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baby-yongbok · 20 days ago

Text

Run

Bang Chan x afab!Reader x Hwang Hyunjin

⤷ Genre - Smut | friends to lovers | MDNI

⤷ WC - 7.5k

⤷ Summary - You walked right into it - the thrill, the desire, their twisted idea of a game in the middle of nowhere. You gave yourself over, let them take control. Now all that’s left is to run. But the real fantasy? It begins when they catch you.

⤷ Content warning - primal play, psychological play, mxm, oral (f&m rec.), unprotected sex, choking, slight dumbifictation, spit (for like 10 seconds), anal sex - double penetration, public sex, humiliation, overstimulation (m rec.), Mention of & light use of substances, Dom/sub dynamics (let me know if I missed anything!)

�� Masterlist ⊲

The sky is burning, orange into pink as it fades by the second. The clouds drag like your feet through the fallen leaves. The woods are quiet, too quiet for what the boys promised you but you keep going.

You follow the trees, look out for the red marks that Chan put there just for you. To lure you closer and closer until you stumble into the clearing.

Chan is there - back against a tree, cigarette hanging off his lips, eyes dragging across you slow like molasses. The glow of the lighter catches his cheekbones, and you can feel the heat from where you stand.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” he says, voice low, lazy. But his fingers twitch. You notice.

Then - Hyunjin. Loud, chaotic, all limbs and a toothy smile as he appears from the dark, shirt half unbuttoned and wild in every sense of the word.

“There you are,” he purrs. “Took you long enough.”

“I’d be here quicker if we met at normal places. What do you guys have against a park?” Hyunjin laughs, something that almost sounds crazed and Chan pushes himself off of the tree, letting one foot fall in front of the other lazily - closing in.

“What? You afraid of some woods?” The corner of his mouth ticks up into a smile, his dark eyes study yours and you look away.

There’s an aura to Chan - there always has been. It’s something that neither of you have put a name to, something that you’ve only known him to have with Hyunjin. The two came as a pair. Attached at the hip as something more than friends but you’ve never seen it. Not really. You just know.

“Don’t you like the way this sounds?” Hyunjin cuts in, throwing an arm around your shoulder, he whispers, “Silent, free. Listen.” You do, you listen and you're met with nothing but the faint sound of a cricket and the rustling of leaves in the wind.

Chan watches the two of you, studying the way Hyunjin touches you so comfortably - studying the way that you let him. “Thought you might like an escape but you’re free to leave.” he breaks the silence, taking his cigarette between two fingers and turning to face the small fire flickering in a makeshift bonfire.

Hyunjin follows, sparing you a single glance before plucking the cigarette from Chan’s lips and wedging it between his own. Your feet bring you closer, ignoring Chan’s words and taking the open bottle of liquor from the tree stump next to them. You fist the neck of the bottle, taking a swig that’s too long, too bitter, but you need it.

“Atta girl.” Hyunjin coos but Chan just watches, studies. A silence falls over the space, the crackling of fire is all you have to remind you that you’re not alone in the eerie dark. You’ve come here with them before. You’ve smoked here. Drank here. Laughed here. But tonight - tonight feels different. Like the air’s been wired to snap. Like they’ve brought you here for something else entirely.

“Hyunjin…” Chan exhales slow, smoke curling from his lips. “Tell her what we talked about.”

Your pulse thrums, the looming nerves that buzzed in your background move forward and spread. Hyunjin hums, it almost sounds like a moan and he looks over at Chan, just a bit. “You don’t think it’ll scare her away?”

You can hear the smile in his voice and then you look over, catching the dare in Chan’s gaze. It’s subtle but you could never miss it. “It might.” His voice is clear but his lips just barely move. “But I’ve got faith in her.” A pause. Then, soft and sharp: “She hasn’t gone weak on us… right?”

He’s talking to you, you know that he’s talking to you.

Hyunjin turns to you, his lips twitch, barely a smile, as he leans in closer - close enough that you can feel the heat of his body against yours.

His fingers barely brush your arm. A fleeting touch that makes your breath catch, but before you can pull away, it’s gone. He’s teasing, not letting you settle.

“Why the hell are you two acting like that?” The waver in your voice betrays you but you keep your spine straight, you give the illusion of security just as they give the promise of danger.

“Shh,” Hyunjin breathes and your eyes meet his, “You feel that?” he whispers, his voice dripping with something hungry. “The pull? The way the air's gotten thick?”

His eyes flick to Chan, who watches the entire exchange with quiet intensity. “It’s not the woods making it heavy, sweetheart,” Hyunjin continues, voice laced with amusement, like he knows something you don’t. “It’s us.”

Then Chan’s gaze sharpens, and just like that, the atmosphere shifts. His next words come with purpose. Quiet but decisive.

“Run.”

His voice is so smooth, like it’s part of the air, but the weight behind it is undeniable.

“Hide.”

And then, his lips curve up in a ghost of a smile. “Let’s see how well you can stay hidden.”

You stare at him and then Hyunjin, your eyes move back and forth and your head spins with pressure. What the fuck? You want to say it, but your mouth just opens, lips parting just enough for your breath to cloud in the cold.

“Told you it would scare her away.” Hyunjin is laughing again, smiling like a taunt but Chan is still, staring, daring. “You’ve played hide and seek before, haven’t you, doll?”

Your gaze breaks to him. “What the hell are you two getting at? You want to play a stupid game?” Chan tsks and Hyunjin looks at him with a knowing glint that you wished you possessed.

“When’s the last time you just… ran?” Chan takes a languid step forward, his heavy boots thudding softly in the leaves. “Like a wolf on a full moon. Free, unchained from responsibility.”

Hyunjin’s gaze never leaves you, his eyes simmering with an intensity that seems to press against your skin. As Chan speaks, Hyunjin takes a languid step forward, moving in a slow circle around you. His boots don’t make a sound as he shifts in the darkness, a shadow slinking in and out of your peripheral vision.

You can feel the subtle shift in the air as he moves, his proximity so close that your body instinctively pulls tighter, almost as if anticipating something - but you can’t predict his next move. His presence is undeniable, suffocating in the way it hovers, waiting.

His voice cuts through the tense silence, too smooth, too close. “Run,” Hyunjin echoes, a low hum in his chest as his eyes never leave yours. “But you’ll never outrun us.”

Hyunjin keeps circling, never touching but always near - like a predator closing in on its prey. Naturally, you bare teeth, resisting. “Why the hell would I let you two chase me through the woods? What’s so freeing about that?” Your eyes stay on Chan’s and he fucking smirks.

“Don’t you trust us?” He murmurs, head tilting to the side in mock curiosity. He knows the answer. He knows that you do. If you didn’t you would’ve never come here.

You know the answer too, but for a different reason. Because you’ve hooked up before. Kisses in shadows, hands under clothes, fast and desperate. That time one shot turned into nine and Hyunjin mentioned how he wanted your thighs on his shoulders in the back of Chan’s car. You trust them, but not like a friend.

“You’re going to run,” Hyunjin murmurs, his voice like a warning. “Or you’ll stay. And if you stay, you’ll belong to us.” He stops, standing behind you with just a breath of space between you. You can feel his heat on your back, a blazing contrast to the chill between the three of you.

“And if I do run?“ You ask, half out of curiosity, but there’s a weight behind it now, a recognition of the game you're caught in. You think you already know that answer. Hyunjin smiles, leaning in to just barely whisper. “You’ll still belong to us.”

Your heart skips. You knew it.

Chan watches, studying yet again but this time he learns something new. “You like that, don’t you?” your eyes flick to his, “The idea of us having you in such a primal way.”

Your throat feels dry, your tongue too heavy. “You two are drunk or something.” Chan doesn’t respond, he only closes in. “I didn’t come here for you two to be acting all fucking weird and - and …” the words die in your throat.

You try to swallow but your throat stays dry. Chan is too close now, and Hyunjin hasn’t moved from behind you. You’re boxed in, heat at your back, fire in front. Still, you square your shoulders, even if your legs feel like they’re humming with anticipation.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter, but there’s no bite. Just breath.

Chan tips his head, mock confusion curling at the corner of his mouth. “Like what?” He asks, but he knows. He always knows.

“Like you’re waiting for me to break.”

Hyunjin lets out a low, dangerous sound behind you - like a laugh dragged through a growl. “You already did,” he murmurs, voice close to your ear. “You just forgot.”

Something flashes in Chan’s eyes - recognition - and then, slowly, deliberately, he says, “You remember that night on the roof?”

Your stomach drops.

You know exactly which one.

You’d been too high, toes curled over the ledge, stoned on something you didn’t question because Chan passed it to you with that look in his eyes. Hyunjin was sprawled out nearby, shirtless and golden in the moonlight. That was the night you’d said too much. That was the night you told them how you wanted it - chased, caught, pinned. Like prey. Like a fucking animal.

“I remember what you said,” Chan continues, voice lower now, like he’s slipping under your skin. “You said you wanted to be hunted. Wanted to feel teeth at your neck. Wanted to run until your legs gave out, and then be taken.”

Your breath hitches, body going still.

“You didn’t mean it?” Hyunjin asks, tone playful but tight with something else. “Because it sounded real to me.”

You shake your head, but even you don’t know what you’re denying. Your heart pounds too loud, too fast. The fire’s crackle feels like it’s inside you now, licking at your spine.

“You’ve thought about it since then,” Chan says, stepping even closer. “That feeling of being chased… like the world falls away and it’s just us. The dark. The dirt. The trees. Need.”

And maybe you have. Maybe that night etched something into you that you never let yourself revisit - until now. Because your body? It’s already leaning in. Your thighs press together without you realizing, your breath turns shallow.

Hyunjin catches it, sharp and smug. “There she is,” he whispers. “You want it. Say it.”

You don’t speak, can’t. But you don’t need to. You take a step back - toward the trees.

Chan’s grin is slow, dark, knowing. “Run.”

Your breathing picks up. Your fingers twitch at your side and you can feel your resolve stretching thin over your desire. Hyunjin brings his hands up, gently peeling your jacket from your shoulders and down your arms, he whispers, “What’re you fighting it for? Run.”

Your eyelids flutter, you can hear him too clearly - like he’s settled in your brain. Chan just watches, hands in his pockets like he isn’t trying to rope you into a game of manhunt. You take another step back and then another.

Hyunjin moves next to Chan, watching with phlegmatic anticipation.

“Go,” he says. “You’ve got a head start.”

Silence again.

Not empty.

Not safe.

Crackling. Loaded. Breathless.

You turn your back on them.

And run.

Leaves crack underfoot, branches whip at your clothes, and your breath comes fast. You’re running blind, high and aroused and absolutely feral. Every step is a pulse, every heartbeat another second closer to being caught. You can feel them - as if there are chains connecting you all, leading them to you through the dark, stalking you just like they wanted - and now you want it too.

You don’t know who will find you first.

That’s part of the thrill.

You crouch behind a tree, trying not to breathe too loud. You have no idea how long you’ve been running. You have no idea how far you’ve gotten or if you ran in circles. You have no idea where they are.

Your senses sharpen and it’s like you can smell them before you hear them, a strong musk - honey, cigarettes and liquor.

Snap.

A branch, somewhere behind you. Closer now. Then silence.

