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bunny-jpeg · 11 hours ago

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raw

lando norris

tags: smut/pwp, unprotected/unsafe sex, half-assed pull out method, doggy style, back shots, friends-to-lovers, best friend!lando

lando had to be dreaming. the type of dream he didn't want to wake-up from. he would much rather be here than anywhere else right now. especially as you crossed your arms, letting the mclaren logo stretch across your pretty tits.

the tits that lando had been eyeing for years now. you were his best friend since childhood and now you were in your hotel room for the evening after silverstone with a single request for the grand prix's winner.

fuck me. and fuck me raw. lando had to be dreaming.

you uncrossed your arms and leaned back on the bed with your arms stretched behind you. you gazed up at him. the face of your best friend, the one who knew you better than anyone else. and after years of skirting around the issue, you finally found your words and asked him. and he looked you dumbfounded.

"you? me?" he said as he tried to process your words. you felt a tightness in your chest at the anxiety that was eating you up inside. you didn't know what to say or do.

"am i speaking french, lando? i want to have sex with you, it's about time we resolve this tension. it's been going on for over ten years." you said as you maintained eye contact with him. you felt a little bad for not being the most romantic.

it was hard for you to admit. your entire life you stood firm on the fact that men and women could be friends without any complications! and while you still felt that, you also found yourself with complicated feelings for lando. so, with all the bravery you could muster, you asked for sex.

he shifted from one foot to another, "i don't know how to respond... i mean i do. i just don't wanna sound like a pervert." he chuckled nervously and you only grew warmer in your face.

"do you want me, norris?"

he took his hands out of the pockets of his joggers and cupped his barely hidden erection. he gave you a gentle smile as he said, "i do. i do want you, you've been the subject of my fantasies for a long, long time." and started to take his shirt off.

you did the same, slowly revealing more skin to one another. you felt excitement race up you and you couldn't help yourself. you rubbed your thighs together and felt your pulse pick up.

"lando."

"i know, babe. i know." he chuckled as he got into bed with you. he got his boxers off before he was completely nude, his hands trailed across your body in a manner that left you excited all over.

if your friends knew what you two were doing tonight, hell even your own families, you knew that there would be exchanging high-fives and possibly money over bets made ages ago.

"may i?" he asked as he leaned in closer.

you leaned in to meet the distance and kissed him on the lips. soft as you imagined and his hands only held onto you in a way that made you shudder under him. you moaned into the kiss as he rubbed up against you.

"you tell me if anything goes wrong, okay? don't hide from me." he said, "one thing i hate when it comes to sex, no communication. i want to make my best friend feel good."

you looped your arms around his neck and pressed your chest against his, "i have a feel after tonight we're not going to be best friends."

lando replied, "well, you'll always be my best friend. you'll just also be my girlfriend." then winked before he went in for another kiss. it grew heated and his touches grew more bold.

you looked at him and he smiled down at you. he cupped your cheek while you held him close. it felt right to be this way, to be so close. you kissed him once more and he exhaled deeply against your lips. you two fit perfectly together, just as you always did.

"you want it raw?"

"yes."

"i'll pull out, alright? gotta play it a little safe." he kissed the apple of your cheek before you ended up on your stomach. he hiked you hips up letting your back curve as he pressed himself against you. now on his knees and his cock at full attention.

you looked amazing, beyond amazing. a certain type of beautiful that when lando sank into you wet cunt, he felt the race of excitement through his body. he held onto your hips and carefully inched himself into you. he moaned a little louder, the feeling was intense, there was nothing else he could compare it to you. you were unlike anyone else he had ever slept with. it was different because you two were so close, you shared everything. now you were sharing a night of heated passion.

he admired your backside as he rocked against you. his hand trailed down your back and he loomed over you. you felt amazing, you left a certain want in the back of his throat as he moved against you. lifelong friends, partners through and through. now lovers in bed together, moving together in a heated ecstasy. you both wanted each other, it was painfully obvious.

"you feel amazing." he said softly, "really amazing."

"glad i have a glowing review from lando norris." you chuckled lightly as you held onto the covers under you, your back arched a little more as he hit all the right spots, "can i put that on my tinder profile?"

he pushed you further down onto the bed by the shoulders and moved against you faster, "no way. because you're not going on tinder." he kissed the center of your back as he held you, "because you're my girl now. how does that sound? no more lackluster tinder dates and finally being with the guy you had a crush on for years." then laid another sweet kiss on your heated skin.

you felt the stimulation, your brain felt a little hazy. you moaned a little bit and tensed up for a moment. you panted, "fucking hell, lando. always a way with words." you looked over your shoulder at him as he thrusted against you, "got us into trouble and out of trouble over the words."

he gave you a wicked grin and replied, "oh yeah, and you love it," then pressed into you further. hands on your hips once more as he worked himself against you. the pleasure was zaps in his blood and the feeling was immense.

this was his best friend, and maybe years of pining left him feeling desperate for you. he spent years trying to find you in other people. turned out the whole time he just could have had you. and that made him feel a flutter of love in his chest.

"you feel amazing." he said softly, "better than i could ever imagine. you spoil me, honey." he chuckled lowly as he kissed the shell of your ear as he continued to move against you a little faster.

"fuck, lando." you exhaled deeply, paired with a soft whine as his cock hit against all the right areas. it felt good, better than you could imagine yourself. you knew a younger you would be blushing at the idea that you finally got with lando. having sex in a spacious hotel room and letting him just have his way with you. you fit together quite well, it didn't hurt that you were soaked in the process.

achy for sex. achy for him. you were needy for the sexual pleasure between the two of you. like two magnets drawn together no matter the distance. you were his best friend, and now his lover. his girl.

you moaned a little louder as the pleasure started to reach its peak inside of you. you held onto the covers under you and arched your back a little further. you cursed into the covers and the sight of you was beautiful. to come completely apart under his touch.

"beautiful." he said softly.

"fuck, lando." you shuddered and was met with a hard pat on your behind. the feeling of his hands on you, "you better fucking pull out or i'm gonna kill you."

"of course, of course.' he cooed, "save the kids for after marriage." his tone was cheeky and your pussy clenched around him. he chuckled and leaned up against your ear, "cute." and you whined.

his quickened his pace and he felt the hunger for you in his core. he couldn't believe it. part of him believed that he got hit in the head on the track and this was a fantasy of his. but, hey, if he was currently in the hospital with a goose egg on his head from being hit and this was what his rattled brain could come up with. then who was he to deny it. especially when you felt so good under him.

you tensed up around him once more and gasped against the covers. your eyes squeezed shut as you let out such a sweet moan. you shuddered as you felt yourself reach your orgasm, "fuck." even swears sounded heavenly on your lips.

he remembered trading pokemon cards with you, the time you watched him kart and cheered the loudest out of everyone. the times together, the totally platonic sleepovers. everything, fuck. to have you now, not as a friend but as a lover. that was everything to him.

you climaxed and it only pushed lando further. he pushed right up into you and made you near scream from the sensation. you two moved against each other roughly. but lando had to keep a sense of control or else he was going to finish inside of you.

"that's it. baby, that's it. fucking perfect for me.' his voice heavy with lust and it made your head throb. your cursed into the covers and lando fucked you harder, "next time i'm gonna make you finish twice. burn out your brain." he kissed your cheek, "perfect girl deserves all the orgasms she wants."

"flirt." you whined, face shoved into the covers, which only made lando laugh.

"glad you finally picked up on it, after fifteen years as friends." he thrusted into you a few more times before he pulled himself out and rapidly jerked off his cock against your back. it wasn't the same as the what of your cunt, but it would have to do. his pants were heavy as he said, "that's it, baby. fuck, look at you. you have driven me crazy my entire life. no one else can compare to you."

you laid there panting, your core swamped with wetness and your back curved to let him paint your back with his cum. you whined when you felt the splash of his cum against your backside.

"fuck." his voice was guttural, his breathing heavy and his eyes near rolled back into his head as he came across your hot skin. he felt sparks in his brain and could barely form a coherent thought as he came.

when it was all said and done, he rested fully on his heels, his cock limp between his legs. he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and exhaled deeply.

you laid there, not wanting to get cum all over the sheets. as the temperature in the room cooled, you lifted your head a little and said, "lando... can you help me clean up?"

and your best friend turned lover woke back up from his sexual trance and said, "oh, of course! yeah!" then quickly went to find a towel in the bathroom.

you knew you'd had to have a conversation about what you were now. but with butterflies in your stomach you knew you wouldn't be walking out of your hotel room without a lando as your boyfriend <3

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goldfades · 12 hours ago

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Please more controversially young gf for sid🫶🏽🫶🏽

you ask, i deliver!! i hope u enjoy<3

You always joked about Sidney’s age.

Always chirped him about his back, his knees, the way he sometimes got up in the morning with a groan like he was a man twice his age. You teased him relentlessly, with little jabs like "Want me to grab your cane, Grandpa?" when he stretched too long after practice.

But when you saw him go down on the ice, nothing was funny.

Nothing at all.

You didn’t even register what had happened at first. One second, he was in the play, moving like he always did—fast, sharp, instinctual—and then the next, he was hit hard along the boards, his body crumbling in a way that was all wrong.

Your heart stopped. Literally stopped. Your breath caught somewhere in your throat, and suddenly, the crowd noise, the commentators, the sounds of skates slicing ice—it all faded into a dull, meaningless blur.

Because he wasn’t getting up.

Your hands clenched around the edge of your seat so tightly your knuckles ached. Time felt slow, unbearably so, like you were watching the worst moment of your life play out in slow motion. He was on his knees, then on his side, and there was a trainer already rushing out to him. But he wasn’t moving like he should be.

You felt sick. A tangible, horrible nausea that curled in your stomach and made your whole body feel cold.

Sidney was tough. Tougher than most. He had taken hits before, had gotten back up when no one else could. But this—this wasn’t right.

You barely noticed the people around you. Barely heard the fans murmuring, the worried whispers and sharp intakes of breath, the occasional muttered, "Shit, that looked bad."

All you knew was that your chest felt tight, too tight, like you couldn’t get a full breath in.

And then, finally, finally, he moved.

Slow. Careful. The kind of movement that told you it hurt like hell but he was too stubborn to let anyone see just how bad it was. He pressed his hand to the ice for support, his jaw clenched, his eyes set forward in that focused, determined way you knew so well.

It should have made you feel better. It didn’t.

Because you knew him.

You knew his pain tolerance was stupidly high, that if he wasn’t just popping up and skating back into the play, something was really, really wrong.

You didn’t even think before you moved. The second he was helped off the ice and down the tunnel, you were out of your seat, pushing through the rows, ignoring the way people turned to watch you. You didn’t care. Didn’t care that the cameras might catch you, didn’t care what social media would say, didn’t care about anything except getting to him.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you made your way through the winding hallways of the arena, the path to the medical room too familiar by now. You had done this before, more times than you wanted to admit. But it never got easier.

The second you reached the room, you barely hesitated before pushing the door open.

And there he was.

Sidney sat on the exam table, gear still on, one skate unlaced, his posture stiff like he was bracing for bad news. His head snapped up the moment he saw you, and something in his face softened.

"You’re not supposed to be back here," he said, his voice rough but steady.

"Yeah, well," you exhaled, still trying to calm the pounding in your chest, "try and stop me."

And just like that, whatever resolve you had left crumbled.

You crossed the room in seconds, standing between his knees, your hands finding his face, tilting it up, searching. His helmet had been removed, his hair damp with sweat, his brow creased in quiet frustration.

"You scared the shit out of me," you admitted, your voice quiet, your thumbs tracing lightly over his cheekbones.

His lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but the pain in his eyes dulled it. "Didn’t mean to."

"You weren’t moving," you whispered. "I thought—I thought—"

Your throat closed up, and Sidney—ever steady, ever calm, even when he was the one hurt—reached for your wrist, grounding you with a squeeze.

"I’m okay," he murmured. "Just sore."

You didn’t believe him, not entirely, but he was looking at you like he needed you to, like he needed you to be steady for him.

So you nodded, exhaling shakily. "I’ll be the judge of that."

He let out a breath of amusement, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "That right?"

"Damn right," you said, shifting so you could press your forehead against his. "Now let me have my dramatic, emotionally charged moment, please."

Sidney huffed a soft laugh, closing his eyes for a second, letting you linger in the quiet. And when he finally spoke again, his voice was low, just for you.

"I’m glad you’re here."

And just like that, the tightness in your chest eased.

Because yeah, the world could speculate all it wanted. People could talk about the age gap, the controversy, the noise. But right now, in this small, fluorescent-lit medical room, none of it mattered.

Because you loved him.

And he loved you.

And at the end of the day, that was the only thing that ever would.

Sidney was not a good patient.

This was something you learned very quickly.

The second the team doctors gave him strict orders to rest, you knew it was only a matter of time before he started pushing it. Because he was Sidney Crosby—one of the most disciplined, regimented, "tough it out and get back on the ice" people to ever exist. He didn’t do rest. Didn’t do sitting still, didn’t do taking it easy.

Which meant you had to be the one to make him.

Lucky for him, you had absolutely no problem being a pain in his ass.

"Sit. Down."

You stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, staring Sidney down as he very slowly tried to get up from the couch. He was still in sweats, fresh from a shower, his damp hair slightly messy in a way that would’ve been distracting if you weren’t so focused on keeping him immobile.

"I was just—"

"—going to sit your ass back down like the doctors told you," you finished for him. "Good call."

Sid exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "I’m fine."

"You have a bruised rib," you reminded him, walking toward him and shoving him back down with one finger on his chest. "Which means no skating, no lifting, no ‘I swear I’m just stretching’—and definitely no trying to prove how tough and manly you are by walking around like a fully functional human when we both know you are not."

He just looked at you, lips twitching, because he was definitely entertained by the way you were talking to him.

"You enjoy this, don’t you?" he asked, voice tinged with amusement.

You scoffed. "Oh, so much." You pointed at him again. "Now stay there while I get your meds."

Sid obeyed, but you could feel his eyes on you as you moved around the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and pulling his painkillers from the cabinet. You turned back to him, shaking two pills into your palm.

"Take these," you ordered, stepping back toward him.

He raised an eyebrow but took the pills from your hand. "I could do this myself, you know."

"Could you, though?" you mused, tilting your head. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re a very injured man who should probably stop arguing with his extremely generous, very beautiful, highly intelligent, and endlessly patient nurse."

Sid let out a slow, amused breath, shaking his head. "Highly patient, huh?"

You handed him the water, watching as he swallowed the meds, and then took the glass back when he was done. "Unbelievably patient," you confirmed. "Practically saintly."

Sid didn’t reply, just watched you with that look—the one where his lips curled slightly, his eyes softened, and you knew, knew, that if he weren’t injured, he’d be pulling you into his lap just to shut you up.

Instead, he settled for reaching out and grabbing your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Thanks for taking care of me."

You shrugged, sitting on the couch next to him, curling up so your legs tucked under you. "Someone has to make sure you don’t do anything stupid."

He hummed, shifting slightly to get comfortable. "Don’t I have trainers for that?"

"Yeah, but I’m meaner," you pointed out. "And I have better hair."

Sid chuckled, tilting his head toward you, his expression easy and fond. "Can’t argue with that."

You smirked, leaning your head against his shoulder, being careful not to press against the bruised side of his ribs. "Damn right you can’t."

And despite everything—despite his injury, despite the way you knew he hated being sidelined—Sidney relaxed. Because this? This was what made it all okay.

Even if you were bossy. Even if you were slightly unbearable in full nurse mode.

You were his. And that made every moment—every ridiculous, slightly bitchy, very loving moment—worth it.

#sidney crosby #sidney crosby smut #sidney crosby x reader #sidney crosby imagine #sidney crosby fic #sidney crobsy #team canada #nhl imagine #nhl #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl oneshot #hockey fic #nhl imagines #nhl angst

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greenwitchfromthewoods · 2 days ago

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family time. l Frankie "Catfish" Morales

Summary: you came back from your parents in a really bad mental state

Warnings: angst, toxic parents, crying, emotional crisis, mentioning therapy, guilt

A/N: this is something i've been wanting to write for a while now. remember that what you feel is important and don't be afraid to ask for help, even professional help.

your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

[my masterlist] [Frankie Morales masterlist]

He knew something was wrong even before the first words left your lips. Even the grating of the key in the lock was different. You took off your shoes differently, and the bag you had in your hand fell to the floor with a dull thud.

"Hi, honey." Frankie's large hands cupped your face, and familiar lips brushed yours. "I missed you."

You didn't answer. The only thing you did was snuggle into his broad chest and cling to him so tightly that for a moment he wondered if you had decided to crush his ribs. The smile disappeared from his face, and soon he was stroking your back, trying to understand what had happened.

"Long trip?" he asked.

You had spent almost the entire last week at your parents' house, but if Frankie could be honest, he could see that you didn't feel like going there at all. Your mother had once again reproached you for not visiting them and not caring about your parents at all. With the look of a scolded child, you packed your bag and went to do your unpleasant duty.

"That was horrible." You mumbled quietly, your shoulders relaxing slightly. "Next time, please remind me to break my leg so I don't have to go there."

"Hey, hermosa." Frankie sighed and with no small effort, he pulled away to arms' length, his sweet brown eyes staring at you intently. "What happened?"

A quiet sigh escaped your lips. There was everything in it.

"What could have happened?" You asked rhetorically, freeing yourself from his arms and dragging yourself towards the living room where you collapsed on the couch. You grabbed one of the pillows and held it tightly to your chest like a shield. "It was like usual. I went there, from the moment I stepped inside I felt like a child who came home with a bad grade. First there was dinner, because I definitely can't cook and only my mom knows how to prepare meals." Frankie sat down next to you, rested his arm on the headrest and listened to you carefully with a small wrinkle between his eyebrows. "Dad noticed a scratch on the bumper of the car so he said that I can't drive and I shouldn't..."

"But I was the one who had the meeting with the shopping cart." Frankie interrupted you, surprised.

"Oh! I didn't tell them that." You snorted, shaking your head. "I didn't want to give them a gun before the evening news. But don't worry, they remembered you."

Frankie gulped. Your parents were...specific. He would be lying if he said he liked them, but he never spoke ill of them. Even when you were spilling your grievances and tears, Frankie just listened and patted you on the back. He didn't want to tell you that, but he had felt from the beginning that this trip wouldn't bring you anything good.

"I shouldn't have gone there at all." You said quietly as if you were reading his mind, your gaze fixed somewhere on the wall opposite "I always hope that it will be different, but I always come back broken into a thousand pieces..."

