a night of drinks. Rumors circulated about a party hosted by someone named Farleigh, to which one of her friends had secured an invite. Seeking some excitement for the night, Y/N opted for a more daring outfit, wearing a linen blouse with a plunging neckline, a lace bra, a short denim skirt barely concealing her ass, and a stylish yet steady pair of pink heels. Before heading to the party with her friends, she took two shots of vodka to calm her nerves.

As the cab arrived at the party, Y/N's friend, who got the invite, led the way to the gate and buzzed for entry. The gates opened without any verbal exchange. Upon entering the house, they discovered a bustling scene with people scattered all around and a makeshift bar. The group then separated, each exploring the lively gathering. Y/N approached the bar, scanning the surroundings to determine if it operated on a self-service basis or if there was a bartender. A guy emerged from what appeared to be a cupboard, holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and wine in the other. Y/N approached the guy, asking him where she could get a drink. He smiled and replied,"Hello, I'm Farleigh. Feel free to help yourself to anything, sexy.”

Glancing at Y/N from head to toe, he suggested, "How about kicking off the night with a glass of white?”

Pouring a wine glass nearly to the brim, she gazed at the filled glass, smiled, and remarked, "That would be lovely Farleigh. My name is Y/N.”

Farleigh smirked and headed off to attend to his other guests.

After wandering around the house for a bit and finishing her wine, Y/N spotted the pool in the backyard where people were engaged in drinking games. A group playing beer pong caught her eye, and after observing a round, she went back inside to grab a fresh drink to join in. Upon her return, they were organizing players, and Y/N approached the table. On the opposing side stood Felix with Farleigh, and a seemingly random girl joined Y/N's side. Yet, it wasn't just any girl; it was Venetia, the one who led the tour. As the game kicked off, a crowd gathered to watch. The guys scored on their first throw, and Venetia took the initial drink. The game was evenly matched, with the guys having two cups left and Y/N and Venetia with one. Felix kissed the ball and scored directly into the cup. Y/N smirked at Felix before downing the cup filled with warm beer. Not a fan of the taste, she quickly sipped the cider she had obtained earlier. Venetia took Y/N by the hand, leading her to the poolside where a fireplace was situated. Felix and Farleigh had just arrived, and others were playing truth or dare. Venetia asked, "Mind if we join your little game?" as she sat down, pulling Y/N with her.

The game started off quite mild, but with each question, it escalated into more risqué territory. When Venetia declined to answer a question, Farleigh revealed a hidden bottle of tequila from a bag behind him, declaring, "Every time someone doesn't answer, they have to take a swig from this tequila.”

Venetia took the bottle, downed two swigs, grinned, and handed it to Y/N, saying, "Y/N, I dare you to knock back two shots or spill the beans on who on this lot you fancy for a cheeky quickie.”

Y/N glanced at Felix, then gulped down the tequila, going beyond the two shots and placing the bottle back. Felix stared at Y/N with a grin, seemingly formulating a plan, which he whispered to Farleigh.

When it was Farleigh's turn, he gazed at Felix, nodded, and remarked, " Y/N I dare you to take a lounge into the pool or tell us what position you want Felix fuck you in.”.

Felix glared at Farleigh and remarked, "You didn't have to be that aggressive.”

Y/N started to blush as all eyes were on her, awaiting her response. Having already consumed a bit too much tequila, taking a leap into the pool didn't seem like a terrible idea. Y/N rose from her seat and walked towards the pool's edge. Before taking the plunge, she removed her denim skirt to prevent it from getting soaked, revealing her pink string and someone whistled as she was bending down to take off her heels. Pinching her nose, Y/N leapt into the pool, tossing her shirt aside. As she hit the water, the chill had a sobering effect, and she realized the extent of what she had just done. She had exposed herself in only underwear to everyone around the pool. Feeling a tad embarrassed, Y/N climbed out of the pool and hastily dressed herself again, still soaked in water the blouse quickly became transparent and skirt denim darkened in color as if she had jumped into the pool with them on. She returned to the fire to warm up, taking a shot of tequila to help erase the recent events from her mind. This time, she chose to sit beside Felix who was staring at her chest that was now fully exposed with only her transparent blouse and the lace bra she was wearing under it. Y/N looked at Felix and realized that there was a big bulge in his pants, for the bulge to be that big he had to have a big package Y/N thought and then looked up and met Felix face that was covered in a big grin because he noticed how long she looking at his bulge. He put his hand on Y/N's inner thigh asking "Feeling a bit chilly? Wanna head inside?”

He looked down at Y/N breasts again and her nipples which nearly pierced through her shirt. Y/N nodded, and Felix fetched a blanket, draping it around her. He extended his hand, gesturing for her to take it. Leading Y/N into the house, Felix guided her up the stairs and into a room. It appeared to be someone's bedroom—quite lavish, with a bed that looked incredibly inviting. He whispered, "May I assist you in taking off your blouse? I reckon it won't be of much help in keeping you warm.”

Y/N nodded again to flustered to speak, Felix began taking off the wet blouse and kissing the neck once the shirt was off. “ Take your skirt off” he whispered whilst kissing her ear. She began taking off her skirt that was now very tight due to it being wet. Felix noticed how much she was struggling and ripped them off. As he did Y/N let out a small moan and he chuckled. “ As much as I would love to fuck you sweetie, you're to drunk and need to sleep but I can join you if you want”.

Felix tucked Y/N into bed, and she promptly drifted off to sleep. He planted a kiss on her forehead, undressed, and hopped into the bed beside her.

[featherandferns]

day 9/24 - obx christmas countdown

‘But here we are tonight, drunk by the firelight’ - FINNEAS, Another Year | fluff-suggestive | jj maybank x fem!reader

“You know we have a couch, right? It’s, like, right behind you.”

You chuckle, not bothering to look away from the fire that you’re lounging in front of, laid on your side. “I’m warm.”

“You’re weird. Look like a dog,” JJ mutters. His toe prods your butt. 

“Quit your bitchin’ and come lie with me,” you reply. JJ doesn’t take much convincing. Sighing, he joins you on the blanket on the floor. His arm hooks over your waist as he moulds his body against yours. You smile as you feel him nuzzle his head against the back of your head. 

“So…Why the floor?”

“I like watching the fire,” you hum, staring in a daze at the flames in the fireplace. The red and amber lap like waves against the brick, smoke billowing up into the chimney. 

“Said like an arsonist,” JJ murmurs. You gently elbow him in the chest. He laughs. You smile. God, you could stay like this forever. 

The living room is dark save for the fire and the twinkling glow of Christmas tree lights. The red LEDs flash soothingly against the wall from the tree’s corner. Along the dusty mantle of the fireplace are stockings, one for each one of the Pogues, including yourself. Yours hangs close beside JJ’s, as if emulating the relationship the two of you share. The wine you’ve been sipping throughout the evening gives an enchanting fuzz to the evening; makes your mind buzzy in the nicest of ways, like a radio tuned into your favourite station. Your wine glass sits before you on the hardwood floor. JJ sighs contently against your skin. 

“This is pretty cozy,” he admits. 

“Knew you’d like it,” you say. “Where’s everyone at?”

“Pope and Cleo are at the Heyward’s place; Sarah and John B are out on some mushy-crap date, and Kie’s helping out at the Wreck. Apparently there’s some big Christmas dinner for some Kook bull-shit company happening tonight.”