You freeze, hand over your mouth. Another sound. Breathing? A footstep?

Nothing.

And then - “Found you.”

Hyunjin’s voice in your ear, hands on your waist. But you twist, dart away, laughing as he curses.

“Fuck- she’s quick-”

The game is on.

Chan’s voice floats through the dark, smooth and sharp. “Don’t let her think she’s winning, Hyune.”

“Let me have my fun, hyung.”

They split up, lingering far but still too close. Chan watches, slow and calculating, you vault over a log and stumble. “That tree again?” Chan calls out, amused. “You’re going in circles.”

Fuck.

You are.

Or are you?

“You think we don’t know this forest?” Hyunjin pants. His voice comes from the left… no, right… no, “We own it.”

Panic flares in your chest, but it’s the wrong kind. It’s not fear - it’s the thrill. Your pulse spikes like a live wire and you feel alive. This isn’t about getting away. Not really.

You keep going.

Until you hear Chan again, this time closer - too close:

“Left foot’s dragging. Getting tired?”

You bolt, cleaning up your rhythm like your life is on the line. You forget about being quick and focus on being neat.

You could handle Hyunjin catching you. You could fight him off, something wild and rough, but Chan, he’s worse - because you know he’s calculating. Quiet. Waiting for you to zig when you should zag. He’s not chasing you to catch you. He’s chasing you to learn you. Like a predator with patience.

You press your back to a tree, chest heaving. You don’t know how long you’ve been running, how far you've gotten - but it’s silent. That’s what matters. You’ve lost Chan.

A grin breaks across your face, shaky with adrenaline. This is fun.

You listen again, it’s silent, right? The forest pulses with your heartbeat. You wait. One second. Two. Ten. Nothing.

No voice. No footsteps.

No Chan.

No Hyunjin.

It’s worse than being chased.

Your thighs press together, your spit is thick in your mouth and you listen. You try to listen but the thought of what’s to come, the image of them catching you clouds your vision. Will they take you? Right here? Wild and primal - or will they make you run again? Hunt you over and over like a game of cat and mouse.

You want both. You want it all.

Crack.

What was that? Who was that?

The air in your lungs thins, your thighs press tighter and you fight the urge to peek. Don’t you dare fucking peek.

You hear it again, the direction is unclear like they’re everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Fuck it.

You hold your breath, leaning forward ever so slightly just to take a glimpse, something quick. Nothing. You pull back even quicker and that’s when you hear it, a whisper.

“Boo.”

You scream, Hyunjin tackles you into the leaves, laughing wicked and full. “You’re so fucking loud,” he purrs against your neck. “You want him to hear you?”

“Chan-” you gasp.

Hyunjin grins. “Yeah, call for him. Bet he’ll lose his shit.”

You breathe out his name again, softer this time. “Chan…”

Hyunjin hums, pressing his nose into the curve of your throat. “Thought so,” His hands settle on your hips like he’s trying to calm you, soothe you, even as he straddles you like prey. “Let me help you up.” he murmurs, voice lower, tender in a way that feels wrong.

And you believe it - stupidly, you believe it - because Hyunjin feels like warmth, like comfort, like that sliver of reprieve before the slaughter.

He pulls you to your feet, hands brushing dirt off your arms like a lover would. “Shhh,” he whispers, lips barely grazing your cheek. “Stay quiet. Follow me.”

So you do.

The woods swallow your footsteps. You trail behind him, heart still skittering, adrenaline crashing into lust and confusion and something dangerous.

Then-

“Where do you think you’re going?” The voice doesn’t come from behind you. No.

It comes in front.

Too late.

Before you can even react, Chan’s hand is around Hyunjin’s throat, slamming him back against a tree so hard the bark cracks under his spine. The impact shudders through the ground. You gasp, instinctively reaching forward - but Chan doesn’t even look at you.

Hyunjin’s laughing. Laughing.

“Found me,” he rasps, grin splitting his face like an axe to wood.

“You always were the easy one,” Chan growls, voice as rough as the hand still pinning Hyunjin.

“You said don’t let her win,” Hyunjin manages, eyes flicking toward you with a wild glint. “Didn’t say I couldn’t guide her.”

Chan doesn’t smile. Not fully. Just the ghost of it - mean and knowing.

“She didn’t win.” His eyes meet yours. “She walked straight into the wolf’s den.”

Your breath stutters. You take a step back - but he doesn’t come for you. Not yet.

Instead, he leans in toward Hyunjin. Fist still on his collar, other hand sliding up his side. And Hyunjin - Hyunjin fucking melts, head tilting, throat offered like he’s been waiting for this.

“Chan,” he murmurs, breathless and sweet.

You can’t look away.

Chan’s mouth brushes the hinge of Hyunjin’s jaw. Lower. Down his neck. Slow, deliberate. You watch his lips part, his tongue trace the line of a tendon, right there - where you were aching for it. Where you still are.

Hyunjin gasps, eyes fluttering shut, mouth slack with need.

It should be obscene. It is obscene. But it’s not for you.

It’s a lesson.

Your stomach flips. The air feels too tight to breathe. You want to move, say something, but your body’s locked in place, the ache in your core twisting into something uglier.

Then Hyunjin moans. Soft and bitten-back. And Chan just smiles.

Like he knows.

Like he planned it.

Like this was always meant for you to see.

And that’s when it hits you: this isn’t over. It’s barely even begun.

You bolt.

Leaves whip your legs. Branches claw at your arms. You don’t even think, just run, throat tight with humiliation and arousal and rage.

Behind you, laughter cracks through the trees.

Hyunjin’s first - breathy, wrecked, gleeful.

Then Chan’s - low and cruel and thrilled.

“Didn’t even touch her,” Hyunjin pants, already moving.

“She’ll beg next time,” Chan replies, and you can hear it: the grin in his voice. The certainty. “We’ll take our time.”

And just like that - The hunt is on again.

You sprint, branches slapping at your arms, lungs burning. But even with the blood pounding in your ears, you hear him.

Chan doesn’t shout - he calls, like a song. Like a spell.

“Where are you running, sweetheart?”

You stumble. Just a beat. Just enough.

“I wasn’t even touching you.”

The words slice. You blink hard, try to focus. Keep moving.

“But you wanted it, didn’t you?”

Your breath catches. You nearly trip.

“You watched my mouth on him like it was your fucking salvation.”

A whimper breaks out of your throat. You push faster. Leaves blur. The forest bends.

“You thought you’d be the one I’d ruin first.”

You’re shaking now, not just from exertion-shame, heat, frustration-all crawling under your skin like fire ants.

“And you still want it. Even now.”

The last one hits like a hammer. You don’t want to believe it. But it’s true. It’s so fucking true.

You can feel it-between your legs, in your teeth, under your skin. A thread you can't snap. You want to go back. You want to keep running. You want to scream.

Then you hear Hyunjin’s voice, somewhere behind you, breathless and laughing.

“She’s gonna break soon.”

Chan’s reply is velvet and final.

“Let her.”

You veer off the path, heart clawing at your ribs. It’s a gamble, doubling back, but it feels smart. The boys had split up-Hyunjin darting deeper into the trees, Chan trailing behind like a shadow. You could feel them peeling off you. You could breathe again.

So you circle. Slipping through brush, feet light on damp ground. Smiling now-just a twitch of lips. You might win this. You might actually-

You break through a clearing and freeze.

The bonfire is there, dimly lit.

This is exactly where you started, and even worse,

Chan is already there.

Leaning against a tree like he’s been waiting for hours. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, collar crooked, chest rising slowly like the night has bored him. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just looks at you, eyes shining like he never chased you at all.

You stop breathing.

“I was hoping you’d come back,” he says, voice low. Calm. Like this is a date. Like this isn’t war.

Behind you, twigs snap. Leaves rustle. Not far now - Hyunjin.

Trapped.

Chan pushes off the tree, saunters forward, slow and deliberate.

“You really think you’re hard to catch?”

You shake your head but you don’t run. You can’t. You don’t know why.

He tilts his head, a smile cutting deep.

“Then why are you still playing?”

His fingers brush your jaw before you flinch back, but it’s too late. You’re rooted. Trembling.

“You could’ve let me wreck you back there. Let me use him to pull every sound out of you. But no,” he whispers, stepping closer. “You just had to make it harder.”

Hyunjin finally appears behind you, wild and flushed, eyes burning with something unhinged.

Chan doesn’t take his eyes off you. “Now, you’re ours. Properly.”

Hyunjin presses his chest to your back but you feel something more, you nearly moan. “Tell me you weren’t thinking about it.” his voice is breathy in your ear. “Our hands on you. Breath on your neck. Fingers in your hair. You wanted to be the one under Chan’s grip, didn’t you?”

You laugh - but it’s shaky, more like a shudder. They caught you.

“Tell me,” Chan murmurs, “You didn’t picture it when I licked him.” You still don’t speak. But your silence is louder than a scream. “You want a turn, baby?”

Hyunjin’s hand is on one hip, Chan’s is on the other. They’re everywhere. “Say it,” Hyunjin whispers, smiling against your skin. You inhale with every intention of speaking but none of the execution.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Chan coos, too calm, too sure “Say it.”

Snap.

“I want it.” Your voice is strained, your throat is dry and then Hyunjin is on you. His lips latch to the soft spot of your neck, kissing and nibbling like a dog with a damn bone. His touch turns bruising, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hip but then, suddenly, it’s gone.

Chan’s hand wraps around Hyunjin’s throat again, slower this time, like he’s savoring the feel of his pulse under his palm. He pushes him back, his voice slips out, lower now - cracked and frayed at the edges for the first time all night.

“Control yourself.”

Hyunjin groans, the sound deep and simmering, more animal than man. He tilts his head toward Chan’s touch, eyes flicking to you as his lips curl.

“How about you control me?”

Something changes.

It’s not a switch, it’s a crack - splitting down the middle of Chan’s restraint. His jaw clenches, tongue pressed hard behind his teeth like he’s holding something back, barely. And then he’s not.

He surges forward, catching Hyunjin’s mouth in a kiss that’s rougher than it should be, open-mouthed and teeth first, like he wants to devour him. You feel it like a shock in your chest.

Then Chan’s hand finds you, fingers fisting your shirt, pulling you in until your breath is trapped between both of theirs. You can smell the kiss on them, feel the heat pouring off their skin.

Chan pulls back just enough to look at you. His voice is hoarse when it lands.

“Kiss him,” he says, eyes dark. “I wanna taste you.”

Hyunjin’s lips find yours with his eyes closed, yours shut too, a moan breaks through and Chan slots himself behind you - trapping you yet again.

Chan pushes your chest against Hyunjin’s, his lips on your neck while Hyunjin slips his tongue into your mouth with a groan. You don’t know what to do with your hands, you don’t know who to touch but Chan solves that problem for you. He takes one of your wrists and brings your hand back, placing it over the bulge in his jeans, you moan.

“That’s it, baby,” His voice is the one that’s wild now, his breathing ragged. “Use both of us, don’t make me show you how.” You break the kiss, panting against Hyunjin’s spit slick lips. His hand slips under your shirt, nearly clawing at your skin.

“Look at me while you touch him.” You manage, finding Hyunjin’s shining eyes in the dim light. “That’s my girl.”

