#like. if you do the splits you look like you have broken yourself in half sjejejewkkeke

[luvether]

۫ ꣑ৎ . HIS ULTRAVIOLENT PROSE. mydei

summary, even with half-bitten pomegranates between tongue, teeth and heart, the prince of Kremnos tries to make amends with you.

mydei x gn!reader. mildly lovers to enemies. tension and arguments. hurt with comfort. mentions of arranged marriage and eloping (love this trope with him) soft and gentle mydei, might be ooc. lore-inclined city-state ceremonies. [2.0k wc]

It’s merely an alliance ceremony.

And yet here you were, being dressed in foreign silks and heavy accessories. Compared to your usual attires the fabrics are lightweight, enough for a cold rush to scrape your skin despite the torch lit by the corner of your room.

Your face must’ve betrayed you, for the maidens that attended to you murmured about it being part of Kremnoan traditions and that you had to endure it, only with such a solid statement do you deflate, settling stiffly and defeatedly on the chair, allowing them to continue their decorations on you, to peel you bare of your sea-state city garments and pool Castrum Kremnos‘ silk clothes, sandals and cape over you.

At this very moment, you looked like a raw and beguiling warrior, a far cry of what you truly were, an ignorant coward.

“You look beautiful.” A more elderly woman speaks from behind, you stare at her through the vanity.

“…I look like a fighter.”

“Are you not?”

You hesitate to answer her, biting your lip to prevent yourself from speaking something you might regret.

Are you still labeled a fighter after losing your city to Castrum Kremnos?

You were anything but triumph, you lost your kingdom, your pride, your people—and only this alliance union can salvage whatever scraps of glory you have left, it's the only thing you could do for your folks since you disappointed them as their leader.

The elder woman’s hand lands softly on your shoulder, despite such a gentle manner you cannot help the flinch from echoing through your bones. Your nails bury into your palms.

“I assure you, young one, that shame is the last thing Castrum Kremnos would dare to offer you and your city-state.”

She pauses.

“Our prince would not dare such a thing from you.”

You wanted to laugh, to cry and scream and ruminate frustrations. But you swallow instead, “I see.”

You did not utter another word after that. The maidens have left long ago and you pondered with your own thoughts, recounting the gradual yesterdays you spent mourning over fallen friends and a broken city. You recounted tidbit memories of the remaining council that pushed you for this alliance—forcing you to succumb and kneel towards the very people that took your everything.

After all, as the last remaining royal blood, that’s the least you can do.

The Kremnos’ heavy bells finally billow, and you inhale sharply.

“It’s time for you to step into the ceremony hall, lord.”

And you stand, your heart heavy with pressure. When you followed a counselor towards your destination, the older man gave you a quick rundown of certain rules and traditions you needed to adhere to, you half-listened to the convoluted rules until the very last statement that catches your attention,

“At the end of the blessings, you are to share a cup of pomegranate juice with the one you are to join alliance with.” he starts,

“In this case, you are to drink from the same cup with the representative of our city, Kremnos’ prince Mydeimos.”

His name is an echo through the shell of your ears, leaving a bitter aftertaste between your teeth. You stopped listening after that, until you both faltered at the end of the corridor.

Your heart is pounding in your chest when the large, looming doors split open, by now, the hall is packed and standing at the very front was the ceremony priest and Mydeimos himself, awaiting your arrival. When you step beside him on the podium, your gaze dare not shift towards the prince.

You let the withered voice of the priest wander you through the prayer, he lifts an iron chalice brimming with liquid as red as blood—you watch quietly as he lifts a smaller glass of honey, letting the golden liquid pool into the red cup before blessing the drink.

The priest turns to you, with a nod he beckons you to mirror the oath spoken. With parted lips, you follow along, pledging allegiance and alliance to Castrum Kremnos, “And with the glory of Strife and blood intertwined in allegiance with Castrum Kremnos, I, the succeeding lord of my city shall share the same devotion of valorous death before glorious return.”

You tilt your chin, lips pressed against the iron. The tangy yet thickly sweet taste of pomegranate rinses through your tastebuds. When the red liquid hits the middle line, you retract, turning towards the direction of the prince.

You look at him, only to find his heavy resin eyes already on you.

Mydeimos’ blank stare traces every bare action you do, and for a split moment you try to hold his weighty stare, trying to dissect his expression—trying to see what he thinks of the whole thing, and yet you find none.

You’ve dropped your gaze then, before extending the chalice in his direction. You slightly stir when you feel his fingertips brush your knuckles, you are quick to let go when he grabs ahold of the cup—too quickly.

How audacious, you cannot help but wonder when the priest speaks the same oath to him, Mydeimos recites it but his eyes never stray from you. Truly, he’s like a prowling lion assessing its prey.

There’s a prickling sensation of self-consciousness with such a look pinned on you.

“And with the glory of Strife and blood intertwined in allegiance with Castrum Kremnos, I, Mydeimos the succeeding prince of my city shall share the same devotion of valorous death before glorious return…” he rasps, then he downs the remainder within the chalice, his golden eyes still on you.

You cannot help yourself but settle your gaze on his exposed collarbones, laddering your way up the column of his neck where you watch the way his adam’s apple bobs at the swallow of the juice, a few clumsy droplets run down his jaw before he retreats and wipes it with the back of his hand.

The bells sound once, then twice at the successful union but your mind is a flurry of thoughts, though all of them stop at one concluding statement, you desperately need to get out of the banquet hall.

So when you’re finally released from your duties, instead of lingering and talking with the folks you spin around towards the exit. Nobody seemed to bat an eyelash at your hasty departure, nor was there anyone in the hallway outside which allowed you to break into a sprint—you don’t know where you’re going, quite frankly the layout of the city is still foreign to you, but you needed to get out of there.

At the fall of your impatient footsteps, you barely hear another set chasing after you.

Only until you feel larger hands gripping your waist do you stop.

“Where do you think you’re running off to?” You don’t need to turn to know who was speaking, the plates of his half-naked front are pressed hard against your back, it acted like a furnace almost.

“Unhand me.” You try to sound casual but it ends up in a bite. “This instant, Mydeimos—“

“And what?” He challenges back. “Let you run around like a headless goose until one of the counselors finds you? Do you wish for trouble that much?”

Instead of answering, you try to pry his hands around your waist. Your attempts are obviously futile however you are wracked with frustrations, fury and confusion. Your actions only fueled the prince’s impatience.

“Quit squirming—“

“Then let me go!” You try to glare at him. “I wish to be anywhere but in your arms right now—“

That must’ve struck a nerve.

Mydeimos’ grip on you only tightened, he pulls you towards an empty corner between the heavy flaps of curtains and presses you against the wall. His hand grips your jaw—but despite such a harsh action his hold on you remains feather-light, gentle.

His face draws close to your own, until you can feel his raspy voice on your cheek. At this distance, you can smell his scent of bonfire, tender smoke and something sweet, like pomegranates, he smelled awfully fruity.

“Says the one that wishes to marry me, isn’t that what you confessed to me months before?”

The jab brings heat to your cheeks, you lift your hand with the intent to slap him but Mydeimos captures your wrist before your palm could collide with his cheek. His thumb runs up from your wrist to your palm, intertwining your fingers together and laying it on the wall beside your head, his bangs brush your forehead, face so, so close that if you tilted your head your lips would be brushing his own,

“You wanted to elope with me.” Mydei tells you. “Have you forgotten? Or do you wish for me to tell you the exact words you told me that day.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, this was before my city was attacked by your warriors!”

The tension hangs gauche, the silence between the two of you almost unbearable. The man before you sighs heavily, “There are a handful of things that are at my disposal, even with the title of prince—the issues of prophecies is something I cannot control.” Mydei soothes a thumb over the pulse in your wrists.

“You of all people are aware of this fact.” he pauses. “Or maybe you weren’t, after all the sea-side states are nonbelievers, you and your people don’t revere the Titans, only the arithmetics and logarithms of the world.”

“You're right, I wasn’t.” You snap. “I did not know Castrum Kremnos was prophesied to destroy my home, Mydeimos. If I had known, I wouldn’t have uttered such preposterous words to you, I was made out to be an ignorant fool because of it.”

Mydeimos’ whole demeanor takes a polar shift, you’re unsure why those eyes had melted like butter, was it your shaky voice, the pitiful wallow in your tone? Or did he truly feel an ounce of empathy for your situation?

“You're not an ignorant fool.” He lets go of your wrist but his body remains pressed up against your own, despite the position his body heat grounded you, especially with his follow up of, “to me, you’re the wisest person I know. A leader with a heart of gold, I apologize for causing you so much agony and for being unable to aid you when you need it most.”

He takes your hand, smearing his lips against your knuckles. “I wish to make amends with you but if you hold such vengeance in your heart—” he tugs your wrist, digging your fingers to his chest just above his heart. “You can scratch my heart out and kill me, stab me in the back for as long as you want if it means your desires would be satiated, then so be it.“

“…Mydeimos.” To say you were shocked was an understatement.

He softly bumps his forehead with your own. “Do you hate me, kardia mou?”

This was the very reason why you fell for him, the prince from the city of warriors. Despite the harshness of his textures and tones, when it came to you, he was honest and open. Those universal stone-cold expressions fissure as soon as he sees a glimpse of you in the distance. He spoke in uncharacteristic gentleness and his fleeting skinships sent butterflies within your chest. You cannot be angry with him, much less hate when he acts like this.

You feel him interlace your fingers, weaving his own with yours. Then he leans down once again, pressing his lips against the corner of your mouth, the intent of apology willing to spill from the nonexistent gaps between the two of you. “I’m sorry.”

Your eyes turn glassy. Maybe it was due to Mydeimos’ comfort that every drowning pressure that you’ve bottled up comes cracking at the seams.

A sob spills between your lips.

“I don’t hate you, Mydei.” Your voice trembles when he tips your chin towards him, brushing his thumbs over the tear staining down your cheeks. “Truthfully, it is I that I loathe the most, not you—never you.”

“So please, never say that I find thrill in killing you.”

Mydei’s hand comes tangling through your tendrils, you weep on his collarbones, his woody scent engulfing you in comfort.

“I’m so sorry.” He repeats. “I’ll never speak of such a thing to you, so cease your cryings, my love.”

[magicalmutants]

I’m All Run and You’re All Fight

Two years

You knew what day it was as you lay awake in bed. You knew it was the middle of the night, that if you turned and looked at the clock, it would say 3:45am. Wide awake thinking about him. You wonder if he thinks of you too.

It had been two years since you had been roused from a fitful sleep to be told that your world was fissuring into something broken and ugly. You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to block out the memory.

“He’s gone. Wiped out the whole village. He’s not coming back.”

You sit upright as you hold your head in your hands. Trying to shove those memories back into the little box you contain them in somewhere in the back of your mind. Somewhere where they couldn’t hurt you. Breathing shakily, you reach into your nightstand and pull out the pack of cigarettes and lighter you keep there and climb out of bed to pad softly over to your window.

You hold the cigarette between your lips as you light it, the harsh taste of burning tobacco filling your mouth. You wrinkle your nose, always forgetting how much you despised this brand. But menthols taste like kisses and summer and a life you’re desperate to forget. These will have to do.

“Here, since you’re so desperate to follow Shoko to an early grave. Try one of these, they kinda taste a little better,”

“You smoke them too! Besides what if I like these ones?”

“You don’t. You always pull a face.”

So much of who you are is an amalgamation of everyone you’ve ever loved. The way you take your coffee because that’s just the kind that Shoko brought for you when you were exhausted from studying. The way you still cut your hair the way that celebrity you idolized when you were a teenager used to cut hers.

But so much of you had been shaped by him. His ghost always floats in the corner of your eye, just out of reach. You’ve buried him, feeding the corpse that you stuffed full of memories to the night inside your heart. A cold place. A dark one. A dead one. And still he persists, still he lingers in the shadowy reaches of your sense of self. The parts that are jagged and bleeding from how hard you’ve tried to sever them off. They say the body holds memories that the brain forgets, and if you could peel back your skin and go bleeding, raw and bloodied into the world, vile and unrecognizable, you think you would. You would forget yourself and become something entirely different; something entirely separate from him. Could you still be yourself if you replaced every single part of your soul that he had touched? At what point was the ship of Theseus no longer the Argo when every part of it had been replaced?

_____________

Suguru loved watching you when you were like this. Pretty frown on your face as you tried to block out the memories he knew were trying to break through the prison where you had confined them. Here is where you were different: he let them wash over him, relishing in the pain they caused him. He loved the way it felt to miss you. The chest-splitting feeling that made it hard to breathe and brought that lump to his throat that he sometimes hoped would suffocate him. The nausea at the feeling of some cavernous, gaping hole in his soul, somewhere where his heart would be. The anxiety that he felt, knowing he could never fill it. His torment and your pain were the thorns that decorated the crown on his head. The halo that left him scratched and bloody.

He watched as you swore, he could almost hear the whisper of your voice on the wind as you put out the half smoked cigarette and threw it out the window before slamming your fist into the frame.

There you were.

His violent girl.

Suguru had always been in awe of how easily violence came to you, and how hard you tried to hide it under your soft spoken words and tender smiles.

He remembered the first mission you had ever gone on together in your first year, teeth bared in a snarl as blood dripped out of your nose.

He remembered the moment he noticed the flash in your eyes as the corner of your lips ticked upwards into something that looked more like a smirk.

He remembered how divine you looked as blood and gore flew around you, the air seeming to crackle as you danced at the epicenter of a terrible storm of death and cursed energy. Goddess of rage and terror. Goddess of beauty, because after all, how could you know beauty without knowing terror?

And he remembered how suddenly you stopped. How your eyes softened and you asked if he was okay. How you had sounded almost bashful.

“Where have you been hiding that?”

“Don’t be stupid,”

“Why are you embarrassed? You were beautiful,”

Maybe you were destined to be a perfect paradox. Suguru walked a path of violence, forcing step after step, knowing each one made the rot inside him fester a little more. You tried to bury violence deep inside you to quell the rage that had threatened to consume you all your life, burning up your insides and begging to be let out.

Two sides of the same coin, two people with the same curse, wasn’t it Shakespeare who said these violent delights had violent ends?

Your head snapped up and Suguru felt the blood freeze in his veins as your eyes seemed to lock directly onto him.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Is that what you think of me?”

“I don’t think of you,”

“I do. I think of you every minute of every day,”

“Is that supposed to make me feel something?”

“You might not understand, but I’m doing this for you. I’m saving us, all of us,”

“Ha. And when you’re done saving everyone, and all you’re left with is whatever stares back at you from the mirror, Suguru, who will save you then?”

He remembered the torment in your eyes as the violence you spent your life concealing threatened to burst forth, he caught some of it in the harsh sound of your laugh as you spat venom at him.

He still didn’t have an answer for you. When all was said and done, and his hands were covered in blood that he could never wash off, and the decay that putrefied his insides befouled the rest of his body, and all he was left with were the words of his mother and the cold look in your eyes, what would he do then? Saviors had always suffered their torments, but he was no saint. The devil walked by his shoulder and forced his mouth open every time he consumed another curse and guided his fist every time his knuckles split against another face.

Crack.

You had closed your window and gone back inside. Suguru took a deep breath and tried to mask his disappointment with smugness. You still loved him, of that he was sure. So he would come back next year to make sure, and perhaps one day you wouldn’t slam the window closed when you sensed his cursed energy. Perhaps one day you would confront him. Perhaps one day you would finally let loose the fire of the rage that you had always used to cleanse foul things. Perhaps one day he would be worthy of being purified by it. Suguru had once dreamed of getting down on his knees and asking for a life with you. Would it not be so much sweeter to die at the feet of the only person who had seen flowers grow where he saw only rot?

A/N: concepts of this have been floating around my drafts ever since I screamed with @gothsuguru about Ethel Cain (ty for matching my freak Kairo <3) and tonight I finally had the time to finish it ! A very late happy new year to you all, my loves, I hope you’re looking after yourselves <3

[daddy-ul]

spaccata translation is The Splits

Now that I read the term my brain went "ah!!! I knew it!" Sjsjsjsjs thanks for reminding me, soph.

But for real, I love especially when he does it to place himself in front of a mic. And I'm like, dude, YOU are the singer, why do you have the mics positioned that way???? But apparently he is comfy playing that way sjsksksk singing halfway through a split, best diaphragm position am I rite?

[tonycries]

We Don’t Have No Babies!

Synopsis. Well, it’s a bit difficult to have no babies when they’re well and fully intent on fúcking one into you.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, bréeding, mentions of kids, máting press, pússydrunk boys, manhandling, marking, spitting, degradation, praise, cúmplay, the elders ugh (Gojo’s), some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.9k

A/N. WHEWW take this as an apology gift for missing yesterday’s post date, I overslept eheheh.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - What’s another?

“Don’t hah- pass out on me yet, doll.” Toji hisses. Spreading your swollen folds further apart with his fingers, already stretched so obscenely around his swollen cock, and only trying to squeeze deeper. “What was it that brat said again?”

And you can only let out a broken whine in response - too high off the stretch and the utterly sinful pool of his cum spreading on the sheets below. It’s been like this for hours now, both of you barely lucid at this point. But you can’t bring yourself to be disgusted, not even a little bit. 

Because Toji’s throwing your legs over his shoulders, pressing down, down, down, till your knees were at your tits. Folded in half, and stuffed full beneath him. God, you weren’t going to make it out alive. 

“Oh, riiight.” he drags out, voice strained. Deceivingly innocent had it not been for that devilish grin. “He called you ‘mama’.”

And there it was - Megumi’s tiny, seemingly mindless slip-up that got you into this mess in the first place. One that had poked some raw, primal part of Toji so dangerously awake.

The one that had Toji splitting you in half with his aching cock, hips pressing so hard against yours that it almost hurts. Fucking into you in slow, languid motions of his hips, while he drinks in your sobbed out little, “Ah- Hngh- Toji, s’too much I-” 

Lazily, he thumbs open your folds even more, watching in awe at the way his seed dribbles and oozes down your thighs, seeping into the mattress. It takes him a while to form the words, too hazy from how warm and sloppy you were inside. 

“Too much?” he drawls, with the audacity to sound genuinely taken aback. “I don’t think it’s enough, ma.”

It’s the only warning you get - barely - before he laces his fingers on top of your head to take him deeper, snapping his hips harder. Sloppier. Sensitive cock stinging with sensitivity, balls squeezing painfully. It hurt, but it hurt so good. And Toji wasn’t even sure if he could cum again. But he was milking his cock on your pussy like he was gonna fill you up until he physically couldn’t anymore.

“B-but m’so full.” you babble, mouth dropping into a fucked-out little oh! as you look down at the way you were swallowing him up so well. “Dunno if I can’t hngh- t-take anymore.” 

Oh shit, had he said that out loud? Ah, who gives a fuck. Because Toji was chuckling in surprise, stuck on the way you could still form coherent sentences - he had to fix that, of course. 

“Shhh. Don’ worry about it. Jus’ need to fill you up- ah, fuck a baby into ya, ma.”  he gently kisses away those big, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. “All you gotta do is sit there all pretty n’ take- it-” 

Hand snaking down to toy with your swollen clit - frenzied, barely-circular motions just to get you off. Because shit he can’t just stuff you full of his cock without getting the mother of his future kids off, right? And he let you know, of course. Maybe he was whispering sweet nothings in your ear - probably it was just promises of how he was gonna fill your pretty lil’ cunt till morning comes and Megumi was gonna be the best big brother and-

“-m’gonna make ‘em breakfast. And you’ll dress ‘em up. We’ll read oh- them bedtime stories and-” he’s babbling so pathetically into the crook of your neck now. “-an’ tuck ‘em into bed- Oh, fuck fuck fuck.” Drunk off your pussy and the heavenly feeling of his heavy balls squeezing so dangerously, letting his hips go out of control now. “And then- hngh, and then-”

“T-then what?” you let out such cute sobs into his open mouth, seeing stars behind your eyes each time he ravages you.

“Ya really wanna know, ma?”

Somehow, his words have you squeezing around him so good. Enough that it’s almost difficult to move inside you. Enough that Toji doesn’t even realize that he’s cumming and cumming so hard that you’re bloated with his seed. Squelching out of your quivering pussy and soaking his cock as he doesn’t even think of stopping even as you keen at your poor overfilled pussy, teeth latching onto your earlobe as he holds you still for him. 

“And then…” Toji’s hot breath fans your face, voice guttural and sounding like he was losing a little bit of his sanity with each thrust. Hips moving again and again to fuck his cum deeper into you. “And then m’gonna fuck another one into you.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Lonely? No problem!