“So…We’re home alone, huh?” you innocently wonder, smiling knowingly. 

JJ presses a kiss against the soft skin of your neck. “All alone.”

You snuggle back against him and reach for his hand, intertwining his fingers with your own. The room is quiet save for JJ’s steady breathing synchronising with your own, and the fire crackling in the background. Your eyes flit away from the fire to instead survey the tree. It’s decorated in a way that would make a showman want to cry: mismatching baubles hung without rhyme or reason; strings of beads and dried fruit; ribbons tethered randomly to certain branches; and a wonky star on top. But you’d decorated it as a family, the seven of you, drinking spiked eggnog and mulled cider, snacking on popcorn and peppermint candies. The memories entwined in the branches like the fairy lights make it mystifyingly beautiful. Your eyes hone in a certain ornament. It’s a ceramic baby Jesus, lying in his manger, the paint flaking and a chip missing by his nose. In your tipsy thoughts, you can’t help but wonder. 

“Do you believe Jesus Christ was born to save us?” you ask JJ. 

“Hell of a question.”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know,” JJ says. You somehow know he isn’t done speaking. “I guess so. I mean, I believe he was born to guide us. Teach us and stuff.”

“Mm. I like that,” you smile. “I think that’s an awful lot of pressure for a baby; being told you’re here to save mankind.”

“Wasn’t he, like, a newborn? Don’t think he was told that from the get-go,” JJ thinks aloud. 

“He’s half-God, JJ. He probably had that thought inputted into him before he was put in Mary’s stomach.”

“Do you think he was ever sperm?”

“Ew!”

“I’m just saying!”

“JJ, that is so gross…and possibly blasphemous.”

“I’m a loyal disciple. That means I can’t be blasphemy-ey,” JJ argues. 

“Don’t think that’s how it works,” you snigger. JJ tickles at your sides and you squeal, kicking lightly at his legs. 

“Wanna say that again, oh Holy one?”

“Stop it! Stop it!” you giggle, squirming out of his hold. He lets up on the tickling but wraps his arm tighter around you, pulling you back against him with a laugh. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he rhetorically asks, lips ghosting by your ear. 

“I yearn for the flames,” you deadpan. JJ snorts. He presses a kiss to the lobe of your ear, then another to the sensitive skin just behind. Your eyes slip shut, grin melting into a satisfied smile. 

“Sure you do,” he mumbles between his kisses. His fingers massage at your stomach through your t-shirt. You become keenly aware of how close he is to you; every inch of skin of his that’s pressed to yours. It’s laughable how little effort it takes for him to rile you up. “My little freaky arsonist.”

“Says you,” you quip, conviction lost with your breath. One of your hands loops over his body, fingers looping through his hair as if urging him to stay close. His fingers slip under your shirt, the pads of his digits skimming over your tummy, toasty from the fire. 

“Mm,” JJ groans. His lips torture your neck, teeth nipping as if to tempt at breaking the skin, his tongue lapping over it after as if to soothe like an ointment. You sigh out, eyes slipping shut, body rocking back against him. God, you could stay like this forever. “You’re so warm.”

You let out a giggle as his fingers accidently tickle your sides, grazing past as he pulls your t-shirt up. JJ sniggers against your neck. The two of you are bewitched before the fire, painted in ruby red and mellow yellow. 

“So, so warm…”

Somewhere in the haze, your t-shirt is joined by JJ’s. They lie, tossed, at the bottom of the tree. You finally turn over to face him. His eyes are half-lidded, lips swollen and pink and wet, and you smile dopily at him. The kiss he plants to your lips is hot enough to battle the flames of the fire. It sparks you alight. Your hands cup at his face, paw at his throat, pulling him in closer and closer. He hooks a leg over your body and you roll onto your back. 

“So…” he murmurs against your lips. His teeth nip at your lower lip and he tugs just-so. Your eyes roll back into your head. You can hear the smirk in his voice as he finishes his sentence with a whisper. “Hot.”

[irisintheafterglow]

way hay, and up she rises! (opla!zoro x you)

summary: zoro leads the crew to an informant from his bounty-hunting days; they don't know his history with the pretty singer in the bar.

wc: 2.6k

cw/tags: swearing, implied fem!reader (wearing a skirt and makeup) but they/them pronouns used, basically singer/bodyguard trope, strangers to lovers, brief guy being an asshole (and protective zoro!), simp zoro, i love zoro, can you tell how much i love this man

note: do i imagine lucy gray baird when i think about reader singing in a bar? maybe a little bit. do i wish i could sing like rachel zegler as lucy gray baird? abso-fucking-lutely. i've been listening to a lot of random sea shanties lately so this is where that came from. hope you enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are much appreciated!

“You’re sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Of all the times for you to doubt me, cook,” he says, catching the door with the toe of his boot and kicking it open, “I can say for certain, I have this under control.” His feet step through the doorway and he’s bombarded with jolly laughter, drunken singing, and a dancing fiddle. The patrons cheer with flasks and goblets in their hands, liquor splashing onto their neighbors when they slam their cups onto wooden tables. It’s warm like a hearth, not a hell, and the unkempt atmosphere wraps around him like a familiar blanket. Within seconds, he’s not a pirate anymore; he’s back to being a hunter. 

And there, swinging the edge of your skirt with a tambourine in hand, was you. The lantern light catches in your eyes in a way that makes them glow, enchanting him like a spell. You’re just as breathtaking as the last time he saw you, singing clearer than the stars shining on a winter night. When you speak, it’s like invisible ropes extend from your lithe fingers, grabbing each man by the ears and pulling them in to listen further. He’s no different, finding himself drifting toward your stage when a sudden hand tugs him away. 

“Hey, we’re going this way. Luffy found a table in the back,” Nami informs him over the controlled chaos of the bar. Her voice quiets as he follows her to a secluded corner, but her teasing was not lost to him. 

“Pretty interesting place you’ve led us to.”

“That’s one way to put it,” he replies blandly, still slightly awestruck from seeing you again.

“Got a crush on the singer?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he deadpans, sliding into the booth next to his beaming captain. He gladly accepts the bottle Usopp offers him, taking a swig without so much of a flinch when it burns down his throat and goes straight to his head. 

“What were you guys talking about?” Luffy pipes up and he doesn’t hide his grimace in time. “Did Nami say something to bother you, Zoro?” 

“Doesn’t she always?” An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of the swordsman’s stomach, one he could only explain by not having eyes on you. He was used to being here alone, where he could admire you without distraction. He knew he wasn’t ready for the crew’s interrogation about his history with you. “I just need something to drink.” 

“You’re already holding a bottle, if you’ve forgotten already,” Sanji reminds him. “Don’t make us drag your sorry ass out of another bar.” If looks could kill, Zoro couldn’t fathom the number of coffins the stupid cook would need. 

“Alright, alright,” Luffy interjects. “Zoro’s just been…stressed. We all deal with stress in our own ways.” 

“There are healthier ways to deal with stress than alcoholism,” Nami points out. “For instance, talking it out works wonders.”

“While I appreciate the concern, we’re here for information, not therapy,” Zoro states tersely, taking another gulp from his bottle. “We came a little early, so we’ll have to wait until the band is done with their set before we move in on the target.” His eyes drift back into your general direction, hoping there weren’t any guys giving you trouble. 