Chan’s mouth ghosts along your neck, teeth scraping over your pulse like he’s deciding whether to bite down. He hums, low and approving, when you squeeze him through his jeans, your other hand is still tangled in Hyunjin’s shirt like you’re holding on for balance - like you need to.

Hyunjin’s grip tightens on your waist, his fingers branding your skin as he buries his face in your throat. He bites harder than he should. You gasp, your hips jerking back into Chan’s.

“Oh, she likes that,” Hyunjin breathes, drunk on your reaction.

Chan’s hand closes over your throat, not squeezing, just holding, a reminder of who’s in control. “Of course she does,” he growls. “She wants to be ruined.”

You whimper, and it earns you a hard roll of Chan’s hips, the pressure making your knees buckle. He doesn’t let you fall-he never does, he never would-but he wants you unstable, trembling, caught between them.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Hyunjin says again, rougher now. “Let him feel how wet you are, but don’t come,” he whispers. “You come, we start over.”

“You come when I say.” Chan leans in close, turning your head so that his hot breath fans over your lips, “You’re mine when you come. Say it.”

Hyunjin groans against your stomach, sliding down, already tugging at the waistband of your jeans with frantic fingers. You feel his teeth drag across your skin.

Chan watches you fall apart from behind, his voice the only tether left.

“Say it, or I’ll stop him.”

Chan’s fingers tighten on your throat, enough to make your breath hitch but not enough to choke. You feel your heart race, your body trembling, and you know it's not from fear. It’s desire - frenzied desire.

"Say it," he growls, his voice so low it vibrates through your bones. "Say you belong to me."

Hyunjin pulls your shirt up roughly, his hands clawing at your skin as if he wants to tear you open. “Say it, baby,” he sounds like he moans, he probably does. His lips are dragging across your chest, nipping and marking your skin. His voice is a little more frantic now, as if he's barely hanging onto control, too.

“I belong to you, both of you. I’m yours.” Your words are dizzy just like you are. They’re the only thing in your head that makes sense besides them.

You gasp as Hyunjin’s hand slides lower, finding its way past the waistband of your jeans and into your underwear. He groans when he feels how wet you are, running his finger through the slick slowly. “Fuck... she’s dripping, Chan.”

Chan growls, leaning in to bite your ear, his teeth sharp enough to make you cry out. “Don’t move,” he commands, his voice like a whip cracking in the still air. You want to obey, but it’s getting harder with every stroke of Hyunjin’s fingers, the teasing pressure making your legs quake.

Hyunjin fights your pants down your thighs, getting them off completely and tossing them to the side. You shiver as the cold air hits you mixed with the static of lust pulsing around the three of you.

Instinctively, you close in on yourself, pressing your thighs together just for Hyunjin to pry them open again. Chan moves his hand from your throat and grabs at your hips. His tongue moves past his lips with purpose, licking up the side of your throat and sucking a bruise into the flesh before he whispers,

“Open wider. Let him eat.” Hyunjin’s mouth is between your legs, obscene and skilled, moaning into your skin while Chan bites your shoulder, hissing filth into your ear.

Hyunjin’s tongue dips up and slowly swipes at your folds. You moan. He growls. He does it again and again and again and then he latches to your clit with a flat lick that ends with the tip of his tongue circling and teasing your sensitive bud. Your arousal drips down his chin and it sets something off in him.

He grabs your thighs, nails in your flesh before giving you some shallow tongue fucking that makes you tilt your head back on Chan’s shoulder.

“See what happens when you let us win?” Chan coos, sliding a hand under your shirt to cup your breast. He pinches your nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he watches Hyunjin in the moonlight. He can make out the glisten on his chin when he pulls away. He can see the bliss in his eyes.

“She’s so wet, you gotta fucking taste her.”

They trade. They take turns. Fingers, mouths, teasing each other while teasing you.

Chan latches onto your clit and you palm Hyunjin through his jeans. That’s enough to have him stripping himself to feel you - to really feel you. He guides your hand back, wrapping it around his cock and spitting down to give you something to work with.

“That’s what you’ve wanted, isn’t it, baby.” It’s barely a question but you nod anyway. You jerk his cock and he holds your thighs apart from behind you, keeping you open for Chan to continue tongue fucking you. “You sound so fucking gone.”

You can’t even find the words to respond, not with Chan’s tongue flicking and teasing, not with Hyunjin’s cock pulsing in your hand. Hyunjin pulls you back toward him abruptly, making you switch positions, turning you to face him. His lips crash into yours like he needs to taste how wrecked you are. Possessive fingers lace through your hair and you feel lightheaded, like all the heat in your body has gone to your core.

You moan, it’s all you can manage.

You feel stretched thin - nerves burning, mind blank, every inch of you hypersensitive and strung up between them. It's like your body is working faster than your brain, need overriding thought, pleasure overriding shame. You're not even sure where you end and they begin anymore. You just want more. More mouth, more hands, more everything.

Chan is still kneeling behind you, kneading the plush flesh of your ass in his big hands until he spreads your cheeks and rims your tight hole.

You gasp into Hyunjin’s mouth and he takes the opportunity to press his mouth into you further. He groans at the taste, sucking on your tongue before letting go and whispering. "I have to be inside,"

Chan stands, there’s a rustle of clothing and then skin - his skin - against your shirt, pressing against you. He grabs Hyunjin’s jaw, hard, steering him to his lips. You don’t miss the way they groan, the way Hyunjin’s hips stutter against you. They’re as drunk on each other as they are on you, lost in this fever heat. Hyunjin trails kisses along Chan’s jaw before he pulls back, panting heavily.

“Hold her open for me,” Chan tells Hyunjin. There’s a glint in his eyes where the light hits. Hyunjin obeys, bringing you back with him until his back hits a tree. He presses you into him, bucking his bare cock against your back while Chan stocks forward, admiring the two of you.

Chan hooks an arm under one knee and then the other, he hoists you up, positioning you right above his cock with a growl so raw you’d thought it came from Hyunjin. Chan rubs his cock through your drenched folds, barely teasing at your entrance before he pushes in.

You howl.

You claw and keen.

“Ah, fuck, baby - you’re tight. So fucking tight.” Chan praises you through gritted teeth and a wild look in his eyes. Hyunjin moans at the description, breaking a bit and lining himself up behind you.

“Hyune,” You whimper, less like a warning and more like a plea. He shushes you, using the dripping slick from your cunt to lube your ass. “Breathe,” He presses in and your eyes roll back. “Take it, angel. Breathe.”

Chan slows his pace in your cunt while Hyunjin eases his way into your ass. He gives you a few shallow thrusts, bottoming out slowly and letting you adjust to how full you are. The stretch has you gasping for air, every inch of space claimed with them - just them - until they start moving.

It’s slow at first. Every thrust is perfectly timed like they can feel each other's rhythm. It’s slow until Chan can’t help himself and starts bucking up like an animal. You groan, Hyunjin moans.

“Hyung, fuck, I can feel you.” The words sound wild from Hyunjin's pretty mouth, wilder when Chan slams into you harder and he starts to melt into a broken mess. “Fuck, fuck - keep going.” He pleads, his grip on your thighs is like iron but you’re too far gone to feel the sting.

“Please don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.” You whimper, just as fucked out as they are - hell, maybe more. You’re drooling now, your tongue can’t stay in your mouth like a wolf in heat being bred and marked by rabid alpha’s

Just then, Hyunjin bites your shoulder, a warning before he grabs your jaw with one hand and turns your head forcing your mouth open. He spits into it once, twice, messy and obscene.

“Swallow.” You do.

“Fuck-” They choke out the curse in unison when you clench around them, they press into you at the same time, their cocks rubbing against each other with only the pulsing wet walls of you to keep them apart.

“This pussy is gonna fucking empty me.” Chan grunts, looking you in the eyes and you clench, keening loud and lewd.

You jolt with every thrust, a ragdoll between them while they use you, praise you, break you down. “She’s gonna fucking come,” Hyunjin moans, “I can feel it.”

“Do it,” Chan grunts, glancing at where you’re connected. He can see everything, how full you are with him and Hyunjin. “Fucking do it.”

They pump into you at a rhythm that syncs so well you can only call it wicked. Hyunjin is groaning, growling in your ear. While Chan is grunting, moaning, struggling to keep his control right in front of your eyes. You cry out as they pound into you hard enough to shatter the stars overhead. You shatter too.

“H-hyune- Cha- Channie, I’m fucking - fuck!” You quake, thighs trembling, cunt gushing and clenching while you see stars. They don’t stop, they only cry out, howling like wolves who need to let the world know who just ruined you.

“Holy shit, baby, I wan’ your mouth.” Hyunjin is panting, slowing as he nearly reaches his peak. Chan does the same, slowing as you ride out your high and then they both pull out. Chan peels off his jacket, laying it on the ground for you to kneel on.

You’re still shaking. Your body limp and slick with sweat, barely able to hold yourself upright. Chan’s jacket is soft under your knees, but nothing about this moment feels gentle.

Hyunjin’s cock is in your hand before you even register it. It’s still wet from your cunt, flushed and pulsing, and he’s staring down at you like you’re something holy. Ruined and holy.

“Open your mouth,” he commands - soft but not sweet. His hand tangles in your hair, pulling tight enough to arch your throat. “Be a good girl and show me.”

You part your lips, tongue out, obedient and dazed.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, stroking himself slow just inches from your face. “You look so fucking desperate like that.”

Chan crouches behind you again, running his hands down your back, trailing over the bruises he left, the fingerprints painted into your skin.

“Look at her,” he murmurs to Hyunjin, voice dark with wonder. “So ready to be used. Fucking perfect.”

Hyunjin leans in, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “This what you wanted, angel? To get ruined twice and still beg for cock down your throat? To gag on it like a whore?”

You whimper - barely a sound - and Chan coos.

“She can’t even speak anymore. Drunk off the come we let her have.”

Hyunjin’s cock slides against your tongue - wet, warm, heavy - and he groans like it’s the first time. “God, yes... that mouth. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

You hollow your cheeks, tongue working instinctively. Chan watches over your shoulder, one hand gripping your ass, the other threading into your hair beside Hyunjin’s.

“Take him,” he says. “Deeper.”

Hyunjin's hips buck forward and you gag but hold him, eyes watering, throat burning in the best fucking way.

“That’s it,” Chan growls. “Choke on it. Be good and take it.”

Hyunjin shudders above you, voice raw. “She’s fucking moaning on it, hyung. You hear that?”

Chan grins like the devil himself. “I hear it, baby. She just loves being a slut for us.”

You try to nod, but your throat is full and your jaw is straining, and that’s answer enough.

Chan drags his hand from your hair to your mouth, wiping the spit from your chin, then pushing it back between your lips around Hyunjin’s cock.

“You drool on his cock, I’ll make you lick it back up. Clean him like you’re starved.”

You gag again, loud this time, and Hyunjin moans - deep and broken. He pulls out for a breath, watching your spit stretch from your lips to his tip.

“I’m gonna come down your throat if you keep doing that,” he pants. “Fuck, you want that?”

You gasp, eyes wide and glassy, tongue still out.

Chan grabs your jaw, tilting your face to look at him. “Swallow all of it. Don’t fucking waste a drop.”

