#perfectly-uncapable

[silknspice]

ARCANE CHARACTERS AS ROMANCE TROPES

⎯ ୨୧ pairings: vi x reader, jinx x reader

⎯ ୨୧ content: pure fluff, mentions of alcohol, lying, swearing, first love and fake dating tropes used, lowercase intended, not proofread

vi ⎯ fake dating

fake dating! vi       who made the bet with you at one of jayce’s frat parties. she and caitlyn were officially over, the woman turning to the warmth of maddie to prove that she’d “moved on”, which made vi look like the loser. she couldn’t stand that. getting with the woman she told vi “not to worry about” was low. the only thing to do was go lower- or rather higher. you were caitlyn’s kryptonite. intelligent, charming, fashionable, every time you were around during your friend group’s hangouts she clung onto vi’s arm as if you were a magnet and she was the strongest metal. as if when she let go, vi would fly away and straight into your arms. 

fake dating! vi       who approached you while your other friends were occupied, going in with nothing but a red solo cup, cocky smile, and a dream. she soon realized that you’d be a challenge to crack, resorting to begging. 

“c’mon pretty!” the pinkett pleaded, moving every which way around you as you continuously turned your body to avoid her gaze. only when she took your plastic cup and held it higher than you could reach, your bodies inches apart as she gazed down on you, did you cave. 

“fine, you baby!” you huffed out with a big exhale. the girl paid the diss no mind as she lowered her arm, leaning in to whisper despite the loud party atmosphere. her words tickled the side of your ear, and you could practically sense her shit-eating grin. 

“i’ll make it worth your while.”

it’s not that you didn’t want to say yes at the first sound of the question. it was the reason why this bet came to be that made your stomach turn. after some instagram stories, lots of pda, and almost everyone on campus whispering about the two of you, caitlyn would be crawling back to vi in no time. she’d have the power back. at least that’s what she thought. 

it wasn’t the acting that worried you, it was your true feelings. 

fake dating! vi       who doesn’t understand why you’re so uptight about the situation. you invite her to your house sunday, a piece of loose leaf paper and a pink sharpie on the coffee table. on the top:  “ ୨୧ rules ୨୧ “ in your pretty handwriting. 

“rules?” she snorted, arms resting on the top of the couch while she leaned back into the plush throw pillows. you sat opposite of her on the ground, her wide man spreading right in front of you making your head fuzzy. 

you look down at your decorated paper and back up at the girl with perfectly furrowed brows. “of course? what, you thought you were just gonna have your way with me?” 

a smile quickly grew on the girl’s face, stifling a laugh at your unfortunate word choice. 

“you know what i mean!” you whined, picking up the sharpie and uncapping it. “you’re chaotic. i need some guidelines so you don’t throw me into some absolutely heinous situation.” 

fake dating! vi       and you who agreed to the following terms after a very unproductive hour of talking: no telling anybody that this is fake (ESPECIALLY POWDER, blabbermouth), watch 10 things i hate about you together (vi hasn’t seen this!?!), yn comes to all of vi’s hockey games and after parties, and no tongue when kissing. vi groaned and debated with you for 15 minutes after you suggested the last one. you claimed there was ‘no need’ for it, she claimed no tongue wasn't convincing anyone that you were a serious couple. finally, you put a question mark next to the rule. you’ll just have to revisit that one later. 

fake dating! vi       who shifted in her seat, patting her lap twice in an unbothered manner once you completed the list.

“okay, c’mere.” 

you looked up from the paper you were folding, brows furrowing in confusion. “‘scuse me?” the girl didn’t repeat herself, staring at you expectantly. you stood, walking around the coffee table cautiously and standing in between her legs with your hands on your hips. 

fake dating! vi       who scoffed and pulled you into her lap, having you straddle her with her hands on your hips while you looked at her as if she had five heads. “listen, we’re gonna have to do a bunch of shit in front of cait,” she started. “right..” you followed up, waiting for the explanation. “so, we need to practice. you know, so that you don’t freeze up or somethin’.” you scoffed, shoving her shoulder. “i’ve kissed people before vi, sorry to burst your bubble.” she grinned at that, tilting her head up at you. 

“yeah, but you’ve never kissed me, honey.” 

fake dating! vi       who got a little carried away when practising your “fake” passionate kisses, mumbling little quips like “no no, like this” and “restart, you’ve gotta act more natural”. what was supposed to be a fast practice kiss ended up lasting 15 minutes. you ended up fixing your rules list one last time.  no tongue when kissing?  tongue is fine

fake dating! vi       who leaves one of her clean jerseys at your house. when gameday comes, you, mel, and powder spend the hour before the game getting ready for your lovers. jersey clad bodies, blue and white ribbons in your hair (your school colors of course), and eye black on your cheekbones, except yours was pink (for obvious reasons). 

fake dating! vi       who’s brain short circuits when she first spots you in the stands, and again when she, ekko, and jayce meet with you girls after the game. seeing her in uniform, all aggressive and cocky out on the ice had you all but drooling in the stands. seeing you all dressed up in her attire got a rise out of her, and a different rise out of caitlyn as she stormed out of the locker room and past the six of you. you gave each other grins and a high five to mask the cheesy smiles accompanying your faces as you admired each other.

fake dating! vi       who takes your hand at the crowded after party, pulling you through the drunken community and up the stairs to one of her teammates rooms. you’re utterly confused as she shuts the door behind you both and reaches over her head to pull her compression shirt off. 

“the hell are you doing?” you stare straight at vi with wide eyes, but don’t dare to cover them. 

“jayce said he’s sending caitlyn up here for somethin’,” she started, finally peeling the form fitting black fabric off of her body. she looked to you, eyes flicking down then back up. “well? what are you waiting for? strip.” she spoke in too calm of a manner, like she was concealing her true tone underneath. 

“oh you’re crazy.” you shake your head, not moving as vi moves over to you. “just-  take off your clothes! i just want her to think we were gonna do it.”  

you look at her as if her previous five heads had grown to ten, grabbing the hem of your cropped top and pulling it over your head. at the sound of footsteps down the hall, you rushed to the bed, vi laying back and your body sitting atop hers. warm skin smushed together. glossy eyes admiring each others bodies as pupils unknowingly dilate. vi wondered what would happen if she unhooked the clasp of your bra that she was fiddling with. you wondered when the day would come where she begged to unclasp it. 

“just like we practiced, honey?” she asked with her sweet and soft voice, foreign to everyone but you as your lips locked and the door swung open. 

fake dating! vi       who didn’t realize how clear her conflicting feelings were until her sister teased her on a saturday morning at ekko’s house. “i see the way she looks at you, and the way you admire her when you think no one’s looking. you’ve got it baaad, sis.”

fake dating! vi       who has been falling for you more and more ever since this stupid deal began. she’s building the courage to let you know just how much you mean to her and make you her real girlfriend. 

jinx ⎯ first love/teenage love

first love! jinx     who became infatuated with you when she saw you at practice for the first time, whether you cheer, play a sport, or dance. the way you bit your lip in focus, the way you move in your element, and the sweat that had your attire clinging to you made her brain go completely numb.

first love! jinx     who pretended not to know you as ekko introduced you, asking if the three of you could be partners for a science project. she’d already stalked your instagram and had it ready to follow as soon as she left the classroom. 

first love! jinx     who wasted no time getting comfortable with you. movie nights at her house, late night drives, and the parties. she partied more than one should, saying that’s “what highschool is all about”. she, ekko, vi, caitlyn, mel, jayce, and you all spread out in caitlyn’s glamorous bedroom from the plush bean bags to the girl’s bed, pregaming, chatting, and getting ready for the night. 

first love! jinx     who always had you do her makeup when going out, claiming it was to “practice the abstract things” you were too afraid to do on yourself. for her, it was the perfect chance to have you close. her hands rested on your hips and moved to the small of your back as you straddled her. your soft fingers cupped her chin gently to hold her face still while you coated her lashes with mascara. she absentmindedly traced meaningless patterns on the skin exposed by your cropped top, never daring to take her eyes off of you. 

“all done!” you exclaimed, holding up the mini compact mirror for the bluenette to admire herself. 

“you’re an artist toots, always makin’ me look s’ pretty.” the girl wrapped her arms further around you, causing you to giggle while she embraces you with a cheeky grin.

“damn, you smell good,” she whispered, just soft enough to share the thought with you and make you melt. 

first love! jinx     who confessed by accident when you resided in your favorite spot: the rooftop. you were babbling about college and all of your hopes and worries for the future. everything was changing so fast, and you just wanted to know it was all going to be okay. 

you shifted in your position, body tense as you lay facing the ombre sky. “you just gotta promise me that even if we don’t go to the same university, we’ll both call each other all the time and try to visit as often as possible. oh, and you have to-” the girl stopped you with a hand to the cheek, gently moving your face to look her in the eyes. she was laid on her side to have you in her full view. “you worry too damn much,” she said in a tone foreign to her. it was gentle and almost breathless, like she didn’t want to scare you away. “you’re not gettin’ rid of me that easy. not when I love you this much.” 

the reason for the shock on your face and the gasp from your soft “o” shaped lips didn’t register until she thought back on her words, face morphing into one of horror and worry. what would you say? did she just screw things up? 

“...took you long enough.” you whispered through a grin, placing a hand atop hers on your cheek. 

first love! jinx     who, once you’re dating, loves sneaking into your room late at night. you’d say good night to your family, put on a special pair of pajamas and lie under the covers awaiting the soft knock at your window. once shes there you hop out of bed, racing to your window and deny opening it for just a moment to tease her out in the cold of night. 

first love! jinx     who loves having you all to herself. once inside, her arms immediately find their way around your waist and don't let go until you reach your bed. she only releases for a moment before pulling you under the covers and onto her lap, her hands sliding up your shirt and lips finding the sweet spot on your neck. to her, keeping you quiet all night is some fun challenge. 

first love! jinx     who always forgets to leave before sunrise, resulting in you both waking up in a panic when your parents knock at the door. you quickly shout out “just a minute!” hushed, frantic whispers follow before she hides under your bed or inside your walk-in closet, doing her best to suppress her giggles of adrenaline. 

this was supposed to include ekko and cait too but i got way too carried away, love my girls <33

©silknspice

[moonstruckme]

hi, how are you?

really move your writing, it has def helped me through tough times, so thank you for that so much, I cannot tell you how much appreciation I carry for you

I was wondering, since you are okay with writing about self harm scars (I think, if I understand your list or off-limit request stuff correctly, if not, sorry, then just ignore this) if you would maybe write something with Sirius x reader, where maybe r isn’t feeling all that great abt her scars (preferably on her thighs, but if not also totally fine) and Sirius draws on them and reassures her and all that stuff

Hope you have a great day, sending you lots of love

Sending love back angel <3

cw: past self harm, discussion of scars

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 922 words

“What’s that supposed to be?”

“Gorgeous, you can cut the shit. We both know I’m a modern Poussin.” 

You smile, radiant in the sunlight spilling into your sitting room. You came here to read, but Sirius was hellbent on distracting you, and as always he’s succeeded. Your book has been long since closed, the two of you lazing the day away with kisses and go-nowhere conversations while Sirius draws on your skin in black ink. 

“You’ve just said some obscure artist to show off,” you accuse. “You know I don’t know who that is.” 

“Yes, well, two can play at the game of belittlement.” 

Sirius is quite obviously drawing clouds. They live in the crook of your elbow, and they’re perfectly nebulous. You’re only pretending not to know because you enjoy playing with him. Luckily for you, Sirius enjoys letting you. 

“Is there going to be a sun?” you ask after a while. 

“Don’t need one. That’s you already, sunshine.” 

You make a phony groaning sound, clearly delighted. “You’re so cheesy.” 

“I know. See what you’ve done to me?” Sirius grins, tilting his head up for a kiss. 

You indulge him. You’re in an indulgent mood, all sun-warmed and languorous, reclining against the cushions like a goddess. You wouldn’t likely let him doodle all over you otherwise. Sirius is taking advantage of a rare opportunity. 

He goes back to work, adding some raindrops and then stars trailing up your arm. He thinks you’re dozing, but when Sirius turns to look at you again your expression has gone solemn. You’re looking down at your own lap like it’s a piece of gum stuck to your shoe. 

Your scars bother you, sometimes. Sirius can never really predict when those times will be—it depends on your mood, how often you’ve been thinking about them, and a slew of other things inside that lovely head of yours—but here in the sunlight he can see how you got hung up. They’re showier than usual, light and shimmery in the crease of your thighs. Faded, but there. 

Sirius puts his hand over them. Not to cover, but to caress. 

You seem to snap out of your reverie. “Sorry,” you say. 

“What for?” he asks. 

It’s a trick question and you know it. You’re silent for a time. Silence is not usually Sirius’ favorite thing, but he lets it lie, stroking his index finger over your leg. 

“I’m just,” you admit in a soft voice, “not liking them very much lately.” 

“Yeah?” He looks up at you, seeking. “Have you been feeling okay?” 

“Yeah. I have, really.” 

“You’d tell me if not?” 

You nod. Not quite looking at him, but Sirius knows that’s more evidence of shame than dishonesty. You trust him, and he trusts you. 

“I don’t think you have to like them, baby.” He kisses gently beside your chin. “I’d like it if you didn’t hate them, but I know you can’t always help it.” 

“I don’t know if I hate them.” Your eyes seem glued to where Sirius is rubbing your leg. Your voice is small. “I just…sometimes I don’t care if people see them, but other times they feel so embarrassing.” 

Sirius scoffs. “Well, that’s silly.” 

You frown. “Why?” 

“Because,” he says, uncapping his pen again. You don’t stop him when he starts drawing small flowers over and in between your lines. “I—look, you’re allowed to feel any way you want about them, okay? Obviously. But the way I see it, they’re just something that happened to you.”

Admittedly, Sirius didn’t always feel that way. When he first saw them, he’d been angry—at you, at your brain, at anyone and anything that had ever made you feel awful enough to do this to yourself—but it hadn’t taken long for that initial wrath to deliquesce into a wet, formless sorrow. Sirius doesn’t like not having anyone to blame. He likes thinking of the people he loves hurting even less. But it was a reality for you at one time, and there’s nothing either of you can do about it now. All Sirius wants now is to keep enough light in your present that maybe someday it washes out the past. It may never happen, but he can hope. And he can hold your hand no matter what.

He twines the fingers of his free hand loosely with yours, making looping lines for petals on your leg. 

“I don’t like that they did happen,” he admits, “but I don’t like that I broke my arm in fourth year either.” He senses your eyes going to the scar on his forearm. Once large and long, but now faded. “Nothing we can really do about them, though.” 

You hum. “Yours was an accident.” 

“I know,” Sirius murmurs. He looks at you. “I know they’re not the same thing, baby. But I don’t think you wanted your scars any more than I wanted mine, right?” 

You hold his eyes this time, your gaze tentative but full of love. “No.” 

“Right.” He kisses you. Lingers until you soften into it, your lips parting for him. Sirius pecks the corner of your mouth once he’s done. “So, you just keep talking to me, and I’ll tell you when you have something to be embarrassed about. Okay?” 

Your smile comes almost unwillingly, your eyes slipping from his to look at the blooming garden covering your legs. “Okay,” you say. 

“There’s my girl. Now, do you think it would tickle terribly if I drew a circus on the bottom of your foot?” 

“Yes.” 

“Perfect.”

[monstersholygrail]

What happens if someone is in a relationship/marriage whilst in Free Use City? How would that work?

As another day winds down in Free Use City, you and your Monster Husband move around your shared room with ease. Working as though you are two cogs working in a perfect machine. The deep familiarity between you both is evident as your husband slides your lotion to the edge of the sink right before you walk in and grab it.

You lean into his side and his arm naturally winds around your waist as he brushes his teeth. The height difference between you both is comical yet the way you two fit together is utter perfection. Uncapping your lotion you barely even think as the words slip out of your mouth.

“Some Tentacle Monster fucked me in the bathroom today at work. Was pleasantly surprised by the tentacle dick.”

Your husband snorts in amusement, quickly closing his mouth to stop the toothpaste from flying. Your mouth quirks up as you dot some lotion on your arms.

Living in the city, when proposing to fuck someone, the act is always shared and discussed between you two beforehand. Whether it’s a group activity or solo. But if someone comes up to you to fuck, well, that’s more than fair game.

“Really?” He asks once his mouth is rinsed. You hum in agreement, leaning down to rub lotion up and down your plush legs. An act your husband can’t help but watch with rapt attention. “A Tentacle Monster actually fucked me too, today. At my desk!”

You whip back up, looking at your husband with wide eyes and a smile.

“No way! Think it was the same one?”

“That would be hot.”

You hum in agreement once again, nodding along as you imagine a Tentacle Monster purposefully going out of their way to find you and your husband just to know they got to fuck you both. A shiver runs down your spine and you meet your husband’s eye in the mirror. His gaze reflects your own, a burning heat of lust as similar thoughts race through your mind.

In a flash you two are jumping each other, mouth classing in a heated kiss. Your limbs tangling as you practically climb him like a fucking tree. Your husband lifts your plush body up with ease, settling you on the sink and standing between your thick thighs. He growls into the kiss, his tongue diving deep in your mouth.

His hands feel like a blur on your skin as he rips away the clothes standing in the way of him finally having you again. He doesn’t break away from your lips, uncaring that you’re running out of air. He needs you like you’re his air and isn’t that more important?

He finally breaks away from the kiss as he sinks into your slick heat to throw his head back. A long groan leaving his lips now. Your moans mingle with his like a perfect melody as his fat cock stretches your walls beyond possible. Your sopping hole welcoming your husband’s cock back inside you with relief.

Your body tingles as his claws sink into your flesh, keeping you steady as he starts pounding away into your pussy as if he’s been waiting for this all day. By the way your core sucks him back in with every thrust it’s clear it’s hurt you to wait just as much. Neither of you can get enough of each other, your hands scouring the other, clinging to the person you crave more than anyone.

“F-fuck, baby. Nothing feels better than this. Sweet pussy was fucking made for me, wasn’t it?” Your husband growls, his hips snapping harder and faster. Finding the act of not being inside you near unbearable.

You cry out, nails clawing at his back. Desperate to get him as deep inside you as possibly. No one wills you the way he does, no one knows your body and how to so perfectly make you feel good like he does. His words send tingles down your spine. A familiar relief sparking through you as you know nothing a doubt your husband would chose you over anyone.

“Yes! Fuck! This pussy was made for your cock. Fits so perfect. So, hnghhh, good…”

Monster Husband roars, more than pleased by your words. He gets impossibly bigger within you and you scream, your hips pushing back to meet his every thrust. He rolls his hips into you at an inhuman speed, hitting every spot along your walls that has you seeing stars.

“That’s it— aughh— dammit, cum for me. Need to feel you baby, please,” your husband begs, his thrusts quickly growing sloppy as he chases release for you both.

His words weave into your ear and shoot straight down to your core. Your body jolts and seizes in his embrace and a second later you’re violently thrown into an earth shattering orgasm. Your screams rival a banshees as a deep pressure snaps and gushes out of you. Your pussy milking your husband’s cock for all it’s worth. Your slutty cunt sucks him back in as he tries to grind his length inside you and it has him following you into climax. Shooting thick ropes of cum as far inside you as he can possibly reach.

You two sag against each other. Holding onto one another with everything you have. Comforted by your mere presences and the knowledge that no matter who chooses to fuck you, you’ll always choose each other first.

[fxstpace]

☆ jeon wonwoo x gender-neutral!reader ⇢ domestic fluff, established relationship. 0.4k words. cw: reader has a broken arm. reposted from my old blog.

it’s in wonwoo’s nature to be worried about you—specifically about you, and, perhaps, a tad bit too much, as you enjoy pointing out. 

he has his hands placed firmly on his knees, crumpling the material of his trousers. his fingers cramp a little bit, but he doesn’t move an inch; worry runs through his mind like a strong undercurrent. he is brought back to his senses when he hears you huff from beside him. 

“what is it? everything okay? do you want some water?”

“no, wonwoo,” is your patient reply. “i’m perfectly fine. i was just gonna give you this!”

at your expectant smile, he drags his gaze down to your free hand—the one not enclosed by white plaster extending to just above your elbow. you’re offering him a sharpie. cautiously, wonwoo reaches out and takes it, careful not to jostle you too much. 

one slip while doing the laundry had led to… this. the hospital room is bright white and smells like antiseptic. the sheets on your bed are scratchy and not comfortable by any means, but you haven’t complained at all. you took everything in stride, and that included the news about one of your arms being dysfunctional for a good few weeks.

“...what do you want me to do with it?”