“Why can’t we just move in now? There’s enough chaos in the bar to be a distraction,” Luffy asks.

“Sanji and I could start a fight,” Usopp offers in response, holding up the cook’s wrist like he was ready for the first punch. “That worked last time.” Zoro shakes his head. 

“Too risky. The informant won’t say anything if we interrupt the music, especially if it’s a bar fight,” he replies, a fond look blinking across his face. “They’re a little…difficult, sometimes.” The pieces click together in Nami’s brain before he can stop her and the realization dawns on her in no time.  

“Your contact is the singer.” He shrugs one shoulder, not looking any of his crew in the eye and instead watching the growing crowd around your stage. “The singer you have a crush on?” Zoro’s head snaps back to reality and becomes all too aware of the heat growing on his cheeks. 

“I don’t have a crush on them,” he mumbles half-heartedly. 

“Aw, Zoro is in love!” Usopp sighs. “I always knew he had a heart.” 

“It’s not love. It’s just admiration, if anything,” he counters, but it’s no use. His crewmates were already on a roll. 

“I thought you said you had this under control,” Sanji recalls with a taunting smirk. 

“I do have this under control.”

“Your red complexion says otherwise,” the cook replies and Zoro’s frown deepens. It wasn’t part of his plan for the rest of his friends to find out about his relationship with you. In fact, accompanying him to the bar was not part of the plan in the first place. “Look, I’m happy for you. Honestly, I am. If you could do it, then I surely will find someone even better.” 

“That’s enough,” Nami cuts in before Zoro can unsheath a sword. He nods in curt gratitude, but she doesn’t let him off the hook. “However, as payback for not telling us about your little sweetheart, you’re gonna explain how you know them until their set is done.” 

“Says who?”

“Says us,” Usopp answers, holding up Sanji’s fist again and miming the cook punching him in the face. “Or, we’re gonna cause a scene and make them come to us first.” 

“You guys are impossible,” Zoro mutters under his breath. With a deep exhale, he establishes a single rule. “You don’t tell anyone about what I’m about to tell you, understand?” The crew nods. “Good, because if someone finds out about them, I’m gonna shave your heads while you sleep.” 

As with most people Zoro interacted with, you met him because of a fight.

“I didn’t need your help,” you had told him that night, resting your boot on a ribcage for leverage and yanking your sword from the dead assailant’s chest. “So, you can leave now.”

“I thought you said you had this under control,” he remarks, cleaning the blood from his blade and inserting it back into its sheath. 

“I do have this under control,” you reiterate with a glare. “It was just an off night.” 

“Pretty impressive for an off night, though your swordsmanship could improve.” His hand gestures vaguely at the half-dozen attackers lying at your feet, amateurs whose strength depended on their numbers. Numbers, which he'd helped you cut down when you didn’t show up at the meeting spot you’d agreed upon. 

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to insult me or compliment me,” you scoff.

“Doesn’t matter, as long as you keep talking,” he replies without missing a beat, following you through the backdoor of the bar and down a dusty hallway into what he presumed was a makeshift dressing room. “You could make a good career out of bounty hunting if you wanted to.” Closing the door behind him, he settles into a nearby chair and watches you tidy up trinkets on the vanity. 

“I don’t remember letting you come in here, much less telling you to have a seat.” Your guarded nature only intrigues Zoro more, but he’s more than willing to leave if you truly didn’t want him present. Something in his gut told him, though, that you secretly enjoyed the company. “And, no. I’m not interested in the violence of your world, only the information part.” 

“The information part you didn’t show up for,” he recalls with a scowl. You hum in fake sympathy at his displeasure. 

“And my sincerest apologies for getting attacked while on route to our meeting place,” you bite, shaking your head when he rolls his eyes. “Look, we’re here now, so just ask your questions and get out.” Zoro does ask his questions and you give him the answers he needs, but the lingering feeling of disappointment when he bids you farewell stays with him even after he collects the head you helped him find. So, with the reward money sitting heavy in his pocket, he returns to your run-down little bar the following week. 

Without the pressure of fulfilling a hunt weighing on his chest, he catches himself enjoying your performance a little too much. It was mesmerizing, the way you danced across the stage and blew kisses to drunken audience members. Zoro even found himself smiling when he was able to catch your eye. 

“I take it the hunt went well,” you say in greeting when he appears in the doorway of your dressing room. It’s after your band’s last set and you’re visibly more relaxed than the previous time he saw you. Instead of barging into your space, he simply leans a muscled shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed and observing you remove your makeup. 

“It did. Your little tip about the maid worked wonders.” 

“She’ll always turn a blind eye if it means a little extra money.” 

“She also knew the place better than the maps I was reading,” he adds. “I wouldn’t think to talk to her if it weren’t for you.” You dismiss his compliment with a wave of your hand. 

“The Lady of the House’s true right-hand is not her husband, but the one that cleans up after him,” you muse with a satisfied smile. He’s still standing in the doorway, you notice from the corner of your eye. “You can come in if you promise to explain why you’re back again.”

“Consider the promise made, then,” he replies, shutting the door and taking a seat the same way he did the week prior. “I wanted to apologize for getting off on the wrong foot.”

“The Demon of the East Blue apologizing to me? What a world we live in,” you quip and he chuckles. “For the record, I wasn’t mad at you. Well, not entirely.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Yeah, I was mad at you for interrupting the set to ask your questions, but I can’t blame you too much. It’s your first time here, after all.” He listens to your explanation intently, like there was no other voice he’d rather be hearing. “But for future reference, interrupting me while I’m singing will make other clients I serve a little jumpy.”

“They think you’re conspiring against them?”

“Exactly. I try to keep the same after-the-show policy with everyone, so if I give priority to one person, they’ll question my reliability.” He nods, your irritation suddenly making much more sense. 

“And when they question your reliability, they attack you outside the bar,” he concludes. 

“Mhmm, which was why I was late for our meeting. For that, I am sorry.” Your voice is softer than the candlelight illuminating the small room and he finds himself being drawn into you again, like a magnet. An idea pops into his mind, one that was sure to cost him a few hunts, but he’s sure you’re worth it.

“Ever think about hiring stage security?” 

“For a dirty-ass bar like this? Definitely not,” you laugh. “Maybe if I were playing for the general of the Marines, but here? That’s funny.” You thought that would be the end of your conversations with Zoro, but decided not to question his intentions when he showed up the following night. You spied him sitting in the same dark corner with a glass in his hand, watching you like you were the only being that mattered in his world. As the songs pass, your eyes find him on instinct and you’re rewarded with a rare grin that makes your stomach float. No sooner did you start your last set of the night, though, did a new client come storming into the bar. 

He was a Marine defector, one that was trying to make it onto some pirate’s ship before the government found him. In the second drawer of your dressing room vanity, you had a list of ships and ports that would guarantee him a smooth disappearance into the sea. He desperately needed the list and, being a new client, was clueless about your after-show policy. 

“Alright, give me the list. Let’s go,” he hissed once he reached the front of the stage, his words barely audible over the sound of your band. You attempt to smile and play him off as another drunk, but your amiable expression disappears when he tries to grab the edge of your skirt. “I’m not fucking messing around. Give me the fucking list.” As expected, your regular clients started to shift uncomfortably in their seats, looking at you and the greenie suspiciously. In their minds, you were giving special privileges to a new guy. “Stop being a bitch and give me the list.” The man reaches out to grab your skirt again when a strong hand shoves him away from you. 

