#like a i want to squish your cheeks violent

[buttertubz]

I woke up before my partner you know what that means

Gotta hit him with the lovebeam

[bitterrfruit]

southpaw [ii]

boxer!Ghost x reader cw: dubcon. lots of blood if the pics didn't make that obvious. 18+ mdni here's part 2 to my boxer ghost fic. this one is feral. sorry [masterlist]

Your communications with Simon following the frightening tryst in his sitting room had been few and far between. 

After he had abandoned you throbbing and empty and you plummeted back to earth, you swiftly left. He had called you a spiteful little shit when you stormed out of his flat in a huff, with just a shred of caustic humour in his tone that belied his bitterness. 

When your wits — with the force of a kick to the belly — had returned to you in the taxi home, you had told yourself that was that. You’d block his number and you’d kick the revoltingly crude and violent stranger out of your life. Reduce him to a foul memory. 

But as you went to check your phone, looking at the six exchanged messages between yourself and his unsaved number, you faltered. A failure of your self-assertion. Instead you dumped your phone in your bag and glowered out of the window for the duration of the drive home, sucking on your vitriolic arousal like a sour drop. 

You resentfully returned to your quotidian routine the next morning. Catching the subway to work and back, slogging through the Monday at your desk while sorely trying to distract yourself from the residual sensation of his fingertips in your slit. You stared into the voids between the pixels of your monitor, offering one-word answers when any of your coworkers addressed you — so vacant throughout the day that your manager had to check in with you, and you dismissed your fugue as a mere headache. 

Your phone didn’t go off once that workday — no text from a friend, nor a relative, not even spam. Only whilst packed in the train car on the way home, sardine-squished between people taller than you, did your phone buzz in your pocket. 

A text from the number you failed to block. 

Can still smell your cunt on me. 

Mortified, you immediately tucked the phone to your hips and shut the app, hoping the people pressed against you couldn’t read the message that just mired your phone screen. 

The follow up appeared as a banner. 

Making me hungry. 

Your cheeks burned hot and you bit down on nothing, too humiliated to return to the app and reply to his filth. You stuffed your phone in your pocket for the remainder of the sticky train ride, and only reopened it once you had arrived back home and locked your front door behind you. 

You hammered out a reply with splenetic fingers as you took off your coat. You’re a degenerate. 

His answer came quickly. Still grumpy?

Stop messaging me. 

The bouncing ellipses of his typed reply appeared and vanished a number of times, and you scolded yourself for attentively awaiting the answer you had expressly refused. When no reply came, your chest became heavy. 

And it remained heavy, for the next two days, while your phone stayed as empty and dry as you were. Every time you picked it up you felt the flutter behind your ribs, the briefly lifted spirits as you silently hoped for a text from him. Maybe even a missed call. And every time it was blank, you felt your stomach sink. Stupid, for you had all but told him to fuck off. Perhaps you simply wanted him to persist. To insist. 

In your capricious impatience you even typed out a few messages to him, but your shame ensured that they remained unsent. 

You could have just apologised. 

Didn’t think you’d give up that easily. 

I didn’t mean never message me again. 

On Wednesday evening, after work, you returned to the bar you had met him at. Maybe he’d be there, waiting for you, hoping you’d return so that he could accost you. You even planned for it, practised your spiteful response for when you found him there — you’d ignore him for a bit, to make him squirm, to force him to make the first move. Maybe you’d even pretend to have forgotten his name. 

When he wasn’t there, you bitterly paid for your own drink and went home after only one. 

You gave up hope as another sluggish day came and went, arriving home to your empty apartment and getting ready for bed far earlier than you normally would. Washed your face and brushed your teeth before nine-thirty. 

You simply couldn’t face the indignity of reaching out to him. Not after setting your own boundary and he had aberrantly obliged it. 

Once it hit ten you tucked yourself into bed under your winter-weight duvet, forced shut your eyes as you resisted the urge to check your phone before going to sleep. 

And just as a groggy, heat-dizzied slumber began to suck you in, hallucinations of his mammoth hand kneading between your thighs, you heard your phone vibrate loudly atop the wooden surface of your nightstand. Its bluish glow illuminated your dark bedroom for a few seconds before it dimmed again. 

Instantly awake and buzzing with adrenaline you reached to check, snatching your phone from its resting place and glaring bright-eyed at the screen. Probably just an email. Maybe a text from your coworker. Or a pop-up ad for UberEats. 

Fight tomorrow at 8. 

It wasn’t even an invitation. He was just informing you, and even that was a generous presumption. Maybe he was arrogant enough to assume you’d be there without an overt expression of his desire to see you. 

Your seat is by the ring. 

Bastard, you thought. Almost blurted it aloud. You chewed your lip. You knew you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t. 

It took you a few attempts to conjure up a response. You typed some out and then swiftly deleted them. 

Eventually, you landed on; You rly think i’m going to come and watch?

Wouldn’t have got you a seat if i didn’t. 

You scoffed at your screen. Why should i?

Still wound up, are you?

The prick. Wtf does that mean?

All grouchy i left you high and dry?

You didn’t notice your thighs grinding together. No. You're a dickhead and i can’t believe i went out with you.

Quit bitching, jesus. Then, a follow up; You’ll get what you want after.  

Your better conscience told you to slam down the phone and abandon the conversation and the fling in its entirety. Unbridled asshole that he was. Instead you held your thumbnail between jittery teeth and rubbed your toes together. 

Who are you fighting? You asked, ungracefully changing the subject. 

Does it matter?

You bit your lip. Not interested in watching you lose. 

I won’t. 

His arrogance made you snort. How do you know?

Got a prize to fight for. 

His charm was shallow and crude, skirting a charade, and yet it unleashed a swarm of butterflies in your chest. Funneled a loathsome heat into a pool between your legs. 

You knew what he thought his prize might be. He hadn’t been shy about it, had he? He plainly believed he could win your cunt as easily as he could a championship belt. 

What’s that? You texted back, after a deliberate delay, wondering whether he’d follow up the text with something more explicit. 

You tell me. 

Dumped the burden on you to be the vulgar one. Not your strong suit, so you decided to attempt to emasculate him. As if such a thing were possible. 

Hm. The other guy might fight to win it too. 

The typing bubbles of his reply came and went for a minute. Wouldn’t put it past him. 

You know him? 

Mate. 

You’re fighting your mate? 

Yep. n I’ll beat him like last time. 

You couldn’t explain the blooming heat in your belly at the prospect of watching him beat and be beaten by someone like him, big and heavy, just as ribald. You imagined a rivalry, all in good fun, until it wasn’t. You imagined they’d be looser with their fists, less mindful of the rules, when it was only their mate at the receiving end of the blow. You wonder if his opponent knows about you. What he might have told him. 

And if you don’t? 

There was no sense in your question, and no vindictiveness in your doubt. Maybe you just wanted him to express some possessiveness. To double down on his certainty. To claim ownership. 

You nearly smacked yourself as the notion smeared its way through your head. 

He’ll be a lucky man.

Not even a lick territorial. You chose not to dissect your lack of disappointment. 

You didn’t reply to his final message, fingers too busy pinching at the angry clit under your knickers, hoping the castigation would settle the lust that throbbed in your temples — you knew it wouldn’t, but the compulsion to alleviate the burning in its nexus puppeteered your arm as though on strings. 

Didn’t let yourself come, though. His ragged words wended about in your head, leaden and demanding. You can wait, like me.

Trudging through the Friday was infinitely more gruelling than any of the days prior. Tumescent anticipation churned in the pit of your stomach, every waking minute. You could not focus on a single task beyond the picking of your fingernails and crossing of your legs. Busied yourself with regular trips to the bathroom, to wipe away the distracting wetness that puddled in your core every time you reread the (not even that sexual) messages in your phone. 

When a colleague glibly asked you what your Friday night plans were, you lied. Night in, probably. You told yourself that you hadn’t yet decided whether you would attend. A smarter girl would avoid it like the plague. 

You knew yourself better than that. 

Despite his lack of contact, you still tortured yourself under the shower after work. Scrubbed clean every mound and every crevice, re-shaved the same areas you tended to until they were raw, left a fruity-sweet hair mask in your locks for long enough that the tresses imbibed the scent. Smeared your body in your caramel-macadamia body lotion, brushed through your lashes a coating of mascara, painted on a layer of rosy-pink lip-gloss. 

You excavated your entire closet in the hunt for the right kind of outfit; you wanted to look pretty, but not like an overdressed deer in headlights. Like a cool-girl who knew how boxing works (you didn’t), but not like you were trying too hard. Settled for a miniskirt and a graphic tee, boots and stockings to keep you warm. You hadn’t forgotten his refusal of them the last time, but it was a cold and windy evening, and he could fuck himself. 

As the time passed seven and you still hadn’t heard from him, just as you began to wonder whether he had given up on you all together — he finally texted you. 

The only content of his message was the address of the venue, with no frills nor any sly attempts to provoke you. Simply the name of the arena and the street it was on. Knowing you’d need a drink, or two, or three — you plugged the location into Uber and booked a ride instead of driving yourself, and it was a ten minute trip through the dark sleet. 

The arena, so he called it, was barely an established venue — some kind of run-down community centre with layers of faded and peeling posters glued to its grimy brick walls, windows of steel-meshed glass and a single street light hanging over the push-door entrance. 

You carried your heart in your teeth. It evidently would not be a televised fight, like you had wistfully imagined. What kind of back alley shithole–

The resentful thought was knocked out of you along with the wind in your lungs as a shoulder collided with you — a pair of men with their hands in the pockets of their puffers steamrolled past you, noisy raillery as they went through the entrance. 

Attendees of the fight, you supposed – hoped – because you elected to follow them, with no other recourse, head held low under the hood of your jacket to avoid the rain. 

You elbowed the glass swinging door when the men in front of you didn’t hold it for you, and immediately you heard the rowdy din of a crowd elsewhere in the building, muffled by walls or floors. The interior was brutally bright, beaming fluorescent bars hung ungracefully from the ceiling, their glow bouncing off the painted white cinderblock of the walls and onto the peeling grey linoleum. 

Some kind of club or gym, you ascertained – peering down the halls and into doors, you spotted weights and bars, foam mats, black-and-red punching bags hanging from chains. 

You were suddenly fraught with the same discomfiture that simmered whenever you were somewhere you didn’t belong. You followed the men through another set of doors, and down a long flight of stairs — the light of the fluorescents gradually grew dimmer as you descended into the darkness, where the hammering of an unruly crowd only became louder. The walls were unpainted in the subterranean floor of the building, and instead gave way to raw cement. At the base of the stairs was a small queue that disappeared around a corner, and you self-consciously stood behind the pair of men you had stalked there. 

Uncertainty roiled in your stomach, suddenly feeling as though you had made a terrible mistake — the basement was dark, and loud, and it struck you that the only voices you heard were male. You should have had a drink before you left. And just as you anxiously considered turning around, three more babbling men piled in behind you, sandwiching you between the groups of them, conspicuously alone. 

As the line moved forward, it became clear that the queue was held up by bouncer, and you were next up. A tall man with thick arms, disconcertingly vascular, sinewy neck as thick as a buffalo’s — you wondered if he was a fighter himself, moonlighting as security for the fight. 

“This in’t a nightclub, pet,” he informed you roughly, and as though only just noticing the solitary woman in front of them, you abruptly felt the attention of the men behind you on your back. 

Sure as shit isn’t, you thought to say, but nervousness held your tongue. 

“I’m — yeah, um, I’m here to watch the fight,” you simpered, swallowing after you spoke. 

He let out a huff of laughter at that, and you noticed him catch the eye of the attendees behind you. “Got a ticket, then?”

You gritted your teeth, chewing back curses as you realised the bastard hadn’t even given you one, let alone notified you ahead of time that they would be checking for them. 

Adjusting your fists in the pockets of your puffer coat, you shuffled awkwardly on your feet. “I was invited.” 

“Yeah?” He probed amusedly, “by who?” 

“Simon—” you blurted, cutting yourself off upon realising you didn’t even know the man’s surname. “He’s — um, he’s fighting.” 

The bouncer chortled raucously at that. “Riley?” He laughed, “fuckin’ hell. Alright then. Go on.” 

His tone made your knuckles turn white. What was so funny? “Thanks,” you murmured. 

“Good luck,” he jeered after you, and before you were compelled to ask for what, he was already conversing with the men behind you. 

There was a short and narrow corridor of cement and dim yellow lights around the corner, old posters tacked to the walls, and the commotion of the crowd made your ears reel as it bounced off the concrete. The air was heavy and hot, dense with smoke and body heat, and you suddenly felt too warm for your puffer. You shucked it from your shoulders as you reached the end of the tunnel, sucking down a deep breath as you were birthed right into the snake pit. 

The room within was far larger than you would have believed possible, concrete ceilings high enough that they faded into the darkness. The crowd was deep, droning, perhaps three- or four-hundred strong. All seated in or standing around their rows of plastic chairs, bottles of beer and cigarettes in hand. 

You held your breath as you charily scanned the cement cavern, absorbing all the details you could fit in your congested mind, and wondering if you might see Simon lurking somewhere, waiting for you. But the space swam in shadows, barely lit by the odd crimson lightbulb hung on long wires from the ceiling; the audience’s faces only illuminated by the floodlights that hung in the centre of the atrium – blindingly bright and stark cold, they hammered down on the square ring underneath.

There, you caught sight of him. His back to you, standing in the corner and leaning on the ropes, shoving the end of an unbranded drink bottle into his mouth. You knew it was him by the buzzed auric hair that cladded his skull, the still staggering breadth of his titanic shoulders, the inky scratchings of his tattoos that sheathed his left arm and crept across his chuck to lick his neck. 

You found something of a fissure between the drunken spectators, so you gawkliy weaseled yourself through the braying men on your way to the seat you hoped had indeed been saved for you. 

And as though he had scented you on your approach, Simon’s head perked and turned over his shoulder, and his beady eyes immediately fastened on you. A rakish grin stretched in his lips as you came to a stop by the ropes – thankfully unimpeded – and he turned his gargantuan body to face you fully. 

You hadn’t yet seen him without a shirt on, and the gauzy disbelief was plastered across your face at the sight of him up close. Cumbersome muscles wrapped his ironclad form like the overworked meat of a bull, almost doughy with the lard layer of a well-fed man. His chest was stocky and broad, alabaster skin smeared with freckles and grisly mauve scars, hirsute with a coating of wheaten curls. 

He crouched down with spread knees to get a shred closer to your height, the stage of the ring a good metre off the ground. He wrapped his thick fists around the ropes, and peered at you through them as though behind bars. You tried not to glance down the leg of his shorts that hung loose from his thighs. 

“Look at you,” he crooned, toothy and oozing satisfaction. “Didn’t think you’d show up, pretty.” 

Your stomach went all tight when he called you that. “Didn’t you?” 

“Thought I was a dickhead,” he derided, a breathy chuckle at the memory of your churlish insult. 

“You are.” 

He tilted his head, no argument. “Just came to watch me lose, eh?” 

You cracked a smile at that, and his gratification at your capitulating scorn practically dripped from him. Sick of your bitching, so he said. 

“Yep,” you said, through a simper. 

He looked over his shoulder, then briefly leaned to the side – he pointed behind him with his thumb. “There’s your winner, then.” 

In the far corner, you saw his opponent. 

Not quite as tall but somehow heavier, so laden with muscle that he looked encumbered by it – but he couldn’t have been, not given how he bounced on the balls of his feet like he weighed a hundred kilos less, shanks turning carved and solid with every hop. He shook out the hocks of his arms, contorting his neck to stretch out the tight meat. 

The man wore an unkempt mohawk down the crest of his skull, shaven sides a few weeks grown-out, mottled by the little pink knicks of healed scars. His carved cheeks were coated in a poorly kempt stubble, brows pulled together in concentration, a deep crease between them. 