“i want you to be the first person to sign this.” you beam at him, indicating the cast around your arm with your chin. 

wonwoo cracks a small smile at that. “yeah? what do you want me to write?”

“your initials and a heart around them.”

your quick reply makes wonwoo burst into a laughter—a vivid contrast to his demeanour mere minutes before. it’s a wonder, really, he thinks. how easy it is for you to change his mood with a tiny comment. as such, jeon wonwoo finds himself very much enraptured by you. he feels like he’s dangling off of a cloud made of gossamer whenever he’s with you. how could he refuse?

gently, and making sure not to jostle you much, he uncaps the marker and writes what you had requested of him. it’s rather silly—something people do with their middle school crushes—but he thinks it’s cute. he scrawls his initials on the plaster, right at the centre, where everyone can see it. 

when he pulls away, surveying his candid little piece on the blank canvas around your skin, he can’t help the satisfied smirk tugging at his lips when you gasp happily. 

(it makes his heart swell to accommodate all the love he has for you.)

(of course he’d write your initials next to his, separated by a plus sign; there’s nowhere else he would rather be than by your side.)

[milky-aeons]

— TO LOVE ME

౨ৎ . . . in which DAZAI OSAMU apologises for being a little too rough.

warnings: semi-nsfw, f!reader, hair-pulling, flashbacks to sexual activity, rough!dazai (he pulled your hair a little too hard), soft!dazai, slight angst, comfort, fluff, non-established relationship, w.c 1.6k

♪ . . . ˗ˏˋ ꒰ november — mahalia ft. stormzy ꒱ ˎˊ-

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐍.

It was a type of awareness — a fond little quirk, if you will — that you had developed a few months into dating the Armed Detective Agent. Or as far as dating someone like him would go; he never really liked the label, after all. You were both stuck in that chaotic, intoxicating limbo of not quite lovers, but too far gone from friends. Because friends did not stay the night and wear each-others shirts as you washed the dishes, friends did not hum softly into the empty apartment he owned as you waited for him to return with your favourite take-away coffee.

As if your souls were already intertwined, protesting at even the slightest distance, your whole body sang to life when Dazai Osamu tried to sneak through his front door unnoticed.

With wet fingers, you reached over to turn the faucet off just as his airy voice sifted through the air.

"I'm home~"

"Welcome back." You beat him to it.

Dazai made a wrangled sound. "How do catch me every time I try to sneak up on you?" He moaned, his voice coming closer until he rounded the little alcove of his small, one-walled kitchen. "It's almost like you have a sixth-sense, you know? Oh! We should put this unique talent of yours to the test!"

You hummed, following his playful line of thinking. Does his blood thrum to life underneath his skin when you breeze through the Agency offices, you wonder, does his mind eddy of all thought when you cast your eyes his way — just like it does yours?

You did not know. You would probably never know. But he remembered your exact coffee order perfectly, every single time.

"I'm almost afraid to wonder what that would entail." You muse, drying off your hands and leaning back on the countertop. He handed you one of the take-away cups. "But not for me. If I know you at all, Osamu, then you would definitely tie Kunikida-kun up in this elaborate experiment just to set him back a few days on his schedule."

"Pft. A few days?" He echoed, incredulous. One of his eyebrows raised. "How you insult me. If I don't set Kunikida-kun's precious schedule back by at least one month at a time, then why would I even bother at all?"

"You're absolutely right. My ignorant mistake."

"And yes, you do."

"Hm?" You hummed, uncapping the coffee to take a greedy inhale.

"Know me." Dazai finished.

Those two words jarred you a little. Your eyes flickered up to meet his, wordless, the coffee cup held just an inch from your parted lips. Dazai was looking straight at you with that ever-present unreadable expression, but it was a little softer around the edges, a little less impenetrable this time. This was familiar. This is what you two were; you took each other's hand and danced around the truth. You let things hang in the air, unsaid, untouched, staring at one another in his apartment while you wore his shirt like you were both in love — but not quite, not yet.

"Do I?" You said softly. You reached for that thing left unsaid and used it to challenge him.

He tilted his head, amused. Letting you rock the boat. His unkempt curls slid across his forehead when he did. But as always, he said nothing. He danced. He changed the subject.

Do I know you, Osamu?

Instead, he let his dark eyes wander to the dishes you had stacked on the drainage rack. "Wah, [Name]!" He exclaimed with exaggerated shock. "Did you clean the dishes while I was gone?! If you keep doing things like that I'll seriously have to marry you, you know!"

Precarious. A tease. Oh, but he loves to twirl with you close to the fire.

You stayed silent, opting to take a sip, instead. A small, bashful smile fought its way onto your face — you hid behind the disposable cup, but you knew he caught it. Dazai Osamu caught everything, but only with you, did he wear that boyish, self-satisfied grin when he saw the effect he had on your heart.

The sunlight was soft and choppy as it filtered through his broken shutters that barely gave any privacy to the kitchen. It was winter time; Yokohama was bustling, as it always is, but this corner of the city was delightfully sleepy. It was just you and him, enjoying the silence of two people almost in love. A car horn beeped in the distance. You noticed the smattering of freckles on his nose when he stepped forward into one of the balmy sunbeams.

Quietly, Dazai reached towards you. You didn't move — how could you? — as his long fingers half-hidden in bandages danced across your exposed shoulder. A shiver broke out across the skin he barely touched. He noticed. He grew bolder, slyer, letting his lazy touch flutter across your skin; the column of your neck; tickling the nape of your neck and burying into the mussed tresses of your hair—

"Ow—!"

You winced.

Dazai jerked his hand away. "What's wrong?"

You placed your coffee cup down and lifted your fingers to where his own had just been. With ginger movements, you traced the tender spot, your face souring into a grimace at the little shoots of pain that resided there. It was still sore, you noticed. And so did Dazai. When you glanced up at him, his brows had knit together. Not quite a picture of concern — but pressingly curious, his eyes wide and imploring.

And for the first time that lazy morning, you found yourself averting your gaze from him. You stayed quiet for a pregnant moment, searching for the right words as Dazai too, placed his cup down. He dipped his head, trying to meet your eyes. "Bella?" He called again, his voice soft and coaxing.

"Sorry," You chuckled quietly, smiling small. You gave the tender spot another rub before releasing your hand from your hair. "It's just a little sore, that's all."

Dazai's lips tugged down into a frown. "Sore—?" A bell chimed on some astral plane of recognition. His words died on his tongue, his expression halting. You saw the shutter in his eyes then; his mind moving, racing, taking scintillations of the night you two shared and meshing them back together.

You had let him do it before — fisting his lithe fingers into your hair while you were both caught in the throes of passion. As a matter of fact, you quite liked it. He'd bow your head back and decorate your lovely neck with a multitude of bruises, just for you. Or during those times where you took control — settling between his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed. You'd start slow first; taking the length of him into your mouth, licking, kissing. But as you picked up the pace and worked him right to a fever pitch — Dazai would wind his hand into your hair. Around, around, until he had a decent grip, and guide your movement just the way he needed it.

It had been an accident last night — but you still had not mentioned it; had not wanted to draw too much attention as you knew he did not mean it. It was a frenzy on both parts. But he had gripped your hair and tugged it a bit too tight. A bit too rough. Leaving the spot at the crown of your head tender as you passed a brush over it once you two were done.

He remained so uncharacteristically silent — staring at you like he was meeting you from a previous lifetime again after searching for so long. You tilted your head, suddenly worried. It wasn't like you were upset with him — so why did he look like that? Like he had revoked any and all permission to touch you? Like he was suddenly afraid?

Dazai was not acquainted with words of apology. He had went his whole life posing as a shadow, looking in on people and never being a part of them. But standing there looking down at you with the realisation that he had hurt you, that he — by his hand — had brought harm to someone like you — a sudden paralysis took hold of his body. He stared at you with wide eyes. He couldn't speak. He felt like he had lost all privilege to be near you — that for the first time in his life, he had met someone so bright and so genuine, and he had succeeded at tainting that, too.

He was abominable. He had always been, it was part of his makeup, ingrained into the lining of his very bones.

And yet, to him, he was also selfish. Because he had the gall to ask for your forgiveness.

"I'm," Dazai started. It wasn't like him to be at a loss for words. "I . . . [Name] I didn't realise . . . "

"Osamu, really — it's okay," You implored, your expression honest. "I know you didn't mean to. I'm fine! Just a little sore, is all." Smile turning lopsided, you turned to fully face him. "How about next time, we just don't pull as hard? I do really like when you play with my hair, but not that rough. Hm?"

Dazai opened his mouth to speak — but whatever he wanted to say got lost between his head and his tongue. He blinked once, twice. Then, in such a quiet voice, he whispered, ". . . I apologise. I'd never try to hurt you, beautiful [Name]. It will not happen again."

It was so resolute. In a tone you have never heard Dazai Osamu speak with before; not quite unsure, but lacking the perfectly precise way he would usually choose his words with. It speared into your chest and made your heart lurch. Such a raw, clean-cut promise. Like he'd burn his own hand before he let himself cause any such harm to you, ever again.

The smile that softened the sides of your lips no longer belonged to someone who was almost in love.

You reached out suddenly for his hand before he could react. You guided his palm to your face, nuzzling into his warm touch, delighting in the soft scratch of bandages against your cheek. "I know. I'm sorry too, for not mentioning it sooner."

I love you, it was the three words you still left unsaid. Because not quite, not yet. Although the way Dazai's fingers curled against the shell of your ear, the way he stepped forward to tug you into his sturdy chest — something about it all whispered the words I love you, too.

from this lovely nonnie // writing requests!

[enwoso]

hey i absolutely love the lovie fics and i had a request for a fic about lovie getting into alessias make up or one about her as a newborn and meeting alessias family at her parents house

DAB TO FAR | alessia russo x child!reader

grumpy masterlist

the faint hum of the hairdryer had been the background noise for most of the afternoon for alessia's as she was preparing for the fifa awards in london.

the award show being a significant event, her and a few of her other teammate's nominated for the fifa best XI and alessia wanted everything to be perfect.

she tasked her brothers, luca and gio the job of baby sitting you for the night. admittedly they were not the blondes first choice — that would have definitely gone to her mum and dad. but they were out of town choosing to extend their winter holiday in the sun.

so her brothers would have to do. but while alessia was getting her hair and makeup done. it had been surprisingly quiet in her home, too quiet.

her hair stylist, louise finishing up her curled bun as she quickly excused herself telling the girl she should probably check up on you in which she just laughed waving the blonde off to do whatever she needed to do.

alessia's gut twinged as she walked up the stairs, her hair styled perfectly with each hair having a place. but something wasn’t right.

you weren't exactly known for being silent, especially when you were at home. alessia had a hard time getting you to be quiet in the comfort of your own home. you were more of a constant giggler, singer or babbler.

alessia slipped the salon cape on the banister at the top of the stairs, "guys?" she called out.

walking into the room where she could hear gio screaming at what she discovered to be the tv, as he was glued to the gaming console, headset on, controlled in hand as he sat on the edge of the bottom of the bed.

luca was sprawled out on the spare bedroom bed, sound asleep over the noise of gio, his mouth slightly open. typical.

gio was too immersed to even notice her approach. "gio," alessia said, hands on her hips.

he jumped, scrambling to pull one side of the headset off as he noticed his sister with a not too impressed look on her face.

"oh, hey less. your hair looks nice, louise's has done a grand job!" gio smiled as he tried to waver the unimpressed look of his sisters face.

"where's lovie?"

gio face went blank, then turned to mild panic before he stuttered out a response, "uh- i..i thought she was with you?"

alessia's sharp inhale could have rivaled a gale-force wind, "you thought she was with me?"

"well, yeah, she was here a second ago-"

"giorgio!" she groaned, cutting him off as she spun on her heel to try and find you, she didn't have time to lecture him right now. her mind raced as she checked the kitchen and the backyard calling out for you.

"lovie, baby where are you?"

but i wasn't until she was doing the second check of the the upstairs when she passed her room that she noticed something odd. the door was slightly open, and alessia could distinctly remember shutting it earlier.

she gently pushed it open and froze as she poked her head into the room.

you perched on the vanity chair, one leg swinging back and forth as you were surrounded by an explosion of makeup.

eyeshadow palettes were wide open, power dusted across the table and floor like a multicoloured snowstorm. lipstick tubes uncapped and their contents smeared across your tiny face in bold streaks of red and pink.

alessia's blush brush clutched in your tiny hand, its bristles now dipped in an alarming mix of colours.

noticing your mummy in the mirror stood behind you a small wince on her face as you turned and look to her with wide innocent eyes.

your lips - mostly your chin - coated in a sticky uneven layer of alessia's favourite lip gloss.

"mummy! i pretty like you" you declared proudly holding up the brush as if it was a magic wand.

alessia bit back a laugh, she wanted to cry over her ruined makeup but the sight of you so proud of your work melted away any frustration that was building.

"lovie," alessia said crouching down to your level as you sat on the vanity chair, "what have you done?"

you big smile faltered slightly, "i getting ready for the awards.. like you!"

alessia let out a small sigh, softening her tone, "lovie, you know you can't play with mummy's makeup like this. it's special to me and not for little girls"

your bottom lip trembled and alessia quickly reached out to wipe a bit of lipstick off your cheek. "it's okay but we're gonna have to clean this up together alright?"

you nodded solemnly your hands still clutching the brush and a half melted lipstick tube.

after cleaning up majority of the mess - and giving your face a thorough wipe, alessia was matching back into the guest room as you sat downstairs in the living room watching a programme in a fresh pair of pyjamas.

walking into the room, alessia flicked off the tv in the middle of the game gio was playing as she stood blocking the view of the tv.

"hey! alessia!" gio protested, glaring up at her as the gaming controller fell from his hands to his lap.

"don't you 'hey' me. you and him are supposed to be watching her" alessia gestures to downstairs. "you know where i found her? covered in my makeup! luca's asleep and your here playing a game i know you spent more than 12 hours a day playing!"

gio winced, sensing the slight frustration in his younger sisters tone, "she was quiet so i thought.."

"exactly! she was quiet that should have been your first clue!"

alessia didn't spare him any more words as she moved over to were luca lay sprawled out asleep on the bed. jabbing him slightly hard in the shoulder causing the boy to jolt up.

luca rubbed a hand over his face as he blinked groggily, "what's going on?"

"you're supposed to be helping watch lovie, not napping!"

"she's fine" luca mumbled defensively as his eyes fluttered closed again.

"erm she's wasn't actually, she was busy picasso-ing herself with my makeup in my room!"

luca groaned but alessia was already on her way back downstairs knowing her the makeup artist here to do her makeup would be waiting as she muttered under her breath about her useless brothers

as the makeup artist did the finishing touches as you sat comfortably in your mummy's arms getting your hugs in before alessia left as alessia couldn't help but chuckle at the memory of your colourful face.

you may have made a mess and ruined a bit of her makeup that she would no doubly have to replace but there wasn't anything she would trade it for then to have those memories with you.

she would however think twice about trusting her brothers with babysitting duties again...

[giuseppe-yuki]

Since franco is quite unhinged and not PR trained, I feel like his girlfriend would be equally as unhinged and unpredictable like an orange cat constantly doing stupid things like climbing on stupid things and doing funny stuff around the paddock and becoming a fan favourite duo of unpredictable and hilarious behaviour - especially in the fan zone

FRANCO’S POOR PR MANAGER!!!!!

picture credits from pinterest :)

franco colapinto x orange cat shapeshifter!reader

“franco,” the disheveled looking woman snaps, a look of pure annoyance on her face. “tell your fucking cat to get down from those spare tires right now!

rolling his eyes, franco stops his laughter from looking at you prancing on tires and beckons you over.

leaping off the tower of rubber tires, you scamper over to his side, butting your head playfully against his leg. you couldn’t understand why you couldn’t have a little fun in the paddock though. it was media day, and those were soooo boring. his pr manager was a total killjoy. and besides, the fans loved you, so wouldn’t that be good for your boyfriend’s public image?

as if proving your point, the fans gathered around the fanzone squeal as you pad next to franco and his disgruntled pr manager.

while he stops momentarily to sign a few pieces of merch, you claw your way up his shoulder. the man getting his merch signed laughs, pointing his camera at your purring figure perched on franco.

“yeah, sorry, she does that sometimes,” you boyfriend remarks, recapping the pen and handing it back to the fan.

you grin at him, flashing your sharp cat canines at the camera. suddenly, an epic thought crosses your mind. what if you did a backflip off of franco’s shoulder and landed on the ground perfectly? that would be kind of cool.

gathering your wits, you leap off of your boyfriend and do two flips in the air before landing gently on your four paws. the fans in the fanzone erupt into cheers.

“ha!” your boyfriend laughs, pointing at you proudly leaping in circles on the ground. “simone biles who? make way for next big olympic gymnast!”

seeing the commotion, franco’s pr manager speeds over. “franco!” she hisses, dragging him away from the crowd. “you can not be saying that! we don’t want a bad public image from you slandering simone biles!”

“slandering???” franco says, in shock. “i was not slandering. i was merely making a comparison between her and my extraordinarily talented cat!”

you meow loudly, as if backing him up.

franco’s pr manager just pinches her nose and groans.

it’s not even ten minutes before you accidentally get yourself into trouble again.

a young fan sits on the sidewalk, talking animatedly to his mother, leaving his lunch open and inviting. hey, if he didn't want it, you’d gladly take it. you were pretty much starving after spending a good part of the day doing media duties with franco.

charging towards the open container, you take a huge bite of the contents, which turns out to be lasagna.

the boy turns around, eyes wide at seeing not only the orange cat eating his food, but also at franco colapinto jogging towards him.

“i-i-is this your cat?” he stutters out, blinking quickly at the sight in front of him, disbelieving.

“er, yes,” franco responds. scooting by the kid, he bends down and grabs you by the scruff of your neck, trying his best to separate you from the container of lasagna that you were trying your best to shove into your mouth at an ungodly speed.

the boy, seeing your actions, laughs. “she’s just like garfield!”

your boyfriend only successfully removes you from the container after you’ve devoured the entire piece of lasagna. “sorry buddy,” he says to the kid sheepishly, with your tomato-sauce covered body dangling from one hand. “i’ll give you a piece of merch to make up for the lasagna.”

still manhandling you with one hand, he uncaps a sharpie with his teeth and scribbles his signature on his own williams-branded jacket. he shrugs it off with a bit of difficulty before dumping it in the kid’s arms. the small fan ecstatically beams at franco, and thanks him profusely.

when your boyfriend squeezes by the crowd of people that were gathered to see the scene play out, he finds his pr manager standing with her arms crossed with a rather disappointed look on her face.

“did you even think before doing whatever that was?” she questions franco, simultaneously glaring at you.

when you give her a hiss of annoyance at reprimanding your boyfriend, she just about snaps.

“yeah, you’re done,” she say irritatedly. “franco, take yourself and your cat back into your driver’s room. you're grounded. both of you are prohibited from coming out for the next hour.”

you giggle inside. that’s a win for you, honestly. an hour with just yourself and franco? sounds like a great time to get into a little more mischief!

[soongyeopsal]

Friends & Family

Summary: Hansol gives you a deal that you didn’t even need to bargain for.

▸ Pairing: Vernon x afab!reader

▸ Rating / Genre / AU: 18+ / humor, smut, pwp / best friend’s brother, friends to lovers If you are a minor AND/OR if your account has no age in the bio, you will be blocked upon interacting (liking/reblogging) with this post.

▸ Warnings: masturbation (f), oral (f receiving), mentions of creampie 

▸ Word Count: 3.1k

▸ A/N: Happy valentine’s day weekend! Surprise @yoonguurt, I’m your secret cupid! 💖💖💖 Really hope you enjoy this lil romp! Thank you @ddeonghwa-s for hosting this lovely event. Don’t forget to peep everyone else’s entries for this as well, masterlist here! Eternal thank you to @onlymingyus for helping me figure this out in secret (I was convinced I’d accidentally spill the beans if I discussed this publicly lol) and to @shuadotcom for always supporting me and proofreading at all hours!

It’s Sunday night and you’ve almost finished working through your weekly routine. Your counters are clean, laundry is folded, and tasks for the days ahead are laid out. All that’s left is to unwind so you can drift off to sleep. 

Both of your pillows are stacked behind you, propping you upright in bed for the perfect angle to unravel. “Fuck,” you groan to no one breathlessly, eyes trained on your laptop. You’re so so close, one hand spreading your lower lips apart as the other times the push of your dildo with the cock on screen. 