“Get lost. They’re in the middle of performing.” You steal one glance at the swordsman in front of you, the one resting his hands menacingly on the hilts of his swords. His broad shoulders become a wall in front of you, impossible to pass without risking instant decapitation. The new client scurries away and you release a shaky breath, sending Zoro a grateful look when he’s back at his seat. Please stay, you mouth wordlessly. I’m not going anywhere, he mouths back.

He stays with you during your official meeting with the ex-Marine, arms crossed and stationed in the corner of your dressing room like a guard dog. When the meeting is over and Zoro’s all but thrown the man out of the building, he walks you home and waits until he hears your door lock before leaving. He’s back the next night, and the next, and the next, and all the nights afterward for nearly a year. You start to ask him about his past, his hunts, and his dreams. Little by little, you both start to take down your defenses and trust each other with vulnerability. He’s late, sometimes, when he gets caught in a hunt; but, you always end up finding him waiting for you in your dressing room. 

After he kisses you for the first time, you start inviting him in once he’s walked you home, impatiently locking your door before pulling him to your room. It’s little things that make you fall in love with him: waking up to find him hogging all of your blankets, resting on his bare chest and relishing in the feeling of his skin against yours, running a hand through his hair until he wakes up with a sleepy smile. He falls freely, hopelessly, and completely in love with you, too. 

He knows nothing has changed when you rush into his arms as soon as you see him in your dressing room. 

“Hey, songbird,” he mumbles while his arms lock around your waist. “I burn from missing you.”

“I’ve missed you more.” Your voice sounds muffled against his shoulder as your arms wind tightly around his neck. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, pulling you as closely to him as humanly possible. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Zoro felt at ease. “I thought I saw you walk in, but you didn’t go to your usual spot.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I have some…friends with me,” he says slowly, nudging the door open to reveal his crewmates eavesdropping from the hallway. You smirk knowingly, running the pad of your thumb over his cheekbone. “Alright, alright. Just say it–”

“I didn’t know you could make friends,” you tease and he prevents you from saying anything else by pressing his lips against yours. “Wanna introduce me to them?”

“Give me a second, baby,” he murmurs against your skin. “I need you to myself for a bit.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[fullofgutsndopamine]

three times hasan faked it + 1 time he didn’t have to

more hasan here

hasan is good at faking many things.

look, he’s not one for bragging-really, he isn’t. it’s just part of his charm, of his appeal, another tick of good things about him-could be an actor if this streaming job ever falls through, if he ever gets sick of politics and dumb jokes.

at least, he likes to believe he is.

one

“i fucking hate this movie, dude.”

it’s obvious by the way his eyes have been glued to the screen and how he hasn’t said much that he’s lying. really, the only way you knew he was here was by the constant rubbing of the pad of his thumb over your hand, where it traveled and slowly creeped, two fingers at a time over your spine until it reached the back of your neck where his hand rested against yours, a gentle squeeze there, as if he’s saying: i’m here

“mhm,” you counter, eyes on the screen, “it’s obvious you hate it by how quiet you’ve been this entire time.”

he rolls his eyes but his hands stay constant:

“whatever,” he rolls his eyes, “this is the best part. hold on.”

he fucking hated this movie. his eyes were close to rolling out of his head but as he was about to make a joke, to say how dumb this was, he saw how excited you were, how wide eyed and excited you were over tbis movie and naturally, he had to love the movie as well.

two

“boo!”

hasan is many things, but at the very top of the list with your initials next to it, it’s a scaredy cat

he’s not proud of it.

the smile on his face gives him away, doesn’t give him enough time to fake a reaction, to play up being terrified:

“nothing?” your shoulders slump, “i didn’t scare you at all?”

look, he’d beat up anyone who even implied this, knows how cliche it is but the world is less scary with you by his side-isn’t on edge like before, isn’t always waiting for the other foot to drop.

“you didn’t even give me a chance to react!”

his giggle is loud as he reaches over to elbow you.

“reacting is your whole ass job!” you argue, moving out of the way as he tries to pull you close and plant a kiss on your forehead like he always does when you arrive at his side.

your face is bright red as he finally pulls you in close, another kiss to your cheek-

“cmon,” he giggles, “give me another chance.”

instead, you reach up, messing up his hair: “your time is coming.”

three

“i’m not much of a dancer.”

his voice is low as he drawls on, but as you stand with

“our kitchen would say differently,” you shush him, “come on.”

he groans, knows there’s no way he’ll get out of this, better to just shut up and follow what you say-you haven’t led him astray before.

“i’m going to embarrass you,” he all but whispers as he wraps his arms around your core, as you rest your head against his chest, “i’m going to step on your feet and it’s going to be horribly embarrassing.”

“shh.”

he leads, a gentle box as he’s careful to not step on your toes, grumbling and trying to act like he hates it-grateful you can’t see the pink across his face.

+ 1

“what is this?”

his giggle gives him away, proves he’s actually enjoying this.

“it’s a surprise, hasan.” you tsk at him, your hands shield over this eyes so all he can see is dark in front of him, “just-“

you pause, a sigh before kicking your lips:

“listen,” you counter, “do you trust me?”

there’s weight there, where he could play dumb or say the wrong thing and act like he doesn’t trust you-

“yes.” he says instantly, before he can even overthink it, his hands over yours as you guide him

“good,” you settle on, can hear your feet behind him as he smirks, his hands in front of him as he tries to make out a house he once knew by heart. “now shut up, and act like you’re enjoying this.”

you can’t see it as he rolls his eyes, as he tries to play up this act of someone who hates everything, hates this.

“okay, don’t open your eyes.”

there’s struggle for a second as one hand drops, he can tell by the difference in the lightning that you flicked a light on-

“okay. one, two-“

he can hear the deep breath you take as your hands drop. the second he can’t feel you anymore his hands scamper in the air, unsatisfied until they come back into contact with your hand, until his fingers are laced into your hand.

i’m the kitchen now lays half deflated balloons, a half hanging up happy birthday banner-

“it’s not great,” you sigh at your side, “I’m so sorry. i’ll make it up to you, i promise. the store-“

“hey.”

your head snaps up when you hear his voice, when his forefinger connects with your chin to lift it up so it strains, when you can finally make eye contact with him.

“this is perfect-“

“hasan,” you sigh, “you lie so badly-“

“i’ve literally never lied in my life,” he laughs, “this is perfect.”

you don’t believe him until he pulls you close to him, when your belly collided with the side of his legs, his hand outstretched as he points out the little things you spent all the time doing-

“this is perfect,” he insists, the smile never leaving his side, “you’re perfect.”

pink raises on your face as you shake it: “cliche.”

“shut up.”

he pulls you in for a final kiss.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 40

part 1 | part 39 | ao3

They're lying on their backs, Steve's head on Eddie's shoulder, Eddie running absent-minded fingers through Steve's hair. Led Zeppelin plays on low from the radio beside them, and the conversation ebbs and flows in sleepy bursts of disjointed thought. Talking just to talk. Because they like it; because they can.