You froze when he noticed you staring – snagged your probing eyes with a tumid smirk – and cold embarrassment ran down your spine. 

You quickly looked back at Simon, who was all but chortling at you.  

“Not as pretty as me, is he.” 

You couldn’t think of a witty riposte before your mouth began to speak – almost formed the words just as pretty – but you at least had the sense not to inspirit him. “That’s your friend?”

He shrugged facetiously. “Wouldn’t go that far.” 

In the nebulous vacuum of the atrium you heard a bell chime, three sharp dings, and the already tumultuous crowd erupted into an uproar that made you wince. Time to fight. He glanced over his shoulder, kept a few short moments to bid you farewell before he turned into the bout. 

“Do I get a kiss for luck?” He goaded, and you could tell by the mordant tone in his throat he expected you to say no. 

And you did. Gave him an unflinching shake of your head and a pert smile. “You haven’t earned one.” 

He grinned wide at that, barbed and cocksure, as he stuffed a rubbery black mouthguard into his mouth and clacked it into place over his teeth with his thumbs. There was something rabid in his eyes, stark-black and puncturing, edacious at the challenge you had given him and rearing red-hot to fight for you. To earn his prize. 

Your stomach knotted up at the thought, and it made you a little queasy. 

He had already demonstrated an effrontery in his nature, forcibly indulging you with a hand over your mouth and fingers between your legs – an act he decided he didn’t need to earn. He just did. 

You couldn’t help but envisage what he might feel emboldened to do once he believed that he had earned it. What prizes he’d purloin from you. 

You hurriedly swung your head around to find yourself a seat. An empty chair – thank god – wedged between two bulky strangers, one in a suit and the other in a wifebeater. No indication that it was for you, specifically, but you elected to claim it. It was a good spot, too. Right in the middle, not at a corner. The men beside you paid no mind to you, eyes (and likely wallets) rapt in the fight. 

The two bulls in the ring turned to face each other, bouncing heavy on their feet, shaking out every meaty limb and rolling their ox shoulders. Adrenaline thrummed in your chest and sat high and humid on the back of your neck – the kind of heady anxiousness that felt like a hunk of steak between your teeth, one you weren’t allowed to bite into.  

An announcer stood in the centre of the ring, microphone in hand, a snaking wire hanging out of its base and coiling across the foam floor. He opened with gentlemen – the lack of a preceding ladies felt pointed and offputting – and his spiel lacked the dramatic flair you had seen once or twice in a televised match. 

No, instead, he bellowed gruesome statistics into the mic with no polish or class, and your mind went fuzzy as you absorbed it. 

Fighting out of Glasgow and still a little wet behind the ears. Record of 33 wins and 1 loss. 21 wins by way of knockout. Weighing in at 109kg. 1.88 metres tall. In the blue corner, slipperiest cunt alive – Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish. 

In the red corner, a fucking ugly Mancunian with 41 wins, 3 draws, and 4 losses. 37 knockouts. 113kg. 1.97 metres tall. Deadliest southpaw this side of the Pennines – Simon ‘The Ghost’ Riley.

They smile at each other, frothing at the mouth and manic in the eyes, mouthguards making their lips all puffy and dumb. Even quantified, their magnitude is challenging to fathom. You can almost feel the ground vibrate as they jounce on the foamy canvas, watching their heavy muscles jiggle and tighten with each movement.  

Final decider of the trilogy. One win each. Odds are in the Ghost’s favour tonight – old dog with old tricks – four-to-six. Glaswegian underdog odds at six-to-five. Get your wagers in. 

There was something decidedly boorish about the way the announcer roared into the mic, the scathing badinage he spewed towards the two fighters had you believing he must have known them personally. There was nothing legitimate about any of it, when you came to think of it – a considerable griminess sunk heavy in the air and filled up your nose, and you didn’t know how you hadn’t noticed it earlier. 

The frigid realisation rinsed you like cold water, when the announcer stood between them and they raised their fists – ungloved. Wrapped only in tape, a few thick layers over their knuckles, but not remotely thick enough to protect their own bones, let alone their opponent’s. 

Simon invited you to a fucking bareknuckle. You weren’t there to watch a boxing match, you were there to watch bloodsport. 

Suddenly, the knot in your guts wrenched a lot tighter. The label of deadliest carried the weight of feasibility, however horrific the notion was for you to swallow. Distended dread simmered in your stomach and singed your throat.

So why were you on the edge of your seat? 

The dings of the bell made you jump, and the announcer hopped out of the ring as though fleeing from an unspent grenade. No referee. 

The two beasts faced down in earnest, smiles fading – though their impressions remained – huffing and bobbing their heads as though about to charge, loose fists hung in the air close to their faces, heavy cocks bouncing around in their polyester shorts. They were mirror images of each other, minor differences in stature notwithstanding – Simon in his sinistral stance, leading with his left, Johnny with his right. 

They circled each other like sharks, dithering about when to throw the first blow – you saw their mouths move as though speaking to one another, but you couldn’t hear it over the racket of the audience. 

Then, in a blink, Simon jettisoned a fist with such speed and barbarity it blurred through the air, and the smack of its collision cut through the uproar of the crowd – parried, by Johnny’s rigid forearm, and in the flurry Johnny had thrown a retaliatory roundhouse to his adversary’s ribs. 

You winced at every impact as though you could feel the strike on your own skin — they were so fucking brutal with each other, not dampened by even an ounce of concern nor a drop of reservation. No, they bulleted fist after fist, and the blunt smacks of knuckles beating thick meat made your teeth chatter with every collision. 

Round one was over as soon as it had started — three harsh dings of the bell, and then carnivores pulled away from each other, lumbering to their corners and grabbing their drink bottles. 

Simon was already dripping with sweat; he was glossy with it as though freshly showered, it beaded along his brow and traveled in rivulets down his back. His chest hounded with each haggard breath, he wiped his nose with his forearm and met your eye. 

You shrunk a little under his stare, because it didn’t look like him. Not to say you were exceedingly familiar with his face — only the third date, after all – but there was something potently unhuman in him. A reflection of some omophagous barbarian, a minotaur in both stature and constitution. 

He gave you no acknowledgement beyond a blink. He turned his back to you without so much of a nod, shaking himself out like a wet dog. His ferine mind was utterly ensnared by the hunt, you could see it on him, his eyes bulged with it. All red and frayed around the edges. 

Three dings. Round two. 

Their blood-hungry ferocity did not hamper, their vigour to remain at each other’s throats seemingly inexhaustible – the sheer violence made your eyes go glassy, delirious in morbid shock, unable to look away and yet unable to watch too attentively. Knuckles to cheekbones, to ribs, to ears; a volley of savage strikes that seemed aimless and unending, until–

Johnny’s gauzed fist slammed into Simon’s jaw, a blow that he almost followed to the ground, and hot red blood rained out from the site of impact. Splattered carmine in a fan across the grey canvas mat. Simon let out a currish snarl as he turned his head to shake out the blow, and the audience erupted into a deafening furore. Betters on the underdog especially jubilant, you supposed. 

The bells dinged. Round ended. 

When Simon turned to return to his corner and you got a glance of him, nausea climbed foamy up your throat. Blood cascaded from a deep split in his top lip, saturating his chin in bright-red that oozed down his neck and chest, pooling between his pectorals. Looked as if he had been down on all fours, tearing raw meat off the bones of a fresh catch with his teeth, letting the mess plaster him in his ravening. 

You couldn’t look away from him. Something purely eolithic, primitive, animal, simmered in the back of your head, sent leery little shivers down the nape of your neck, coiled up tight between your legs. Why was your mouth watering? 

“That oughtta hurt y’old bastard,” called Johnny from the far corner, voice plush with pride, beaming with it. “Maybe ah’ll win the prize, after all.” 

Your fingernails nearly tore ladders in your stockings. Was he talking about you? 

Simon’s head rocked back from his shoulders, and he cracked a smile, stretching the deep rupture in his lip. Riled. Pumped so full of epinephrine and testosterone that he hardly flinched. He turned back in. Ready to combust. 

The instant the bells chimed – round three – he charged. Hooked a colossal leg around the back of his opponent’s knee, and they were quickly down and knotted on the mat.

You knew vaguely that boxing was fists only – nothing below the belt, no holds – and yet, they wrestled around on the floor like it were a different sport entirely, flinging punches and elbows and hooks from prone positions, growling like skirmishing bears in the frenzy.

A few flips of heavy bodies and Simon had Johnny flat on his back, leviathan knees either side of his hips. Simon curled forward, then, pinning Johnny down with entangled arms – and ran his mouth and nose down the length of his opponent’s neck, smearing a painting of fresh blood over his sweat-soaked skin. Johnny bucked and kicked in an almost pitiful effort to free himself, but in so doing only had more of Simon’s blood slathered across his collar; some on his cheek, some in his mouth. 

You were by turn muddled and revolted by the roiling heat in your core at the sight – repugnant, you thought, unjustifiable– 

WIth a hard buck the Glaswegian broke himself free, and with a twist, managed to land an elbow into the side of Simon’s head, a hard crunch of bone on bone. 

Simon was inexplicably unruffled, his injurious grin almost pleased at the challenge – but with a rapid bludgeon square in Johnny’s nose, he finished the fight, and that was that. Johnny’s head ricocheted off the foam, and still twisted up with his rival, blinked dimly at the ceiling. 

You didn’t even know the man, and you felt pity for him hard and cold in your chest – always sympathised with the underdog, couldn’t help it. He lay there with his hands on his chest as Simon pushed himself to stand, towering over his victim, rolling out his shoulders after the exertion. In the pandemonium the announcer thundered out the count to ten, and when Johnny only rolled onto his side to let the blood of his broken nose pour from his mouth and not down his throat, the count concluded with a deafening knockout. 

If you thought the spectators were loud before, now you knew the true meaning of the word – chaotic uproar that shook the walls of the building, the triumphant howling of those who had bet on the southpaw almost as strident as the upheaval of the ones that bet on the wrong dog. You stood up to hesitantly applaud alongside the men beside you, only fearful that if you remained seated you’d get swallowed up by the stampede. 

In the uproar Simon turned pointedly to face you, his savage eyes riveted to yours – and, like that, the rest of the building sloughed away. It was only him, the fleshy beast, and you, glossy-eyed in his crosshairs. 

There was a weight in how he looked at you, something foregone, a fate already decided on your behalf. You felt it tugging you downward, hanging from your neck, and you could only stand there and wait for it to happen. 

He won. 

You couldn’t put up much of a fuss, after that. He hopped out of the ring once the show had ended, landing on the hard ground beneath with a thud. His eyes were peeled, his pupils pin-pricked, honed in, and you could only hold your breath as he paraded towards you. 

He reached out to take your jaw in his bloody hands, thumb and fingers dimpling your cheeks as he yanked you into a revolting, blood-soaked kiss - his lips were pillowy, wet with sweat and smeared in hot blood, and you could taste the briny metal in your mouth. Tasted like butter and corroded iron. It was awkward too to kiss him over his mouthguard, cumbrous in his mouth, you could feel its rubber on your bottom lip when he sucked it between his teeth. 

You wrestled him on instinct, smacking him on the chest to deter him, and your palm was instantly clammy with his sweat. There were people, men, surrounding you on all sides – spectating, jeering, hollering at the show the boxer was putting on for them. It made you shrivel in humiliation, and it only made Simon chortle. 

He burrowed under his lips with his free fingers as he separated from you – your jaw still in hand – hooking his fingernails into his mouthguard and unsealing it from his teeth with a pop. He pulled it out of his mouth with a repulsive slurp, dragging gooey bands of blood and saliva along with it that clung to his bottom lip. 

He grinned at you, then, and slick red filled every gap in his teeth, pooled at the corners of his mouth like a fucking rabid dog, and you could see the dark exposed flesh between the split in his lip. It made you shiver. It made your chest hot. 

He wiped away the blood he left on your mouth with a thumb. “Where’s my prize, pretty.” 

There was little you could do as he ferried you through the dissipating crowd, patting you on the bottom like he was guiding a cow, and you felt him huffing hot air down the back of your neck. 

When you initially hesitated to go anywhere with him, as he was, he threatened to throw you over his shoulder instead. And that, somehow, would have been even more mortifying than being publicly carted off to be victory-fucked by the champion, so you swallowed your pride and walked instead. 

Walking, if you could call it that – he was at your heels, practically driving you for the entire distance from the ring to an inconspicuous corridor at the quiet end of the atrium, out of sight and in the shadows. He all but pushed you there, nudging behind you if you walked too slowly, giving you a smack to coax you forward. Not the same entrance you had arrived through, but your frenetic thoughts hadn’t quite grasped that yet. 

“In ‘ere,” he instructed flatly, hooking a finger into the collar of your t-shirt to stop you from walking onwards. 

A door with a window at eye-height, steel-meshed glass that did not obscure anything behind it.

“What’s in there?” You asked quietly, perhaps stupidly, because he let out a huff of laughter at the question. 

“What d’you think,” was all he said, and your stomach dropped. 

You opened it with shaky fingers and shuffled inside. More gym, by the looks, though the room was dim and expansive; more empty boxing rings – practice rings, you supposed – punching bags and gloves hanging from walls, and the entire floor of the room padded in black rubber. 

It dawned on you, then, with a hot flush down your spine. “We’re - we’re not going back to yours?”

He was pressing behind you by the time you finished the question, nudging you deeper into the room, and he already had his sticky hands bunching up the bottom of your t-shirt. “Not waiting that long.”

Your lungs shrunk, suddenly too small to suck in a deep breath, so you sipped at the air like it was liquid; he flayed off your t-shirt in one go, forcing your arms up into the air to pull it from your head. Your hairs stood on end as he dropped it to the mat – the air was dusty and cool but were blistering hot to the touch, blood simmering in your veins. He could probably see it, rising blush-red in the back of your neck, sweaty at the nape. 

He huffed approvingly, and you winced when he snapped the band of your bra against your back. He hunched over your shoulder, looking down your chest – his humid arms hooked under yours, pumped up and vascular after their carnage, and seized your breast in a monstrous hand. He kneaded it roughly through the cup for his own gratification – paid no care to the chirp of pain that jumped from your throat at the needless strength of his grip, the firm core of your breast aching in the vice. 

“Nice little bra,” he grumbled. “Put it on just f’me, eh?”

You only panted, bashfully avoiding a real answer. Because, you did. You knew exactly where this night was headed, what you girded yourself for – you just didn’t expect that it would happen here, like this, while he was soaked in sweat and blood and ripe with lust worked up in the fight. 

“Knew you were a slut,” he said, under his breath, mouth and nose pushing into the crook of your shoulder and getting a good sniff. “Mh. Moment I saw ya.” 

You reeled at the denigration, so acrid it made you shiver. Praise webbed in his repugnant words, though — he said it hungrily, exuberantly, exalting you for it. Made your guts go all twisty. Made fluid heat sink downwards and pool in your core. 

His blood was viscid and icky on your skin, smeared up your shoulder — he was unperturbed by his injury, almost excited to get you covered in it, to mark you with it like a pack animal. 

“I’m not,” you breathed, no real defense, and he chuckled at that. 

“Yeah, y’are. Just picky, eh?” He crooned. “Made me fuckin’ work for it, didn’t ya?”

He unclasped your bra with deft fingers, and it came loose with a pop. As though he had made some unspoken command, you shimmied your straps down your shoulders for him, and let it fall from your arms. 

He took you by the hips and spun you to face him. Shark eyes sunk instantly to your tits when they bounced with the motion, and a pleased curl tugged in his lips.

“Mh, look a’ that,” he murmured to himself, thumbing your pebbled nipple and chuckling breathily when you squeaked at his pinch.

His heavy hand slid then your shoulder, giving you a downward nudge. 

“Knees, pretty,” he grunted dryly. “Suck it for a bit.” 