"Baby..." Frankie carefully brushed the hair away from your face and noticed how you bit your lip trying to stop yourself from falling apart "Maybe next time I'll go with you?"

You chuckled "Better not. As much as I would appreciate it, they... I don't want to talk about it, Frankie. I'm sorry."

"Hey," he moved closer, a warm hand resting on your knee and squeezing it lightly "You have nothing to apologize for, you didn't do anything wrong. We can talk about it when you feel up to it."

You nodded. He kissed your temple, inhaling your pleasant scents

He knew you so well that he knew that what you held inside was eating you alive. Despite everything, he didn't ask or push. Frankie knew that when you were ready, you would finally tell him everything, and he would be ready to listen and give you everything he could.

So for the next two days you pretended that everything was fine, even though you were clearly devastated. It wasn't until the third day passed and Frankie brought freshly washed and folded clothes to the bedroom that he heard a quiet sob from behind the bathroom door.

"Sweetie?" he knocked on the door "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine..." you replied trying to hide your sobs, it squeezed his heart.

"You don't sound like it." he replied "Will you open the door, please?"

The lock creaked softly and Frankie pushed the door open slightly. Although he expected you to eventually crack, he wasn't prepared for the sight. Something sank inside him the moment his eyes landed on your face.

You had only just managed to take off your clothes, which were now lying on the tiles. You stood before him in your underwear, make-up turning into black spots under your eyes, your lips swollen and eyes red, your hair a mess.

"What's wrong with me?" you groaned and more tears rolled down your cheeks. "No matter what I do and what I don't do, I'll never be good enough for them... And I try so hard and..."

"Hermosa, please..." he tried to touch you, to show you that he was with you, but you pulled away and Frankie respected that immediately.

You gasped for breath between sobs, the heat rolling through your body, and the bathroom was becoming more and more claustrophobic. Only him standing before you seemed as real as ever, his soft brown eyes staring at you with a mixture of fear, sadness and concern.

"I'm trying, Frankie..." you finally said in a shaking voice "Every day. I keep trying to meet their expectations, but I can't do anything to reach the bar they set for me. Why? Why can't they see that?" you sucked in a breath, he knew you were trying to hold back a sob to finally get it all out of you. He'll accept it, bear it, he'll do anything for you. "Ever since I was a kid I've always been not enough for them. Not smart enough, not talented enough, not pretty enough... They kept repeating it, and their words have seeped into my brain, that I'm no longer able to think about myself differently. And I read all these smart books, listen to these podcasts that tell me it's bullshit. I know the fucking theory, but I can't... Fuck!"

You pressed your hands to your eyes and sat on the edge of the tub. You didn't see, but you heard and felt Frankie move closer, then crouched down in front of you, his arms wrapping around your legs. Warm lips brushed your thighs.

"I thought time would make it easier. But I'm still on some invisible leash. I feel guilty... I feel inadequate and..." your voice broke.

"Say it, hermosa." he said quietly.

He knew you had to get it out, only then could you feel better. No matter what the words were, once you said them you'd get them out and then he could do something about it.

"I feel unworthy of love..."

Something sank even deeper in his chest.

"I was driving here to you, wondering why you were even with me when I was like this. You deserve someone who isn't as fucked up as I am and... I'm sorry."

Your hands rested where Frankie had kissed you just a moment ago, your nervous fingers twisting, and you tried to calm your breathing. Only after a few seconds did his warm voice break the silence.

"Can I say something, honey?" you nodded and greedily grabbed his fingers when his hands touched yours. "I won't lie, your parents are fucked up. No, listen." you opened and closed your mouth immediately. "When I met you, I thought nothing good would ever happen to me in life. And here I am, living with the most wonderful woman I've ever met in my life. You're beautiful, smart, quick-witted, funny and sassy. I love every single thing about you, even the things that piss me off sometimes. And you know why? Because it's you."

The grimace that appeared on your face was probably supposed to be a smile, but new tears rolled down behind it.

"I'm angry that these people make you feel this way. Parents shouldn't do this, I don't know why they can't see how amazing you are, but it's not your fault. None of this is your fault."

"They want what's best for me. Maybe if I..."

"If you had a daughter, if you saw her the way I see you now, would you tell her it was for her own good? I don't think so. That's not love, honey. That's some sick ambition, and you shouldn't care about it."

"They're my parents, Frankie. I can't help but care."

"You'd be surprised to know how many people in the world feel the way you do, and how many have cut themselves off from people like that in order to heal."

You knew he was right. Deep inside you knew that Frankie was telling the truth and you would say those words to anyone who was in a similar situation. But when it comes to you...

"I told you once that I went to therapy, remember?" he said after a moment of silence, you nodded "Maybe... Maybe you should think about meeting with someone to talk, to sort things out in your head. You know, honey, that I will always listen to you, but a professional can teach you, give you the tools to deal with it."

You looked at him with resignation. "Won't you think I'm crazy then?"

"Oh, please!" he smiled and placed a hand on your cheek, his thumb stroking your damp skin. "It takes a lot of courage, that's what you told me, remember? I want you to feel better, and if it can help you, then I totally support you in this."

"Thank you."

Now you managed to smile, weakly but it was a success. Frankie stood up and brushed his lips against yours. You stood up too and snuggled into him, the strong beating of his heart calming you down, grounding you. A sense of security and peace slowly began to fill you. You already knew that even if you didn't get rid of these thoughts as quickly as you wanted, this guy would be with you despite everything. He didn't judge you, he didn't criticize you, he didn't say you were overreacting. What you felt was real and important to him, he wanted the best for you.

"I love you, Frankie." You whispered, hugging him even tighter.

He smiled, kissed the top of your head, "I love you more, hermosa."

"I think... I think I smeared my mascara on your shirt."

"Never mind." Frankie chuckled, "But I can draw you a hot bath, bring you a glass of wine and..."

"Will you join me?"

You pulled away and looked at him. God only knew how much he loved you, and in moments like these he felt it in every cell of his body.

"Always." he replied, pecking your lips, "Always."

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

#pedro pascal #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #triple frontier #francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader

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bewaryofpity · 11 hours ago

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Prompt 2-Smut with Nico Hischier. Pretttttty please!!!!!

thank you for requesting! 🤍

2. “I bet they can’t fuck you like I can.”

It was the weekend before the season would start again and along with a few of his teammates and their girlfriends, you and Nico hit the bar for one last night of freedom.

He had his arm slung lazily around your middle, his body warm against yours. His fingers traced absentminded patterns on your hip, the contact both casual and possessive.

“I’m gonna grab another, baby.” You said while placing a kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll go with you—”

“I got it,” you interrupted, sliding out of the booth before he could follow. “You just sit there and be pretty.”

He rolled his eyes but a smirk tugged at his lips. The bar was so packed you had a hard time squeezing into an open spot by the counter, setting your empty glass down and catching the bartender’s attention. You couldn’t deny that he wasn’t good looking, a guy with a boyish smirk on his lips and a sharp gaze. He noticed you almost immediately.

“What can I get you, sweetheart?”

You smiled politely. “Vodka soda, please.”

“Got it,” he said, reaching for a glass. “You here with friends?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

He poured the drink, eyes flicking back to yours. “You come here often? ‘Cause I think I’d remember seeing you.”

Oh, you knew where this was going now. You laughed awkwardly, shaking your head. “Nope. Just here for the night.”

“Shame.” He slid your drink across the counter, leaning in slightly. “But I could make it a memorable one.”

Before you could respond, an arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against a firm chest. Nico. His grip was firm but not rough, his body radiating heat. When he spoke, his voice was low, casual, too casual. “Everything good here?”

The bartender hesitated, flicking his gaze between you two, taking in his possessive stance and the hard edge to his expression. “Yeah, all good, man. Just making conversation.” He said with an annoyed tone, sliding your drink across the counter, noticeably avoiding Nico’s gaze. Before you could reach for your drink, he grabbed it, and led you towards the empty hall near the bathrooms, hand gripping tightly at your arm.

“What’s wrong with you?” You said.

“I leave you alone for two minutes and you go flirt with some loser bartender?” He exhaled, his grip tightening slightly on your arm.

You smirked, grabbing your drink from his hand and bringing it to your lips.. “You jealous, Hischier?”

But your smirk disappeared when his gaze grew darker, his grip on you not faltering. And that’s when you knew you were in trouble. He looked around before pushing the bathroom door open, dragging you inside with him. Your drink dropped to the ground as your back hit the wall, his lips against yours in a rough kiss. One of his hands trailing up from your thigh to your neck and wrapping his fingertips loosely around your throat, the other gripping your ass. You parted to get some air, panting like you ran miles.

"Turn around. Pants off.” Nico commanded gruffly, and you did as asked, turning to face the wall as you hooked your thumbs inside your jeans and pushed them down towards your knees.

A gasp left your lips as he brought a hand to your hair, pushing your head and chest towards the wall so your ass stuck out on full display for him.

You were so distracted by the way your hot body flushed against the wall, his hand still wrapped around your hair in a tight grip, that the tip of his cock brushing along your slit made you jolt. He parted your folds, rubbing himself with your slick, tip teasing your clit until you rocked back against him.

“Nico, please.” You begged, ass pressing back against him and trying to push the head of his cock inside you.

“You’re so needy, is that why you flirted with that guy, huh?” He growled as he pushed into you.

Nico gave you only a little bit before he pulled out and rocked forward once more, feeding more of his length into you on each thrust until his hips were flushed against your ass. His hips rocked at a fast pace, still holding your head against the wall. You bit your lip to hold back your cries, focusing on the sound of his hips slapping off your ass as he fucked into you.

“I bet he can’t fuck you like I can.” He whispered, lips brushing your earlobe before lightly biting it.

The way his cock was filling you up, his words, his jealousy, it all turned you on. His fingers started to play with your clit, feeling your orgasm creeping, making it harder for you to hold back your moans. He leaned down, his chest against your back as his cock filled you up and he whispered into your ear, "cum for me, baby. Show me you’re mine.”

And it all became too much and your orgasm hit hard over you as you cried out his name, while Nico emptied every drop of his frustration inside of you after a few more strokes.

Maybe you could get used to making Nico jealous if this was your punishment.

#this was way longer than planned lol #v day special !#nico hischier x reader #nico hischier smut #nico hischer x reader #nico hischier #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier x you #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier fic #nhl x reader #nhl smut #nhl fic #nhl x you #nhl one shot

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imjustatorturedpoet · 2 days ago

Text

Meet me in the Hallway

chapter eleven: Murder pays here.

Pairing: Hwang In-ho x Reader

also available on ao3

word count: 7,7k

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You were drowning in him.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his mouth was on your neck—hot, open-mouthed kisses, teeth scraping just enough to make you arch into him. You felt him suck on your sensitive skin. That would surely leave a dark mark on you tomorrow.

"What’s wrong, sweetheart?" Young-il’s voice was all taunt and sin, thick with amusement as his lips dragged lower, his breath searing against your skin.

"Cat got your tongue? That’s new."

You tried to speak—tried to push out something, anything, but his hands were skimming down your sides, his knee slotting between your legs, pressing right where you needed him most.

Your breath hitched, fingers tangling in his hair—fuck, he felt good beneath your hands. Young-il laughed, low and delighted, like this was fun for him.

"Don’t get shy on me now."

His fingers traced slow, deliberate circles, hovering right over the entrance to your core but refusing to give in.

"Look at you. Desperate, dripping, fucking ruined for me. And I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

Your lips parted—a gasp, a whimper, something that made his smirk curve against your throat. He grips your hips with both hands, his touch firm, deliberate. His tongue traces slow, teasing circles around your navel before he drags his teeth over your skin.

Then, he moves, mouth trailing from one hipbone to the other, taking his time, savouring every inch. The heat in your stomach twisted tighter, unbearable, and when his fingers finally dipped lower, barely brushing over—

“Hey, sweetie. Wake up."

The dream shattered. Your eyes snapped open, lungs burning, pulse still racing from the ghost of his hands, his mouth, his body—

Oh, fuck.

Reality slammed back into place—the dormitory, the bunks, the murmur of other players.

Young-il.

You were still curled against him, your head resting on his chest, his steady breath ruffling your hair. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The memories rushed in—how you were so tired, how he let you lay against him, how his warmth pulled you under before you could overthink it. And now? Now, you were half on top of him, legs tangled too intimately, your body still humming from the dream.

Slowly—so painfully slowly—you peeled yourself away, forcing yourself upright. Young-il barely reacted. He just blinked at you, his expression normal. Like he didn’t know.

“You good?” His voice was rough. Unbothered.

You swallowed hard, willing your body to calm the fuck down. “Yeah. Fine.”

He stretched, rolling his shoulders, completely unfazed. "Gi-hun asked me to wake you up. He wants to talk. Something about a plan for tonight."

Right. The game. Lights out.

You forced yourself to focus, to ignore the heat still curling low in your stomach, the ghost of his breath against your skin. You moved to stand up—almost free—when—

“Oh, by the way."

Young-il’s voice was casual, almost an afterthought. He sat up, rolling his neck. Then—he looked at you. Dead in the eye.

“You talk in your sleep. Ever noticed?”

Shit.

Your throat tightened, heat creeping up your neck—traitorous and unstoppable. Young-il’s expression didn’t shift—not at first. He just watched you, face unreadable, like he was waiting to see how you’d react. And then the smirk. Slow. Unhinged.

Your pulse spiked.

He murmured, voice dripping with amusement, "Didn’t wanna wake you up at first. You looked like you were having such a good time."

Your entire body went stiff. “You heard—"

And then, before you could even finish your sentence—

He moaned.

A slow, drawn-out, shamelessly exaggerated moan, pitched just enough to sound eerily similar to what you might have sounded like in your sleep.

You froze. Every nerve in your body misfired at once.

It wasn’t just the sound. It was the way he did it. He sighed through it, shifting his weight like he was getting comfortable, like he was recreating the entire moment. His eyelashes fluttered, his lips parted just slightly, and—oh my god, he was actually doing this.

You just stared, horrified, as he let it drag out for a second too long before blinking at you, face completely neutral, as if nothing had happened.

“Sound familiar?” he mused.

Oh. He was evil.

“Are you fucking ser—" Your voice broke. You cleared your throat, scrambling for something, anything, that would erase the smugness from his face, but it was impossible.

He was already grinning, shifting slightly like he was settling in to enjoy the show, completely at ease, like this was the highlight of his night.

“Don’t look so flustered,” he drawled, stretching lazily, his spine popping like he was shaking off sleep. "I mean, I know, it was pretty convincing. Not quite as sweet as the real thing, though. I’d rate it, hmm…"

He tapped his chin in mock thought, dragging it out.

"Eight out of ten?" He tilted his head. "No, seven. Points off for lack of desperation. You sounded way more needy in your sleep."

You wanted to die. Right here. Right now. But you wanted- no, needed him more.

He watched the slow, inevitable breakdown happening behind your eyes, clearly relishing it. And then, as if he hadn’t just destroyed your will to live, he clapped his hands together lightly.

"Well, anyway. Gi-hun’s waiting."

You exhaled, desperate to pull yourself together, desperate to move on, desperate to pretend this had never happened. You forced your legs to move, to stand up and step past him and put as much distance between you as possible, but just as you brushed past—

A quiet chuckle.

Then, voice low and far too entertained, “You sounded so pretty. A shame I wasn’t actually there to hear it properly.”

Your brain short-circuited. Your entire body ignited in flames.

And Young-il? Young-il just walked away, completely at ease, like he hadn’t just ruined your existence.

I hate him. I hate him. God help me, I want him.

He walked ahead without a care, his usual lazy, confident stride eating up the space between you and the others. You should have followed immediately. You should have focused on what mattered—the plan, the vote, the danger that was coming when the lights went out.

But all you could think about was his voice, that teasing lilt still curling in your ears.

"You sounded so pretty. A shame I wasn’t actually there to hear it properly."

And he? He had the audacity to act like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just obliterated your sense of self-preservation with a single line.

Your hands clenched. He was insufferable. A menace. A walking disaster in human form. And still—you followed. Silently.

The dormitory buzzed with hushed murmurs, the weight of tomorrow’s vote settling over the remaining players like a thick fog. Some sat in small groups, whispering among themselves. Others still hunched over their food, eating methodically, as if conserving their energy. No one spared you a second glance as you trailed behind Young-il, weaving through the scattered bunks and empty spaces where people had once slept.

It wasn’t long before the familiar spot came into view—a small corner at the base of the staircase, where Gi-hun and the others were gathered. The moment Young-il reached them, he didn’t even hesitate—he just sat down, stretching out like he had all the time in the world.

You, on the other hand, hovered at the edge of the group for a fraction too long.

Jung-bae noticed first. “You alright?”

You blinked, forcing your body to relax, to shove the lingering embarrassment, heat, and absolute need to strangle Young-il deep, deep down.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, moving to sit beside Gi-hun, avoiding Young-il’s gaze entirely.

He noticed. Of course he did. You could feel his eyes flick toward you—just for a second, just long enough for amusement to spark at the edges of his smirk—before he turned his attention elsewhere, as if he’d already forgotten.

Bastard.

Gi-hun exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright, listen up-“

“The following players have been eliminated. Player 230, 268, 299 331, and 401. End of the list.”

The ceiling rattled. The unmistakable sound of cash spilling into the massive glass piggy bank echoed through the room, loud, final.

Five more gone. The number burned itself into your brain. Five more bodies. Five more people who had been breathing, talking, existing just minutes ago.

380,000,000 won per person.

No one moved. No one spoke. Every set of eyes in the dormitory stayed locked on that damn piggy bank.

Waiting for an explanation. What else could lead to eliminations other than the games?

Oh. Killing each other. But you would’ve noticed that. Anyone would’ve noticed if people were going at each other’s throats in the dormitory. There would’ve been noise—screaming, struggling, something. Five people don’t just disappear without a sound.

Unless it wasn’t in the dormitory?

Your fingers twitched against your arm. Oh god.

If they were planning an attack tonight, then now they knew for sure—killing each other raised the prize money.

Good fucking god.

A cold wave of dread washed over you, settling deep in your stomach. Before, it had just been paranoia, just a theory—a worst-case scenario lurking in the back of your mind. But now? Now it was fact. Now everyone knew.

Five people dead meant five fewer competitors, five fewer obstacles, five fewer hands reaching for the prize. And with every drop of blood spilled, the piggy bank above swelled.

The people running this place had dangled a knife in front of desperate people and then given them the perfect reason to use it. And tonight, those people were going to be more desperate than ever.

Your breath came a little too fast, your pulse a little too loud.

The O players had been planning to attack anyway. But now? Now they wouldn’t hesitate.