“Aww, m’sorry. Did I make you feel lonely, my love?” Kissing your lips softly, running his hands all over the pretty lil’ lace covering your body - just barely, of course. “Did I leave my pretty lil’ wife all alone in this big house?” 

You give him a pouty little nod, and oh does that do something to Nanami’s heart - and his achingly hard cock. And he can’t help but pull the drenched fabric of your panties further to the side, greedily honing in on the way you glisten and clench around him. 

“Well, we should fix that, right? So that my pretty baby is never alone in here.”

You would be reassured by his answer - had it not been for the way Nanami doesn’t even wait for your reply. Instead, looking straight into your eyes while he pushes his thick cock deeper inside you. Not even fucking preparing you as he usually would.

“Oh! Oh, mm fuck-” And it’s all you can do to buck into his touch and just fucking take it while he grunts at the slight resistance. For once in his life more concerned about trying to fuck desperately into your dripping cunt than whether or not your poor pussy would hurt herself trying to take him. 

That merciful, practical little part of his brain going slow to let you adjust to his massive cock - because, well, he couldn’t break the mother of his future children. Now, could he?

But oh how you’d beg to differ with the way Nanami fucks into you in languid , shallow grinds of his hips. No matter how many times Nanami stuffed you full of his cock - his size never failed to disappoint. Stretching you out, fingers swiping at your clit, expertly grazing against all the right spots he knew so maddeningly well. 

“Two or three?”

It takes you a second to register that he’s waiting for your answer - too delirious with the way your husband’s splitting you apart deeper and deeper on his cock. Leaving neat crescents of his nails on your hips as he holds your slutty pussy still. 

“W-what?”

“Two or three?” Nanami gives your pulsing clit a little smack! as if to get your attention, hips stuttering ever-so-slightly at the way you squeeze his thick cock in surprise. “How many babies am I fuckin’ into you, my love?” 

Oh. Oh, shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

But were you really complaining? No.

Swallowing thickly, “Ah! Fuck, Kento- wan’ two.”

And maybe you’re a mastermind, maybe you’re an idiot. Because nowhere is the gentleman that you married, Nanami’s spitting on your quivering cunt once. Twice. Watching like a predator stalking his prey at the way it misses - purposefully, splattering against your inner thigh.

Smearing it all over your pussy and your panties - which he was too impatient, too starved - to remove. Messy. 

It’s all Nanami needed to do before he’s bottoming out completely. Pressing his forehead against yours in such a sweet motion, even though his hips were so mean. Drinking in your delirious whines as his heavy balls smack your ass. Over and over-

The duality making your head spin as he fucks his cute lil’ wife dumb, part of his sanity dancing away with his restraint every time your slutty hole sucks him up so deliciously. 

“Shit. More?” he grunts, sounding absolutely wrecked. Moaning at the way you tug at his hair, legs wrapping around his toned waist as if to urge him to go faster. Deeper. Begging. Begging him to ruin you. More more more- 

And, of course, what his girl wants - she gets. Because Nanami’s dragging his weeping tip across your swollen folds, all the way out till he’s collecting your sweet juices on his head. “Better take it like my good wife then.”

Then he’s pushing and pushing inside your tight pussy, but not like he was before. Jagged, desperate grinds of his hip - no adoration, no warmth. Just fucking you like his little slut, high off the idea of fucking his cum into you till you couldn’t walk. Till you were so full of him that he’s all you could think of. “We’ll have such beautiful babies, my love.” 

“Shit shit shit, Kento- yer gonna ruin me-” you’re whining, body torn between arching into Nanami’s unforgiving cock and running away. 

As if you ever had a chance - he was holding you so bruisingly by the hips, gasping into your mouth. “Shhh, that’s the point.”  Fucking you so filthy, each word punctuated by his out-of-control hips, so harsh and unfocused with lust that those tufts of blond at his base scratch your sensitive nub. And the feeling is so fucking obscene that you barely hear the words that follow. “You jus’ focus on taking care of my babies, n’ m’gonna be the one to ruin this pretty cunt- The one to fill you up- fuck. ”

Nanami throws his head back as you squeeze the soul out of his throbbing cock, so pent-up and needy that you’re creaming all over his cock already. And of course, Nanami isn’t any better - because with a strangled groan of your name, he’s cumming. Hard. almost painfully so. 

“N’ you’ll never be lonely, cuz everyone’s gonna see you and see me. I did that.” 

Jolts of electricity going all the way from his heavy balls to the thick, hot ropes of cumming filling your dripping pussy. Painting it all a desperate, desperate white.

And shit was Nanami an entirely different man tonight. Pulling out ever-so-slightly, only to admire his seed gushing out of you - so lewd and his. 

“Y’know what, my love, I don’t think two will be enough after all.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Pretty (and his)

“Awww, pretty baby.” Geto purrs, in such a dangerously low voice, smacking his tip - so red, and angry - all across your swollen folds. He bites his lip at the way his cum spills down your legs, pooling onto the hardwood floor with a deafening tap! tap! tap! “Y’want it so badly, huh?”

“Shit- hngh- please!”

You don’t know what you’re begging for - maybe release. Maybe mercy. Maybe to be anywhere but here - shoved against the wall right beside the front door, dress hiked up, almost your way to go clubbing with your friends before your beloved boyfriend had caught you. And stuffed you full of his cum, at least.

Whatever it is, Geto only gets messier, teasing your sloppy hole by slamming in - just barely grazing that one spot. And pulling out completely, watching you clench and glisten in the dim lighting. In. And out. In and out in and-

“Sugu!” you squeal, tired of the way he was having way too much making such a mess of your pussy. Swiping at your slick, and shoving his seed back into you - smirking at the obscene mess. 

“Mhm?” he nods absent-mindedly. Eyes flitting between your ravaged pussy and that absolutely adorable pout on your lips. Chuckling, “What~? If I cum in this cute pussy one more time, you’re sure to get pregnant, y’know.” 

Scoffing, “Shoulda thought of that when you came inside me the first time.”

Geto rolls his thumb over your sore clit - just as a little punishment - breath hot against your ear as he whispers raggedly.  “And are you complaining, gorgeous?”

“N-no…” 

“Then?”

He’s licking little circles at the crook of your neck now, in time with the maddening, frenzied patterns on your cunt. Enough friction to keep those pretty lil’ whines spilling from your swollen lips, but still teasing you just enough to have you bucking and keening onto his aching cock for more more more-

“Please! I jus’ want your cock, Sugu-”

All it takes is your broken little whimper, and it’s like something snapped - because Geto’s plunging into your plushy walls completely. Finally giving you an ounce of that friction you’ve been craving for so long. Only half the man he was once before while fucks into you deliriously. 

“F-fuck. Love it when you’re so messy f’me.” he’s hissing lowly, as if you could be anything but messy. As if he’s not pulling you back by the hair to bounce you like some slut, hips snapping mercilessly. As if he isn’t absolutely ruining you.

And maybe if you were in any better state of mind you’d have said something about the pure disrespect in his cock. Fucking you nothing like the sweet sweet whispers he was muttering in your ear, ragged and hoarse with desire.

“Gonna fill you up, huh? Give me some cute lil’ babies?” he groans,nibbling on your earlobe, fingers pressing down around your throat so the only response he gets are wet gurgles. Ones that go straight to his twitching balls, as Geto keeps running his mouth pussydrunk. “They better have your personality, don’ wanna share my pretty girl. Isn’t that right?”

So mean. Just babbling like you rarely get to see him - usually the ever-graceful Geto Suguru. Now, drunk on your tight pussy and the image of you with a little baby with black hair and him - there for it all. His perfect little family. 

“Gonna be the perfect momma, huh?” 

Geto only gets a broken little whimper in response - one that almost makes him want to go easy on you. Almost, instead, he settles for breathing out a ragged, “Fuck fuck fuck, yeah, gorgeous. Squeeze me s’tight like that - jus’ like that jus’ like that-” 

Trailing such a delicate finger up your legs, Geto pools that sinful mixture of your slick and his cum on his fingertips - before shoving them unforgivingly in your mouth. The slightly salty taste was so addictive on your tongue - and, hell, you aren’t even mad that you’re running late to meet your friends.

Smirking as you gag and mewl around him, he only gets sloppier. Faster. Licking a long, languid stripe up your neck, just knowing that he’s gonna cum inside your cute pussy harder than he has his whole life. Have your poor pussy bloated with him him him- “Now, yer gonna go to that lil’ party of yours jus’ like this. And everyone’s gonna know who you belong to.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Can’t help himself

“N-no, swear-” Choso lets out a broken little whimper into the crook of your neck. Feet flat on the bed, hips bucking up mindlessly over and over to where you were splayed out so prettily on top of him. So messy and dripping all over his glistening cock. “Gonna ngh- be the last one- I s-swear.”

You’ve heard this broken little mantra before - and you knew it wouldn’t end well for your poor pussy. Especially not with Choso bullying his weeping cock back into your snug cunt. “But, Cho!” you gasp, “We’re out of-”

He knows you’re out of condoms. But, really, does it matter?

Because shit were you like the gates of heaven spread wide open for him. And, well, here he was - completely pussydrunk, two rounds and a still rock-hard cock later. The only thing on his mind from then on was to not paint your pretty pussy white with his seed, no matter how much he wanted do. 

“Last time, baby. Promise I won’t cum inside.” And then he’s batting this long lashes so unfairly up at you. So fucking beautiful with his dark hair untied, lips swollen, eyes-half-hooded and miles away. And, well, how could you say no to that?

And you’ve barely gotten out your delirious little nod before Choso’s wrapping two strong arms around your waist, pulling you so intimately closer like he worshipped you - while he fucks your hot cunt like anything but. So hard that you knew it would leave marks - your nails on his chest, his balls on your ass, fingers on your waist. 

God, you were squeezing so desperately around him and he just thinks he might just cum right then and there. So fucking perfect that Choso knows he’s never buying another box of condoms ever again. 

“F-fuck, feels s’good. Love having you so deep n’ messy inside me.”

You were going to be the death of him.

“Hngh- fuck fuck fuck, yeah? You like that, baby?” he groans lowly. Abs burning and flexing each time he rams his cock into your tight pussy, absolutely loving the way you were leaking his cum all over the sheets. 

“Shit- I-” 

“Yes, Cho~?”

Face burning in embarrassment, choking pathetically on his words, Choso instead lets his hips do the talking. Strained whimpers of your name leaving him each time he bullies his painfully twitching cock through your plushy walls.

Voice cracking almost-embarrassingly at the end as he rambles, “Oh my god- y’feel so fucking good wrapped around me, baby. Wanna- hngh-” Trying his very best to sound like every cute lil’ whimper didn’t make his thoughts steer into the dangerous territory of how pretty you’d be with his kid. Of a little girl with dark hair and your eyes and-

You. His hips speeding up now, so sloppy with now rhyme or rhythm. How round and glowing you’d be with his kid. You, how everyone would know that he was that ruined your pretty pussy n’ got you this way. You, you, you-

“Wanna cum in this cute pussy, baby.” He finally confesses. Hips getting so messy - mindless, quick little jabs that have you keening on top of him, balls squeezing painfully. “Wanna fill y’up until you can’t take it anymore, fuck you so full until we have a pretty baby. Can I, baby? Please don’t say no please please-”

And at this point all you can do is whine and buck your hips to meet his merciless cadence, letting Choso crane his neck and kiss you senseless. “Fuck yeah. Thought you’d never ask-” you mutter, muffled around where he was sucking on your lips, like they were his favorite candy. “Want you to cum inside me, Cho.”

Well, you didn’t need to tell Choso twice because no sooner have the words left your lips before he’s giving you one harsh thrust. Veins throbbing against your gummy walls, again and again. 

Tears pricking his eyes as he cums with such a guttural grunt of your name. “Gonna have a pretty lil’ girl.” Both white-white pleasure and the image of you and him and his daughter flashing behind his eyes. “She’ll look just as beautiful as you, baby. N’ have your cute smile.”

Your own orgasm is nothing more than a few tingles, overstimulated and limp on top of Choso as stuffs you full of his seed. Thick, white ropes that gushing all the way out of your snug pussy, smearing all over his twitching balls. 

You could get used to this.

And it’s such a heavenly feeling that Choso barely registers his hips moving again, as if on instinct. Fucking mindlessly into you again. Again and again. Gasping, breath hot against your ear. 

“Only one more, baby. Promise.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - A reward

“F-fuck, woman” Sukuna grunts, fingers so bruising on your hips as you slide down his throbbing erection. Inch by fucking inch, keening at the delicious burn. “Y’act so innocent but you’ve got such a slutty lil’ pussy, huh?”

As expected, the only response he gets is an incoherent babble of agreement. Your eyes watering, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth as you struggle to take him. And his sharp eyes narrow in amusement at the sight of his painfully inexperienced consort’s pretty cunt sucking him up so eagerly. Hips stuttering and leaking your sweet, sweet so sloppily juices all over his thighs.

Humans were always such interesting little creatures.

“Tch.”

Slow ones, too, apparently.

Because immediately, Sukuna’s stuffing himself into your sloppy pussy as far as it would go. Groaning at the resitance, a large hand pumping his cock slowly - enticingly - as he fucks his hips in quick, shallow little thrusts, just to fit himself inside your snug cunt. 

And you needed to breathe in and out maybe, relax your plushy walls, but Sukuna wasn’t going to wait. Why would he? He had his favorite woman - not that he’d ever let you know - sat on his lap, legs spread so shamefully and bouncing on his thick cock.

“F-fuck.” his jaw falls slack ever so slightly, groaning at the feeble resistance against his massive cock. Still only half-inside you but still pushing relentlessly. “S’like your pussy was made f’me, brat. Milking me so well.”

“Shit shit shit- hah- ‘Kuna, feel s’good-” you gasp, thighs quivering with the pressure to meet his rough cadence. And Sukuna huffs out a low laugh at your audacity to call his name, feeling charitable enough today to forgive this transgression. 

Instead toying with your pretty clit, pinching and rolling between his thick fingers, loving the way you buck and squeal his name. 

“Hmm, feels good?” he hums dangerously, amused at your barely-lucid little nod. Fucking into you like his personal fucktoy - his favorite one. “Good ‘nough to give me an heir?”

At this your eyes snap open - but not for long because you just have to screw them shut again with Sukuna finally bottoming out in a quick, harsh thrust. Splitting you apart deeper and deeper on his cock, veins throbbing a maddening little bump! bump! bump! matching your heartbeat. 

You barely have the time to breathe out a sigh of relief before he’s fucking into you. Unforgivingly. Like the monster he claims to be. All the blood draining into his achingly dick at the idea of fucking his cum into you until you couldn’t walk. 

And he tells you - chuckling at the cute lil’ ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time his fat head hits your cervix. “Y’want that, my little slut? To be my cute plaything to breed? Help m’make the next king of curses?”

Fuck, you don’t know if you’re reeling more from the way he was ramming his cock into you or the way he was talking to you in that mean little tone. 

“Mmm- yes! Yes yes yes!”

“Use your words.”

“Wan’-” you hiccup, batting your lashes at him so tearily, in a way that makes Sukuna’s heart thump so strangely. An uneven little beat matching the led rhythm of his hips. “Wan’ your cum- gonna give you a kid.”

So cockdrunk and delirious, you barely register the way he wrestles your arms behind your back, using it like leverage to bounce you harder and harder on his cock. Only looking up at him with such cute lil’ heart eyes as Sukuna uses you as he pleases. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck yeah?‘ he gasps into your open mouth. Teeth latching onto the crook of your neck, biting down right over your pulse. Dangerous. “Gonna make me an heir so powerful. Have him treat you like a queen n’ kill everyone that doesn’t? Ya like that, my lil’ slut?”

“Shit- ah- I want that s’bad, ‘Kuna.”

Knock! Knock! Knock!

And oh how pretty you look, cunt clenching and all surprised at the knock on the door - some lowly human here to beg for their life, maybe. But it doesn’t matter, because Sukuna’s only licks away the big, fat tears streaming down your cheek, hips burning while he breeds you like some animal. Hard, and almost violent.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same, breathless and shaking on Sukuna’s lap while he fill you with his hot seed. Thick and intoxicating. Hips unstopping, just animalistic little movements from such a carnal part of himself. Over and over-

And you’re so fucking drunk off of your lord’s cock that you barely even realize when he’s thumbing your ravaged cunt open. Letting his cum drip all the way down to his gaudy throne, on full display for whoever was about to-

“Come in.”

It’s adorable how you try to scramble off his lap, trying - and failing - to cover yourself up as the door cracks open. 

“Not yet, woman.” Sukuna grasps you in an iron-hold grip, dangerously sharp nails tethering right at your throat and your hips. Starting to drag you up and down on his swollen cock once more with no concern or care for whoever was about to enter. “Gotta make sure it takes.”

It was filthy. 

Completely debauched. And exactly where you wanted to be. You and your lord - and maybe your future heir, too.

♡ GOJO SATORU - Give ‘em what they want!

“Hah- f-fuck imagine- Imagine I fucked the next s-strongest into you right now.”

Oh. 

You knew by the look in his eyes that something was off - that something hadn’t gone well in that meeting with the elders. Really, it was a miracle he attended in the first place, but somehow you had an inkling that this was the type of something that would have you needing a miracle.

That was three hours ago.

And fuck did you need a miracle - because Gojo had you splayed out on top your office desk, his cum spreading in a pool beneath, you throbbing cock stuffing in and out of your snug cunt while you try not to alert the entirety of Jujutsu High about how needy the great Gojo Satoru was being right now.

Gojo’s ramming his swollen dick into your poor, overstimulated pussy like he was drunk off the sight of you all cockdrunk and in a tight mating press. Moaning at the sting of painfully hard erection twitching inside you, and your nails running down his back. 

Not even bothering to let you adjust this time before he’s fucking you again and again and-

You think it’s a bit unfair, really. Because who were you against the strongest? Well, the pretty lil’ wife who’s going to give him his successor, apparently. 

“Shit- wouldn’t that be funny?” he lets out a humorless laugh, wrestling your legs further and further apart. Eyeing the way you suck him up lewdly, “If I made my kid the strongest n’ just wiped these old fossils out?”

“T-Toru- we’ll get ca-”

“Caught? Who fuckin’ cares, they want a Gojo successor n’ they’re gonna get one.”

He’s letting out his frustration in the way he chases both your highs for the - well, you lost count which orgasm it was at this point. Letting you stain all over the expensive desk as he yells out little curses into your mouth.

And oh how you want to kiss that little furrow in his brow, to whisper away his stress - but, no, the only thing getting Gojo out of this bad mood was to fully and thoroughly ruin his girl’s cute lil’ cunt. 

But Toru-” you sob into his open mouth, hips bucking wildly for more. “What if I can’t give you the strongest…” You know you’re babbling deliriously, little insecurities you didn’t even know you had coming to the surface as it really hits you that shit this is your Gojo. And he’s here. And he’s fucking you until he’s sure you’re pregnant.

“Who gives a shit?” he licks away the big, fat tears streaking down your face. Salty on his tongue while he plays with your pretty clit, rubbing quick, tight little circles on it. 

As if to emphasize his point, Gojo brings his fingertips to his mouth with a lewd pop! So blissfully wrapping his lips around them. Darkened blue eyes rolling to the back of his head at the taste - it only spurs him on more. 

Fingers immediately back down on your clit. Frenzied - like he couldn’t wait any longer, like it killed him to not see you cum again. Body bowing into yours, hand digging and bruising on your hips as he holds your filthy pussy still on his cock, 

“Fuck, gonna give it all to you, sweetheart. M’gonna train them to be the strongest n’ protect their pretty mommy.” 

Sloppy, he was so fucking sloppy - such a mess of teeth and spit and pure desire to paint your walls white. 

“Gonna have my eyes, huh? N’ your hair. Fuck they’re gonna regret bringing this up.” Babbling little nonsenses that drove you mad. He sounded so fucking pathetic, crazed with lust. “Ooooh they’re gonna regret it.” Overstimulated enough that it hurt.

Kissing the side of your ankle beside his head, lacing his fingers together to pull you further and further down his rock-hard cock. Sloppy and moving with no rhyme or reason. “Because they fucking hate me. All of ‘em will look at our kid n’ you - so round and pretty and see me. All me.” 

Now, you’ve heard of orgasms that come out of nowhere - ones that have you convulsing and gripping onto Gojo - the desk, his shoulders, his hair. And this was no different. “Ah! Hngh, Toru m’cumming m’cumming oh-”

Delirious, white-hot pleasure cracking behind his eyes, Gojo’s pumping hot thick, hopes ropes of cum into your poor, overfilled pussy. And shit no thrill of taking out the elders could compare to watching the way his seed drips down the side. Slow, and thick, pooling at his quivering balls as he fucks you like an animal. Over and over and-

“Hey, sweetheart, y’think if I cum in you again, they’ll come out twice as strong?”