"...Did you see Wheeler almost eat shit in the paint aisle this morning?"

"We should paint some stars on my ceiling. Make 'em glow in the dark..."

"God, what I would not give for more pizza."

"Who even eats cold pizza?"

Eddie shifts beneath him after a while, sitting up to bounce his legs and get the blood flowing again. With his weight leaned back on his hands, Steve can't help but notice the long line of his torso. Everything on display through the thin undershirt: the smattering of dark ink, the outline of his ribs, the cut of his slim waist. Steve wants to touch him.

"You know," Eddie says, surveying the empty room, the vinyl glinting in the lamp light, "it's really not half bad for a bunch of kids who thought they were gonna be hanging ornaments all day." He knocks his knee against Steve's leg. "I'd say you're well on your way to making this mobile house a mobile home."

Steve snorts at that, and Eddie pinches playfully at his side until the snort turns into a really undignified laugh and Steve rolls in on himself, curling toward Eddie, begging for mercy.

"You want to tell me what brought all this on?" Eddie asks. His voice is quiet and welcoming, eyes sparkling with some gentle offer of reprieve. The first rest stop sign after a hundred mile stretch of empty road.

Steve's mouth works; opens and closes and opens again, like it'll prompt his voice to sound or his brain to figure out the words. He still doesn't know how to explain — the fear, the paranoia, the way this place was starting to cling to him like black mold. "Just..." he shrugs. "Needed it, I guess."

Eddie gives him a long look. Unwavering and piercing; there's more pus in the wound that he's trying to lance, but he doesn't seem interested in drawing blood tonight.

He releases Steve from his gaze and goes back to his casual stretching — rolling his neck, popping his shoulders, shaking out his legs, his ankles, his feet — and then he gasps "Steve!" in a delighted tone that Steve does not care for at all. Usually means he’s about to get teased within an inch of his life.

"Hmm?" Steve lifts his head to look.

Eddie’s wiggling his right foot, drawing attention to the outer edge of his borrowed sock. "Is that a hole I see?"

Steve follows his line of sight, and sure enough, there's the smallest little tear by Eddie's pinky toe. “Oh, fuck off,” Steve rolls his eyes, “you can barely even see that.”

Eddie spreads his toes out wide, making the hole more obvious. "My, my, my,” he tuts, shaking his head with a big, disappointed sigh.

"You're such an asshole,” Steve mutters. Eddie's beaming; Steve flips him off.

"Well congrats, baby boy,” he drawls like a fucking pest, “now you're officially trailer trash."

"Hey!" Steve’s not sure if he likes that. Makes him blush to his ears; makes something sour roll in his gut.

Unfortunately it also kind of makes his dick twitch.

"Oh?" Eddie leers. His eyes dart to Steve's crotch, and then he shifts so he's hovering over Steve with Steve flat on his back, face on fire, pulse kicking hard. A vein throbs in his inner thigh. "Don't worry, Stevie." Eddie bends to nip at his jaw. "I meant it as a compliment."

"How is that a compliment?" Steve wants to sound annoyed. Is annoyed. But Eddie's skimming a light hand up his side, barest pressure that leaves a trail of tingling warmth in its wake, so the words come out more breathy than he intends.

"Because," Eddie whispers. Steve can feel his smile pressed against his skin. Eddie kisses up his jawline until he reaches his ear; mouths at the lobe and sucks it between his teeth, a sharp bite that makes Steve hiss. "All my favorite things are."

Steve bucks under him. "Trash?" he asks, breath catching.

Eddie's tongue traces his ear. "Mhmm."

His hand wanders to the hem of Steve's shirt, worming his fingers underneath, tickling the trail of hair below Steve’s belly button as he explains that all his favorite things are second-hand. Recycled and discarded items he’s restored with loving care.

Steve’s breath goes harsh and ragged, and he tries not to think about how that might apply to him.

Discarded.

Restored.

Favorite.

Maybe even—

He can’t let himself think the word.

—

part 41!

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Beach Day | Cassian x Reader

Summary: During a lengthy visit to Day Court with the Inner Circle, so Rhys and Feyre can discuss political matters with Helion, you and the Inner Circle find more entertaining things to do, such as have a beach day.

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: None! Other than cass slamming his toes into rocks

A/N: Another little fluffy drabble for @cassianappreciationweek , hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

There were few days when Cassian was able to simply lay back and relax, but luckily today, it was one of them.

Rhys and Feyre were busy in Day Court with Helion, and so naturally, most if not all of his Inner Circle was dragged along, especially Cassian and Azriel. Whenever they’d arrived, Helion had only given the two a wink as he’d led the High Lord and Lady of Night Court into his personal office, declaring that it would be a “Private conversation.”

Azriel had bristled at that, but with a lazy grin and a hand on his shoulder, Cassian had gently led him away and out of their palace. If there was one thing Day Court was notorious for along with Dawn Court, it was the beaches on their shores. Velaris didn’t have such beaches in general, only the rocky shores that lined Night Court.

“C’mon Az, if we’re gonna be stuck here waiting for Rhys, we might as well enjoy it.”

Cassian said, giving his brother a pleasing look. Azriel only sighed, shadows wielding, excited at the prospect of swimming, as it wasn’t something they often did.

“Fine. Go swim with the rest of them.”

He grumbled, but before he could object, Cassian grinned and picked Azriel up, already bounding down the streets of Day Court (getting many weird looks from the locals on the way) to the little nearly vacant home Helion had provided for Rhys and the rest of your menagerie while they were here.

As he opened the door, finally setting Az down and giving him a look that said “Go get your swimsuit, or else.”, he was greeted by a distanced hug from you, his mate. He could already tell that you were overheating, too used to the constant soothing breeze and persisting chill of Velaris.

“We’re going swimming!”

He announced loudly enough for everyone to hear, including Mor and Amren who were lounging on the couch, fanning themselves with whatever was in hand. They gave exasperated groans.

“It’s hotter than hell out there, Cass.”

Mor complained, looking miserable.

“Yeah, well the water’ll cool you off, I’m sure.”

He said, rolling his eyes as he followed you to the bedroom that you two had claimed as your own, and he yanked his leathers off, his undergarments as well as he slid into a pair of shorts that were mostly water resistant and suitable for swimming. You had already changed into your swimsuit of choice, a bikini in the same shade of red as his siphons, one that would no doubt drive him crazy.

When they all got done changing, Azriel’s cheeks a light pink from the pink trunks Cassian had made him wear, being the only thing he had to swim in, everyone made Cassian carry their towels, and donned some sort of sandals as they walked outside into the suffocating heat of the summer sun, quickly walking down to the beaches of Day Court, and quickly wading into the water.

They only had a respite for the briefest of moments before Cassian splashed Azriel, and Azriel splashed back harder, accidentally getting you as well, until you were all splashing and thrashing like maniacs in the cool water. Mor and Amren didn’t seem to care much for the playing, both getting inflatables out of nowhere (and judging by the sounds of confused beachgoers, probably stole them) and floating on them, occasionally taking a dip in the water to cool off.

“I bet I can make a better sandcastle than you.”

Cassian declared to you, and you grinned ferociously back, both storming up to the beach to make the best sandcastle.

However, you already knew how Cassian played, so you made sure to include a layer of rocks in the bottom of yours covered by sand, and if anyone tried to kick it, their toes would meet jagged rock edges. You began building up layers, adding dry sand, then water, then compacting it, then wet sand, and then starting over again in a cycle.