You dragged your gaze across the dormitory, scanning the faces around you, searching for the same realisation, for the same horror sinking into your bones. Some people looked shocked, disturbed, unsettled—but others?

Others weren’t looking at the money with fear.

They were looking at it with calculation. Like Player 100.

You had to stop the bloodshed before it spiralled into something unstoppable. Because if people gave in to the temptation—if even one person let themselves see murder as a shortcut—then it wouldn’t stop at five bodies.

It wouldn’t stop at ten.

It wouldn’t stop at all.

You exhaled slowly, forcing the panic down, pressing it into something cold, something sharp, something useful.

Think.

The O players were already planning to strike tonight, and now they had every reason to go through with it. That meant you needed a plan, a defence, a way to keep as many people breathing by morning as possible.

But how?

Your gaze flickered toward Gi-hun. He looked tense but focused, like he was already running through scenarios in his head. Good. At least you weren’t the only one thinking.

Then you glanced at Young-il. He wasn’t tense. He wasn’t even watching the piggy bank. No, he was watching you.

His head tilted slightly, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something knowing, something assessing. You inhaled slowly. Of course he’d noticed your reaction. Of course he’d picked up on the way your entire body had gone rigid, the way your mind had started sprinting the second the announcement was made. He knew exactly what you were thinking.

Jung-bae’s voice cut through the tense silence, his brows furrowed. "What’s going on?"

Gi-hun didn’t answer. He just looked at him, a brief glance, but it was enough—he had no idea either. Then, the doors groaned open. Both sides flooded in. O players from one side, X players from the other.

Blood. It was everywhere.

Dripping down foreheads, staining clothes, smeared over hands and necks and bruised knuckles. Some of it had dried, darkening the fabric, while fresh streaks still glistened under the dim lights.

Was it theirs? Was it someone else's?

Then, chaos.

A familiar face broke through the crowd—one you recognised instantly. The guy you had fought on the first day. He wasn’t walking—he was running, shoving past bodies, frantic, his voice cracking as he shouted, "Listen, team O! We—We—When we were in the bathroom, those fucking X bastards tried to kill all of us! They killed some of us, including my friend—"

Before you could react, before you could even process the accusation, a strong arm curled around your waist. Young-il. He had moved without hesitation, standing, pulling you close, his grip firm, steady—protective. Your pulse jumped.

But you had no time to dwell on it, because the second that accusation left his mouth, the room erupted.

"Bullshit," Player 047 spat, stepping forward with his jaw clenched, eyes blazing. "You’re the ones who started it. Damn it. They threatened one of the people on our side! They attacked us to win the second vote!"

Another player backed him up immediately. "That’s right!"

Player 192 scoffed, shaking his head, fury dripping from his words. "You killed one of us first. You were trying to win the vote by killing us!"

"Fuck you," another X player snapped. "You killed some of us too! Did you think we would just let you kill the rest of us?"

The air was suffocating. Shouting. Accusations. A storm of voices crashing into each other, spitting blame, fuelling the fire.

It had happened. The thing you feared the most. The killing had started. The first blood had been drawn, and now, no one was willing to take the fall.

Your chest tightened. It didn’t matter who threw the first punch. It only mattered who lost more. Who would have an advantage tomorrow during the vote? But that wasn’t the only thought that crossed your mind.

This was what they wanted.

The ones running this game. The ones watching from their hidden screens, their high towers, their comfortable seats. They wanted blood. And now, they had it.

The tension snapped like a whip when Player 100’s voice cut through the chaos, his tone sharp, demanding.

"So? Which side lost more people?"

The shouting didn’t stop, but it shifted, twisted into something meaner, more desperate.

Player 203 joined in, nodding, face tight with anger. "Yeah, that’s right! Let’s count ourselves! Come on down!"

A ripple of movement. Player 047 turned, heading toward your side, his expression hard as he started gathering the X players. Dae-ho’s voice boomed across the room, raw with urgency.

"We need everyone down here! Come on!"

Soon, every X player sat down on the stairs. You were next to Young-il, his hand settling on your thigh, the warmth of it grounding you. A steady, quiet reassurance.

Player 047 did a quick count. “48.” His voice was sharp, clipped. He exhaled hard before sinking down onto the steps. “Two people died on our side.”

From somewhere behind Player 246, a woman spoke up. “Two out of five. That means they lost three people.”

Player 380, sitting on the far right, perked up. “Then we have a better shot at winning the vote tomorrow.”

You wanted to believe that. You really did. Winning the vote. Getting out of here. Making it to tomorrow with your life intact. And maybe seeing Young-il in the outside world. It sounded so easy when she said it like that, like it was a guarantee, like all you had to do was sit tight and wait for the morning. But you knew better.

The O players weren’t going to just sit back and accept a loss. They weren’t going to wake up tomorrow, walk to the voting station, and calmly accept their fate. That wasn’t how this worked. That wasn’t how desperation worked.

They knew that killing increased the prize money. If they were already planning an attack before, what were they going to do now? Now that they had proof, now that they had seen the numbers drop and the money rain from the ceiling, now that they had felt firsthand the way bloodshed made the piggy bank heavier? It didn’t matter that the X players had the numbers now. It didn’t matter that, on paper, you had the advantage. You had been here long enough to know that logic didn’t mean shit in a place like this.

The O players didn’t need to convince anyone to change their vote. They didn’t need to outnumber you in the dormitory. They just needed to kill enough of you before morning. Then, when the second vote came, they’d win by default.

Jung-bae straightened, his posture shifting like something had just clicked in his mind. “Hey, it’s 48 against 47. As long as we don’t change our minds, we’ll win by one vote.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the group, whispers of cautious optimism.

“Yes, we’ll finally get out.”

“We have the numbers now.”

“Just one more night.”

But to your left, Young-il still looked stone-faced, unreadable. And to your right, Gi-hun’s expression remained grim, eyes scanning the room like he was already bracing for something worse. Honestly, you felt the same.

It wasn’t that simple. The O players were desperate. They had nothing to lose. They would try again. Not in the bathrooms this time. Right here. While you slept.

The PA system crackled to life overhead. “Attention, please. Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, return to your beds and prepare for bedtime.”

The announcement settled like a weight over the room.

Player 047 stood again, his voice firm. “Listen. You cannot change your minds.” He swept his gaze over the group, eyes flashing with urgency. “We have to win the second vote and get out of here tomorrow. All right?”

A chorus of nods, murmured agreements. But despite the reassurances, Young-il and Gi-hun still weren’t convinced. Neither were you.

Jung-bae clapped his hands together lightly, trying to lift the tension. “All right. Let’s go to sleep now, shall we?”

The O players eventually moved, walking toward their bunks, but not before throwing a few lingering glances your way. And not just with frustration or disappointment. No, this was something different.

Their expressions were dark, almost calculating.

Player 100 and Player 044, in particular, had their eyes locked onto you. Not your group. Not Young-il. Not Gi-hun. You.

Their movements were slow, deliberate—like they wanted you to know they weren’t done yet. You met their stare. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t waver. You just glared. A message, clear and direct—I see you, too.

The X players didn’t give them a second glance and moved towards their beds. But you didn’t move. Neither did Gi-hun or Young-il.

The three of you stayed put, standing on the stairs, watching as the others shuffled off. The dormitory filled with the quiet rustling of players settling in, shifting blankets, the occasional murmur of hushed conversation. But under it all, the tension remained thick, stretching tight across the room like an invisible wire ready to snap.

You swallowed hard, glancing toward Young-il. He was still. Too still. His gaze was locked onto the O players, tracking their every movement, but his expression gave nothing away. You exhaled through your nose, your heartbeat heavy in your ears.

The 30-minute countdown continued ticking in the background. You had half an hour to figure out how to make it to morning.

Your fingers curled around Young-il’s hand first, instinct guiding you more than anything else. His grip was solid, warm, immediate, like he’d been waiting for you to do it. He didn’t question it. He just squeezed your hand in return, his thumb brushing over your knuckles once before going still. Then, your other hand shot out, grabbing Gi-hun’s upper arm. He barely had time to react before you tugged at him.

“Come on,” you muttered, your voice low, urgent.

Gi-hun didn’t argue. He let you pull him along, falling into step without hesitation, his expression still tight with thought.

You moved as one, weaving through the players who were still settling in, stepping around the ones whispering about the vote. The quiet hum of conversation blurred into the background as you honed in on your target—your group. Dae-ho, Jun-hee, Jung-bae, Player 246, the mother and son, and a few others who had chosen to side with you in this mess.

As you approached, Jun-hee looked up, immediately noticing the way your shoulders were squared, the way you were still gripping Young-il and Gi-hun like you refused to let go.

She frowned. “Are we discussing the plan now?”

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to keep moving. “Yes, come on, we don’t have much time.”

Dae-ho sat up straighter, glancing between you and Young-il, reading the unspoken tension. His brows furrowed. “Now?”

“Now.”

Jung-bae muttered something under his breath but didn’t protest. One by one, your group shuffled toward the spot behind the stairs, moving quickly but cautiously. Every step felt heavier than the last. Your pulse drummed beneath your skin, steady but sharp, like your body was already bracing for something.

You sat down, instinctively settling beside Young-il on the cold floor. His presence was a steady weight beside you— calm, composed. You barely glanced at him, eyes scanning the others as they settled into place.

Dae-ho crouched low, peering through the gaps between the bed frames, his expression hardening. His fingers curled into the metal bar, knuckles whitening as he watched the O players across the room.

“Those bastards are acting suspicious,” he muttered, voice low but tense. “It looks like they’re up to something.”

No shit. You didn’t need to look to know that. The O players had been radiating bad intentions all night, their glances too sharp, their movements too calculated.

You opened your mouth to speak, but Jung-bae cut in first. “Whatever those idiots do, once we win the vote tomorrow, it’ll all be over.”

You wanted to believe that. You really did. But you knew better. “That’s what we need to talk about,” you said.

Gi-hun’s voice was grim. “Once the lights go out, people on the other side will kill us.”

The son’s voice was hesitant. “Really?”

You exhaled through your nose, jaw tightening. “They wanted to attack anyway, to force us to change our minds so they can win the vote. We knew that. But now? Now those greedy bastards know murder adds to the jackpot. If they get just two of us, they win the damn vote.”

A hush fell over the group. Player 007 shifted uncomfortably, his fingers twitching against his knees. “So what do we do?” His voice was tight, edged with fear.

Then Young-il leaned forward. “Let’s attack them first.”

Your breath caught. Not because the words were shocking, but because they were exactly what you had already been thinking.

Your gaze flickered toward him, but he wasn’t looking at you—he was watching Gi-hun, his expression unreadable, his posture relaxed despite the weight of his words. He said it so casually, so simply, like he had already made up his mind. Like it was the obvious solution. And maybe it was.

Player 100 and Player 044 had wanted you dead for longer than just tonight. That much was clear. And there was no way in hell you were going to sit around and let them take their shot first.

But Gi-hun’s glare burned into Young-il like a warning. He didn’t say anything, but his jaw was clenched, his eyes sharp with unspoken accusation. Was he seriously suggesting murder?

Young-il barely reacted. He only tilted his head slightly, as if considering the weight of Gi-hun’s silence before speaking again.

“They’re probably thinking we’ll just wait for the second vote,” he said evenly. “We can use it to our advantage. We’ll attack them first once the lights go out.”

Player 047 nodded immediately, already agreeing. “That’s right. It’d be better to attack them first. We have more women and elderly on our side. If we get attacked, we’ll be at a disadvantage. Attacking them first would give us a better chance at winning.”

Player 145 exhaled, his jaw set. “I agree.”

It was shifting now. The group was leaning toward violence. A preemptive strike. And honestly? You weren’t sure if that scared you or relieved you.

But Gi-hun didn’t hesitate, “We can’t do that.”

His voice was steady. Firm.

You turned your head slightly, watching the way his fingers curled into fists, the way his shoulders tensed like he was preparing to hold back the entire group if he had to.

A fracture was forming in your group, thin but dangerous. And if it cracked? If it broke? The night wasn’t just going to be a bloodbath. It was going to be war.

"We can. And we have to.”, you keep your voice steady, even as the weight of what you're saying settles over the group.

Gi-hun is already shaking his head, lips parting to argue, but you don’t let him. Not yet.

"You think waiting will save us? You think hoping for the best will keep us alive until morning?" You scoff, glancing around at the others. "They were already planning to attack us, Gi-hun. You think they're gonna stop now?."

Your fingers tighten around your knees.

"We sit back, we do nothing, and we lose. Because they won’t hesitate. They won’t stop at one or two. They’ll keep going until there are none of us left."

Gi-hun exhales sharply, his hands curling into fists, but still, he says nothing.

"We have more numbers, more people to protect. More people who can't fight back the way they can." Your voice wavers slightly, but you don’t stop. "What do you think will happen if we just wait? If we sit here and let them make the first move? People will die. People who don’t deserve it."

A few nods. Some hesitant, some firm.

Player 047 shifts, glancing at the others before looking back at you, ”She’s right."

You let out a slow breath, steadying yourself, then turn back to Gi-hun. "We have to hit first, or we won’t get a chance to hit at all."

Gi-hun doesn’t respond right away. His gaze lingers on your face, searching, weighing, like he’s trying to find something—hesitation, doubt, a crack in your conviction. But there’s none. And maybe that’s what finally makes him exhale, running a hand down his face.

“That still doesn’t justify murder, (Y/N),” he mutters, voice low, tired. “That’s exactly what they want us to do.”

Jung-bae leans forward, brows furrowing. “Who’s ‘they’?”

You don’t even need to think about it. You already know.

Gi-hun shifts his attention to Jung-bae, his expression unreadable. “The ones who created this game. The ones watching us play.” He pauses, just for a second, then says it plainly. “If we’re going to fight someone, it should be them.”

Dae-ho’s gaze flicks between you and Gi-hun, something wary settling in his features. “And where are they?”

Gi-hun doesn’t answer. Not right away. He just looks up.

The movement is slow, deliberate. One by one, the others follow his gaze, as if expecting to find something, someone, above them. Everyone except Young-il. Not at first, at least. He stays still, unmoved, like he already knows where they are.

Then, after a beat too long, he finally lifts his head.

How odd.

“On the upper levels are the rooms they control the games from. The man in the black mask is their leader.”

Young-il stiffens beside you. It’s subtle—so subtle that if you weren’t sitting this close, if you didn’t know him so well, you might not have even noticed. But you do. You feel the shift in his posture, the slight tension in his muscles.

Gi-hun’s eyes flick to Young-il, watching. Calculating.

“Once we capture him, we’ll be able to win,” Gi-hun adds.

Your gaze doesn’t leave Young-il. Not for a second. His reaction is small. Almost nonexistent. But you catch it—the tiniest twitch in his eye, there and gone in an instant. A split second of something unguarded, something unspoken.

And yet, it says everything.

It’s the look of someone who’s heard this before. The look of someone who’s already thought about it, already dismissed it, because it was stupid. Like he’s saying, How cute. You and your silly ideas.

But then, as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone. His expression smooths out, unreadable, effortlessly slipping back into that familiar calm, that steady confidence that makes it impossible to tell what he’s really thinking. You inhale slowly, keeping your face neutral.

Something isn’t adding up.

He should have at least reacted to the idea that there’s a big bad man behind all of this, someone controlling the games and watching you, someone you could go after.

Instead, he stiffened. Instead, his face twitched. Instead… he already knew.

The question is—why?

You knew he was a previous winner. That much hadn't been a secret to you. But something like this? Something as crucial as who was pulling the strings, where they were hiding?

Wouldn’t he have told you?

A strange thought curls at the edges of your mind, something uneasy, something wrong.

Young-il knew?

Before Gi-hun even said it, before the words had fully settled in the air, he knew. His body reacted before his brain could stop it—the tension, the stiffness, the way his eye had twitched for just a split second. A tell. A sign.

Like he had heard this before. Like he had already thought about it, already dismissed it, already decided it wasn’t worth entertaining. Like he knew more than he was letting on.

No. That’s ridiculous.

Young-il wouldn’t lie to you. He wouldn’t. He had never lied to you. Or—well—when he did, he always told you the truth afterward.

The thought is almost insulting in its absurdity, in its sheer impossibility. Because this is Young-il. The same Young-il who always told you exactly what he thought. The same Young-il who teased you relentlessly, who smirked when you were flustered but never when you were truly upset. The same Young-il who held your hand when you were shaking and tucked you close when you needed warmth. The same Young-il who kissed you like a starving man.

He was an asshole, yes. A menace, absolutely. But he wasn’t a liar. And he wasn’t cruel. Not to you.

He had protected you. Time and time again, when he could have left you to fend for yourself, when he could have looked out for his own survival first. Instead, he had stayed by your side, had pulled you out of the fire, had chosen you.

Would someone like that really hide something from you?

No. Of course not.

You inhale, steadying yourself.

Whatever you saw—whatever little twitch, whatever hint of something—it didn’t mean anything.

He probably just thought Gi-hun’s plan was stupid. That was all. He wasn’t the type to chase after hopeless dreams, wasn’t the type to waste energy on fantasies of overthrowing an enemy he had never seen. And that made sense, didn’t it?

Young-il had won. He had survived. If anyone knew how hopeless it was to fight the people in charge, it was him. That’s why he had reacted the way he did. That’s all it was.

You let the tension ease from your shoulders, pushing the doubt away, locking it deep where it can’t reach you. Where it shouldn’t reach you.

Because there is no universe where Young-il would ever betray you. No universe where he would lie. Young-il didn’t lie. Not to you.

He was yours, in a fucked up way. And you trusted him.

Young-il’s voice cut through your thoughts, grounding you back in reality. “How are you going to fight them? They have guns.”

You blinked.

Not we. You. Gi-hun was alone on this one.

The way he said it—you—felt like a decision had already been made. Like he was drawing a line between himself and whatever came next. Like he wasn’t planning on being a part of it.

Your fingers twitched against your knee.

Gi-hun didn’t even hesitate. “We’ll fight them with guns too.”

For a second, you thought you misheard him. Because surely, surely he wasn’t serious. But then you saw his face—calm, steady, like he had just suggested something as simple as taking a walk. Your jaw almost dropped.

No?! No way.

Jung-bae shifted beside him, his voice quieter, like he was afraid to even acknowledge the insanity of what had just been said. “But we don’t have any.”

Gi-hun didn’t blink. “We’ll take their guns.”

Oh my god. He was actually serious.

A disbelieving scoff left your lips before you could stop it. “From the soldiers?” You stared at him, incredulous. “Are you stupid?”