The actors in this week’s selected porno aren’t what’s important: the content is. Your mind conjures up different faces over the talents’, further molding the fantasy to who you want most at the moment. On nights like tonight, ones where no one in particular is on your mind, you default to your oldest, silliest crush: your best friend’s younger brother, Hansol. 

Back on the screen, the cameraman has the lens nearly inside the actress’ pussy along with not-Handol’s dick. It’s even easier to imagine the two of you like this, reduced to exaggerated moans, the slapping of skin, and the squelch of arousal as you stand on the precipice of release. You squeeze the base of your dildo harder when not-Hansol’s thrusts lose their rhythm, thrusting into yourself eagerly alongside him. 

There’s a flash behind your eyelids when you tilt your head back as your climax hits you, perfectly in time with your entertainment. It’s not the hardest you’ve ever cum, but it gets the job done just like it does every week without fail. 

By the time the casts’ voices return to a normal octave, the strongest part of your high has worn off. Sitting up with silicone still nestled inside you as you return to earth, you reach blindly for the water bottle on your nightstand. The embrace of sleep is calling your name and you try uncapping the bottle with one hand while the other lands on your laptop’s trackpad, ready to close the browser. You’re honestly just looking for your cursor among the flashy popups on the side of the video player, but you can’t help the way you clench around the toy and shiver as you get an eyeful of creampie that you missed in your own bliss.

You also can’t help the comical juggling that you attempt when you feel your water bottle slipping from your fingers. Or the loud swear as cold water meets your front and the keyboard of your laptop. Despite your best efforts to flip it upside down to drain as much liquid as possible from the keys, the screen flickers. 

By the time you’ve dried off and changed your sheets, things don’t look much better. So much for the Sunday night routine. All it’s done is give you yet another problem to worry about tomorrow.

Y/N: holy shit they’re trying to rob me

Livvy: ?? hello?

Y/N: computer place quoted me 1k BASE to fix my shit.. said they have to replace a bunch of stuff

Livvy: um why dont you just call vern?

Y/N: your brother?

Y/N: why would i call him?

Livvy: yes?

Livvy: omg because he has a repair shop, please keep up

Y/N: omg you’re so right! 

Y/N: oo think he’ll give me a friends and family discount?

Livvy: he better or i’ll kick his ass

Y/N: i’ll tell him you said hi

Y/N: wait i don’t have his number lol can you send it?

Your family’s home is next to the Chwe’s, so it’s only natural that you and Olivia have been fixtures in each other’s lives since childhood. You went from neighbors to friends to sisters and although Hansol, only 2 years younger, was always there, he maintained a guarded distance. At first it’d annoyed you, catching him looking away when you tried to include him in conversation or excusing himself from gatherings as soon as possible. This went on for a few years until irritation gave way to disappointment. You liked when Hansol came around, actually. Sure, you’d tease him here and there, but it was always lighthearted and familiar. The kind of gentle ribbing reserved for people you’re most comfortable around. Despite trying to convey that the boy was welcome around you, however, he always seemed uncomfortable. It wasn’t until junior year of high school that Olivia finally spelled out what was happening: Hansol had a crush on you that bordered on infatuation. And you were the only one that hadn’t figured it out.

The revelation was surprising, but not unwelcome. Hansol had always been funny and kind, meshing well with most people he came across. Some might have seen a flaw in how quiet he could be, though you spotted an attentiveness that, if you thought on it too long, you wanted. 

And think too long, you did. You thought about dating Hansol for so long that you graduated, then he graduated, then you both went to university and danced the same dance once more. Always thinking, yet no action. With life getting busier and priorities changing after securing your degree, your late-realized puppy love dissolved into a fond memory that you dug up on the occasional Sunday night. You’d see Hansol a few times a year when your families got together for holidays or celebrations, but old habits lived on. A hello, a quip or two, then the rest of the evening was spent focusing on your own agendas.

It’s been a few months since you’ve heard Hansol’s voice and even longer since you’ve seen him in person, but you recognize him all the same when he picks up. “Butterfingers, how can we help?”

“Isn’t this your cell phone?”

Hansol pauses and you could swear he pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment. “Hello?” he asks, almost disbelieving. 

Years of childhood playdates and awkward teenage glances flood your memory and you instinctively tease him. “‘Hello?’ You and Liv are the same, I swear.”

“Aah, Y/N,” Hansol recovers, “That’s true, but we are related so.” There’s another beat and it’s so easy to imagine those brown eyes looking into yours, waiting for you to speak again. When you don’t, he offers, “Did you need something or…?”

You’re grateful that you opted to make the call from your car during your lunch break, far from eyes that could watch you shake thoughts of Hansol from the forefront of your mind. “Yeah, actually. My computer’s fucked up. Do you think I could bring it by the shop?”

“O-oh yeah, for sure, definitely! Yes!” He stops to clear his throat before continuing, almost like he’s grounding himself. “We close at 7 if you wanna drop by today.”

“Awesome, thanks Hansol. I’ll stop by after work.”

Butterfingers Repair is nestled between a smoke shop and a family-run tax office, just a handful of storefronts still open in a nondescript strip mall on the other side of town. No wonder you’ve never been here. 

A local alt rock station plays on the wall mounted speakers, but there are no other signs of life when you come through the door. There’s no one behind the counter and with the staff door behind it closed, you have no idea who to expect to greet you. A few moments pass and you start getting second thoughts. Maybe you’re at the wrong location after all? Just as you take out your phone to double-check the address Hansol sent, the staff door swings open. “Hey! Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

Hansol has always been easy on the eyes. Watching him grow from clumsy kid to gawky teen to unpolished (but handsome) college student never changed that, but you’ll admit it’s been a while since you’ve really looked at him. Present day Hansol is taller than you, broad-shouldered, and hot, having fully grown into his features.

Fixing your laptop is suddenly your second priority. If you play your cards right – if you play Hansol right – you could accomplish a lot today. “Sounds like you guys need a receptionist.”

“Yeah, haha,” he laughs, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “It’ll be first on my list when I can afford the payroll.”

“Ooh, moving up to management, are we? That’s cool!”

“Well yeah, I mean–like it’s my shop. So, like, I’m the only employee right now.”

“You own this, though. I like that. You should be proud.”

“Thanks,” Hansol hums, shifting to pointedly stare at your laptop bag and avoid your gaze. “What’s going on? How can I help?”

You keep your tone casual, giving him some grace for the painful redirect.” Right, so I kinda sorta spilled water on my laptop. It was just – c’mon don’t look at me like that, you haven’t even seen it yet. It was just a few days ago and I flipped it to try and let it dry but…” Placing it on the counter and tapping the power button confirms no improvements since you last checked. The keyboard lights up and the fan whirs, but there’s nothing on the screen. 

Hansol’s shaking his head before he even speaks. “Even after it fully dries, you’re gonna need a new display.”

“Can you do it?”

“Yeah, for sure. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

He grimaces through his words, clearly pained by the idea of telling you anything you might not be ready to hear. “It’s probably gonna be expensive. You sure you want a quote?”

“Mm, less of a want, more of a need.”

“Gotcha…” Hansol needs a moment to decide on whatever options are running through his mind. You afford it to him and are pleased when he hops the counter to go lock the front door. “Come on back, Y/N,” he says without looking at you, breezing past to unlock the staff door and usher you in.

Hansol seems almost relieved to be focused on your machine as the two of you sit in his humble workshop. You’ve helped yourself to the folding chair next to his, asking “well where else can I wait, Vern?” when your knees touch under the table and he nearly jumps out of his skin. 

You’d planned to chat him up to help pass the time, but watching Hansol work proves to be rightfully interesting. He’s surprisingly nimble with his hands, carefully removing endless screws and drying any damp parts he finds as he goes. “So,” he finally explains, breaking you out of a trance, “the water damage actually isn’t that bad. The new screen’s gonna hurt, though. This is a nice pc, you’ve got.”

At last, he’s given you the opening you’ve been waiting for. “How much will it hurt, exactly?”

“After parts and labor, like $700.”

“That’s not bad.” And it’s really not, compared to your last quote. But you want more. “Got a friends and family discount for me, by chance?”

“Oh, uh, friends and–um–?” Hansol fumbles, flustered yet again at having to potentially tell you no. “I don’t normally–”

You’ve known Hansol long enough to gauge when it’s best to strike and his forehead’s got OPPORTUNITY written on it. You maneuver into his lap sideways, anchoring an arm around his neck and finding his eyes through his fringe, smiling wickedly as he visibly short circuits. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, with one hooking under your knee and the other jumping like he’s been burned when his fingers skitter across your leg that’s barely covered by your skirt in this position. “Can’t you make an exception for me, Vernon?” 

Hansol is desperately trying not to drop you while also surviving this dream? interaction. The nickname you reserve for when you really want something seems to electrocute him and the fingers hooked under your knees press into your skin. “I can waive the cleaning fee, n-no worries,” he soldiers on, his hand still trying and failing to find a way to support your hip without outright holding it. “I-It’s the display replacement that’s, uh–” you shift in his lap, “accidentally” grinding against his crotch, “–screens are kinda pricey, y-you know what I mean?”

It’s difficult to hide just how fun this pursuit is and even harder to ignore the dampness in your panties. Knowing that you’re this close to fulfilling a fantasy already has all of your blood going south. “I think I can offer you something pricey. Do you know what I mean?” 

“You’re worth way more than a screen, Y/N.” Hansol is delightfully flushed, but his tone is earnest. “You’re priceless.”

“That’s really cute. You’re really cute, you know that?”

Hansol tries to laugh away his nerves, but the sound he makes is more distressed than anything. “Thanks. I really – like really – like you. I’m into you, I mean.”

A laugh bubbles out of your chest before you can stop yourself. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Wanna show me?”

“Show you? I-I mean, yeah! Of course, I’d love to– I mean, I want to. Shit.”

“Take a breath for me.”

“Y-You’re right, sorry.” Hansol grasps you harder and breathes in through his nose, closing his eyes. He opens them again on the exhale and bores right into yours. His expression is determined mixed with something you’ve never seen in him before. It’s too new for you to place it yet, but whatever it is, it’s the sexiest you’ve seen him yet. “Yeah, I can show you. I really want to.”

Using the hand that’s wrapped around Hansol’s shoulder, you tug at his hair to expose his neck. The smell of his cologne hits you with full force and your eyes roll while you kiss his bare skin. Hansol wastes no time even as he shivers under your touch, gently guiding your leg to the side so he can reach your clothed core. The angle is a bit weird like this, halfway between his lap and the floor, but the inelegance is forgotten when he moves your panties to the side and teases your opening with two fingers.

For the first time all evening, you’re the one who seems surprised. Hansol’s cold fingers feel incredible as they gather wetness from your folds. You gasp at the sensation and outright moan when he experimentally licks your essence from them before thoroughly sucking the digits dry. “That’s so fucking good, wow,” he marvels more to himself than to you. 

Hansol’s fingers return to your entrance and he pushes them in slowly when he finds no resistance. “Shit,” he gasps, awestruck by the pressure of your walls.

“Shit,” you gasp alongside him, enjoying how his fingers curl into you. Your earlier vibrato is nowhere to be found, replaced with a need for Hansol that you’ve been repressing for what feels like a lifetime.

You continue on like this, with Hansol swearing at the ceiling even as he causes you to melt against him. He’s happy to enjoy the way you wriggle against him as he brings you closer to your end. Your orgasm builds quickly and just as you’re about to succumb to his ministrations, his fingers are gone. A frustrated whine leaves you before you can stop yourself. “No, please!”

Hansol doesn’t explain at first, just removes you from his lap so you can take his place while he kneels between your legs under the table.”This is better,” he declares.

This is even sexier than you could have imagined, but having your orgasm ripped away still leaves you pouty. “Is it? I was about to cum.”

“Oh. My bad.” Hansol supplies no other commentary and leans in to apologize to your pussy instead. You want to be annoyed at him, but your reprimand morphs into a breathless moan when his tongue replaces the spot his digits once occupied. 

Ever-diligent, Hansol makes up for lost time immediately. He eats you out like this might be his only chance to, like he wants to imprint this exact moment into your memory. The man only pulls away when he absolutely has to for air, taking huge breaths before diving back in to test the limits of his lung capacity. It’s not until you cum twice and he tries to return to your swollen lips for a third time that you realize he’s content to keep you here indefinitely if it means drinking up more of the nectar that’s creaming around your entrance. 

“Hansol!” You have to yank him away before your brain 404s from overstimulation. 

He scoots closer to rest his head in your lap, dopey grin on his face. “Hansol, no Vern? That means I did really good.” 

Rolling your eyes, you card your fingers through his hair to gaze upon him unobstructed. Hansol is striking in this position between your legs, mouth and chin wet with arousal. “Yeah, really good.. I need a break though, sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? That was awesome!” For all of his stuttering and nervousness, Hansol is shockingly casual now. It’s as if getting to taste you was the hint he needed that you liked him as much as he liked you. “Want me to replace your screen, still?”

Right, the laptop repair. It feels silly to talk about this with the smell of your sex in the air, but you follow his lead. “Yes, please. Don’t worry about the discount, I was just kidding.”

“I wasn’t.” Hansol finally crawls from under the table and stretches. He’s not shy about adjusting the bulge in his pants though he makes no mention of it. “About liking you, I mean. I can waive the rest of this, it’s no big deal.” Your intention was never to genuinely trade sex for repairs - especially when you’re the only one to be serviced so far. The thought must be written all over your face because he continues, “I was going to knock down the price for you before all this anyway, seriously. We’ll just count this as a courtesy repair. Sound good?”

“Are you sure?” you ask, eyes darting to his dickprint and then back up to his face. 

It’s Hansol’s turn to laugh at how uncertain you seem, enjoying the irony of how your roles seem to have reversed. “I’m sure.”

Thirty minutes and a thorough cloth bath later, Hansol slides your open laptop in front of you. “Go ahead and sign in. Let’s make sure everything works.”

Even though you watched the repair in real time, it feels like magic when you type in your password and your lock screen falls away. That fascination immediately becomes mortification when the last window you had open reminds you of how you got here. 

There’s no missing the cock in the video thumbnail or the header above it that reads Giving my sister’s best friend a creampie. 

“Oh!” Hansol exclaims simply as his eyebrows shoot up. 

“Don’t!” you yell, slamming the laptop shut. “It’s not what it looks like!”

“I kinda like what it looked like, though… Can we?”

“I–well. Maybe. Sure. Yeah.”

“Only if you want to.”

“I want to.”

“Ok cool.”

“Cool.”

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 206 }

afternoon delight.

sylus x (non mc)fem.reader

warnings: an 18+ thirst post; minors don’t interact.

by choosing to interact with this 18+ content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings.

the moment sylus decided to slot his lips between your legs, you knew you were in for a treat.

your day started out normal enough; after having lunch that afternoon, sylus had invited you to workout with him and you quickly obliged. since he was so busy, it was often rare to spend any amount of time with him. he was dressed in his usual workout clothes, with his fists wrapped up and ready to go, and each time he walked in front of you, you take a moment to admire the thickness of his backside.

upon entering the basement that held all of sylus’s gym equipment, you watch as he headed towards the punching bag while you opted for the stationary bike. a holographic woman greets you and asks you to join her in a biking journey all across the universe. as her voice drones on and on about the sights, you were barely paying attention as you kept your gaze on sylus.

your eyes look past the hologram, nearly salivating each time sylus moves. with his fists clenched, you watch as his biceps seemed to tighten in response, revealing the delicious veins that surround his pale skin. your hungry gaze continues to move downward, taking in the sight of the prominent bulge that was settled in the front of his shorts, making your knees go weak as you struggled to keep pedaling.

sylus must have heard your soft whimpers when he suddenly stops his training, still in mid-punch. he frowns at you, eyebrows furrowed as he picks up the bottom of his tank top to wipe the sweat from his brow, giving you the perfect view of his perfectly sculpted abs. your mouth goes dry at the sight, and you were so focused on those hard wall of muscle that you missed the way sylus’s lips were tilted up in a knowing smirk.

he hums, releasing the fabric of his tank top before heading to the fridge. your legs had completely stopped pedaling now, eyes watching his every move with fervor. your lover doesn’t acknowledge your heated gaze, simply uncapping the water bottle to take copious gulps from it. the air comes out of your lungs in slow, uneven breaths, simply watching as sylus drinks his water all while admiring the way his adam’s apple bobs with each gulp. your mouth suddenly turns dry upon seeing a single droplet of water trail down his jawline and onto the base of his throat.

by then, the ache between your legs became all too prominent, all too painful for you to ignore. it were as though you were caught up in a trance, coming off of your bike while stepping closer to sylus. he sees your form approaching him and smiles. “want a sip, sweetie?”

you wordlessly take the bottle from his larger hands, licking at your bottom lip before tilting the bottle upwards and into your mouth, draining the entirety of the bottle with one last swallow before tossing the emptied plastic to the side.

you were no longer thinking clearly the moment you slide down his body, earning an amused chuckle from sylus. he keeps watching you with an eyebrow quirked, causing a light purr to escape from your parted lips as you gripped at the waistband of his shorts, pulling it down in one, swift motion as you revealed his half-hardened cock.

you press your head against him, taking the mushroom tip of his cock into your mouth, your tongue curling against the veins felt pulsating against it. he groans, hands already going to your hair as you worked on sucking his cock to full hardness with your hot mouth and stroking whatever part of him you couldn’t fit with your hands. you licked away the beads of precum, not minding the strange and bitter taste of it solely because it was coming from him. you continue to pleasure him, bobbing your head and forth until you felt the familiar twitch in your mouth, ready to drink up all he had to offer when he suddenly pulls away from you.

within seconds, his thick cock was out of your mouth, his hands already gripping at your hair as he forces you to meet his gaze. you caught a glimpse of his dilated eyes before he tosses you over his shoulder, whispering harshly in your ear, “let me return the favor, kitten.”

he walks until arriving at the showers settled off to the side of the personal gym. he strips himself of the rest of his clothes while practically ripping off the fabric of yours with a low growl. a whine of protest manages to escape from you, but such protests were immediately swallowed by the sheer intensity of his kiss.

never once removing himself away from you, he enters the walk in shower and turns on the faucet, allowing the hot water to slide down your sweaty bodies. but you barely payed attention to the steaming waters felt cascading down your form, entirely focused on sylus as he seemed to deepen the kiss. your lips were locked in a battle for dominance with the leader of onychinus, letting out a gasp when sylus manages to slam your back against the slick, shower walls.

“you’re so naughty.” you whisper breathlessly against his lips, feeling him trailing hot kisses down the side of your neck. he chuckles darkly in response to your statement, gently biting down against your shoulder while saying your name.

“oh, i’ll show you just how naughty i can be.” mischief was seen gleaming in his gaze when he spreads your legs out with the palm of his hand, making you tremble when you saw how the shower made droplets of water appear across his hair. he was already devastating to you out of the shower, yet such a sight of him beneath the spray of water was enough to make you cum right then and there.

while sylus presses his face against your entrance, your hands automatically delve themselves into his hair. much like how you did with his cock in your mouth, sylus indulges himself on the sheer taste of you. his tongue traces over your labia, collecting the arousal that coats your pussy lips with a groan. as his hot mouth was felt exploring your slick heat, you knew that sylus was going to take you to heaven.

your grip on his hair tightens when sylus introduces a finger into your aching cunt, making some scissoring motions as he sought to drink up all you had to offer. your moans echo throughout the shower stall, feeling the onslaught of his tongue and thick fingertips being too much for you. your juices were felt escaping from you in waves, and before your cunt could tighten around sylus’s fingers and the tip of his tongue-

he pulls away from you-

earning a choked sob from you. you were so close to feeling the sweet sensation of your release, only to have it be ripped away from you. tears dot your vision, and you were close to yelling profanities at sylus had he not lifted your leg up, allowing your ankle to brush against his shoulder before his cock swiftly enters you.

the moment his cock was completely sheathed within you, the ache was immediately gone. however, (embarrassingly enough), you became so sensitive that you felt yourself releasing on his cock, spilling yourself on him as sylus winces in response, feeling your walls gripping at him almost painfully.