Your fingers went cold, blinking up at him as though feigning innocence might appeal to his human instincts. His face was stony, and the needle-sized holes of his pupils gave you no sympathy nor patience. Refusal crossed your mind, a gust of air, fleeting and skittish—

A transient thought, really, because there was no refusing him, and the thought of daring to frightened you more than the thought of a sweaty cock in your throat. 

Your eyes travelled the length of his torso as you awkwardly lowered yourself to your knees. Sweat pooled in the pit between his pectorals, sticky with congealing blood that clumped in the sedges of his chest hair. A thick and ungroomed blanket of straw curls trailed down from his navel, over the slight chub of his lower stomach, primordial padding over the rigid abdominals underneath. Met with the satin polyester waistband of his red-and-black shorts, loose on his thighs – the sheeny fabric strained where his cock hung heavy, and you could see every ridge of vein and head through the satin. 

You swallowed, and he huffed impatiently. 

With a wrapped hand he yanked down the front of his shorts – no briefs underneath — he unsheathed his cock with a fist around his base and narrowly missed hitting you in the nose with it. You concealed a grimace at the sight of it, inches from your face – it was ugly, burly, mauve at the smooth head, ruddy foreskin pulled back by his fist. Roped with plum veins that webbed under the rubicund skin, shuddering with heat.  

More frighteningly, though, was its magnitude – fucking prodigious thing, fat from base to tip, thick like a log and so long it made you dizzy with dread to even consider taking it in your mouth, let alone in the cunt that tightened up at the thought. 

You shouldn’t have been shocked, really – anything smaller would have looked disproportionate to the behemothic size of him. And yet, alarm was bright and hot in your face, and your throat dried up as you looked at it for too long. 

Simon chuffed, amused. Ego stroked. He fixed a hand to the back of your head, and a breath lodged your throat.

“Not gonna suck itself,” he growled, lightly slapping his cock against your cheek. “Open up.”

You drew in a shaky breath, resting a flat hand on his hip to balance yourself, and curled your trembling fingers around his shaft. Fist now free from carrying the weight of it, he combed his thick fingers through your hair at the crown of your head — not to encourage, only for a better grip. 

With parted lips you leaned forward, jutting out a wet tongue and running it from halfway up his shaft, along the ridge, to the underside of his head, and he let out a grunting sigh that made your nerves spark and your head spin. 

After another lick and a tug on the back of your head, you finally summoned the bravery to open your mouth — unhinged your jaw to allow his cock to fit, and it jerked in your mouth when you wrapped your lips around it. 

It was salty and sticky with sweat, fetid with the musk of riled up testosterone. You might have found it unpleasant if you weren’t dazed by your own concupiscence, molten lust roiling in your belly and turning the flavour of him into a sapid aphrodisiac. Your eyes fluttered shut as you tried to inch it deeper into your mouth, but the enormous pressure of the back of your tongue made you gag loudly around it. 

“Bit big for that little mouth, eh?” He preened hoarsely, but he took no pity. The hand on the back of your head was unforgiving and coaxed you forward with a nudge. “Easy. Wider. Careful with those teeth.”

Your eyes began to water as he stuffed himself deeper, driving you by the skull, until the thick head of his cock plugged the back of your throat and you could no longer breathe through your nose. You could only hold on to the air already in your lungs, wrenching shut your eyes as he drove his hips slowly forward, cockhead against your tonsils. 

“Mh,” he groaned, “tight little throat. Might park up in here.”

You blinked up at him when he said that, eyes wide and wet with strained tears as you silently pleaded with him through your clumped lashes. 

“Oh, girl, you wouldn’t like that would you?” He jeered, grinning at the terror printed on your face, “you want me in your cunt, eh?”

A whimper got stuck in your chest when the tip of his cock hit the flat wall at the very back of your throat, and your heart rate began to decelerate with the lack of oxygen in your blood. Chest ached with the need to breathe. 

“Poor girl,” he mumbled lowly, hand lodged at the back of your head and not allowing you to reel away. Cold horror rinsed you at the rigidity of his grip, a reminder of his strength, a hint at the sadism that bubbled under the surface of his skin. He wouldn’t let you breathe. “Neglected little cunt, I bet. She hungry, eh?” 

Your vision began to double, black spots around your periphery as you choked on him — you wondered if your cheeks were turning blue, and you wondered if he enjoyed the sight. 

“Can’t breathe, pretty?” He said, as you put both fists on his hips, shoving with all of your might — his massive hands kept your head utterly still, right where he wanted it. “‘M only halfway in and you’re choking. Not used to this eh?” 

He finally pulled his pelvis back, releasing the suction in your throat and forcing you to gag, and you were at last able to breathe — you heaved deep a breath through your runny nose, and the rush of oxygen made your head spin. He grunted as he raked out his cock from your mouth entirely, and it dropped heavy once it pulled out from between your lips. A long string of gooey saliva drooled from your mouth, and suddenly your entire head felt empty and hollow. 

You sniffed, wiping your nose and wet cheeks with your palms, your tears scarcely abating. A thick finger hooked under your chin and hinged up your head on your neck, forcing you to look at him. 

“None o’ that,” he growled, rubbing an errant tear away with the pad of his thumb. “Don’t want tears.”

“Sorry,” you squeaked on instinct, fearful of reproach, and a satisfied smile cracked briefly in his lips. 

He stepped around you, then, circling you like a vulture before looming behind you, and you remained dead still on your knees. A harsh hand fitted at the back of your neck and abruptly shoved you forward — you bleated as you tipped over and landed on your palms, on all fours on the padded floor. 

The ground vibrated under you as you heard him drop to his knees behind you, heart in your throat. “Gotta get a look at my prize.” 

He lifted up the back of your miniskirt, holding it against your lower back — before you heard him growl indignantly, and your skin prickled up. 

“The fuck’d I tell you about stockings,” he snarled, the indignant anger rumbling in his throat made your teeth chatter. He swiftly had his paws on your ass, fingers clawing up the stretchy nylon into fists and immediately tearing the thin fabric along the seam that flossed you with a shrill zip. “Just get in the fuckin’ way.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered. You were appalled by your own obsequiousness – your lust rendered you sycophantic, grovelling, too eager to please. 

He let out a low huff of laughter. “Mh, all sweet now, aren’t ya?”

You felt his thumb wedge itself in the cleft of your ass, over the fabric of your knickers – you squeaked and tensed up when he pressed against your asshole, and he chuckled to himself. He dragged it down to the dip of your cunt, and he exhaled hoarsely. 

“Messy little thing,” he grumbled, hooking his thumb under your gusset and dipping between your folds, and you caught your tongue in your teeth. “Barely touched you and y’already ruined your knickers.” 

The rich pride in his voice made you melt, a potent inebriant that made your mind go foggy and your tongue wet. 

“Waited for me, did ya?” He asked huskily, heavy breathing growing more laboured with each inhale. You nodded obediently. “D’you stick your fingers in y’self while you waited?”

“No,” you breathed, eyes on the mat underneath you, though they fluttered shut when the tip of his thumb grazed your clitoris, pointedly declining it too much attention. 

“No?” He badgered, incredulously, you could hear the toothy grin through his voice. “Not even one?” 

“I didn’t,” you insisted weakly, shaking your head. 

“Haven’t come in a while then, have ya?” 

“I haven’t,” you promised. 

He grunted in approval, and his hands slid to the waist of your skirt. “No wonder y’been so bitchy,” he grumbled. “All worked up and fuckin’ grumpy.” 

He jerked down your bottoms with enough force that you heard seams popping, and you yelped – he shucked them down your thighs with little grace, and you fell flat on your belly as he straightened out your legs to tear them off entirely. 

“Just need a good fuck to sweeten y’up, eh?” He gibed, hooking both mammoth hands into your waist and hoisting your hips upward, propping you up on your knees. 

He hunched over the back of you, then, and you felt his cock rest heavy on your rear. He fixed a hand to the nape of your neck, resting a portion of his weight (you were sure that any more would snap your spine under his hand) to pin you down. 

“Don’t you?” He pressed, hucking up a lump of blood-drenched spit into the fingertips of his left hand, and he reached back to smear the emulsion against your already sodden cunt. 

“Yeah,” you chirped as he pushed a wide finger into your hole, voice high-pitched and laboured under his restraint. 

The girth of one rough finger was already enough to sting, even with the amount of slick that had saturated you – you shivered in dread at the weight of his cock against the crease of your ass, at the thought of your neglected cunt having to tear itself in half to just to fit him. 

And then he pushed another finger in, and your vision went blurry. 

“Gorgeous little cunt,” he hummed to himself. “Nice n’ wet. Must be aching, mh?” 

Restless, his fingers slipped out from you and he straightened his back, holding his cock and smacking it against your asshole, and your whole body went stiff. 

To your dizzying relief he instead dragged his blunt head down the cleft of you, nestling in the slick folds of your pussy – he offered you no time to gird yourself, bucking his hips forward and stuffing his cock deep into your cunt whether you liked it or not. 

A pained shriek erupted from your chest as he drove into you, cockhead ramming into the plug of your womb with a force that winded you, the girth nearly ripping the thin skin of your entrance as it bulldozed itself to the root. Turned quarry in the shock you jerked underneath him to unskewer yourself, wriggling eagerly to slither free. 

“Get back ‘ere,” he grunted disapprovingly, yanking you back and hoisting your hips back up. He snatched your clawing hand by the wrist, twisted it behind your back and pinned it to the arch in your spine. “Too late to run away now, pretty.” 

He wrestled you until you stilled underneath him, and you whimpered as he coiled back his hips and proffered you a very fleeting reprieve. 

“S’that hurt, mh?” He queried wretchedly, and you squeezed shut your eyes as you nodded your head. He pushed into you again, only slightly slower, and you could only whine underneath him. 

“Yes, fuck–” you sobbed, seeing stars in the struggle. “It hurts–”

He hummed, almost cooing at you. “Won’t hurt for long, love.” 

With his non-restraining hand embedded in the flesh of your ass, he rocked into you again, and you nearly bit your tongue off. Your body was as stiff as a board, every muscle tensed to brace yourself for each thrust – and each push stung, a shooting pain that bulleted up your spine every time he hit the deepest part of you. You could only squeak and hiccup and wriggle when he allowed you, but he kept you firm to the floor. 

Only when his rhythm steadied, and he let out low groans of satisfaction into your back, did your bones begin to loosen. The sharp pain abated into a swollen pleasure as your walls gripped and fluttered around his cock, each rut driving you deeper into the padded floor. 

“Mh,” he crooned, when your yelps softened into fluid whining. “Tha’s it. Just needed to stretch ‘er out a bit.”

You felt hot dribbles on your back, rilled up your spine and dripped onto the mat – his blood, leaking from the still fresh split in his lip, you heard him lick his teeth. It should have disturbed you, his iron-reeking blood drooling onto your bare skin, smeared around by the arm against your back. Instead it made you dizzy with some feral, animalistic lechery.

It made the air smell like rust and sex, and you felt like a rabbit caught in the wolf’s maw. You wondered if he’d sink his teeth into you. You couldn’t ignore the thought of his blood and his spit being fucked into the deep ridges of your cunt. Maybe the mucosa of your pussy would imbibe it and his impression would be permanently embedded in the sticky depths of you. 

“Fuckin’ perfect cunt,” he groaned, speeched slurred by his own intoxicant pleasure. He lifted a kneeling leg and planted his foot flat on the floor to drive himself deeper, greedy hands burrowing into the flesh of your hips as he speared himself into you. “Kept it nice and tight for me, didn’t ya?” 

You nodded winsomely, cheek smushed against the mat underneath you, panting out whines that left humid fog on the rubber. 

He snorted, then spat, and you felt a wad of warm saliva land directly on your puckered hole. It twitched on reflex, and you sucked a sharp gust of air between your teeth — he rubbed your other hole with the pad of his thumb, gradually increasing the pressure, coaxing it to loosen for him. 

“Pretty little asshole, too,” he mumbled gruffly, a growl in his throat that made your hairs stand on end and your body turn rigid. “Y’ever had something in here, girl?” 

You whimpered, heart racing with such ferocity it made your temples throb and your eyes sore. 

“No, I—” You chirped through a held breath, interrupted by a buck of his hips and a pounding into your cervix. “I h-haven’t.”

He exhaled, deep and throaty. “We’ll ‘ave to change that.”

A squeak lept from your throat when his thick thumb pushed through the clenching entrance, constricting around his knuckle as he stretched it open, until his palm was flush with your rump. 

“Mh — fuck. Be a shame to neglect a cute little hole like this, eh?” 

You expected it to hurt, braced yourself for the sting — but in your fuck-drunk stupor you let him in with a comfortable ease, and it felt good. 

A winded whine seeped out from your chest as you took what he gave you, a renewed surge of heat and slick flooded into your cunt and dribbled down your leg. 

“Like that, do ya?” He purred, tugging at the thumb inside you and pushing it in again with the rhythm of his ruts. “All your little holes stuffed?”

You babbled like an idiot, whining and squeaking as he savagely fucked into you with a bestial vigour. Yes, yes, please, yes—

His pace only hardened as he chased his release, panting like a dog and dripping his blood and sweat down your spine. Your knees began to ache under the weight of him, rocking forward with every thrust, grinding against the concrete under the thin rubber. 

“Mh — perfect little thing — takin’ my cock like a fucking angel, eh? Fuckin’ made for it, just for me, just for me to fuck proper—”

His ravening tirade turned you to pudding, rugged voice breaking with the fury of his pleasure, bullying your cunt as deep as you’d take him. 

“Shit—” He grunted through teeth, leaning his full weight into you and making your eyes water with the strain on your neck. He chased a few hard ruts, blunt head shoved hard against your cushiony cervix as his cock jerked inside you. “Agh — fuckin’ Christ—”

You gasped in shock when you felt his come pump into you, pressure building against your womb as he filled you up so full you worried you’d pop. 

“Simon—” You squeaked on instinct, unsure if out of maligned pleasure or the brief flash to reality that slapped you in the face — he fucked you without protection. 

“Yeah, pretty thing—” he puffed deeply, sinking down onto your back as his fervour was drained out of him and into your pulsing cunt.

With that, reality flitted away as fast as it appeared. 

A mournful sigh escaped you when he slipped his cock out of your pussy, his warm come quickly drooling out of your hole once it was no longer plugged; it ran down your thighs and dribbled onto the mat beneath you. He plucked his thumb from your pinched hole and rested himself on your rear. You felt immediately and woefully hollow, holes shuddering around nothing so eagerly they ached. 

“Simon,” you whinged, repeating his name, with your motivation utterly eluding you. 

“You’ll get yours, girl,” he growled breathlessly, come-sated sweetness gone as it came. “One fuckin’ second.”

Something abominable had slithered into your mind and taken root, you thought. The vitriol in his words should have made you bristle, but it only made you needier. Maybe it spoke to a recondite self-loathing buried so deep in your soul you had never touched it, let alone acknowledged it. Maybe you just liked the way his harsh voice went all gravelly when he snarled at you. 

You yipped as he suddenly grabbed you by the hips, his recovery brief, and you were flipped unceremoniously. Landed on your back with a thud, limbs flailing in the blur — he grabbed you by the ankle and dragged your body towards him, held your legs open where he was kneeled between them. 

He caught your eye, then; beady, shark-like, a glint of insatiable hunger that reflected in the pools of black. The split in his lip had reopened in his fervour, and his blood oozed fresh and red down his chin, into his teeth. Didn’t hamper him, though – he burrowed his gluttonous fingers into your hips and lifted your lower half off the floor. 

A yelp of disbelief jumped from your throat as he hitched your thighs over his shoulders, pelvis in the air while your head remained balanced on the mat. Only on your back, glancing briefly around the room, were you suddenly reminded of where you were. 

Fucking the southpaw on the floor, in the middle of a somewhat public gym – you could still hear the murmurings of the audience still in the building, and only then noticed that Simon had left the door to the quiet room ajar. 

“Wai– wait, wait– Simon–” You stammered, watching as he licked the blood from his teeth, wolf-eyes peering at you from over your mound. 