Once your little cylinder-like shape was built up, you used seashells nearby to decorate the side, and tying some random part of a nearby plastic bag onto a thin, long stick, you made a tiny flag of trash and stuck it in the middle of your sandcastle on the very top.

You glanced over at Cassian’s sandcastle, it was more oval-shaped than anything, like a sad attempt at recreating a football, and it had some random shells strewn about on it.

“Done!”

He exclaimed, glancing over at yours as his grin turned to a playful scowl.

“Try-hard,”

He muttered under his breath, and you rolled your eyes, looking over at Azriel who was just standing in the water, watching, not seeming sure what to do. You beckoned him over.

“Come judge our sandcastles, Az!”

You called out, and he met your gaze, his own shining with amusement as he strode up and started examining your mate’s castle.

“Is the oval shape intentional?”

He asked in a dryly amused tone, and Cassian shot him a glare.

“Yes, it was.”

He said defensively, chest puffing out as you snorted, and Mor did too as she watched from the water. Azriel then moved to look at your sandcastle, observing it for all of two seconds before declaring his decision.

“Y/N won.”

He said, shaking his head in fond exasperation as he turned to move back into the water that shielded him from the harsh sun. That was when Cassian grumbled something under his breath, stomping over to your sandcastle even as you began following Az to the water.

You nudged Azriel with your elbow, both of you turning just in time to see Cassian’s foot go back and slam right into the rock base of your sandcastle as he howled and held his foot, glaring at you with a glimmer of begrudging respect for you somehow knowing what he was going to do.

Az quietly chuckled, even as Cassian huffed and hopped over to you on one foot, entering the water again.

“You’re going to pay for that once we get home,”

He murmured to you, and you only gave a lazy, sly smirk back.

“Worth it.”

[kittykat-25]

One Of The Guys

Pairings: Hongjoong x F! Reader

Genre: idol au, Friends x Lovers, angst

Summary: You tried really hard not to be a cliché, falling love with your best friend. How unoriginal. But when your best friend is Kim Hongjoong what are you supposed to do?

Now Playing: One Of The Guys- Jessia

Word Count: 1.6k

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Epilogue

Being friends with Hongjoong had led to you meeting the rest of his members. And soon enough you were the ninth person of the friend group. While you cared about and respected all of them, Wooyoung and Mingi had taken it upon themselves to be your pillars. The two who kept you sane and standing. They quickly caught on to how you felt about their captain. The others had as well but they chose to respect your privacy, Woo and Mingi; not so much. You were grateful for the two dorks who kept you on your toes and only left your side when needed. Hongjoong loved that his members had taken you in so quickly. He knew they all adored you and would look after you when he couldn’t. Y/n had always been a comforting presence to him, he knew Hwa called you when he got too far into his head. You would show up, make him take a break and relax and then sit down and help until he felt confident in his work. You had started taking care of the kids too at some point, bringing food when they practiced late, making sure the fridge at the studio was stocked of their favorite snacks and drinks. The staff had told him of you coming by early on the way into work to drop off treats for them. You cared about everyone one around you, so he had made it his mission to be that person for you as well. A protector, a friend, a big brother of sorts. Little did he know he was breaking your heart in the process.

Saturday night you made your way up the stairs of the dorm, take out bags lining your arms. You stop at a door and give it a few swift kicks alerting the eight men inside. Yunho throws the door open, looking down at you. "Need help with that shorty?" you threw him a glare, "I can take your food and give it to Woo." Yunho reached out and took some bags leading her inside. "Y/N's here." He called into the apartment. You started unpacking food containers onto the counter when a massive hand came down onto your head, "Thanks cupcake!" Ming said while ruffling your hair. "Anything for you Princess." You smirked back and you elbowed him away from you. “Leave Y/N alone, they were nice enough to bring us food.” You heard the oldest boy call as he walked into the kitchen. “At least one of you has some manners.” You said as you handed Seonghwa his food. “Yah I offered to cook but noooo I just go bullied for suggesting it.” Wooyoung said plopping his chin down on top of your head. “Poor little baby, getting bullied?” You fake pout. Wooyoung dug his chin into your head. “Owh Woo!!” You said swatting at the menace. “Have some respect for your elders Hyung.” Jongho said as he sat down next to Yunho on the couch. “Oh because you do that so well?!” Wooyoung called back. You laughed as you grabbed the eighth container. The boys bickering getting quieter as you head down the hallway to Hongjoong’s room.

You knocked on the door, a muffled “yeah?” came through. “Joongie?” You called opened the door into a dark room. You looked over at the only light source, Hongjoong sitting in front of his laptop, his silhouette sending butterflies through your body. “You know you have to eat to stay alive right?” You said softly as you sat the container in front of him. He looked up at you “I just need to finish this clip for Eden Hyung.” Eyes focused back on the screen. “Joong, you can’t finish it if you’re unconscious from lack of food. When was the last time you ate?” He spun his chair around to face you as you sat on the edge of his bed, “I ate breakfast this morning.” You looked down at your watch, “it’s 11pm. You haven’t eaten in over twelve hours.” He turned his chair back around, “thank you for the food y/n-ie. Go eat with the others, I’ll join in a bit.” Y/n looked at the back of his head and stood up and walked to the door. Looking back at the man who had no clue that he held your heart in his hands. “Let’s not lie, we both know you aren’t leaving until you’re satisfied. Just make sure you eat please Joong.” You said quietly before shutting the door.

You made your way back into the main room, curling up in the couch beside Wooyoung. They had started a movie and everyone was hyper fixated on it. Wooyoung nudged you in the side lightly, nodding towards the kitchen. You got up and followed him out of the room. Leaning against the counter you watched him clean up the take out containers. “What happened?” He asked quietly. “What do you mean?” He stopped and looked down at you, eyes soft and full of pity. “Bubs you have the same defeated look as when your book doesn’t end the way you want. What happened?” You twisted the ends of your hair, another sign to Woo that something was wrong. Being friend with them the past 7 years he learned to pick up your anxious habits. “Nothing happened, same Joong as always.” Wooyoung nodded his head, he opened his mouth to speak when Mingi walked in. “Y/n do you think you should just tell him how you feel?” He said casually as he set his cup in the sink. “Going straight for kill aren’t you Minki?” Woo said trying to lighten the mood. “And do what? Ruin my friendship? Lose all of you? No thank you. I’m happy to sit here in misery.” You said while picking at the hem of your shirt. Mingi grabbed your hands “you wouldn’t lose us cupcake.” He said softly. “Yah y/n you can’t lose me, I’m like glitter. I never leave.” Wooyoung said. He threw his arm around your shoulder “besides who else is going to protect me from all of them.” He whispered as he lead you back into the living room.

You woke up on the couch, a blanket thrown over you and Wooyoung sprawled out on the floor beside you. You looked around taking in the guys sleeping peacefully around the room. Noticing one blonde haired man missing you pulled yourself up wrapping the blanket around you and trudged down the hall to his room. You lightly knocked before opening the door and found him asleep at his desk. Quietly walked to him, making sure the clip was saved; you gently shook his shoulder. Hoongjoongs eyes shot open, calming down when he saw your face. “Bed now don’t even try to object Kim Hongjoong.” You said before he could defend himself. He stood and walked over to his bed throwing the blankets back and climbing in.