“fuck.” sylus takes a moment to reorient himself, settling the palm of his hand against the wall while keeping your legs in an upright position with his other hand. once he feels the convulsion of your walls die down, a wolfish grin paints his expression. “aw, what’s this? did my princess already cum? since you’re satisfied, maybe i should stop?”

he was teasing you, already working removing his cock from your core when you began begging at him to stay. “no please…! one time isn’t enough…! n-need you so bad, sy!”

a dark chuckle was heard when sylus decides to drill himself back into you, the squelching sound of your eager pussy swallowing his cock while echoing throughout the shower. he pounds himself into you with a growl, feeling his cock growing within your cunt as his balls kept hitting at your ass. “you’re always s���tight f’me.”

sylus literally continues to fuck you against the shower wall, with his cock reaching the deepest parts of you, parts you didn’t even know even existed. the red hot pleasure you felt seemed to increase by a tenfold, making you lose all of your senses as sylus continued to drill himself into you.

you were vaguely aware of another dark chuckle coming from him, with his thrusts quickening as you struggled to catch your breath. “y’know, this is what you get for being such a damn tease. i saw the way you were lookin’ at me, riding that bike, wishin’ that you were riding me instead.”

your lover’s dark words were enough to make your walls tighten around him, with you letting out a moan as sylus places your leg off of his shoulder and around his waist. “come f’me… come on, princess, come f’me, wet my cock with your sweetness.”

with a hiss of his name, you arch your back against the shower wall, spilling yourself on his cock. he feels the way your warm juices slides down the length of his erection, earning a choked groan from him as he works on pumping himself into you. with one final thrust, sylus stills his hips, releasing his seed directly into you as you swore you felt him filling at your womb.

your breasts were heaving in tune with your uneven breaths, feeling sylus weakly thrusting his hips in and out of your cunt. only when he was certain that he was completely emptied did he finally stop, catching his breath as the crimson quality of his eyes returned to him.

you felt your own, post-fuck clarity begin to kick in, simply basking in the pinpricks of pleasure as you wrapped your legs around his waist and gently grind against him for good measure. sylus ends up scoffing at your movements, wincing when he felt you squeezing at his now limp cock. “tch, what am i going to do with you…? you just love pushing my buttons.”

“heh, so do you, sy.”

he rolls his eyes before wrapping both hands on your ass, ready to pull out of you and finally wash off when you refused to let him go. a handsome smirk paints his expression when he quirks his brow at you once more. you giggle and bite at your bottom lip, giving him an innocent expression when you sweetly ask, “since we’ve already made such a mess, why don’t we enjoy ourselves and have some more rounds?”

the fire seen within sylus’s gaze and the way he was felt hardening inside of you was all the confirmation that you needed, feeling him use his strength to bounce you up and down his cock as he shakes his head,

“you’re lucky you have me wrapped so damn tightly around your fingers, sweetheart. because i can never deny you of your wants and needs.”

a.n. - the chokehold sylus has me in ever since i unlocked his workout quality time 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[witchy-scribblings]

running late

kamo choso x reader

synopsis ➳ the plan had always been donning your best mini dress and enjoying a well-deserved night out with your girls… or had it?

warnings ➳ afab reader with fem pronouns, fwb choso, kind of free use, but everything is consensual, dirty talk, possessiveness, dom choso (like, i love love love subby choso but my demons won), there is literally zero plot in this, lowercase, mdni!

wordcount ➳ 1.7k

[crossposted on ao3]

“fucki’mrunninglate!”

choso looked up from his phone to watch you rush into your bedroom - hair dripping and towel only barely secured around your body - and couldn’t contain the amused smile at the myriad of curses that followed your every frantic movement.

“then you should have started getting ready sooner,” he answered out loud from his comfortable place in the living room of your apartment, snickering quietly when you groaned in response.

“no shit, sherlock.” your voice may have come to him muffled, but choso could perfectly hear every ounce of sarcasm laced in it. still, he knew that you knew that he was right, that you did have a procrastination issue going on, not that it was going to stop him from teasing you at any harmless opportunity. after all, you weren’t running late to anything more important than a girls’ night out, so a little banter wasn’t out of place, really. “any other helpful observations?”

choso forwent his instagram feed once more, turning his head back at you with the beginning of a shit-eating grin that froze on his lips the second he noticed what you had changed - impressively fast - into.

“you look hot in that dress,” he hummed, perpetually tired eyes following you as you hastily flung your high heels in the general direction of the doorway and ducked back inside the bathroom. the couch squeaked when he got up and tossed his phone on the coffee table.

the remaining hot steam hit him in the face when he stepped into the bathroom, right after you, but there you were already bending closer to the foggy mirror and pinching your trusty eyeliner pen between your fingers; standing from the doorway he had an unrestricted view of the way your already dangerously short dress rode up just enough to offer him a glimpse of your round ass.

the bathroom was small, and so two steps was all it took for him to stand right behind you.

“choso-”

“really hot in that dress,” he repeated, ignoring the warning in your voice. he grabbed your hips like handles, and pushed your ass back against the crotch of his sweatpants.

“choso, my uber will be here in fifteen, i absolutely have no time for this right now,” you grumbled unconvincingly, chastising yourself for shivering when his big hands slid under the tight material on your dress and started toying with the skin on your hipbones.

“and who brought this upon herself, hm?” whether he was talking about your time predicament or his hardening boner, you weren’t entirely certain, and you could only scoff in protest. his right hand started to inch towards the front of your panties, teasingly ticking your covered mound. “don’t you worry baby, i’ll be quick-,” he bit on your earlobe, delighting in the smell of your shampoo, “-you know i always am.”

you had half a mind to turn that statement against him, but his fingers against your damp slit succeeded in making your voice and your legs tremble. choso wedged his knee between your legs, forcing them further apart while his big hand covered the entirety of your pussy through your panties, stroking his middle finger in a steady rhythm. it’s not lost on you how he starts to grind his erection against your ass, free hand gripping the edge of the counter and effectively caging you against him.

“come on baby,” he husks, and through droopy eyes you make out the sneer facing you on the mirror. “weren’t you in a rush? that eyeliner isn’t going to do itself.”

scowling, you decide that the slow pace he has set up is not distracting enough, and bring the uncapped pen back to your eye, fully convinced that you could make it in time and bag in an extra orgasm… until choso slid one finger under your panties and dipped it into your hole the very second you pressed the wet tip to the corner of your eye.

“ah!” you yelped, glaring at the inky splotch and, straight after, at the fucker pressing that very finger further into you.

“oopsie.”

“fuck off.” that came off more whiny than you’d have liked, and choso reveled in the noticeable arch of your back.

“c’mon, you can still fix it. should be around ten minutes left, remember?”

and fix it you tried, shakily, enduring every stroke and every pump of choso’s calloused fingers against and into your tender cunt. as his movements grew slicker, so did your moans grow louder, and at this point you were multitasking between perfecting the edge of your liner and edging yourself on his hand. just as you were struggling to unscrew the tube of mascara you felt the familiar clenching against his fingers, and so did he.

“aw, is my pretty girl going to come soon? gonna cum like the good little slut she is?” his voice cut through the lewd squelching of his fingers working you towards climax, and then you came, huffing a series of stuttering breaths while your pussy squeezed around his fingers and drooled on his knuckles. choso hummed, satisfied as he watched you slump fully onto the counter, holding onto the unused mascara tube like a lifeline. “see? i knew you could do it, and with five minutes left to go.”

somewhere in the back of your post-orgasmic mind you whined that you didn’t have time to do your hair, but it became an unimportant notion when choso suddenly yanked down your ruined panties until they were stretched to their limit around your quivering knees.

“choso-!”

“too bad i haven’t fucked this pussy yet.”

your whine of (unconvincing) protest was cut off by the sting of his palm on your bare asscheek, which he immediately rubbed in soothing circles. his free hand toyed with the waistband of his sweats and boxers, tugging both items down to his thighs until his leaking cock pressed against your exposed slit.

“fuck, you thought you could put on this tiny dress and go on your merry fucking way?” he growled, and you cooed at the wet ‘plap, plap, plap’ of his dick smacking your swollen lips. “who were you hoping to seduce, huh? wanted to tease some other fucker with your whole ass out?”

“s-so what if i did?” you stuttered with no bite nor bark, yet still needing to feign some sort of self-assurance despite feeling your whole body jerk when he teased the fat head inside your pussy.

“if you did, you’re a bigger whore than i thought,” and with a hand on your hip to keep you steady, choso plunged into your awaiting hole, grunting as your walls immediately molded to the shape of his every vein. “but nah, i think i know what you were trying to do…”

his free hand moved back to your clit and started rubbing tight circles on it, and you would have escaped his touch hadn’t he been pining you in place.

“you wanted to see if i’d care that you went out looking like a slut. my pretty princess wanted to see if i would get jealous? possessive?” he snarled, and you moaned as he finally started moving, snapping his hips back and forth and filling you up until there was no more space to take up. “you wanted me to mark you as mine and that’s what you’re fucking getting. no complaints. just. fucking. take it.”

and take it you did, gripping the sink with trembling hands and looking at the messy slut in the mirror, with her bitten lips wide open against every moan and her eyes rolling back.

“f-fuck, i love seeing your fucked out expression,” choso panted, never breaking rhythm, not while the hand on the counter crept up your body and found a comfortable spot against your neck. “but i want to see you ruin that eyeliner you worked so hard on.”

and where you thought he intended to apply heady pressure to your throat, his hand worked its way only slightly higher, until the tips of his fingers were rubbing and smearing spit all over your lips; until his palm was cupping your jaw, and his long thumb was firmly pressed against the back of your tongue.

you gagged on his finger and felt the first prick of tears well up on your lashes, just as you felt yourself clench on his cock. the initial overstimulation had quickly worn into building pressure, and with his forefinger working your clit and the head of his cock abusing every sweet spot, you knew your second orgasm was fast approaching.

“that’s it, show me how you cry for my cock, princess. show me how pretty you look when i mess you up.” he started to sound breathless, and you knew he was as close as you were, as desperate to fill you up as you were to be filled by him. “want you to cum on my cock looking a beautiful mess for me, c’mon… please!”

and it was with his thumb on your tongue, with a hoarse cry and with inky tracks across your cheeks that you clenched hard around him, sucking him in deeper and faintly feeling, along with the pulsing of your own cunt, his cock throb as it neared release.

“oh fuck, i’m gonna come. you look so pretty, baby, did so fucking good for me,” he rambled through gritted teeth, giving into the pleasure with sporadic humps against your ass before he finally pressed himself as far as he could go, filling you up with a long moan.

after a few seconds of uncomfortable cuddling against the sink, you grumbled.

“you fucking horndog.” choso smiled against your shoulder.

“you were totally into it.”

that you were. you didn’t complain as he removed himself from against you, from inside you, nor as you felt his fingers push his leaking load back into your sensitive pussy - well, you did whine a little bit. and you definitely didn’t complain when he texted your friends on your behalf that you were going to have to sit this one out after all, nor when he helped you into your comfy loungewear and cuddled you to a sappy movie in the living room.

choso was totally paying off the uber cancellation fee, though.

[bloodbruise]

@jegulus-microfic | april 26: aimless | 1,276 words | trans! regulus

james does regulus' tape binding aftercare <3

James lingers in the doorway, quietly observing Regulus in their softly lit bathroom.

He's perched on the ledge of the bathtub, seemingly lost in thought, his head bowed and fingers idle and aimless where they trace the rim of it. He's shirtless, clad in only boxers and socks. His bare thighs press against the cool porcelain, causing goosebumps to rise there. Soft, late evening light leaks from the window, casting gentle shadows against his frame. 

Outside, the rhythmic passing of cars punctuates the stillness, their headlights casting golden beams that dance across the wet asphalt. The nearby stoplight's red glow mingles with them, creating a surreal mix of colors on the shimmering pavement.

There's a soft rustle of movement as James enters the room behind Regulus, moving to the sink. He sifts through the contents of their vanity, hands passing over their shared face wash and the cup holding their toothbrushes to retrieve the items needed for Regulus' tape aftercare. Deft hands gather oil, washcloths, cotton swabs, and salve before placing them on the bathtub ledge. He approaches Regulus with a tenderness reserved only for moments like these, for him. 

"Ready, love?" James' voice breaks the silence with a mellow murmur. He settles his weight behind him. 

Regulus turns his head, giving a small nod against his own shoulder. "Yeah," he says, voice crackling from disuse. 

James leans in to press a kiss between Regulus' shoulder blades. He lingers there for a moment. This close, he can see the faint dusting of freckles that mark his back. They're spattered across the skin like spray from a wave on sand. Speckles in shades of russet, sepia, and chocolate dance across his pale skin, shifting as Regulus shivers lightly. As James' lips leave his back, the muscles beneath those pretty dots tremble.

James reaches for the oil, uncaps it, and warms it between his hands. He presses both his palms to Regulus, carefully smoothing the oil over the edges of the tape. His touch follows the span of the tape from Regulus' back, under his arms, to the front of his chest. His movements are slow and practiced, designed as much to reassure as to treat. The oil glistens slightly on Regulus' skin, catching the dim light as it begins to soften the adhesive.

As they wait for the tape to loosen, a comfortable silence settles over them, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the city and their own quiet breathing. James doesn't stop his ministrations; his fingers continue to trace gentle paths along Regulus' shoulders, the back of his neck, following the delicate contours of his shoulder blades. These moments are so special to him; he wants Regulus to feel loved through his actions, to experience the same palpable surge of affection with each pass of his hands that James feels. There is so much trust that Reg offers him in these moments—it's intimate. James is the only person Regulus allows to see the most vulnerable parts of himself, and that knowledge alone makes James' heart swell with fondness and love. He has never loved someone as he does Regulus.

Regulus, Regulus, Regulus. 

Sometimes, James thinks Regulus was crafted specifically for him; as if the cosmos themselves conspired to mold him to perfectly complement the contours of James' own body, his own soul. Looking back, it's almost silly to him now—he thought he knew what love was like before him. His heart was already overflowing with it for Sirius, his mum, his dad, his friends. He's always had big emotions, brimming with affection and fierce protectiveness for the people around him. He's always cared deeply and felt profoundly, but nothing could have prepared him for the depth of feeling that Regulus brought into his life.

James knows nothing, nobody else could ever make him feel like this.

He settles his hands on the edges of the tape on Regulus' left side. "Gonna take it off now, okay?"

"Yeah, okay James. Go ahead"

James pulls at the tape gently, easing it from the skin. He's careful not to pull too hard or move too fast, patient as he works. He grabs Regulus' bicep, thumb pressing into the underside, fingers curling over. "Lift your arm up, Reg," he instructs softly.

Regulus raises his arm, holding it aloft as James' hand moves back down to steady the skin being separated from the tape. He can't resist pausing to press a kiss to the underside of his bicep before continuing to peel off the tape there. When he encounters a tough spot, where the tape still clings to his skin, James reaches for more oil. He warms it between his fingers once again before lightly holding the piece back, rubbing it into the seam between Regulus' skin and the tape until it loosens enough for him to continue. He carefully removes the first piece, then works at a second, a third, before repeating the process on Regulus' right side.

There's still a faint trace of leftover adhesive where the edges of the tape once were. So, James takes a cotton swab, dips it in oil, and meticulously traces the outlines left by the pieces. He moves slowly, with deliberate delicacy, mindful of the soreness of his skin.

Once he's satisfied, James fetches the washcloth. He soaks it in warm, soapy water and carefully cleans the area, wiping away excess oil and any lingering traces of the day. Then he reaches for the salve—the last physical part of their routine, though James knows the comfort it brings goes beyond just the skin. Two of his fingers dip into the container, scooping up the soothing balm. James is so careful with him, his fingers so gentle as they spread the salve, taking extra care with the tender skin under his arms and over his ribs. He traces the rungs of them, then the dip of his chest, making sure no skin is left uncared for.

James then grabs what's technically his own shirt—a worn, soft thing that Regulus has claimed as his own, his favorite pajama top—from the ledge of the sink. He helps Regulus slip it over his head, taking advantage of every second he allows him to be so close, to take care of him.

"Feeling okay?" James asks once Regulus is settled.

He trails his hand at the hem of his shirt, slipping it underneath to rest gently on his stomach, careful not to brush the newly cared-for skin or his chest. 

Regulus hums an affirmative, "mhmm." Eyes closing and head tipping back as he nods.

"I'm not just asking about your skin, love," James whispers. It's tough for Regulus sometimes, taking the tape off, sitting with his chest. It's a necessity though, for his well-being, despite the discomfort it brings. And James always does everything within his power to make it easier for him. He knows he can't fix everything, but he'd be damned if he didn't at least try to.

Regulus reaches back, his palm sliding from James' elbow to his hand beneath his shirt, their fingers intertwining at his stomach. Their faces are so close that Regulus' cheek drags against James' as he turns his head, planting a soft kiss on James' cheek. "I do, I feel okay. I promise," he murmurs, giving James a warm smile.

Leaning back into James' frame, Regulus lets his weight settle comfortably against him. "You make it easier," he breathes out, words floating into the space between them. Another kiss, "Thank you. I love you."

James holds him a moment, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, heart swelling just a little bit more. "I love you too."

[lorelune]

of carnage

|| blade x reader || E/18+ || shared toxicity, band au || wc: 8.8k  || ao3 ||

You and Blade are mutually assured destruction. You know this, and yet it does not stop you from chasing after him.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: well hello :3c this fic is part of a trade i did for some LOVELY selfship art with MOST BELOVED @rabbbitseason!! they asked for toxic bladie and reader and i come to DELIVER 🙏 setting and au are heavily inspired by my time in my local music scene and all of the 💀that came with it. i'm glad it can be all get repurposed into blade smut 🫶 THANK YOU!! to bitti for giving me so many fun wants to craft around!! THANK YOU!!! as well to @ofmermaidstories and @2kmps for beta reading!! now, please mind the tags on this one and enjoy <3

CW: dark content, band au, dubcon, pain during sex, bleeding during sex, toxic relationship between blade and reader, angst, hurt/a little comfort, manipulation, gaslighting by blade and the reader @ themselves, face slapping, spanking, spitting, reader smokes cigarettes, reader drinks, self destructive reader, past blade/dan heng, implied unrequited jing yuan/dan heng, kernels of jing yuan/reader

“Are you going to the gig tonight? Fu Xuan asks as if the answer isn’t obvious already.

You crane your neck back to look at her from your roost in front of your full-length mirror. Your knees dig into the carpet and the tips of your fingers are tinged with black. You’ve spent the better part of the last thirty minutes attempting to perfectly smudge the smoky line of eyeliner on your lower lash line. A tube of dark, red lipstick (his color) and sticky gloss rests on the fluffy carpet beside your folded knees.

“Of course.” You can’t make yourself smile, not when your stomach is in knots. “Are you?”

“I should if you are going,” she huffs, leaning against your doorframe. “You need a chaperone.”

(She’s probably right.)

“Please tell me you’re joking.” You grimace and turn away, unable to meet her gaze. She’s too good at reading you. “I’ll be just fine on my own, thank you very much.”

“... He’s playing, isn’t he?”

“I mean, yeah.” You rub more aggressively at the widening smears around your eyes. “But that’s not the only reason.”

“Sure.”

“It’s not, really.” You meet her gaze with a glance in the mirror. It’s hard to keep, her stare intense and full of judgment— (And worry.) “There’s a bunch of good bands tonight. There’s a touring group— all the way from Pier Point.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have no faith in me, do you?” You pout, keeping your voice light, and hoping it comes off as a bit of a jest.

When you finally turn to face Fu Xuan fully, she dips to sit beside you, on her own folded knees. She plucks your soon-to-be-worn lipstick off the ground and uncaps it, just long enough to see the color, before sighing and closing it once more with a pop. 

“Not really, no.” Fu Xuan leans against your side, cheeks puffing out. “Not when it comes to him—”

“You can say his name, you know.” You smear chalky highlighter on your cheeks with your fingertips. “It’s not a slur. He’s just some guy.”

“‘Some guy’,” She groans. “If he’s really just some guy, why don’t we skip the gig tonight and stay home? We can order in some nice food, and I could invite Qingque.”

“... I—”

“You know that going is a bad idea, right?” Fu Xuan sighs. “We’ve gone over this before.”

“I’m aware of that.” You can’t suppress your scowl any longer, turning to face her. “Blade is fine—”

“He treats you like shit.”

“He treats everyone like that.”

“That doesn’t make it better. If anything, that makes it worse. You deserve better.” Fu Xuan sounds genuinely upset. “And you can do better. Easily. With literally anyone else, even if you find them at one of your nasty house shows. Try entertaining the thought?”

“You don’t have to be so—” You turn to her, fist balling up on your knees— “So mean about it.”

“It’s messy.”

“And it’s not your business.”

“It’s not!” Fu Xuan says, exasperated as she rolls her eyes. “I really shouldn’t even be bothering, but you are my friend. And it is painful to watch you chase the tail of a man who will hardly give you the time of day or bare minimum respect. Excuse me for showing concern.”

“Your concern is noted.” As it has been before. “But I’m fine. I wasn’t lying earlier— there’s other groups I want to see tonight. You... don’t have to come along just to babysit. I’ll be alright. I know you hate them.”