The words left your mouth before you could stop them, sharp and immediate, but you didn’t care. You needed to say it. Because what the hell kind of plan was that? Steal guns from the soldiers? The ones who were trained to kill you? The ones who had been keeping you all in check since day one, watching from the shadows, waiting for an excuse to put a bullet in someone’s skull?

Your lips parted, but you had to take a second, just a second, to process the absolute insanity of what Gi-hun had just said.

He was serious. He was actually serious.

“Oh, my god.” You let out a short, humourless laugh, shaking your head. “Are you listening to yourself right now?”

Gi-hun’s jaw tightened, but you weren’t finished.

“(Y/N), don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh?”, Young-il’s voice was calm, easy, like he was trying to rein you in before you tore Gi-hun apart completely. But you didn’t care.

You turned to him, barely sparing him a glance, and immediately held up a hand. “Shh. Stay out of this.”

Young-il blinked.

You shushed him.

He blinked again, momentarily stunned. For the first time since you’d met him, he actually looked caught off guard. His lips parted slightly, like he was debating whether or not to be offended, but you were already turning back to Gi-hun, ignoring the way Young-il let out a soft, amused breath beside you.

“Like I was saying.” You refocused, fixing Gi-hun with a hard stare.

“You think we can just—what? Walk up to them? Politely ask them to hand over their weapons? Maybe say please while we’re at it?” You scoffed.

He opened his mouth, but you kept going, voice rising with each word.

“Have you seen those guys? Because they don’t hesitate. They don’t stop to ask questions. They don’t even think before pulling the trigger.” Your hands curled into fists at your sides, frustration boiling over. “We don’t even know how many of them there are. How many weapons they have. Where they keep them. And you’re sitting here telling us that our best shot at survival is to take them on head-to-head?”

A bitter laugh scraped its way up your throat. “That’s not a plan, Gi-hun. That’s suicide.”

A heavy silence followed.

Your pulse was still pounding, frustration still curling in your chest, but from the corner of your eye, you caught the faintest twitch of Young-il’s lips, like he was trying—failing—to suppress a smirk.

He was enjoying this. The smug, insufferable bastard.

You shot him a quick glare, but he just gave a slow, barely noticeable shrug, as if to say, What? You’re the one who shushed me.

Gi-hun didn’t look away. He didn’t flinch. But he didn’t argue, either. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew it was a terrible plan. But it was all he had.

Your stomach churned, dread curling deep in your chest.

What the hell was Gi-hun thinking? Had the stress finally cracked something in him? Had the endless cycle of fear and death made him believe in something this stupid?

Young-il exhaled sharply, his voice steady, firm. “Look, Gi-hun. I know (Y/N) didn’t exactly sugarcoat it, but she’s right. Even if we manage to take a few guns, we’ll still be outnumbered.”

He wasn’t wrong. The guards had the advantage—more weapons, more bodies, and the goddamn high ground. Even if you pulled off the impossible and got your hands on a few guns, what then? You weren’t soldiers. You weren’t trained. You were just a group of desperate people trying to survive one more night.

Gi-hun's jaw clenched. He looked between the two of you, something dark in his expression, something caught between frustration and exhaustion. Then, he spoke.

“Then what?” His voice was sharp, fraying at the edges. “Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive? Is that what you want, (Y/N)? Young-il?”

You inhaled, but the words caught in your throat.

“Is that what you want?”

Want? Like there was a choice. Like there had ever been a choice.

Like the second the lights went out, the O players wouldn’t be coming for blood. Like they wouldn’t use the only advantage they had left—the only thing that had worked for them so far.

You glanced at Young-il, but his expression remained unreadable. He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t rush to justify or defend himself. He just looked at Gi-hun, at the frustration brewing beneath his skin.

Your grip on your arms tightened. “Want?” Your voice came quieter this time, rougher. “I want to sleep without worrying about waking up with a fork in my throat.”

Gi-hun’s gaze snapped back to you.

“I want to make it to morning. I want to make it to the bloody vote.” Your fingers curled tighter, your nails digging into your skin. “And if they come for us first, you think I should just let it happen?”

“And if we fight back first? Then what?” His voice was quieter this time, edged with something almost like resignation. “We kill them. They kill us. We all die anyway.” He exhaled. “You think that’s winning?”

That was the difference between you and him.

He still wanted this to be a fight you could win without spilling more blood. Still wanted to believe that strategy, that sheer will, could get you all through the night. But you had already accepted the truth.

This place wasn’t about being nice. It was about greed and accepting it. And when the lights went out, you weren’t going to be the one on the ground.

Young-il exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face before finally speaking. “Fine,” he muttered, his tone deliberately even. “We do it your way. What's your plan?”

You turned to him, startled. He was giving in? Just like that?

Gi-hun’s shoulders loosened, just barely. He nodded once, like he was bracing himself for the night ahead. “Once the fight begins tonight, we’ll have our chance. Once the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quietly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us tonight. We have to hide until the fight ends. Don’t get caught up in the fight.”

Hide like cowards.

You barely stopped yourself from scoffing. Did he even listen to you? Your mouth opened before you could think better of it. “Gi-hun—”

But Young-il cut in first.

“Come on.”

His voice was casual, but there was something firm beneath it, something deliberate. He barely spared Gi-hun a glance, his attention locked on you instead. He knew what you were about to say, knew that whatever argument was about to spill from your lips wouldn’t end well if it happened here, in front of everyone.

Not now.

His fingers brushed your wrist—light, coaxing—before he tilted his head slightly, a silent Let’s go.

You swallowed, biting down your frustration, but followed anyway. For now. You hesitated, glancing at Gi-hun one last time. His expression was wary but relieved, like he had won something. Like this was over. But it wasn’t. Not even close.

You let Young-il guide you away, weaving through the scattered bunks, past the hushed murmurs of other players. He didn’t stop until you were at the farthest, most isolated corner of the room, a blind spot where no one could overhear you.

Finally, he turned, expression flat. You crossed your arms.

"You don’t actually believe in this bullshit, do you?"

His jaw tensed. "Of course not."

"Then why the hell did you agree with him back there?"

"Gi-hun’s an idiot, but he’s not entirely wrong."

You scoffed. "Oh, really? Which part? The part where we hide under the beds like terrified children while the O players wipe out half our numbers? Or the part where we magically steal guns from trained soldiers and somehow don’t get shot in the process?"

Young-il sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, but didn’t argue. Because he knew. He knew as well as you did that neither option was a real solution. Still, you weren’t done.

"We sit back, we let them make the first move, and we lose. We lose the vote, we lose people, we lose everything. You think I can just sit there and watch that happen?"

His expression darkened slightly. "No. I know you can’t."

Your throat tightened at his quiet certainty, but you forced yourself to push past it.

"Then stop trying to make me."

Young-il exhaled sharply, his gaze flickering over your face, studying you—assessing, measuring how far you were willing to push this.

Then, finally, he spoke. "I’m not trying to make you. I’m trying to keep you alive."

Your breath hitched. Just slightly.

But before you could speak, before you could throw another argument at him, he stepped closer.

"Listen to me." His voice was quieter now, lower. "If you continue to fight now, you’re going to split the group. And if we break apart before the O players even make their move, then we’re already dead."

You swallowed, his words settling like lead in your stomach.

"So what?" Your voice was quieter now, but not any less firm. "I just sit there and act like I’m okay with this?"

Young-il tilted his head slightly, gaze unwavering. "Yes."

A muscle in your jaw twitched.

You didn’t want to do this. You didn’t want to pretend, to act like you were okay with playing along. Every instinct in your body screamed against it. You had fought for too long, clawed your way through too much to just sit back now.

But Young-il wasn’t backing down. And worse? You knew he was right.

If you continued to push too hard, if you continue to fight this now, in front of everyone, you wouldn’t just be fighting Gi-hun—you’d be fighting your own people. And that? That was just as dangerous as the O players themselves.

You exhaled, pressing your fingers against your temples, your body thrumming with frustration.

"This is bullshit," you muttered.

Young-il’s lips twitched, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he reached out—just barely—fingertips brushing over your wrist.

"I know."

Silence settled between you. Tense. Unyielding.

Your eyes locked onto his.

"I’m fighting."

Young-il held your gaze for a long moment. Then, finally, he sighed—long and slow—like he had expected nothing less.

"I figured."

Your fingers curled into fists. "Then why even bother convincing me?"

His smirk was faint, but it was there. "Because if you pretend, it buys us time."

Time. That’s what this was really about. If you acted like you were on board, if you played the game just a little longer, then you wouldn’t just keep the group together. You’d control the moment the fight started. You let that thought settle, let the strategy of it sink into your bones.

Then, without thinking, without planning, without stopping yourself,

“Kiss me.”

Young-il blinked. Once. Twice. Then, slowly—too slowly—his lips curled into something unreadable.

“Excuse me?”

You rolled your eyes. “Did I stutter?”

His smirk twitched. “Oh, I heard you. Just didn’t expect you to say it out loud for once.”

You crossed your arms. “And why’s that?”

Young-il let out a soft chuckle, low and dangerous. “Sweetheart, I always hear ‘kiss me’ when you’re talking.” His head tilted slightly. “It’s just always subtext.”

Your brain short-circuited. Oh, fuck him.

The arrogance. The audacity. The sheer, unrelenting smugness of this man. He was toying with you, playing with you like a cat batting at a mouse that wasn’t quite dead yet. You could feel the heat rising to your face, not from embarrassment, but from sheer, seething frustration.

You opened your mouth—ready to snap, ready to rip that self-satisfied grin off his face and tell him exactly what you thought of him and his unbearable, endlessly infuriating—

He shushed you. Just—fucking shushed you.

One finger against his lips, a lazy, patronising little motion, like you were a child throwing a tantrum.

You froze. Was this revenge? No, because revenge would have required him to take something seriously, and Young-il? Young-il was looking at you like he was having the time of his goddamn life. His lips quirked higher, eyes practically glowing with amusement. "See? Annoying, isn’t it?"

Your pulse spiked. You couldn’t even speak. Not because you had nothing to say—oh, you had plenty—but because if you did, you’d be acknowledging that he got to you, that he was winning, that he had completely derailed your entire train of thought with nothing more than a single, simple gesture. Your jaw tightened. You were going to kill him.

His hand dropped, smug as ever. Satisfied.

And then, before you could respond, he yanked you in and kissed you like he had been waiting for this exact moment.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was sharp and intentional, a statement, a release of everything you hadn’t said out loud.

His fingers curled against your waist, pulling you closer to him. You pulled back first, heart hammering, breath unsteady.

"I’ll follow the plan," you whispered, your lips barely leaving his. “But the second you’re in danger? I’m doing it my way.”

Young-il’s gaze flickered over your face, something unreadable lurking in his expression. Then, softly, he murmured—

"Deal."

He stepped back. His hand lingered at your waist for a fraction too long before dropping to his side.

"Come on," he said, voice quieter now. "Let’s get back. Before Jun-hee and Dae-ho make another bet.“

You stifled a laugh, nodded, and followed.

When you returned to the group, Gi-hun looked up immediately, his brows drawn in quiet suspicion. You met his gaze, then inhaled slowly.

"I don’t agree with it," you said honestly. "But I trust you. Very much. So I’ll stick to the plan."

Gi-hun’s shoulders loosened. "That’s all I ask."

You nodded.

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pastlivesxpastlie · 10 hours ago

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Get Below Me vol 4 🥀

you aren’t ready and that’s ok

simp!roommate!vessel x virgin!fem!reader

Head’s up: oral sex (m receiving), hand job, hurt/comfort, discussions of trust issues + lack of confidence + fear of intimacy, Vessel is the best boy, fluff

A/N: one of the reasons it’s taken me awhile to write a virgin!reader fic is because it made me reflect on my own first time. This one’s inspired by true events and how I wish it had went. We’re healing you, babygirl dead-name. You deserved better.

✨taglist: @lifemod17 @glitterghost @inv3ga @adenobabe @jeriiicho @milk--bones @myaudiocommentary @horsebiologist @intake-of-breath @fruitsandcheese @0hg00dgirl @goosepond69 @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @lynzeequitlollygagging @thatxxjiyong-ssi @cloudy-soul @daddysaidbringthethunder @evisnotok @cheomain @chaosandchaos @sage-m-sepia @dreamer-lost-in-wonderland

You woke up curled into a little ball, your back against Vesssl’s. It took you a few bleary blinks to realize you weren’t in your room, but still his. Last night immediately replayed in your mind.

The way he leaned back to watch you suck his cock. His murmurs about what a quick learner you are…how perfect you are. It made you feel incredible. And he felt incredible, too. He was a perfect gentleman and didn’t push your head down or try to force himself deeper. He let you play. Let you learn just from doing. When you pulled off to catch your breath at one point, his head was thrown back as his chest heaved. Moaning your name. Telling you how good you made him feel. Your hand worked him a bit harder just because you were so high on the experience…and that was the first time you made someone cum. Well. Not just anyone in the grand scheme of things. Your perfect boyfriend. Wait…was he…actually your boyfriend? The realization hits you hard, leaving you feel cold. You sit back on your knees and feel that ugly familiar insecurity creep in.

“Ves…?”

“Yeah babe? Are you…” he lifts your chin softly, noticing your tears… “hey what’s wrong?”

“Did that mean anything to you?” You hate to ask. Why the fuck do you have to ask? Why can’t you just have fun?

Vessel’s face falls, looking like he could cry himself. He drops to his knees on the floor and holds you. Holds you tighter than anyone ever has. He doesn’t need to answer. You already know. But that doesn’t stop your tears. Vessel rubs your back and gently kisses your shoulder. “You…not what you do for me…means everything to me.”

You didn’t lose your virginity that night. It seemed wrong considering your state even though your spirits lifted quickly and you felt like yourself. Vessel didn’t want to push it. As he always had, he wanted to protect you and provide for you. He asked you if you wanted to get off another way but you said “no.” The mood was gone. And again, that was ok. As you drifted to sleep, Ves whispered close to your ear, “we have all the time in the world, if you’ll have me.”

Over time, your trust issues tested your relationship with Vessel, ever changing as it was, but it worked out. Every time. He was patient. Adoring. Willing to meet in the middle or change a behavior. And finally, one morning, it all fell into place.

#sleep token fan fiction #sleep token x reader #vessel x reader #sleep token x you #vessel x you #sleep token fanfiction #fem reader

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goldenboywrites · 1 day ago

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Oliver was pulled into Cassio’s arms, the blonde’s head tucked into the crook of his neck. The movement hurt his aching body, but he refused to call out in pain. He swallowed it down because he knew, deep down, how much Cass needed this, needed to touch him. If only to reassure himself that Oliver was there, Oliver was breathing. He wouldn’t take that away from his boyfriend, no matter how hard it hurt at that moment. And it did hurt. Every inch of Oliver’s body felt swollen and bruised, but he had done it. He knew how to help Theo. The spell had been successful, and Oliver had done it.

“I don’t know exactly, but I saw the fear in her eyes when she said goodbye to Theo. She knew she wasn’t returning from whatever he would do to her when he realized Theo was out of that house.” There was a slight chance she had survived, but Oliver knew in his heart she hadn’t. He had felt the man’s power, the man’s rage. Alexandra had sacrificed herself to save her son, and she trusted them all to take care of her little boy, to give him the life she couldn’t. “She knew he would kill both of them eventually. It…you guys, it was so fucking bad. Theo would breathe wrong, and that man would lock him in a closet. If he was too loud if he cried. There was always a reason for him to rage out on him…”

How long would it take that man to find Theo here with them? He would know Alexandria had gotten Theo out. Men like that don’t just give up. His gaze sought out the little boy, tearing up at the sight of him sleeping peacefully. He was thankful the spell hadn’t hurt Theo like it had hurt Oliver. He was thankful that the boy was with them. Every single person in this house would protect Theo with their lives. Oliver, especially. He wouldn’t let Alexandria’s sacrifice be in vain.

“I can sketch Theo’s dad so we know who to look for, but no other information than what I’ve already shared with you guys. She sent him to Apollo, knowing he would take him in and protect him. She knew we all would protect him. That’s what we have to do. That’s all we can do at this point.”

When Apollo came to, his vision was blurry and his head fuzzy. He rolled his heavy body over and moved onto his knees. The movement caused a wave of nausea to wash over him, and before he knew it, he was throwing up what little remnants were in his stomach. He wiped his mouth with his hand and dragged himself to his feet. At first glance, fear coursed through his body, his heart beating relentlessly because he didn’t initially recognize where he was. Had he been captured? Was he being tortured? But after glancing around his surroundings, he realized he was in his own basement.

The door clicked open, and Apollo stumbled to the stairs. He had been concussed way too many times to not recognize the signs. But what had happened? His hair felt wet, and he reached up, his hand coming back with blood on his fingers. His body felt bruised to shit too. As he climbed the stairs, he tried to recall what he remembered last. The fight. He and Isaac are fighting over Cassio and Oliver coming around to see Theo. But that didn’t make much sense to him. Their fights were never physical; they would never lay hands on each other in violence.

He went up to the first floor, stumbling into the living room, where he heard them all talking. He sought out Isaac first, eyes scanning over him to ensure he was safe. Then he saw Cassio, who was untouched but cradling Oliver in his arms, who was hurt, and then little Theo, asleep in the middle of the room, not harmed. His body sagged with relief. “What happened?” He asked, his words slurred as his head throbbed to the point that the room spun. He held Cassio’s gaze, trying to decipher the uncomfortable look on his face as their eyes met. “I don’t remember…I,” His knees gave out, and he grasped the edge of the couch, steadying himself against the furniture to remain standing. “I’m missing time. Hours.” Cassio was struggling to keep Apollo’s gaze, making his stomach twist painfully. That wasn’t how things were between them. “What happened?” He asked again, more forcefully.

Alexandria may not have been Cass' favorite person in the world but what had happened to her. Well, what they were assuming had happened, was awful. She'd just been another victim of the awful sub-society that their families all subscribed to. He wondered briefly if his and her's and Apollo's family's maybe had been afforded another opportunity there could have been different ways, different outcomes. Different thems. There were a lot of things Cas was wishing for in that moment, one specifically was to know how Orion was that damn powerful to be able to do that. Perhaps he's not just a junkie. He could ask all those questions of Oliver later on, he knew he'd answer now if he'd asked but they'd already lost enough time.

"So," He started softly, smoothing his hands gently along Oliver's back. He was mindful of how he touched him as he was still trying to piece together how the hell any of this was possible. He supposed that was the beauty and horror of magic. "W-what happened to Alex .. ?" He asked, knowing damn well he'd already known the answer. Apollo was absolutely going to lose his fucking mind when he found out about this. The blonde's head whipped towards the cellar door and another pang of regret washed over him again. This day could go straight to hell for all he cared. As a matter of fact, if he'd wake up right then and there and this was all a nightmare, he'd be so damn grateful but he knew that wasn't going to happen.