He patted the pillow beside his and you hesitantly laid down next to him. You had shared a bed before but every time it messed with your head. “Do you work today?” He asked, his eyes scanning your face. “No Joongie, it’s Sunday.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper. He pulled your blanket up and softly patted the top of your head, “then get some rest.” You calmed yourself to where your cheeks wouldn’t glow red, glad his eyes were closed. “You need it more than I do.” He hummed quietly in answer. You laid there until his breathing evened out and you knew he was asleep before slipped silently off the bed and back into the living room. You could hear someone moving around the kitchen, cooling your features you walked in there. “Hey shorty, sleep well?” Yunho said as you make your way into the space. You nodded your head, “I’m probably going to head out soon.” You croaked, voice laced with emotions you wanted to shove down. Yunho looked at you and the direction you came from and nodded his head. “Do you need me to walk you home? Or wake up Mings to do it?” You shook your head, “I’m good but thanks Yuyu. I’ll see you all later.” You laid your blanket over Wooyoung and gathered your things, looking back down the dark hallway towards his room once more before walking to the door and letting it close behind you.

You made your way down the street to a convenience store to grab a coffee before started the walk back to your place. You heard someone calling your name and saw Wooyoung and San jogging down the street after you. “You were sleeping when I left?! Not even five minutes ago!” You said once the two men got close enough. “Yunho woke me up, he was worried about you.” Wooyoung said while catching his breath. You moved your eyes over to San, “Woo stepped on me as he was leaving.” You started laughing “of course he did. Well let’s go get you both some food and I need caffeine.” You made your way into a café and ordered. Chit chatting about plans for the day and soaking up quality time together. “I’m meeting Changbin later at a game room later if you want to join?” Wooyoung suggested as you walked down the street, “it could be fun?” You shook your head, “I’m terrible at computer games Woo.” Wooyoung gave you his best pout face “please.” You rolled your eyes, “no I have things I need to get done today.” He jutted out his lip even more “I’ll buy you lunch, please Bin is nicer to me when you’re there.” You laughed and shook your head, “fine, fine. But I want lunch and a coffee.” Wooyoung tackled you into a hug as you stopped in front of your apartment building. “Be ready around 1, I’ll come get you.” You gave a thumbs up as you walked into the building. Feeling much lighter than you did this morning.

Taglist🥰

@vampzity @sanslovesblog @sundaybossanova @skzline @edenesth @owmoiralover @scarfac3 @mingisbbokari

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Like a lamb led to slaughter (my heart held in your hands)

carry me slowly, my sunlight (these colours, they fade for you only) - series masterlist here

pairing: damian wayne x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.7k

genre: fluff? angst? kinda hurt/comfort?

warnings: this is the enemies part of the enemies to lovers so they're kinda mean and hateful, reader pulls a knife on damian at the beginning but it's pretty chill, also angsty ending in this but future parts where they're together and in love are already up and in my masterlist <3

a/n: enjoy xoxo

Damian pauses, holding his breath as the knife that's been suddenly pressed against his throat gets pressed a little harder. The wind blows the sand around his feet gently and he listens, straining for a hint as to who his attacker is.

"Damian Al Ghul, caught by surprise… you're getting slow," your voice makes him relax - much to his annoyance, his jaw clenching as he exhales slowly. You pull the knife away from him, ignoring the small trickle of blood that runs down his neck as you stand in front of him. 

"You shouldn't be here," he snaps harshly.

"Neither should you," you quip back.

"This is my -"

"For now," you interrupt, your grin wicked. "This war of ours isn't over yet, Al Ghul. I wouldn't claim the winning prize for yourself just yet - not when you're the one who's been caught off guard." Damian's fists clench, his eyes hard as he stares at you through the darkness of night, the stars dripping pinpricks of light onto the two of you.

"This is League territory. You are outcast. You're not welcome here, and neither are any of the others who follow you," he says viciously. You smile.

"So sure I won't beat you still," you say, a mocking edge in your voice that makes him huff. "So sure it'll be you leading the League one day, and not me."

Damian doesn't bite back, though. He opens his mouth to, but then seems to think better of it, opting instead to step away from you and plant himself on the sandy ground while the clouds part, the moon shining through. You think you hear him muttering, "why don't you just kill me and get it over with, then?"

You blink at his behaviour, following him cautiously and standing in front of him, blocking the light of the moon and shrouding him in darkness where he's sitting, knees pulled up to his chest.

"What's wrong with you?" You ask, toeing at his side with your shoe, jostling him slightly. He just clenches his fists tighter.

"You're blocking out the sky," he says bitterly. "And you stabbed me." You arch a brow.

"You're stargazing now? How novel. And I didn't stab you - don't be dramatic. It was just a little cut… you've given me worse," you point out.

"You deserve worse," he snaps. You straighten back and away from him, moving to let the light of the moon shine down on him as you sit next to him.

"You know I'd never kill you on a night like this," you say, a softness in your voice that makes you both queasy. You feel the weight of the knife in its sheath against your leg and press your hand to it. You could try to kill him - you probably should. God knows there are enough people waiting for you to.

"Not enough of an audience?" Damian says dryly. You kick a pile of sand near your foot.

"Why didn't you fight back? You could just as easily try to kill me tonight. But you wouldn't because we've been at this far too long to let it end in private… just the two of us." The end of your sentence is murmured, your eyes trained on his face while he stares up at the night sky. It takes him longer than you'd like for him to tear his gaze away from the full moon and look back at you, the light shining on one half of his face while the other now sits in shadow. You imagine you look much the same, half bathed in light, half shrouded. 

"What do you think will happen?" His question finally cuts through the silence. "When one of us finally kills the other." You pull your hand away from your knife like it's burned you. 

"When I kill you?" You say haughtily. "The League will be mine."

"And when I kill you?" Damian snaps back. You seem to mull over your answer for a moment too long, Damian huffing and turning back up to the sky.

"Then you win," you say quietly. "And you're rid of me." Something in your heart twinges at that and you grit your teeth.

"What would I do?" He says it so softly you're sure you wouldn't hear him if you hadn't spent so many years learning him. You fix him with a hard look, but he keeps his eyes pointedly on the stars and not at you. "What would I do without you?"

"What would I do without you?" Your response is so wavering and hushed that you think he must have missed it. It must have simply been caught in the wind and carried away to somewhere where the two of you could be anything other than what you are now. The way Damian turns to look at you, eyes wide and vulnerable and hurting, tells you he heard you just fine. 

"I don't want to kill you," he says it like kindness is a crime.

"You have to," you respond, like a lamb led to slaughter. "It's what we're made for, you and me. To be each other's end - each other's undoing. Only one of us is making it out of this alive." There's a weight in your words that goes unsaid. A part of me will die with you. Neither one of us will make it out of this and stay whole. A part of me belongs to you.

Damian stands suddenly, sand flying at where you sit as he shoots to his feet. You brush it off of you with a sigh and crane your neck to look up at him where he's standing tall, fists clenched and shoulders back, his feet planted firmly and holding him steady. You assume there's a determination in his eyes that you're intimately familiar with to go with his stance. He's blocked out the moon with his figure, leaving the two of you in shadow with a blinding halo around his silhouette, but you don't need to see his face to know what look he's wearing - you haven't needed to for a long time.