“...”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[anantaru]

— ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ cw. riding, fem! reader

aventurine blinks, faltering as he always does whenever you called him yours— and even now, he finds himself vastly spellbound by how you're prancing your hands against the tensed muscles of his chest, kneading at his shoulders while you're on top of him.

boiling heat consumes you the moment he marks your skin with wet traces of his arousal and so did you, claim him equivalent to that, "say it again," he repeats his sentence, this time quieter, leaving it enlaced in a sigh.

you barely have time to react nor reply to him as he bottoms out, your body shaking when you cry out, writhing and collapsing your body against his own when aventurine repeats the action once more.

he thought he should fuck into you twice, catch you off guard for some extra spice, yeah? in fact, to him it's just for good measure, why not ask you something and then interrupt you with two, quick blows into your cunt, right? 

his palm was smoothing over the sore marks his grip left on your ass when he squeezes the flesh, letting the skin bounce beneath the hold of his hands. "ahh, never mind, dear. I guess you simply saying it isn't enough to me anymore," he squeezes your hips into him harder, burying his face in the scent of your fragrance hidden at your throat.

"better yet," aventurine continues as he slowly teases his tongue over your neck, presenting an affectionate sweep of his hand up your spine, "let me make you scream it instead, yeah?"

he wanted to move his fingers slow above your delicate skin— slow enough to make a spectacle out of every touch, to sweetly draw you to the same raw height of emotions where you could fuse into each other forever on end.

your lips part instantly as he pushes his hot tip into your hole, the feeling of intrusion making you actively wrap and shape around him. his cock split you perfectly, and the raw drag was edged with an unintentional roughness that nearly broke your body in half.

you both moan into each other with a sinuous roll of your hips taking his shaft deeper— a rough, broken groan escaping the man's throat as he slides you impossibly close into him, like he's actually frightened you'd leave him.

you enthusiastically greet his movements with your own, bask yourself on his touch when he only slides in deeper and deeper, closer and like you cannot get enough of each other. it's futile.

alas, you should have known that much— because looking back at this situation right now, your boyfriend aventurine wasn't someone you'd particularity address as a poster boy for harvesting patience, or poise, for that matter. 

at least when it came to you.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[wolvietxt]

💭 thinking about…

𝗅𝗈𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝗑!

pairing : logan howlett x fem!reader warnings : established relationship, threat, confrontation, hurt / comfort wc : 1.2k

you had always known that your ex was trouble, but you never expected him to show up at your doorstep after all this time. it had been months since you’d broken things off, and you were finally starting to feel like yourself again, finding peace in your life. but all of that was shattered the moment you opened your door and found him standing there, his familiar smirk making your stomach churn.

“miss me?” he drawled, leaning casually against the doorframe as if he had every right to be there.

you stiffened, your hand tightening around the edge of the door. “what do you want?”

he shrugged, as if the answer should be obvious. “i’ve been thinking about you. figured i’d drop by, see how you’ve been.”

the audacity of his words made your blood boil. after everything he’d put you through - the lies, the manipulation, the constant mind games - he had the nerve to act like you were just another one of his conquests he could revisit whenever he felt like it.

“i’m not interested,” you said firmly, trying to keep your voice steady. “you need to leave.”

his smirk widened, as if your resistance only amused him. “come on baby, don’t be like that. we had some good times, didn’t we? no need to throw it all away.”

you felt a wave of panic rising in your chest. he was the same as ever, using that smooth, persuasive tone to try and worm his way back into your life. but you weren’t the same person you were when you’d been with him. you were stronger now, more sure of what you wanted - and more certain that he wasn’t it.

“i said leave,” you repeated, but he only took a step closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as his expression turned from playful to dangerous.

“don’t act like you don’t want this,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “i know you. you’ll come around, just like always.”

before you could respond, a shadow fell over the doorway, and your heart skipped a beat. you hadn’t even heard logan approach, but suddenly, he was there, stepping up behind you with a presence that seemed to fill the entire space.

“you heard her,” logan said, his voice low and deadly. “she’s not interested. now get lost.”

your ex’s bravado faltered for a split second as he looked up at logan, clearly not expecting anyone else to be there. he took in logan’s tall, muscular frame, the sharp glint in his eyes, and the way he carried himself with a confidence that screamed don’t mess with me.

“and who the hell are you?” your ex sneered, trying to regain his composure.

logan didn’t so much as flinch. “someone who’s not gonna ask again. walk away now, before i make you.”

the threat in logan’s voice was unmistakable, and you could see the hesitation in your ex’s eyes. he wasn’t used to being challenged, especially not by someone like logan, who looked like he could break him in half without even trying.

“this is between me and her,” your ex said, though his voice lacked the earlier confidence. “it’s none of your business.”

logan took a step forward, his stance aggressive, and you felt a surge of relief and gratitude wash over you. “it became my business the second you showed up uninvited. so, i’ll say it one more time - leave. now.”

there was a long, tense moment where it seemed like your ex was considering whether or not to push his luck. but whatever he saw in logan’s eyes must have convinced him that it wasn’t worth it. he scoffed, taking a step back.

“fine,” he spat, his bravado crumbling as he realised he was outmatched. “but don’t think this is over.”

“it is,” logan said coldly. “you show up here again, you’ll regret it.”

your ex shot you one last look, a twisted mix of anger and disdain, before turning on his heel and stalking off down the street. you watched him go, your heart still racing, but as the distance between you grew, so did your sense of relief.

once he was out of sight, you let out a shaky breath, your whole body trembling with the adrenaline of the encounter. logan, still standing protectively by your side, turned to you, his expression softening.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice gentle, so different from the cold, threatening tone he’d used with your ex.

you nodded, but the emotions of the moment were overwhelming, and before you could stop yourself, you found yourself leaning into logan, seeking the comfort of his solid presence. he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, and the warmth and strength of his embrace was exactly what you needed.

“thank you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest. “i don’t know what i would’ve done if you hadn’t shown up.”

logan pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “you don’t have to worry about him anymore,” he said firmly. “i won’t let him hurt you.”

you pulled back slightly to look up at him, your eyes filled with gratitude. “you didn’t have to do that, you know.”

logan’s gaze softened as he looked down at you, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “of course i did. i care about you, and ‘m not gonna let anyone treat you like that.”

your heart swelled at his words, the sincerity in his voice making your chest ache with affection. logan had always been protective, always looking out for you in his own gruff way, but this was different. this was him showing just how much he cared, how much he was willing to do to keep you safe.

“i don’t know what i did to deserve you,” you murmured, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor yourself to him.

logan smiled, a rare, soft smile that he seemed to reserve just for you. “you don’t have to do anything. ‘m here because i want to be.”

he leaned down and kissed you, a slow, lingering kiss that felt like a promise - a promise that he’d always be there for you, no matter what. when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling your cheek.

“you’re safe with me,” he whispered, and you knew, without a doubt, that he meant it.

and as you stood there, wrapped in his arms, you realised that with logan by your side, you didn’t have to be afraid of anything - or anyone - ever again.

[p0orbaby]

No Earth Just Sky

summary: your worlds collide, and so does your head with a fist

warnings: injury, loss of consciousness

a/n: thank you for the request !

word count: 1.5k

-

The corner comes in like a missile, curving dangerously towards the cluster of players jostling for position in the box. You’ve been eyeing it since the moment it left the Mapi’s boot, every fiber of your being focused on that one moment when it’ll be yours.

It’s a Champions League night, the kind where legends are made, and you’ve decided, in a split second of pure adrenaline-fueled brilliance—or idiocy, depending on who you ask—that you’re going to be the hero. You’re going to be the one who gets on the end of that cross, who heads it into the back of the net, and who sends Barca to victory.

But football is a cruel sport, and tonight, it decides to teach you a lesson the hard way.

You charge forward, eyes locked on the ball, and leap into the air. Everything around you fades, the roar of the crowd, the shouts from your teammates, even the blood pounding in your ears. It’s just you, the ball, and the goal.

And then, out of nowhere, everything goes wrong.

There’s a flash of red and white, a blur of motion as Arsenal’s keeper barrels towards you, fists outstretched. You don’t even have time to react, to dodge, to protect yourself. The collision happens in a heartbeat, in a single, devastating instant.

Her fist connects with the side of your head with a force that feels like a sledgehammer. The world around you shatters into a million pieces. The sound is a sickening crack that reverberates through your skull, and then there’s nothing but pain—blinding, searing pain that explodes behind your eyes and radiates down your spine.

You’re out before you even hit the ground.

When you come to, it’s like trying to claw your way up from the bottom of a deep, dark pit. The pain is still there, a dull throb that pulses in time with your heartbeat, but it’s distant, like it’s happening to someone else. You can’t move, can’t speak, can’t do anything but lie there as the chaos unfolds around you.

You can hear voices, muffled and distorted, like you’re underwater. Someone is screaming—high-pitched, furious, and so full of raw emotion that it sends a shiver down your spine. It takes a moment to realise it’s Alexia.

You manage to open your eyes, just a sliver, just enough to see her, and it’s like looking at a completely different person. Her face is twisted in a mask of rage, her eyes blazing with a fire you’ve never seen before. She’s in the ref’s face, screaming in rapid-fire Spanish that you can’t make out, her hands shaking with the force of her fury.

Leah is there too, trying to hold her back, her arms around Alexia’s shoulders, but even Leah, strong, unflappable Leah, is struggling to contain her. Alexia is out of control, like a storm that’s broken loose and is tearing through everything in its path. And you realise, with a cold, sinking feeling, that she’s not just angry. She’s terrified.

The medics are on you now, hands probing gently at your head, voices whispering words meant to soothe, to reassure. You can’t focus on them, though, because everything hurts too much, and you’re still half-lost in the darkness that’s threatening to pull you under again.

You try to move, to sit up, to tell Alexia and Leah that you’re okay, that they don’t need to worry, but your body won’t cooperate. It’s like you’re made of lead, every limb too heavy to lift, every breath a struggle. And the pain—God, the pain—is overwhelming, a sharp, relentless agony that turns your vision red at the edges.

“Stay still,” one of the medics says, her voice firm but gentle. Like a mother telling their child they need to wash their hands before dinner. “We need to get you stabilised”

You want to argue, to tell them that you’re fine, that you can walk off the pitch like you always do, but you can’t. You can’t do anything but lie there, helpless, as the reality of what’s happened starts to sink in.

The game has stopped. The crowd is silent, a tense, expectant hush that feels like the entire world is holding its breath. You can see your teammates, their faces pale and worried, hovering at the edge of the scene like they’re too afraid to come closer.

But it’s Alexia that you keep coming back to. Alexia, who is still shouting, still fighting, who looks like she’s ready to tear the ref apart with her bare hands. Leah is pleading with her now, her voice urgent, her grip on Alexia tightening, but it’s like she’s not even there. All Alexia can see is red.

You’ve seen Alexia angry before. You’ve seen her fired up in matches, seen her argue with refs, seen her defend her teammates with a ferocity that borders on the terrifying. But this—this is different. This is personal.

And it’s because of you.

Finally, Leah manages to pull Alexia back, away from the ref, away from the Arsenal players who are now looking on in stunned silence. Alexia stumbles, her hands dropping to her sides, her chest heaving with the effort of trying to hold herself together. She looks over at you, and the rage melts away, replaced by something much worse—fear.

“Get her off the pitch,” Leah orders, her voice shaking. “Get her out of here”

The stretcher arrives, and they lift you onto it with the kind of care you’ve only ever seen in hospitals. You’re drifting in and out now, the pain ebbing and flowing like a tide, and it’s all you can do to keep your eyes open.

You catch one last glimpse of Alexia as they wheel you away, and the look on her face is one you’ll never forget. It��s broken, shattered, like the strongest person you know is crumbling right before your eyes.

“Alexia…” you try to say, but it comes out as a whisper, lost in the noise around you.

Leah is still holding her back, her eyes glistening with tears she’s trying desperately to hide. She’s saying something to Alexia, something you can’t hear, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing they say will change what’s happened. Nothing will make this okay.

As the tunnel swallows you up, the lights above blurring into streaks of white, the darkness comes rushing back, and this time, you can’t fight it. You let it take you, because what else can you do?

-

When you wake up, you’re in a hospital bed, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling your nose, the steady beep of a heart monitor the only sound in the room. Your head is wrapped in bandages, and every part of you feels like it’s been put through a meat grinder.

It takes a moment for you to remember where you are, to remember what happened. And when you do, the first thing you feel isn’t pain or fear. It’s guilt.

Guilt because you know Alexia’s probably blaming herself. Guilt because Leah’s probably worrying herself sick. Guilt because your team needed you, and you let them down.

You close your eyes, trying to push it all away, but it’s no use. The memory of that moment—the collision, the pain, the sound of Alexia’s screams—is burned into your mind, and you know it’ll be a long time before it fades.

The door to your room creaks open, and you hear soft footsteps approaching. You open your eyes, and there they are—Alexia and Leah, both looking like they haven’t slept in days. Alexia’s eyes are red-rimmed, her hair a mess, and Leah… Leah just looks lost.

They don’t say anything at first, just stand there, staring at you like they’re not sure you’re real.

“Hey,” you croak, your voice weak and raspy.

Alexia bursts into tears.

Leah rushes to her side, wrapping her arms around her, holding her as she sobs into her shoulder. It’s the most heart-wrenching thing you’ve ever seen, and all you can do is lie there, helpless, as the two people who mean the most to you fall apart.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, but they don’t hear you. They’re too wrapped up in their own pain, their own guilt.

You want to reach out, to comfort them, to tell them it’s not their fault, but you can’t. Your body won’t let you. So you just lie there, watching them, feeling like the worst kind of burden.

Eventually, Alexia pulls herself together enough to come to your side. She takes your hand, her grip gentle but firm, and looks at you with a mixture of relief and devastation.

“You scared us,” she says, her voice trembling.

“I scared myself,” you try to joke, but it falls flat. The pain in her eyes is too much to bear.

Leah comes to stand on your other side, her hand resting on your shoulder, her touch light as a feather. “You’re going to be okay,” she says, but it sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than you.

You nod, but you don’t really believe it. Because you’re not sure if anything will be okay after this.

The game ended in a draw. Arsenal went through on away goals. Barca’s Champions League dream is over, and you’re lying in a hospital bed, feeling like the world’s biggest failure.

But for now, with Alexia and Leah by your side, maybe that doesn’t matter as much as it did before. Maybe all that matters is that you’re still here, still breathing, still fighting.

[matsunoluvr]

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ how you tamed monster!sylus…

warnings: descriptions of some violence, blood, injuries, rushed ending (lol)

character: sylus

link to master list here!!

author’s notes: i saw some theories that sylus is actually inhuman and i’d fucking love if in a past life MC resonated and ‘tamed’ him which is why he’s particularly fond of her, like i’m such a sucker for ‘inhuman’ things gaining humanity through love

my requests are open since i’m running low on ideas hehe :3

more under the cut!

monster!sylus was indifferent to everything at first, if you got hurt you got hurt. why would he feel anything?

he’d hurt many things before, killed many things before. such trivial matters did not bother him.

that was until, somehow he managed to get hurt.

watching you, a human, far more fragile than he could ever be panic over his wound was confusing for him.

the way you frantically dug in your bag to wrap his arm in gauze - his blood seeping into the pale cloth as he watches you, intrigued.

he could stop the bleeding at any moment, any time, but he doesn’t. instead, he opted to watch you flailing over his injury with a neutral expression.

only when he noticed his human form growing a little pale did he decide to stop blood flow to the wound, choosing to inspect the bandage you put on him carefully.

“What use is this?”

picking at the uncomfortable material, you scold him and tell him to ‘keep it on until it heals’ - monster!sylus decides not to tell you he already healed the site as soon as you finished fussing over him

the next time he got hurt, he decided not to heal himself and instead present his injury to you.

holding up his finger which was (basically) broken in half, he looked at you expectantly.

if you weren’t so utterly dumbfounded at the nonchalant manner in which he presented you with a severely mangled appendage you might’ve made a comparison to him and a cat looking at its owner after bringing them a dead rat

monster!sylus who proceeded to watch you freak out a little, fix him up then scold him (again) for being so reckless.

he was interested at the care you took to make it as painless as possible (it was safe to say you were terrible at it, he was trying not to wince the whole time. yeah he was a monster, but why are human bodies really fucking fragile and sensitive?), eyes flitting between your hands and your face

this was probably the first instances of sylus receiving care, being cared about, and holy shit he didn’t know what to do

monster!sylus that would inwardly sigh every time you’d ask him ridiculous questions such as “have you eaten today?” or “do you think the sunset today is pretty?”

half the time he would scoff or shrug it off, the other half he would respond

when he responded he noticed the excited buzz in your voice as you’d give your own opinion on it - something that he grew to care about

“What do you think of this flower, isn’t it pretty Sylus?”

“It is?”

“It is! At least to me- [insert you talking about your favourite flower].”

*Sylus watching you with intent, beginning of a smile forming at the corners of his mouth.*

monster!sylus who, at one point, sat under a tree with you, looking over the N109 zone towards linkon when his deep voice split through the silence

“Do you like me?”

the sudden and blunt question probably shocked you - your flustered response causing him to grow confused

what was wrong with the question?

was the point of asking not to find out answers one wants to know?

he would simply sit and stare at you until you responded, no matter how long it took you he waited

monster!sylus who finally realised what it felt like to be cared for when you answered ‘yes’, the warm sensation flooding his senses, and he was utterly confused.

it wasn’t as if you’d devoted yourself to him, nor had you sworn your loyalty for life - but the idea that you liked him…

he gave you no response, looking off into the distance as he tried to process the information.

when you asked him ‘Aren’t you going to respond?’ he’s give some bullshit answer along the lines of “You haven’t asked me anything.”

he knows what you were asking.

for some reason, he can’t say anything back.

monster!sylus that slowly began to seek your presence, your company. waiting for you to show up became tiresome, he wanted to be with you.

showing up out of no where - when you were on a walk or entering your residency, he would all of a sudden appear and demand your attention (which you secretly didn’t mind giving).

each visit he’d stay longer, get a little closer, feel a little more.

you taught him how to laugh - well at least give an amused huff, how to do his hair ‘properly’ rather than having it sit erratically on his head.

moving his hair out of his eyes, you swoop it into a neat parting muttering something about not hiding his ‘pretty eyes’, arching over his lids and settling neatly.

however after looking in the mirror, he immediately ran his hand through the hair causing you to almost murder the man on the spot

you taught him how to appreciate cuisines, especially the different variants of drinks.

“This is what brand of wine? Ah… I see.”

you taught him how to treat wounds, how to cook simple foods, each visit a little date on its own.

monster!sylus who inevitably grew fond of you, watching you with a small smile no matter what you did.

if you ever pointed this out, he’d just shrug his shoulders and carry on with whatever he was doing before.

he didn’t notice at first, but you’d somehow managed to work yourself into his life - despite having tried to rid you many times before.

now, your company was second nature. for a solitary creature, he had never before had the chance to appreciate companionship.

you taught him how to.

monster!sylus who quickly learnt your interests. you loved the small, infant cats that would roam the streets - every time you’d stop at a shop, buy some food and nudge it towards the creatures.

you’d take him to ride on a horse - which he complained about being ‘too slow’ and that he could run several paces faster, so you introduced him to motorcycles.

sitting behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as you both sailed through the night air, the city lights your stars.

monster!sylus who you sat next to, head resting against his shoulder.

“Relaxing so easily against me, have you forgotten what I truly am?”

if you’re confused, he’ll spell it out for you. he’s grown used to your obliviousness after all.

a monster

a being birthed by abhorrence, the dirt and filth that humans try so desperately to conceal. no amount of flesh, skin and bone could hide that fact, no amount of blood that spills against his hands could cloak such a stench.

cruel, disgusting, selfish. malevolence was second nature.

sylus who learnt what it felt like to be unconditionally loved in your gentle embrace.

eyes widening with surprise, he’ll ask you if you’re scared of him, you say never. you say that you could never be disgusted by him.

you tell him with so much conviction it may as well have been indoctrinated in the stars.

he couldn’t help but smile at your innocence, your ability to love the unlovable.

sylus who learnt how to feel fear as he watched the wanderer pierce your body - blood spurting from your chest.

his hands are covered in blood - palms slipping against your chest as he tries to plug the hole in your chest.

the warmth of your body, your soul, gushes from you in violent pulses - sylus can feel your trembling breaths, his eyes wide with panic. he fumbles around, cursing louder and louder as he watches you fade away.