Hyunjin thrusts forward again - shallow, controlled, but shaking at the edges. You take him, take it all, gagging and drooling as Chan whispers in your ear “Hold still. Take it. You’re doing so good, baby. So fucking good.”

Hyunjin’s breath shudders. His grip in your hair tightens, and his hips stutter forward with a desperate sound that’s half a sob, half a snarl.

“Ah - shit, fuck, I’m-”

You feel it before you taste it - thick, hot, spilling over your tongue as Hyunjin groans like the weight of it knocks the air from his lungs. “Hold still. Open wider - yeah, just like that. You’re doing so fucking well, sweetheart.” Chan watches you swallow with heat in his eyes. You choke slightly, tears leaking from your eyes as you gulp around him. He holds you there, buried to the hilt, trembling.

“Don’t rush. I wanna watch it all go down that pretty throat. Wanna hear you whimper with a mouth full of him.”

Hyunjin pulls back slowly, his cock slipping from your mouth with a wet pop. He’s still panting, flushed and wide-eyed like he’s just seen God, and maybe he has. “Fuck, that’s it. That’s our girl,” He’s cupping your face now, gentle - contradicting everything he just did. “You did so fucking well, baby.”

Chan doesn't give you a second to breathe.

His hand threads into your hair, firm but not cruel, guiding Hyunjin’s cock from your lips only to replace it with his own - thicker, heavier, the taste of salt and skin overwhelming your senses.

“Didn’t think I was done with you, did you, doll?” he growls, already pushing past your lips, taking advantage of how loose your throat is now, wrecked from Hyunjin. “Open wide. Let me use that pretty mouth.”

You hum a moan but you’re not the only one. Hyunjin groans above you, breath catching as Chan’s hand slides around his waist and grips his cock again - still flushed, still twitching, too sensitive to be touched but not able to pull away.

“Fuck, hyung, baby…” Hyunjin’s hips jerk forward into Chan’s hand, legs shaking.

“She’s already a mess, ruined from both ends,” Chan huffs, mouth curled in something cruel. “And you’re still leaking like a whore, Hyune.”

He pumps Hyunjin slow and tight, fingers teasing the head where your slick still clings, smearing it over the shaft. Hyunjin shudders, his hands on your shoulders now for balance, head tipped back, lips parted in a silent moan.

“Th-there - fuck-” Hyunjin’s voice cracks. “That’s too - too…”

“You’ll take it,” Chan grits out, cock fucking deep into your throat, your gag swallowed by the sound of Hyunjin’s desperate sob. “Just like her. Just like the little mess you are.”

You can barely breathe - tears stream down your face again, spit slicking your chin, drooling down to Chan’s balls. But you don’t stop. Can’t. The taste of him makes your brain short-circuit, and the way he jerks Hyunjin off like he owns him? It has you dripping again, even as your knees shake under you.

Hyunjin leans forward, bracing himself, eyes glassy. Then he kisses Chan.

Hard. Mouths crashing together over your head, messy and hot, all teeth and tongue and groaned curses.

Chan growls into the kiss, fucking your mouth harder, and jacking Hyunjin faster now, just to feel him shake.

“You’re so close again,” Chan mutters into Hyunjin’s mouth, their foreheads pressed together. “Gonna come all over my hand while she chokes on me?”

Hyunjin nods, desperate and ruined. “I - I can’t-”

Chan bites his lip and grips his cock tighter. “Yes, you can. You’ll come again just like this - watching her.”

He leans back just enough to see you.

Your eyes flutter open to meet his - blown wide, desperate - and he groans low in his chest.

“There’s our perfect fucking girl,” Chan says, thumb brushing the edge of your lip as you gag on him again. “Taking my cock like a good little hole while I milk Hyune dry.”

And then it happens

Hyunjin breaks with a sound that’s feral. His cock pulses in Chan’s grip, spurting hot over Chan’s fist, some of it landing on your shoulder, your chest, dripping down to stain Chan’s jacket beneath you.

You moan around Chan’s cock - eyes rolling back, the whole thing too much and not enough.

Chan laughs low, cock twitching deep in your throat. “She liked that. Fuck, look at her.”

He doesn’t last long after that. He pulls out just to come all over your tongue, your lips, mixing with Hyunjin’s cum on your skin. They both watch you swallow, licking your lips like it’s your last meal.

Hyunjin collapses beside you, spent, and Chan leans down, cupping your jaw, thumbing away your tears with the same hand slick from Hyunjin’s come.

“Still want more, sweetheart?” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Or did we fulfill your fantasy?”

Hyunjin’s hands, once relentless, now gently trace your cheek, pulling your attention his way. There’s still that burning intensity in his eyes, but it’s paired with something else - care, tenderness, as if he's remembering what it means to be gentle. "You okay?" His voice is softer, different, like he’s come back to the moment with you.

Chan, standing in front of you, kneels and runs a hand up your thigh. His touch is a stark contrast to the roughness from earlier. His fingers move with intent, slow and deliberate, tracing the outline of your body as if memorizing it. "You did so well," he murmurs, his voice hoarse but sincere. His lips brush your neck, soft, as though he’s afraid of breaking something fragile.

You feel them, both of them, pressing close, not in a demanding way, but in a way that feels... protective. Hyunjin nudges his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply. "That’s all you, baby," he whispers. "You’ve got us wrapped around your finger, you know that?"

Chan chuckles just barely, a small smirk on his lips as he presses his forehead to yours. “It’s more than that, it’s like we’re chained.” Hyunjin hums, acknowledging, agreeing.

You take a breath, finally remembering how to use your voice. “You’ve got me.” They both pull back, looking at you with eyes too wide, too wild, too vulnerable.

“Good.” Chan sighs and Hyunjin leans in putting his forehead together with the two of you, he whispers.

“We’ll keep being each other's escape.”

⤷ a/n - This is my first long fic since I've had writers block. I hope that you enjoyed! I was really excited for this fic and I've been hard on myself about it. If you enjoyed it then feedback and a reblog will actually make my day. Thank You!

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aleksatia · 25 days ago

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🍎 Blind date with your ex-husband. You never expected it to be… Caleb.

Inspiration hit me going 100mph down the highway, and I took an unscheduled gas station stop just to write this down. My husband almost divorced me again thinking I’d lost my mind — so in a way, this series is dedicated to him. And to second chances. I know they exist. I’ve lived one. 🥀

An unplanned new series. Five ex-husbands. Same setup, different reactions.

❄️ Zayne | 🎨 Rafayel | ✨Xavier | 🏍 Sylus

Cut Scene (NSFW): 🍎 Caleb – The Tea, the Rice, and Everything Between

CW/TW: emotional trauma, post-divorce grief, unresolved intimacy, mutual guilt and blame, AI-simulated memory confrontation, violent emotional release, destructive conflict, references to emotional manipulation and psychological burnout, gameified use of weapons, simulated car crash, coarse language, heavy emotional dialogue, themes of self-sabotage, intimacy tangled with pain, and lingering affection that hurts to hold. Please read with care.

Pairing: Caleb x ex-wife!you Genre: Emotional combat dressed as therapy. Post-divorce catharsis through orchestrated destruction. Rage as ritual, memory as minefield. Estranged soulmates, bruised devotion, unsaid things turned weapon. Slow-burn devastation with soft hands and steel teeth. Summary: You didn’t sign up for closure. You signed up to break things. But when your blind date turns out to be Caleb — your ex-husband, your gravity, your sharpest regret — the rooms stop being symbolic. Each one strips you down, forces you closer, until rage gives way to honesty, control to collapse. And underneath it all, he’s still the man who would never let you fall… but might be the reason you broke in the first place. Word Count: 7.1K AN: For some reason, the one I write last always ends up being twice as long as the one I write first — which is why I constantly rotate the order. Out of five men, five parts, this one came last… and, predictably, got out of hand. I'll be honest — this turned out painful. At least for me. And cruel, in places. But it felt honest. Maybe a little OOC at times, but let’s be real — divorce changes people. And now I need to recover from this one. Probably for longer than I want to admit.

Almost a year after the divorce, something inside you had been fermenting.

Not relief, not the lightness of a woman unshackled, but something bitter and unholy. The kind of pain that doesn’t dissolve, but calcifies. It grew claws. Grew teeth. Turned your bloodstream into gasoline. You tried everything: the silence of mountains, the thrill of anonymous sex, the rhythm of violence in a boxing ring. None of it was enough. The hunts were no longer satisfying. The catharsis, too fleeting. You needed something that could bleed when you hit it.

So when the ad appeared — BLIND DATE: DESTRUCTION EDITION. To escape, you must destroy — you signed up without thinking twice. Rage has never been your enemy. Indecision is.

You dressed for war. Tight leather pants that clung like a second skin. Laced boots with soles heavy enough to leave imprints. A button-down shirt under a corset not meant to seduce, but to shield. Your hair pulled into a high, severe ponytail. Drama layered like armor.

This wasn’t a date. It was a reckoning.

You arrived five minutes early. You always do. The place was a former warehouse, rebranded into a rage room with curated destruction experiences — urban apocalypse meets sad girl therapy. The hostess gave you a waiver and a smirk. “He’s already here,” she said. “In Room B.”

You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t want to know. You wanted to feel your heartbeat in your teeth.

You walked in, pulling on the thick gloves, then sliding the protective goggles into place. The world dimmed slightly through the tinted lenses, sharpening at the edges. Everything suddenly looked a little more dangerous. A little more true.

The door hissed shut behind you, and the lock clicked with a finality that was almost erotic. One way in. No way out but through — through brick, through rage, through whatever poor bastard was foolish enough to stand in your way.

Your hand found the sledgehammer without looking, fingers curling around its weight like it was made for you. Heavy. Grounding. Righteous. You gave it a test swing, then another, calibrating impact, imagining bone. You didn’t even glance at him.

Whoever he was, he’d get the same treatment as the wall.

Until he spoke.

“Well,” the voice cut through the air like a cracked knuckle, dry and dark, “you still choose the biggest weapon in the room. Some things never change, pip-squeak.”

You turned. Fast. The hammer arced through the space between you, too close. He ducked. The wall behind him caught the edge, chipped hard enough to spray red dust into the air.

“Say that again,” you warned, low and flat, “and I swear I’ll aim for the nose next time.”

He straightened slowly, expression unreadable except for the barely-contained fire in his eyes.

“Touchy,” he muttered. “All righty. Retiring that one. Let’s see... viperette? Still small. Still mean. But I respect the venom upgrade.”

Caleb.

Of course it was Caleb.

The universe had a sense of humor. A cruel one.

He looked like war in a t-shirt. Leaner, somehow, like rage had eaten away the softness around his edges. His jaw was tight, eyes dark and alert, like he’d been living off caffeine and unfinished sentences. He held a crowbar like it was an extension of his spine — ready to break, to pry, to rip something apart.

You didn’t say his name. You didn’t give the moment that kind of power.

“Jesus,” he muttered, eyeing the setup. “A brick wall. Real subtle. What, are we supposed to talk about our feelings while we chip away at the trauma?”

You didn’t dignify that with a reply—at least not right away. Then, dryly: “I think we’re supposed to break shit. Bonus points if we don’t murder each other.”