Figures that he didn’t care to listen. He buried his mouth in your cunt with the ferocity of a starved animal, flat tongue smearing over your slit for a taste, before he suctioned your clitoris into his mouth as though he might drink an orgasm out of you. 

Not remotely put off by the surfeit of his come that still leaked from you, nor by the open wound in his mouth that weeped blood into your cunt, amalgamating with your fluids and his into some abhorrent concoction of lust and violence. No, in fact, he ate you with such a hunger that he must have been deliriously relishing in the debauchery of it all.  You felt the emulsion drool down the valleys of your groin, glossy red beads trailing down your belly and between your breasts in rivulets. You felt it drip from your neck, into your hair. 

“Ah – fuck–” You whined helplessly, arching your spine, heels inadvertently slamming into the meat of his back. 

He groaned into your cunt as he sucked your clit between his teeth, seemingly fighting the urge to bite, and the vibrations of his low voice made a shudder wrack you from your skull to the soles of your feet. His grasp of your hips was harsh, thumbs burrowing into the tender pits of flesh behind the bone, and it only made the surging pleasure in your core even more voltaic. 

More than a week since the last time you came, and that was at the plastic hand of a shitty bullet vibrator you got for free with a magazine; a climax so unsatisfying and meaningless it left you feeling emptier than you did beforehand. A week since he had brought you so close with his vindictive fingers, and a week of trying to recreate the feeling of his with your own, only to be sorely disappointed every time you tried. Worked up and grumpy, so he said–

It didn’t take him long to bring you to the same point he left you, burning and twitching and squealing under his touch – but this time had you seeing stars, had you bucking into his head like you might suffocate him with your pussy. You were sure he’d be pleased if you did, because he didn’t once come up for air. Kept your clit in his bloody mouth, under his lapping tongue with a consistency of pace and pressure that made your ears ring. 

But, you could still hear the creak of a hinge. 

Feel the vibrations of footsteps across the floor. 

Your eyes shot open and you wrenched your neck to look towards the door – an enormously painful angle to have your spine at – and there stood a silhouette of a man, lumbering unfazed into the room. 

“Simon!” You shrieked, kicking his back and writhing in his grip in desperate effort to stop him or break yourself free. A fool’s errand, really. There was no escaping him once he had you in his snare. “Stop, stop – Simon – there’s someone, ah–”

Mortified horror rinsed over you, molten hot, as the man continued his approach, and Simon did not relent. Persisted in laving your clit with unfettered voracity and only reinforcing his grip of your pelvis to keep you still, ruthless fingers implicitly chastising you for making a fuss.  

Only when the voyeur was a few feet from you could you determine who it was – vision significantly impeded by the angle of your head, you only saw him upside down– 

It was Simon’s opponent. 

Johnny. 

He looked down at you with lidded eyes, piercing blue even in the dark. Still in his boxer shorts, shirtless, sculpted muscles of his shoulders and arms carved out by the dim light seeping out from the door behind him. Dabbed under his nose with a blood-soaked towel, before his hand dropped to his side. Even in the darkness you could see the pitch in his shorts. 

Your hackles were raised but your panic was forcibly smothered by your blinding pleasure; incoherent whines and pleas leaping from your throat as you felt your smouldering core unwillingly tighten up, ready to burst despite your humiliation under the eyes of a spectator.  

“Simon – fuck, please, stop – he’s, ah – you’re gonna–”

You were a spluttering mess by the time you were swallowed by the tsunami of your orgasm, so forceful that you suddenly lost the ability to breathe – it ravaged through you in waves that made you buck and wail like he was truly sinking his teeth into your flesh. He might as well have been, with how sensitive your pebbled clit was under his unceasing tongue, all puffy and shuddering after its beating. 

You whined desperately as the shattering climax abated, leaving your muscles frail and your bones all floppy, and any fight within you turned to milk and trickled out of you, buttery and soft. Johnny only watched attentively, and you would have shrivelled up with ignominy if all vitality hadn’t been drained from your body and into Simon’s mouth. 

He finally peeled his lips from you, licking them as though having eaten a succulent meal, and he dropped you from his mouth. Lowered your hips so that your buttocks rested on his lap, legs wrapped around his torso. You could only lie there, utterly breathless, turning your head away from both of them as though that meant they couldn’t see you. 

Simon gave you two reassuring pats on the thigh, wiped his mouth with his other forearm and smeared blood and come through the auburn arm hair that coated it. 

“Tha’ better, pretty?” He purred huskily, thumb grazing your skin. “Better be all nice n’ sweet, now, eh?” 

Johnny lets out a grunt, petulant disappointment in his throat. “So that’s what ye broke my fucken’ nose for.” 

Simon snorted vindictively. “I wasn’t losin’.” 

“S’not fair,” Johnny grumbled. “If I knew that was the prize I woulda snapped yer fucken’ neck.” 

The unbridled violence in the way they spoke to one another made you sweat – laden with something morbid, a perverted hunger woven between every word, oozed from the two of them like tar. 

“Easy, boy,” the southpaw chided roughly. “You’ll talk yourself into another concussion.” 

“Psh,” his opponent retorted. “Yer just worried I’ll clatter ye now that I know the stakes.” 

Simon let out a hoarse huff of laughter at that, unimpressed. Turned to look down at you, wide hand heavy on your lower belly, and he grazed your bullied clit with his thumb. You twitched with the shock, blinking distraught at him through wet lashes. 

“Kid wants a rematch,” he grunted. “What y’reckon, pretty?”

idk guys. don't judge me. i was ovulating while writing this and it has been the kind fugue state where i need skin between my teeth. i hope someone gets what i mean by that

[kxsagi]

it’s may first! ^^ can i request a fic with bllk characters having cuteness aggression for the reader? maybe with isagi, nagi, sae, rin, and others?

“𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧(‘𝐭) 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐭”

a/n: yesss i genuinely apologize if this came off as repetitive 😭

ft. isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, mikage reo, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, karasu tabito, kaiser michael, ness alexis, shidou ryusei, niko ikki, hiori yo

isagi yoichi

it starts with him thinking he’s normal. 

he’s like “yeah my girlfriend’s cute” all smiley and in love… until you do something heinous like wear his oversized jersey with messy hair and rub your sleepy eyes. 

next thing you know, isagi’s clutching a pillow, jaw clenched like he’s trying not to explode. 

“you’re so–AHHHH–I’M GONNA LOSE IT I SWEAR ON MY SOUL.” 

grabs you and buries his face into your neck while yelling into it like you just scored a hat trick. 

“stop being so cute it’s pissing me off!!!” 

his form of cuteness aggression is hugging you like a koala until your lungs collapse. 

nagi seishiro

says “meh” but he is screaming internally. 

you do anything mildly adorable, like kiss his cheek and walk away humming, and he just freezes. buffering. overheating. 

“ugh. i wanna squeeze you like a mochi. until you pop or something.” 

gently squishes your cheeks like he’s testing the elasticity of his favorite plush toy. 

he actually doesn’t know what to do with himself when you wear his hoodie. he lies face-down on the couch whispering “i’m gonna bite her.” 

and he does. softly. to your shoulder. out of love. 

itoshi sae

looks calm. he is not calm. 

“you’re doing it again.” 

you blink innocently. “doing what?” 

“looking like that. with your stupid little smile and your stupid cute face and–i can’t deal with this right now.” 

threatens to punt a chair across the room while pinching your cheeks violently (but lovingly). 

he does bite. it’s controlled. calculated. usually on your arm or your hip. 

tells you with a deadpan expression, “you make me want to chew cardboard.” 

you laugh. he sulks. “stop giggling. you’re making it worse.” 

itoshi rin

thinks he’s above it until you do something sickeningly soft. 

like holding a stray cat with a baby voice. or smiling in your sleep. or calling him “rinnie” in public. 

his whole body glitches. twitching eye. twitching jaw. 

“i’m going to bite you. i’m not kidding. i feel violent.” 

stares at you like you’ve committed crimes against his sanity. 

grabs your face and grumbles about how you should “come with a warning label.” 

sulks under a blanket after. sends you a text from the same room: “why are you so cute. this is my 13th reason.”

mikage reo

shameless. will say out loud in a crowded room: “you’re literally too cute. i’m gonna slam dunk you into a pillow and never let you out.” 

squishes your cheeks like they’re made of mochi, buries you in kisses, threatens to bite your nose. 

you trip over something and he’s like “oh my gosh–AHHH–you’re so cute when you’re clumsy i hate you i love you.” 

tells nagi “if she keeps being adorable i’ll explode into confetti and die smiling.” 

kisses you mid-sentence just to cope. he can’t handle your laugh. 

bachira meguru

LITERALLY growls. like a chihuahua. 

“ghhhHHH, baby stop, STOP i can’t take it–WHY ARE YOU SMILING LIKE THAT–” 

full-on vibrating with aggression and adoration. 

grabs you like you’re a teddy bear and spins you around because he has too much cute energy and it needs to come out somehow. 

you could yawn and he’d be like “NOOOOO, stop being cute it HURTS.” 

considers biting your thigh like a goblin. asks permission first. 

chigiri hyoma

the most composed about it… at first. 

you’re used to his little hums of “so pretty” or “you’re adorable.” 

but then you do something extra cute. like falling asleep while waiting for him to get home. 

and he’s like “… i could throw you across the room and then kiss you after.” 

will actually growl into a pillow and blush like a cartoon character. 

mutters “you’re so cute it pisses me off” while braiding your hair or painting your nails. 

refuses to elaborate. you just get a glare and a forehead kiss. 

karasu tabito

he thinks he’s soooo smooth and composed but the moment you giggle at one of his dumb jokes? 

he’s gripping the back of his neck like, “nah, cause you did that on purpose. you want me to die. admit it.” 

covers his face with his hoodie, groaning dramatically. 

“you’re cute in a way that makes me want to scream into traffic.” 

when you pout at him? immediate jaw-clench. physical pain. 

aggressively kisses your forehead like he’s trying to exorcise the cute out of you. 

tells you he’s gonna put you in a glass box so no one else can witness your evil adorableness. 

kaiser michael

he's the definition of “i’m gonna bite you out of love.” 

he gets a twitch in his eye when you do literally anything. 

you say “i missed you” in your soft little voice and he short circuits like, “i could throw you out the window and catch you just to kiss you again.” 

“why are you like this. why are you soft and cute and… ugh!!” 

flops face-down on your lap groaning into your thighs like you’re ruining his life. 

you do your hair in braids and he loses it. grabs your face. threatens to bite your ear. 

“you make me wanna bark. it’s humiliating.” 

ness alexis

the king of “i love you but i also want to scream into a wall” energy. 

he just folds every time you do something small and sweet like reaching for his hand or laughing at his dorky jokes. 

his knees buckle. he makes little squeaky noises. 

“you don’t understand. i physically cannot take this much cuteness in one person.” 

face in his hands, peeking through his fingers like you’re the sun and he’s a fragile victorian child. 

mumbles into your shoulder: “you make me wanna scream into a jar and throw it into the ocean.” 

shidou ryusei

he literally bites. you’ll be cuddling and he’ll chomp your shoulder like a gremlin. 

“you’re cute. shut up. i hate it. i wanna fight god.” 

will squeak like an animal when you do something gentle, like fixing his hoodie strings or brushing hair out of his face. 

he rolls around on the bed kicking his feet like a toddler on pixy sticks when you call him “baby.” 

“GHHHHH you make me wanna chew drywall and scream.” 

will look at you smiling and just… headbutt your shoulder in defeat. 

shidou.exe has stopped working due to excessive adorability. 

niko ikki

blushes. scowls. mutters death threats at the wall. 

literally goes red when you call him “handsome” or hold his pinky. 

he tries to stay cool, but he ends up pacing the room whispering, “i wanna throw her off the couch and wrap her in a blanket burrito.” 

makes this tiny frustrated growl like he’s trying to hold back a feral squeal. 

when you do something REALLY adorable, like fall asleep with your cheek smushed against his chest, he stares at the ceiling like “god. give me strength. i will combust.” 

finally mutters a defeated, “you’re so freaking cute it’s making me ill.” 

hiori yo

hiori doesn’t mean to be dramatic… but you’re literally testing his limits as a human being. 

the way you hum while brushing your teeth. the way you squish his cheeks and say “my baby.” the way you fall asleep mid-movie with your mouth slightly open. 

he can’t handle it. 

he’s so soft spoken but suddenly he’s gripping a pillow like: “i can’t take it. i can’t–what am i supposed to do with this much cuteness???” 

bites his sleeve in emotional agony. physically restrains himself from aggressively snuggling you. 

mutters, “you make me want to scream into a cup and drink it.” 

tells you “stop it” while staring at you with hearts in his eyes. 

he’s like a cat that wants to be picked up and also wants to claw your face because he’s overwhelmed. 

when you kiss his forehead he just… shuts down. 

sits on the floor in a daze like, “i’m in love. i’m dying. help me.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[ladyymiisa]

PINCH ‘EM!

summary: katsuki just loves your cheeks!

tags: katsuki bakugo x fem!reader, fluff, katsuki is a tease

author’s note: starting the new year off strong with katsuki fluff!! i luv him sm

if there’s one thing about you that drives katsuki absolutely insane on a daily basis, it’s your cheeks.

those soft, round, ridiculously cute, rosy cheeks that make his brain glitch like an old vending machine. they give him such violent cuteness aggression that he’s genuinely considered throwing himself off a rooftop just to reset. it’s humiliating, really, how much power your dumb face has over him.

but watching you eat? that’s a whole other level of torture. the way your cheeks puff out with every bite, like you’re stockpiling food for winter, makes his eye twitch in equal parts annoyance and affection. he calls you chipmunk, because honestly, you might as well be one. it’s absurd, it’s irrational, and it’s ruining his life. but here he is, still watching, still obsessed, like the fool he is.

“kats—ow!” you whine mid food gulp, flinching as his fingers suddenly latch onto your cheeks like a crab on a mission. with zero warning, he starts squishing and pulling them, treating your face like it’s his own personal stress toy. “what the hell are you doing?”

you manage to gripe, trying to pry his hands off your poor, defenseless cheeks. your words are muffled as he stretches them in every direction, but he doesn’t bother answering. he’s far too focused on whatever weird satisfaction he’s getting from turning your face into putty in his hands.

“try that again,” he growls, giving your cheeks another firm pinch, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. “and i’ll squeeze ‘em even harder.”

you glare at him, your face still trapped in his grip. it’s hard to take him seriously when his smug smirk is stretched across his face like he just won the lottery. however, it’s clear that your discomfort is his entertainment, and it makes you want to bite back, but you can’t seem to muster the energy to do so.

meanwhile, katsuki is having the time of his life. it’s not his fault your skin is so damn malleable, like some kind of stress ball he can just squish and pull at his leisure. with every pinch, your face contorts in the most ridiculous ways, and it only makes his shit-eating smirk grow wider, as if he’s proud of the mess he’s making.

“y’look so stupid,” he mutters under his breath, loud enough for you to hear, though it sounds more like he’s speaking to himself. “stupid chipmunk,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost fond.

before you can even process what’s happening, his face is in front of yours, and with no warning, he plants a big, exaggerated smooch right on your lips. it’s awkward, considering how he’s still squishing your cheeks together, making your lips pucker out like a weird fish, but somehow, you can’t help but find it endearing.

then he does it again, this time a bit harder. and again. and again. each kiss lands wherever he can reach—your lips, your nose, your forehead, even your eyelids—like he’s trying to cover every inch of your face. you feel warmth spread across your chest from the tenderness of his gestures, even if they’re a little ridiculous. despite the absurdity of the situation, there’s something unexpectedly sweet about the way he’s so gentle with you, even when he’s teasing you relentlessly.

you’re about to tease him right back for being such a softie, ready to throw out a playful jab when, of course, he just has to ruin the moment.