“I do.”

Fu Xuan crosses her arms and exhales, something angry and burning. “At least let me drive you. I can pick you up later too. Rather I do than some stranger or him—”

“Blade. His name, Fu Xuan.”

“Blade.”

“God, you do say it like a slur.” You roll your eyes, the pit in your stomach having become larger and darker. You swipe below your eyes and thank an Aeon or two that your eyeliner is waterproof. 

...

The house venue is a bit out of town, in the rural suburbs on a lot that’s big enough to host a crowd and not bother the nearest neighbors. Fields streak by during your journey, humming with junebugs and chirping with late- summer crickets. Low hills roll by as a harvest moon rises, waxing and half-full.

Fu Xuan drops you at the curb and idles as you collect yourself. A crossbody bag carries your essentials (your phone, your sticky lip products, a lighter to go with the pack of cigarettes that you actually don’t smoke, and two condoms shoved against the bottom). You fiddle with the strap against your shoulder.

“Call me when you need me to pick you up, okay?” Fu Xuan taps the steering wheel. “I’ll be awake.”

“Okay, mom.”

“I mean it—”

“I know.”

“Don’t go home with Blade. Or let him drive you home. He handles a car like he’s trying to kill himself.”

It’s a fair assessment but you still shake your head, trying to seem good-natured despite the rot you feel curling in the back of your throat. Bile, rising, before you have a drop of liquor in you. It’s a little pathetic; you’ll really think so in retrospect. For now, you walk toward the venue itching for a drink in your hand or familiar company. Thundering bass and ripping guitar vibrate from the basement windows, shaking the ground beneath your feet.

A crowd clusters at the back of the house. Folks swap cigarettes and clutch cans of cheap beer and flasks decorated with stickers. You quickly survey, looking for, searching for him—

(He’s usually out here before his set, hiding away somewhere with Kafka sharing cigarettes and glaring at anyone dumb enough to make a pass at her.)

A hand grabs you by the shoulder, and you nearly jump out of your skin. “Oh my gosh, you’re here! I didn’t know you’d be coming to the gig!”

It’s March, you know. She is easy to identify with the sweet, candy-like perfume she wears and the slight press of her almond-shaped gel manicure into your shoulder.  March turns you abruptly, throwing her arms around your shoulders and squeezing. Too tightly, knocking the air out of you in an instant. You give her a tentative hug back and pull away quickly. The contact scalds you.

“Have you seen—?”

“Blade?” March pouts and tilts her head. “You know, I feel like you only come to these things to see that guy. He’s nothing special. And I have seen him. He was off sulking a while ago, by the sheds in the back of the lot.”

“... I’ll have to check. Thanks, March.”

She sighs as you walk away from her, before calling out to Stelle (who is always a step or two behind her anyways.) 

You feel— bad about how you treat them. They’re both good people. So is the third in their trio, Dan Heng, a man with a beautiful face and an eerily calm demeanor, especially when compared to his companions. The group of them was introduced to you back when you first started attending these shows, hanging around the scene, and sweating in the basement of mildew-filled houses. They were some of your first friends, and easy to mesh with when you gave yourself the time and space to. Stelle always had a flask with lukewarm vodka or tequila, and March kept a case of seltzers in her trunk. Dan Heng was the ever-reliable sober cab. 

(It was nice back then. Before you had become so entangled with Blade and the subsequent social politics that came with chasing and occasionally fucking the hot, albeit emotionally-unavailable bassist of HUNTERS. It was far easier to hold those friendships than to orbit around a man who you can never tell if he hates you or wants to fuck you in his back seat.)

You find Blade tucked away around the side of the house, cloaked in shadow while taking long drags of a cigarette. The cherry glows in the dim light. From the basement window peeking out from the ground, a red glow pours out, illuminating the well-worn combat boots he wears. They’re crusted in filth, falling apart at the toe. 

(You’d still lick them if he asked you to. Hump them if he asked you twice.)

Another figure stands across from him. Serene, arms crossed, with storm eyes visible even in the poor lighting. Dan Heng keeps a perfectly neutral expression as he speaks, hushed, to Blade who wears a scowl so perfectly that it looks like he’s carved of immovable stone rather than not flesh. 

You’re not quite within earshot. You can’t make out their words, only their tone. It’s an angry exchange, one that’s charged with heat lighting and ire. Blade spits something at Dan Heng, venomous in his tone like he so easily is. Dan Heng replies back something so cooly that it’s like a low-tide wave lapping at your feet.

If you were better, you would turn around and leave. Neither of them know that you’re here, so close. It’s invasive to listen, but you know that there’s... history between Blade and Dan Heng. You’ve always wondered what it is, and considering that Blade has the emotional availability of a rotting vegetable, you won’t be getting those details out of him.

Maybe witnessing their dynamic (yet again) could provide you some clarity—?

(And maybe, if you know why Blade was so, so hurt by Dan Heng, you can do better. You can be the exact thing that Blade wants, and then he will want you, just as much as you want him.)

You listen more keenly:

“I’ve asked you to stop booking shows where the Express is already playing.”

“And I’ve asked you to get off my dick and stop being such a priss, but it doesn’t look like you’ll ever do that.”

“I’m asking you to be reasonable.”

“Sure, because clearly asking me to not play prime gigs is ‘reasonable’. Not to mention you should be taking this up with Kafka or Elio, not me. Did you just want an excuse to talk, Imbibitor Lunae—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What, have something else you’d prefer to be called? I remember plenty of things you liked hearing. Want me to name a few?”

“Hold your tongue—”

A stick cracks behind you and you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Bladie~” Kafka purrs behind you, hands sliding up over your shoulders, hot breath over the back of your neck. “We’re on soon. Soundcheck in five, Firefly has a vodka shot for you if you want.”

You’re frozen.

Blade grunts from around the house, and as he does, Dan Heng emerges from the shadows quickly, on hastened feet, and nearly stumbles when you see him. Your expression must be— fucking stupid. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed as Kafka runs her nails up and down your neck. 

As Dan Heng practically sprints off, Kafka croons quietly into your ear, “And what are you doing all the way back here? Looking for Bladie again?”

You don’t need to speak for her to know your answer. Blade’s steps thud against the ground over the short, dry grass. 

Part of you knows you should scramble away and pretend you weren’t just lurking like a stray dog begging for kitchen scraps. It’s humiliating to be caught by Kafka (yet again), doing the same shit on a different day. Another part of you, one which is much louder, more persuasive, and saccharine sweet, urges you to face Blade. If you get caught in his maw, good. 

Your hands shake as Blade emerges from the dark.

He looks like death. Ghostly pale skin with deep purple eyebags, like bruises. His eyes are cut carnelian, ethereal and volcanic against his parlor. A cigarette hangs between his plump lips, threatening to burn and melt the pieces of his fringe that hang around his cheeks. Long, wild black hair, tipped in faded crimson, falls down his back in frizzy waves. His arms bulge obscenely in the tight, black shirt he wears. A carved jade pendant hangs off of his belt.

Blade stares you down and his scowl deepens, turning even more sour. He mutters something under his breath, something unintelligible but cruel. It’s not the first time he’s spoken to you that way. He’s done so more loudly and more brutally. 

You—

(Hate it. You love it. Well, maybe not love, but you crave the way that Blade is awful to you. You’re horrible.)

“Better get inside now,” Kafka hands drift to your waist, tugging on the belt loop of your pants. You let out a little yip. “I’m sure the front row is filling up fast. No need to spy on Bladie if you get a prime spot during the actual set, hm?”

She’s right; she usually is.

Kafka leaves you with an elegant twirl, humming one of HUNTERS songs from their new EP under her breath. You know the tune. You’ve been playing it on repeat for the last two months. 

It’s easy to follow the jarring trills of soundcheck as you float inside the home, following the trail of people headed toward the basement. Descending down the rickety, railingless stairs into thick, humid air that reeks of sweat, beer, and fledging mold. Down, down, down you go— maybe to hell, where you perhaps belong.

...

Moon Drinker by HUNTERS

You taught me that the high moon 

Was our lovers’ sigil

How quickly did you throw away our runes

How empty is your cup

Moon Drinker

That you would break mine too

...

The gig is decent. That’s how these shows tend to be and you enjoy them just enough to tolerate the stench and humidity of grungy basements like this one. 

Three bands play, IP3, the Express, and HUNTERS. The interest you expressed to Fu Xuan about Pier Point’s IP3 was a lie, but they’re not bad. The frontman, a blond with eyes like inverted crystals, has a sultry edge to his voice that verges on sexual. It’s a cleaner sound that rips into something dirtier, filthier, as their set goes on. 

The Express follows IP3. You’ve seen them more times than you can count, but the trio is still nice to listen to, even now. March always plays with the crowd in between her harmonies in a way that riles folks up just enough without causing abject chaos. The band plays a new song you don’t know, one that is angry and loud and so unlike their normal sound. Dan Heng is on vocals, rather than solely on guitar, and you’re reminded of how mournful and melodic his voice can be. The exact words of the piece get eaten by the cement foundation of the basement, but you imagine that it’s an elegy.

HUNTERS is last on.

They usually are, as their music is the loudest and gnarliest, and they’re typically the most well-known (even if they have a shit reputation and their crowds leave trashed venues in their wake). You feel— insane when they start playing. You know all of their songs, even if you don’t really like their music. Kafka’s voice is hypnotic in a way that’s disarming, even on a recording. Silver Wolf is too good of a drummer for the caliber of band that they are, and Firefly shreds easily on guitar, trained on strings since childhood, but using her talents in a grunge band rather than on a world stage.

Blade’s bass playing is messy. Though his tempo is sure and unwavering, the actual rhythm drags and punches in intervals that verge on unnerving. You have never been able to place if this is due to whatever rage and poison he carries into music making, or if his fingers are as arthritic as Kafka jokes that they are. 

It doesn’t really matter, in the end. The sound blends together in a cacophony that sounds like the way bursted flesh looks. If you could taste the way their newest EP sounded, it would be the iron tang of blood and the acrid burn of bile. 

You��re fucked for it— for Blade. You’ve been since you first became tangled in this web.

A pit opens in the middle of the crowd, small at first, but rapidly widening, with more and more people throwing themselves into it. They bounce around and bash against the individuals at the sides of the pit, only to be shoved back in a moment later. 

You try to stay away from it. Instead, you watch Blade like a fucking pervert.

The basement has gotten hot. Steamy, if you look hard enough at the air that barely circulates against the low, pipe-ridden ceiling. Blade has thrown his hair up in a high ponytail, wisps of hair still cling to his neck and temples, sweat visibly rolling down his neck. His shirt sticks to his toned chest as the overclocked speakers try to keep up with the HUNTERS most recently released song— ‘MOON DRINKER’.

Blade doesn’t look at you. Not once.

His eyes are fixed elsewhere, deeper in the crowd, beyond the bodies in the pit and those who hang at the outskirts by the house’s ancient boiler. Blade’s attention is fixed on— something (someone. You can assume who.) Not once does his gaze drift down his instrument, and never does he acknowledge the way you stand in the front row, so close, with your attention squarely on him.

(This is normal. So normal, it’s painful.)

The pit expands even further, widening as more gig-goers jump into mosh as one song bleeds into the next. You almost get swirled in yourself as a stranger slams into your side with enough force to nearly knock you to the ground. 

A broad, warm hand catches you by your bicep, hoisting you up before you even have a chance to fall. 

“Be careful now,” It’s Jing Yuan (who is much too powerful and rich to be at a basement show, but yearning pushes you both to do stupid, nonsensical things) who speaks directly into your ear, so you can hear him even as your ears ring muffled. “Are you alright?”

You turn to nod at him, flashing him a thumbs up and nervous smile. The cologne he wears permeates the space around you, overpowering the sweat and mildew with ease. He gives you an easy smile and a squeeze, before letting you. He sidesteps your frame to be closer to the pit, crossing his arms over his chest and shielding you from the worst of the throng. 

You’re grateful for the cover; it would be embarrassing to topple over right in front of Blade.

It takes you a moment to recenter yourself, lost in Jing Yuan’s scent and the roar of Firefly’s final, aching guitar riffs. You look back to HUNTERS once more as they finish out their set in a loud, carnal flourish. The expensive speakers they’ve dragged with them are going to fucking blow out—

Blade is staring at you.

Not into the crowd, toward the placid face and cold heart that so clearly plague him, not to his bandmates or instrument, but looking at you.

In the red-lit basement, his eyes nearly glow, unnatural in their anger as they always are. It seemed more concentrated, feral and crystallized in its intensity. Rage. You want to cower under it while your insides feel hot and frigid all at once. He pierces so easily, so thoughtlessly. As the crowd erupts into cheers and shouts as the set ends, you cannot move. Staked in place. 

Not once does Blade look away from you, and his mouth does not deviate from the twisted frown he wears.

... 

Swordmaker by HUNTERS

If I were forged alongside you, 

Do you think I would forgive you then?

If iron was your skin,

Steel your lungs

and lead your heart,

You would be easier to hold.

Empty are memories

Full is the garden

And bloody is the blade.

…

You should be better than this.

Blade slams you up against the back of the shed, the motion jarring and far too fast to be pleasant. Your head knocks painfully against the wood and peeling paint, and despite how you whimper with the impact, Blade doesn’t react. He doesn’t seem to care. 

(You know he doesn’t.)

He hikes your leg up over his hip and grinds against your core through your pants. The motion is rough, clumsy and far too harsh to be pleasurable. The dry friction through your panties makes you squirm and dig your nails into his shoulders. Blade grunts in your ear. You think he likes the pain.

The gig was only let out half an hour ago, and plenty of people are still milling around. Whispers are circulating about if and where there will be an afterparty. You weren’t paying much attention to them— they’re easy to ignore— especially when Blade had been dragging you by the wrist just far enough away from the main house to fuck without being overtly noticeable. 

(Barely, though. Blade can be loud and you can be loud when you’re with him. You’re tempting fate to be caught, seen with him in this way. It’s an open secret that you’re the scraps that Blade entertains himself with, but you would rather not be caught with your literal pants down.)

Blade smells like cigarettes and sweat. The scent of unclean smoke tangles in his unruly hair as you get a grip on it and tug. The juncture of his neck has the faintest hint of some cologne you’re sure he doesn’t know the name of and stale sweat. You press your lips there and dare to drag your tongue across his skin and taste him. It’s not a good taste, not necessarily, but you love it. Salty and filthy. (It’s disgusting, but familiar and morosely comforting.) You are drunk on it and it makes you feel pathetic at the same time.

A growl sounds in your ear as Blade pins you with his weight to the shed. Dragging you back from his neck, he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him fully. 

“Don’t leave marks.” He paralyzes you with his stare and sneer. 

“I’d never.” You try to sound earnest, even if it’s a lie. Because you would— you’d bite and tear at his neck (like he does at yours) until the skin there is black and blue. Happily, you would leave hickies above his collar. Split his lip and bite his jaw hard enough to bleed. You could wear his blood on your teeth and smile for once at these fucking gigs.

Instead, you do not bite him. You just let Blade maul you as he desires.

He grinds against your core. The pressure is unpleasant at this point, too much and too little all at the same time. When you whimper now, he just ignores you and slips his hands under your shirt. He grabs your waist in both hands and squeezes.

“Turn around,” says Blade, already twisting you himself, so your front is pressed against the shed.

“H-Here?” You laugh nervously. Despite your... reputation, something cold, unwelcome and uncomfortable settles in you. “C-Can’t we go to your car? Or inside?”

“Maybe later.”

(It’s awful. It’s sick, the way your heart flutters at the implications of ‘later’. ‘Later’ means more of him. More of Blade’s time, his touch, his hardly-there care. More scraps for you to gorge yourself on, more time to beg for more. It’s sick. It’s sick how fucked you are for him.)

Blade reaches around your front to undo the button at the top of your trousers. In a swift motion, he has them around your thighs. Just enough that he can bend you over and access your cunt with some amount of ease. He keeps your panties on at first (he usually does this. You’re never sure why. You can delude yourself into thinking it’s him taking his time with you, but you know that that is a lie). 

Blade places one of his hands on the back of your neck to flatten you against the shed, while the other must be unbuttoning his own pants to get his cock out, based on the jingling of metal and shred of a zipper. You swallow, your mouth dry. You’re dry, but you know that if you try to touch yourself to prep at this point, Blade will only be meaner.

The most he does is run two fingers over your slit, over your panties. It’s barely enough contact on your clit to be felt, but you gasp and shudder anyway. Canting your hips back, you try to encourage more contact. Anything he’ll give you.

He sighs behind you. Disappointed. Aggravated. It makes you want to cry.

Blade peels down your panties. The cold air shocks you, your core tightening up, but you hardly have time to adjust to the temperature before Blade’s equally cold hands fully part your folds. He sighs again, pulling away only to spit on his fingers, and smear his saliva around your hole. It feels dirty. You feel dirty.

When Blade pulls away, you whine at the loss of contact (at how cold it is, at how the crowd milling around smoking cigarettes and cheap weed is just on the other side of this dilapidated shed crows and laughs into the night). You swear you can recognize March’s giggle above the din of conversation.

You’re brought back to your entanglement with a harsh slap to your ass. Harsh and audible. The sound that escapes your lips is choked and high. 

“Don’t get distracted,” Blade huffs. He spits again, presumably on his dick. 

You nod, latching onto the pain radiating from slap to your ass. As if sensing it, Blade lays down another strike. This one is hotter, harder. He isn’t holding back. It is sure to bruise the tender flesh there. A mark. Something that will tangibly ache, something leftover from your tryst.

You could cry.

The velvety head of Blade’s cock nudges your folds. He brackets you into the wall, arms on either side of you. Heat radiates off his chest and sinks into your spine.

“‘Feels good?” He asks, voice hoarse as he coats himself in your meager slick.

“Y-yeah,” you lie. It’s not enough to feel good. You don’t care.

Blade seems content enough with your answer as he bears down on you. Flattening you to the dirt-covered shed, he hitches his hip down, then up, trying to fit the tip of his cock into your hole. He maneuvers your hips as he pleases, grunting when the tip of him catches on your cunt. When you dare to whine, even the smallest sound, he cracks his hand down on your ass again. Your vision speckles into darkness with the shot of pain and—

(The roar of anxiety and subsequent shame when you realize how much quieter the milling crowd nearby has become.)

“Hold still.” Blade's voice has sunk low, gravely with the cigarettes he’s been smoking all evening. 

The next time his cock touches your opening, he presses in without hesitation.

It’s—

It’s too fucking much.

It is, it always is, every single fucking time he fucks you. Any prep he gives you is perfunctory. Blade will never lavish you with attention, not in the way that you probably need. That you—

(Might even deserve.)

No, the most that Blade will do is fuck you filthy behind a shed, near some of his more well-adjusted peers and probably come inside of you. On past occasions, he has let you suck him off in the backseat of his car. He’s only accidentally (‘accidentally’) came on your face a few times. Less than ten, more than five. Once, he ate you out for a few minutes, but you swear to god he was groaning someone else’s name as he did.

(You’re fucking pathetic.)

This is always too much. Blade is too big. Too big, even if you were stretched and primed with a few fingers like would be right and proper. As tight and dry as you are, it’s painful. He has to grind into your cunt with rolling little thrust so he can fit himself in at all. Each one shocks a breath out of you, a shattering, fragile sound. 

When Blade bottoms out, he lays flat over your back. The weight of him is suffocating. His corded muscle is all dead weight above you as his cock twitches inside you. You can’t tell if he’s idling to allow you some time to adjust, or purely for his own leisure. You can’t be sure. You don’t want to ask him either.

“You’re tight.” Blade’s voice threatens to break.

(Of course you are. He’s the only person you will let fuck you, and these trysts only occur every few weeks, when there’s a show that you can be cornered at.)

He bucks into you, deeper still. The head of his cock is touching parts of you that shouldn’t be touched.

You whimper, “Blade—”

He growls in response. It’s a raspy and low tone that makes arousal burn in your gut and leak down your thighs. (You hope so anyway— it’s more wet and you don’t think it hurts enough that you’re bleeding.) Blade fucks you in earnest, then. There’s no delay, no waiting, no potential for momentary, perceived niceties. He pulls out of you almost completely, then thrusts back into you in one single motion. The friction burns and your vision wavers. 

(You still moan like a whore.)

You feel— dirty. Disgusting. Pathetic as he fucks you like. You don’t feel like a person as he fucks you; you never do. How could you? The grip he uses on your hips is too bruising and the force and strength he’s using to brutalize your cunt is just too much. He fucks you like he’s taking anger out on a piece of drywall. Blade shares physically with you in the way a dog shreds a chew toy to bits, then leaves it on the ground to fester.