He barked a short, mirthless laugh. “Blind date with a bat and unresolved issues. Sounds like your kind of night.”

“You’re projecting. I didn’t come here to reminisce, Caleb. I came here to destroy.”

“Great. Start with the wall.”

You planted your feet, drew back, and slammed the hammer into the bricks. The jolt surged through you like an exorcism. Caleb followed suit, striking beside your dent with a calculated precision that annoyed you more than it should’ve.

You worked without speaking. The cracks formed slowly, reluctantly, like even the damn wall didn’t believe you two could work together. You hated how easily your rhythms aligned. Always had. Even when you fought, you were fluent in each other’s movement.

He paused, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “So. Tell me, did you know it was gonna be me?”

“If I had, I’d have brought a bigger hammer.”

“And here I thought you might’ve missed me.”

You turned your head, just enough to let him see your smile — sharp, unapologetic. “I did. Like you miss a bullet you didn’t dodge.”

That shut him up.

For now.

The wall finally began to give.

Cracks widened, deepened, split like veins across the surface. Your breath came hard, sharp in your throat. You were sweating, but the hammer felt lighter now, almost like it wanted more.

Another hit. Another. Then —

Caleb dropped his crowbar with a clatter, stepped in close, too close. You tightened your grip, not sure if he was about to yell, shove, or kiss you.

He didn’t do any of those things.

Instead, he reached out and gripped your upper arm — not rough, but firm, like a man redirecting fate — and pulled you a half step back. The wall loomed beside you like a dying animal. You opened your mouth to protest, but stopped when you saw his face.

He was looking at you like he was memorizing the end of the world. That same gaze he used to have when he thought you were asleep and he was letting himself be weak for ten seconds. It cut deeper now.

You didn’t blink. Neither did he.

Then, without a word, he turned, drew back, and drove the full weight of his body into one final strike.

The hammer met the weak spot with a sound that rang like a gunshot. Dust exploded into the air. He kicked the base of the wall hard — his boot landing with perfect force, perfect timing — and the whole thing collapsed in the opposite direction, away from you, bricks falling like dominos, like judgment, like the years between you had meant nothing and everything at once.

Silence.

Then you exhaled.

And said, flatly, “You always did know how to make a point. Real subtle, Colonel.”

His jaw twitched. That was all. No quip this time, no grin. Just the tight strain in his neck and a flicker behind his eyes like something was about to unhinge. But it didn’t. Of course it didn’t. That was the whole game with you two — feeling everything and showing nothing until the room caught fire.

You stepped through the rubble.

The next chamber was colder. Darker. The hum of old OLED screens filled the air like flies buzzing near a carcass. Dozens of them, mounted along the curved walls in perfect symmetry. Some flickering, some bright, all showing the same kind of sickening reel. Success. Smiles. Promotions. Affection posed for the camera, curated happiness. Couples at sunset, at brunch, in bed. Running on a beach, golden and effortless.

Then the altar.

A bride. A groom. A goddamn soft-focus lens.

You stopped cold.

The hammer slipped from your hand. You bent slowly, picked up a chunk of broken brick from the ruins behind you — rough, warm, red with the breath of your anger — and flung it.

The screen shattered on impact. A flicker. Sparks. A frozen image of a kiss, fractured into spider veins of glass.

Caleb didn’t move. Not really. Just stood there, staring at the wall of curated lies. His eyes darted from screen to screen, like he was trying to catch something in the movement. Like he was afraid he’d see something too real.

You hurled another brick.

The screen cracked with a dull, satisfying sound, collapsing inward like it had flinched.

“Would’ve been more poetic if they used our photos,” he said, dryly, like his throat was sand.

You scoffed. “Should’ve offered the organizers access to our digital album, I guess. Too bad I wiped every trace of you from the cloud last October.”

That got him.

His lip curled upward — half a smirk, half a snarl. “Of course you did. Practical. Cold. Classic you.”

You turned slowly, blood surging behind your ears. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t step back. Caleb never did. “I didn’t delete anything,” he said, voice low. “Renamed the album. Filed it under ‘Bitch I Used to Love’ Thought it was honest.”

You could’ve scratched the skin off his face with how fast your hands moved if not for the gloves and the goggles between you. You were on him in a second, eyes locked, breath ragged, but neither of you made contact. Not yet. The air between you hissed with the threat of combustion.

“You’re such a fu—”

The voice cut in. Not his. Not yours.

From the screen behind you, a woman's face smiled, unbearably bright, like a toothpaste ad with delusions of sincerity. “You can always count on me,” she said.

Your breath stopped.

That phrase. His phrase.

Before you could move, Caleb did.

He crossed the room in two strides and brought the bat down like wrath. The screen split open with a flash of white light and a guttural sound that wasn’t quite human. A scream, maybe. Or something deeper.

He didn’t say anything after that. And neither did you.

Not in words.

But your body answered. Loudly.

You tore through the room like it had insulted you personally. Which, in a way, it had. Those grinning avatars of happiness, the sterile intimacy of picture-perfect couples — people who hadn’t known the feeling of being swallowed alive by someone they trusted. Smug joy laminated in pixels. They deserved everything you gave them.

You brought the bat down on one screen, then another. Glass shattered in bursts. Sparks flew like ash from a controlled burn. Across the room, Caleb mirrored you, attacking from the opposite side — controlled, brutal, rhythmic. Again, you were in sync. Not lovers. Not enemies. Just two wild animals with matching scars, dismantling a cathedral of lies.

And then you met in the middle.

The largest screen loomed between you, mounted above a faux-marble pedestal like some grotesque altar. You swung. Hard. The bat ricocheted off the screen like it had hit bone.

It didn’t crack. It laughed. A sharp recoil shot up your arm.

You let out a guttural sound — somewhere between a curse and a grow l— and dropped the bat.

Then picked up a brick.

It was still warm from the earlier wall, one edge sharp enough to draw blood if it wanted to. You didn’t give it the chance. You took it to the screen, again and again, raw and breathless, something primal and unrepentant bleeding out through your hands. Each strike carved into the polished surface like you were trying to murder memory itself.

Caleb didn’t stop you. He just stood to the side, watching the destruction like it was sacred.

When the screen finally gave in, it did so all at once. Glass caved with a scream of surrender, wires snapped, the frame buckled and collapsed in on itself. Behind it: a door. Dark, narrow, humming softly.

You stood still, shoulders heaving. Your fingers clenched tighter around the brick, so tight the rough edges pressed through the gloves and left grooves in your skin beneath. You swallowed hard, once, choking back something feral and ho t— not quite tears, but close enough to shame you.

Then, without looking, you turned and hurled the brick in the opposite direction. Just to hear it hit. Just to remind yourself you still could.

Caleb took a step toward you. Careful. Something in his face had changed — softened, almost. His mouth twitched like he was about to ask the one question no one in their right mind should ask.

Are you okay?

No. You were not okay. You were on fire inside a collapsing structure and the only thing holding you together was inertia.

“Touch me,” you warned, voice like cut wire, “and I swear I’ll hit harder than I did that screen.”

And with that, you walked forward. Toward whatever hell came next.

The room ahead was cleaner. Cold lighting. Metallic walls with thin veins of circuitry pulsing like capillaries beneath glass. At the center stood a sleek black pedestal, and on it: two shotguns. Game-style, not military, but still heavy, still real enough in your hands to feel the familiar pull of power in the barrel. Your palms flexed on instinct.

You grabbed one without hesitation. Caleb followed suit.

Above, a voice crackled — genderless, modulated. Artificial.

“Welcome to Trigger Point. Please attach neural sensors to your temples. Each player must input ten phrases associated with emotional distress. The AI will cross-reference the data, generate projected constructs, and render them in combat form. Destroy on sight. Objective: release. Completion time: variable.”

You stared at the interactive screen blinking in front of you. A small keyboard. Ten empty fields. The implication clear: name your demons. Feed them in. And then shoot them down.

Caleb started typing immediately. No hesitation. His fingers flew. He was always better at anger. At naming what hurt. You wondered if he’d been waiting for a moment like this.

You stared at your own screen, unmoving. The cursor blinked at you. Accusatory. You hated this part. Not the shooting. The naming.

Because naming made it real.

But you typed.

Reluctantly, clumsily, then faster.

Because you knew exactly which phrases had lived rent-free in your spine for too long.

Done.

You caught him glancing sideways. His screen dimmed just as yours did, locking your inputs.

You didn’t want to know what he’d written. But the room did.

A low mechanical hum vibrated through the air, and the wall across from you came alive. Light surged and split into fragmented holograms — each word sharp as a knife, floating midair, stuttering into full clarity. One at a time.

“Cognitive synchronization complete. Each phrase will be visualized using memory-sourced projection. Targets derived from active recall. Accuracy required. Proceed.”

You felt the data pull like a hook behind your eyes — memory sucked forward, scanned, sorted, shaped.

The first phrase came like a punch to the teeth.

You were the safest place I knew. Until you put a ring on me and turned the lights off.

It hovered for a second, just long enough to register, and then dissolved. The smoke twisted and thickened. From it emerged a figure that stole your breath.

It was you.

Not the way you feel in mirrors, not the version eroded by grief or fury. This one was too poised, too precise. Her face was colder than you remembered yours ever being. Her beauty surgical. Her anger had been refined into stillness, and in that stillness — something worse than screaming.

She looked at Caleb like he’d failed a test she never let him study for.

You hesitated.

Your fingers twitched around the shotgun’s grip. You lifted it slightly, almost reflexively — but something inside you screamed don’t. You didn’t remember saying it like that. Not with that finality. Maybe in anger, maybe meaning something else entirely. But this version of you didn’t look like she regretted a thing.

She raised her own weapon.

You flinched.

But Caleb fired first.

The shot was sharp, efficient. Her body shattered into a scatter of static and fractured light.

You turned to him, stunned. His fingers were still trembling on the trigger. Yours were, too.

Not just by the sound of the shot, or the way your projected self shattered — but by the fact that he had pulled the trigger.

On you.

Even if it wasn’t you-you. Even if it was just light and memory, coded and cruel. He had done it. Without hesitation.

It felt final somehow. Like something sacred had cracked open and spilled out. Like you’d crossed a threshold you didn’t know existed.

Because you used to believe — no, know — that even at your ugliest, your worst, your most furious, he would never hurt you. Not like that. You had believed, with a terrifying kind of faith, that he’d sooner put a bullet through his own head than raise a weapon to yours.

And maybe that was still true. But maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe too much had decayed between you. Maybe the divorce had rewritten you both in ways neither of you were ready to see.

You didn’t want to ask. You didn’t want to know the answer.

Neither of you spoke. You could see in his face that the phrase had lived in him longer than you’d ever meant it to. Long enough to calcify. Long enough to echo. Long enough to ruin.

You froze, body coiled in silent expectation.

You knew what was coming. You could feel it before the text even appeared, like a static current pulling through your chest. The phrase you typed. The one you swore you wouldn’t look at when it came.

But it came anyway.

The words unfolded in slow motion, thick with memory, with everything unsaid between you. A sentence shaped like him.

I was too blinded by loving you. You only let me touch you when you wanted something. You pull my heart like a puppet on strings.

It didn’t feel like watching something. It felt like being flayed.

Your breath caught.