Cass immediately took to burying his head in Oliver's neck, apologizing as he did so for any discomfort he caused. How the hell could a little boy cry out like that? How could anyone hurt someone so vulnerable and .. his thoughts trailed off as Cass inhaled his boyfriend's scent and got as close as humanly possible. He had had it bad growing up. A backhand to the mouth every now and then and some truly disgusting words that a child should never hear but it hadn't been like that.

It was moments like this that had Isaac questioning whether or not he truly deserved the things that came into his life. And this one was about that beautiful little boy. But this was more to do with how he came to be in the world. It had been him. And if he expressed this thought to Apollo he'd assure that that wasn't the case and that Theodore would have always been. It would have been in the design. But as Isaac stood there, arms wrapped around his own middle he knew it had been his fault. Alexandria and Apollo were meant to get married. They should have been married and that little boy would have been Apollo's. But Isaac found a man following him one night and from that night on, he was never able to stop luring him on and towards their future. He'd been so good at it that he'd even managed to incorporate little bits of Apollo's bleed over now too.

Isaac was quiet, letting Oliver comfort Cass and vice versa. They all needed a minute he thought. And so he spelled up a basin of warm water a few wash clothes to clean the two up when they were ready. His gaze still hadn't really left the chubby little cherub face that had come to disrupt his whole life that afternoon. A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as Isaac took a wash cloth in one hand and wetted it. He wondered, briefly, if Alexandria had spelled the little boy to look like Apollo for that reason as well. Had she known what was coming for her? He hoped now. Even after everything, Apollo had assured him that he and her hadn't ended on bad terms. Even gave him life updates sometimes. But he was starting to wonder if it had been Apollo lying to him about this or her lying to Apollo and that whole slue of events.

"Di' ya see anythin' else, Oli'va?" Isaac asked softly, tearing his gaze from the child to the cellar door. Without a word, Isaac raised his hand and it popped open. Apollo needed to be up here. Isaac just hoped that Cassio knocking him out was enough to knock the veela magic from his system. For as frustrating as this day had been, at least he knew now for certain that that wasn't something they could play with in the bedroom. Which wasn't ideal but Isaac was not ready for repeat of whatever the hell happened today. "Apollo?" Isaac hollered, looking over towards Oliver and Cassio to see the daggers they were staring. "I will ta'e ca'e o' 'im if nee' be." He assured them, moving closer towards the door just in case. "Bu', was tha' all o' it? Not'in' else?"

#where do we go from here

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theghostavocadoe · 7 hours ago

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Fragile

Hello Remnants enjoyers :)

The Forgotten City lived up to its name in many senses. It was ancient, abandoned, and very empty. Only three lonely souls inhabited it now, idly planning their next move.

And it was quiet.

Too quiet.

The sharp-eyed sibling paused in his idle fidgeting, hands stilled in the middle of pulling back the hammer of his pistol. Yazoo turned his gaze, eyes narrowing, searching for the source of the discordance that plagued his subconscious. Something was wrong.

His eyes eventually landed on the hulking figure slouched over the edge of the lake, looking down into its abyssal waters. To the untrained eye, one might assume he was simply observing the lake; but Yazoo could see the way his shoulders shook minutely, and his muscles were far too tense for their own good.

Loz’s tears were usually a sign of a dramatic debacle or teases being thrown back and forth between the trio. But this silence, and the way he hid his tears, signified that this was something deeper. Yazoo couldn’t tease Loz at a time like this. Not when he was vulnerable. Fragile.

A small “hm” noise subconsciously left Yazoo, as he always did when he made a realization or a keen observation. Kadaj looked up from where he was leaning against a tree, looking between Yazoo and Loz for a flicker of a moment before looking back down. Through their shared mind link, Yazoo could feel Kadaj giving him a gentle nudge towards Loz.

Yazoo reached behind him and slid his Velvet Nightmare into its holster before stepping towards Loz. His footsteps were silent in the soft, turned soil beneath his feet.

“Loz?” He called out quietly, his head tilting in question.

Loz quickly looked up with a grunt of confusion, but quickly looked away again, wiping his face with his sleeves. In those few seconds of eye contact, Yazoo saw his red, tear-filled eyes. There was no fooling him now. He sat down next to his brother, tucking his knees underneath his coat neatly.

“What’s wrong?” Yazoo asked. There was no use beating around the bush. “Is it Mother?”

Loz shook his head. Yazoo’s eyes widened. That was a first.

Looking down into the water, Loz let his tears slide down his face and drip into the water, creating tiny ripples. He sniffled as he thought of what to say.

“Are we… Doing the right thing?” Loz asked, his voice quiet and meek.

Yazoo closed his eyes for a moment and reached out for Kadaj’s help. Images of angry faces, despaired cries, and screamed insults flashed in his mind. Scared children resurfaced quite a lot. Yazoo wasn’t a fool; in the eyes of humans, they weren’t doing the right thing by a long shot. But in the eyes of mother, they were doing what’s necessary.

“...We are,” Yazoo answered. But even he wasn’t sure he was telling the truth.

Loz pouted and looked at Yazoo through the corner of his eye. “I’m not dumb, Yaz. I know we’re not.”

Yazoo sighed. “We’re doing what’s necessary. If we don’t do this, we won’t see Mother.”

“But-” Loz quickly cut himself off.

But. There was doubt in that statement. And Kadaj hated doubt. Mother hated it even more. The fact that they were even capable of doubting Mother’s will seemed to anger her, so it was best to banish such thoughts altogether.

Of course, this made Loz’s tears worsen. With no words to speak his mind at the risk of punishment, the only thing he could do was cry, to let out the emotions one by one through the tiny droplets.

Yazoo felt an ache in his chest. He quickly pulled his attention to it; a new feeling he was slowly gaining familiarity with. Sadness? Sympathy, maybe? Sympathy sounded right. He wasn’t upset, but Loz was, and that made him upset. The word empathy came to mind, by virtue of Kadaj. Empathy it was then.

He pulled his attention back to Loz. With careful deliberation, Yazoo reached out and wrapped his arms around Loz’s shoulders, pulling him close. Loz immediately returned the gesture, burying his face into Yazoo’s shoulder and crying his heart out. The ache in Yazoo’s chest grew worse, and his grip on Loz tightened slightly. He decided right then and there that he hated empathy.

Even with no words spoken between them, the physical gesture seemed to help Loz. His muscles relaxed, and his sniffles and sobs grew quieter as the moments ticked by. Yazoo tried rubbing circles into his brother’s back, which seemed to help as well. Kadaj even ended up approaching the two and ruffled Loz’s hair; the most affectionate gesture one could get from someone like Kadaj.

Eventually, Loz’s grip went slack, and Yazoo took that as the sign to pull away. Emerald eyes met, and a single, silent thought was shared between the three of them.

At least we have each other.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #advent children #kadaj ff7 #yazoo ff7 #loz ff7 #kadaj #yazoo #loz #remnants of sephiroth #ff7 fanfics #ff7 fanfic #ff7 fanfiction #writing #writers on tumblr #ficlet #one-shot

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echoingbirdsofprey · 9 hours ago

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Delicate (Jake's Version)

Ch 27 - Let It Fall, Call It, Code Red

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: EXPLICIT (MDNI!)

Warnings: Arguing, crying, sad!Jake, sad!Sam, pregnancy talk, discussion of reproductive issues, discussion of Jake's mental state associated with his capture and torture, discussion of Sam's mental state and a TEASE OF SMUT at the end.

A/N: I know y'all been waitin'. This picks up immediately after Ch 10 of Back Country View. This is a resolution. Its fucking heavy. And there's a spicy surprise at the end. This chapter has exhausted me but I'm damn proud of it. I hope you enjoy it too. As always all the comments, likes, reblogs, everything is appreciated. Gifs by @kaizsche pics form Pinterest, and a surprise at the bottom. Song inspo at the top.

Tags: @mrsevans90 @djs8891 @gpsmississippihippie @barnesboo1967 @dizzybee03 @coloraturadiva @kmc1989 @khouse712

The rest of the ride had been silent as the grave. Jake had parked, gone to get the card key for the room and then as he walked back to the truck, Sam watched him, seeing the tension wracking his body. She just wanted him to be okay.

“Do you remember the time Beau caught us at the airstrip?” Sam asked, as she handed him their bags from the backseat, and she took the three dogs’ leashes.

“Yeah I do, why?” Jake chuckled slightly.

“Was just thinking about it is all.” Sam said as they made their way to the room. Jake had gotten a single bed with a couch so that the dogs didn’t have to sleep on the floor. They’d become spoiled at Tyler’s house because of their giant living room and the comfortable sofas that all six of the dogs had hogged during the day.

“We got sloppy.” Jake murmured, a little smirk creeping across his lips as he swiped the card key through the lock. It clicked and he pressed down on the handle to open the door.

“We? Uh, you were jealous because I sat on Nat’s lap.” Sam let the dog’s leashes go and they bounded through the door and onto the bed immediately, checking to see how comfortable it was. Sam and Jake both discarded their shoes by the door, his boots, her flats.

“It was the way you were sitting there. Her fucking arm around your waist like she owned you.” Jake said, as he placed their bags down. He walked over to Ballast who was waiting at the edge of the bed, tail wagging forcefully, begging for Jake to rub his back. He did so, and the dog curled into him, rubbing up against him like a cat.

“Jake, we’re friends. We’ve always acted like that.” Sam said as she sat on the bed, bouncing a few times to check the firmness of the mattress. Not very, she thought, and smiled.

“Some people might get the wrong idea.” Jake said as he continued to scratch the dog all over. Rocco and Muster had jumped down from the bed in favor of the couch, which was what Jake had hoped for.

“Wrong idea? Jake...I could never eat pussy. Trust me, I like your dick a little too much.” Sam’s brows rose as Jake patted the dog’s butt, sending him flying off the bed like a missile. He jumped on the couch and settled next to the other two dogs.

“Do you? Coulda fooled me back then.” He said, kneeing her legs apart to stand between them. She gazed up at him as he cupped her chin with one hand. Sam’s pussy clenched at his action, her cheeks flushing bright red.

“Well, you never let me touch it back then.” She scoffed and folded her arms across her chest, and her gaze set on the floor.

“Uh...you’ve touched my cock.” Jake pursed his lips.

“Well, maybe I want to do...other things...” Sam glanced over at the dogs, checking that they were asleep, and then placed her hands back on the bed.

“Like?” He guided her to look at him again, just two fingers this time. He tilted his head and his expression softened.

“Seriously?” She asked, setting herself back slightly on the bed, pulling her legs up underneath her so that the skirt of her dress covered her completely again. She could feel just how wet she was then.

“Use your words.” Jake smirked.

“Fuck you and your pretty cock.” She poked him in the chest and he caught her wrist.

“Ooh. Sure, you can. You think it’s pretty?” He gleaned as he gently pulled her toward him. He took her other wrist then and put both together in one hand, as if she was handcuffed. Jake watched as the blush spread from her cheeks, down to her chest.

“Oh come on, Jake. Have you seen it?” She asked, kneeling on the bed in front of him.

“Yeah, it’s attached to me.” He mused, a laugh leaving his stupid, pretty, lips.

“I’m just saying.” She glanced away from him, trying to find something, anything else to focus on, except his stupid face right now. He was preening and she wanted to slap the shit out of him. She wanted to...

“You’re just saying what? Sam, what do you want? Do you...do you wanna suck my cock?” He asked, his eyes lighting up at the thought.

“You’re a stupid fuck.” Her jaw tightened and she tried to pull away from him but he wouldn’t let her.

“Hey, let’s stop with the name calling, huh? Is that what you want? Because you could’ve just asked. All this time, that’s what’s making you so mad, huh?” Jake had humor in his voice, thinking maybe she was joking too, but then he saw her eyes grow misty and he regretted what he said as her words came out with a harsh edge to them.

“Oh, fuck you. I don’t want to anymore, you asshole.”

“Hey...stop...can you please tell me what you want? You just seem like you wanna fight...again. I don’t want to...”

“A baby, Jake! I want us to have a baby! And I don’t understand why I’m not pregnant yet. I’m so...fucking...I...I just...fuck...” He pulled her tight against his chest, as her sobs shook her body, her tears wetting his shirt through. Ballast lifted his head, feeling the emotions of his humans rising. Jake waved a hand at him to stay, but the dog put his head on the arm of the chair, keeping a close eye on the couple.

“Samantha...easy, honey bun...it’s okay...it’s not your fault. You’re perfect.” Jake said, meaning it. He did mean it. It wasn’t her fault and he wouldn’t let her think she was anything less.

“Clearly I’m not.” She sniffled and rubbed her face against his shirt, hiding her watery eyes from him.

“Stop. You’re not gonna talk about yourself like that, do you understand? I will not let you. For me, you are absolutely, undeniably, fucking perfect. You are everything I need . Obviously there’s something going on, there’s a reason why, and you never even thought maybe I was shooting blanks this whole time? Because it could be me? And I think maybe you think that going home will solve everything, but hell, we could’ve seen a doctor down there. You never brought that up while we were down there. And neither did I because I figured you might be sour about it.” Jake's words came out shaky and unsure, feeling like every one, any one , could send her running for the metaphorical hills.

“Well then how would we have been able to do that?” Her words were rough and Jake admitted his defeat then.

“I don’t know Sam...I’m trying to make this better. You tell me you want me to share everything. I’m trying to work through this and you just don’t seem to want to. We've been out of whack since we left.” His fingers trembled as he ran them up her back and across her shoulders. He cupped her face and forced the eye contact that she so desperately wanted to avoid.

“I do...I just don’t know how to express any of what the fuck is going on in my head.” She said, solemnity flowing over her voice.

“Just say whatever you want or need to say. We have all the time in the world.” His fingers brushed her cheeks reassuringly.

“I’m afraid if I say certain things you won’t want me anymore.” She admitted and he made a tsking sound, knowing there was nothing she could do to chase him away. He was terrified that she would leave.

“I feel like that also. So I think it cancels out.” He said and her brows furrowed, almost in anger.

“It doesn’t cancel out. Don’t just dismiss it.” She was stern, adamant that the weight of her words needed to be felt.

“I’m not trying to. What I mean is...fuck...we both have shit floating around in our brains that we’re afraid to tell each other but why? Look at what we’ve already been through. What are we afraid of? I’ll tell you what we’re both afraid of. We’re afraid that if we open up to each other that much, something will go wrong and we’ll be pulled apart.” Jake explained, leaning down to touch the tip of his nose to hers, bringing a softness back into her eyes.

“Exactly.” She said, studying his gaze for some sort of reprieve. He wasn't budging.

“But what if our relationship becomes even stronger because of that? It’s a calculated risk. I wanna take it. So I’ll start, okay? Ask me anything, anything at all.”

“I don’t know...I feel like you're not telling me everything that happened when you got captured.” She said and he sighed heavily.

“Of course I'm not. You think I want to keep rehashing it? The therapist wants to talk about it, Ryker wants to talk about it. Mav wants to talk about it. Everyone looks at me like I'm some sad, sorry, weak-ass, son-of-a-bitch who’s fucking crazy because I was strung up ny my fucking wrists, hanging above a pool of blood and piss, screaming in pain, and terrified that I wasn't coming back for damn near two weeks! I'm tired of the fucking pity party. I'm tired of feeling like shit. I'm tired of my body hurting. I'm so fucking tired of this rift that it put between us and I just want everything to go back to how it was before!” Jake hadn't realized, but Sam had, that he had dissolved into tears, and as she was pulling him toward her chest, he sobbed. He wailed. He collapsed into her, the last bits of his composure failing. Every nerve had fizzled out and Jake felt like he was left raw and exposed in her arms. He retreated, wiping his tears and turning to lean on the TV stand for a moment. He turned and leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. Ballast had sprung up and was now sitting on the floor, looking expectantly at Jake. Once again, he motioned for the dog to stay put and Ballast laid down, his head on his paws, eyes studying his human.

Jake continued. “Y'know I talked to Tyler about everything. I told Tyler that I was afraid it was me. That I'm the problem. That my brain is so fucked that my body isn't workin’ right. I sat there and asked my own fucking brother, if /we find out I'm the problem...if he'd be a fucking sperm donor...because then at least my kids would look like me a little bit. They might be like me just a little bit. I asked him to do something so fucking insane...as if he's some fucking stallion I can just rent out as needed...as if you're some fucking broodmare...as if that's all you are to me, when it's not. But the thought of it, the thought of even having to ask that of my own goddamn brother has me so fucked up in my head. For you. I would rip out my own heart for you. I would sacrifice everything for you.” Jake had run out of tears at this point. His tone was still shaky, still dismayed. His emotions felt so raw in that instance but he felt a sense of relief wash over him to have put them out there. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, as he stepped toward the bed, and Sam. She spoke softly to him as she coaxed him into an embrace that he could've become a puddle from right then and there, as if he wasn't on the verge of it anyway.

“Jake if I can't have your kids...then I don't want any. You are the man I want them from. I don't care if your brother is an exact genetic copy. It's not the same. He's not you. I grew to love him and Georgia, and everything about that place but they're not you. Just like I wanted you to find solace in me, I've done the same with you. You are my home .” She admitted, as she drew him closer, resting her head against his taut stomach. Her fingers traveled up his sides, stopping where his surgery scars were. Two perfectly imperfect pieces of him that were hers alone to see.

“Then why are we still arguing about a physical home? Because deep down we both know that's what this whole argument is about.’ His voice was softer than she expected, and one of his hands met her shoulder and the other ended up tangled in her hair.

“Because I need you to trust me and let me rifle through my grief for just a little while longer. I need California for just a little while longer. I understand that you need the physical place. I know you need the life that's in Oklahoma, but Tyler and Georgia don't need you right now. I need to make amends with my mother, right now. She needs me. Mark and Alex need me, right now.” Sam began massaging her fingers over the points of Jake's hips, through his shirt.. He gazed down at her, his eyes red and puffy.

“But for how much longer?” He sniffled.

“I don't know. Why does it matter? What else is making you not want to go back?” Sam's voice began harshly but knowing that this conversation didn't need anymore anger or resentment put into it, she softened it almost immediately. It needed to be resolved.

“You know what else.” He murmured, kneading his fingertips at the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and relaxed into his touch.

“He's not even there. Do you think avoiding him for the rest of our lives is going to help? At some point it all needs to come to a head, just like what happened with us tonight. You and I need to just sit down with him and talk.”