“ew, katsuki!” you yelp, your voice high-pitched with surprise as he suddenly sinks his teeth into your right cheek. it’s not hard enough to hurt, more like a playful nip, but it’s wet and the way his tongue shamelessly flickers against the bite mark sends an unexpected shiver down your spine. you try to push him off, but he’s latched onto you like some feral animal.

“seriously?!” you gasp, squirming in his grip, but he remains completely unbothered. “this is disgusting! my cheek’s all wet now!” you cry, twisting and turning in his arms, trying to wipe the saliva off with your shoulder.

“serves you right for biting my shoulder earlier. y’thought i’d forget? hah.” he says with a wicked smirk, leaning back just enough to admire the mess he’s made of your face—flustered, pouty, and still glistening with the aftermath of his attack.

you groan, smacking his chest in frustration, but the bastard doesn’t even flinch. in fact, he looks proud of himself.

“you’re the absolute worst, katsuki bakugo.” you glare at him, half-exasperated, half-amused.

“yeah, i’m fuckin’ terrible,” he grins, clearly enjoying the annoyance in your voice. to emphasize his words—and to annoy you even further probably—he pinches the same cheek he just bit like an overbearing grandma checking to see if you had enough to eat.

yup, katsuki loves your cheeks, especially when they’re all flushed because of him.

[thatrandomidiot182]

Glimpse of Another Life

Variant! Invincible/Mark Grayson × Kryptonian! Reader

Warnings. minor angst, mentions of unrequited love, mentions of death/murder.

A/N. This is verrry dialogue centric, and written during 3am spurts of inspiration, so it's not the greatest, but I do like how it ended up. I hope yall like it as well! P.s. This is not referencing any of the canon Mark variants, but it can be seen as viltrumite Mark if you want! I just had this idea and wanted to share bc pathetic Mark has me DOWN BAD 😫

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

"I thought I'd find you here."

The statement sends a wave of panic down your spine, breaking the peaceful silence you had tried so desperately to find. Your body springs up, instantly uncurling from the fetal position you had been floating in as you tense, preparing to face the source.

"You always came up here after a rough day."

God you wish he'd just shut up.

You never thought you'd feel like this, but after everything that's happened these last twenty-four hours, all you wanted to do was escape that damn voice.

It's why you had fled the planets atmosphere in the first place. Speeding off to curl up in your hiding place next to the sun as soon as things had died down.

It was the one place you knew you could avoid Mark— or at least, your Mark.

It was the one place you could escape the sound of his voice spitting words he'd never say.

"You look exactly the same... You're as beautiful as the day I lost you."

He whispers your name like a prayer, and it sends a violent wave of nausea rolling through your stomach.

Just yesterday it would have brought you an embarrassing amount of glee to hear his voice calling out to you in such a tone.

The teasing lilt and deep, raspy pitch would normally send a wave of comfort over your tensed figure, instantly quelling your fear... Mark always did have the innate ability to shatter your defenses. Even with something as simple and small as a laugh.

"Please. I'm not here to hurt you. I'd never hurt you, I just... I needed to see you again. It's the only reason I came here."

His voice trembles, pitch heightened as he begs, "Please let me see you."

Your body trembles as you feel his presence drawing closer. Whether it was with fear, rage or exhaustion, you don't know. Maybe a sick combination of all three...

"I'm not that person..."

It was the only thing you could think to say in the moment, and your enhanced hearing allows you to hear the stutter in his breath all too clearly...

Along with his heartbeat, which was beating almost as fast as yours.

"I know."

His voice is small, defeated. As you finally turn to face him, body coiled and tensed for a fight, you find yourself freezing at the sight– because this Mark was different.

His face was stronger, more defined. All chisled cheeks and sharp jawline, no trace of the leftover baby fat you loved to squish when he was being too cocky.

Prominent eyebags and traces of a five o-clock shadow age him significantly. Although, taking into account the scars that littered his face and hands and the pure size of him, it was safe to assume he was a bit older.

As your gazes finally meet, you find yourself hesitating at the amount of pain and fondness his eyes held.

That hesitation lasted for only a moment, because as soon as your brain processed the full image of this Mark, you froze.

There are quite a few reasons you feel as though you should be afraid of him, but none of them were what set you off.

It wasn't the suit, which was, to your horror, the classic Viltrumite uniform that you had seen on the previous visits from the race.

It wasn't the length of his hair, which was only slightly shorter than your Marks' was and added to the aura of stern maturity he carried.

It wasn't even the broad expanse of his shoulders, that easily beat your Mark's in comparison, that caused you to freeze in such fear.

It was because of how much he looked like his father.

From the slope of his shoulders to the cinch of his waist, even down to the swell of his thighs, this Mark was undeniably his fathers son.

You'd never thought that Mark had looked like Nolan as much as everyone said he did, but seeing what could be– what is, this other Mark... One who is far from the slender, goofy, childhood best friend of yours that can't build huge muscles if his life depended on it...

Suddenly made you grateful that Debbie's genes had put up such a fight.

Because even as you see Nolan in the mass of his muscles, and the stance that takes up as much space as possible while simultaneously exuding danger and strength– You can still see the remnants of his humanity in the shape of his eyes and curve of his lips. In the slope of his nose and the brown of his iris, you see traces of one of the greatest women you've ever known.

Which is the only reason you haven't moved to attack.

Because this Mark was different. Not just from your Mark, but from all the other Mark's who you had fought (and killed) throughout the past few hours.

Whereas those Marks were all varying in size and stature, their eyes had all held the same sinister glint.

They all shared the same sick inclination to violence and pride, never hesitating to attack first, with a stupid, egoistic whip and strength that rivaled your own.

He didn't.

Despite his size, his posture was carefully submissive, hands splayed open before your eyes in a show of innocence and vulnerability.

His eyes were gentle and tired, rather than obsessive and manic as the others had been.

Still, despite his seemingly unviolent nature, you don't know why you never attacked him.

Maybe it was the desperate hope to find another Mark that was good, or at least, not as bad as all the others.

Maybe it was the overwhelming exhaustion that had numbed your mind since you were first forced to kill a version of your best friend.

Or maybe it was because he somehow knew where to find you, when even your Mark had no idea about your solar absorption, that led you to where you are now.

Sat next to him in a cozy little crater on the moon, overlooking earth as he recalls your alternate life.

"We grew up together. Inseparable since the moment Nolan brought you home from the GDA after your little ship landed in the middle of New York." You note the peculiar use of Nolan's name, nodding along with his words as you reflect on your past with your own Mark.

"I used to be so jealous of you growing up. Unlike me, you had your powers since birth. Nolan always told me that it didn't matter how long you had your powers because when I got mine, I'd be stronger anways." He scoffed, "Fucker was always trying to pit us against each other..."

You tilted your head at that, confused by the notion, "He... never did that here." Your voice was hesitant, unsure if sharing the fact would comfort or further upset him.

Based on the way he smiled at the sound of your voice, you assume he wasn't too concerned with your actual words.

"That.. Makes me so happy to hear, actually." He laughs, breathless and without much humor, "I imagine we– You have a much better relationship with him then..." He trails off, glancing questioningly your way.

You pause, "With Nolan? Or..."

He huffs, leaning more into his elbows that are crossed over his bent knees as he responds, "Both, I suppose..." He gazes out at the expanse of space longingly, "I've thought about it a lot... What it could've been like if he never made us hate each other."

His grin falters, "But that didn't happen. Well, it did, just– not fast enough..." He stutters, and you watch nervously as his fists clench.

"We were at each other's throats our entire lives, and it only got worse when I finally got my powers– I think I was thirteen?" His body remains tense as he continues, "I used to see you as competition. Nolan always paid more attention to you. He took you with him on patrol, he trained you, he.... He made me feel like you were in the way of our relationship as father and son."

He scowls, "I felt like I had to fight for Nolans attention whenever you were around, and it made me hate you because you seemed to take it for granted. You were never enthusiastic about spending time with him, you even seemed to avoid it, and it pissed me off to see you taking advantage of it when I had to beg for crumbs of his approval." He grit his teeth, shuffling ridgedly and you instinctively lean further away at his agitation.

His head snaps your way, and your heart lurches in your throat, wide eyes meeting his as he softens under your flighty stare.

"That's exactly what he planned..." He trails off, head turning away as his body slumps, agitation fizziling out at the sight of your fear. "He wanted me to hate you, so that I would eventually have the will to... eliminate you when the time came to conquer earth. He-He knew that you were the only thing that could pose a threat to our takeover." You both winced at the wording.

"It wasn't until junior prom that I actually opened my eyes..." He laughed sadly.

"Mom made us go together, seeing as neither of us were very popular and tried to use that as an excuse not to go..." He smiled with a wistful sigh, "I'm glad she did. It... ended up being the best night of my life." Your heart clentched at the sight of his crooked smile. His eyes were glazed and reflected the light of the stars in a way that had your breath hitching all too familiarly.

He laughs again, eyes crinkling with affection, "I still remember how awkward you looked in your cute little outfit." His voice took on a teasing lilt as he glanced at you, "Standing at the top of the stairs all grumpy because mom wanted a picture..." He leaned back to lean on his hands with a laugh, "I remember standing there like an idiot. Gaping like a fish because, all of a sudden, you were more than the annoying kid who took my dad from me... You were just... A normal teenager... Who also happened to be the prettiest person I'd ever seen." Your cheeks flushed, and despite knowing he's not actually talking about you... you couldn't help but let yourself indulge in the compliment that your Mark had never even come close to speaking.

"You know, I beat myself up the entire car ride to the school. It was so awkward and it made me realize that despite my dad's interference... You never hated me."

Your eyes are wide and curious as you listen. His voice held so much fondness for this other version of you, it was shocking to imagine him ever hating her.

"I felt like the worst person alive when I realized that despite how awful I was to you, you never held it against me. Guess it's because you knew that I didn't know who my dad actually was..." his voice trailed off, and you could sense the rising anger simmering in his eyes.

"Who knew all it took for you guys to get along was teenage hormones and the dougie..."

Your absentminded comment snaps him out of his haze, drawing his attention as a bewildered stare graces his features.

"I mean, a sixteen year rivalry ended in one night! Must've been some prom..." You smile as you finally get a laugh out of him, quietly reveling in the sound.

"Yeah. It sure was." He smirks, eyes twinkling with a familiar mischief, "You can dance a mean cupid shuffle."

You burst into laughter, tossing your head back with a grin, "Tell me, does you having two left feet translate to every universe?"

He grins back, "Well, yeah– but you said it was cute!"

Your laughter rings in the quiet expanse of space, heard only thanks to the superior senses of your respective alien biologies.

In your humorous fit, you fail to realize how close you began to lean towards Mark until the warmth of his bicep met your own.

Your laughs dwindle at his sudden silence, head tilting to eye him as you grow concerned.

You were met with a gentle, fond smile that set your heart ablaze. His eyes were soft, cheeks pink and dimpled as he stared at you reverently.

You stayed quiet, allowing yourself the moment to soak in his undivided adoration, silently preening under his gaze.

It wasn't until he reached a hand up to brush against your cheek that you snapped out of your stupor. Hesitantly pulling away as you reprimand yourself for getting swept away.

After all, this isn't your Mark.

This isn't your best friend (and nothing more).

Your Mark would never willingly speak so adoringly of you.

Your Mark would never caress you so softly, as if you were something to be worshipped.

Your Mark just didn't love you like you loved him.

It was cruel and unfair to lean into the embrace of this Mark and take advantage of his feelings because at the end of the day, you are not the you he fell in love with.

Your thoughts drive you to break the silence with a sharp sigh, pointedly ignoring his hurt stare as he slowly lowers his hand back to his side.

"Why are you here, Mark?"

He stares at you with a furrowed brow, "I told you, I wanted to see–"

"No, I mean–" You take a breath, gesturing to the earth before you half-heartedly, "Why did you come here with them, if you don't want to conquer our world like they do?"

He takes longer to answer you this time, and you began to worry about his answer.

"It was the only way to see you again." His voice is shaky, the warmth from your previous conversation gone as he glares out at the planet. "Angstrom promised that if I helped him get revenge, he'd let me see you– have you." He pauses, and you tense at the implication of his words.

He sighs, wincing at your jumpiness as he rushes to reassure you, "I'm not here to be the bad guy. I don't want to conquer this earth, I could care less about this Mark! I just– I needed to see you alive. T-To know that you're happy and healthy here... and to make sure it stays that way." His last words are spoken so softly they were almost whispered, and you hesitate to believe them for the sole reason you think you might have hallucinated them.

Nonetheless, you stay silent at the revelation, allowing yourself the time to properly digest your entire encounter thus far.

Your head is far more clouded than when you originally came up here after Mark had disappeared with Eve. After your heart could no longer take killing him again and again...

You don't know what you're supposed to do anymore...

You want to cry, but you can't because you know the Mark next to you will want to comfort you, and the worst part is that you'd allow it.

You want to go back down and pummel every varient you come across just to let out the frustration you feel, but you won't. Not after discovering the possibility that they're not all bad.

So what can you do? What should you do?

What will you do?

What you always do–

"Well, you said you weren't here to be the bad guy, right?"

You slowly rise from your seated position, looming over Mark with a steeled gaze.

Despite your seriousness, you can't help the quirk of your lips at the intense way he nods his head. You shoulders stiffen as you turn back towards earth resolutely, sparing him one last glance before taking off.

"Prove it."

–Save your planet.

[rachalixie]

a/n: me versus my addiction to writing sleepy minho. him being an adorable grump of a child when he's just woken up is my roman empire i never want him to be fully awake i want him to be this cute at all times please and thank you. kisses for you if you know which anime he's thinking about in this : )

heat.

you wake up sweating, an intense heat taking over your every sense in an uncomfortably disorienting way. rivulets of molten lava travel across your body, burning in their wake. scorching sun rays break through your skin to your very soul, hot iron brands your skin with uncomfortable heat-

it takes you a couple beats of time to realize that you are also trapped, every muscle group except for the tips of your toes incapable of movement. panic sets in for a split second before a familiar smell hits your nostrils, and your heart rate relaxes of its own accord.

minho always seemed to be able to play your heart like a well loved instrument, sending it into crescendo and decrescendo at will.

“minho,” your voice comes out half as a whine and half as a sigh, your face burrowing further into the juncture between his shoulder and neck. it makes you even hotter, but you accept the dots of sweat that form on your forehead in favor of becoming one with him. even though you spend nearly every waking moment with him, you can never get enough of his proximity.

he hums in response, trapped somewhere between awake and asleep, the sound of your voice breaching the walls of his consciousness.

"you're warm."

he hums again, pulling you closer into him and nuzzling his face in your hair with a whine. you press a kiss to his neck and your lips burn with it.

"really warm."

he lets out a deep sigh, and you can feel his eyes fluttering open as his eyelashes catch in your hair.

"i'm sleepy," he mumbles, and his pulse jumps when you brush your nose against his neck. "not warm."

"you're sleepy and warm," you giggle, still a bit sleep-drunk. he wriggles down in uncoordinated movements, his muscles not yet online along with his brain, until his face is squished into your chest and his body is shaped like a question mark against you.

“you're squishy,” his voice is tinged with glee, a nonsensical kind of happiness that wakes you up fully but does little to prepare you for- "like a slime. squishy slime."

you hate him. you hate him so much that the surge of angry fondness that takes over your every cell is almost too strong to bear. his voice is so soft that it's almost too quiet to hear, his eyes are fluttering under his closed lids, his cheeks are squished to your chest and his hair is a fluttered mess on his head. the heat from earlier makes itself known once again as your cheeks heat up with the effort it takes to not become violent with affection.

you hate him, but you love him just the same.

"minho, if you’re thinking of your dorky anime right now i’m getting out of bed," you threaten, the lack of bite in your tone making the threat hold no heat.

"mm, no," he throws a leg over yours, trapping you under powerful muscle and dead weight. "thinking about you, like i always am."