You fired — too soon. You missed. Glass behind the projection cracked, but the thing itself remained.

You hadn’t wanted to see it. You hadn’t wanted to hear it again. You regretted typing it. You regretted remembering it. You regretted ever giving those words a place to live inside you.

You could feel Caleb tense beside you. Not from the content — he already knew the line — but from the timing. From your reaction. From how fast you'd tried to erase it.

You gritted your teeth. Lifted the gun again. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple, cool and traitorous.

You aimed. And fired.

The figure burst apart — no scream, no sound — just a silent, violent fireworks display of red-gold pixels. Gone.

You stood there, breathing hard, hand tight on the grip, pulse roaring in your throat.

And only then did you understand.

Why he’d shot your projection first. Why it hadn’t felt like betrayal, not really.

Because these versions of you — of him — these pale ghosts, weaponized by memory and algorithm, weren’t real anymore. They were remnants. Monsters made of moments that no longer had the right to exist. Not even here, in a world built of nothing but ones and zeroes.

You hadn’t destroyed him. You’d destroyed the version of him that hurt you.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what he’d done too.

More phrases came. Some his. Some yours.

Why do you always disappear?

Shot. Flash. A twist in the gut. You don’t stop moving.

I felt safer when you weren’t there.

Shot. Flash. His shoulders jerk. You catch it, pretend you didn’t.

You made me into someone I hated.

Shot. Flash. You almost drop the gun. Almost.

You wanted control more than connection.

Shot. Flash. You taste metal in your mouth. Don’t know if it’s from the memory or your own tongue.

It all becomes a blur — fragments of truth, shredded light, the weight of your weapon like a heartbeat in your hand.

Then —

One more.

It doesn’t come fast. It lands.

Like a final breath drawn sharp before the plunge.

His.

I loved you so much it destroyed me.

No shape yet. Just the words, hanging. Clean. Unfiltered. Unhidden.

Like he never got the chance to say them out loud. Like some part of him still hadn’t stopped saying them, even now.

Everything in the room goes still. Even the flicker of light quiets. And you feel it — that if you move now, everything will break.

You don’t know when the tears started. They weren’t dramatic. They didn’t sting. They just existed — like breath, like gravity. Sliding down your cheeks with the same quiet inevitability as everything else that’s ever gone wrong.

You were back there. In that moment. Before the signature. Before the sound of the pen on paper. When he looked at you across the room, and said it — not to win you back, not to argue, not to accuse. Just to say it.

Because it was true.

And now here he was again — only not really. A pixelated Caleb. A slowed, AI-crafted echo of that same version. Stepping forward from the projection field like it remembered how he moved.

The voice that left his mouth was mechanical, but still it hit like flesh: “I loved you so much it destroyed me.”

Exactly the way he had said it then. The rhythm, the weight. The slight lift at the end that had felt like a question, a prayer, a hope too stupid to say out loud.

This ghost carried it too. You didn’t raise your gun. You couldn’t.

You couldn’t shoot that. Not the hope. Not the part that believed.

And so —

Caleb did.

No hesitation.

A clean, brutal shot that tore the projection apart mid-step. The ghost shattered like it had never mattered. Never happened. Never existed.

And then there was silence. When you turned to him, his face gave you nothing.

A mask. Still. Cold. The kind of stillness that doesn’t come from control, but from emptiness. Like your love hadn’t just hurt him.

It had hollowed him.

And maybe he was right. Maybe there really was nothing left.

“Nothing left to break,” he said quietly. “Nothing left to ruin.”

You looked at him. Eyes wide. Wet. Fragile in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Do you think I wanted this?” you asked, voice raw, like something torn.

He stared at the air where the projection had been, then turned his head slightly — just enough to catch your gaze. But his face didn’t change. He was somewhere else.

“No one wanted this,” he said. “And now we’re literally shooting pieces of ourselves. Burning through our own memories. Like wanderers. Like something foreign. Something we don’t belong to anymore.”

He looked around the room — at the shards of your past, still flickering. Smoke curling around dying light. A graveyard of ghosts you built together.

“It’s ugly,” he added. “But it’s beautiful, too. In its ruin.”

For the first time since the experiment began, you genuinely wanted to leave. Not rage-walk. Not storm out. Just… go.

Slip out the side door of your own psyche and vanish into air that didn’t taste like grief.

But there was no exit. Only forward.

Caleb moved ahead without a word. His body, usually so precise, so full of intention, now moved with the flatness of routine, of resignation. Like he, too, would rather be anywhere else — any room, any war zone, any alternate timeline — as long as it was far from this one. Far from you.

Still, you followed.

Your jaw clenched. Your breath caught sharp behind your teeth. You could feel the exhaustion sliding down your spine, thick and slow, but you didn’t let it stop you. You were going to finish this room. This experiment. This punishment. Whatever it was.

You were going to finish it with your head up. Even if, by the end, the only thing left to break was you.

And him.

Because he wasn’t stopping either.

And if the only thing you could do now was survive each other — then so be it.

The next room was vast. Empty in that curated kind of way that made chaos feel designed.

A sprawl of objects covered the floor — furniture, glass, cheap electronics, ceramic towers, crushed memories disguised as junk. It looked random, but you knew better. Nothing in this place was random.

And then there were the cars. Or what passed for cars.

Two stripped-down, reinforced vehicles — half desert racer, half post-apocalyptic scrap tank. No doors. No bodies. Just exposed frames padded with thick rubber guards. For safety. For impact.

In each one, a helmet.

You reached for the driver’s seat, fingers brushing the wheel, ignoring the helmet like it was a suggestion, not a rule — until Caleb’s voice cut in, low and sharp.

“Don’t even think about it.”

You froze. Spun on him.

“Oh, you’re giving orders now? That’s rich.”

You held the helmet by the chin strap, weighing it like you might throw it at his head.

“What about you?” you snapped. “Think I didn’t notice you weren’t planning to wear yours either?”

He didn’t answer. Just walked up to you and, with a startling lack of hesitation, jammed the helmet down onto your head. It caught on your ears. You cursed. He tightened the strap under your chin like he’d done it a hundred times. Maybe he had.

“I’ll wear mine,” he said, finally. “I know what this is. I know I’m your target.”

“That’s not the point of the exercise,” you muttered, flushed — not just from rage, but from the unbearable closeness of his fingers near your pulse.

You hated how your body still reacted. How it didn’t get the memo.

“Then let’s go,” he said, gesturing toward a tall ceramic vase as if that made anything simpler. “Hit something that won’t hit back.”

You threw yourself behind the wheel.

The engine roared awake — guttural, loud, too loud. It made your bones vibrate. Made your blood move. You wanted to scream. Instead, you pressed the gas.

At first, you aimed where you were supposed to — toward the objects. Toward the walls of cheap plaster, mannequins dressed in tattered remnants of other lives, cardboard boxes that exploded with satisfying finality under your tires. Something crunched. Something hissed. The world responded to your force. You smirked.

It felt good. But not enough.

Not with him still grinning across the room like this was just another simulation. Another exercise. Another moment where he got to stay composed while you unraveled.

And so —

You jerked the wheel. Toward him.

You slammed your foot down and the car jolted forward, rattling like a live thing. You didn’t know what you were doing. Only that you wanted impact. Needed it.

Caleb veered sharply to the right. You followed. He hit a cluster of mannequins, their limbs flying like blown petals. You turned tighter, skidding across a field of splintered boxes, your tires spitting cardboard shrapnel.

"Thought you said this wasn’t about targeting me!" he shouted over the roar of the engines.

"It’s not," you yelled back, swerving hard to chase him. "It’s about physics. You just happen to be in the way!"

He laughed. Loud. Honest. Then, dodging left, "God, you were a menace on a tricycle."

"And you were a sanctimonious little hall monitor!"

"You stole my lunch for a month!"

"You deserved it. You put raisins in everything."

“You loved raisin muffins.”

“Muffins, Caleb. Not pasta. Not rice.”

Another near-miss. You clipped the back of his car with a glorious metallic screech. He swerved, recovered, accelerated. You pushed harder.

You were hunting him now. You wanted to see him sweat. Not because you hated him, but because you couldn’t stand how much you still didn’t.

“Who gave the toddler a license?” he barked.

“Probably the same genius who made you a colonel!”

And then you caught him.

Your front bumper slammed into the side of his car with a satisfying, ugly crunch. Both vehicles jolted. Metal howled. You felt your own body snap forward, then whip back.

Then — his car spun, but yours skidded too far. You tried to correct, but it was too late.

You hit the wall.

Plywood gave way with a groan, but not enough. Your car embedded half its frame into the splintering surface, the engine sputtering, then smoking — thick, chemical breath rising like something had finally given up.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t panic. You just… stopped.

The world narrowed.

Then he was there.

You didn’t see him jump out. Didn’t see him run. But suddenly he was there, ripping open the harness, yanking the helmet off your head with shaking hands.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” he snapped, eyes scanning you, touching your shoulders, your arms, your ribs like memory. “Are you hurt? Are you —? Look at me. Pips! Look at me.”

You looked. And then — smirked.

A small, crooked thing, like the aftermath of chaos.

Then you laughed.

At first, it was just breath. A puff of absurdity. But it built. And it broke.

You laughed harder. The kind of laughter that comes too close to tears, that spills out sideways and jagged. Your whole body shook. You couldn't stop. Couldn't breathe.

And then — he did too.

His forehead pressed against yours. His chest stuttered with laughter. It wasn’t funny. It was never funny. And that’s what made it so goddamn necessary.

You clung to each other like gravity had forgotten how to work.

Your fists balled in the front of his shirt. His arms circled around your back, then up, then closed like steel around your head. He pulled you to his chest and held you there, hard, tight, like the world could crack open any second and he wasn’t going to risk letting go.

Your laughter broke first.

It caved.

And then came the sob.

One. Then another.

Your shoulders buckled. Your breath hitched. And then you were sobbing against him — ugly, heaving, violent tears that had waited far too long. Everything you hadn’t said, hadn’t allowed, hadn’t felt came pouring out in great gasping waves.

He held you like it was all he knew how to do.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

“Why does it hurt so much, Caleb?” you whispered through the sobs, your nails digging into his back. “Why did every day with you start feeling like a survival quest?”

His lips brushed your temple, featherlight. His fingers moved through your hair — slow, grounding, almost clinical in their tenderness. A rhythm. A scan. Every few strokes, the pressure shifted just slightly, as if mapping out where you carried the worst of it.

And still, you couldn’t ignore the truth: you knew exactly what he was capable of. With those same hands, he could crack your skull like a walnut. Break you clean in two.

But he didn’t. And that restraint ached just as much as anything else.

“I don’t have an answer,” he murmured. “I only know one thing. That being without you hurt worse. But the idea that you were suffering with me... That I — my own fear, my own fucking hands — destroyed the most sacred thing I ever touched...”

You shook your head and pressed your hand to his mouth. You didn’t want to hear the end of that sentence. You wouldn’t survive it.

“We both did it,” you said. “You don’t get to take all the blame. It’s always two people. Always. Equal weight.”

He kissed your fingers. Gently. And you pulled your hand back like it had caught fire.

The flicker in his eyes was instant.

Pain. And something else — like memory, or the echo of wanting.