“He'll be there when we get back. Maybe someone needs to sit in with us as a mediator?” Jake suggested and Sam nodded.

“Nat could do that. I know he wouldn't get rude with her around. And I need to apologize to my mother. I haven't been there for her. I may need to stay at home more...”

“What if I move in with you?” Jake asked. Sam's head shot up.

“You'd be okay with leaving Javy?”

“Well, I had asked him if he was keeping the rental and he said he might not. He got a separate assignment at Lemoore and Maisy wants to move in with him. It's been okay for a short time, but long term that little house isn't enough for us all and the dogs. And Javy wants to get dogs of his own.” Jake chuckled slightly, glancing over at the pups. Ballast raised his head and in feeling the energy in the room return to a more acceptable level between his people, he elected to hop back up onto the couch and lay facing away from them, giving them some privacy.

“So...are we okay, Jake?” Sam asked softly, her hands winding around his waist. He unthreaded his fingers from her hair then, and lifted her chin, their eyes locking.

“We’re okay. We’re gonna be okay.” Jake murmured, and he leaned down to kiss her, fervently. When they parted, Sam looked him up and down.

“That was a lot...” She said, her fingers meeting his belt buckle. He hummed in agreement, placing his hands on the bed on either side of her, their noses touching.

“It was. So now what?” Jake asked. Sam bit her lip. She pushed him away and slid off the bed, dropping to her knees.

“Can we go back to the other conversation we were having?” She asked, looking up at him through lowered lids. He brushed his fingers along her jawline as she unbuckled his belt.

“Remind me what it was about?” He smirked. She unzipped his jeans and slid them down his hips. She palmed the hard outline of his cock through the fabric of his boxer-briefs. “Mmm, I remember now.” He groaned, tilting his head to keep her gaze. “Stand up for a second, babygirl.”

She did as he asked, helping her up. He trailed his fingers down from her chin, down her neck, to the shoulder of her dress. Jake’s touch was almost too soft, and it sent a shiver down Sam’s spine as he flicked the material down, gently guiding it off her arms, then down her body, to pool at her dainty feet. She stepped out of it and into his space. He brought his hands back up, cupping her cheeks and pressing his lips hard to hers, kiss full of desire. As they parted, his stare was reverent and tender, but there was an edge to his words that sent a wave of heat coursing through her.

“You want all of me? Then you take it. You take everything. Like the good girl that you are.” His fingers dropped just slightly, one going around her back to unclasp her bra. She let it fall to the floor as her hands met the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. He shivered in anticipation as she sensuously knelt down, her hands drifting down his front as she went, her pretty mahogany eyes never leaving his. They halted at the waistband and before she hooked her thumbs in it, she pressed her hand over him one more time. He sucked in a sharp breath and held it as she freed his cock from its confines.

He let out a long and low moan as she wrapped her gorgeous fingers around his length. The green in Jake’s eyes simmered as he watched her pump her hand a few times, before pressing a kiss to the tip and lingering there. She left her lips just touching him, eyes locked, as if she was waiting for permission. He pulled her hair out of her face, into a ponytail with one hand and rested that at the back of her neck. With his other, his fingers ghosted across the front of her throat and settled at her chin.

“ I’m giving you all of me now, Sam. So please, take it. ”

#glen powell #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin x oc #top gun maverick #top gun hangman #top gun fanfiction #Spotify

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violettavonviolet · 3 days ago

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Jaytim soulmate fic rec's

hey guys, in honor of valentines day, I'm making a whole host of soulmate fic rec lists for different fandoms.

All fies are completed, the wordcount goes up as you scroll, and do mind the tags! Leave the authors some love and if you have a specific ship or tag you would like a rec list for, shoot me a DM or an ask!

You were never a saint (and I love in shades of wrong)

Violettavonviolet

Summary:

Jason fucking Todd, storms the base on a one-man mission to free Tim and he’s feeling way too giddy for the situation he’s in.

His cell-door gets kicked in, and there he is, a gun in each hand, menacing and ruthless and splattered in blood.

Look—could it have something to do with Tim's latent abandonment issues? Sure. But he’d literally never seen anything hotter than a guy breaking into a villain’s base just to rescue Tim. Because he noticed, because he did something, because he sunk to his knees and carefully drooped his leather jacket over his shaking form, because he picked Tim up with so much fucking ease and carried him to safety- because, this was his soulmate.

or: Tim and Jason are soulmates, they make it work.

DAY 10: YOU SAID YOU'D NEVER LEAVE

DC, Jaytim, teen, 3.5k

In Gotham's Stars

Myoneloveismusic

Summary:

Across a thousand different lifetimes and a thousand different universes, Tim Drake and Jason Todd always seemed to find each other. But that didn't meant they always stayed together. Some worlds were kinder to the pair, while others did everything in their power to keep the two apart. Being soulmates is never easy, but when Jason and Tim are willing to fight for what they want? There's nothing that can stand in their way.

Jatyim, dcu, teen 4k

A Marked Difference

Skalidra

Summary:

Most people are born with a simple name etched on their skin. Sometimes in another language, if their marked is foreign, but always readable. Tim Drake, heir to the Drake kingdom, on the other hand, has only a stamp of strange letters between his shoulder blades. A name, surely, but in a language that no scholar or mage has ever been able to identify for him. That is, until Ra's al Ghul, the Demon's Head, claims it as his own from centuries past.

Now, Tim has to find proof that he's lying, or that the etching of his own name on Ra's' skin is faked. That, or belong to him for the rest of his life. He knows what he'd prefer.

DC, jaytim, teen, 6.2k

Stripping Down

njw

Summary:

Tim turns to him with a quick, shy smile before rapidly climbing the pole, waiting for Jason to position himself under him. “Like this?” he asks, arching his back, gripping the pole tightly between his shapely little thighs and beginning a slow, grinding descent. Jason did not realize until this moment it was possible to be so jealous of a fuckin’ pole.

Oh fuck, I’m gonna die again. Of embarrassment or blue balls, just take your fuckin’ pick.

“Yeah, Baby Bird,” he says, almost not recognizing his voice for how throaty and deep it sounds right now. “Just like that.”

Dc, jaytim, mature, 20k

Sanctuary

chibi_nightowl, PoisonBasil

Summary:

Jason has a brief moment to notice he has blue eyes that match the sky overhead when his soul wrenches, reaching out to snag and entwine with Tim’s.

What. The. FUCK?

Tim blinks quickly, brows narrowing as he takes note that something is happening but not sure what. But Jason does. He’s a dragon born and bred, he knows what this call is, the throbbing pulse he now feels alongside his own. Stories told to him by his parents before he was stolen from them are coming to life and all he wants is to scream his pain all over again.

A soul bond.

His soulmate is a fucking human.

DC , jaytim, teen 24k

Brothers, Bonds, And Best Friends

Lumeleo

Summary:

When Robin and Superboy the younger disappear during what was supposed to be a routine patrol, their families will stop at nothing to find them. Unfortunately, both Batman and Superman are off planet, and with Dick donning the cowl, it falls upon Tim and Jason to team up with Superboy the older to find their respective brothers. Their only clues point towards the League of Assassins; however, not even Tim could predict the latest scheme Ra's has set up.

Meanwhile Jon and Damian find themselves trapped in a pocket dimension - and when they find a way to escape, they aren't sure they should. Surely it's enough to only save one person, right?

Jaytim, dcu, mature 57k

(This fic I can't add anywhere else, but I feel like it fits anyway! )

Souls for Cheap

kieran_granola

Summary:

When Jason gets a magical injury, he needs the help of an expert. Lucky for him, Constantine is willing to assist.

They both get a bit more than they bargained for in the process.

3.7k dcu, jason/constantine mature

#vio's recs #fanfiction recommendation #dc #jaytim #Tim Drake #jason todd #soulmate #romance #fanfiction

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catboy-artist · 2 days ago

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This inspired me to write a short ficlet, so I will be putting that under a readmore!

“…Falst?”

Dainix instinctively threw a hand up defensively, his other ready to draw the spear. (Not that he could ever hurt Falst.)

Falst tilted his head curiously, his eyes shining in the dark with a dangerous glint. He looked like he was in bad shape, hair falling in his face and his clothes torn in places, a sickly tint to his skin. But more than that, he was moving all wrong, like he’d forgotten how to be a person.

Dainix stepped closer, and Falst jumped back and hissed, bringing his claws up defensively. Dainix paused -he knew something was wrong, b-but- how did he respond to this?

“Falst- it’s just me.” Dainix desperately searched Falst’s face for any sign of recognition. “C-Can you hear me?”

Falst hissed again, and a low rumble came from his throat. His ears were flattened against his head, eyes wide, tail puffed up -he was scared, Dainix realized.

“I-It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” Dainix scrambled to think of a way to calm Falst down, get him to remember -could he even calm him down in this state—

His panicked thoughts were interrupted by Falst suddenly collapsing to his knees, hissing in pain.

“Falst!!” He yelled, approaching, but Falst swatted with too-long claws.

“D-Don’t-“ he heard Falst say through gritted teeth, as his body began to stretch out with a horrible crack. “H-Hurts -hungry-” Dainix could only watch as Falst stretched out even further, letting out a cry of agony as he suddenly jumped at Dainix and attacked.

Blocking with his spear, Dainix couldn’t bring himself to fight back. No matter how horribly warped he had been, that was still Falst. “Falst-“ he tried. “W-What happened to you???”

Falst pushed against the spear harder, getting close enough to be face to face, a rumble building up.

“HHELP MEEE!!!!!”

It was a raw, throat-hurting cry of agony, his eyes wild and broken, as he snapped the spear in two and pinned Dainix to the ground before he could respond.

Tearing up, Dainix still couldn’t bring himself to fight back. He looked at Falst one last time, before Falst moved to bite his throat, and the pain was horrible, but nothing compared to the heartache. Dainix somehow wasn’t dead yet, and Falst continued to eat at him, like a desperate, starving animal, and none of the pain was as bad as watching Falst get twisted like that.

Dainix was startled by a touch and reflexively moved to hit it, before he blinked, processing that it was just Falst. Falst was right here, and he was alive, and safe, and n-not a monster -none of that had happened. It was just a dream. (But the pain still lingered.)

“… you awake now?” Falst asked, his eyes wide with concern.

Dainix hesitated for a moment, before squishing Falst in a desperate hug.

what if falst became a cave crawler would that be fucked up or what

#crustables fanart week #nyehehehe

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dirt-str1der · 2 years ago

Note

yk every time i see a post about somebody wishing bad things on another person i think ‘dirt-strider to kiryu’ you’ve broken me brain

You see a post thats like i want to stick him in time prison so that he gets so bored he starts breaking his own bones to get even a hint of stimulation and its tagged me at kiryu and you scroll down and its a post thats like i want to feed him chips from my cupped hands like a wild stallion and its also tagged me at kiryu also hiiiiiiiii

#Thanks for the ask !#i wont lie to you i want to do yo kiryu what they did to the family in reddot story the pancake family #his life is a bit too easy i want to give him more obstacles thats why im kidnapping him and breaking my little prince’s ankles and #releasing him in a forest in another country altogether and he has to survive with his injuries until they heal and they will heal wrong and #it will forever hurt to walk now and also when he sees another human being now he will always flinch and he has nightmares every night about #being feverish and starving to death and years into his recovery i meet him again and invite him to watch a movie with me but when i put the #tape in its actually just a highlight reel of his time in the wilderness and he gets scared but he cant move and its because i gave him some #tea earlier and oh this ? its laced with drugs. and he sits blearily beside me and im holding his head up so he watches the screen and he #recalls every terrible thing thats happened to him i put the tv on full volume so he can relive the leaves and twigs cracking under his #hands and knees as hes dragging himself across the forest floor and and his clipped shouts of pain whenever his broken bones catch on a root #and his enraged screaming as he grapples foxes and coyotes that are trying to scavenge the food he painstakingly gathered and he can listen #to the way his voice devolves into something unrecognisable and hes wondering how i got this footage but then he realises this scene is #familiar hes on his last legs and he hears footsteps approach not those of an animal but of a person. he looks at the screen and he sees his #own face staring into the camera wild eyed and filthy and that on the other side of the camera is the hitchhiker who ‘found’ him and he #realises it was me who did this. i could have rescued him at any time the gratefulness he feels to that kind samaritan curdles in his chest #it comes with the withering realisation it was all a game and the one who put him through it all was right beside him and i laugh and put my #hand around his shoulder and ask if he liked the movie and he fights his paralysis and he grips me by the neck and throws me to the ground #and he says you .. you ... and i frown apologetically and say That bad huh ? well we can put on another. and he cant even say words anymore #hes so angry that he grips my neck and he strangles me and the whole time my face gets purple im laughing and laughing and laughing at him #anyway thats one of my greatest fantasies its a fantasy because i couldnt do that to the poor guy im not that mean but i do want him to kill #me and for me to deserve it. very important that i started this fight and that he ends it thats what i want to have ... and also to like #cuddle and stuff ... because i like him ...

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bi-writes · 3 months ago

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anatomy of us (2) | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader

type: limited series, part 2 (7.2k), AO3 in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.

series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence, military criticism, protective!simon, dubcon (but reader does consent), possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+

PART 1

Tradition is not something you are fond of.

It’s something forced on you. When you question it, it’s offensive–how dare you question these things, made sacred over time? Why would you want to betray thousands of years of history? Time makes it definitive. Your being makes it natural. You submit because that is the natural thing to do, so in that sense, you submit to it all.

That is your duty. That is your calling. When you are claimed, you belong to them. You are property. Autonomy be damned–your place is on your knees, keeping your mouth shut, and any behavior against that is nothing short of a punishable offense, proper. Disobedient omegas make for troublesome households.

To keep you in line, you must be held at a short length from your alpha. It is what is done. It is what is expected.

Tradition.

Simon keeps a hand on you, curled at the base of your spine as he leads you back to where the sleeping quarters are. You know it’s for your protection, but the better part of you wants to smack him off of you whenever you feel his palm press just slightly against you. When you make it back into your room, Simon pauses in the doorway after he opens it for you. He looks nervous almost, sheepish. You turn to face him, looking him up and down. “You can come in if you want. I’m not gonna carry all my stuff by myself, you could probably carry a fucking tank looking at you.”

Simon finally comes inside, ducking his head a little to make it in. You know this room wasn’t meant to house an alpha, but it’s still startling to see him do it, taking up way too much space to be anything but claustrophobic. He watches as you pack your things, stuffing your clothes into your bags and picking up small trinkets around the bedside table and desk. After the bag starts to get heavy, you shove it into his arms as you look towards the bed. It’s a standard issue twin-sized, with barely enough sheets to keep you warm and a lumpy pillow that you hate. You make a face at it before turning around and putting more things into Simon’s arms as you empty the closet.

“Tha’ it?” Simon mutters, still able to peek over the mountain of items that he holds, and you shrug.

“That’s it.”

Simon’s own room is like a hospital room. It’s too clean–there’s nothing personal anywhere, no pictures or barely any clothes other than military issue fatigues. The only civilian clothes he has wouldn’t even make you think twice if you saw him in a bar–Simon will always look like a soldier, through and through, and his room stinks like it. It smells clinical, and nothing about it is cozy or warm. You stand in the middle of the room as Simon puts your things down. You ring your hands together nervously, eyeing the bed with one single, thin sheet on it. It’s too small of a bed for the both of you. It’s too small of a bed just for Simon–you don’t want to think about the kind of sleeping arrangements you’ll need to fit with him on it.

“Wot’s wrong?” Simon asks lowly. You look over your shoulder at him. He’s putting your things into the closet. He’s divided it in half already, and some of your clothes are already hung up next to his. You look back at the bed, pursing your lips.

“There’s not enough blankets,” you say softly. “A-And…And the pillows, here, I don’t like them.”

Simon turns back to your bag, picking up another shirt to hang. You glare at the back of him. It doesn’t do anything; he doesn’t erupt in flames like you might have hoped, but it does give you a moment to notice how well those jeans fit him.

Fuck. Keep it together.

“I’ll get you more blankets,” he shrugs. “And a different pillow.”

The answer is immediate. No fuss. You want to complain, to bite back at him for it, but you don’t know how you would explain your displeasure. You’re looking for a reason to tell your omega that she’s a scheming, hopeless, naïve little shit.

“...I don’t have to win you when y’r already mine.” Isn’t that what he had said? Isn’t that what he had said when he gripped you by the throat and made you realize that everything you had thought about alphas was true? Hadn’t he already shown you that none of them are redeemable?

Not Kate. Not John. Certainly not Simon–they’re all scheming, terrible fucking people, and you cannot wait until you can sink your teeth into Simon’s jugular and rip it out.

Belonging to, being one’s own, fuck if you care. Simon can claim ownership all he wants, but he’ll never tame you. Your omega might be pulling the strings at the moment, but you’re going through withdrawals, you think. Your medication was your lifeline. It kept you from falling off the tightrope, and you just need to learn how to stay upright without it. You can. When you get it back, when it’s in your hands again, she’ll understand.

She has to understand that only you know what’s good for you.

Simon places the rest of your things on his desk. A couple personal things, like your jewelry and some knickknacks, and then your bag with the rest of your clothes to be folded and put away. You take a seat on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath. At least before, you could pretend like things were still a little normal. You could pretend that in your own room, you were simply waiting for another assignment, that you were just waiting for Kate to give you a call and move you somewhere new, somewhere safer.

“Am I just supposed to stay here and wait for you?” You ask finally. Simon shuffles around the room. He doesn’t look at you; instead, he takes a seat at a desk way too small for him and spreads a few papers around, frowning when he reads something that he doesn’t like. “Is that…is that my job?”

“Dunno.” Simon takes his phone out of his pocket, and he starts typing. “Don’t really feel like babysittin’.”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” you tell him. “I…I have combat experience. I was in training before this.”

Simon snorts, still focused on his phone. He shakes his head a little.

“Cute,” he mutters. “Tha’s cute.”

Patronizing shit.

“I bet I can shoot a target ten times better than you,” you spit at him. His fingers hover over the screen for just a moment, irritated, before he goes back to typing. “And I can hold my own. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Simon puts his phone back into his pocket. He crosses his arms over his chest, letting out a deep breath before coming over to stand in front of you. You tip your head back, and he reaches down with a hand to cup under your jaw, holding you there. Just like that–your omega has you. You lean in, just that much. Simon sees it in your eyes, and he sniffs, looking you over.