[rumisgf]

katsuki with a partner who’s a ray of fucking sunshine ‼️‼️ fav trope

yes thank you anon i will elaborate 😌🙏🏽

katsuki with an s/o who people will stare at for a couple minutes once they realize y’all are together, and he’ll want to get so extremely violent. but they’re not staring because they necessarily want you— it’s because they’re wondering how the fuck y’all ended up together. now, in theory, he does gravitate towards more positive/bubbly people imo (kirishima and izuku are great examples), and opposite definitely do attract. but you’re different. you’re one of those people who ‘light up every room’, and your smile is so bright it’s in competition with earth’s sun.

katsuki with an s/o who is such a dork he has to pretend it’s not the most adorable shit ever. he’s fighting back the biggest smile when you deadass start jumping up and down or clapping your hands out of excitement, or when you grin from ear to ear like the cheshire chat when he cooks you one of his family famous meals that he swore to himself he would never cook for anyone before he met you. it’s even worse when you giggle. or when you burst out into laughter smacking his shoulder and your head falling into his lap. oh, he hates it. he hates when you get all giddy because oh you’re so fucking cute. he wants to eat you alive and squish all the oxygen out of your body.

katsuki with an s/o who triggers said cute aggression on a daily basis. you could be smiling or rambling, and he’ll just squish your cheeks so hard your lips are all squished open and your front teeth are showing. or he’ll bite you– which he has no shame in doing. you could be cuddling and he’ll just slowly sink his teeth into your arm, soft enough to not draw blood but hard enough to hurt. he has no self control, especially when it comes to you, so please bare with him. you’re just too cute.

katsuki with an s/o who literally glows in the sunlight. golden hour is his absolute favorite hour. it’s almost embarrassing how he just stares at you, lost in how much you look like a divine deity send down to earth to make up for how shitty every human is. every day he question why you chose him or what is so damn special about him, but he’s glad he even gets to call you his. you make him a better man, and y’all fit together like two puzzle pieces.

[mangooes]

Lullabies

It was a quiet afternoon in the Onychinus manor — the kind of rare peace that made even the walls exhale. (Name) had curled up on the long velvet couch after lunch, her arms hugging a cushion, half-lidded eyes fluttering shut. Staryus, their pet husky, lay sprawled near her feet, snoring softly. The TV screen buzzed in the background, playing some random soap she didn’t really care about.

She didn’t even notice the soft pad of boots as Sylus entered the room.

But he noticed.

There she was. His wife. The bane of his sanity. The sunshine to his storm. Napping.

Alone.

Without him…?

With the smug grin of a man plotting sin, Sylus crept closer — his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. His white hair shifted with every movement, his black coat trailing behind like a shadow. He crouched just beside the couch like a dragon sizing up his prey, one knee on the cushions.

Then—

He leaned in towards her ears. A sinister smile tugged upon his lips.

“Gotcha.”

“—Mmfff?!”

Before (Name) could stir fully, Sylus pounced, sliding onto the couch and throwing one of his muscular arms around her head like a damn headlock. Her face squished into his bicep, muffled groans escaping as he laughed deeply, pulling her in like a human teddy bear.

“SY—MFFFGH—!”

“Hush now, sweetie,” he cooed mockingly, adjusting his grip like a possessive man in hunger. “It’s nap time. Let me soothe you.”

And then.

Then.

He began to sing.

Horribly.

“🎵~ Hush, my sweet little kitten, no more schemes today~

You tried to sneak a nap in, now you’re mine to slay~

Wrapped up like a burrito, in husbandly embrace~

Dream of snacks and mischief—while I lick your faaaace~ 🎵”

(Name) kicked.

Hard.

But she was still squished, muffled in his chokehold of doom. “YOUR SINGING SUCKS—MMFMFFF—”

His face scrunched up in mock offense, like the devil himself. “What was that? You want another verse?”

“I swear in the name of Astra, Sysy, I will—”

He kissed the top of her head dramatically. “Ahh, so much gratitude. A standing ovation. Truly, my talent is wasted on board meetings.”

(Name) wiggled violently in his grip, finally managing to yank her head free, hair sticking up everywhere as she glared at him like a furious kitten.

“Why are you like this?” Her brows were raised in question.

“Because I love you. The days feel way longer without you in my arms,” Sylus said innocently, and then suddenly tackled her again, pinning her back into the couch and snuggling into her neck. “And because you looked too peaceful sleeping without me… and here I thought I’m your sweet husband. Unacceptable.”

“You’re literally a plague.”

“A sexy one.”

“You’re suffocating me.”

“So? Don’t you usually ask me to be rough with you on bed?” he purred, brushing his nose along her jaw. “Which means deep down… you love it.”

She paused, her face red, flushed, a beat of silence stretching between them as his weight rested on her comfortably and her hands were trapped between them.

“…you,” she muttered. “You don’t get to make me feel like this.”

Sylus grinned, victorious. “Knew it.”

“Still no singing. Not the song.”

“Oh don’t worry,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I’ve got a full album lined up for tonight.”

“Staryus,” she called out flatly. “Bite him.”

The said dog let out a huff in his sleep and rolled over.

Traitor.

And so (Name) lay pinned, Sylus snuggled into her like a smug dragon with his prize, singing god-awful lullabies while she hissed idle threats — and despite it all, her fingers curled into his shirt, smiling into his shoulder when she thought he wouldn’t notice.

He always noticed.

And he loved her for it.

HEYAAAAA sorry for the short uh chapter not rlly one shot kinda ish, i’ve been busy with rls alot so i don’t rlly have the motivation to write 😞

[duvetchico]

is your face, like… made of clouds or some shit?

summary you touch chaewon’s face for science. she short-circuits. you short-circuit. everyone’s blushing. no thoughts, just soft.

genre fluff / crack / pining dumbasses

pairing kim chaewon x fem!reader

masterlist.

you were staring.

again.

you knew it was weird. but like—have you seen her? kim chaewon? human peach? softest skin known to man? god was showing off when he made her.

and right now, she was sitting across from you on the floor, legs crossed, talking about something you weren’t hearing at all because you were too busy brain-melting over how glowy her cheeks looked in the lamplight.

“—so then i told her, if you microwave another boiled egg, you’re cleaning up the explosion yourself,” she said, laughing.

you blinked.

then, with zero warning, leaned forward and gently cupped her face.

she froze.

“…uh.”

“dude.”

you gently smushed her cheeks with both hands. “your face is so soft.”

chaewon blinked at you. “wha—”

“like. freakishly soft. what is this. is your moisturizer made of angel tears?”

she made a noise that might’ve been a laugh or a glitching hard drive.

“why are you touching my face like you’re trying to read my soul,” she whispered, face rapidly turning red.

“because i think you might actually be made of marshmallows.”

you squished her cheeks a little more. “i’m serious. your face feels like a baby’s ass.”

“STOP CALLING MY FACE AN ASS.”

“a soft one!! a good one!!”

she shoved your hands away, covering her face in both palms. “why are you LIKE this.”

“why are YOU like this. all glowy and smooth and shit. this is harassment.”

she peeked at you between her fingers. “…you think i’m glowy?”

“don’t make me repeat it or i’ll melt.”

she giggled. giggled. like a literal cartoon princess. it did things to your heart. violent things.

“you’re so weird,” she mumbled.

“and you’re so cute it makes me want to scream into a toaster.”

you both sat in silence for a second.

then she reached out, slowly, and poked your cheek.

“…your face is kinda soft too,” she whispered.

you blinked. heart stopped. brain deleted itself.

“oh my god,” you whispered.

“what?”

“we’re both soft. we’re like—one pillow away from being a skincare ad.”

she burst out laughing, falling onto your shoulder and nearly taking you down with her.

and when you finally calmed down, cheeks hurting from smiling and hearts thumping too fast, she just leaned against you and stayed there.

soft skin. soft laughs. soft hearts.

this was heaven.

ten minutes later.

you were both still on the floor, now very much not touching, but also very much not talking about what happened.

you were pretending to scroll on your phone. she was pretending to be invested in a snack wrapper.

the air was loud with awkward silence.

finally, chaewon cleared her throat.

“so like…” she said, still not looking at you, “you just go around grabbing people’s faces like that?”

you snorted. “only the ones who feel like silk.”

her ears turned red.

“…you’re gonna make me cry,” she muttered.

“from joy?”

“from EMBARRASSMENT.”

you grinned and nudged her with your shoulder. “you liked it.”

“i did not.”

“you giggled.”

“shut UP.”

you leaned in a little. “you blushed too.”

“i always blush,” she muttered. “i have sensitive skin. you know this.”

“sensitive everything honestly.”

“do you want to die.”

you smirked. “maybe if it’s by your soft little hands."

chaewon went silent again.

then—

“…ok but like,” she said quietly, turning her head to look at you, “if i touched your face right now, would it be weird?”

your brain imploded.

“i—uh—no???”

she blinked at you for a second.

then reached up and gently cupped your cheek. like exactly how you did earlier.

her hand was small. warm. careful.

you nearly passed out.

“yep,” she said, nodding seriously. “soft. confirmed.”

you stared at her. “i think i’m gonna kiss you.”

she smiled, still holding your face. “do it then.”

and you did.

just a small one. a kiss on her cheek. fast. sweet. kind of chaotic. the kind of kiss that makes your whole face feel warm and fuzzy.

chaewon froze for a second.

then grinned.

like, full-on cheeky smile, eyes crinkling, smug as hell.

“wow,” she said, hand still on your face. “so you are in love with me.”

you groaned and dropped your head onto her shoulder. “shut up. i blacked out. i don’t remember anything.”

“nah uh. don’t play dumb now. you kissed me. you admitted my skin’s perfect. you basically proposed.”

you smacked her leg. “IT WAS A CHEEK KISS.”

“cheek kiss is stage one,” she said, nodding like a scientist. “next is holding hands in public. then forehead kisses. then shared toothbrushes—”

“STOP.”

“and then marriage.”

you raised your head. “so you’ve been thinking about it too.”

she blinked. turned red. panicked.

“uh. what? no?? i’m—I’m just joking?? haha. so silly. so unserious.”

you smirked. “you wanna share a toothbrush with me soooo bad.”

“take it back before i leave.”

“you showed up to my house. you’re never leaving.”

she flopped onto your lap with a dramatic sigh, hiding her face. “ugh. you’re the worst.”

you ran your fingers through her hair, grinning like an idiot. “and you’re the softest little shit i’ve ever met.”

she peeked up at you. “you still think my face is soft?”

you kissed her nose.

“baby,” you said. “i’d sleep on it like a pillow.”

[hxney-lemcn]

Friend's From Strange Places — Mr. Crawling x gn! reader

summery: living with Mr. Crawling has made your life less lonely.

tw: none.

wc: 0.5k

Master List

Part One | Part Two

Having a ghostly roommate wasn’t as bad as one would think. He didn’t break anything like a violent poltergeist, nor did he try to hurt you like the media would spew. In fact, he was the nicest person…err, being that you’ve ever met. Always looking out for you, checking in on you constantly. You had deemed him as Mr. Crawling since you couldn’t ask for his name. 

Speaking of which, you had been slowly learning how to speak his language. It didn’t seem to be as complex as your own, terms being grouped together with certain words. You’d like to think you got the basics down, now properly understanding him when he was concerned for you. In return, you could also check in on him as well.

“Pet, pet,” Mr. Crawling chirped happily. You had just gotten home and your roommate hadn’t wasted any time greeting you with head pats. Your relationship was strange. He clearly cared for you, in fact, he cared for you so much you’d feel your stomach flutter and heart skip a beat. Gosh, you felt kinda silly that you enjoyed his attention so much, not minding how much he’d mess your hair up.

“Hello,” You greeted back with a smile. “You good?” 

With a nod, Mr. Crawling smiled even wider, “You here. Me happy.” Feeling a bout of cute aggression, you held his face in your hands and gently squished his cheeks, making him giggle. 

“Me happy you here,” You responded back, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. Mr. Crawling seemed to get happier, holding one of your wrists and smiling widely (if not a bit eerily).

“You touch,” Crawling chittered. “Again.” Not able to say no to the cute ghost, you lean down and kiss his head again, making the ghost giggle. Sitting up to the best of his ability, Mr. Crawling pulls your head down gently and kisses your head in return.

The both of you seemed to constantly be teaching the other. Him, his language and that it's okay to be vulnerable. You, new shows of affection and human culture in general. It was harder to explain some things, like the concept of work or grocery shopping. Sometimes he’d go with you. The first time you left him, he had followed you. You were scared that people would see him, but to your surprise no one even batted an eye. It seemed that people couldn’t really see him, so you’d take him grocery shopping or for walks at night when you didn’t want to be alone. 

It seemed like Mr. Crawling really liked this new form of affection, continuing to kiss your head and face, small giggles coming from both of you. 

“You really like kisses, huh,” You muttered more to yourself than anything, but he seemed to hear. 

“Me like touch,” Crawling confirmed. “You like me?”

“Me like like you,” You nodded. “Many like you.”

“Excellent!” He cheered. “Me many like you.”

“I know,” You grinned, once again patting his head. “I love you too.”

Perhaps meeting him was fate, and you wouldn’t change it for the world…even if he would accidentally scare you from time to time.

[kaisaerinlover]

a little bit of reformed kaiser from my drafts

kaiser who has a serious size kink and cuteness aggression ur so adorable whenever he sees u he wants to smash u under his hand until ur nothing but little specks of dust and when he sees how small u are it takes every ounce of self restraint he has (about 5 Ounces) to not slam u against the wall and manhandle u for hours simply for his own amusement

kaiser who has god awful violent tendencies but he controls himself around u the worst he does after a lot of therapy and self reflecting is simply pulling ur hair and squishing ur cheeks maybe slapping u around a bit

but ur so cute and delicate he tells u all the time how badly he could hurt u then holds u like u are a dainty flower or a petal that could bend ; he knows its ironic and u know it too but ur just thankful that he has learned how to love and learned how to suppress his malice and not inflict it upon u

he thinks ur so cute he hates ur stupidly adorable face he hates how small u are next to him he hates how itty bitty ur hand is in his he wants to squeeze it til it pops ur so fucking cute to him he hates it so much (he doesn’t)

not quite fully healed so he definitely hurls some nasty threats towards u and draws his fist at u and god he wants to beat some sense into u sometimes whenever u say something he considers dumb (he’s pretty spot on 99% of the time — he’s very smart) or look up at him with that stupidly hamster like face but instead he just looks at u and feels that warmth in his chest that was oh so unfamiliar before he met u

kaiser is going through all the first notions of love with u because he never quite grasped the concept before meeting u or ever got to experience a genuine and pure love but now he’s met u he’s infatuated and craves more and acts a bit childishly sometimes as embarrassing as it is; the grown man acting like a teenage girl over loving someone god it’s embarrassing and he hates when u see that side of him he likes being composed but feeling such a strong emotion that isn’t just the empty void inside of him , the urge to kill he previously thought was insatiable , the deep sense of self loathing , all of his malice and all of his depression, it’s better than any hard drug

thanks for being the angel of kaiser the angel sent to watch over him he believes the angel the princess the baby the light of his life thank u so much he thinks as he watches u asleep next to him his hands resting softly on ur neck so unfamiliarly to him yet it feels so right thank u so much for teaching him he’s so happy he can touch u so tenderly the way he could never touch himself thank u for loving him and letting him love u thanks for saving him from this life of darkness and despair with ur light thank u for granting him the experiences he missed out on growing up thank u for helping him feel semi normal thank u for being so sweet it hurts

ur so cute as u sleep so sweet so vulnerable so innocent and he feels little to no urge to harm u his hand resting on ur neck isn’t choking u isn’t gripping u so tightly it’s rubbing ur neck so softly ur vulnerability isn’t a trigger for his violent tendencies anymore ; just a trigger for his protective instincts

he leans down every night to peck your head as you sleep next to him in his bed his house his world the world he has control over he’s the god here and he knows u would take everything he gives but he chooses to treat u so nicely which confuses even him at times

he kisses u softly in the way u taught him by doing it to him by treating him like he’s a little kid like he’s the same little boy that got shattered by the relentless fists of his father all those years ago and mumbles a declaration of love into ur ear before going to sleep himself

“i love you, angel, thanks for saving me”

and u know his routine u feel it every night and u smile to urself as u feel him wrap around u so protectively so tenderly with sweetness radiating off of him to fall asleep too

u both won in life ur an angel and he is ur god a gracious forgiving god a god who no longer yearns to destroy everything in his path to self isolate to do everything against human nature a god who is no longer looking in the reflection of a beautiful ocean of people and seeing a subhuman staring back up at him he can only see all of the love u gave him he sees himself the way u see him almost (if it’s even possible) thank u so much for being such a doting loving angel

[a-998h]

Shadow's Baby Doll

TRIGGER WARNING FOR IMPLIED TRAUMA FOR READER AND SHADOW MILK COOKIE!