“Fuck- fuck. Hold on, keep your eyes open - I can do something about this just wait.”

sylus who watches in despair as the life drains from your eyes, feeling the sharp throb in his eye propel his evol at the wanderer that murdered you

monster!sylus who rips the wanderer’s limb by limb, ensuring that the subject experienced each and every sensation as its soul parted from the mangled corpse

no mercy was shown as he suffocated the creature to death, crushing it’s neck as it squealed.

monster!sylus who stood over a corpse. the corpse of the person who taught him love.

monster!sylus who didn’t attend your funeral.

you never taught him how to grieve, never taught him what to do when you’d leave him - damned with immortality.

monster!sylus who never got to say the words he wanted to.

he could only see you where you lay, sitting helplessly by your tombstone.

it feels as though he’s been stabbed, a burning wound ripping down his throat. he knows the answer now.

“I love you too.”

AN: not proofread as usual i had fun writing the beginning but i had no idea how to finish it - i feel like sylus and MC had a tragic end which is why he’s so forward with his love for them now that he knows he loves them and that their time together can end any moment, unlike their previous life this life he’ll make sure MC knows he’s theirs! :3

[sturncrazy]

SPLASH

Matt Sturniolo x y/n (fem)

warnings: SMUT nsfw 18+(um lang, y/n receiving, unprotected, cream pie —assume ur on bc—-semi public/sneaky, nothing too crazy)

authors note: AW ITS KINDA CUTE GUYS. here’s the other matty poo idea i had since y’all seem to eat him up always hehe.

summary: you join some of your friends on a trip to get over a breakup and end up having a heart to heart talk during a late night swim with matt….but talkings not all you end up doing…

word count: 3,431w

—————————————————————————

“hey y/n get your suit on! we’re gonna swim!” nick said, peering in through your half opened door.

“mkay” you nodded back, forcing a smile. it’d been a split second decision to force yourself to join your friends on this trip. Nick had suggested you come to try and get your mind off of things. you and your boyfriend had broken up only 2 weeks ago, after you found him cheating on you. it’d been a long time coming and had almost never been a good relationship, but a breakup is a breakup and you were still reeling from it. you pulled out a stringy bikini, then threw an oversized t shirt on top. the house you were staying at was large and out in the middle of nowhere. the pool was a significant distance behind the house which gave it a cool secluded feel during the day, but at night the walk alone was a little eerie. you fears washed away though as you got close enough to see your friends splashing around and their laughter became audible, only lit by the purple pools lights. it brought a smile to your face and you felt genuinely happy for the first time in a while. you and your friends hung around together for a couple hours, getting late into the night when chris decided he was hungry and needed a snack. the nearest convenience store was about 20 minutes away and would be closing soon so chris and the 3 of others decided to do a junk food run, leaving just you and matt. matt had been your friend since 7th grade, but the two of you hadn’t gotten to hang out as much in the last year cause he made your ex so nervous. he was always convinced you had feelings for matt. at one point he might’ve not been wrong, but you’d never tell a soul that.

“ok last chance guys! you want anything?” nick shouted as the others ran back towards the house.

“skittles!” said matt

“oo can you get me some twizzlers?”

“yup!” nick said running off

“think he listened?” matt said wading through the water to the edge where you were sitting, dangling your feet in.

“oh definitely not” you laughed

“you should come in the water! it’s really warm”

“but then when i get back out i’ll be cold” the outside air had dropped enough to feel the slightest of chill of fall.

“so? you can borrow my sweater if you want” said matt sweetly, always a gentleman

“come on! have some fun!” he teased splashing only enough to spray a few droplets on your thighs. you could never say no to him. you stood up and pulled your tshirt over your head. matt looked up at you, his mouth slightly ajar, before he quickly glanced away. you figured he’d zoned out. you cannonballed in, intentionally hitting matt with a wave of water.

“asshole” he laughed, splashing you as you came back up for air. you grinned at him and shook the wet hair out of your eyes and paddled to sit on the pools steps. matt joined and sat next to you. he leaned his arms against the the pools edge, the water only coming up to his mid stomach. you stole a glance at his toned torso and arms, tattoos glistening from the water. his eyes darted back to yours and he gave you a half smile.

“hey, you been okay? i didn’t wanna pry, but i head about the breakup” he said with concern

“oh…yeah. i’m okay i guess” you sighed

“he’s a real dick, y/n. i mean really. such an asshole. i wanted to kill him” you snorted

“you and me both” matt was on a roll in his rant and barely seemed to notice your comment

“i mean he has some fucking nerve treating you like that. you deserve like the best of the best and the fact that he didn’t didn’t see that—“

“aww matt” a warm fuzzy feeling spread over your skin at his words. he snapped back into remembering your presence and gave you a bashful look.

“i just think you deserve someone who treats you right. so good riddance to him” he said, splashing at an invisible presence off in the distance, trying to play cool. it was an adorably dorky move.

“thank you, matty” you said softly. he paused, and looked you intensely in the eyes.

“yeah always” he breathed out. the tension hung thickly in the night air. you turned your face away from his, hoping it would dissipate.

“and not that it matters, but i remember back in middle school when everyone was playing truth or dare, all the girls made fun of him for being a bad kisser” matt said, attempting to lighten the mood. it worked and you let out a laugh.

“yeah trust me, kissing wasn’t the only thing he was bad at”

“oooooo really” matt said grimacing. you nodded and dramatically shivered at the thought.

“yeah, honestly, don’t think there was a single time i wasn’t on top doing all the work. he’d sorta just lie there…like a corpse. and y’know…second he was done that was that. maybe 2 minutes each time.” matt’s jaw dropped

“whaaaat” you laughed as you glanced at your hands under the water, feeling nervous about talking about this with matt.

“that’s crazy. half the fun of sex watching the other person enjoy it” you felt your face flush as you raised your eyebrows at him

“what?” he chuckled back at your surprise

“nothing, i’ve just never heard you talk like that before” matt rolled his eyes playfully

“yeah well much to your surprise i have had sex before, y/n”

“well i know that…”

“just didn’t think i’d be good at it” he cut you off, teasingly. your face turned from flush to beat red, making you thankful for the dim lighting.

“hey, i wouldn’t be one to judge” you shrugged out, suddenly feeling painfully aware of your lack in experience.

“what do you mean?” matt questioned

“just…he was the only person i ever…y’know” you sheepishly avoided the words.

“had sex with?” matt filled in for you. you nodded and scrunched your face. he studied you for a minute.

“so you’ve never had good sex?” he asked, quietly. you felt so exposed you might as well have been naked.

“‘guess not” you mumbled avoiding is unwavering gaze.

“have to wait around for the next boy” you snickered to yourself

“isn’t that a bit of a gamble?”

“well what are my other options i mean youre the only guy i know who probably any good at sex—“ matt’s eyes widened. you slapped your hand over your mouth, panic beginning to settle in.

“oh my god—sorry—i—that came out wrong—i didn’t mean like you and me—like you need to show me—shit” matt just continued to look at you, his eyes burning holes into your skull. you buried your face in your pruning hands.

“well, why not” matt rasped out. you peaked through your fingers at him, his expression looked blank, but his chest rose rapidly, nervously. you dropped you hands.

“what” you almost whispered. he took a steadying breath.

“i said why not.” you tried to breath, but no air seemed to be available.

“what do you mean” matt gnawed at his lip before speaking again.

“i mean that you deserve to only feel amazing and i don’t want you to go around experimenting with more assholes and—“

“matt, i’m not gonna let you have pity sex with me” you scoffed out, embarrassment itching your whole body.

“that’s not what i meant y/n” he said in a hushed voice. you continued to babble over him.

“i mean i know you’re the nicest guy ever, but come on even you have to know you don’t have to fuck me to protect me from other bad guys—“

“i dont want you to fuck other guys at all” he sounded exasperated. you gave him a lost look. he exhaled, looking up at the sky for invisible answers.

“you don’t?” he looked back into your eyes, you felt like your heart could melt.

“of course not, y/n” your heart raced.

“okay” he furrowed his brow

“okay what?”

“okay yeah— i mean let’s—“ you inhaled, pulling yourself together and met his gazed

“i want you to show me” his chest rattled again.

“yeah?” he breathed out. you nodded, rapidly. he moved closer to you, your faces now inches apart. his eyes darted down to your lips. he smiled, and looked back up into yours, as one hand gently wrapped around your waist.

“okay” he rasped out as he brushed his nose against yours. he seemed to revel in the tension between you, before bringing his soft warm lips against yours. the kiss was passionate, but still delicate. it sent electricity through your chest and down to your fingertips. he brought his other hand up to your check and jaw, molding your faces together even more. matt pulledl his lips away from yours momentarily to whisper out

“you can touch me, y/n” you only then realized your arms had been cluelessly frozen by your sides. you eagerly brought them up around matt’s neck, immediately changing the tone of the kissing to something much more heated. he let out a sharp breath into your mouth before moving to come between your legs, both hands now grasping your waist. he pulled you closer and you wrapped your legs around his body, gripping into his hair. he let out a small groan against your lips and squeezed at your flesh in his hands. you sighed out at the feeling, opening your mouth against his which he took as an opportunity to slip his tongue against yours. your mouths locked together perfectly, as your hands begin to move from his hair to explore his chest, your fingertips roaming the skin of his body you’d only ever dreamed of getting to touch. you lowered your nails to just beneath his bellybutton, which elicited a genuine moan from him. you smiled against his mouth

“where did you learn that” he grumbled

“i have have a couple tricks” you said coly

“oh yeah?” he said between soft quick kisses

“so do i” he bit down lightly on your bottom lip, pulling with his teeth as he brought your hips up against his. you whined feeling him press against your bikini bottoms. he chuckled at your pathetic reaction and pushed your hair back from your neck. he lowered his lips down to the sensitive newly exposed skin and began to sloppily kiss a trail from your jaw to your collarbone, then began sucking and biting at your flesh.

“fuck” you moaned out, your eyes rolling back. you grasped at his taught upper arms.

“you like that?” he groaned against your skin, setting it ablaze with vibrations.

“yes” you sighed out, bucking your hips slightly against his, desperate for more than just the grazing pressure of him standing against you. he seemed to understand your every need and hooked his fingers through the flimsy ties of your bikini and pulled you harshly against him. you felt a hardness in his shorts pressing against your core and your mouth practically watered. his hands trailed back up your body and to your back where your top tied together.

“this okay” you nodded and pulled him back in against your mouth, not wanting to waste a moment for words away from his lips. he expertly untied the knots and slipped the clinging wet fabric of your chest, leaving your boobs exposed to the outside air. he tossed the fabric on the ground behind you as he looked down at your heaving chest.

“god” he groaned out, his eyes widening as he brought his hands to your boobs and pawed at the the soft flesh. he ran his thumbs delicately across your nipples watching you, as you tossed your head back in a moan. he slipped his hands behind your back again, bringing your bare skin flush against his

“you’re so beautiful” he huffed against your lips. you began to rock yourself back and forth against his blatantly obvious hard on, desperate to build some friction. he wrapped one arm around your thigh and lifted you up to the top dry step of the pool, completely taking you out of the water except for your calves. matt lowered himself down to his knees a few steps bellow you, and began to kiss your knees and inner thighs. your legs quivered, as your core ached for attention. his wide blue eyes looked up at you, his mouth only inches away from where you needed him most, as his fingers hooked to the sides of your swimsuit.

“can i?” he mumbled against your skin.

“please” you whined out. he pulled at the loose bows, undoing the flimsy cover easily. you lifted your hips for him to slide the fabric from between your legs. he parted your legs with his hands, his pupils dilating to blackness as he took in the sight of you entirely exposed.

“so perfect” he sighed almost in a trance

“matt—“ you whined desperate and impatient. he looked back up at you with a half smile

“don’t worry baby, i’m gonna make you feel so good” his words alone could’ve made you come undone. he wrapped his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as he brought his warm wet mouth against your aching clit. he gently kissed at the bundle of nerves, making you thrust your hips up against his face hungry for more. he responded by beginning to drag his tongue in painfully slow circles around your clit.

“oh god—matt-“ you cried out, your fingers latching into his hair for support. he groaned against your sensitive bud.

“y’taste so good” your thighs squeezed his face as he began to move his tongue faster, flicking it it circles around your clit.

“oh fuck— that feels so good—“ you exhaled. one of his arms loosed it’s grip

as he brought his fingertips down to meet your folds. he broke his tongue away from your clit and rested his scruffy cheek against your inner thigh as his watched his own fingers drag up and down your dripping folds. you whined in torture and he brought his pointer and middle finger to your entrance pressing small torturous pulses against it, but not entering or giving you the fullness you needed. you were a mess at his touch, whining, moaning, and thrashing around, but he seemed to savor every minute of watching you. finally, he slipped his finger into your core and you cried out at the feeling.

“so pretty” he whispered again before starting to pump his digits in and out of you over and over, his fingers curving up expertly. the tension in your stomach began to form almost immediately. matt needed no clues in knowing what you needed and lowered his tongue back to your clit. your walls began to pulse around his fingers. you knew you were close.

“oh god—matt-i—“ you began to stutter out

“good girl. cum for me” he cooed. you fell apart with his permission and came undone. your legs stuttered as your high began to end and matt slipped his fingers out of you. he lifted himself back up to your level, leaning against the ledge behind you and kissing you again.

“see how good you taste” he said against your lips

“matt” you giggled slightly shocked against him, starting to close your legs. his grip latched back down on your thighs, stopping you.

“oh i’m not done with you yet” he growled through a slight smile, as he hoisted you up into the air. your wrapped your legs around him, as he carried you away from the pool to a nearby lounge chair. he laid you down on your back and climbed on top of you, between your legs. he pressed his still covered crotch against your exposed vulnerable entrance. you hissed, still sensitive from your recent orgasm. he stopped and pulled back from you

“you okay?”

“yes just sensitive” you let out a breathy laugh

“do you want to stop” the overwhelming look of concern in his eyes was adorable

“are you kidding me?” you said, wrapping your legs around him tightly, bringing him back down on top of you.

“thank god” he exhaled. you laughed as you began to kiss him again, rolling your hips up against him. he whimpered. you dragged your fingernails up his back and dug in slightly at his shoulders. he groaned again. the sound of him wanting you was enough to make you desperate all over. you continued to run your fingernails down his chest and to his waistband, snapping the elastic against his skin slightly. his stomach tensing at the feeling.

“take these off, matty” you whined.

“whatever you want” he pulled off from you and stood to the side, sliding off the shorts.

his rock hard dick sprung out free from the fabric and slapped against his stomach. your jaw opened slightly as your eyes took in the impressive size of him in front of you.

“what?” he chuckled

“youre so big” you said in genuine awe

“fuck you don’t know what you’re doing to me” he said, climbing back on top of you and needily yanking your legs up around him. the tip of his hard member rubbed against your clit as he continued to grind his hips against yours through your makeout.

“matt—“ you whined again, needing more.

“you sure you want to do this?” he asked looking into your eyes.

“yes matt—i want you so bad” you moaned to him

“fuck i’m all yours, baby” he said kissing you again, as he began to align himself with your entrance. he pushed himself inside you slowly and shuddered against you once he was all the way deep into your core. he paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the extreme stretch before beginning to slowly thrust in and out and in and out of your pussy. the stretch and fullness of him made you cry out sounds like you’d never made before.

“fuck you feel so good. such a perfect tight little pussy” he huffed out between his calculated thrusts.

“oh god matt”

“taking me so well baby” he cooed

“shitt-feel so good inside me, matty”

“yeah? you like when i fuck you like this, huh baby?” he breathed against your ear, burying his head into your neck.

“so fucking much—oh god yes—faster”

“okay beautiful” he began to pick up the pace of his steady thrusts and you thought you’d see stars. each thrust of his dick equally hard and timed out as he slammed against your g spot. you clawed at his back desperately, which only seemed to encourage him to pick up his pace to an impossibly faster speed. you slurred out curses in between pornographic moans as your mind became a total blur. you could feel your second orgasm approaching.

“OHHH FUCK MATT YES”

“fuck you sound so good moaning my name like that y/n”

“MATT OH GOD IM GONNA”

“you gonna cum for me again, baby?”

“YES OH MY FUCK”

“be a good girl and cum all over my dick” your eyes blurred with tears of pleasure as your ears buzzed and your second orgasm took control of your body. matt let out an uneven moan as your walls rapidly pulsed around his cock.

“fuck—squeezing me so good—shit—i’m close—“

“mmmm” was all you managed to moan in response as he began to trust into you wildly and unsteadyily

“oh my fuck baby i’m gonna cum”

“cum matt—i wanna feel you cum” you panted

“OHH MY OH FUCK FUCK IM GONNA CUM NGHH IM CUMMING” the groaned out as he halted his thrusts deep inside you, shooting hot white ropes of his release into your throbbing core. he collapsed breathless on top of you. after a moment matt pulled himself off your chest and propped himself up by his forearms.

“have any fun?” he asked sheepishly

“are you KIDDING ME? holy SHIT” you said in total honestly

“not half bad right?” he laughed, reaching for his shorts.

“unreal” he handed you his sweater and leaned back down to kiss you again, but pulled away abruptly

“sorry—was that weird? i don’t wanna make you feel pressured—“ you wrapped your arms around his neck shutting him up with another kiss

“good luck if you think your getting away from me now”

“i wouldn’t dream of it”

—————————————————————————live for sweet matt smut always 🫶

[mingtinysworld]

Shards of Lust

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x fem!reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 1k

Summary: you see your boyfriend sporting a new finger accessory and he notices you staring. He wouldn’t be a good boyfriend if he didn’t show you what he could do with it right?

Warnings: MDNI, fingering, sharp object included don’t actually do this irl

Network: @newworldnet

A/n: OK SO RIDKSJSKSK THE FINGER THINGS LIKE HELLO it’s actually been driving me crazy. I want to be fingered by him so bad like you don’t understand. Also sorry this was the shortest I’ve ever written💀 but hope you still enjoyed. Please like, comment and reblog ilyyyy. - J:)

You wake up groggily, slowly rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. As you sit up in bed you can see Yunho getting ready in the hotel mirror. He’s almost ready for the Coachella stage, just finalizing accessories and details. He looks very handsome in his black suit, looking like he’s ready for a business meeting.

You let out a sleepy sound and catch Yunho's attention through the mirror. He gives you a soft smile and you attempt to give him a smile back, even though your eyes are almost glued shut. You crawl to the edge of the bed and sprawl out, looking at him upside down.

"Good morning sweetie. Did you sleep well?" He asks.

"I guess. The time change is still messing with me though." You say with a pout.

"Aww baby, I know. It's alright, next week we'll be home and you can sleep in peace." He assures.

You nod along as your eyes graze over every inch of him. You observe the strange ring like accessories that he's putting on. He slides them on with ease and then flexes his hand in and out. You feel hypnotized and feel your eyes boring into the mirror. You unfold yourself from your pretzel form and go to stand behind Yunho.

You fit your chin against his shoulder and wrap your arms around his waist, breathing him in. He tilts his face downward and gives you a soft kiss on the forehead.

"Hi baby." He says gently. When you don't say anything and just freeze, he's concerned for a split second. He follows your line of sight and sees your transfixed stare on his hand. You're looking at the contraption that sits prettily on his index and middle finger with curiosity. It makes his hand look robotic almost, and the sharp tips glow menacingly, weirdly inviting in a way.

He watches you take it in, totally enjoying your reaction. He's pretty sure he can read your filthy thoughts at this point, from the way your breathing has stopped completely.

"You really love these, huh?" He asks with a knowing smirk. He wiggles his fingers, and you're broken out of your trance. You redden as you try to act normal, clearing your throat and making eye contact with Yunho.

"I-i mean I just think they're really cool! I've never seen anything like it." You trail off uncertainly.

He turns around to face you and grabs your elbows to guide you to the edge of the bed once more. He sits you down gently and crouches in front of you, looking up with sultry eyes.

"Do you want a demonstration?" He questions. You give him a quizzical look, mind completely blanking.

"W-what? A demonstration of what?" You ask with a nervous gulp.

He flexes his hand and looks down at it. "How this works. How it feels." He leans closer, his lips mere millimeters from yours.

"Please." You plead with a hushed murmur. You’re not exactly sure what you’re pleading for. His lips are finally on yours and he kisses you with a quiet intensity, stroking your exposed thighs. You hum into his mouth, enjoying the feel of his touch on your skin. He drags his hands up higher to the waistband of your shorts and tugs lightly. You get his message and lift your hips high enough for him to slip off the material. He takes your underwear with it, leaving your bottom half exposed. You wiggle a bit impatiently and he stills your moving hips with a firm hand.