Maybe he thinks you’re pathetic. In some sense, you agree with him, because what the fuck is wrong with me? You get one look into Simon’s eyes, and something chemical in you fires. You bend, and you relax, and you know if he asked you to open your mouth so he could spit in it, it would take a tremendous amount of effort to tell him no. It angers you and excites you all the same, and the conflicting flashes under your ribs bring tears to your eyes.

You hate yourself. You hate yourself for not being able to say no. You hate yourself for being everything they said you would be. You hate yourself for being nothing like you thought you were.

You’re soft. Sweet. All bark, no bite, a spiteful kitten that deep down, aims to please. The only thing that really baffles you, though, is why you only feel this way with Simon.

Is it because they told you that you were his mate? Is it because he’s done something, that he’s projecting some kind of scent? Has he already unknowingly changed your very makeup so your body knows that you are bound to him? When you look into John’s eyes, you see alpha. You see big, salivating dog, and if you could, you’d rip the hairs of his beard out just to see him in pain.

But Simon–it’s like you can’t move. Every time you look at him, and he looks at you, he holds you there. Just like now, he’s got you, and you feel like he can read everything you’re feeling. He’s being fed your secrets, and you hate him for it, but I can’t look away, please look away, please don’t make me–

“Need to get you somethin’ to eat,” Simon says finally. “And it’s time to meet the rest of the lot.”

Simon is starting to get used to keeping a hand on you. It annoys you a little, to feel his hand at your back, but the annoyance dissolves when you realize this base is filled with sneering alphas. They holler and yell, and they are very large and angry, but they still are small compared to Simon. They quiet whenever they walk past you, and even the whiff of omega doesn’t deter them with Simon behind you.

In the mess hall, you see Captain Price sitting at a table with two others. When you get closer to the table, you cough a little, stumbling back, and Simon catches you around the waist to hold you upright. The stench of alphas hits you like a truck, and Simon grunts as he tells you relax, fuckin’ hell.

You give him a hard stare–how the fuck would he know? There’s four alphas in your close vicinity, and they’re all puffing their chests and smiling, and it stings to smell them all at once. You turn your head a little to shield yourself, and when you filter everything else out but Simon, it frustrates you a little how much of him seems to calm you down.

Smells so good. Get closer. Press your nose to it, I-I want more–

“I see you two are getting along nicely,” John comments, leaning back in his chair. You roll your eyes a little, and when you lock eyes with him, you purse your lips and try to look anything but pleased. Simon guides you to sit down; he motions to the bench, just to the left of where someone else is already sitting–a big, burly soldier with crazy blue eyes. He has a terrible haircut, short along the sides with tufts of curls falling down the middle and over his forehead. He’s wiggling his eyebrows at his lieutenant behind you. Across from him, there’s another alpha with dark eyes and soft skin, and he’s smiling like an idiot around the rim of his plastic cup. You’re a little nervous–you had spent most of your time on your old base surrounded by betas who barely gave you a glance, and now you’re off your meds and being hit with a million different sensations everywhere you go. Simon’s touch on your back eases your shoulders a little.

“Tha’s Johnny,” Simon points to the one next to you. “Tha’s Gaz. ‘n I’m sure ya had the pleasure of our Captain.”

“Yeah, looks like your beard is still in tact, so glad to see it,” you say curtly, crossing your arms over your chest. The two sergeants laugh, ducking their heads, and John raises a brow before looking at Simon with a clenched jaw. Simon just shrugs, stretching his arm out on the back of your chair, and you get the feeling this happens often–John giving Simon that look, and Simon merely brushing it off. You smile to yourself a little, looking at Simon from over your shoulder. When you meet eyes, he stares back, looking over your face. He lingers on your lips for just a second too long before looking back up again.

I bet he tastes good under that mask. Let’s find out.

“Hungry?” He asks, and you blink. Your omega has never been inside of your head like this. You nearly opened your mouth and asked him for it, asked him please, please–let me taste, I won’t look, just let me taste you. You swallow her down a little, and you just nod to keep yourself moving. Simon stands up to make his way towards where the food is, and you watch curiously as instead of standing in line, he pushes open a door into the kitchen and disappears behind it.

“LT’s been gettin’ ye special meals,” Johnny says with a full mouth. You frown a little, and not just cause he’s chewing with his mouth a little too open.

“What do you mean?”

“He has the cooks make you somethin’ special,” Gaz says as he takes a sip of water. He leans back, smiling again, and it irks you a little. Alphas are brutes, disgusting big things with too many hormones, and you hate that this one gets to be pretty, too. Not that John or his sergeant aren’t attractive, but this one definitely enjoys a good mirror selfie, and it shows. “Something not on the menu. He didn’t like that you weren’t eating much, at the beginning. Made a fuss, and now he gets you better food.”

“He can do that?”

“Well, would ye say no to tha’ big man?” Johnny snorts, dipping his crusty bread in sauce. You look back towards the door, and Simon comes out holding a tray. He sets it down in front of you, and you bite your lip looking down at it. It smells so good, and you pick up your fork gently, sticking it into the pasta and twirling it. When you take a bite and sigh, Simon takes a seat next to you, and you can barely hear the sweet rumble in his chest of satisfaction.

Providing for you. Taking care of you. He’s so capable, isn’t he? Look at what he does for you.

If Simon notices you scoot closer to him, he doesn’t say anything. You don’t react either–it wasn’t a conscious choice.

Simon’s shower has hot water. Not that the showers you’d had were cold, but the communal showers were just that–communal. Shared, and although your escort always made sure you were the only one in there while you showered, it was still feeding off a water heater that always had barely any juice left. Lukewarm showers, so you tried to finish quick.

Simon’s shower turns the water scalding. You giggle with relief when you stand under it, letting it loosen your sore muscles and relieve your aching bones. It feels good, and you take a little longer in there, taking your time and enjoying the heat.

When it’s time to wash your body, you realize you’re missing your own soap. You look around for something else, noticing the unlabeled bottle that rests on a ledge. You squirt a pump of it into your palms, and when you raise it to your nose, your eyes flutter shut.

It’s the eucalyptus you smelled on Simon. A little plastic aftersmell, which you know is from whatever backwater dollar store the military buys it from, but on Simon, it smells so good. You lather it in your hands and hold it up to your nose, and you sigh deeply.

He’s just outside. Why don’t you call for him? I bet he’s listening. I bet he’s waiting for us.

You slide your hands down your arms. With the heat of the water, the whole bathroom starts to smell like it, and you let your hands slide down further, over your waist, between your thighs. When your fingers touch your puffy clit, you’re nearly jolted back into reality.

“Fuck–” You gasp, reaching for the level, shutting the water off. The last of the water curls down the drain, and you cough as you look around. You curl your toes, grounding yourself, and then you get out of the shower and reach for the towel. When you look into the mirror, your pupils are blown wide, and you feel like you don’t recognize yourself. You drop the towel and dress yourself, trying to keep your mind occupied with menial tasks.

Get your shit together.

When you open the bathroom door, Simon is back from his little errand he had run. He’s carrying a few blankets and a thick comforter, and there’s a few new pillows on the bed with it. You use the towel to keep drying the wet strands of your hair, and Simon turns around when he hears you walk in further.

You pass by him wordlessly as you reach the bed. You put your hands on the blankets that he put down, and you close your eyes when you feel how soft they are. Threaded cotton and fleece, lots of thick feathers in the comforter to make it nice and fluffy. When you turn to look over your shoulder, Simon does a terrible job of pretending like he wasn’t just staring at your ass in the little sleep shorts you’re wearing. You want to snap at him, but your omega pinches your tongue.

Take them off. Take them off. Take them off.

“So, what…” You clear your throat. “How are we supposed to sleep in that bed? T-Together?”

Simon tilts his head to the side. You start to despise the mask. You hate that you can’t tell what he’s thinking, not even a little, and after the rather joyous conversations you’ve had with Simon (barf), you can’t say you’re entirely excited to be in this close of a space with him.

“Don’t worry,” Simon murmurs. “I’ll be good.”

Oh, that totally makes you feel better.

Prick.

He makes you get into bed and turn facing the wall as he turns out the lights. He pulls at the edge of his mask uncomfortably, and you realize he doesn’t want you to see his fine. Fine, you think to yourself, throwing the sheets back with a huff, bet you’re fucking ugly mug would blind me anyways.

You cuddle under all the blankets, snuggling into the new pillow that sinks under your head. You hum gently, closing your eyes, and you aren’t able to see Simon rubbing his chest warmly as he watches you. He sucks on his teeth, not truly understanding what he feels, but knowing that it’s soothing the beast in him to take care of you.

It rattles him. Simon isn’t used to this. He’s not used to feeling like he doesn’t have control. He resisted this for so long. He tried so hard to fight, he said no to Kate over and over and over again.

Omegas to Simon were liabilities. To care was to have a target on your back. To be mated meant having something to lose.

Ask Price, is what he told her, ask the fuckin’ sergeants, anyone but me, but she wouldn’t hear it. It had to be him, it had to be, and then she locked him into a room with her, and she leveled with him.

She told him that you are special. That you are precious. That omegas like you don’t exist, that you are one in a single generation, and there isn’t anyone else in the world that will do except for him.

Price, married to the field. The sergeants, immature and might as well be titled barracks bunnies. But Simon–purebred, quiet, controlled. Terrified of himself and what he is. His unofficial pack that he defends with his entire being, that is the only alpha worth giving to you.

Kate had thought about it before. What it might be like to push the hair away from your neck and sink her teeth there. As easy as putting her signature to paper, she could have the CIA running laps to keep you protected, but she knew that wasn’t the life for her. It couldn’t be.

In every situation, Kate would have to choose that lesser evil, and in her world, it would mean her choice would unlikely be you.

Simon? Simon answered to no one. Unlike his sergeants, he cared little for authority; he wouldn’t blink twice saying no to his superior. Unlike his Captain, Simon didn’t mind choosing the bloody way out. He was the first with his finger on the trigger, and the last to sweep a room. Kate knew–if Simon had to choose between the greater good and the omega he claimed?

Fuck the greater good. That, she could count on.

If Kate only asked for one thing, it would be this. She did promise you. She promised she would keep you away from it all. She promised that she would make things right. She promised that she would protect you, but even Kate answers to others, and the reality of this kind of world is that the only way to really protect you was to give you away.

To put you into the same world that you had only begged to be kept away from.

Nobody likes playing matchmaker, but maybe putting together the most stubborn and angry people in the world might save you from yourselves. At least she hoped so.

You’re nearly asleep when you feel Simon come to bed. All the lights are off, and it’s pitch black in the room. There’s some shuffling around the room, and then you feel the blankets move. All of the sudden, a heat stronger than you’ve ever felt takes up the entire bed. Pressed against your back, a solid chest, and then a huge arm falls over your waist.

“We cuddling now?” You mumble sleepily, and Simon breathes out slowly, not responding. When you fall asleep, it’s unnervingly easy. Your omega purrs, digging her nails into you, and when you turn your head in the dark and feel the brush of his unmasked face against yours, she preens.

He’s right there–just a little taste. Just a little. Please, please, please–

Omegas cannot claim, but they can bite. It takes everything inside of you not to sink your teeth into him.

“You smell that? Smells like fuckin’ sweets, mates.”

You take off your headphones and safety glasses, looking over your shoulder. There’s a few recruits a few lanes down from you, wiggling their eyebrows and licking their lips. One of them crudely grabs his crotch, winking at you. You make a face.

Gross.

“Let me see you, baby. Smell so good.”

You holster the gun you’re holding, leaning against the counter with your hip. You raise a brow, tilting your head to the side.

“Are you done?” You ask, and they take that as their cue to start walking closer. An invitation.

They don’t get very far. You smell him before you see him. On instinct, your shoulders relax with that whiff of charcoal. You push off the counter just in time for him to come up behind you, and you feel the heat of his chest as it presses against your back. The recruits in front of you stop immediately, and you feel a disgusting sense of satisfaction when Simon bends over your shoulder to look at you.

“‘n wot’s this?” Simon growls. You shrug, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I don’t know. They wanna have a dick-measuring contest, but I think they’re afraid they’re gonna lose,” you say. You let out an annoyed sigh, turning again to put your safety glasses on. You put the headphones back over your ears and take the gun out of your holster, turning the safety off as you line it up with the paper targets near the back of the course. “You know. Cause my dick is way bigger.”

You unload the clip just for fun. You’re supposed to be practicing on accuracy, which for you meant slower, spaced-out shots to try and hit the same spot over and over, but the sound of the gun going off again and again helps distract you from the laughing, untrained dogs that are littered across the shooting range.

When you put the gun down after emptying the magazine, Simon is salivating. The paper target head is obliterated, each bullet almost next to its last. When you turn around, Simon tilts his head to the side. You holster the gun, starting to walk, and Simon lets his eyes drop to the sway of your hips as you pass by him. It’s not a conscious decision, the way his fingers curl into fists and squeeze hard.

“Told you,” you say to him. “Huge dick, right, baby?”

Something flares in Simon’s chest when he hears it. Like a switch, his legs start moving, following you, and when he passes by a recruit that is standing much too close to you, Simon shoves the recruit back so hard, they smack their nose against the wall and curses from the impact, blood dripping under their bruised nose.

The rest of the day, you don’t see another rookie walk even five feet into your vicinity. Even without a mark on your neck, you are claimed, and right before you leave your room for dinner, Simon is fitting a dark hoodie over your head. The smell overwhelms you. It’s soaked in his scent, and you turn to face him, looking at him suspiciously. Your omega keeps you from questioning him. She wants you to start walking, because she knows he’ll touch you when you do.

It’s that night that Simon asks John for you to join them. All Simon does is slide the shredded paper target across his desk. John picks it up, tacking it onto the wall. He chuckles, shaking his head. It’s an impressive piece of paper, but being a good shot isn’t the only reason someone is cleared to work with them. Even besides that, it’s forbidden.

“Omegas aren’t allowed in the field, Simon,” John reminds him. “You know that.”

“Think tha’s why we should take her,” Simon mutters. “She’s a distraction. A good one.”

“A weapon,” John frowns. He can already hear Kate screaming into his ear if she ever saw you geared up between them on an op.

“A tool.”

“And what does she think of that, eh?” John slips his hat off, tossing it onto his desk. He sighs, running a hand over his beard, and he shakes his head. “And Kate…Kate would hang my fuckin’ head.”

“Not Kate’s responsibility anymore, she’s mine,” Simon bites back. He knows it’s wrong. In all honesty, the sentiment tasted bad from the moment he said it to you, but it is easier to let you believe that he’s using you then try and make you understand him. You wouldn’t understand. You wouldn’t get his reasons, and that’s fine, so if he has to be the bad guy, so be it.

The least he could do is make himself useful. Put your skills to work, poke your mind. See what you can really do.

“Don’t let your girl hear you talkin’ like that, Simon,” John says lowly. “Not her, and certainly not Kate.”

“But you agree,” Simon continues, chuckling lowly. “I speak for her. ‘n I think she’d be right in on it, Captain. Wot else is she to do, eh? Sit in my fuckin’ quarters and wait f’me? Wot kind of life is tha’? She needs this. She’s good. I can teach ‘er. She’ll learn. Well and good she will, I know it.”

John sniffs, running a big hand over his short hair before tapping a pen over the target paper on the wall.

“I need her OK,” John relents finally. “I need to hear it from her. I get that, I’m alright with it. But she has to know what she’s getting into, Simon. And no one but you is responsible for her. If she gets into something, I’m not gonna risk Soap or Gaz for it–”

“I know,” Simon mutters. “She’ll be my shadow. I’ll teach ‘er.”

She’ll be good. She’ll be good because she’s mine.

“Bravo-7, sitrep.”

“Eyes on target. Waiting on confirmation.” Simon looks over his shoulder for a moment, where you’re sitting as his cover. You look cute, he thinks. All geared up. He lets his eyes sweep over the cargo pants that are cinched around your waist. Your nice curves. Thick thighs. Fuck, you smell good, even with all the sand up his nose and the smoke clinging to his mask. You have your rifle tucked into your elbow, and you’ve got it aimed towards the door of the roof.

“Is it always so fucking hot?” You ask, running your wrist over your lip. You’re sweating; you can feel it dripping down the back of your neck and along your back. You’re wearing a lot of gear, but you’ve done this before, and you don’t remember it being so uncomfortable. It must be the climate–you’re not used to this kind of desert, and you need to get it together.

Despite the irritation you feel every time you look at Simon, your omega wants to please him. She wants to show him she can do this, that she’s capable, and you’re starting to not like that she’s behaving as if you and her are one and the same.

I’m in control. Shut the fuck up. Let me focus.

“Just watch the door,” Simon mutters, turning back to focus. He adjusts the scope of his rifle, taking a deep breath as he leans into the stock. He gets his target into his line of sight, and he narrows his eye a little more to watch the group more closely on the ground. It’s hard to ignore you. Normally, the person covering him goes almost unnoticed. Their scent never affects him, not enough to make him look away from his scope, but there’s something in the air way too close to him, and he scrunches his nose a little as he adjusts his position on the ground. “You stink, by the way.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap. “Not my fault.”

“Certainly is y’r fault.”

“You reek, too, you ass,” you mumble, wiping your forehead again. You adjust how you’re sitting, clearing your throat. It’s scratchy, and you’re starting to itch a little all over, too. “Like wet dog.”

Simon smiles under his mask. He keeps his index finger next to the trigger, and you keep yours on it.

“How much longer do we have to do this? I mean…I thought you were SAS. Don’t you guys…get your hands real dirty? I mean, don’t you go tearing doors down? Get a lot of action? I mean, we’re just sitting ducks on a roof here right now.”

“Wot, you wanna go kick some doors down now?” Simon asks. He shakes his head. “The real job is boring. We do things nice and clean, we only get dirty when we ‘ave to. If I can get a target from 1000 yards away, then tha’s wot I’ll do. Besides. This is wot I’m good at.”

“Yeah, you look real good there on your knees, honey.”

Simon blinks hard when something strong hits his nose. It stings, makes his eyes water. He coughs a little, dropping his head for a moment.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Simon hisses. “Wot the fuck is wrong with ya?”

“I-I don’t know,” you whisper. You take your hand off your rifle for a moment to adjust the collar of your shirt, but it doesn’t help. You shift a little, loosening your tactical vest. You want to take it off, but you know that’s a bad idea out here. It’s hard to think clearly, though, when your brain is cloudy and you’re starting to see things in double every so often. “It’s…it’s too hot.”

Simon huffs, “‘n when was the last time you had a heat?”

“I’ve…I’ve never.” You clear your throat. “I’ve never had one.”

Can you smell him? I can smell him. He smells so good.