"There's a way around this, I'm sure," he says. You sigh and a breeze floats by, ruffling through him and into you. Your nose burns when you pick up the faintest whiff of his scent and you wonder, just for a moment, if he can detect the same from you… if he knows you the way you know him.

"You don't want that," you say flatly.

"Don't tell me what I want," he snaps back, voice hard. "You don't get to decide how this ends." You shoot up at his words, standing chest to chest with him, so close that you bump into each other.

"I decide just as much as you do." Your voice mimics the steel in his own. "This is about us, not you, and… and," whatever you were saying dies out as you look at Damian, his eyes staring back at you intensely. You hadn't really realized, in your anger and haste, how close to him you'd shoved yourself, but you can feel his breath on your skin and see the flecks of colour in his deep brown eyes.

"And… what?" He prompts, scowl still on his face. He seems to take no notice of the way his nose brushes against yours. That is, until your eyes flick down to his lips for a split second too long.

He lurches away from you, stepping back to create distance and holding a hand out in surrender, as if the close proximity to you just then had been more threatening than all the times you'd pointed a sword to his chest. The way your heart thumps behind your ribs and your breath catches, you're inclined to agree.

"I'm going to fix this," he says breathlessly.

"Fix what? There's nothing to fix, Damian." His name burns your tongue, like it's an intimacy you shouldn't indulge in. "There's nothing to fix. This is the way it's supposed to go."

"I won't kill you," he's all but yelling at you now. "And I won't let you kill me." You make the mistake of closing your eyes, hanging your head slightly and sighing as you prepare yourself for another fight. It's a moment of weakness that you would never allow in front of any enemy other than him - a moment of vulnerability that could cost you your life. But you hear it, ever so slightly, the whisper of him moving with a stealth that only the two of you know. By the time you open your eyes, he's gone.

You realize, in the days following the incident, that you'd never gone so long without seeing Damian before. At first, you were shoved against each other by your respective sides in never-ending fights to see who would triumph. Then, as time passed and the two of you grew, your skills matched and fights ending in draws over and over, you started seeking each other out on your own. To know your enemy, you'd always told yourself. You're sure he'd always tried to convince himself of the same. 

But now? Now days have gone by without a whisper, without a flickering shadow or a hushed breath. Eventually, you go looking, silent and hidden and so desperately hopeful. But that's when you hear it - the rumours.

Damian Al Ghul is gone - gone to live with his father and train with him. He'll be back, you promise yourself. He'll come back to me. 

But he doesn't. Time passes and he remains gone, the rumours spreading.

Damian Al Ghul has found a home beyond this war, beyond you. You're sure that only makes you so nauseous because now you'll never get the chance to kill him.

Damian Al Ghul has no interest in fighting a war that isn't his anymore, you hear. Damian Al Ghul has no need for a vicious prophecy or a never-ending rivalry.  Damian Al Ghul has found a home, apparently, and it's somewhere far… far away from you.

[catsukiiee]

# LINK UP.

౨ৎ prohero!hanta sero x fem!reader

౨ৎ pov: sero cannot stop thinking about you after a recent argument between you two, getting to the point where he’s out of his bed and driving to your house, knowing damn well he has patrols later.

wordcount ; 766

paragraphs ; 16

sentences ; 34

songs used ; link up by avenoir

tropes ; friends with benefits, messy love.

content ; makeup sex.

note ;

hanta sero is nineteen here instead of his canon age of 24.

japanese and hispanic mix sero <3

The last conversation you had with Sero ended in tears, your throat raw from the screams you unleashed at him for being a jerk and toying with your emotions. You still felt a twinge of embarrassment over that outburst, but deep down, you believed your anger was warranted.

You weren’t officially a couple; you just spent time together and occasionally fucked each other.

Unfortunately, those casual hangouts and fuck sessions led you to develop feelings, those feelings causing you to spiral and crash out whenever Sero posted pictures of himself with other girls at UA college parties.

In retaliation, you began doing the same—hitting up parties and posting yourself with other guys. Sero’s response was always predictable: he’d flood your phone with messages and calls, asking where you were, then he'd show up at your place to argue, then it would either end with you kicking him out your house or his head between your legs.

Now, you stood in your dark living room, your phone's brightness being the only source of light as you reread his messages, the word "mama's" making thighs clench. He knew how to break down your defenses in an instant.

He was barely a foot inside the front door when you wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning forward on the tips of your toes to reach his lips, roughly pulling him into a kiss. “Fuck, hello.” he chuckled into the kiss, pressing you against the now-closed door. One hand grabbed a handful of your ass, the other tangled in your hair, pressing his body into yours.

No words needed to be spoken; this was a toxic cycle that both of you were far too familiar with. “Hey, mamas.” He groaned, moving his hand from your hair to grab at your throat, pulling you from the kiss.

“Missed me?”  

“Fuck yes.”

He was on his knees as soon as he got the answer he was waiting for, slinging one leg over his shoulder. You had made sure to take off your underwear before he arrived. All he had to do was raise your shirt and jump straight in, his tongue lapping at your clit, his tongue piercing dragging on it every time. "Fuck, Sero." With a gasp, you removed your shirt completely to look at him better, running your fingers in his hair, combing back his dark curls.

He continued to eat your pussy until you came against his tongue, your nails dragging through his hair, almost pushing his face away completely when he kept going. Groaning loudly against you, he finally let you push him away; even in the dark, you could see how dilated his pupils were. “You’re such a whiner, I was just eating your pussy.” He teased as he stood up, grinning down at you widely. You wanted to smack that grin off his face so bad.

“Come here and get a taste.” He grabbed you by the nape of your neck, towering over you once more, slamming his lips against yours. The kiss was nothing more than a kiss of teeth and tongue, messy open-mouthed kisses as his hands roamed all over your body, breathy moans fueling throaty groans.

"Did you come here to kiss me or to fuck me, Hanta." There it was, the sass that always turned him on much to your annoyance.

Sero was quick to get your ass up those stairs and face-first into your pillows, pushing your face deeper into them when you started getting loud. He loved how your body reacted, how your back arched and your pussy clenched when his hands came down on your ass, hitting the same spot until it was all bruised. “Damn, you sound amazing, mamas.”

This was what he loved: no back talk, no attitude, no eye rolls when he said something that annoyed you—just your shaky moans and cries. “Yeah, baby?” He laughed when you complained that he was going too deep, grabbing your hand when you tried to push against his hips. “Nah, just take it.” He teased, moving your hand away.

"Look at you, mamas, creaming all over my dick." He slowed down, pulling out just enough to see the mess you two made, then pushed back in deep, making you squirm. "Ugh, don’t do that," you gasped, reaching back. "Don’t do what?" he teased, grabbing your hand and pinning it behind your back, going balls deep again and staying still, grinning as your legs quivered, your body tensing as you gasped and moaned out into your pillows. "Did you just cum from that? Am I fucking you that good ma?"

He's such a fucking asshole but goddamn is his dick good.

strong believer of japanese and hispanic sero 🫶 i was giggling a bit too hard writing this.

MESSAGES WERE DONE BY MEEEEE!! I do NAWT have an iPhone unfortunately so I used an app for these messages. 😞✊...