“There was a time,” he said, “when we were the closest people in the world. Cliché or not, we were a single thing. Now look at us. Look at you. I’m not even sure you want me this close.”

“No,” you snapped, gripping his shoulders. “No, don’t say that. I’m terrified of how much I need you close. I’m scared of what I might do if you keep looking at me like that. If you touch me again. I’ve been fighting since the moment we walked into this place. Fighting not to —”

“Not to what?” he growled, closer now, voice frayed.

“Not to try again,” you breathed. “Not to want again.”

His hands locked around your waist. His face was right there. Breath on breath. Your bodies a magnet of wrong time, wrong place, right everything.

But he didn’t kiss you.

He held you at the edge, suspended, with something like agony in his eyes.

“Saying that out loud,” he said through clenched teeth, “is reckless. It’s dangerous.”

“Meaning it is worse,” you said, barely audible.

You could feel his heart against your ribs — fast, raw, so human it hurt to listen. And then he said, lower now:

“Are you really this cruel? You want the last working piece of me to break, don’t you?”

“No,” you whispered, stepping back, breath shivering. “No, Caleb. If I could, I’d give everything — everything — just to take your pain away. But how can I, when I’m still living in rubble? When I don’t know how to plan for tomorrow, or next week. When I can’t even picture where I’m going. I just keep moving. Blind.”

He looked at you for a long time.

And in that look — something bottomless. Not pity. Not anger. Something like recognition. You felt it in your ribs, your spine, your breath. Like he’d looked through your skin and seen the exact same void you saw in him.

He stepped back gently. Then rose to his feet.

Wordlessly, he extended a hand to help you up. You took it. Let him lift you.

He glanced around the room, then toward the wreckage, the wall, the place where your car had finally given up.

A low huff of a laugh escaped him.

“Of course,” he muttered. “The exit’s right where you crashed.”

You followed his gaze.

He was right.

Just one thing left to break.

The wall gave way with almost no resistance. It split open like it had been waiting for the final blow. You stepped through, side by side, not speaking. And suddenly, the world shifted.

No floor. No weight. No direction. You were in a massive, sterile cylinder, suspended in air — except there was no air current, no movement, no sensation of falling. Just drift. Your feet detached from the surface, and that was it. You were floating. Weightless. Unanchored.

The space felt unreal. Too smooth. Too quiet. A hum beneath the silence, like some great system breathing in sleep. High above, three exit hatches blinked with dull blue light — two narrow, one wide. The single exits were clearly labeled. The larger one read: DUO. Beneath it, a platform hovered, inert. A voice filtered in through the chamber, calm and cold.

“Three exits. One for each individual. One for those who remain. Shared exit requires cooperative locomotion and continuous dual contact. Time limit: irrelevant. Success requires choice.”

You drifted. He drifted. You turned your head and saw him across the space, his body slow-spinning, expression tight. This was supposed to be his realm. Gravity. That was his Evol, his identity, his anchor. But here, it was nothing. Disabled. Cut off. You could see the glitch in him, the way he processed the loss of control. And still, he didn’t panic. He just… adjusted.

You floated near one of the solo exits. It would be so easy. A small push. An end. A beginning. Alone. And then it passed behind you.

You saw him again, a little closer this time. You reached out, almost without thinking, and caught his hand. No rush. No symbolism. Just fingers brushing fingers in a place without weight.

Your hands gripped. Held. And you pulled yourself in, gently, until your faces were close enough for words. Your breath felt warm between you, even in the cold of engineered air.

“I’m not ready to leave here without you,” you said. “I don’t know what that means, or what it’ll cost. But I’m not ready.”

He didn’t speak immediately. His hand tightened on yours. Then, suddenly focused, he said, “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

You blinked. “What —”

“Trust me. I can’t bend the field in here, but I can feel the currents — like micro-resistance. If we stay connected, I think I can guide us through it.” His voice shifted into command mode — confident, steady, and irritatingly hot. “Angle your hips left. No, a little more. Perfect. Now shift your weight forward.”

You moved with him. It felt awkward at first, like trying to learn to breathe underwater. But then something clicked — your center of gravity merged, found alignment, caught onto an invisible pulse. Like tuning into a frequency only his body knew how to hear.

“There,” he said. “We’re in it.”

You glided, slowly at first, then more directly. He adjusted, compensated, kept you level. He took you through the space like a conductor feeling the music in muscle and bone.

The platform under the shared exit blinked to life as you approached.

“Now,” he said, and reached out. Together, you hit the button.

Gravity returned in a single, devastating second. You dropped like a stone — feet on solid ground, air in your lungs, heat in your skin. You didn’t let go of each other. Not right away.

Not yet.

What came next stunned you.

Where pain and rage had once lived like permanent tenants, there was only silence. You no longer felt the urge to scream, to break something, to tear through walls or claw through your own skin. Something had been rewritten in you. Recoded. As if the metaphysical cancer had been excised. Removed without anesthesia, yes — but removed all the same.

You took one step. Then another. And your body felt different. Not like it did in zero-gravity, not quite. But something remained of that lightness. That sense of floating just above your own sorrow.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he. Words would have broken the seal on something sacred.

You emerged into the final hallway together. Unspoken choreography. At the return counter, you shed the gear — gloves, goggles, names. One of the staff blinked, visibly surprised, and said, almost to himself, “No one’s ever mastered the gravity room that fast.” Then louder, “Would you like photos?”

You looked at the screen, flipping quickly past the chaos, the fracture, the violence. You stopped on the frame where the two of you floated — just suspended, hands clasped, nowhere to go but together. You tapped it. Took the printout without a word.

Caleb printed something for himself, too. You didn’t see what.

You walked outside. It was already dark, the wind sharp against your cheeks. The kind of cold that wakes you up, reminds you that you’re still alive.

Without meaning to, your bodies shifted toward familiar geography — toward your place. Once his, too.

And then, like nothing had changed and everything had, he slipped off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. No words. No offer. Just instinct.

You didn’t argue. The fabric was warm. And it smelled like him. Like worn-in leather and something sharp underneath. You let it settle.

“What do you regret most?” you asked, quietly, almost to yourself. Maybe you shouldn’t have. But you knew, with sudden clarity, that whatever came now — wouldn’t hurt.

Maybe it would be sad. But it wouldn’t be cruel.

“That I gave up too soon,” he said, after a moment.

You laughed softly. “Too soon? You followed me for three months. After work. To the grocery store. You left flowers in my bike basket. Random books on my doorstep.”

He gave a crooked shrug, not quite defensive. “It sounds stupid now. Hollow. But I didn’t know what else to do. How else to tell you I was trying. That I was willing to change. That I just needed you to hear me.”

“To me it felt like a trap,” you said. “Like you were setting bait. Like you wanted to pin me down and hold me there. In the state I was in... if you’d just disappeared for a week, I probably would’ve come running. In tears. Begging you not to leave again.”

He sighed. “So I got it wrong. Again.”

“Not wrong, exactly.” You looked at him, then ahead. The street was quiet. Your block already in sight. “That’s the problem, I think. For both of us. We keep thinking we know better. Like I assume I know what you need, when really, it’s just what I need.”

You glanced at him. “Like you dreaming your whole life of this expensive model starship. Then giving it to me. Thinking it would make me happy. Because it would make you happy.”

His smile came slow, bittersweet. “And all you ever wanted was someone to just sit on the porch and look at the moon.”

You nodded. “Exactly.”

By then, you were already at the gate. Home.

You stopped. Both of you.

You didn’t reach for your keys. He didn’t move forward. Just standing there, jacket on your shoulders, silence resting comfortably between your bodies.

“Caleb…” you said softly, already knowing you didn’t need to finish.

He sighed. The kind of sigh that had learned to carry meaning. “I don’t have an answer,” he said. “I want to try again. And I don’t. I dream about holding you every night, and then I wake up. And it’s… cruel.”

“I have the same thoughts,” you admitted. “But I can’t just erase you. Not now. Not ever. And I’ll never be the one to suggest we stay friends.”

He smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Technically, you just did.”

“I said I’d never say it,” you shot back, lifting your chin. “Not that I said it.”

There was a beat, then you added, “What if we let chance decide?”

“A coin toss?” he raised an eyebrow.

“No. The photos. The ones we printed. If they match — if they’re even close — I’ll invite you in. For tea.”

He tilted his head, amused. “Tea. Very non-committal of you.”

“If they don’t match,” you continued, “then maybe… it’s not the time. Maybe we see each other again. Maybe we don’t.”

“You always did like risk,” he said dryly. “Alright. No promises.”

“No promises,” you echoed.

“On three?”

You both pulled out your photos at the same time. Held them up.

The silence stretched.

“Well then,” you said.

“Yeah,” he murmured, the edge of a smile in his voice.

“I have only one question,” you said, turning toward the door, your voice lighter now, teasing. “Black or green?”

He gave a soft huff and curled his arm gently around your waist, guiding you toward the entrance. “Like you don’t already know.”

“I do,” you said, slipping the photo back into your bag.

The exact same photo. Identical in angle, in light, in pause. The moment where you floated together. Still not touching. But already not letting go.

The... END?

So… you survived the end. But is it really the end?

Let’s be honest — I wrote a scene. A very explicit one. The kind I haven’t posted before. Spicy, slow, and entirely too much in the best/worst way. But after everything that happened in this story, slapping it on the end felt… wrong. Like putting a silk ribbon on a smoking crater. So I cut it.

But. If this hits 100 reblogs in 24h, I’ll post the continuation I cut — the scene that didn’t fit the concept, because it was too much: too raw, too intimate, too honest. But also... very, very smutty. And maybe the only kind of peace these two could’ve found. You know what I’m talking about. You’ve earned it. Let’s see if they do.

623 notes · View notes

couldeatthatgirlforlunch · 7 months ago

Note

Yandere batfam or justice league with a reader who’s afraid of strong people/men due to a past abusive relationship? She never wants to feel that powerless and weak again so she actively avoids interacting with anyone stronger, bigger, taller any more than necessary. She doesn’t hold it against other ppl she just has a lot of trauma that she’d rather not work through and feel safe in her little bubble

Hit me Hard and Soft

Synopsis: You get saved by Robin, but not everything is as it seems.

Pairing: Yandere!Poly!Romantic!Batboys X Gn!Reader

Tw: All characters aged up, of course; Mentions and descriptions of violence, including physical, psychological, sexual and financial abuse, and Damian fighting criminals (I'm particularly proud of the action scene I wrote); Drugging and being unconscious; Mentions of death of minor characters and suicide; Mentions of past grooming (Reader's ex) and age gap (Reader’s ex, Reader X Bruce, and the batboys age is not mentioned); Implied stalking; Mentions of kidnapping; Reader's very traumatized and weary of everyone; Reader doesn't trust the police; Mention of a panic attack and descriptions of actual panic; Guns and knifes; Mention of cigarettes; Implied needles; English isn't my 1st language.

Requested? Yes.

Extra notes: Wish I had more interactions between Reader and the batboys here, but I'm more than willing to make a part 2 with the right idea.

General masterlist | Hit me Hard and Soft - Series masterlist

He's back again. You wish you could say you didn't know why he always came back, but you did. The food wasn't that great and it wasn't that close to where he told you he worked or lived. It also didn't help that he always made sure to be served by you. And that he flirted with you.