"Now be good for me alright? I don't have much time so let's make the best of it." He reminds you of the fact that he has to leave for rehearsals soon. You stay still and anticipate what's to come. He spreads your plush thighs apart, strings of arousal stretching in between. He chuckles quietly to himself and moves even closer. He lays his whole palm against your cunt and you shudder from the feel of the cold metal against your most intimate part.

He moves up and down slightly, making you release shallow breaths. Still keeping eye contact with you, he slowly enters one armored finger. He goes slow as to not hurt you with the sharp tip, although you wish he would just destroy you. He gauges your reaction and is pleased when he sees you trying so hard to not squirm. He speeds up the force of his finger and you gasp and hold on to his shoulder.

"Another one please." You choke out.

Yunho looks at you concerned for a second, but immediately complies as he sees the state you're in. Your eyes are glistening with unshed tears and your mouth is making the most sinful sounds. He can feel his pants tightening with every whimper you let out, but his focus is totally on you for today.

He adds a second finger and you can feel the noticeable stretch instantly. His unforgiving pace makes you see stars and you clench around him, making him groan with gritted teeth. You squeeze his shoulder again, needing something to ground you. The cold metal drags against your walls and sharpens the tight feeling in your core. Once he hits your spongy spot you're done for. Your orgasm washes over you and you gasp from the intensity of it.

Yunho pulls his fingers out and sees that the metal is completely covered in your juices. Before you can stop him he puts the fingers in his mouth and makes a show of licking every inch clean. You groan in humiliation and throw yourself back to lay flat. He chuckles at you and grabs tissues to help clean you up. You stare at the ceiling and process everything. You loved the experience so much, wanting to do it all over again.

Once you're clean and clothed Yunho gets ready to leave, he kisses you goodbye and heads to the door. He gives you a silly finger wave and you wave right back, but before he can shut the door behind him, you hold it open and lean towards him and whisper.

"I think we might have to make that lil gadget into a regular occurrence."

[evielmostdefinitely]

y/n calls him coriolanus…he’s not pleased.

smut ahead :) contains: spanking, dom!coriolanus, bratty!subby!reader.

"... and you are not to drink from any bottle that i have not provided for you, do you understand?" coriolanus followed you around the small apartment, fingers working open his collar with a huff.

you reached for your earrings, fighting back an eye roll. he'd been nagging you since the moment you exited the party. a list of infractions, corrections that needed to be made by you.

"there have been rebels about, and i will not have you poisoned." coryo snapped, an icy gaze that bore into the back of your head. your slumped shoulders, rounded with defiance and annoyance- like he was boring you. "are you listening to me?"

"yes, coriolanus." you snapped, an edge to your tone that had him bristling with anger, fist clenching at the use of his full name. not the loving endearments you always gave him, the nickname he allowed you to use with him.

the room went still. you knew it was bratty, that was half the reason you did it, but you also were annoyed. the chill in the room had you fighting back shivers, and you didn't dare turn around. you knew if you did, he'd be glaring at you.

"i beg your pardon?" coryo gritted. you tensed, feeling his radiating heat of fury from behind you.

you were torn. part of you wanted to obey, fall into submission at the mere sound of his tone. the other part of you was buzzing with excitement, thighs pressed together, throbbing with the thrill, the temptation of pushing him a little further to get what you want.

"what?" you played coyly, turning to look at him as innocently as you could over your shoulder. "i said i understood, coriolanus. what-"

coriolanus' hand seized your jaw, pulling your gaze to his furious one, his own jaw flexing fury. "have you forgotten yourself? talking to me in this manner?"

you blinked at him, rounded eyes that looked so sweet. lips twitching as you tried to fight back a smile. "why are you upset," you paused, heart skipping with excitement. "coriolanus?"

the final straw that had coryo yanking you out of your seat, a bruising grip on your arm as he hauled you over his knee. skirts of your dress flipped over your head, his hand relentlessly raining down over your bottom, fury filled slaps to each cheek. you mewled, squirmed, pressing against his leg to raise yourself, only for coryo to push you back into place. you knew he could see the arousal between your legs, slick with excitement, the throbbing making your mind blank.

when you were sniffling, mascara running down to the rouge on your cheeks, coryo stopped, shoving you into the mattress, impaling you with his cock. splitting you open with every sharp jab and roll of his hips.

"you don't ever disrespect me in that manner? do you understand?" coryo sneered, your hands pinned above you in his grip. "you refer to me how you're supposed to, or you will not refer to me at all."

you whimpered at the threat, mind swimming with pleasure with each punishing roll of his hips. "do you hear me?" coryo sneered, hips snapping into yours, a jab so sharp you could feel it in your heart.

"yes!" you squealed, eyes already glazed, still teary from your spanking.

"yes, who?" coryo challenges, head tilting to the side. he stilled for a moment, hovering above you, looking down the slope of his nose at you.

you blinked, gaze meeting his. "yes, coryo, i-i understand." you whispered.

he smirked, satisfied to have broken you, got you back into line.

[joannasprose]

KNUCKLE VELVET

description:

“. . .Nothing hurts like you do. Like the way you say I love you.”

Following VI’s ‘betrayal’, the heartbreak, and cruelty that rests in her heart, she begins to embark on a path of full of physical and mental depravities that threaten to kill her tenfold.

That is, until you find her again.

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

read part two here!

pairings: vi x reader, caitlyn x violet

word count: 1.4k

content warnings: angst, violence, denial of feelings, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, 3 parts series.

authors note: sorry for being gone for a little while !! I did not have any motivation to write but now it’s Christmas break so I’m hopeful I’ll write a little more <3 I hope you guys enjoy this have a good holidays 🌀 also my inspirations were knuckle velvet and the carpet ep by ethel cain - hence the chapter title and wip name :P ( also cross posted on ao3!! my user is joannasprose if u wanna read it there! It’s also linked in my navigation :) )

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

Her knuckles are aching—swollen and bloody from her fights. Fights that were, at first to make money for herself, yet now has turned itself into something formally depraved. Perhaps another form of self-deprecation, of hurt and of the brutality in which she finds herself subjectedto.

Everything begins to hurt—the throbbing in her head, the pain of childhood melancholy, and most recently, a rebirthed heartbreak. The memory of Caitlyn's cruelty is wedged between her ribs, along with her fingers and in the wounds that won’t heal.

So maybe that’s what it is, her reasoning for putting herself on display: for digging her nails deep into her skin as her fists meet her next unfortunate opponent.

But as she lays half awake in her bed, reminding herself that she cannot help anyone if she won’t help herself, a prolonged breath leaves her mouth.

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

YOU FIND YOURSELF sat in the stands, hands in your lap as the crowd's cheers begin at a simmer and slowly shape into a boil. The hairs on your skin have created goosebumps in anticipation, waiting unnervingly as you wait for her to enter the stage.

In all honesty, you feel a bit stalkerish. You had never found yourself trying to formally talk to her—in your defense, it had been seven years since then. Since everything went wrong and since everyone had changed. Yourself included.

And perhaps, if she had truly wanted to see you again, why hadn’t she come to find you. To scrape up the pieces of a broken love and pull you in her arms again? You try desperately to pull yourself out of your thoughts as you see her, finally, stepping out of the archway and in the attire you always saw her in.

To anyone else who might not have known her as well as you did, they might have brushed her off as just another Zaunite. One who raved in the spotlight and indulged in the delights Zaun had to offer. But you knew better.

You could see it in the indents of her skin—and though you had never come too close to her, your vision along with where you sat had been enough for you to recognize her anywhere. There were rumors that she had come back; rumors of her being in acquaintance with a piltie, others speaking of the havoc she’d caused around the streets of Zaun, sometimes even Piltover.

When you had first acknowledged them, your heart ached. For her, and then for Jinx, for Ekko. And sometimes, even for yourself.

The roars of the crowd hadn’t died down, in fact, they had grown louder when her opponent had finally come on stage. He was five times bigger than Vi in size, and usually, you hadn’t wondered whether or not she would win. Vi was a skilled fighter, fast on her feet, and level headed.

But now, as you watch her bring her balled fists up to her face, her eyes shuddering, her stance becoming wobbly as she puts her left foot in front of the other—you shamefully begin to wonder if she could truly win it, with the way she looks now.

In the first round, and even half of the second, she had the high ground. Blood was split, from his face and from her knuckles. But slowly, her movements had begun to deter, the sways becoming a more prominent factor in it all. And in the split of a second, one dipped in blood and in alcohol—his fist met her face and she’d hit the ground.

You couldn’t help but bring a hand to your mouth as a gasp left your throat. She didn’t get up, not this time. But her limp body laid there, unmoving on the ground as the crowd counted. All you could do was there, all you could do was watch as someone unknown to you, lifted her off the ground, and carried her out of the ring.

For whatever reason, seeing her like this pained you more than anything. In truth, you didn’t like the fact that she was doing this to herself. Nothing good had come out of it. In your eyes, she didn’t look happy or grateful from the outcome.

Just tired and hurt.

And so there you found yourself, standing from your spot and sifting through the crowd. Some cursed at you for blocking the view as the man below gloated his victory—but you didn’t care for it. Desperate to find her.

But you stop at your tracks at your realization. Find her and say what? You think to yourself.

You’d been gone, she’d been gone. She’s moved on so what is there left to say? But you push your hurt and questions aside, resuming your hair and leaving out the doors the brawling scene.

When times had become unbearable, much like this one, you found yourself thinking of the past.

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

THE NIGHT IS how it should be. Your body pressed up against hers as the wind whistles, as those grueling goosebumps come around as they always have, and as Vi speaks, “Are you even listening?” She asks, looking down to your face resting on her shoulder, a crooked smile on her lips.

“Of course I am,” you say, smiling as she rolls her eyes.

“Oh sure,” she begins, trailing off before resuming, “what was I talking about then?” An even wider smile finds itself on your face—recalling the moments prior to this one.

“Um…the intricacies of…structures?” It’s silent until a laugh pulls itself from Vi’s throat, the pearls in her gums taking their place on stage as she speaks, “seriously? Did you even try?”

You pull yourself away from her, slapping her shoulder playfully as you bite your lip, “Dude! Can you blame me? It's freezing cold out here. My skin might freeze and fall off my bones.”

Vi hums in response, turning her attention to the city—the buildings that stand oh so firmly, all beautifully made in their own ways.

The silence is evident. Apparent enough to make you anxious as you take it all in.

Giving into the silence, you speak, “Vi? What’s wrong?” You follow the path that her eyes lead to. But to no avail, all you find are scattered lights and people who look like ants compared to the both of you.

“Nothing I just…” she says, beginning to bring a hand to ear to her, a sheepish smile on her lips now as you look at her. “I just don’t want this to end,” she says and then she looks at you. With a look of endearment and love and anything you’ve found yourself dreaming of.

“Promise me you won’t change. Promise me you’ll always be with me.” A smile finds itself on your lips as you lift a hand to her cheek, watching as she closes her eyes and grabs your wrist, gently.

“I promise. I won’t change. Not now, not ever.”

You say, genuinity laced across your lips.

Because it was true. It was, you’d truly meant it.

———

It hadn’t been that hard to find her.

A turn down an alleyway and you saw her.

Alone and slumped against the bottom of the stairs. For a long moment, you just stared. Unsure of how to approach her and what to do. Even now, would she have remembered you? Even after all those years, thinking of her and wondering where she could have ended up, had she thought of you?

Or were you just simply another thing abandoned and forgotten.

Undermining that fact, you stalk towards her anyways, gently and with precaution.

Finally, as you’ve set closed, watching her heaving on the sets of stairs, you see her for what she is now: a raw, gaping wound.

Hesitantly, you lift your hand to her shoulder, desperately wanting to push her into a sitting position. But the moment your hand falls close to her skin, she reaches out her own to grab your wrist. Not gentle like it used to be, but harsh.

A startled breath leaves your throat, wanting to pull away but she still holds on to you.

Her vision is squirming, her eyes are looking in every direction before befalling you.

Before her hand loosens and is gentle once again, like you’ve always known.

But she’s let go of you now as she speaks, “y/n?”

to be continued. . .

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

KNUCKLE VELVET

CHAPTER ONE: MISUSE OH

[bunicate]

mimi i wud die for sum wrio incest ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ i need nii-nii to punish his lil sis when she starts actin up and disobeying ૮꒰ྀི⸝⸝> . <⸝⸝꒱ྀིა

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི ₊˚ pairing ꒱ྀི wriothesley x fem reader — warnings ��� incest. fucking in leggings. calling your big brother daddy ? creampie. reader is described as small / 18+

i kept u waiting long enough and Im not sure but I may have strayed a witl bit from whut u said but still ! ! wrio-nii <3 muhehe . some icky thoughts and babbling below nonnie.

believe it or not wriothesley doesn’t necessarily enjoy punishing his little sister, but that doesn’t mean he’s opposed to it, especially if you’ve been seeking a less-than-innocent reaction out of him. 

it crushes him to say it, but wriothesley knows that his chilling title as duke at the fortress of meropide doesn’t grant him the same freedoms as others. he’s an overseer, a self-appointed role that he carved himself. part of it is to maintain order; the other half is maybe to fulfill his own sentence and snuff out any remnants of the guilt he couldn’t shake off.

naturally, he’s a protector whose hands happen to be bloodied. if it meant guaranteeing the safety of his little sister, he’d fight his way through anything, even if it meant bruised skin and broken bones. to be at the fortress while you remained in the world above was, to say the least, hard, but he’s working around that obstacle.

its some days, like today ( though rare on occasion ) he takes a well-deserved break.

a long shower, a couple of hours in the at home gym to stay dedicated, and then he promises afterwards that he’s all yours. maybe a picnic, a stroll through the town, a shopping trip—whatever you set your sights on, he’d do it; he’d get it because he has the patience of a saint, but that just happened to be the one thing you lacked.

your attempts at seducing him were messily orchestrated. adorable, and innocent, and his cock strained against his sweatpants nonetheless.

wriothesley’s bare chest expands with each deep breath he takes, greedily sucking up the air to calm his lungs and beating heart after he drops his weight.

though away from the world below, he doesn’t stray from his regimen. even when darling little girls strut in loungewear not even appropriate enough to wear in their own homes, offer him water.

he downs it—gulps it incredibly fast and wipes the remnants of water that escape on the back of his hand. he sets the glass down, and he knows that water isn’t the only thing his body is aching for.

the clothes are practically second skin, your nipples are puffy and alert under your shirt from the air conditioning, and the leggings are tight enough to emphasize the chub of your lower lips.

“why are you lookin’ at me like that?”

it’s a silly question he doesn’t bother to answer.one foot behind the other, hands intertwined, you give him that a stare that reveals more than you let on. your tongue delicately swipes your bottom lip, and his eyes follow. he watches closely when your lips do that small bounce from the release of your teeth.

he wants to wipe that doe-eyed look off your face and rip the flimsy pants off. maybe even ruffle up your pretty pigtails, but you’d hate him if he did. yet, it’s only fair for him to tease in return, and wriothesley isn’t too keen on enforcing discipline. but if you want it so bad, he can’t see why he can’t be voracious just this once.

it takes him only a split second to wrangle your body to the floor and push your cheek into the plush mat. he’s pumped with adrenaline; his brute strength nearly knocks the wind out of you.

those fingers that you love so dearly trail down your hips and backside to finally press down on the seat of your leggings—right where your cunt sucked in the fabric. just two of his digits encompass the size of your heat, and they trace the sticky folds through the cloth. your grip on the mat tightens, bracing yourself for the inevitable.

he roughly rips open your leggings, the sudden exposure to air making you gasp. it’s a wide enough hole to display your plump ass and fat little pussy to his icy blues. such thick, succulent lips dressed in a thin layer of your slick that he wanted to lap up selfishly.

his large hand reels back and collides with the flesh of your butt watching it jiggle.

“hnn— !”

your body lurches forward on impact, and wriothesley flexes his thick arms to keep you still.

“shh, shh. s’okay.”

he rubs the fat of your butt briefly before landing another swift strike.

you squeal, “nii-nii! p-pleaseee !”

the arch in your back deepens, and wriothesley licks his lips in anticipation at your show of embarrassment.

“this is what you wanted, isn’t that right?”

he’s dizzy from the sight of your gaping cunt, and he can’t tell whether to spank it, fuck it, or kiss it first.

ultimately, he decides on spitting.

he puckers his lips, and a tiny glob lands right in the center of your pussy, and he eagerly stares as it disappears between your plump folds.

you flinch away reactively from the moist invasion, scrambling on the floor, but your brother overpowers you.

“come on, don’t run from me now, you little brat.” his hold on you tightens, forcing your ass higher up.

wriothesley begins to tug his pants down and pull out his heavy cock. it’s thick and drooling pre-cum from his wide tip, eager to empty his load inside your tiny hole. he gives it a few strokes and watches you wiggle your butt in excitement.

“put it in nii-nii. i'm so messy down there, so you don’t need’ta prep me. . .”

a manicured nail runs down your slit and separates your fold, and nothing but arousal webs across your twitchy cunt.

“fuck .” 

you are messy.

you’re dripping and creaming, and he’s barely started. he takes his own thumbs to spread your lips apart further, like he couldn’t believe it himself. your vagina thumps erratically, pumping out a bubbly, clear fluid. the squelch is disgustingly loud, and he has to fight himself from collecting the salty drops with his tongue.

he whistles in agreement.

“would you look at that? i guess you’re right. this needy cunt can take my fat cock. ”

he's holding his breath when he presses it against your quivering center.

“i always thought you were too little to take it, but your pretty pussy is more than ready for me.”

he rubs the softness of your skin in awe.

you turn your neck slightly to give him a shy smile. “mhm, s’ only for you. . but,” you shake your hips again. “could you put it in, please?”

slick was now stuck between your thighs, staining your already ruined leggings, and you felt dirty, but not enough to overpower the desire to be fucked by your older brother. you were practically humping the air in utter want, but wriothesley doesn’t match your urgency.

“i’m trying, sweetie, but—” the duke makes no effort—he wipes his sloppy mushroom head on your clit, dragging it in messy circles.

“nii-nii is having trouble.”

his pre-cum frothed into a cloud coating your already wet lips, and he hisses when your pussy briefly twitches around his glans. he nudges your opening teasingly but doesn’t bother to push his way through the tight seam.

he shakes his head in faux remorse.

“see, i guess you’re still too little after all."

you throw a small fit, “that’s not true! i can take it!”

he chuckles at your pouting. the hold on your ass digs into your skin as a warning to not get so worked up.

"then what do you suppose we do?”

he spits again, but this time on his shaft, and he drags his hand up just enough for his foreskin to cup the crown of the flushed tip.

"jus’ ruin it—force your cock in. .”

and he didn’t need to be told again.

two beautiful holes, a tight little knot that he can’t wait to split apart one day, and a wet and fat pussy. was he even strong enough to tough it out a little longer?

he looks up towards the ceiling, muttering a brief prayer. you just might kill him, but he's more than ready.

the tight fist around his member squeezes until a thick drop of white plops against the floor. his balls firm and round flutter with every gasp of air you take. his body is in sync with yours, and as soon as his tip pushes against your opening, it stretches—coaxing in his meaty girth. he pushes all the way in until he's sure he can’t go any deeper, and then pulls back out. his cock shines with your wetness, and he takes a few seconds to marvel at where your groins meet.

without warning his hips to mount forward, and he fucks you with purpose—to teach a lesson.

his pace is far from what you predicted; it's much faster and filled with a vigor you weren’t used to. your big brother prefers to handle you with much more care, knowing that you're just a delicate little thing, but he trusts you’ll get used to it.

you proved time and time again to be adaptable, so you keep your ankles crossed and your face down, smushed into the floor, while he uses your body for his own end. his balls, warm and taut, spank your clit unabashedly, turning the screw inside of you. a ring of milk forms at the base of his cock, and the friction pulls noises out of you you didn’t think you were capable of making.

you move to crawl away and put some distance, but wriothesley doesn't let you.

“nah, be still; let nii-nii use you. that’s what little girls are supposed to do, right?”

he laughs, maybe even out of disbelief. each time he tries to convince himself that it will be the last, he still finds himself forcing his cock inside his cock-hungry little sister. and your moans only elevate in pitch as you get closer to that edge.

“yesssss. ah !—hn—you can use me as many times as you want. m'your little stress toy!”

wriothesley grunts loudly. the sound of your lustful proclamations rattling his very being.

“I'm your little girl. keep fuckin’ me, please, nii-nii.”

he doesn’t want to stop.

the recoil of your round ass from the impact of his thrust is a view too otherworldly for him to separate his eyes from. his body accumulates more sweat, and he continues to deliver those fucks that pushes you harder into the floor. your leggings, other than the gaping rip, were thoroughly obliterated, and the mixture of fluids made the fabric darker and stickier.