Simon nearly leaves his post. He grips his rifle tight, gloved hands squeezing the metal, and he turns to look at you incredulously.

“Fuckin’ repeat tha’?”

“I know you’re blind and dumb, but don’t tell me you’re fucking deaf, too,” you mumble. You swallow, wiping your face again, and Simon presses on the radio on his shoulder.

“Bravo-7 to Bravo-6, how long do we got?”

“Just observation on target for now. Why?”

“Need 10 minutes.”

Simon shuts off the radio. You blink, starting to see double pretty consistently now, and you take a shaky breath as you grip your rifle a little tighter. You hear shuffling behind you, and you look back to see Simon moving from his position.

“What are you doing? Simon–”

“Get over ‘ere.” Simon sets his rifle down. “Tha’ wasn’t a fuckin’ suggestion, tha’ was an order!”

There’s something different in his voice at the end. Something more animal that lilts his drawl, and it makes you coherent enough to start moving–like his voice made all the fog clear up for just a few moments, long enough for you to realize you need him.

Closer. Closer. Closer.

You put your rifle down, crawling over to him, and just as you stumble, Simon catches you. You put your hands on his shoulders, falling into his lap, and he hoists you up until you’re straddling him. You feel him starting to tug on your cargos, and even in your daze, you squeeze his shoulders.

“S-Simon? What are you…What are you doing?”

“Y’r gonna go into heat soon,” Simon mutters. Alarm bells go off in your head, and you dig your nails into his shoulders. He can see it clearly–the panic on your face.

“H-Heat? R-Right now?”

“Not right now,” Simon clicks his tongue. “More like a…pre-heat. Get y’r bloody pants off–”

When Simon tugs your cargos down enough, you gasp when you see the mess your panties are in. They’re soaked, drenched until the cotton is a darker color, sticking to your cunt, and you whimper as Simon tugs you back into his lap with your pants around your ankles. It’s awkward and messy, and you’re sweating bullets, hot and bothered, and your chest feels tight. There’s nothing romantic about it, nothing sweet about the way Simon turns you in his lap. It’s hurried, but you’re just as desperate, clawing to whatever piece of him you can touch and trying to sink into him. If you could, you’d pry him open and force yourself to tuck yourself inside of him. You want to live there forever. You want to be in his skin, soaking it all in–you want it. You want this, don’t you?

He’s touching us! He’s touching us! Let him in!

“W-What’s happening t-to me?”

“‘s olright,” Simon whispers in your ear. “I’ve got ya. There we are…” He cups your pussy, making you squirm. You jolt in his lap, throwing your head back against his shoulder, and he hums as you sink into his touch. Something inside you curls and lights on fire. Your vision blurs, and his scent surrounds you. “Oh…fuck…tha’ wot ya needed, swee’eart? Yeah…”

Yes! Yes! Yes!

“Simon–” Your back arches, and you push your hips into his hand. When he touches your clit, your omega seizes inside your head, and it’s a feeling like you’ve never felt before.

She takes the reigns; and God, does she fucking pull.

You palm at the zipper of his pants. There’s something there, something you want–and you need it. There’s something in your chest that blinds you, that familiar voice in your head that chants–take it out, take it out, take it out.

“‘m workin’ on it, love,” you hear from behind, and you realize you’re talking. You’re out of your body, you think. You’re not yourself. When you feel him in your daze, big and throbbing under your hand, you whine. It comes from deep within your chest, a bubble of nonsense, and Simon coos. He drags your hips closer, and his cock slips under you, between your folds, and you use your palm to keep him pressed to you. You can’t see him, but you felt him when you first met him, and you’re feeling him now.

If there was any doubt that he was anything but an alpha, that thought disappears when his fat tip kisses your clit. He’s hot and throbbing under your hand, and he is more than enough to appease the voice in your head that’s screaming for some kind of inherent relief that it knows he can give.

“Simon, I need it–I need it–”

“I know, love.”

Fuck, Simon would win any dick-measuring contest, you think. Barely the tip of him, and you’re baring your teeth, gripping his thighs and digging your nails into him as you try and breathe through the stretch. He’s not even fully hard yet; the blood is rushing to his cock, and you moan and cry as he sits you down further and further and further–

“What the fuck–what is it you have in your fucking pants, a-a fucking pipe–?!”

“Y’r so much prettier when y’r mouth ain’t runnin’,” Simon mutters. “Ahh–fuck–’s mine, oll mine–”

You put your hands on his knees and throw it back. You’re feral, brain foggy, and all you can think about is getting yourself off. Your body clings to Simon like a thick, curling vice, pussy clamping around him and taking him to the root. You’re dripping down your thighs, wetting his cargos, and you’re thankful that he’s wearing black, otherwise you can’t think about the mess you’d really be leaving on him. The sounds are lewd. Frantic smack, smack, smack against his thick thighs, and the sound is only making you drool for more. He’s so big. He’s hitting you deep, and you swear your insides have never been stretched this far, but it’s like your body is molding itself to fit him. Like you’re making room for him.

It’s so good. It feels right. Your omega growls like an animal, crying with relief. It’s the only thing she’s ever wanted, and she has it in her hands, and she licks at your scent gland until it practically vibrates. Simon’s face is pressed to it, like he can hear her calling. His mask is the only thing separating you, but you can feel his teeth straining against the fabric. They cut over the gland, wet like his tongue is poking against it, too, and your omega screams.

Bite me, bite me, bite me.

“Not yet,” Simon grunts. “Won’t take.”

“You’ll make it take.”

He laughs, and then he punches the air out of you with a nice thrust. Then he’s on you. Suddenly, you’re on your knees, your tummy against the sandy rooftop, with a stallion of a soldier on top of you, taking you like his last meal.

He sounds like more bear than man. Growling, spitting, both hands on either side of your head as he fucks you into the floor. There’s a smile on your face, soft relief that leaves you in your pretty moans and gurgled pleas. It feels so good. The tip of his cock curves and hits against the same place each time, sending pulses that rack your body over and over and over again. Your thighs are shaking, and then Simon slips one hand under you and cups your pussy, fitting it just right until you can grind down on his palm in perfect timing with the way the fat tip of him hits you just well enough. It should hurt. You’ve never taken anything so big–of course you’ve practiced, but nothing can prepare you for the real thing.

This is still practice. You’re not in your heat, not really, and Simon hasn’t lost his fucking mind yet.

Like a fiend, you chase it. The stars, the mountain to climb, the beautiful end. You get up a little more onto your knees and you wrap a hand around his neck, force him against your jaw. You goad him on with pretty words, soft moans–that’s it, right there, please.

It’s not his first time. It’s not his first time relieving an itch he can’t scratch, and it’s not his first time taking an omega by the neck and pounding into her until she can’t speak, but it’s the first time his resolve shatters.

He wants to bite. He’s never felt the urge to bite. If it wasn’t for the mask, his teeth would be an inch deep in your neck, and he’d be memorizing what your blood tasted like for the first time. Your scent is just that much off that he knows it isn’t the right time, but fuck–the need is there. It’s clear.

Special. One of a kind. No one like her. Soft. Sweet. Mine.

His knot swells a little, but it doesn’t lock. You’re not in a proper heat, so it’s not right just yet, but you can feel the edge of it, like the preface to a glorious poem. Thick and spongy, hot, and when he comes, your eyes roll back in your head. It feels like being thirsty for days on end and finally getting that sweet drink of crystal clear water. He pumps you full, creamy and thick and dribbling between your thighs as you squeeze them together. Subconsciously, you’re trying to keep it inside, and Simon groans when as he latches his mouth over your scent gland under the mask and sucks–so hard, it pinches you just right.

The stars align. The tide wanes. You mumble softly, dopey smile on your face, and when your own high hits you, and you’re squirting into his hand, you let his rumbling, low voice pull you back to earth.

“I ‘ave ya, swee’eart,” he says. “Shhh…easy, kitty…Shh…yeah, easy.”

You sigh with relief. Simon handles you with ease. He picks you up, gets you to sit back on your heels. You don’t see it, but Simon fits his wet fingers under the mask, and you keen when you hear him suck on his fingers and hum.

He likes us. Hear that? He likes us.

“Want you to eat me,” you giggle suddenly, and Simon wipes you down, picking your pants back up and zipping them. He pats your ass gently, smoothing a hand over the back of your neck. He knows you’re still in a different headspace. He knows there’s still something else drawing your breath, but he’s trying not to think about it too much. It sounds so much like you.

“Do plenty o’tha’ when we’re in the thick o’it, kitty.”

Back in the humvee, Johnny is smiling like an idiot. He’s sitting next to Kyle, hitting him with his elbow as he wiggles his eyebrows at you and Simon sitting across from them. You tilt your head to the side, glaring.

“What?” You snap, and Johnny cackles. His eyes are flashing, and he reeks like happiness.

“Smells like ye had fun.”

“My gun is loaded, shithead,” you warn him. “And I know how the fucking safety works.”

When Johnny moves to sit in the front near your captain, you try not to think about the sudden warmth over your knee, and the squeeze of Simon’s hand on you.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!ghost #dark!simon

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fairy-angel222 · 1 year ago

Text

𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

—your boyfriend does not appreciate you, but his uncle toji does.

pairing: toji x fem! reader

content: smut, cheating, unprotected sex, choking, petnames, praise, a little degradation, toji’s hot ass has tattoos, belly bulge, cumming inside you

You couldn’t really pinpoint when things went wrong. When your boyfriend just lost interest in you. You couldn’t even date back the last time you had been fucked. Simply turning his body when you tried to start something, or using the excuse that he wasn’t in his mood and that you needed to stop being so needy.

But how could you? You just needed to feel something. Anything. You were so tired of using your fingers when he left for work. Or the shower head on your clit when you showered alone, which was now always.

Your relationship was failing, but you couldn’t find it in you to break up with him.

You were quite confused when your boyfriend invited you over for a dinner at his parents. Getting to meet all his family as he introduced you with a wide smile, hands on the small of your back to guide you from person to person.

There was somebody who stuck out like a sore thumb. And you couldn’t take your eyes off of the man was probably twice your age and most definitely twice your size. Tall, broad and muscular with tattoos of all shapes and sizes trailing down his neck and onto his toned arms.

You swallowed hard, ignoring the heat you felt in between your legs as you ogled the greek god infront of you. With his messy black hair and dark eyes, a smirk spread across his handsome face as he tilted his head to stare you down. Hands in his pockets as he strolled towards you, your hand gripping your boyfriend’s shirt as you felt yourself getting smaller and smaller under his gaze.

“Now who’s this pretty thing?” The deep voice questioned, looking down at you with the subtle bite of his lip as he let his gaze run over your figure. “You’re not gonna introduce your lil ole uncle to your girlfriend?”

Your boyfriend scoffed, rolling his eyes and pulling you closer into him. “I have no need to. Now beat it.”

You frowned at his harsh tone. Toji’s hands raising in defense as he chuckled. “Just trynna be nice.” His smirk widening when he turned to face you fully. “Now, what’s your name doll?”

Your knees grew weak at the deep rasp of his voice, avoiding eye contact when you felt yourself face getting hot. “uh.. y/n, my name’s y/n.”

Toji hummed, grabbing hold of your hand and bending down to place a kiss to the back of it. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.” He winked.

“Okay that’s enough. You can go now.” Your boyfriend fumed, your eyes never leaving the older man’s as he took his leave, leaving you with a short. “Nice to meet ya, doll” before he walked away.

“We’re leaving.”

Your eyes widened at your boyfriend’s words. “What? Baby why? Your family seems so nice we can’t just leave.” You tried to convince him.

“We can when you’re looking at my fucking uncle like he’s a five course meal.”

You resisted the urge to scoff, maybe you wouldn’t have to if he did what he was supposed to. “I promise you, i wasn’t. Now let’s at least enjoy an hour for dinner before we leave. Okay?”

Your boyfriend only scoffing before shrugging your arm off of him and walking away into the kitchen.

Great. This was just what you needed.

The dinner was awkward for you. Your boyfriend wouldn’t talk to you and kept glaring at his uncle. Who only added fuel to the fire by sending short smirks your way, his muscles flexing as he ate.

You couldn’t help the way your face flushed, fidgeting with the food in your plate as you bit down on your lip.

“Y/n, dear? Are you okay?” your boyfriend’s mother asked in genuine concern. “You have barely touched your food honey.”

You gave her a smile. “Sorry, i’m just feeling a little sick right now.”

“Oh dear, would you like to go to the bathroom? Darling, show her the way.” his mom insisted. Your boyfriend not even sparing you a glance when he spoke, “I’m sure she knows the way, mom.”

You sighed, a piece of you missing the relationship you once had. Giving a tight lipped smile and assuring her that you knew the way before getting out of your seat and heading to the nearest bathroom.

You stood staring at yourself in the mirror, rubbing at the bridge of your nose while telling yourself to get your act together. You gasped when the door swung open. A smirking Toji closing the door behind him and leaning onto it, his hands crossed over his chest as he looked you in the eyes.

“You know, for a girl pretty like you, you sure are stupid.” He laughed, “Don’t you see you deserve better than my scumbag of a nephew?” Closing the gap between you two until you were backed up against the sink’s counter.

Toji’s hand reached up to stroke gently under your cheek, trailing his finger across your lip as he bent his neck to look down at you. In turn looking up at him through your lashes when his other hand held onto your waist.

“You gotta know how a real man treats a lady. How a real man fucks. You want that doll?” Waiting for your shy nod of approval before sitting you on the cool marble top. Your legs hooked around his waist and your hands gripping the counter’s edge when his rough lips met yours. Kissing you hard before trailing soft bites down your neck, careful enough to not leave any marks.

You let out a moan, Toji’s hands moving to peel off his shirt so his rock hard abs were on display. Grinding lightly onto the hard surface with a whimper at the full sight of black ink spread across his pale skin. A grin on his face when he went back to attacking your neck, hand slipping under your dress and pressing against the heat of your panties.

“This wet for me already? I’m flattered.” His fingers making their way to rub between your folds through the side of the fabric. Collecting your wetness before dipping a finger into you. “Think you can take it doll? You’re so fucking tight. Practically a virgin again, how long’s it been since you were given a good fuck?”

You truly didn’t know the answer for yourself. Only moaning as Toji pulled off the lace material, spreading your legs wider and pulling his thick cock out the confinements of his jeans. You whimpered when Toji stroked his length, the size being bigger than anything you’d seen before. “‘S alright, ‘m gonna mold her round my cock.” he groaned, lining up with your sopping hole before slowly thrusting into you.

“Nnhg— so big, T-Tojii— can’t take it.” you mewled, Toji’s hand latching over your mouth to muffle your pleas as he forced himself deep into you. “Gonna make it fit doll, just sit real pretty for me and take it yeah?”

You nodded with a shaky moan, your pussy stretching to accommodate his thick girth as he bottomed out inside you. Grunting heavily at how tight you were around him, his cock so deep that he could see himself bulging in your stomach through the thin fabric of your dress.

Toji started off slowly. Your moans increasing in volume as he sped up. The burning sensation turning into nothing but pleasure as he fucked into you, ricking your body back and forth with each thrust.

Toji’s hand fell from your lips, the tattooed skin finding itself wrapped snugly around your neck instead. His cock grazing your gummy spot as he leaned into your ear. “This is exactly what you need doll. Need me to fuck that pretty little pussy so good.” he grunted. “Exactly what your dumb boyfriend failed to do.”

You could only let out a cry, your smaller hands holding tightly onto the arm around your throat. Digging your nails into his flesh as you moaned out into the air. Your lips parted in a string of mewls as the older man’s cock pierced deep into the depths of your insides. Fucking perfectly into your g spot before bullying its way to the entrance of your cervix.

The unfamiliar sensation making you cry out even louder as your head fell back. “T-toji- ahh— so good Toji, feels s’ good.” you cried, your legs trembling around him with curled toes.

“Careful now doll, as much as i would love for him to hear me fucking you right, there’s other people out there.” he teased, your pussy clenching when your eyes met his. Your eyes glassy and your head fuzzy as you were fucked into oblivion.

Letting out a whimper when his grip tightened unintentionally on your throat. Drool falling past the sides of your lips as your eyes fixed on his v line, up to his abs then further until you reached his face. Finding his dark irises staring back down at you hungrily before pulling you closer to him.

His large body swallowing yours when he pressed you up against him. Your moans and cries getting noisy again as you felt yourself getting close. “Tojiii— nnh, ‘m so c-close, ahh— gonna cum.”

“Yeah doll? Close f’ me? Gonna make a mess on this old man’s cock?” he rasped, broad hips still rolling hard into yours as he watched your mouth hang open slightly, your eyes rolling back before closing completely as you reached your high.

Body shaking and pussy spasming around him as your pussy held onto his cock like a vice, letting out a choked scream muffled by Toji’s knowing kiss as you came. Squirting messily onto his cock with the quiver of your hips.

“So fucking hot.” Toji groaned as he pulled away from you. Your breathing noticeably heavy as he fucked you through the aftermath of your orgasm. “Fuck, gonna cum. Where’d you want it?” he breathed.

And you let out a mewl as his thrusts grew sloppy, veiny cock twitching against your walls as he got ready to release. “Fuck, gotta hurry up and tell me doll.”

“Nnhg— inside, want you inside.” you moaned, “C-cum inside me.. please.”

Toji’s pupils dilated and his grin grew wide. “You’re a slutty one in disguise aren’t ya? ‘S my pleasure baby.” His thrusts becoming merciless as he slammed into you. Using your pussy to stroke his cock as you choked out little cries at the fast pace.

“Fuck, gon’ fill you up so good.” he panted, “Gon’ stuff you so full that you’ll be begging to be my good girl again.” his cock throbbed, “Shit— there we go, that’s it doll.” Spilling spurts of his hot cum into your cunt. Making you moan at how easily he filled you up.

Toji gave his final slow thrusts before he was pulling out of you, letting his cum seep out as he helped you put back on your panties. Trapping his seed deep inside you with a hum. “Feel better doll?” he smirked, giving you a short kiss to your lips and laughing as you tried to not let him go.

“Come back to me when you gain some sense and drop that asshole, okay? I’ll be waiting.” Pulling his shirt back on and tucking himself into his boxers, giving you a wink before trying to fix his hair. Your eyes glued onto his back as he walked out the bathroom door.

Leaving you touching your lips that just felt his tongue. Your heart beating faster before you were startled by hard knocking on the door followed by your boyfriend’s voice. “Can you hurry up in there? You’re making my mother think you’re dying or something.”

You closed your eyes and let out a breath, thoughts of Toji plaguing your mind and keeping you calm. “Coming!”

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