SPOILER FOR SHADOW MILK COOKIE AND BEAST COOKIE LORE!

Candy Apple Cookie and Black sapphire Cookie will act as platonic yandere aunt and uncle/siblings on top of Shadow Milk Cookie.

He never had a lover or family, yet he longed for for both. But, he was far too busy for it. He was lonely, occupied with his work and dreams. He couldn't focus that night. Low music was playing, rain softly tapped on the windows, and the smell of books new and old filled his nostrils. But, there was a sound, a loud and grating wailing that disrupted his peace.

He tried to ignore it, play louder music over it, do anything to keep the noise out but his efforts only seem to make it louder. So, annoyed and out of options he rips the door open, annoyed and ready to ask who was making that nosie. He looks around, finding no one and he was about to close the door, annoyed and thinking it was a prank, until he looks down.

At his feet is a top less picnic basket, aged and falling apart, with a blanket the color of a Blueberry Bird. He stares at the blanket, which is still making noise. As he reaches out to touch the blanket, it shifts. He pulls his hand back for only a moment before moving the blanket aside and his eyes widen. In the blanket is a little cookie, from the looks of it they couldn't be more than a few weeks old. His annoyed fades as it's replaced by worry. He picks up the basket and brings it inside.

"Poor little thing, you must be soaked," he said quietly as the little cookie reaches to play with his hair. He laughs, then winces as the little cookie pulls his hair. He looks for a note but finds nothing. Looking back at the now quiet little cookie, he has the brief thought of giving the child to an orphanage until he remembered the nights he'd stay awake and think about what his lover would be like, or how many little cookies he wanted.

"Well, looks like the Witches granted my wish," he says softly.

He rocked the little cookie that night, and then went shopping for everything his new child would need. Once the child was adjusted he told his friends and invited them to meet the little cookie.

"And you say, this little one was left on your doorstep in a basket?" Burning Spice asked, confused.

"Yes, they were crying loudly and just look at them, who wouldn't fall in love with these chubby cheeks!" He says as he squished the cheeks of his child who was on their stomach and trying to lift their head.

Burning Spice let out a loud chuckle with a smile at the response. Mystic Flour then asked about a name and Shadow Milk Cookie pauses and acts a bit sheepish.

"Well, I have just calling them 'little one' and umm, never gave them a name," he admitted.

The other beasts gasped and poked fun at him for not naming his child before offering to help him. That's how the rest of that day went, the beasts looking at the child like they were a cute creature and deciding on a name. It ended with a name being picked, but Shadow Milk stilled called you little one.

Years would go by, you growing up with a family of cookies who love you with all their hearts. Then things changed, Burning Spice became violent and cruel, so he was cut off from you.

"Papa, what happened to uncle Spice?" You asked, innocent and afraid.

"I... I'll explain when your older," he says as he hugs you to soothe you.

Then Mystic Flour stopped coming around and letting you visit. You were scared and upset which broke his heart. He shielded you from the truth as much as he could. Eternal Sugar and Silent Salt followed soon after, making you more and more afraid and confused.

"It's ok, everything will be ok," he whispered to you.

Under the surface, he was cracking. You were scared and he saw all his friends become twisted versions of the virtues they once embodied. Soon, sweet whispers crept into his mind, slowly but surely. They told him to open his eyes, look beyond what was already there and he listened and saw how the cookies around him loved the comfort of lies than the coldness of truth.

You never knew what was wrong, but you noticed how different he acted and it scared you. You still remember the day he becomes fully corrupted, he tried to take you with him when the Witches put the Beasts in the Silver Tree but he couldn't. You remembered the look he had, a cold, empty grin with insanity in his mismatched eyes. The witches took pity on you, placing you with the faerie cookies.

***

You watched in horror as the Silver Tree split open and the Beasts escaped. When he saw you again, he smiled and floated over before picking you up and spinning and tossing you.

"Oh my little one! It's been too long! Now that I'm free I can be your papa again!" He says with manic joy.

You were afraid, you knew the truth know and knew that your papa was long gone. The group tried to save you, but you were taken when Shadow Milk disappeared into the Spire of Shadows.

It had been weeks since that day, you had a room that was a blue and black version of the room you once had years ago, just aged up.

You also met his new minions, Black Sapphire Cookie and Candy Apple Cookie. Candy Apple treated you like a dress up doll, doing your hair and picking your clothes. She made you call her auntie Candy Apple, even if you didn't want to.

"Stay still, I haven't finished brushing your dough yet!" She scolded.

Black Sapphire was like an annoying older brother. You couldn't say anything without him overhearing it. You started calling him uncle Black Sapphire, which he teased you about.

Now, you're stuck here, with the cookie who was once your whole but now became a monster and his henchmen. All you can do now, is how and pray to the Witches that the group who tried to beat the Beasts at the tree will come to save you.

[kxsagi]

haia! how r u? can I request were reader and shidou were at a bar, and reader gets like drunk so shidou carries them home. BUT the reader is like crazy drunk and doesn’t know it’s shidou who’s carrying them and start saying things like “my boyfriend (shidou) is really hot” “I love my boyfriend a lot” AND JUST LIKE CRAZY STUFF LIKE THAT. I don’t really send requests that much, but seeing how good ur work is I would love it if u took my request c: ITS OKAI IF U DONT ILL STILL READ AND LOVE UR STUFF

“𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞”

a/n: hiii! i'm good, how are you angel?

i HAD to do this request HOW COULD I NOT, IT'S SO CUTE!!! also thank you so much!!!

(art credits go to Shigeo_1102 on twt)

some suggestive content inside! 

you’re drunk. 

not tipsy. not giggly. you are obliterated. some mix of glowing cocktail and cheap shots and “let me try yours” has you in shambles, legs flopped over shidou’s arms like a noodle princess as he carries you out of the bar bridal style, ignoring every set of eyes on him. 

“hey,” you mumble against his chest, forehead pressed right above his collarbone. “i think i left my bones back there.” 

he sighs. “yeah, your brain, too.” 

“rude,” you slur, poking his cheek. “you’re so mean. how about we fight right now?” 

he doesn’t reply. he can’t, actually, because he's choking on his own laugh. 

you don’t even realize it’s him. your eyes are barely open and you’re holding onto him like a ragdoll, one arm loosely hooked around his neck, the other flopping dramatically every time he takes a step. he’s mostly amused. mostly. 

“my boyfriend’s gonna be so mad when he finds out some random guy carried me home,” you whisper, then giggle. “he’s super hot and scary and has this insane tongue piercing, that feels damn good in the bedroom, so good luck to you.” 

shidou blinks. 

“… is that so?” 

“yeah,” you hum dreamily. “he’s like… totally unhinged and i love him. one time he clocked a guy for looking at me. like nearly broke his jaw. full-on violent behavior. i almost cried. it was soooo romantic.” 

he adjusts his grip, lifting you higher up his chest because you keep slipping. your face squishes into his neck again. 

“he sounds toxic,” he says dryly. 

“maybe! but it’s sooo sexy,” you say, absolutely beaming now. “he looks like the kind of guy who’s been banned from multiple countries and– wait. wait. oh my gosh, are you the guy who’s carrying me?!” 

“you’re catching up fast, sweetheart.” 

you gasp. “you are shidou!” 

he gives you a flat look. “you just talked about me for ten minutes straight.” 

“did i?” your hand flies to your face, full of drunken horror. “i said the tongue piercing thing, didn’t i?” 

“you said a lot of things.” 

you groan and hide your face in his shoulder, whining, “forget everything! erase it from your mind! i was under the influence of tequila and cuteness.” 

“so i’m cute and scary now?” 

“you’re so scary. and so hot. and i love you so bad.” 

he kicks the door to your apartment open like a gentleman. 

“yeah, yeah,” he says. “i know.” 

“do you? do you really know??” 

he sets you down on the couch and you immediately flop face-first into a pillow. 

“i love you soooo much,” you mumble into the fabric. “you’re like. my little criminal boyfriend. i wanna take you to meet my mom. but not my dad, ‘cause he’ll get mad you pierced your tongue and dyed your hair and have multiple warning flags in FIFA.” 

he raises an eyebrow. 

“… you want me to meet your mom?” 

“obviously,” you scoff, rolling over to look up at him with the most lovestruck expression he’s ever seen. “she’d love you. you’re so pretty. she’s gonna say, ‘wow, he’s prettier than you.’ and i’ll be like ‘yeah, mom. i know.’” 

he stares at you for a moment. then bends down and kisses your forehead, soft. 

“sleep, psycho.” 

“okay,” you say. “but if i die, tell my boyfriend i love him.” 

he sighs again. “i am your boyfriend.” 

“right. duh.” 

a pause. 

“wait… you heard the tongue piercing thing?” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[facioleeknow]

The art of pleasure ch.6

Authority ° Lee Felix

When one girl in your class makes fun of you for being a virgin at a party, you are left distraught. It's only natural that you decide to whine about it to your best friend, Bang Chan; but he does more than lending a shoulder to cry on, he comes up with a solution. He and his 7 friends will help you and teach you all about the pleasure of the flesh. What could go wrong?

Genre: SMUT 18+ only, college AU WC:1.6k +

TW: experienced Felix, inexperienced reader, intercourse, cumshots, sub Felix, Felix cries, mention of safe word, first time domming, grinding

A/N, another chapter after less than a week?? I'm spoiling you guys ahah ;), I hope you like the chapter and I also have a super important announcement regarding the story so go to my blog and find out <3

Han scrambled up at the voices and rushed to pull his pants and underwear up before the door swung open violently.

“Hyung, we're naked, you can't just come in!” Hannie whined like a baby, he was the baby of the trio after all. Changbin tsked at him and Chan simply rolled his eyes, it wasn't the first time they were naked around each other and clearly wouldn't be the last. Meanwhile you laid on the table, front and cheek completely squished against it. The tiredness from the previous day had gotten to you, maybe having your first time and another fuck not even 12 hours apart hadn't been a good idea. Hyunjin had treated you so well that you were barely sore in the morning but Hannie had been very intense and you were sure you would feel it the day after. 

Cum started to sleep out of you and drip down your thighs but you were so tired, you just wanted to nap.

“Hey, baby, are you okay?” Chan's voice was soft, you had never heard such softness come from him even if he had always been nothing but wonderful to you. You hummed in response.

“Tired.” Chan giggled at your cute cheeks and droopy eyes.

“Let me clean you up, okay?” Another hum and then you heard shuffling behind you. A soft tissue came in contact with your soiled and puffy pussy and you immediately hissed at the touch and tried to scramble higher up the desk.

“Easy, baby, easy. I'm all done,” the tissue soon disappeared and was replaced by your soft panties and your shorts. Chan dragged a chair near you and then sat down, his legs spread enough to make room for you.

“Come here, baby, let's take a nap, yeah?”  

You didn't let him tell you twice because you all but jumped on him and attached yourself to his body like a koala. Napping with Chris was your favorite activity in the world. As soon as your head hit his shoulder, your eyes closed. The last things you heard were the two older boys chastising Han.

“I can't believe you didn't make her cum!”

“She said it was fine, hyung!”

When you woke up, you were in a different position, on the couch with a jacket draped over your middle. You felt warm and content. 3racha was still working in front of you, how long had you been asleep for? You patted yourself for your phone. 

“Chris?” Your voice was hoarse and tired. The three boys jumped in their seats at the sudden voice. Chan rolled close to you and studied your face as to find any sign of discomfort.

“Slept well baby?” His thumb gently drew circles on your warm cheek and you sighed and melted into the affection.

“Yes, very. Where is my phone?” Changbin, from behind Chan, handed you the device.

“Felix called and he texted, you should text him back,” Changbin had a naughty glint in his eyes, that could only mean one thing.

Felix was the only one of the boys that you were closer to, except for Chan. In all honesty, with all of his cuteness and kindness, the sunshine boy was very hard to dislike and you had no intention of trying.

Lixie:

Hey bubby, Binnie hyung told me you were sleeping, I wanted to know when you wanted to meet :D

You: 

Hey Lixie <3

Sorry I was pretty tired, I had a date with Hyunjin last night and one with Han this morning 

Lixie: 

Are you okay? Sore? :(

You:

A little but don't worry, sweet boy, nothing I can't handle

Did you have a time in mind already for the hangout? <3

Lixie: 

I was thinking next weekend, if it's not too early :D

You: 

It's perfect Lixie, I'll see you next weekend

Lixie:

Rest well, bubby <3

Getting ready for the date with Felix was easy. You felt comfortable around him since you were already friends and the only one of the boys you were friendly with, except for Chan. The fact that you knew what to expect from intercourse in general also helped you greatly, sex now wasn't this big mystery to you anymore, albeit you still had a lot to learn.

You knocked on Felix's door excitedly, this lesson was gonna be fun, you could feel it.

“Hey bubby,” Felix opened the door with one of the biggest and brightest smiles you had ever seen. He was so precious. The boy quickly pulled you into his room.

“So, on the list that Chan gave me it said ‘domming’. Do you want to talk more about that?” your voice was firm and determined, you were excited to try and uncover this new side of you and to feel new things physically.

“Oh, hyung told you already…” his voice was lower than usual. Your hand gently covered his small one and then squeezed, as to spur him on.

“Yeah, I like to not have control, I like to do what other people tell me to do,” his cheeks were dusted with pink and his eyes were round and sparkly, you wanted to eat him up.

“That's okay, I think I can do that, do you have a safe word?”

“Yeah, it's gold league,” he chuckled. Of course it was game related, typical Felix.

“Okay, do you want to play?” a wink from you sent the boy into a blushing and stuttering mess.

“Yes!”

“Put your games on then, bubby.” Felix looked at you confused, but still got up and sat down in front of his computer. Oh how you loved when a man did what you told him, you were starting to feel the thrill some women got from dominating. 

Right when Felix logged into League, you got up.

“Be a good boy, keep playing and let me have my fun, and maybe I'll let you cum at the end if I'm satisfied.” Felix looked at you with big round eyes, his bottom lip slightly jutted out and trembling. A small whimper escaped from his lips when you sat down on his lap, thick thighs on either way of his. 

“Don't hold back or I won't touch you at all.” Felix nodded frantically while still trying to play, he was trying to focus but his mind zeroed on how good your weight felt on his half hard cock. You placed small feather light kisses all over his neck and shoulders, he was wearing a tank top and you almost wanted to cheer at the choice; more skin more surface to play with. When your tongue came in contact with his pulse point on his neck, Felix whimpered and started trembling underneath you, his cock pushed against his short and you could feel it deliciously throb through your panties.

“Miss, please,” he looked and sounded like he was about to shatter but, like a good boy, he kept playing his game. Your hips started to grind harshly on top of his bulge, your clit caught on his zipper so deliciously that in a matter of moments your underwear was ruined by your slick.

“You like to call your girls ‘miss’, Felix?” A whimper and a nod, “what a naughty boy.” At your words a wet patch of precum started to form on Felix's shorts. He was probably close and so were you, both of you were extremely worked up. You needed him inside. 