“! m’almost there, keep going nii-nii. . . s-so close !”

a foggy cloud slows the whirrs in his brain; all of his thinking ceases, and the only thing he can focus on is finishing inside you. to empty his large balls of his salty seed and pull out more of those choked sobs out.

“s’okay baby. relax . i got you.”

“hnn-! hiccup . mmkay ! i love you s’much."

“yeah, nii-nii loves you too, baby. don’t fucking forget it.”

"i won't, d-daddy.”

he stills only for a moment before continuing.

“daddy ? what are you talking about, silly girl?”

he snickers in between moans and claps of skin. did he fuck you that dumb already?

“I’m your brother princess, don’t tell me you forgot.”

you pulse around his cock.

“mhm, but you’re my daddy too.”

he rolls his eyes and smiles.

“i guess i have a pretty daughter to take care of now,” he says and he’s rewarded with your cute mewls and noises of happiness.

he’d kill for you.

again.

he’s a man free of guilt when he’s the closest to you, and it’s why he feels no shame when he delivers one last thrust and pumps your pussy full of his hot semen.

you welcome it, feeling it fill your belly and it takes few minutes for wriothesley to separate himself from you. the minute he pulls out is when he feels robbed of your warmth, he feels naked but satisfied. his cock layered with thick cum fell limp between his legs and he feels relief that his balls were no longer aching with cum ; it was instead leaking from your puffed cunny.

his hands reached out to touch your sensitive pussy, squeezing it to watch the dollops of his seed drip on the gym mat. your legs shake in desire and it’s when reality sinks in.

you didn’t finish and wriothesley makes no move to get you off. he smirks, he’s sure that this time his punishment will keep you in line.

although, only for a bit .

[he3ts]

JUST A GAME

squid game / masterlist / part one — part two — masterlist

pairings: nam gyu x reader

warnings: sex, drugs, unprotected sex, sub nam gyu, manipulation, sex under the influence of drugs, alcohol, toxic relationship, toxic nam gyu. +18

Nam Gyu tossed and turned in bed a thousand times, with a thousand thoughts in his head, your image was the only thing he could see clearly that morning. You were wrapped in the blankets like a bundle, your hair spread on the pillow, and your hands in front of your face. You were finally at peace, looking happy only when you were sleeping peacefully. He breathed hard, turning toward your sleeping figure, grabbed your helpless hand only to join it with his own. How long would that game last? Out and stay. Out and stay. For a thousand times, a thousand encounters, yet to him you still remained an enigma.

You promised yourself that you would be good this time, that the distance from him would be manageable, but it was always like that, it happened a lot. You were always too stoned, drunk and needy to stop. Only in the end you had managed to feel far too much affection for him. He, on the other hand, sought you out only when it was most convenient for him. No one could hurt you more than him. No one could heal you, you said, but the love you felt for him was alive. It burned. And it hurt. All his broken promises just to have you one more night in his bed, what were you after all that time?

Friends? No, friends don't touch each other like that, don't confuse your thoughts, don't kiss until your breath is completely gone. You are not friends. But to him you are like nothing. One in billions. But he wanted you, no woman he saw at the Pentagon gave him the same effect. You were not friends. You were nothing. He was just very good at breaking promises, looking for you when he needed you, or when he promised you at night that he would come back to you, but he didn't come back at all.

He wanted you. But not the way you wanted him. You coveted him as a lover, he used you to vent when everything was too complicated to digest. That morning you looked radiant to him, he had never seen you so serene, in truth, a warm smile carved your cheeks into pretty dimples, your cheeks flushed and your hair messed up. You had not spoken; you had simply looked at him, shifting your eyes to your entwined hands. It all seemed so intimate, so simple, that you almost missed your pulse.

Waking up like that, every morning, was all you aspired to. His black eyes seemed to read your soul too easily, all your weaknesses, all your love you felt for him. He stroked your hair gently, moving an unruly lock away from your face. You remembered little of the other night, everything so blurry and unfocused, Nam Gyu's breath on your neck as you sat on his lap, his arm holding you tightly, possessively, as he made you feel his erection against your bottom in plain sight thanks to the short skirt.

Remember how he had grabbed you by the hips as he put a blue pill in his mouth, remember how he had kissed you by sliding it into your mouth, a hundred times with the kiss deepening and the pill melting under your tongues. He had touched you as always, but now there was the drug consuming you, your body split in half. You could remember nothing but his appearance shrouded in a cloud of smoke.

"I want you."

Then the emptiness. Just him, his room, his hair clinging to your neck and your skin burning. You were lying on the bed, as if paralyzed, as he crushed his head against the pillow rolling the joint. You were twisted in on yourself, his boxers on and his loose shirt traveling straight. He had run his tongue over the edge of the rod a couple of times, then passed it to you. His lips soft and plump. Irresistible. No matter how hard you tried, the feel of his lips on your neck was hard to erase.

You were both drugged, locked in those four walls, your eyes foggy from that joint you had just smoked.

"What's the matter, bunny, can't you do it?"

"Think for yourself," you had whispered before straddling him. Everything was wonderful. Too much so. You still had his cologne on you as you trembled with immense pleasure under him and felt a range of otherworldly sensations inside your body. He kept up the pace so that you came for the thousandth time that same evening. You trembled around him as you moaned into his mouth.

You were not lucid. But it happened a lot. He was so good at using you.

His brown eyes were exhausted, hiding a proud smile, as if he was happy to give himself to you. He didn't want to waste time. But he liked hurting you so much.

You had cried that night because of him.

"Oh, fuck," was your moan as your intimacies collided, and you continued to tighten around him. Aware of your closeness, of his excessive fatigue and your desire to have a little more fun. He had touched the end of your neck several times as you played with his hair and sniffed it like a drug addict. You had whispered his name against his ear, looking at him just below his long, thick lashes.

"You're driving me crazy, you fucking bunny," his voice grew lower and lower, but he didn't want to scare you. Your legs trembled so overwhelmingly that you leaned them against his hips to draw him more to your body. He had paused briefly, playing with the strands of your hair as if to soothe you.

You were so close. So close. It was heaven.

When the storm of your orgasm began to fade, only a gracious smile was born on your face. Finally he was there, again, to hurt you.

You used to remember. But you still remembered too little. For after this he had fallen onto your body and then rolled onto his side. He looked so beautiful when he was asleep, so at peace, you had barely sighed before resting your lips on his in his drowsiness.

"What are you doing?" he gasped into the gentle kiss you had granted him.

"I'm kissing you"

"Why do you persist in loving me?" maybe it was the pill, or maybe he really was the main problem. He turned his back to you too quickly, you were still shaken, your thighs shaking and the smile that had now faded from your face.

You don't want to remember. Now. Nam Gyu got out of bed without making a sound, leaving you there, wrapped in the sheets soaked in his scent, your skin still warm from the marks he had left on you. The mattress sagged slightly as he moved away, and for a moment you had felt the emptiness at your side, as if it had only been an illusion, a blurry dream amid alcohol, smoke, and stifled moans.

You reached out a hand into the darkness, seeking the warmth of his body. Finding only the cold of rumpled sheets. Your heart clenched in your chest. He had left you once again. And you, once again, had believed he could be different.

You had stood staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the burning inside you. Each time it was the same thing. He would take you, consume you, and then pull away, as if it had been just another meaningless night. But when he used you like that, he made you feel loved. Cursedly loved.

You had pulled yourself up with difficulty, your legs still soft, your head turning slightly. His shirt slid wide over your bare shoulders, the fabric impregnated with his scent. You ran a hand through your shaggy hair, trying to tidy your thoughts, but it was no use. The night blurred in your mind like a vortex of pleasure and regret.

You could hear him, he was in the kitchen, the sound of the gas on, the clink of a spoon against the cup. The scent of coffee wafted through the air, familiar and painful. You had dragged yourself out of the room, barefoot on the cold floor, then leaned against the doorframe.

He was there, his hair still tousled, his chest bare, his boxers pulled down slightly on his hips. He was pouring his coffee with his usual calmness, his shoulders tense, his gaze not even dignifying you with a glance. As if you had never existed. As if he had not spent the night inside you, whispering against your skin things that now seemed to have evaporated into the air.

You wet your dry lips before speaking.

"Are you leaving without saying anything?" Your voice was scratchy, hoarse, still marked by the night.

Nam Gyu had not looked up, bringing the cup to his lips, blowing softly. "What good would it do to say anything?"

Your stomach clenched. Always like this. Always fucking like this. You had moved closer, crossing your arms over your chest. "So what? Are you again the usual asshole who fucks and then pretends nothing happened?"

He finally looked at you. His eyes were cold, inscrutable. "I never promised you anything"

You knew. But hearing him say it like that still broke you.

"That's strange, because last night it seemed like you were doing something else entirely"

He laughed softly, bitterly. "Last night we were high. It's different"

You had paused, for your own sake, feeling your hands clench into fists along your sides. "No, it's not different, Nam Gyu. Not for me"

He stiffened, his fingers drumming against the cup. "Then whose fault is it?"

You were out of breath, for a second, no longer knowing how to breathe. "Mine?"

He shrugged, taking another sip of coffee. "You're still here, aren't you?"

That sentence had been the straw. You had reached out, grabbing his arm to force him to really look at you. "And why are you always looking for me? Why can't you let me go!"

The cup slammed against the piano with a dull sound. His eyes were dark, his jaw clenched, his hair messed up, "I don't want to let you go. But I don't want what you want either"

Your hands were shaking. "Then what the fuck do you want from me, Nam Gyu?"

Silence.

A heavy silence, laden with everything you never said.

Then he flinched, grabbing a pack of cigarettes and lit one. He took a long drag, exhaled the smoke without looking at you.

"I don't know"

You felt you lacked air, your throat tightened in a vice. He was always like that. Always hovering between yes and no, between desire and rejection. You couldn't take it anymore. "You're a coward," you had breathed out, your voice trembling with anger and pain.

He laughed, a sound devoid of joy. "Maybe"

You had shifted out of the way, grabbing the still-warm cup and throwing it against the wall. The sound of shattering pottery filled the air. Nam Gyu did not move, did not even flinch.

"Tell me you don't want me anymore and I'll leave," you were challenging him, your eyes glazed over, your breath broken. He turned toward you, cigarette smoke enveloping his face, his gaze steady. "I can't"

You felt yourself breaking down.

It was a vicious cycle. An endless game.

You had dropped into the chair, your head in your hands. "Then you're an even worse bastard than I thought"

Nam Gyu put out his cigarette in the sink, then ran a hand through his hair. "I know, bunny"

You bit your lip hard, trying to hold back the frustration that exploded in your chest like a hurricane. He was there, standing in front of you, with that air of someone who won't let anything get to him, someone who is in control of everything, even you. And that was driving you crazy.

"If you know that, why do you keep doing this to me?" your voice cracked, but you didn't want to cry. Not in front of him.

Nam Gyu huffed, ran a hand through his shaggy hair, and shook his head. "I'm not doing anything to you"

"You're not doing anything to me?!" you had exploded, and with you your anger, your hands moving instinctively against his bare chest, pushing him hard. "You want me. You seek me out. You destroy me. And then you pretend not to. If that's not doing something to me, then tell me what the fuck it is!"

He barely staggered, but did not move. He looked down at you, his lips pressed into a thin line, his dark eyes burning with emotions he did not want to admit.

"I can't give you what you want." Another stab. You felt yourself sinking.

"Then let me go," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. "If you can't give me what I want, let me go"

Nam Gyu had remained silent, his breathing barely heavier. He wasn't going to do that. You knew. He never would.

You stared at him, anger mixing with the pain, the nights spent longing for him, the mornings like that when you were left with emptiness between the sheets and a broken heart. And he was still fucking there, without an answer, without an ounce of shame.

"Tell me you don't care about me. Look me in the eye and tell me"

He didn't. He never did.

On the contrary, he had taken a step toward you, his chest brushing against yours, his warmth enveloping you like a flame too close. "You don't understand," he whispered, his voice low, scratchy, charged with something he didn't want to say out loud.

You burst out laughing, a bitter, desperate laugh. "I don't understand?! I love you, Nam Gyu! l-"

Not let you finish.

His hands tightened around your face and his mouth crashed against yours violently. A brutal, hungry kiss, filled with anger and frustration. It was not sweet, it was not gentle. It was a confrontation, a desperate need.

You clung to his shoulders, nails sinking into warm skin as he pushed you back, not breaking the kiss, not giving you time to think. He grabbed you by the hips with the strength of someone who did not want to let you go, and you hated him for it. You hated the way his body stuck to yours, the way his tongue explored your mouth as if it were his own.

You crashed against the couch as he pushed himself down unceremoniously, pulling your body to sit astride him.

"Nam Gyu-" kiss, "Please." kiss.

"That's not enough, baby. Let me hear your voice," he lowered his lips to the level of your sensitive ear; he was a very good actor, becoming dominant just to manipulate you and get whatever he wanted. He had lightly bitten your ear after saying this, as you tried to hide your beautiful face even more, ending up in the crook of his neck.

"I need you," an almost inaudible whisper was heard in the room, muffled further by the proximity of your lips on his neck. He felt your panties getting wetter by the minute.

"Where?" He continued with that torture, he wanted to rip the words out of your mouth, he had no intention of stopping, common sense had overwhelmed reason. You had to talk, with him, express your desires.

"Inside me" you had put even more force on his grip, moving your face to look at his lips voraciously, but he had no intention of kissing you now. He wanted to do it gently, the one he so lacked. At his words one of your hands slid to his boxers.

Your bodies intertwined in the darkness of the room, skin against skin, heat against heat, with no more room for modesty or control. It was a perverse game, a visceral need that renewed itself every time your hands found each other, your lips colliding in kisses too greedy to be sweet.

Your clothes were already strewn on the floor, as forgotten as the promises you had never made to each other. His fingers traced paths over your skin, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you, as your breath broke against his neck. His muscles tensed under your hands, his chest rising and falling heavily as desire grew between you, insatiable, inevitable.

He held you against him, making you shudder as his throbbing member brushed against your opening, teasing you with slow, studied movements, as if he wanted to hear you beg. And you, damn it, were already there, ready to give in, ready to let him destroy you once more.

"May I?" you had asked, looking deeply into his eyes, a mixture similar to bitter coffee. You were looking for a signal from him. He felt his belly explode from the sensation, his head thrown back as you touched his light abs to his navel. He penetrated you very slowly, forced to suppress a moan, biting his lower lip fiercely. You both gasped as he entered you completely.

"Bunny" grabbed your hips, throwing your head between the pillows as you began to jump on his cock like a mad mare, your breasts in the wind and his footprints marking the flesh of your damn soft hips.

You had begun to move back and forth very slowly and quietly, not really picking up a rhythm.

Moving your hips, you had picked up a rhythm that was not too fast but sustained, making Nam Gyu moan even louder, "shhh" you had whispered in his ear, that hiss broken in turn by a few moans. You were no better off. Yours, at that point, sounded more like cries coming out of your mouth, moans combined with whimpers. The friction between your two bodies was driving him crazy; he was as if drugged by the sensation. You had rested your head against his chest, moaning pathetically, while your hips gave no hint of decay.

His words kept reaching you like a distant echo, "You are so good," he begged your voice in a way so deep that it only made him moan more, and for a moment he stopped breathing on his own, "You need to ride me more often"

In response you had breathed hard, wrapping your lips lower toward his Adam's apple. Your legs rubbed against his, making little jumps to increase your shared pleasure.

"You don't want to stop now, little girl, do you?" He had said hoarsely in your ear. His cock moved a little to the left, hitting a particular spot, a scream ripped your chest in two. "How beautiful you are," your forehead on his shoulder, he played with your breast, taking it with his large hand.

"Oh, fuck," you had screamed, digging your nails into his shoulders as you flexed on his body as if you were dying.

"What, you want me to stop?"

"Don't! Don't. Please. Don't ever stop," you had closed more against him, pinning your legs against his stomach.

Fuck.

You were almost at your limit. You had gasped as you felt his cock react inside you, as he took you by the hips so he could get out.

"Can you finish inside me?" you had gasped with a puppy face, grabbing his hands to move them from your hips and rest them on your breasts.

"Are you sure?" he had asked, but you had kissed him again, with overwhelming eagerness, grabbing his dark locks.

"Please, just this once"

"Just this once, bunny"

Your muscles stiffened and his cock twitched repeatedly, then a gentle kiss on your neck as he released himself completely inside you. He had taken your face only to kiss you one more time; you were shaken, confused. The silence that followed was almost unbearable. Both of you were too tired to talk, but not tired enough not to feel the emptiness between you. Your bodies were still warm, but the contact no longer felt the same, as if everything that had brought you together had vanished along with the tension that had dissipated. Every breath seemed heavy.

He was not looking at you. He had moved slowly, as if the slightest movement was an unbearable effort, and had taken the cigarette from the pack on the table beside the bed. The smoke rose, dancing in the air like a fog that separated them, like a barrier between his world and yours. You watched him in silence as the room seemed to grow smaller and smaller, your thoughts more confused. The adrenaline you had been feeling was slowly fading, giving way to a feeling of emptiness. The feeling that had always haunted you.

All that passion, that irrepressible desire, in the end had never been anything but an illusion. Maybe that was what hurt you. The fact that, each time, you felt involved, overwhelmed, but always for a reason you could not understand. What about Nam Gyu? He was the same as always. Nothing more. Yet, each time, you thought he would be different. But it had never been.

He had said nothing as he watched you arrange your clothes. He merely looked at you, but not with the intensity of before. The one that made you feel like you were the most important thing, the most desired. Now there was only distance.

"Tell me this is the last time," you had said, your voice low, broken by a restlessness you could no longer hide.

"We can't stop," he had replied simply, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.

You knew. Very well.

MASTERLIST.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Black Metal and Bourbon (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.1k

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, drug usage, mentions of sex & intimacy, dark jokes/dirty jokes, rumors, gossip, past toxic relationship, a shitty Ex, protective!Simon, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You slapped the damp rag back into the bar top, the fabric heavy with spilled alcohol and other fluids that you didn’t even want to try and think about. 

“Jesus.” Your muscles ache, neck stiff from having to try and slap a dart from the ceiling where some jackass had been too drunk to attempt and hit the target. The thing was still up there, as you weren’t about to spend your entire night fruitlessly attempting to fix someone else's blurry mistakes. 

You glare over your shoulder, seeing the unconscious form of the man in question being dragged out by his friends presently, his slurring chuckles making him sound like a drowning elephant. Intoxicated yells of goodbye attached to your name make you roll your eyes slowly as they begin being said; you push through the waist-height door to allow you behind the front counter. Your middle finger flips the patrons off before boisterous flirting hits the air.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that—!” Is cut off by the slam of the front doors and you couldn’t be more happy that your boss hadn’t gotten the bolts tightened. 

“Don’t get paid enough…” You grumble, eyes slithering over to the tip jar and seeing the overflow of bills and coins as your fingers wrap the neck of a bottle of Vodka. 

The profit would be split with your coworker even if she’d been gone for more than half a night getting railed by her new boy toy. You can still remember the look she’d given you as she’d walked out during rush hour, her sharp smirk and smug sheen of ‘you won’t say anything, will you?’

Grumbling under your breath, you slip the Vodka back into its slot on the wall racks, while telling yourself you can’t drink on the job; trying to forget the face of the man that had been attached to hers before they’d stumbled to the back alley.  

“Graham Whitaker, you’re such a five-cent sell-out,” you shake your head, sighing heavily into the air that smells like booze and sweat. 

Graham Whitaker—your Ex in every sense. 

You decided to tell your coworker, if she ever showed back up, that the only reason she was getting dicked-down was because it was that man’s plan to try and make you jealous. As if you’d be caught with your pants down over a prick that had cheated on you more times than you could count before you threw his ass out. 

“Not my problem anymore,” your hands move to display themselves in a motion of a settled disagreement before wiping them on your black pants. 

It was late now, of course, with the dart-drunk and his friends being the last patrons that you had to serve. But you’d been in this town a long, long time. 

Sorrel the construction worker came in an hour, Miss Anna-Lee accompanying for her nightly Gin and Tonic before she talked about her late love from the seventies. From there it was three more regulars before closing activities and fighting to get up tomorrow by noon only to do it all over again. 

Over and over and over. 

You lean back on the counter and look across the brown wood and warm overhead lights, behind you, the illumination from the drink rack gives off a dead glow. 

This was your workplace since you'd been of age, and over the years that seemed to drag, here is where you’d stayed. Nothing ever changed in this town—the biggest shock was when you’d broken up with Graham; people hadn’t stopped talking about it for months.