Blade grunts next to your ear, nipping there.

He doesn’t kiss you— well, not often. He can’t with your current position. You wouldn’t expect him to anyway. Sometimes he leaves a ring of dark hickies across your neck, like a collar. You like those, but he always waits an extra long time to see you after he marks you like that.

(You presume to make sure that the bruises have fully yellowed, then faded. A clean canvas.)

Blade’s pace increases, just before he pulls out. His cock rests on the cleft of your ass and he tips his forehead to rest on the shed, just beside yours.

“You’re still dry.”

“Sorry—”

He cuts you off. “It’s fine.”

...

It apparently isn’t fine. 

Blade drags you toward the house. He barks at someone, then Kafka, to find a room. You feel dazed as he does. Out of your body, as you receive a number of knowing and unknowing stares from the lingering show-goers who cluster around a firepit. 

(How many of them heard you just now? How many know the exact sounds you make when in barely-there pleasure? In certainly-there pain? How many of them know the sound of Blade’s too-big cock slapping into your too-dry cunt?)

It makes you feel sick to think about.

A room must be found for the two of you, as Blade drags you up the stairs of the back porch. 

As he does, he hesitates.

(He has so rarely done this.)

His gaze is not on you; it pierces elsewhere in the dark. A floodlight off the back of the house illuminates a section of the yard, and just beyond its reach, nestled somewhere between the dark and light, he fixates. His jaw sets and locks. 

There are figures, you realize.

They’re easy to identify once you actually focus. One is lithe and short-haired, the other broad-shouldered and long-haired.  Dan Heng and Jing Yuan. Speaking on the outskirts. It feels private. Their attention turns from their hushed conversation to the two of you as Blade stares daggers and swords into them. As if he could pierce them with nothing more than his silent rage and angry eyes. 

You freeze.

Their expressions are obscured in the lowlight, but you can almost feel the looks they give you. Like a sickly mucus that gets stuck to you and rolls down your flesh in slow, cold globs. 

Dan Heng (once so dear to you, still probably dear to you—) looks guarded, thought darkened. Contempt twists his expression, anger following just after. You’d ever wager that he’s disgusted, maybe. Probably with you, because he knows you’re better than this. Beside him, Jing Yuan wears an expression of careful passivity, of geniality, as he always does, but it’s tinged with something sad and old. For all parties involved in this silent, momentary exchange.

Jing Yuan regards you directly, slowly blinking at you, as though he was a large house cat intent on making you feel safe, and not a presence that only drives the bubbling anxiety in you higher. 

It’s a seconds-long encounter that stretches for an eternity. You cannot make yourself move. You cannot feel anything other than rotten and small.

Blade lets out a harsh exhale and yanks you away. The scene breaks and you’re dragged inside. He whispers under his breath, vitriol-tinging his tone. Your panties feel sticky and wet as you walk.

Kafka had found a room for you, on the second floor of the house. God knows whose it actually is. You don’t get a good look at the room as Blade pushes you inside.. It’s dim, the only light is licking in from the dirty window, an afterburn from the raging bonfire outside. You hear muffled voices still, leaking in like a draft. 

Blade locks the door and pushes you onto the unmade bed.

It’s a cheap mattress with flannel sheets. It smells like old weed smoke and cheap incense. Fu Xuan would tell you that you deserve better than this. You think you might.

Blade climbs on top of you, jaw still locked, and eyes far away.

(You do wonder what happened between him and Dan Heng. Something did. Something gutting and heartbreaking— you hear it when Blade sings. A betrayal, an intangible knife cut but still so painful. Dan Heng has always spoken about Blade with a type of protective neutrality. He warned you to never get involved with Blade. To stay away, to not get on Blade’s bad side, and if something did entangle you with him, Dan Heng could sort it out. He has always cared so fiercely for those he loves; it’s a shame that you have squandered it.)

(Blade is a sentimentalist. Blade is so held in the past that it chokes him. It always has, during every moment you’ve shared with him. He lingers in the bloody past, he holds it in his hands with a grip that’s meant to snap bird wings and flay flesh. He hates Dan Heng. He still loves him, though. You see it on his face sometimes. You hear it in Blade’s music. The ache, the death, the unending grief and mourning and rage that the man simply won’t let go of.)

(It is obsession.)

It shouldn’t make you bitter to think about. Yet, it does. It’s not your place to hold those types of feelings, let alone express them. For so many reasons, Blade will never see you as anything more than a cheap fuck. You think Dan Heng is the primary one. Over time, you’ve grown bitter. Resentful. 

Blade pulls off your shirt in one swift move. He’s slower than he usually is. More deliberate. His hands are shaking, like how they do just after he finishes a set. It’s… off—

You hate it. You hate that the lingering pain of someone else will effect Blade more than you ever, ever could in the present.

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug. His breath catches as you do.

”What the fuck is your deal?” You sneer at him. There’s a cruel edge in your voice that does not sound like you. Blade brings out the worst in you, and you fall prey to it, so easily. 

Blade glances up at you, eyes sharp like cut gems. He says nothing.

”You and Dan Heng,” you laugh. You don’t mean to— you don’t, you don’t— and you yank Blade’s hair so he has to look at you better. “It’s pathetic, you know. How you look at him like a kicked fucking dog. What happened between the two of you, anyways?”

Blade freezes. So do you.

You’ve misstepped so brutally. So stupidly and tragically and idiotically. You’ve pushed too hard for what—?

Blade is on his haunches in an instance and he slaps you across the face.

Your head follows the force of the impact, forcing your face to the side. Your cheek smarts. It wasn’t— that hard. Blade is strong. He could do worse. Still, it shocks you. The pain is enough to make you gasp and reel.

”What the fuck—“

”Don’t,” Blade grabs your jaw, “open your mouth about things you know nothing about. You should know better.”

You should. You do.

”I could know more, if you ever told me, I don’t know— anything?” You laugh in his face, manic behind your eyes. You’re crushing the delicate nature of your cheap arrangement like how a child would crush a flighty butterfly’s papery wings. 

Blade shakes his head, smothering a laugh. He wrangles you forward, half-off risen from the bed, and parts your lips with his thumb. Before you can react, bite, claw— he is raising himself higher than you, dwarfing you in height, and spitting down into your mouth, onto your tongue.

”You don’t know when to shut up, do you?” He pats the side of your face, over the cheek that he struck. It burns. In another world, this touch would be tender. Here, you can only wince. 

Before you can reply, continue to run your mouth and rile him up further, Blade kisses you.

It shocks you, stuns you. 

He— he hasn’t ever kissed you before. It’s never been an explicit boundary, but never once during these trysts has Blade ever initiated this type of contact. It has felt dangerous to do so yourself. Something that’s too intimate, too personal to share. The core of your entanglement is the way he uses you. It’s impersonal. 

A kiss, you think, implies something more tender.

You gasp into his lips, and he takes the opportunity to all but violate the inside of your mouth. His tongue plunders inside, licking at his own spit that you have yet to swallow. A noise chokes off in the back of your throat. Something desperate and shocked that you hardly recognize. It’s filthy. He nips at your lips and pushes you back down.

Blade devours you. 

It’s too much, really. It’s a gesture of tenderness that has been so thoroughly mutilated, calling it a kiss feels paltry. The way his lips are on your own is much more like an argument and a subsequent conquest. One in which you lose ground. He nips at your lower lip, snags it between his teeth, and tugs it as he pulls away.

You pant, the sound of your own breath roars in your own ears. Your hands are still buried in his hair, grip unyielding, anchoring you.

Blade smiles, something poisonous and satisfied. You are too drunk on the singular kiss he gives you to care that much.

“That’s all it takes, is it?” He laughs, the sound dark and rolling, like the sound of an earthquake cracking the earth. 

He already knows you’ll beg for scraps. God forbid he gives you even a morsel more. 

The bed squeaks as he flips you by your hips so you’re laid flat, belly-down on the dirty sheets. Blade spanks your still-clothed ass for good measure before rustling around behind you. Assumedly to disrobe, just enough to fuck you. Assumedly, to ignore the condoms you brought (knowing he would disregard them—). Assumedly, to fuck you with every inch of your life. 

You want it. You want him so badly it physically hurts.

(Or, maybe you tore while he had you behind the shed. Who is to say?)

Blade clamors behind you, shaking, arthritic hands tugging your pants by the waistband. He doesn’t even bother to unzip them this time. Your panties get pulled down along with them, and they get tossed elsewhere in the barely-lit room. Blade spits behind you, and a sound of too-dry stroking follows. 

“D-do you want me to suck you off?” you ask with a hum. You’d let him fuck your face, if he asked. Or, if he wanted. Blade wouldn’t ask.

“No.”

“Just let me know.”

Blade sighs behind you, but you think little of it.

You brace yourself up on your elbows, lowering your upper half to be flat against the bed, and arching your hips as high as they’ll go. It’s as if to make yourself look appetizing. You hope it entices Blade, even a little.

(Please, you need him to want you. You need him to want you so badly. Please, please, please—)

The head of Blade’s cock rubs as your hole, down to your clit, then back up again a few times. He’s so hot, it’s like he is burning you. Contact that scalds. The contact against your clit is... nice. It’s the most warm up he has graced you with in a while. You could crave more, but settle for this. 

“C’mon Blade,” you whine. Your voice sounds airy. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t reply, not with his voice. The rocking of his hips becomes more pronounced, and the slide of him against you becomes slicker. Still too big, too hot, but wet at least. Which is a bonus. Pre and blood are probably leaking onto the shaft at least a little bit too.

It makes it easier once he slides home in a single blow. 

It’s too fucking deep— especially with this angle. The head of his cock presses against your deepest parts, bruises them in a place where no one can see or feel but you. Blade is huge, the girth of him stretches you as his hips rest against your ass.

A wretched noise bubbles up past your lips. Something between a cry and a plea, for more, for less— to go home, to be in a warm, clean bed with someone who actually cares— you aren’t sure. Your desires have been twisted up and wrong for so long, you can’t tell what you really want. 

It makes you feel rotten, and then there’s only one thing you want.

(To hurt.)

Blade fucks you, then. Fully in, fully out of. Long and deep thrusts that carve out your insides in a brutal way. It’s violent. He leans over your back, and braces himself over you. You feel small, stupid, and hurt. A horrible swirl of things that make tears spring up at the corners of your eyes. You bury your face in the crusty pillow you’d manage to snag nearby—

And Blade tugs it away immediately. His big, calloused hand curls to hold your jaw up, so every pitiful whine and whimper you let out can’t be muffled. The bed squeaks as his thrusts slow.

“Don’t hide.”

“I-I won’t.”

“You were.”

“I won’t a-again—”

“You want this, don’t you?” Blade growls in your ears, then moves to the most fragile skin of your neck and bites. 

(You do, you do— god you do. You need this.)

You nod, and Blade keeps biting. His jaw nearly locks. You’re sure that you’ll be bruised for a week.

Blade scoffs and rears back, grabs your hips in both hands for leverage. And he fucks you.

That’s all it can be, really. You can’t get a solid hold on anything. The pillow has been thrown off the bed, and you struggle to find purchase on the sheets. All you do is take it. Pleasure, or something like it, builds in your core and goes nowhere. It simmers but never crests anywhere near orgasm. 

You don’t mind. This is enough.

Blade’s pace increases, never frantic. Never with him. Manic maybe, insane, tortured and damaged, but never frantic. Not with you. His rhythm falters as his cock slides in and out of you, slick beginning to stick to the inside of your thighs. 

His hand comes down on his ass. The other cheek, this time. It’s enough force to bruise again. You’ll have trouble sitting for a week.

As Blade nears his peak, his rhythm stutters. His breath grows harsher and more strained. His grip goes from bruising to breaking. You gasp with the pain, but don’t tell him to stop. His cock brushes against your cervix, and never your sweet spot. 

Blade flattens you to bed, prone, and puts his entire weight on top of you as his orgasm hits him. A strangled cry shatters from his lips into your ear as he fucks you too fast and too hard. A gush of warmth fills your insides, spilling to your outsides when there isn’t enough of you to hold all of him.

The bed frame slams into the wall with his final few thrusts. 

You lay there, in the filth, in the pain and the dissatisfaction of the tryst, and rot.

...

Blade leaves you there, at some point.

Not right away, but eventually. He rolls off you at some point, catches his breath for a while, checks his phone, then rises to right himself.

You cannot make yourself move. The only thing you can make yourself do is take slow, measured breaths. Each ache in your body is punctuated, loud and unignorable now that the fizzling pleasure of sex has dissipated. What’s left of it is this: carnage. 

“You have a ride home?” Blade asks. He must be near the door, based on the sound of his voice.

Fu Xuan’s warning words come to mind, and shame fills your belly. 

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

And he leaves.

You rot for a while longer.

This is not the first encounter that has gone this way. Blade fucks you like this and leaves. There’s no reverie or sweetness. There is using and being used, and the conclusion that always follows is this. Cooling, soon-to-be dry cum leaking out of you in thick droplets and a bite mark on your neck you’ll need to conceal for the next two weeks. Blade will ignore you like he doesn’t know you, next time he sees. But still fucks you like a toy.

It’s awful. It’s all you want.

You force yourself up at some point.

You’re surprised to find that your pants and panties are in a heap on the end of the bed. You are sure that they were tossed farther, but perhaps you misremember. Painstakingly, you rerobe yourself. Moving your legs in such ways hurts so bad, you could cry. You probably did cry while Blade fucked you. 

The quick stop in the squalid bathroom confirms this. Mascara smudges around your eyes and down your cheeks. The sticky gloss you were wearing has been smeared away. Not even a stain of the crimson remains. 

You feel hollow as you walk down the stairs, outside, toward the bonfire and its rapidly dwindling flames. A few folks still millaround, people you recognize, just barely, though no one you could call a friend remains around the pit. Stelle, March, and Dan Heng are long gone, probably. You’d feel too ashamed to look them in the eye anyway.

Someone offers you a warm beer and you take it. Your hands shake.

Hollow and wordless, you move around the backyard like a specter. Part of you wishes you were one, just something mostly formless and shapeless. Transparent. No one could see you make a fool of yourself that way. There would be no witnesses to your desperation and perversion.

You swallow back bile when it rises in your throat, and wash it down with a chug from the can.

You’re surprised to find Jing Yuan idling around the corner of the house. He looks up when you near him, and he greets you with the same genial smile he always wears. He nods to the space next him, already plucking a pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket on his shirt. You take one, and he lights it for you in the next instant.

“It looks like you needed that,” he hums. He doesn't take one for himself, only tucking the carton away and out of sight.

“Maybe.” You want to vomit. Or slide down the wall of the house and rot there. 

He laughs then. It’s too... warm of a sound for how you feel. For how dirty these venues are, and for the company that you have come to hold, it feels dissonant. Jing Yuan is too kind, too patient. 

(He cannot be your friend because your ruin would spread to him, maybe.)

“Take as many as you like,” he urges with a hum, and settles next to you.

Silently, you ruminate. Descend into yourself. You suppose, given the events you’ve seen tonight, that you’re both stewing in something akin to yearning. 

(Jing Yuan is better than you for it. He, at least, doesn’t sleep with his unrequited adored in someone else’s bed after a messy house show.)

“Do you have a way home?” asks Jing Yuan, breaking you from your slow-rolling spiral.

You shake your head. It would be rude to call Fu Xuan so late. You— you hadn’t really thought about a ride. Not yet. 

Jing Yuan looks you up and down and his smile looks sadder, “How about a ride home?”

“Sure.” You nod. 

The ride back home in Jing Yuan’s (too nice, too expensive, too decadent) car is quiet. An album from a band you don’t recognize plays at a low volume. Soothing, soft voices, so juxtaposed from the venue you leave behind. Maybe you just can’t recognize the words because you’re decaying. Your phone lays in your lap, over your aching thighs. 

[no new messages]

(Because Blade never messages you after a fuck. You’re not worth that much to him.)

...

Gingerly, you unlock your front door and enter your little apartment. Fu Xuan lays on the couch, on her back, with her phone against her collarbone. Her mouth is parted in peaceful sleep, though her hair is still done up, all of her pins are still in.

(She waited for you, again. And you failed her, again.)

You don’t know how she puts up with you. Or why either.

Some part of you wants to vomit. Wretch, like it’ll purge the awful, disgusting thoughts warming you. They do not serve you. You should just—

(Know better. You gain nothing from entangling yourself from Blade. The sex is... enough. Because Blade doesn’t know his own strength sometimes and makes it hurt, unintentionally toeing the line between too little and too much. It’s still not worth it. It shouldn’t be worth it. You’d be better off never going to any gigs, ever again. You wouldn’t have to disappoint and embarrass yourself to your old friends then. You wouldn’t have to linger in the yearning of others while never having that affection given to you.)

You collapse atop your bed. Your makeup has been roughly scrubbed off with an old towel, and you can feel the crunchy remnants of mascara clinging around your eyes. You can’t make yourself care. Burying your face in your pillow, you burrow into your blankets. You’ll probably be sore and hungover tomorrow... today? The songbirds are just beginning to chirp their morning arias. It makes you sick to your stomach.

As you begin to doze, your phone vibrates. 

[one new message]

blade: did you get home 

Your mouth feels dry and your chest feels so tight you could die. 

you: yeah. jing yuan drove me. 

[seen: 5:11 AM]

You hold your breath as Blade begins to type. Then stops typing. Then begins again. It goes on for several volleys and you really do think you might puke.

blade: get some sleep

You drop your phone somewhere in your sheets. Giddiness fills your chest, despite the exhaustion and ache and bone-rotting fatigue. Elation causes you to smile, something wide and girlish that you have to hide in your pillow, lest it be beared to the world.

(It’s a scrap. It’s nothing. It’s worse than the bare minimum and the bar is already in hell.)

But, it’s something.

A morsel. Something to clutch onto and hold and cherish.

You want to put his words between your teeth and swallow. 

[ssahotchnerr]

just saw this (https://www.tumblr.com/ssahotchnerr/732194441050374144/the-person-talking-about-their-dream-scenario) and it inspired something in me KATIE listen imagine during a pinning era with aaron and you ask him to hold a small mirror that you carry everywhere in case you need to fix your make up/ redo your lipstick!! while applying your lipstick your lips went 😗 and aaron trying so damn hard to keep it together he's just blushing due to the close proximity between the two of you i want need to kiss him so bad

unreservedly

no i need to kiss him cw; bau!reader, gn! but reader wears makeup, small suggestiveness, mutual pining and fluff <3

"hey," you picked up speed in your pace, weaving past some officers and allowing you to catch up with aaron a bit more quickly. "do me a favor?"

"well, it depends on the favor."

you shot him a playful, exasperated expression. "ha ha. if you don't mind," you held up a small compact mirror in one hand, your usual lip liner and lipstick combination in the other. "someone's in the bathroom, so i gotta go with plan b. and it's an emergency."

your sentence finished in a near whine - by now, aaron understood your sense of humor, and frequently bounced it right back at you - in case he needed any convincing (he didn't).

"sure, of course." with a gentle chuckle, aaron retrieved the mirror from you, opening such and holding it aloft, steady with his index finger and thumb.

"my hero," you teased and released a dramatized breath of relief, a delighted glint in your eyes.

first, you adjusted his hand a smidge - the brief skin to skin contact causing your heart to skip - alternating the position of the mirror as he was much taller than you. once you could perfectly see your small reflection peering back at you, did you uncap the lip liner and fall into immediate, firm concentration, lining the top edge of your lip.

as aaron stood there patiently, a nervousness trickled into him. he internally questioned whether or not you wanted him to, or were expecting, him to look away. would his unwanted attention possibly break your engrossment? or was it just, awkward? you applying your makeup, with him silently standing there. though, it didn't feel awkward - it felt rather comfortable, actually - but he could almost laugh at himself. this felt similarly like high school, running his mind and second guessing his actions.

but regardless of your preference, he couldn't pull his gaze away from you even if he tried.

the close proximity allowed him to admire you, and all your features, to his heart's content unreservedly, with zero holdback. for example, he never noticed the faintest of freckles scattered across the bridge of your nose, completely unknown to the plain eye. it filled him with a silly giddiness, something he would be embarrassed to admit aloud; noticing yet a new part of you, one others probably didn't have the knowledge of.

you secured the cap onto the lip liner, and aaron immediately offered his continued assistance, obtaining it with his free hand. you flashed him a bashful smile, before puckering your lips and beginning to apply your nude-pink lipstick slowly.

your lips, dangerous territory. as his eyes dropped, heat immediately pooled in his face, his ears flushing as well. aaron bit down onto his bottom lip, hard, silently urging himself to snap out of it and pull it together.

but it didn't help he could feel your light breath occasionally fan onto his skin, reminding him of the proximity. it would be way too easy to lean in just a bit closer, to foremost and finally kiss you, just like he's been dreaming of.

aaron let out a not-so-silent exhale at the thought, and before his mind could wander, as if it hadn't already - your lipstick lightly tinting his lips, his neck, or scattered along numerous parts of his body. the sound gained your focus, and drew your attention to his profusely blushing face.

your eyebrows crinkled as you pulled the lipstick a few centimeters away from your lips. "are you alright?"

it took aaron a second to find his voice, speaking after a nervous swallow, small strain present and accompanied with a brisk, stiff nod. "fine."