With swift fingers you unbuttoned his shorts and pulled down his zipper. His cock stood proud in front of you, he wasn't as long as Hyunjin or as thick as Changbin and was even shorter than Han but you were sure he would feel good nonetheless.

“No underwear? Tsk, you're a bad boy.”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he sobbed, a fat tear rolled down his cheek but was swiftly caught by your gentle hand.

“Its okay baby, I like bad boys.” Without any other words, you pulled your panties to the side and sank down on him. Two equally pleased moans sounded in the room. Your hips started moving almost immediately, you were too impatient to wait.

“Baby why don't you stop playing your games now and start playing with my little clit? If you can make me cum before you, I'll give you a reward,” your voice sounded sickly sweet like you had never heard before, and Felix complied immediately. His short, small and warm fingers worked wonders on your swollen bud, he was skilled and liked pleasuring others. With how worked up you were and with how good Felix's cock felt rubbing your walls back and forth it didn't take too long for you to feel that familiar pressure start to build inside your guts.

“Oh, baby keep going, I'm so so close.” Felix's hand applied even more pressure to your poor sensitive clit and you came with a long keen. Your hips slowed down while you rode out your high and Felix whined at the change.

“Miss, miss, can I please cum now?” 

“Yes baby, whenever you want.” Your hips picked up the pace and increased it what to Felix seemed tenfold; you were so wet and warm and soft and smelled so good. Your voice was so nice and you took such a great care of him, he had to cum for you.

“Oh miss I'm coming, I'm coming.” You quickly pulled yourself up and off the chair. The front of your dress got shoved down impatiently by your clammy hands and you kneeled in front of your sweet boy.

“Why don't you cum all over me, baby boy?” A hand wrapped around his tiny dick and quickly began to jerk him off. Felix's hips lifted off the chair to follow the movement from your hand, his hands dug into the plush of the armrests. 

Soon white ropes of cum landed on your chest and face while Felix whimpered and thrashed in the chair. 

“Thank you miss,” the sunshine boy sent you a weak but bright smile and you cooed at the sight. 

“You're welcome, baby.”

“Can I pick my reward now?”

@kflixnet

[blue-jisungs]

MORE BOXER GUNWOOK I BEGGGGGGGGGGGG IM RIPPING MY HAIR OUT LOSING MY MIND RNNN

work out method

author's note. hehe you ask you shall receive!! also wrote it for @slytherinshua bc i enjoy making u lose ur mind :D

warnings. not a warning really but it’s specified it’s fem!reader that loves pink, lowkey a pilates princess if you will; violence mention n just,, its boxer gunwook so its related to that; sohee/jiwoong/hanbin cameo + slight jealousy. ALSO this is a continuation of this but it can be read separately c:

word count. 1429

“seriously?” jiwoong scoffed and halted his movement. gunwook used that to his advantage, landing a sharp punch in the older’s chest. 

only after doing that, he turned his head to where jiwoong was facing. 

and instantly a smile broke out on his intensely focused face dripping with sweat. 

“hi baby!” you yelled out and waved your hand. 

what jiwoong reaction meant was probably the ridiculousness of this situation (well, he always joked a bit about your relationship – gunwook being the violent boxer, and you being the embodiment of pink sunshine). 

your whole outfit was pastel pink, even your mat and water bottle. gunwook’s eyes also noticed the little bow on your tied hair.

“i hope i’m not interrupting! wookie said i could use the gym anytime so here i am. don’t mind me, boys” you hummed and gunwook felt jiwoong’s burning gaze on his face.

“’wookie’? seriously?” the older teased and came back to his fighting posture. 

“you’re just jealous, you’re single as fuck” gunwook grunted and also kept his stance, observing you with a corner of his eye. 

you were just putting on your pink headphones with hello kitty stickers on them. 

it was rather amusing, he had to admit. the image of you, all sweet and sugary in a pink outfit, in this obscurely messy (and probably stinky) place. filled with gym rats, and not a single hint of pink anywhere. 

“focus, park. i know you want to fly to your barbie doll like a puppy in love but you still have a training to finish” jiwoong hissed harshly, throwing a direct punch at his pupil. 

gunwook just grunted and ducked in the last second, keeping distance. 

but he couldn’t quite focus, to be frank. your sudden visit just made him so happy and he just wanted to have you in his arms and– 

wait. 

why is that guy approaching you? 

“snap back!” jiwoong raised his tone but only the punch landed on gunwook’s collarbone made him realize that. 

he took a few steps back from the impact, eyes glued to you. and sohee. 

this idiot. why did even hanbin bring him here? and why is he talking to you– 

a painful hit coming to a contact with his jaw. gunwook lost balance and fell on the floor with a slam, causing you to turn around. 

there was worry in your eyes, ready to approach him but he just shook his head and quickly stood back up. 

“jealousy is a disease, get well soon” jiwoong snickered and patted his back “go sort this guy out and come back. take that as a break, maybe then you will focus” 

gunwook sent him a boyish smile and left the boxing ring, hand glued to his jaw. 

“i saw that, my poor baby” you whined as soon as you saw him approaching and walked up to him, cupping his face. 

you took care of him many times, countless nights spent on bandaging and cleaning his wounds. 

gunwook melted upon your touch, the adrenaline rush coming off of him. then, he eyed sohee up and down. 

“don’t you have training to finish? where’s hanbin?” your boyfriend hissed and you just sent him a shocked look. 

“you’re younger than me, gunwook. stop bossing around” sohee frowned and crossed his arms “i was just being polite and said hello to your girl”

“exactly, my girl–” gunwook’s next words were muffled because you squished his cheeks roughly, preventing his lips from moving. 

“i apologize, sohee. wookie can sometimes be a little mean” you smiled sweetly and saw the amusement in the guy’s eyes.

“’wookie’?” he repeated with a mocking smile and shook his head “it’s fine, y/n. i’ll go back to training now, have a good one!”

you let gunwook’s face go and waved at sohee. before you could even register him waving back, gunwook placed a gentle kiss on your cheek. 

“hi” he grinned like an idiot, clearly happy that you two are alone now” 

“hi, mr boxer. how was your day? did you kick some ass?” you asked, tucking a strand of his hair away from his eyes. it stocked to his forehead because of the sweat but you weren’t grossed out. 

“mhm. jiwoong is gonna be all sore tomorrow” he hummed and adored your face. you looked so cute “do you need me to help you with warming up?” 

your brows shot up in surprise. 

“do you have the time? i’m pretty sure you were in the middle of–” you started and gunwook leaned closer, lips brushing against yours. his hands rested on your hips.

“grandpa can wait” he whispered, obviously having jiwoong in mind. 

you chuckled and pressed a soft kiss on his chapped lips. 

gunwook helped you stretch a bit at first, occasionally eyeing sohee angrily through the mirror on the wall. 

his hands were guiding you softly, gentle touches fixing your position. 

jiwoong looked at you two from the corner of the gym with an amused smile. 

“he acts so rough and rebellious but look at him, hearts in his eyes as he’s so careful with her” his coach cooed and hanbin, who was next to him, nodded. 

“they are such a cute couple” 

and it was true; gunwook used to be an illegal boxer, almost everyday risking his life for some adrenaline and underground fame. you knew about it but that didn’t stop your heart from hurting whenever he came home all bruised up. 

one day you two decided to put this to a halt: it was slowly eating your relationship alive. 

gunwook decided to become a professional boxer, seek legal training and slow down with the championships and weekly fights. 

he was rough, it was like second nature to him. but with you he was always gentle, as if scared to break you in half. 

one maybe wouldn’t notice but jiwoong, who has been training the younger for a while now, certainly saw it. not only now but in general, you had a good influence on him.

so why not let the kid goof around for a little longer before dragging him back to practice? 

“c’mon, five more” gunwook encouraged you and all of a sudden warming up became an actual training. 

he was gently holding your ankles, playful smile on his lips, as you were laying on the ground. you’ve already done twenty crunches but he knew you could do five more. 

“one crunch one kiss” you mumbled and he nodded with a grin. 

with such a motivation, you managed to pull up and met his lips halfway. erupting into giggles when you laid back, you couldn’t help but adore his smile too. 

“i think i might start using that method as well” gunwook clicked his tongue and you did the second one. 

“but you work out here, not at home. and im rarely here” you teased and your back met the ground again. “will you do it with jiwoong? or maybe sohee?”

“just hurry up and do the third one” he grunted and you did, pecking his soft lips. he spoke up after you pulled back “fair point though, i might just start warming up at home” 

you tried to catch your breath, your stomach muscles near giving up. 

“come on, two more” your boyfriend tilted his head, sneaky smirk on his features. 

you rolled your eyes and gathered your strength: with a swift move you moved forward, almost bumping into his nose. gunwook chuckled quietly and started drawing circles on your ankles with his fingers. 

“last one, baby. you’ve got this” he hummed, brown eyes shining with enthusiasm. 

and you did. with a dramatic groan you pulled back up and met his lips, this time kissing him a little more passionately. gunwook’s hand sneaked up and squeezed your knee, deepening the kiss. 

“gross, absolutely gross. and trust me, i have seen a lot taking place in this gym. chop, chop, wookie. back to training” jiwoong’s voice boomed above you and you pulled away, flustered. 

gunwook full on ignored his coach, though. he just kept staring at you with a wide smile. 

seeing you all blushing, in the place he couldn’t imagine his life without, doing what he loves… with you by your side. it was a good decision to give up illegal boxing. besides, he gets to see you more often–

“now” before gunwook realized, jiwoong was pulling him up by his shirt. 

“just go train and wrap up early. we can continue our training at home” you mumbled and saw his cocky smile before jiwoong dragged him to the ring again. 

masterlist <3

taglist. @slytherinshua ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @haecien ,, @stryroses

[dioslesbianwife]

Hehehe im so happy your reqs are back up😈😈😈

Can i ask for jofoes x reader who gets insane cuteness aggression from them?! like omg especially with pb dio, pucci and diego they all look like sopping wet cats at times and i want to bite large chunks out of them or grind them into dust,,, diego could have unmatched levels of moe if he tried like that is a face painted by the hands of god himself with watercolors activated by the tears of angels omfg but i digress <3

lol yesss diego is def the most beautiful jofoe imo, even if he's not my fav, u gotta give credit where credit is due hahaha i hope u enjoy and thank you for requesting ^^

Phantom Blood Dio

You see him lounging with his stupid dramatic pout, one boot propped up like he owns gravity itself, and something in your brain just SNAPS.

“Dio,” you whisper. “Dio, I’m going to chew your face off.”

He’s like, “...Excuse me?”

He gets so smug when he realizes it’s because you find him cute. You swear that just makes it worse.

His princely smirk, his wavy hair, his high-collared shirts- it activates something violent and primal in you.

“You look like a little Victorian babygirl. I’m going to fold you like a napkin.”

Dio: “I am a god.”

You: “You are a VICTORIAN VALENTINE. Get in my mouth.”

Stardust Crusaders Dio

He thinks he’s being all sultry and powerful, descending the stairs in those slutty boots with The World behind him.

You? You're gripping the couch cushions trying not to BITE him like a rabid dog.

“You look like a freshly bathed sphynx cat in mesh.”

“Do you know what it’s like being in love with a man who looks like a JoAnn’s mannequin trying to seduce me through interpretive dance?? I’m going to combust.”

Every little "WRYYYY" noise? It sends you into a rageful spiral of affection.

He lifts an eyebrow like he knows he’s pretty. That’s it. That’s what does it. You tackle him.

“Do that again and I will SLAM you into drywall like a goddamn cartoon character.”

Kars

This man… this sculpted, glowing bioluminescent jungle Barbie...

He swishes his perfect hair and you gnash your teeth.

“You’re not even real. You’re definitely CGI. Stop existing or I’m going to launch you into space- with kisses.”

He hums to himself while working on something else and your jaw clenches so hard it pops.

He tries to explain complex biology while posing and glittering like a Lisa Frank sticker.

You’re foaming at the mouth. You want to shake him like a ragdoll.

Yoshikage Kira

This man trims his nails. That’s all it takes. You black out.

He looks up over his stupid little tie with his perfect little hands and says, “Everything in its place.”

You: “I am going to peel your skin off and use it as a blanket. Affectionately.”

He thinks you’re insane. But also… he’s kind of flattered?

When you finally get your hands on his face, gently squishing his cheeks like dough, he turns red.

“Why are you like this,” he mutters.

“Because you look like a haunted paper doll and I’m in love with you,” you growl, shaking him gently.

Diavolo

He appears in your room all mysterious and edgy, hair drifting like a jellyfish and voice deep like a cryptid.

You scream. Not in fear. In AGGRESSION.

“You’re PINK. AND MYSTERIOUS. AND GOTH. I’m gonna BITE your TITS off.”

He tries to be serious. But then you lift him by the armpits like a naughty cat and make little mlem mlem noises at him.

You are the only person alive who has ever made Diavolo flustered.

“Put me down, you ludicrous gremlin- ”

“No. You are my sexy evil hamster. And I will bite you.”

Doppio

The king of cuteness aggression triggers.

He smiles? You scream.

He picks up a bug and talks to it? You shake uncontrollably.

“YOU ARE TOO PRECIOUS. TOO CUTE. I’M GONNA SMACK YOU WITH LOVE.”

He holds the phone to his ear with those wide, earnest eyes and you feel your soul LEAVE your body.

“I could take you apart like soft bread,” you whisper.

He doesn’t understand but he loves the attention.

“..Uh…. You okay there?” he asks one day. You die. You literally die.

Pucci

THE PIERCING GAZE. THE SAD CATHOLIC ENERGY. THE LUXURIOUS LASHES.

You see him praying in a sunbeam and just lose it.

“You look like a tragic anime nun who gave up everything to protect her girlfriend.”

“...Please be quiet.”

He tries to be composed and holy and pious, but you crawl across the floor like a beast to get to him.

“You’re the hottest wet cat I’ve ever seen. Get in the oven. I’m baking you into a pie.”

Pucci is baffled, but lowkey smug when you cling to his robes like a toddler with a blanket.

“I am a servant of God.”

“You’re God’s most edible little meow-meow and I’m going to devour you whole.”

Funny Valentine

He sits there with his grandpa coat, looking like George Washington’s pretty-boy great-grandson.

He takes a slow, thoughtful sip of bourbon.

You: shaking “You better watch yourself before I THROW you through a drywall. With love.”

He’s like, “...Is this some sort of custom I was…unaware of?”

“No. This is a YOU custom. You make me feel like an enraged teacup chihuahua.”

He honestly gets a little bashful when you call him cute. He’s not used to that.

You once threatened to fold him up like a paper fortune teller and keep him in your wallet.

Diego Brando

The WORST OFFENDER. You don’t even want to be this way but look at him. LOOK at him.

His smug little lip curl. His stupid perfect bone structure. His little sharp teeth.

“You are what Sanrio would design if they made a tsundere velociraptor.”

You try to stay normal and then he huffs and stomps off angrily and you fall to your knees like a churchgoer.

“Diego. I’m gonna punch you through a brick wall out of lustful rage. Stop looking like a BL manga cover.”

He gets flustered easily and it only makes it WORSE.

“Stop calling me babygirl.”

“Then stop being the MOST babygirl.”

Tooru

Looks like a perfectly curated sad boy Spotify playlist.

“You wanna act all awkward and sweet and soft and expect me NOT to chew your arm off like beef jerky? THINK AGAIN BITCH.”

He does one little guilty smile and you scream into a pillow.

“You are cotton candy dipped in betrayal and I want to compress you into a diamond.”

When he fake cries? When he apologizes with big sad puppy eyes?

You’re about to put him in a blender and sip him through a straw.

“Uh…are you okay?”

“NO. YOU LOOK LIKE A MANIPULATIVE BAKED SWEET POTATO AND I WANT TO DEVOUR YOU.”