This place was like a prison of slow death and abandoned dreams. Safe to say this was not what you had envisioned for yourself.

You scoff, pushing off the back counter and snatching your rag back up before you can spiral once more.

The stains weren’t going to buff themselves out.

Maybe it was chance that the mechanics shop across the street had shut down, too few employees and too many drug busts. Chance, or fate, whichever it was you chose to believe in that still-air Sunday, it was still a shock to you when you looked out the front window as Sorrel called goodnight through his heavy accent. 

‘SOLD’

“Sold?” Sorrel pauses with one foot out of the door, and he chuckles when he sees where you’re looking in shock, your hand holding a dirty glass. 

“Haven’t heard, then? Few newcomers snuck in under our noses—they’ll be running the place; mechanics!” 

“New?” You laugh. “Who in their right mind would come here of all places?” 

Sorrel shakes his head, grumbling as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket. “You’ll just have to meet ‘em, Doll. Sure you’ll leave a glowing impression.”

“Take that shit outside, you ass. You know I hate the smell.” A smirk graces your dead eyes. 

“Like I said. Glowing.” You glare, but the man slips out of the door quickly and his form passes by the window outside to climb into his truck parked in the street. Two honks from the horn and the older man is off, grizzly-like beard gone just like your boredness. 

New arrivals? 

You blink at the blackened shadows of the street, illuminated by the lights and their tall tree-like bases—the sway of the planted bushes in the boxes outside. Your head tilts at the abyssal building that was once in working order. 

It was a shitshow now, years of abandonment not giving it any helping hand regarding upkeep. The concrete was cracked, the garage door was hanging off of one side, and the front windows had been broken by your Ex’s buddies when they had gotten into a fight like the three-year-olds they were. 

You hum lowly. A hard-chucked set of keys, you recalled. You’d seen it from here easily enough. Hadn't lied to Sheriff Russel when he’d come knocking, and, you suppose, that was why even now the immature posse still tried to scare you by following you home at night to this day.

As if everyone didn’t know where everyone else lived already. 

But back to the current interest for the night. 

“Let’s have a little look-see, then,” you breathe, knowing Miss Anna-Lee would be a good while away like always. You could chance five minutes—it was just across the street after all. 

Shuffling outside, making sure to hold the door until it closes slowly, you step down the single step and stick your hands into your pockets. The night wasn’t hot or cold, simply there like a metaphorical cut on your palm; it wasn’t surprising the more you lived with it, but it still made your skin itch. 

Feet padding, you cross the dead street and take in the long stretch of unkempt grass, stepping onto the broken curb as your shoes crunch broken glass. Long-gone cigarette butts are scattered here and there, the occasional stray bit of metal or trash. Your eyes shift slowly from one brick that makes up the frame to another, the peeling blue color that could use touching up. 

The mural you had painted in middle school had faded a long time ago, just like the great expectations of going into an art career. The eyes of a great gray wolf are only a dark outline that you can’t help but stare at as if a cancer was growing in your brain, hidden behind the reach of green ivy. 

Ripping your eyes away, you ignore the cry of tires from across the town and the pop of an exhaust pipe—the roar of either a car chase by the repeat offender Irene Chaney, or by some stupid kid related to Irene Chaney. 

“She’s gonna wreck one of these days,” you breathe, looking down at your object of intention—the sold sign in all of its red and white glory. 

Your hand snakes out and grabs the cheap plastic, stopping its swaying with a creak and a tilt of your head. 

You just couldn’t understand it—who in their right mind would buy this place? The only thing it would be good as is rubble, at least then some rabbit could make its very dusty home here. 

Sorrel had mentioned multiple people too. 

“Must be up at the B&B then,” your voice carries over the space, the stars twinkling above you as a shadow stands at the end of the cracked driveway. Its hands are in its pockets, tall form bulky with the dark brown leather jacket around its intimidating form. You’re none the wiser, letting the sign drop as you put your hands to your hips. “They better not be fuckin’ dickheads—”

“Mind explainin’ to me why I came to get a drink and now I’m talkin’ to some Bird on my property?” 

You startle, gasp peeling out of your lips as your head swivels as if attached to a string which, in turn, tracks back to the source of a heavy Manchester accent. Grass breaks under your feet, as the gravel of the tone makes you cringe. Your eyes lock on the man who looks like he just came back from a warzone. 

The first thing you noticed was the balaclava and the skeleton detailing, of course, how could you not—the lower half was an inch below those October eyes of the deepest shade of brown you’d ever witnessed. 

Your spine straightens in cautious surprise, hiding the way your hands had clenched as if ready to swing on your Ex if he so happened to be there instead of…this person. 

“Excuse me?” You say, quickly, as if it was forced out instead of a scream. Your face pushes that stern expression back to your face as your throat clears out the hoarseness.

A covered head tilts with its small sliver of pale flesh visible to you—the strong bones of his nose bridge and hidden jawline. The bulk of large muscles and thighs spoke to hard labor, and his booted feet shifted below loose black cargo pants. 

The mask alone caused you a hint of worry in those few seconds of fast study of this phantom’s anatomy. 

He blinks at you slowly, raising the small corner of a dark brow from a respectable distance away.

“Said you’re trespassing, yeah?” Your face gains a sheen of heat, and you glance at your bar behind the stranger, at the bright burn of the lights. 

Taking a stiff breath, your lips pull into a frown as you try to hide your embarrassment.

“Well…a holler would have been just fine.” A fake glare is put on. “What’s with sneaking up on a woman in the middle of the night? Are you some creep or something?”

Those dark eyes stay locked on yours, and for a moment you don’t know if you’ve encountered a statue or not because he doesn’t speak for a moment. 

A puff of breath from his nose. 

“You the bartender, then?” You motion to your nametag above your left breast and grunt. His gaze homes in before he simply says, “Good.”

Without another word, the man turns stiffly before he steadily begins making his way back to the bar; crossing the street with a swift check of the road. You watch him saunter off, jaw slackened and your cheeks hot. The span of his shoulder blades levels out as he rolls his shoulders. 

Where did this guy even come from? The answer was simple, the bed and breakfast was only four buildings down and to the left. Guy must have come in for a late-night serenade with a bottle.

A quick glance is thrown back to the rundown property behind you before you growl and hurry after this individual who currently pushes open the faulty doors of your work. Jogging across the asphalt, you catch the thing right before it closes and slip inside with a puff of air and a shoved-down snap of a sarcastic ‘thanks’. 

Yet, the man is already pulling back one of the bar stools and easing into it when you make it behind the counter. You study him yet again. 

“You’re one of the new mechanics?” Brown-Eyes blinks at you. 

Without missing a beat, he goes, “Bourbon—Kentucky.”

“I asked a question,” you cross your arms, not even for a moment looking away as the silence of the bar sneaks in around you and this strange creature. “Least you can do for a lady is answer it when you act like a damn cat and sneak up on her.”

“You were on my property.” This is leveled out through a grunt, and after a moment of staring, you scoff. 

“I was curious about who had bought such a piece of junk. Guess I have my answer.” Your hand grabs the bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, the amber liquid inside sloshing as you turn back and put it into the wood. There’s a fraction of a dead tease that makes the man seem more human than he looks.

“Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine?”

“I prefer a solar flair.” You comment dryly and set an engraved glass next to the bottle. Something flickers past the mechanic’s eyes, a quirk to the fabric of his balaclava. 

“On The Rocks or Neat?” Your brow raises and you tilt your head. 

“That even a bloody question? Neat.” You snort, splaying your hands before you grab the bottle as he watches you blankly. 

“Sorry, it's kind of my job to ask.” Your hand shifts and you pour a reasonable amount into the glass, knowing exactly when to stop. As you shift the bottle away, you leave it on the bar top and gently push the beverage to him as his gloved fingers take it up. You repress a small smile at the matching bone gloves to go with the detailing on his balaclava.

“Bartenders always have this much attitude?” The glass is kept in front of his person, carefully held in his large grip. 

Moving back, you go to lean on the back counter. This night was quickly taking an interesting turn. “Only if they’re me.” You sigh. “You have a name, then, Brown-Eyes?” 

The individual snorts at the title, but his eyes narrow on you at the same time as if he was held hesitant at the ability for you to make him. He had an air of casual tension around him, like a dog on a thin leash that can only just manage to meet others and stay his fangs. 

Danger, you pinpoint. The man felt like danger. A riptide; surface tension.

Then why was it that you felt more and more intrigued by the second?

“Simon Riley,” he eases, staring with those numb eyes of his before he tips the glass slightly your way. With the thumb on the same hand that holds the bourbon, he hooks it under his face covering and pulls it up until he can connect the glass to his lips and take down a sip as his Adam’s apple bobs in a swallow. 

On the way back, his thumb drags the fabric back to its previous position as if nothing had happened. The image of pale skin and stubble sticks with you, and your eyes shift away quickly without you realizing it as the glass is returned to the counter. 

“Well, Simon Riley,” you mutter, “welcome to nowhere.”

The man hums, eyes looking you over in a single glance before the gaze shifts to the wall behind your head. He says nothing, and the door opens to the next three familiar customers as you move to take their order. As you slip out from behind the barrier, you grumble under your breath before you slip past Simon to the corner booth. 

“For the record, Riley, I do enjoy seein’ that old place getting taken on. Don’t run it into the ground, would you? And if you need a fresh coat of paint, for the love of all things holy, don’t go down to the Schafersons’ place, you come right to me.” 

Walking casually, you greet the three ladies from the downtown library with a smirk and an easy comment about if their husbands knew they were out so late, to which you promptly got cursed out on good faith. Sharing a few chuckles, you get them started on what they need, all the while feeling those brown orbs now following subtly from the side of their sockets, intrigued. 

Simon wasn’t sure what to make of you, and the same could be said about this town as a whole. A woman with such a future trapped behind her eyes, adventure in her blood, why were you here in a place with nothing promised for it except dying businesses and old faces? This was a place where people came to hang up the coat, not try and rip it off of its peg. 

The children born here with ambitions leave, that was the common denominator. Even Simon could see that. But you? Here you were. 

The man peels his eyes away, taking up his glass again and re-hooking his thumb to his mask. Amber liquid seeps into his mouth, pulling the scars on his lips and cheeks as he swallows it down as easily as water. The bourbon pools in his stomach, sending its honied effects to the back of his mind; it would take much more to get drunk, but that wasn’t what Simon was looking for. 

Perhaps he was just out tonight wondering why he’d left the military for a mechanic’s job and come out here—asking anything for a sign that this was the right decision even as his head echoed with the screams and the gunfire. 

And then he’d seen you standing in front of the fuckin’ worst mechanics shop he’d ever seen that he’d signed the property deed for not three hours ago. Hell, he hadn’t even looked at the place before buying it—Price was responsible for the official financial actions, and the man had made him swear that it was worth it.

But fuck, he’d just needed a way out of the city. Too loud, too unpredictable in that previous shop of theirs right by the busy street. MacTavish and Garrick had been easy to convince; they’d all served together before and had no family over here either. 

A new start thousands upon thousands of miles away. 

Your head pulls up from where you chat with the librarians, hearing the slam of the door as the draft wafts in from outside—a small breeze has picked up. 

Inside walks in your very ruffled, and very well-pleased, coworker, Celina Bell. 

She brushes down her top and black skirt, blinking around with blown pupils until her eyes lock on you. A poisonous smile meets your eyes as you raise a brow slowly—Lord, if this girl didn’t realize that fucking your Ex over some workplace squabble wasn’t something to be proud of, she was really a lost cause. 

Simon only glances over his shoulder before turning back around and tapping his fingers against his glass absentmindedly. 

“You alright?” You ask out of due diligence, sparing the ladies an apology look for them being interrupted. 

“Better than alright,” Celina chuckles, walking over with a limp in her step. “Just scored Graham Whitaker.” She fake pauses, blinking as if in realization that a child would know was taking the piss. Your face is stuck in the expression of boredom. “Wait…you two were involved for a few years, right? Oh, I’m really sorry—I had no clue.”

“Yeah,” you look her up and down and blink at the disheveledness. “Sure. Quite the score.” A pause, her lips pulling back into that smug smirk that reminds you of a weasel. Yet your next words leave her face devoid of blood. “You know he got Chlamydia from Stacy Green a week ago, right?”

A pin could be heard dropping. Brown eyes are firmly stuck to the scene, unsure what to make of it. The ladies stifle their laughter.

“...W-what?”

“Y’know,” you motion a hand to her lower body, walking past her back to the bar. “STD. Chlamydia. Results in—”

“I know what the fuck an STD is, you bitch.”

“Woah,” you whistle, “language.” Your body returns to the counter as loud stuttering is left behind you, the frantic patting of a pocket to look for a phone before enraged feet rush to the exit. “Need a refill, Riley?”

“It can wait,” Simon utters slowly. The door slams shut.

You chuckle, shrugging. “Alright, suit yourself.” 

The man takes the names you drop and files them away, slotting them into his mental database for when he needs to work with these people. Yet, there’s already a sour impression just off of comments alone. Who better to get your news from than a bartender? 

You know everyone's dirty little secrets.

You diligently serve the drinks to the librarians, placing them down carefully before Simon once more has a re-filled glass of his drink. He moves it slightly up in a cheer and gives you a stare as you wipe your hands with a clean rag.

“Seems you know everything ‘round ‘ere.” His accent is what draws you in, and you find yourself eager to hear more from him. 

“I’m easy to talk to,” you respond, shrugging and leaning on the counter a foot or two away as you both watch the other. A smirk overtakes your features. “And I am the one that gives people the drinks.”

“So, what I’m hearing,” Simon raises a brow. “Is that you get ‘em dunker than a man on his execution date.” 

You click your tongue, tilting your head in a teasing manner while maintaining a serious face. 

“Afraid you’ll spill your secrets, Riley?” 

His eyes flash at you, and his lips flicker into a smirk you can hear in his voice. 

“It’ll take more than two glasses of Bourbon to get me talking, Sunshine.” 

Your face shifts away, but the sudden fight with a smile leaves you nearly breathless. 

Who is this man?

“Why are you here,” your question meets his ears as he takes back the last of his drink, stomach filled for the night and his searching, for the moment, abated. 

The glass meets the bar top. 

He grunts. “Needed a drink.”

Your lips pull in annoyance. “You know what I mean. You’re terrible at answering questions.”

“Hm, maybe.”

“Fuck off,” you grumble, shaking your head as a low chuckle makes your insides swirl. 

A stack of bills is placed on the counter, and the man stands, grabbing the hood of his black sweatshirt and pulling it up. His gloved hands go to the pockets of his leather jacket with a roll of his wide shoulders. From under the hood, the white of the painted mask glares out from under the shadows that now shroud him. 

You both sneak a glance at the mechanic's shop—a clear view from the front window. 

“See you around, then?” Your head is tilted at him, blinking. You hum under your breath. “I’m going to keep asking you why you showed up in this town, Riley, and I won’t stop until I get an answer.”

Simon quirks a brow, eyes glinting with interest. When was the last time someone had spoken to him like this outside of his boys?

“Look forward to it,” he utters slowly. With a blink and one more dead look, he’s already out the front door and walking back down the street—disappearing like a ghost the same way he had appeared. 

Picking up his cash and counting through it, the librarians across the way snicker, and one calls out, “So, the new mechanic, huh?”

“One more peep and I’m doubling your tab.”

But…you did have to admit, he had been charming…hadn’t he? At least someone here could juggle your attitude.

—

Three days pass with no sighting of Simon Riley, but just because you didn’t see him doesn’t mean you weren’t witness to his aftermath. 

The shop across the street was practically fixed up while you were asleep. 

Where there had been overgrown grass, there was now a cut lawn getting watered by the reach of an angry sprinkler. The fast movement of the spray reaches the sidewalk that was, somehow, still there under all that trash hiding away like a criminal. Stray bricks are gone and stacked into a pile as you pause outside the bar, staring wide-eyed with your breath caught in your throat in the late morning air. 

The ivy over your mural was peeled back—that faded wolf’s gaze locking with yours, unyielding to the calls of time as its canid body stool as a silent sentinel. 

But, on the third day, as you’re going on break before the night sets in, you manage to not only see Simon again but meet two of the other men who’d moved here.

You pick up your feet and jog across the street, hopping the curb as you blink, impressed at the open garage with its fixed and oiled bay door. Inside it was still dusty—remnants of what was left behind in the corners and scattered. But it was getting there. Quickly. 

“Didn’t know Simon was goin’ to sign on such a piece of rusted shite—where’s the fuckin’ outlets?” Gritted Scottish. You stick your hands into your pockets and enter the large opening. 

“If I remember,” you speak, finding the two men standing slightly off to the side as the bulkier one with a mohawk carries a series of extension cords. Cobalt and brown eyes dart to you in shock—the second man of darker complexion sharing a glance with the other in swift confusion. “When you manage to find them, they’ll all be burst.” 

Blank stares are sent your way. 

“Kids would come by and watch ‘em spark when they were bored. No one really cared enough to stop them.” A clearing of a throat meets your ears as you study the room more. 

It was small, with only one main garage for all the repairs, but that wasn’t new to you. The motorcycles were, though. 

Five in total all parked and resting next to one another near the back wall, all in varying shades of black and gray. Your lips twitch at the sight, imagining your late-night acquaintance riding one of them—you dare say that it fit him quite well, and you weren’t that surprised at all by this.

Biker mechanics. It fits the script. 

“Who’s this then?” The Scot asks you, raising a brow as a friendly smirk pulls his mouth up. “Can’t remember bookin’ any repairs today, Ma’am, might have to wait a few more days before we get it all up and runnin’.”

“I can see. No, I work just across the street,” you spare a friendly smile. 

“So you’re the bartender? The bartender.” The second man speaks, grinning kindly as he searches through a toolbox on a small table. He hums, looking playful. “So that’s why Ghost was gone so long.” 

Ghost…? Did they mean Simon?

The skeletal accents suddenly make far more sense.

“Johnny MacTavish,” A hand is leveled out ahead of you, and you take it casually with a muttering of your own name. “Soap’s just fine as well.” 

Your brow quirks, but you only share an amused nod.

The other individual stands and makes his way over, tall and leaner as to where Soap’s more blatant strength is. 

“Kyle Garrick—Gaz. Pleasure.” 

“Just came over to introduce myself,” your hand shifts back into your pockets as you motion with your head back to the bar. “I’m on my break.” 

“Ah,” Soap’s hands move the cables he holds as he loops them into a more storable shape vertically around his elbow and palm. “Last one to meet then is Price—man’s in town gettin’ lunch for us,” he grunts under his breath. “Hopefully a damn set of zip-ties, too.”

“Zip-ties, Mate?” Gaz breathes a chuckle with a fix of the backward ball cap on his head. “C-4 would bloody help more. At least then we can have a clean starting point.” 

“I think we’re fresh out of C-4, unfortunately,” you huff a laugh, motioning around as the men smirk at you, Johnny snorting a chuckle. “You guys have done a pretty good job so far. I can’t remember when it looked this nice in here.”

“Well, we’re honored, Bonnie,” Soap tilts his head as he ties off the cord with one of the ends. “Makin’ me blush.”

“If Simon had just looked at the place before buying it, we might have been able to open sooner.” Gaz huffs, thinning his lips as he glances over the broken window and the peeling paint—the door to the main lobby that has a punched dent in it. “Couldn’t be worse.”

“Well then it can only get better,” you breathe, shrugging. 

Gaz huffs affectionately. “Not wrong there, then.”

You lean forward, tilting your head. “You’ll find I rarely am.”

“Second time you’ve snuck on,” a Manchester accent scares you once more, head snapping to the side as the light spills in from the garage opening. “This a pattern, Sunshine?”

Simon’s brows are raised as those October eyes lock with yours. Gaz and Soap share a look, smirking before the Scot peels off to find a place to store his belongings. 

“Where have you been?” Gaz asks as you glare at the masked man for once again coming up behind you. 

A bag is presented, leaning off three fingers as a glance gets thrown past you. 

“Down the street. Needed these made.” The bag is tossed and Kyle catches it easily. 

You watch as the crinkly plastic is opened and the dark fabric of four black pairs of overalls is produced, each embroidered with their respective names. 

“What’s wrong with the old ones?” Johnny pipes up, brows furrowed. 

“Looks like you got fuckin’ mugged in ‘em.” Simon slides his attention back to you as Johnny curses with a glint of amusement in his blues. 

“Aren’t open yet.” Your face peels back to a stiff annoyance. 

“I can see that, Riley.” You motion to the other men. “I was being polite.”

He grunts while walking past, muttering through a brief smirk, “Doubt that.” 

Your jaw slackens, but you only growl and hold your tongue as you glance the mechanic over. He still had his leather jacket, but a loose shirt took the place of a hoodie. 