"you don't seem 'fine'." you shrugged, resuming your task. only this time, your lips were parted lightly, forming a small 'o'.

fuck.

"jus' a bit... hot." aaron managed softly, blushing even more if it were possible and finding it difficult to hold the mirror perfectly still. his eyes involuntarily shot back to your lips, but he indulged himself - letting his gaze linger.

[thewritingrowlet]

The Best Way to Celebrate A Birthday, ft. tripleS Nien

tags: anal, daddy kink, creampie (both type)

author's note: whew, I've finally managed to finish this fic despite the distraction that is NBA playoffs. Thank you always for reading my stuff, hope you like this one as well <3

p.s. send me your asks

edit: forgor to put the word count smh my head

word count: 5,8k+

”Oppa, you’ll be home for our birthday, right? I would love to celebrate with you”.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss our birthday, ever”.

That was the conversation you had had with Nien over dinner last week before you left for a business trip. You finished everything you had to do just in time to go home and celebrate this year’s birthday. Never in a million years did you think you would be in a relationship with someone who has the same birthday as you, but here you are, sharing a birthday with your girlfriend.

You’re speeding through the highway in your car; Google Maps says that you’ll get home at around 8pm. There will be plenty of time to celebrate; “just need to go home fast,” you think to yourself. Your car is more than capable of cruising at high speed without sacrificing comfort—shoutout to the Germans for their genius engineering minds. You turn up the music volume a little bit as you keep on driving through the dimly lit roads—"man, tripleS is great to listen to in the car; should tell Nien about them,” you think to yourself as Heavy Metal Wings plays over the speakers.

After getting off the highway, you find yourself close to the downtown area where your apartment is. It is now time to sway and swerve your way through city traffic—15 minutes until you get home, Maps says. You’re driving more dangerously now, as proven by other motorists’ horns that you hear every time you make a move on someone in traffic. “Do these people not have places to be?,” you say as you overtake a slower-moving car; you look over and find out that the other driver is distracted by his phone, “get off your phone, man; you’re on the road!,” you yell in annoyance. With every move you make on other drivers, you’re getting closer and closer to home; you silently hope that you’re not going to get a ticket for reckless driving or something of the sort.

-

You finally see your building after sailing the sea that is downtown traffic. Tap your resident card at the gate and go to your reserved parking spot; “cool, Nien is home,” you say as you see Nien’s car on one of the two spots you have. You get out of the car, caring less if it’s parked perfectly, and head to the elevator, impatient to come home to your girlfriend’s warm embrace after a long week of business trip.

You finally reach your door after a short elevator ride. You knock on the door before entering the passcode; “huh, no sound of Nien,” you think to yourself. You then open the door and almost pass out from shock: Nien is standing right behind the door to surprise you. “Why, hello there,” she says as she reaches out to hug you, “welcome home, oppa. I’ve missed you”. You enter her embrace and immediately feel her warmth that you’ve missed. “Hey, baby,” you say to her before kissing her, “I hope I’m not too late for our birthday”. “The food just arrived so I’d say you’re just in time,” she says as she drags you to the kitchen. You see that she has ordered burgers, pizza, and drinks from your favorite place, as they’re spread all over the dining table. You pull a chair for Nien and wait for her to sit on it before sitting on the other side. “Happy birthday, oppa,” she says. “Happy birthday to you as well, hon,” you reciprocate her sweetness. “So how was the trip?”, she asks as she takes a bite of pizza. “It was boring but necessary, just like all the other ones,” you say to her. “You live a boring life so that I can live a fun one,” she says before letting out a laugh. She’s right, though; you’re working day and night so that you can provide for the two of you—not that Nien is uncapable of doing so herself, it’s just that you two have agreed to do it like this after you had expressed your desire to work and convinced Nien to stay at home.

-

You two spend an hour eating and catching up. Nien tells you about the horror dramas and movies that she has watched during the week. She also asks you to tell her about the things you’ve done during the trip. You don’t want to bore her with your stories but since she insists, you have no choice but to tell her. You know that it is boring, but you see that Nien is paying close attention to everything you’re saying, which you find to be touching. You two keep exchanging stories back and forth until the food runs out, and that is when she invites you to her next agenda. “Let’s continue celebrating, oppa,” she says. “Wait here and don’t enter the bedroom until I tell you to,” she tells you as she retreats into the bedroom, winking at you as she does. You decide to clean up the trash while she gets ready for whatever she has in mind. As soon as you’re done, Nien yells out to you, “I’m ready when you are, oppa”. You’re as excited as you’re confused with what she has come up with, so you immediately make your way to the bedroom.

“Coming in,” you announce as you knock and open the door. Your jaw drops at the sight in front of you: she’s wearing a sleeveless top and shorts that barely cover half her thighs and a sleeping mask is hanging around her neck. “I know you love it when I wear this sort of clothing,” she says. “What do you have in mind, sweetie?”, you walk up to her. “I’m thinking we can have some fun,” she says as she wraps her arms around your nape, “you look tired, though,” she adds, disappointment in her voice. “You know I’ll do my best for you, love”, you say, putting your arms around her waist. She smiles lovingly at your words, “The best is exactly what I need from you,” she says before pulling away and opening the wardrobe. She grabs a vibrator from the wardrobe and hands you the remote, “you know what to do,” she says before inserting the vibrator into her pussy. She then lays on the bed and puts the sleeping mask over her eyes.

“Oh, almost forgot,” she removes her sleeping mask, gets up from the bed, and head to the wardrobe. “I’ve been trying stuff, you see,” she says as she shows you her anal plug. “Would you do the honors?”, she says as she hands you the plug and bends over in front of you. You don’t want to hurt her, so you cover the plug with your saliva before putting it in her ass. You tap her butt cheeks and she spreads them for you. You slowly push the plug into her ass and lodge it in, making her let out a soft moan. “Oh my, I feel so full already”, she says, referring to the vibrator in her pussy and the plug in her ass. “Imagine if I have my cock in one of those holes,” you give her cheek a slap. “That’s the plan, but now—” she says as she climbs into the bed again and cover her eyes, “make me cum with these, please”. You grab the remote she gave you earlier and set the vibrator on the lowest speed, to which Nien lets out a small moan. “I’m so wet for you right now,” she says between moans, “I’ve missed you so much, oppa”. She’s squirming around in bed as you fiddle with the speed of the vibrator, turning it up and down every so often to stimulate her.

Judging by the way she’s moaning and squirming, you know that she’s getting close to her orgasm. You set the vibrator on the highest speed before you take off your clothes to get ready for some action. “Oppa, I’m about to cum!”, she exclaims. “Go on, baby. Let it all out”, you say, stroking your cock at the sight in front of you. “AHHH FUCK!”, she yells from the top of her lungs as her first orgasm tonight hits her. You stop stroking your cock and look at her, as she’s panting in bed from her orgasm. She then pulls the sleeping mask off and calls out to you, “take them out, oppa”, so you get in bed and pull the vibrator and the plug out. “I’m still not sure what the sleeping mask is for,” you say to her. She lets out a chuckle before answering, “oh, I just wanted to try some things”. You smile at her before coming in for a steamy kiss.

You fight her tongue with yours, as Nien lets out moans into the kiss. You keep pushing and pulling in the kiss until Nien pushes you away to take a breather, “the things you’re doing to me, oppa—I swear I’m going crazy”, she says while taking off everything she has on her body. You chuckle at her words and start kissing down her body, starting from her neck, shoulder, and then her breasts. She’s whining and rolling her body, as if trying to shove her breasts into your mouth. “You like them, oppa? They’re all yours,” she says before letting out a moan. You then suck hard on her left nipple while you pinch the right, making Nien scream in surprise. Unbeknownst to you, she starts rubbing herself and moaning louder, “O-oppa, I think I’m cumming again,” she tells you. “Here, let me help,” you say, bringing a hand to her pussy and rubbing it aggressively. After rubbing it for a bit, she suddenly announces her second orgasm to you, “I’M CUMMING AGAIN, FUCK!”, squirting her juices on to the bed. She immediately falls limp on her back, “my god, you’re killing me,” she says, as her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. “Would you like to have some water?”, you ask. “I would like to have your cock”, she giggles, “just a second, though. Let me catch my breath”.

-

Despite Nien rejecting your offer for water, you leave to get some anyway; with what you have in mind, she’ll definitely need some later. You return to her and see that she’s now lying on her stomach. “Hi there”, she says when she sees you, “ready to have some fun?”. You laugh, “have we not been having fun?”. “We have, but the night is still young,” she says, “come on, oppa, take me. I need you”. At her request, you lie in bed next to her; “do you mind warming me up?”, you say to her. She then moves towards your cock and put it in her mouth. The comfortable warmth and wetness of her mouth makes you let out a sigh. You pet her head in bliss, and Nien takes it as a cue to keep going. She goes up and down your cock faster, coating it entirely with her saliva. “You’re so good, baby,” you say when you feel her tongue on your cock, “such a good girl, aren’t you?”. She gives you a wink, your cock still deep in her mouth. You hold the back of her head and tell her to brace herself. You then start thrusting up, hitting the deepest points of her mouth. She tries her best to not gag while you use her mouth like a fleshlight. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum”, you warn her before slamming your cock into her mouth, “take it like the good girl you are”. She does just that: she collects your cum in her mouth without letting a drop leak out. Once it’s all in her mouth, she swallows it in one go. “Oh, I’ve missed that taste”, she says, “that’s one hole you’ve cummed in, time for the next one”.

You pull her up and kiss her, the taste of cum still lingers on her lips. “I like how you don’t avoid kissing me after cumming in mouth”, she says. “I mean, it’s mine”, you say, shrugging. “True, but you know there are guys who don’t think the same”, she continues. “Come on, oppa. I need you to get hard again,” she strokes your half-hard cock. Once she’s satisfied with the stiffness, she sits on your thighs. “Would you look at that,” she says, pressing your cock against her stomach, “all the way to my belly button”. “So?”, you challenge her. “So, let’s put it where it belongs”, she aims your cock at her entrance and gradually goes down on it.

“Oh, fuck, so big”, she says with heavy breaths, “hope it’s tight enough for you”. You find her words to be absurd as she’s always tight and hot down there, so you say to her, “you’re always so tight, baby. No doubt about that”. She kisses you as a gesture of appreciation, “you always say nice things about me, oppa”. You want to reply again but your thoughts were cut off when she takes you in entirely and rolls her hips, throwing her head back in the process. She proceeds to ride you faster, letting out yelps between every moan. “If only I wasn’t on pills”, she says, “you would knock me up for sure”. You put a palm on her stomach and feel the subtle bulge your cock makes with every thrust; “tempted, aren’t you?”, she chuckles, “imagine what it would be like, oppa”.

Lust has completely filled the space in your head, and now you want to take control and do things your way. You roll over and switch positions with Nien, who’s now on her back underneath you. “Did I poke a nerve?”, she teases. “You did”, you chuckle as you palm her neck, “and now it’s on my terms”. You squeeze her neck and speed up your thrusts. You see that Nien’s eyes are rolling to the back of her head thanks to everything you’re doing to her. It also doesn't help that you’re restricting her airway, but she seems to be taking it well, as proven by her moans and grunts. That doesn't last long, though, as after around a dozen thrusts, she taps your arm repeatedly. Feeling merciful, you let go of her neck and let her breathe without letting up the action down below. “Oh, fuck”, she says, as she’s allowed to breathe, “oppa, you’re ruining me”. You laugh, “you’ll take it like a good girl, won’t you?”, you say as you fold her legs and press them against her chest. Nien catches the signal right away and holds the back of her knees; “yes, yes, I’m your good girl, oppa—oh, fuck, please”, she screams when she feels your cock bottoming out in her pussy. “Fuck, you’re even tighter like this”, you then look down and see how your cock is slamming into her pussy and how it takes you oh-so-obediently; “if only I could take a picture right now”, you think to yourself.

You keep slamming into her aggressively, until she announces her impending orgasm. “Oppa, I’m-I’m—OH, FUCK!”, she can’t even finish her words, as her third orgasm tonight hits her like a truck. You keep fucking her through her orgasm because you’re naughty like that, until Nien begs you to stop, “pull out, let me catch my breath—fuck—please, please, oppa”. You don’t want to go beyond the line, so you pull out as she asks, groaning as her juices leak into the bed. “We’re gonna need to change the sheets tonight”, you say to her. Your exhausted girlfriend says none, opting to roll on to her stomach while letting out small whimpers. “I’m gonna feel this in the morning”, she grunts, “you must have missed me too”. “Of course, how can I not?”, you say while gently stroking her hair. “Here, have some water, hon”, you tell her as you put the bottle close to her lips. She takes a few sips before pushing the bottle away. “I knew you’d need it”, you tease her. “You’re going hard on me, oppa. I-I like it”, she says, her cheeks tinted in pink.

You let her catch her breath for a moment and lie down next to her. You praise her performance tonight, but there’s still a lingering question in your mind, “do I get to cum tonight, sweetie? I’m still hard, you see”. “Of course you do, but I’m too tired so you’ll have to take me like this”, she says, still lying on her stomach. You sneakily grab her butt plug before getting behind her. “Ass up, please”, you pull her waist up and line up her pussy with your cock. You stick your cock in her pussy not-so-gently, which makes her scream into the pillow in surprise. “Mmmh, so big, how do you fit inside me every time”, she softly says. Your ego is inflated even more and with it your lust is peaking again, so you slam your hips into hers roughly, earning moans and screams from your girlfriend. You hear her mumble something into the pillow, so you lean forward to catch what she’s saying, “say that again?”. She turns her head so that she isn’t talking into the pillow, “I love it, daddy”, she says, “you’re ruining me, and I love it”. “Yeah? Let’s see how you like this”, you say as you grab the plug and poke her ass with it. “Gently, please”, she says before hiding her face into the pillow. You cover the plug with your saliva again before inserting it in her ass, it goes in easier this time as her ass is more relaxed from her warmup earlier.

The plug is now perfectly snug in her ass. You pick up the speed of your thrusts again, and that’s when you hear a particularly loud scream from Nien. “DADDY, YOU’RE TEARING ME IN HALF”, she yells from the top of her lungs. She rests her head on the pillow again and whimpers, “daddy, slow down. Please, I’m begging you”. You slow down your thrusts and settle for slow but deep ones. You see that Nien has tears on her cheek, so you lean forward and wipe them with your thumb. “You okay, baby? Wanna say the safe word?”, you make sure she still consents with this. “N-no, I’m fine. I-I just felt like I was torn into two”, she replies. “I’m sorry, I’ll be gentler this time”, you stroke her back softly. “No, do as you wish. I’ll say the safe word if I really want to stop”, she tells you, determination in her gaze. “As you wish, love”, you say before kissing her sweaty back.

You start thrusting slowly and steadily again as you make sure Nien isn’t in pain. You see that her expressions have returned to a lustful one, so you know she’s enjoying this. You gradually pick up your speed and hit her deepest spots again; “she’s moaning again, must be enjoying it”, you think to yourself. Unfortunately for her, you’re one naughty customer; you decide to play with the plug in her ass by pulling it out partially and shoving it back in repeatedly. She doesn’t seem to mind, though; it’s just that her moans are louder, as if she was half-screaming. Your hand keeps pulling and pushing the same way your hips do, stimulating your girlfriend to get her to orgasm again. Her ass stretches when the bubble-like part of the plug almost comes out, which you find to be arousing. “Would you ever let me fuck your ass, baby?”, you ask her. “Mm-maybe—oh, fuck—maybe I would—daddy, I feel so full”.

You keep delivering steady and deep thrusts into her, until you hear your orgasm knocking on the front door. “Nien, I’m gonna cum soon”, you notify her. “Ah, ah—yes, give me your cum, daddy”. You spank her round and smooth butt cheeks until they’re bright red to distract yourself and delay your orgasm. Your orgasm is only delayed for but a moment, as you feel your cock twitch in her pussy. “Oh, fuck, take my cum, baby”, and with it, you’re filling your lovely girlfriend to the brim with your seed. She lets out a long moan as she feels your cum flow into her, “oh my god, that’s so warm”, she sighs, “thank you, daddy. I love you”, she adds.

You pull out your half-hard cock out of her pussy and your cum drips out of her lower lips right away. “Naughty girl, you’re supposed to keep it all in”, you spank her butt cheeks again. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry, daddy. You’re gonna make it leak more if you keep spanking me”, she pleas. “I don’t care, I’ll just fill you again. Not without punishment, though”, you smack her ass harder until it’s as red as a tomato. She gathers the last bit of strength she has remaining and rolls on to her back to hide her ass from you, “daddy, it hurts, please”, she says. You’re dumbfounded; have you crossed the line? Have you really hurt her? These questions ring in your head endlessly. “There’s a way to fix this, though”, your brain tells you. “I’m sorry, baby. Did I hurt you?”, you say, taking her hand and rubbing the back of it softly. “You-you did, but it’s okay. Nothing I can’t take”, you know that she’s pretending to be okay—she’s lying down languidly in front of you; she’s worn out. “Wait here, okay?”, you kiss her forehead before leaving to get a wet towel.

“Come here, baby”, you pull her up and have her sit on the bed. You start wiping the entirety of her body to clean her up before going to bed. Once you’re done, you carry Nien to the armchair and have her sit there so you can change the sheets that were soaked with cum. Nien covers her face with her hands when you show her the wet spots on the sheets, “that was your fault”, she says. You let out a laugh in agreement and finish changing the sheets. You carry her from the armchair back to the bed and put her down on her stomach. “Um, what are you doing?”, she’s concerned that maybe you’re not ready to call it a night yet. “Nothing, baby. Just stay still, please”, you start rubbing her butt cheeks—which have been tinted in red by your hands—softly to help ease the pain. “I’m so sorry, I went too hard on you”, you bring a hand to her head to stroke her hair. “It’s okay, I know you’ve been frustrated”, she sighs in relief, “your aftercare always feels so nice, oppa”. You reach to the space between her cheeks and pull out the plug, to which her asshole responds by winking at you.

You put on a pair of shorts and big-spoon Nien, ready to get some sleep after dressing her in a tank top and shorts. “Oppa”, she turns around to see you, “I love you”. You pull her into a kiss and peck her forehead, “I love you more”. “Aww, really?”, her eyes widen with love, “I really love you so much, though”. “Yes, baby. I love you so much more”, you laugh, “let’s try and get some sleep, love”. “Sure. Happy birthday to both of us. Good night”, she turns around again and becomes your small spoon.

Not long after saying good night, you go straight to dream land. As someone who can comprehend his dreams, you’re shown a recap of things you have done throughout the week, presented in a series of images—the people whose hands you shook, the food you ate, and places you visited. Sleep feels nice and peaceful, as you manage to sleep through the night and wake up the following morning.

-

 You feel Nien poking your cheek repeatedly; “oppa, wake up”, she softly pinches your cheek. “Ngh, what time is it?”, you try to gather your soul. “It’s around 4 am, and it’s Monday”, she says. “Can’t we sleep more? I already told the secretary I’m taking today off”, you’re fully awake now thanks to her efforts. “You can sleep more if you want to, I just want to do this”, she gets away from your embrace and pulls your shorts off. You decide to play along and cooperate with Nien. She strokes your length to get it hard; “what do you have in mind?”, you inquire. “I wanna stuff my face with your cock”, she says, “now get hard for me, daddy”. She does as she says and takes your entire shaft deep right away. The sounds she’s making with your cock arouse you, and your cock is now rock hard in her mouth.