“You ready to answer my question?” Simon locks those eyes with yours from over his shoulder before sliding up to the black form of one of the motorcycles. 

Visible to the naked eye, you take in the lack of fairings around the frame—eyeing the pure black metal of the entire engine from any angle that you might move to you’d still be able to see. It was nice. Perfect, even; damn expensive too. While the thought was enticing, you can’t imagine Simon riding it—he seemed more rugged, more…classy. 

“Negative.” You roll your eyes, but Soap speaks before you can retort. 

“Finally takin’ out the CB1000R, Ghost? ‘Bout time.” The brute throws a blank look at the Scot as Gaz utters to you a few feet away before a casual ‘no’ is leveled out through the space.

“He got it months ago,” Kyle’s eyes crinkle. “Can’t seem to take it out for a ride yet. No one knows what he’s waiting on.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” your words confide. “It’s beautiful.”

“It was a fucking fortune—no use collecting dust is what I say.” You hum, shifting back to Simon who taps the seat of the CB1000R before moving past it to an older cruiser with dents and dirt along the sides. This was more him you thought. Rugged and more dated than the first; something you use on long rides to nowhere.

“Maybe he’s just waiting for a special occasion,” you guess.

“Better get on with it.” Gaz moves away with a shrug and a huff. 

Your lips pull in a small smile, and you watch Simon pull keys from his jacket and insert them as he moves to straddle the larger body of the cruiser, easing into it slowly. Staring, you think about how far that bike could take you—what you could see with it on the open road of possibilities and whipping air. Where would you go? Anywhere. Anywhere and everywhere. 

Eyes shifting away from the motorcycle, they widen as they softly meet Simon’s own—locked for a moment in a staring contest. His lids barely pull down, studying something. You clear your throat and exhale.

Sensing your company was most likely a hindrance at this point, you turn to leave as the engine flares—you wave easily behind your back with a call of well-wishes.

“Come have a drink one time, boys, yeah? I need stories that come from strangers for once.” A ruckus of ‘affirmatives’ and ‘will do, Ma’ams’ sparks up from Johnny and Kyle as you exit to the roar of the motorcycle behind you, your feet kicking a stray rock into the grass before you make it to the curb. 

Before you can cross, a steel body blocks your path. 

“I’ll be needing a drink later tonight, then.” Simon watches from atop his seat, one booted foot to the ground to steady himself as he comes to a slow halt. His fingers curl the handles, twitching.

“Let me guess,” you tilt your head, smirking, “Bourbon?”

“A woman after my own heart,” he draws numbly, October browns as dead as mulch. As dead as dirt.

“And do you have a heart, Simon Riley?” You question, blinking at him as your mind tells you to walk away. Your brain doesn’t need a repeat of Graham—you already had enough problems on your plate right now besides some attraction to this stranger. This push and pull made your heart jerk, even when you know it shouldn’t.

You’d only just met him.

The man hums, thighs shifting on the black metal frame. He says the easiest answer he can. 

“A cold one.” 

Pushing on the ground, he takes off down the road back into the main town for whatever errand he was on this time. Your eyes follow until the figure is no more than a memory of the smell of oil and the metallic tinge of caution.

—

You hated the smell of cigarette smoke. 

Like a pregnant woman’s aversion to the scent of meat, you grew nauseous at the very hint of cheap tobacco and paper on the air—loathed the burn of it. It had to do with your Ex, of course. The man had been a habitual chain smoker, lighting up one after the other until you had to leave his house entirely to puke on the front lawn. If you thought about it hard enough, you could still taste the ash on your tongue from when he kissed you after lighting up. 

But that was only one of the reasons you’d never moved in with him despite being together for years—the cheating was the other problem. 

Girl after girl, broken promise after broken promise, you’d still held onto him as if he deserved it. Hell, all that Graham Whitaker deserved were the copious amounts of STDs he probably had after sleeping with as many women as he could to try and get back at you. You didn’t have ample reason to ban him from the bar—him or his loud-mouth friends, you should say—so the problem, like a bad rash, persisted. Cars following you after work and all. 

But, the here, the now.

Simon had, in fact, come in for that drink that night—just as he had for the last week up until the grand opening of the boys’ shop. You’d both spoken throughout these encounters and formed some sarcastic and sly-looked bond that the other locals couldn’t understand. You had even learned about his military service. 

The both of you were just…different, people said. No one else really argued with it. 

You finally met John Price before the party that you’d heard from Simon that Soap and Gaz had been eager to host for the town—‘come meet the bastards that bought that old shitty building and see how they fixed it up all by themselves. You should come and give us your money.’

It was there that a proposal was offered. 

“Simon says you told him to come to you about paint.” John was late thirties, keeping a well-trimmed beard with a mustache that was the same shade of brunette as his head of hair. Tall, as well as built, he had found you as you were closing up the bar early for the town-wide party, Celina having already slipped out. 

You were dressed in a long skirt and a nice shirt for the occasion. 

“John Price, I’d imagine,” you comment, stuffing your keys into your pocket as your purse hangs from your shoulder. A throaty grunt tells you all you need to know as you move down the step. “Yeah, I did say that. Do you need some?” You look over his shoulder to the still peeling color on the outside of the bricks as the men are dragging out folding chairs and long tables. There was the clatter of laughter and loud calls. 

John’s blue eyes shift behind him, and he raises a brow slowly. 

“Thinkin’ we’d just hire you,” a side-eye. “If you’d be interested.” 

That was a surprise. 

You begin walking across the street, the man beside you and awaiting your answer. 

“Hire me?” Your voice asks, but you aren’t against the idea. “How do you know I’ll be any good at it,” you chuckle in question. 

“Simon says he found your initials next to the mural—the wolf.” Your feet pause, stuttering for a second before you catch yourself. The blood on your face stops its circulation in shock. “Not a bad piece, then.” John grunts. “...Think you can do a skull and wings?” 

So, you sat with your sketchbook in front of the wall, a portable camping chair below your bare feet as your legs folded under you. Your slip-on sneakers rest in the green grass, kicked off with a sigh. Blinking, the chatter and mumble from the party surround you in a sheen of community and calmness. You can pinpoint every voice, every story being re-told as if new news when it goes in one ear and out the other like a breeze on the wind. 

Humming under your breath as the sun is low in the sky, you hear the silent feet still from over your shoulder. A smirk flickers your lips.

“Snooping, Riley?” 

“My building.” He grumbles, “Seein’ what you plan to do to it.”

You snort, looking over your shoulder and smiling. “If I recall, you’re the one who took up my offer and told Price about it.” 

Simon was dressed in cargos and a compression shirt pushed up to his elbows, the swell of his forearms on full display along with the scars and…tattoos. You blink at them, the swirl of black skulls and guns; barbed wire and dog tags—the dark images that fit him as his motorcycles did on his left limb. Brown eyes flicker from yours to the painted wolf.

“Good at that,” the man says, balaclava shifting. 

Your expression slowly shifts to something far softer than you can remember it ever being; inside of your chest, your heart tightens. 

“Thank you.” 

He levels you, the corners of his eyes easing out of the numb nothingness to show something akin to shielded affection. Molten sunlight on the side of his face, making the color of his irises glow amber. Simon nods to your sketchbook, clearing his throat. 

“I able to see it, then, or is it some secret?” You huff.

“Come here,” your hand motions, palm brushing away eraser shavings as your fingers get stained with graphite. The shadow comes closer, leaning over you as the scent of oil pools in your gut. You blink at the side visage, swiftly looking back down to your sketchbook as a slight wind ruffles your skirt. 

“Price was talking about a skull with wings beside it—later on he made mention of a sword through the top.” While you explain the concept, you inadvertently study the tattoos on the flesh beside you, one scarred hand coming out to lightly grab the armrest of your chair as Simon leans even closer. 

As your face begins burning, breath caught in your throat, he blinks down at the image as he looms, head tilting. 

Simon breathes, chest rising and falling as his eyes go far off. You know the symbol means something, though you also have a good guess that it’s related to this group’s time in the service. 

He hums, and you see his lips open, the rough grate of his vocal cords as he begins to form words for you. 

“It’s—”

Your name is loudly called from across the way, both Simon’s and your heads snapping back as you both realize exactly how close you two have become. The stealing of the other’s warmth like wraiths of hidden longing ceases when you wrench your attention to the man you wished would leave you alone. 

Graham raises the dark bottle of a cheap beer from the dollar store in your direction, walking over. Now, your Ex wasn’t anything spectacular, but even you had to admit it was the best you could do around here if you didn’t want to date men only five years from the grave. Graham was tall, strong, and heavy-willed like a bear. In the day hours, he worked as a farmhand down the way. 

Your body tenses, eyes going tight. Simon sees.

“Who’s this,” he asks slowly, fingers twitching. 

“Ex,” you mutter, grimacing. “He’s going to make a scene.”

Already gazes had started drifting over, conversations lapsing into mute silence as orbs shifted to three different individuals all stuck in the same storm. 

Simon grunts, standing up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest, legs shifting below him and thighs trading weight. His moving leaves half of you kept firmly behind him and your eyes study his stance as you notice that fact. You blink, and feel something stir in your ribcage, blooming like a flower. 

“Hey, Bartender!” Graham takes a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it as his fingers fumble over the neck of the bottle. “Though I’d seen you over here missing all the action. Nothing’s changed I see.” 

Your face pulls in with disgust.

“Graham, you’re drunk. Go home.” It was true—his words were slurring, his limbs loose with drink. He smirks at you, taking a drag of his cancer stick and puffing it directly at you. Your hand snaps to your nose to try and cover the horrendous smell.

“Nah,” he breathes. “I’m here with Celina, see’s a pretty nice lookin’ broad don’t you think? Not as good of a fuck as you, but, hey, I take what I get.” His expression shifts to hidden anger and Simon takes a heavy step forward before he can finish the rest of his sentence, hands shifting to grasp his biceps harder. Those browns simmer with low ferality—a warning.

The air gets heavy.

“Pretty good little lie you spread about me gettin’ that shit from Stacy.”

“That was a lie?” You drawl lazily and watch your Ex’s eyes flash with rage. But he should know you don’t take shit from him anymore. “Oh,” your fingers tighten over your flesh and make you sound stuffy. “Maybe I heard wrong, you’re right. You don’t have Chlamydia.” You glare. “It was Gonorrhea, wasn’t it?”

“Bitch!” Graham barks, moving forward, but before anyone can realize it, Simon already has him shoved back with a stone-like push to your Ex’s chest.

“Not smart, Mate.” The former soldier utters, arms falling back to his sides. The party by this point had entirely halted in sharp gasps and bated breath. 

Graham’s beer bottle shatters as it hits the ground, the grass not able to absorb the way it slams down to dirt. Your wide eyes stay stuck on Simon’s figure, who’s now entirely hiding your view of your Ex—the wide expansive back that shows the writhe of his shoulder blades and how his spine shifts under the tight shirt. 

Your hand lowers from your face.

“What the fuck?!” Graham spits. “You made me drop my fucking drunk, man!”

“Be thankful that was all, yeah?” Simon’s dead voice is a cold chill on a winter evening. Any sane person would turn and leave immediately. “Cut your losses.”

No one breaths for a long minute, and you can see the other new mechanics inching closer from the sides. All of the locals are deep into the scene, fingers to their lips in surprise. There’s going to be talk tomorrow—the bar will be busy. 

“Graham,” you try to sway the pig-headed man once more from behind Simon. “Go home.”

“So this is what I get,” your Ex spits, head trying to peek over the larger man’s frame to look at you. Simon’s hands clench into tight fists. “I’m with you for years and this is how you treat me? I gave you everything!”

“Those are years that I never want to think about again,” you say with a stiff finality. “And it’ll be a cold day in hell before you ever see me worrying about where you are or who you fuck.” 

Knowing that the situation is over and done with, Simon takes a single step forward and leans into the man. 

“You heard ‘er,” he levels, unblinking. “Scatter.” Simon’s accent made it sound more like a threat, but maybe it was. 

Graham growls and takes a long drag from his cigarette, staring Simon down. 

“Fuck you, you piece of shit.” But all he does is turn sharply on his heel and stomp away, crossing the street to his truck before he opens and closes the door with a violent slam. From across the way, Celina gasps and calls his name, but the engine has already started and Graham is down the road with a roar from the exhaust. 

Everyone is watching you and Simon, and the staring peels back your skin until Simon grumbles and grabs your arm. 

Blinking in shock, he only gives you a moment to steady yourself and slip on your shoes before he drags you inside the garage. You huff and look up at him as you close your sketchbook–trying to not look at those tattoos again. Your finger wanted to trace them—to study the ink down to the layer of skin where it ended and became red flesh and weeping veins. How far up his left arm did they go? Did they only stay at his forearm, or up to his shoulder?

Inside he lets you go, head slightly tilted to the outside as the sounds of hushed whispering pick back up; hurried and filled with electricity. Simon grunts, blinking. 

A heated silence encompasses the two of you, and as your eyes lock, neither can speak for a moment. 

“Sorry about that,” you glance at your feet. “Should have guessed he’d show up and do something.”

“Don’t apologize,” Simon crosses his arms again, boots righting themselves. “That’s not your fault that some bastard can’t act right, yeah? Forget about it, it’s all nothing.”

“You shouldn’t have to be involved—”

“Bloody cut it out, would you?” Simon glares, brows pulling in. “I said it’s nothing.”

He was very passionate about this, it seemed.

You sigh, shaking your head before a tiny chuckle makes the mechanic blink in confusion. “Suppose I can call you my guard dog now, huh?”

“Piss off,” you laugh, covering your mouth with your hand while your eyes narrow down. Simon's own crinkle along the edges, lowering his hands to push them into his pockets. 

A second leads into another, but neither of you has any particular interest in re-joining the others, even if Soap is smugly passing looks and Price smirks into his drink. Gaz fixes his hat while he tips back a beer bottle, hiding a glint of amusement. 

Simon’s voice lowers, seeming to hover closer. 

“You alright, then?” You nod, face heating up as you stare at his shadow-tainted visage and how the face-covering obscured him from your eager eyes. 

“I’m used to his drama. I have no problem giving it back.” Simon hums, October browns glinting like Halloween lights. 

“Seems so.” He pauses, and pushes out a joking, “Not surprised, Sunshine.”

“Good, Brown-Eyes,” you lean back on your heels and smirk. “I’d be offended if you were, with all we’ve been talking to one another.” 

“Getting familiar, Bartender?”

“Of course, Mechanic. Haven’t you heard?” He tilts his head, prodding you on as his eyes soften that candle-like smidge. “I keep everyone’s secrets—and you still have to tell me yours.”

Simon chuffs a low chuckle, and the fabric of his mask pulls as he shakes his skull. “Maybe one day, yeah? Need to stick ‘round to know ‘em.”

Then perhaps this town was worth wasting away in.  

—

“Bastard won’t cause any problems, will he?”

“No, no, he’s too much of a coward to try and get back at anyone. He won’t do anything.”

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[sukunasweetheart]

Thinking of breakup angst with sukuna...

Thinking of the build up towards it, the way you have been fighting over the littlest things for months now

It leads you to think about how self centered he can be, how you always feel like you loved him more than he loved you and how crushing it felt to have that realisation fall upon you every time

He can be so career focused sometimes, with the long business trips, work parties, etc. always working vehemently to get higher, threatening to leave you behind

And one particular night, the argument gets so heated that you dont get a wink of sleep afterwards, only staring blankly at nothing as you try to calm the chaos in your head. Sukuna heads out without a word the next morning, and you make the final decision in your head, alone, by yourself.

By the time sukuna comes back home with the intent of reconciliation, he finds that youre packing the remainder of your belongings into a suitcase in the bedroom, ready to move out of his home.

"what the fuck is all this?" he asks, his tone coming out harsher than he means it to be.

"what do you think? i'm breaking up with you. i'm moving out," you can barely stop your voice from wavering. you've cried too much this week.

"oh, come on. you know you don't mean that," he reaches out to grab your arm, but you withdraw away from his hand so fiercely that it even surprises him.

"don't you talk to me like that," you speak firmly, "like i'm being dramatic. why won't you ever treat me seriously? i am leaving, sukuna."

you continue your work, neatly folding up some of your shirts. you're already almost finished. he looks around, and the house looks half empty.

oh. you really mean it. you're really trying to leave.

"no, you're not. you're not leaving. not after everything we've been through together," he tells you defensively, grabbing your wrist, stopping you from folding your last shirt, trying to get you to look at him again.

"like what? constantly yelling at each other until our throats are sore? i'm really sick of it. and i'm sure you are, too."

"don't put words in my mouth. i may have gotten sick of our fighting, but i've never gotten sick of you," sukuna hisses, refusing to let you continue packing your things. you feel yourself getting swayed by his words.

"well, i am. i've gotten sick of you," you say quietly through gritted teeth.

"oh yeah? say it to me properly then. look at me dead in the eyes," he demands, voice getting lower.

"you heard me. i don't need to say it again." you pull away from his grip and try to get this last shirt folded. he grabs you again, by the hand this time, and the piece of clothing unravels once more.

"no, i didn't hear shit. convince me that you really want to leave me - and i'll let you go."

in a fit of anger, you turn to face him completely, but your resolve crumbles away when you see his expression. not the one you'd assigned to him in your own mind, but his true features, under the bright bedroom lights.

he looks serious. he looks concerned. he's asking you to tell him it's not true. tell him that you want to stay.

"...let me go. i'm leaving..." you say, voice finally breaking. like a broken faucet, your eyes begin leaking tears relentlessly and your throat closes up in that painful way that you hate, but nothing compares to the pain in your heart at the thought of really breaking up with this man here and now.

he lets you go...

and calmly takes your things out of the suitcase to put them back. you didn't miss the relief in his eyes that showed up for that split second.

"bring it back! i hate you," you attempt to raise your voice, but really, it's only just your ego speaking.

"you can't even say that you hate me in the correct tone. we're not breaking up," he mutters, hanging up your coats and putting them into the closet.

having been defeated, your legs give way and you sit down on the side of the bed, sobbing.

through the blur of your tears, you watch as he meticulously goes through your suitcase, putting everything where they belong. and you sob harder. he knows too much. he arranges your creams, perfumes and accessories in the perfect order on the dresser. he spends a good fifteen minutes, putting all of your belongings back where they should be.

and by the time he gets back to you, he's like a different man. the mattress dips from his weight as he sits next to you, bringing a box of tissues with him to wipe your tears away.

"we can talk tomorrow since we're both tired today," sukuna tells you as he dabs your eyes with the tissue, "i'll take the day off." you just sit still without responding. now that he mentioned it, the fatigue seems to fall upon you suddenly, like a brick. he coaxes you under the sheets.

soon, you find yourself in bed, in his arms. it's been a while since the two of you had cuddled so intimately. you feel oddly shy, the same way you did all those years ago when you first started dating him. there's a special kind of warmth that sukuna's body emits - and you're surrounded by it under these blankets.

"i'll try to do better... so don't go anywhere," he speaks with a softer tone.

because, it's true, he can't imagine living a life without you.

those are the last words you hear before you drift off to sleep.

the next morning, he's still in bed with you, and you're pleased to see he kept his word about taking the day off. checking the mirror, you're horrified and embarrassed about your swollen eyes from all the crying last night.

sukuna takes a look at you and chuckles without ill intent. but in your flustered state, you slap his arm until he's saying "my bad, my bad" in between laughs.

there's still some awkward tension between you and him, but going through breakfast together seems to melt some of that away, until you're ready to bring up yesterday's event.

it goes better than you'd expected, and after the discussion, the only thing that's left is to wait and see whether things will change for the better or not. whether his promises are empty or not.

"i didn't realise that you were so lonely. 'm sorry," he apologises as he plays with your hand, "i may work a lot, but you're always on my mind, doll."

it's like a huge weight off your shoulders.

and he begins to be more like his playful self again, after the talk.

"i'll need you to tell me that you love me today. since you told me you hated me yesterday," sukuna says with a smirk, hugging you from behind.

"well, you need to earn it," you shoot back, rolling your eyes.

"alright. will you say it back if i say it first?"

"sure."

"i love you."

"..."

"now that's not fair, is it?" he tickles you without mercy.

you burst out in laughter, thrashing around uncontrollably, trying to push him away.

"okay, okay! i love you!" you tell him in between breaths.

seemingly satisfied, he lets you go and pushes his face into the crook of your neck. he'll never let you go.

the following day after work, sukuna comes home earlier than usual, and he doesn't wear a grumpy expression in front of you. he greets you with a hug and kiss. it's a small gesture, but it makes you happy.

and slowly, the relationship begins to rekindle itself.