If you weren’t already fully awake from earlier, you sure are now. Nien is going up and down your cock, taking you deep in her mouth consistently. You can feel that you’re hitting the back of her throat every odd move, which makes her gag every time. She goes up for a breather, “I’m so lucky my boyfriend has a huge cock”, she wipes the leaked spit on her face. “Oh, please—I’m the lucky one”, you groan in satisfaction. You can spend all day arguing who’s luckier to be dating the other, but it’s clear that you’re thankful for each other. “Fuck, that feels good”, you sigh when she runs her tongue on your cock, “you’re so good, baby”. She chuckles, “only for you, daddy. No one else deserves me the same way you do”. You give her a nod as she takes you deep in her throat one more time. She fights her gag reflex as she presses her face against your crotch—you’re not holding her head and she’s doing this on her own, life is great for you right now. “You’re fully awake, aren’t you?”, she strokes your cock fast, “can’t have you cum yet, though”. She gets off the bed and digs through her handbag, and you can’t help but observe. “You know what this is, daddy?”, she shows you a bottle of lube—“I’m getting in her ass!”, your excitement goes through the roof.

She takes some lube in her hand and covers your cock with it. She pulls you to a sitting position and pecks your lips before getting on her hands and knees. “Take me, daddy; stretch me, ruin me, do what you want to me”, she tells you, and you’re more than willing to oblige. You get behind her and spread her ass to get access to her puckered hole. To Nien’s surprise, you don’t fuck her ass immediately, opting to bring your mouth to it instead. “I don’t mind having this as a regular thing”, you murmur before kissing her the forbidden hole. “Mm, I guess we can do that”, she moans when she feels your tongue on her asshole. You know how hard it is for a woman to take it up the ass—some avoid eating for hours before anal, some have a hard time training and getting used to it, and so on—so you decide to only play along when she wants it and not specifically ask to get in her ass.

After you feel like she’s warmed up enough, you press the tip of your cock on her rear entrance. She closes her eyes and grips the sheets when she feels you pushing into her ass. She breathes heavily when you have your tip in her ass, doing her best to get used to your cock stretching her asshole; “ngh, gently”, her voice weak from the stimulation. “You’re doing so well, love”, you rub the small of her back, “you’re my good girl”. You keep pushing until your shaft is fully buried in her ass. She throws her head back at the sensation, “oh, fuck, I’m-I’m so stretched”. You start moving your shaft back and forth in Nien’s ass, as she lets out loud moans and little screams. The sight in front of you—the way her ass is accommodating your girth and length so tightly—is truly intoxicating. You’re amazed that you have managed to fit in such a small hole—and so does she, “how can you fit in there, oppa?”. You have a rough estimate as to how, and that is because Nien is simply the best girl there is.

Nien has become more relaxed now, as you see that she’s no longer gripping the sheets with all her might. You push her back and make her rest her head on a pillow, while you steadily pump her ass. You happen to thrust a little bit too hard, making her lift her head and scream loudly, “FUCK, YOU’RE SO DEEP, DADDY”. “Can’t help it, baby; you’re just so tight”, you groan, “you’re doing so well for me”. You try your best to control the pace and make sure you don’t hurt her too much. You’re still naughty, though, as you pull her torso back up so that you can see her expressions on the mirror that is conveniently placed in front of the bed. You see that she’s making all kinds of faces while taking your cock in the ass—both pain and bliss are mixed in her face at the moment. “Look in the mirror, baby”, you pull her hair, “tell me what you see”. She sticks her tongue out lewdly, “I see someone who’s being a good girl for her daddy”. She then looks back at you lustfully, “harder, daddy”.

You tug her hair as you fuck her ass faster and harder; her moans turn to screams thanks to you. “Yes, daddy, yes”, she chants over and over as you slam your cock into her ass repeatedly. You glance at the clock hanging on the wall above the mirror; 4:50 am, it says—you’ve been fucking Nien in this position for over half an hour, so you decide that it’s time to switch things up.

You pull out your cock out of her ass and sit on the bed. You then ask Nien to ride you in a reverse cowgirl position and plunge into her ass again. You look at the mirror and see the way her tits bounce with every thrust you’re giving her. “Look at your tits”, you take her tits in your hands and play with them, “all for me”. “Ngh, ngh—yes, daddy. They’re yours—I’m yours—oh fuck, so big”, her breaths heavy from the action. You can’t be the only one chasing an orgasm, so you help her by reaching around and rubbing her clit. She leans back against your chest and yelps, “you’re going to make me cum, daddy”. “Go on, cum for your daddy”, you dip your fingers into her pussy to send her across the line.

“DADDY, I’M CUMMING AGAIN”, she screams before slumping forward. You stop pumping her ass and wait for her to come down from her high. You find it hot how she’s panting and trembling in front of you while your cock is still deep in her ass. Nien then looks back at you when she’s calmed down enough, “how far away is your orgasm, oppa? I’m—fuck—getting pretty tired”. “Honestly, not that far away with the way your ass is squeezing me right now”, you slowly start fucking her again. “Ngh—give me your cum again, daddy”, she’s slumped forward away from your body now, too tired to keep her back straight.

 After a handful of thrusts, your orgasm is at the door again. You notify her about your impending orgasm, and Nien in her exhausted state can only reply with a low groan. You keep pounding her ass until you feel that your cum is at the tip of your cock, ready to pour out into her ass. “I’m cumming, sweetie”, and with that, your lodge your cock in her ass as cum starts flowing out. “AH FUCK DADDY IT’S SO HOT”, she yells as she moves forward to take your cock out of her ass. You’re shown the gape you’ve made out of her asshole—it’s doing its best to return to its original shape before you stretched it. “God, that’s so hot”, you murmur to yourself. “You did so well, love. Thank you so much”, you kiss the back of her head, “come, let’s get comfortable”. You straighten her weak body and make her lie on her stomach before leaving to get another wet towel.

When you return to Nien, she doesn’t make any sound and you wonder if she’s passed out from exhaustion—she doesn’t respond when you touch her back, so you guess that she’s asleep. It doesn’t stop you from doing your responsibility of helping her clean up, though. You start from her back, which is covered in sweat for the second time tonight—that’s what sex in a hot summer night does to you—all the way down to her legs. You flip the towel and spread her cheeks so you can clean her used asshole, and that is when Nien screams in shock. “Please, please, not again”, her voice laced with panic. “Hey, hey, you’re okay, sweetie. I was just trying to help you clean up. Just breathe, baby”, you avoid touching her so that she doesn’t panic even more.

Once you feel like you’ve done a good enough job of cleaning her up, you flip her onto her side and spoon her like before. You whisper your gratefulness and satisfaction to her ears as a gesture of appreciation for what she’s done tonight. You’re curious, though; “how was it, baby?”. “You’re too big to go there, that’s for sure”, she says with an exhausted voice. “You did so well, though, so thank you for that”, you peck the back of her head. “Really?”, she turns around to see you, “thank you, oppa—I like being appreciated, you know?”. “You’re literally the best for me, love; I’m thankful for you, always. What do you want to do now?”. “Can we stay in bed for a few more hours? I don’t know if I have the energy to do things right now, thanks to you”, she slaps your chest lightly. “We sure can, we have today and tomorrow for ourselves. I love you, my little strawberry”, you peck her forehead and close your eyes to get some more sleep, and that is when you hear Nien say, “I love you too, daddy. Thank you for being who you are”, before letting out a soft sigh. You try your best to not shed a tear at her words, but you hear your heart say, “isn’t love the best thing in the world?”. Yes, love is indeed the best thing this world has to offer.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Wintery

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!vigilante!reader

Summary: Gotham winters are brutal, but your best friend Jason Todd and work friend Red Hood know how to combat the cold. Unfortunately, you're falling in love with both of them.

Warnings: reader and Jason don't know the other is a vigilante, fluff, brotherly teasing, kissing, more fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: I have no idea where this idea came from but it wouldn't leave me alone, so I had to write it. I hope it's okay and feel free to let me know what you think!🤍

Masterlist | DC/Jason Todd Masterlist | Request Info

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Gotham winters are cold, windy, and relentless. There are few places to find refuge from the harsh bite of the chilling wind and fewer remedies to the wind-burned skin and seemingly permanent chapped lips.

Jason Todd, however, is a Gotham boy, born and raised, so he knows the importance of staying moisturized and protected in the winter. So, it's no surprise that he keeps lip balm in his pocket all winter.

No, it isn’t intimidating to see Red Hood putting Chapstick on, but having cracked lips is far more frightening. He finds quiet alleys, tipping his helmet up to combat dry lips before returning to his vigilante duties. Nightwing has only caught him once, and Jason is intent on never experiencing that level of brotherly torture (teasing) again.

✯✯✯✯✯

Since joining the small group of vigilantes, Red Hood has captured and kept your attention. Never saying more than a few words to you, he always seems nearby and eager to help you out of trouble, but you can’t get past that point.

Nightwing and Robin occasionally tell you their ideas to get him to open up to you, convinced there’s something between you, but you brush it off and admire the man in red from a distance.

The night wind is blowing hard enough you’re uncomfortable standing on such a high roof. You tuck yourself behind anything stationary, including Red Hood. 

Under the hood, Jason smiles to himself. He knows why you’re standing close to him, your concern for the wind mixing with an irrational idea that he will allow anything to happen to you. But, if you want to use him to block the wind from your pretty face, he’s happy to stay perfectly still. However, his gaze keeps dropping to your lips.

Jason watches you; he has been since you first stumbled upon them in a less than satisfactory suit. You were bleeding from a run-in with several muggers but smiling through your pain because you managed to make someone feel safe in Gotham; a rare feat unless you’re Batman. Instantly drawn to you, Red Hood has let himself get close enough to consider you a friend but not close enough to talk to you or worry incessantly about where you are through the day.

You say something, and Jason shakes his head to escape his memories of you, focusing on you and your dry-lipped smile. The winds are blowing up the building and into your face even as he blocks the worst of it, and your rosy cheeks amplify Jason’s growing concern. He wants to offer his jacket to you, even his chapstick – an unwelcome idea of kissing you to share it enters his mind, but he shoves it away. Or tries to; the imagined feeling of your lips on his is hard to shake.

After your question goes unanswered the second time, you wonder if Red Hood fell asleep under the helmet. He jerks sideways when you slide your hand into his pocket. His grip falls away from the holster on his thigh when he realizes it’s just you. (Though he’d never think 'just you' about anything.) You pull your hand out of the worn leather jacket, a small white tube in your grasp. Keeping your eyes on the small eye slits of the mask, you uncap the balm and put it directly on your lips.

“Thanks,” you say, smiling as you place it back in his pocket before turning away.

Anyone else, and he’d throw it away, unwilling to share such a personal item, but since he just thought about sharing it in a much different way, he doesn’t mind the idea of you doing it again. He’ll have to remember which pocket he put it in and leave it there for you, he decides.

✯✯✯✯✯

“It’s freezing,” you groan, rubbing your arms as you walk inside the warm apartment. “Why can’t we move to Metropolis?”

Jason laughs at you, his best friend. Since he developed what Dick refuses to call anything but “a crush” on his vigilante partner, he’s wondered what this thing with you is. You are his friend, of course, but there is something more there. Jason has never been good with feelings, and he’s in a strange spot between two women who affect him, similar yet completely different in how he responds.

“Because we can’t afford it,” Jason hums, welcoming you onto the couch beside him.

You slide your cold feet under his sweatpants-clad legs, sighing when he lays his arm over your shoulders.

“We who, Mr. Trust Fund Wayne?” you tease, leaning your head against his upper arm. “Thanks for inviting me over, though, even if I did get frostbite on the way.”

Jason chuckles, stopping short when he remembers something someone else said after fighting Mr. Freeze during a riot at Arkham. Shaking his head, he determines that he has a type.

“I’m stealing this,” you interrupt his reading, pulling a hoodie from the back of his couch.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, watching you pull it over your head. You feel warmer beside him after a few minutes, and when you dig a small tub of lip balm out of your pocket, Jason wonders if he should move to Metropolis.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Where did it go?” Jason says to himself, barely audible through the voice modifier of the mask.

“Whatcha looking for?” you ask, dropping to the fire escape beside Red Hood. He doesn’t answer, but when you realize all his attention is focused on one pocket, you know. “Really? I need it again, too,” you lament.

Red Hood sighs, turning toward you. Your lips still look fine, with no sign of chapping in sight. Deciding he needs it more than you do, Jason seizes the opportunity.

Pushing his helmet up, he grabs your face between his warm, gloved hands. Pulling you against him, Jason presses his lips to yours, moving with you as the moisturizing gloss spreads across his lips.

“Better?” he asks, smirking before his face is hidden behind his helmet again.

Your face is still in his hands as you nod. “Nightwing took it,” you whisper.

Jason rolls his eyes and leans forward, whispering, “Who needs it when I have you?”

“You do,” you reply, dumbfounded and breathless from the kiss you’ve admittedly been daydreaming about. “I got mine from you.”

Red Hood laughs, and it warms you from the inside out. You think for a moment you’ve heard that laugh before, but then the idea disappears.

✯✯✯✯✯

The next day, you beat Jason back to his apartment after leaving the manor. Letting yourself in, you walk to his bookshelf to see if he’s gotten any new books. A leather jacket is lying on the floor beside the shelf, and when you pick it up, something falls out of the pocket.

“Hey,” Jason greets, closing the door behind him.

Turning, you hold the chapstick up, looking at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

“Yeah?”

He comes to your side, his brows pinched. 

“Are you-“

You drop everything in your hands before grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down to you. As you kiss him, everything clicks into place.

Falling in love with Jason and Red Hood simultaneously wasn’t some cruel trick of fate or a mistake… you’d been with the same guy all along.

Pulling back, Jason takes a moment before opening his eyes. He blinks at you several times, trying to speak and failing.

“Really?” you ask, tilting your head. “I see that made a much bigger impact on me than it did on you.”

Jason still can’t answer, his mind going over each similarity that he should have caught on to, each mirrored movement or similar response. Your kiss, though… your kiss is unmistakable. He believed his lies about the touches and the words, but nothing can compete with your affection.

“Thank you,” Jason whispers, pulling you close again.

“For what?” you ask, brushing your fingers through the white streak in his hair. “It took me way too long to realize.”

“For everything,” he answers before kissing you again.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your first patrol after learning not just Red Hood but everyone’s true identities is interesting. Bringing your own protection against the current blizzard, you're grateful for the foresight after you get separated from Jason.

Waiting near Arkham and shivering in the cold, you don’t hear the crunch of boots on snow until Red Hood grabs your waist and spins you around. Without his helmet, only a domino mask to protect his identity (pointless in the dark storm), he doesn’t wait before pressing his lips to yours, eager to try a new flavor and get more of you. After waiting so long and being tortured by his tragic decision to love two women at once, Jason deserves to show you how much he cares for you twice as often as he wishes. And if you start buying crazy lip balm flavors to mess with him, he’ll love you even more for it.

[bennysblabbering]

An Unexpected Reaction

contents: armpit kink, musk kink, thigh riding, praise, cumming in clothes (you're the one cumming), pet names used are babe/baby and cutie

words: 1.3k

g/n afab reader

↓ Ficlet below the cut ↓

Toji's just finished his workout in the other room, the heavy equipment hitting the ground with a hard 'thunk'. You're sitting on the couch as you watch his silhouette make its way down the hall and closer to you, his perfect broad torso on display; his outfit of choice is simply a pair of compression shorts with no shirt, and it makes you salivate at the sight.

The exhausted man sits down next to you with a huff, leaning back and stretching his arm across the back of the couch, his other hand uncapping a water bottle and bringing it to his lips.

"Good workout?"

He nods as he swallows before parting from the bottle. "'S fine. Annoys me that I can't do as much as I used to."

You shrug. "It's alright. You're still strong as fuck."

He chuckles, flexing his arms, placing his hands behind his head. "Damn right."

At this angle, you can get a perfect view of his sculpted armpit, a tuft of coarse black hair on display in the dip of the glistening muscles. The thick, savory scent of his sweat floods your senses and you can't help but let out a small hum.

"Like what you see?" He smirks, letting his arms back down and leaning back into the seat again. You playfully roll your eyes and lightly smack his chest. He must have noticed your pleasant reaction, but assumed it was from looking at his physique. Which, of course, you did love his body, but he wasn't aware of this particular kink of yours. You'd been too embarrassed to bring it up yet; you'd just started getting sexual with each other- your first time having sex was only a week ago. How would he react to you telling him about such an...odd interest? Would he make fun of you for it like previous partners had?

He takes another drink of water for a moment, huffing as he sets it down. "Gonna go shower. I fuckin' stink." Standing up, he starts to make his way across the room. Shit, when are you gonna get this opportunity again? Should you tell him? No, it's too early, he'll think you're weird!

"Hm?" He turns his face slightly with a quirked brow.

"What?"

"You just whined like a sad puppy. What, you wanna shower with me?"

You freeze and blink. Did you really make a noise like that? You must have been disappointed at the idea of him getting rid of the tantalizing musk and fucking *whimpered.* Get a grip. Fuck. What should you say?

"Um...well if you're offering, yes, but...maybe later. Can...can you come back for a sec?"

You can feel your face heat up, your cheeks turning redder with every step he takes back towards you. You ball your hands into fists and can feel your heartbeat quicken. Too late to back down now.

He sits back down where he was before, a hint of concern in his voice, but his expression remaining collected. "Somethin' wrong, babe?"

You shake your head, keeping your gaze downward. "No, no, it's just...I think..." You scoot your way closer to him meekly, keeping your eyes downtrodden but your arm makes its way to gently place on his bicep.

"Sorry if you think I'm weird for this, but...I actually...really enjoy the smell of sweat. I think you smell really good. Stay for a few more minutes?"

Chewing on your lip nervously, you look back up at him, expecting a confused or disgusted look. But that's not even close.

He's grinning like a motherfucker. "Oh yeah?"

You feel your pussy twitch. He likes the idea? Would he really let you?

You meekly nod, a smile slowly creeping onto your face. "Yeah. Um...armpits are my favorite though."

The grin is still plastered on his face as he raises his arm, the upper half parallel with his head and his forearm behind him. "Come get it then."

And there it is once again, perfectly on display; his muscular pit, sticky and warm with sweat, the thick hair puffing out, almost inviting you in. You swallow hard, feeling your core clench once again, eagerly anticipating being able to indulge in your more personal kink.

You briefly look into his eyes, searching for a hint of judgement. But there isn't. The only thing you can sense from him is sincerity and even a bit of arousal. You lean forward, all in one motion, so you can't back out from nervousness.

Nuzzling yourself into the crevice, the hair tickles the sensitive skin of your face as you take in the intense, rich smell. As everything hits you all at once, a moan is forced out of your throat. Even though you're absolutely mortified, you can't help yourself but keep going. His scent is enveloping you, slowly sending you into an aroused trance.

"Damn, cutie, you really like this huh?" He smiles down at you, feeling his own arousal rise from seeing you in such a state. "You like my stink?"

"Yeah...." You nod with closed eyes, a dazed smile on your face. If you'd known he'd be this accepting before, you'd have tried this way sooner. Placing yourself on his thigh, you grind down a little as you put both your hands on his body, one lovingly sitting on his waist as the other squeezes at his chest.

"Yeah? What about it do you like?" He can feel his own cock hardening, excited to discover a new interest of yours. He'll definitely be doing this with you more often.

At this point, you're fully lost in the scent of his musk, drooling a little and lazily dragging your needy cunt across his muscular thigh. "I...I like...that it's so...instinctual. It's full of pheromones...makes me want more. 'N it's...I dunno...something so...masculine about it."

"Oh? You like it 'cause I'm a man, huh?" He grins as he uses his other hand to place on the back of your head, pushing you even further, your face now completely enveloped in his pit, skin meeting skin. "Maybe I should work out here more often, really get that nice sweaty stink goin' for ya. Huh, would you like that?"

You simply whine and nod in response, unable to form words anymore. You almost feel high. And knowing that you trust each other so much to do something so intimate, especially something others might judge you for outside of this room, really makes your heart swell for him.

You can feel that familiar warm and tight feeling building in your core. Fuck, are you actually getting close from this? How does he always know the perfect things to say and do in every situation, even something he's never done before?

"Good little cutie. So good for me, like me so much you even want my scent, you want me bad don't you? C'mon baby, I can tell you're close. Give it to me. C'mon, be good for me. Cum all over me, show me how much you like my musk."

And finally that thread snaps. A gush of warm juices are released from you as you tremble and moan, gripping onto his body for dear life as you make a mess on his leg, whimpering into his armpit as you ride out your high.

Pulling back with shaking arms, your heavy and enamored eyes lock with his. His deep gaze softens as he smiles slightly, content with your satisfaction. You're still lost in the post-climax high; you giggle and place a kiss to his lips before laying your head on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you, picking you up and making his way down the hall once again.

"Alright baby, time to shower."