— Evening, (N/N)! Is there something as sweet as you on today’s menu? — You gave a small and polite laugh.

— Strawberry pie… As always…

It was kinda sad, but mostly scary. If it wasn't for your ex, you would be thrilled to have gotten the attention of Dick fucking Grayson. The whole city knew he was handsome, rich, talented and charismatic. Gotham's sweetheart, Gotham's golden boy. And from your daily interactions, he lived up to the expectations. He was polite even when flirting with you and asking you out. Yet, something held you back.

— Nice! Since you get out in a few, why don't you bring in two slices? One for me and one for you, it's on me, of course. — You shook your head quickly, with an empty heart, just wanting to get away from him as fast as possible.

You were with your ex since you were 17 to 26. Almost 10 years wasted on a dirtbag. He convinced you to leave your friends, to leave your family, to leave your job. As soon as you started living together, you were completely dependent on him. Sometimes you blamed him, sometimes yourself, sometimes the people you had around you, but back then, where you came from, people weren't questioning the imbalance of powers between a 17 year old highschooler with no job and a 23 year old man with a steady job and living alone.

He convinced you that going to college and ending your relationship was the worst decision you could take. Then, that you didn't need your family, he could take care of you. One day, he decided you couldn't have friends.

He often locked you inside the house, cursed your skills and appearance, neglected your overall health, intimidated you, screamed at you, broke your things that he did and didn't pay for. He hurt you physically, even sexually. You knew both dating him and leaving him was hard, you just expected living with the scars was going to be easier.

And it was! You decided to run away from him and to Gotham when you received the news that your mom died and he didn't even want to let you go to the funeral. The grieving made you reflexive and you realized how shitty your situation was. For years you just thought that it would eventually get better, that you just needed to be strong, that he showed he loved you when he wasn't being an asshole, that you couldn't get anything better, that he made you feel special.

You couldn't even go to the police, he was a cop, you knew the chances that in any scenario you would lose. So you ran.

You knew it was dangerous, but you had nothing to lose. If he didn't kill you, you would do it yourself. You made a plan, drugged him, took some of his money, used his house keys, left everything behind for the second time in your life. You didn't waste time asking for help from the people you knew. You took the bus and went as far away as you could.

Your paranoia was so bad that for almost a year, you would settle in a city, work to save up enough, and leave again, rinse and repeat. Eventually, Gotham seemed big and far enough to go by unnoticed.

Or that's what you thought, until Dick Grayson stopped by the diner you worked to have breakfast before going to work, as a cop, and decided you caught his attention.

Since then, he came back everyday. Either breakfast, lunch, dinner, or just to hang out with some family member, usually one of his brothers, his dad appeared with him sometimes too. Your boss loved the attention Bruce and Tim attracted, the two most media active ones, since they both led Wayne Enterprises.

Eventually, even them started appearing multiple times a week. You thought you were healing, until you found yourself crying for almost four hours at home in a panic attack.

You didn't want their attention. Not only was it weird, but they were just so… Superior to you.

They were all taller, more muscular, faster, smarter, richer. It was like reliving the beginning of your relationship at 17, plus 10 times worse. Five because they were five people mirroring your ex, and more five just because of your trauma, experience, negativity and lack of naiveness.

Also, why were they ALL into you??? And they were aware of it! It was weird! Why??

Bruce Wayne was disarmingly charming in his dilf way. Dick was surprisingly accessible. Jason was soft spoken despite his resting bitch face and leather jacket. Tim was cute in a nerdy way. Damian almost made you laugh with his sarcastic humor.

Either way, you never wanted to feel as little as you felt before, so you just did your job, acted polite, but ultimately kept your distance.

Freedom has its difficulties, one of them being that you need money, and for money, you need a job, which means sometimes you have to stay until closing time, at 11 PM, in Gotham.

You're not the only employee to stay so late, but you and your co-worker live in opposite directions, so walking alone it is. They're taking the bus, but you only live two blocks away, so you gulp down your anxiety and keep walking. One hand on your pocket, holding your taser firmly, and keeping your head up, turning to look at every sound.

It's cold, and the street is empty and dimly lit. Some places are so dark that you wonder why you're even paying taxes if the streetlamps won't work.

Two men turn the corner a few meters in front of you, one at least a foot taller, the other, two inches max. They're wearing hoodies and their hands are on their pockets, the light behind them creates a shadow that doesn't allow you to see their faces, nor where they're looking at, but they are coming in your direction.

There's a car, parked between you both. Some people might think at this point it's just paranoia, but you’ve heard stories of people walking next to cars, getting pulled inside by someone who was hiding in there, and getting kidnapped.

Your first instinct is flight, so you turn around, ready to run, even if you look weird in case those guys weren't planning to do anything with you, just to see other two guys emerging from the other corner, those two almost as tall as that first guy. Aside from the smaller one, they're all broad, even with their thick clothes covering them.

One of them has a cigarette on his mouth, which he throws on the ground when you turn your attention to him. Your fear might have caused you to hallucinate, but you're almost sure he's smirking.

You freeze for a second, your only escape is to run to the side, and pray their long legs don't get to you first. You think you hear one of them start hollering at you.

You only take a step to the side, when a loud crash startles you so hard that you have to look behind, while walking backwards to the street. You take a second to process the sight.

Robin is standing in the middle, just a few steps behind where you were standing a second ago. He's at least half a foot taller than all of them, and a lot broader. He's holding the tall one by his neck with his right hand, repeatedly hitting his head against the car’s window.

You're shell shocked, torn between staying put to watch this disaster, as interesting as a car crash, or running away. Gotham is so big that you never thought you would encounter one of its heroes, you weren't sure if you even wanted to.

When the guy seems to stop moving, Robin throws him against one of the other tall ones, the guy practically flies across 2 meters before hitting him, and when he does, they both fall to the ground. You remember all the times when your ex pushed you to the ground.

Your eyes are wide, horrified, watching the shortest guy take a pocket knife out of his pocket. Your throat locks, even if you want to scream for Robin to turn around, you only manage to stare and stay in place, however, the vigilant turns halfway around just in time to grab the guy by his wrist and his arm, just as he launched to stab him. He uses his body’s impulse to push the guy forward, the knife going to the fourth guy's shoulder, you hadn't even seen him get so close to him.

You look at the man from the car, he's still unconscious, the one who got tackled with him, however, is already standing and walking to the fight.

Everything’s happening too fast, you turn to the side to see the guy with the knife on his back on the ground, groaning and twitching in pain, while Robin is punching the shit out of the other guy, movements faster than you could ever dream of achieving. You remember being on the receiving end of someone's fists before.

With a final elbow to the cheek, the guy stumbles to the ground, you don't know what level of consciousness he’s in, by his posture before, you knew he was already compromised since the first hits he took.

Robin doesn't move, doesn't even turn to look at the guy who just fell, he's just looking forward, and when you notice this, you look at the remaining guy.

He's pointing a gun at him.

You don't think you can watch someone get shot in front of you, and you know if he gets rid of Robin, it's over for you. Logically, you knew these vigilantes somehow never die, still, it's counterintuitive to think he won't.

And he doesn't, in the blink of an eye, Robin's on the air, his right boot kicking the gun away, while still on the air, he wraps his legs around the guy's head, bends backwards, puts his hands on the ground, then launches his whole body to the front, the guy getting thrown over him. He falls to the ground, Robin stands on top of him with perfect balance. You don't even have time to process what just happened, the coolest and scariest thing you saw your whole life, when Robin punches him one last time. Now, he's definitely unconscious.

You’ve felt like a bystander this whole interaction, it felt like ages, but in reality all of this couldn't have taken more than 20 seconds, maybe even less than 15. You don't know what to do now. You're theoretically safe, but Robin’s still too big, too strong, too fast. He knocked out four guys without getting touched a single time. He broke a car's window. He threw around two guys who weighed at least 80kg. He's not even panting. And now he's looking at you.

A whimper gets stuck in your throat. You don't know if you should thank him, stay silent, or yell at him to stay away from you. When he takes a step in your direction, your instincts get the better of you and you turn around, running.

You hear him call your name, although your brain doesn't process it. You see headlights and look towards it. It's a car. You don't trust you’ll get help, but at least you're not alone. You run in it's direction, waving your arms and screaming bloody murder.

The car almost hits you, but you don’t process that until the last minute, but you get tackled to the ground just in time by the hero from before. You scream again, he's too close. Now, he's trying to hold you down. You keep screaming and trying to escape. You look to the side and the car just kept driving away, likely the driver wouldn't stay behind to be another victim to Robin's hands. You know you're not being rational right now, those guys are known for helping people, he just saved you, he's still trying to stop you from getting hurt, but you're scared. You've been scared since you were a teenager.

Your eyes burn, your arms and throat hurt, but adrenaline doesn't let you feel anything. Not even the invasion of a needle on your side.

— Was it really necessary? — Tim deadpans Damian, who growls.

— You would have done the same, Drake.

— No, I wouldn't. You were supposed to use the psychological first aid approach and (Y/N) would've calmed down and trust us more in the future. But of course, you never use your brain. — Damian growls, stepping towards Tim, but he is stopped by Dick’s hand resting on his chest.

— Damian, calm down, Tim’s right. You knew better than to sedate them. You knew of (Y/N)’s trauma and you knew the route we wanted to take. — Damian's brows furrowed and he crossed his arms.

— I knew your feelings toward (Y/N) would make you become impulsive again. — Tim looked at Bruce, who was silent, with hands intertwined and elbows on the table, focused on your vitals on the screen and the sight of you laid on the bed on the medbay. — Will you now consider just letting you, me and Dick keep an eye on them during patrol? — Damian and Jason scoffed.

— Why you aiming at me now? It was the demon who gave that guy brain death! — Jason protested and Tim looked at him.

— Just to be sure you won't freak out like him and kill thrice as many people, on purpose this time. — Jason glared at him.

— B, you better add more security measures around (Y/N), before Timbo tries to clone them or something. — He muttered with snark.

Dick shook his head and sighed, going to stand on Bruce's side, crossing his arms and looking at you through the camera with him.

— What's the plan now, B? They're probably waking up soon. — Bruce hummed, relaxing his stance and resting his back against his chair. The silence lingered for a few seconds, everyone just looking at you, waiting for the oldest’s opinion.

Bruce turned around, looking at them.

— … Damian, Tim's right. You were impulsive today and you killed someone, even if it was an accident. I stopped expecting that from you since you were 12, you're an adult now. You not only broke our trust, but (Y/N)’s already shattered trust. They need to know they're safe with us, and drugging them, instead of puting to use more time and effort to bring the comfort to them, is not going to do that. You weren't much different than the man who hurt them tonight. — His father's words were like a punch to Damian's stomach, leaving him speechless. Dick pursed his lips, not turning around as to make it easier to not comfort his brother just yet. Bruce turned to Tim. — Tim, I understand you want to take measures seriously. But you need to give Jason a chance. That was unasked for. — The mentioned blinked, still unacostummed with the treatment he received from his dad when he followed his rules. Tim looked away. Bruce turned to Damian again. — Damian, no patrolling around (Y/N) until you prove we can trust your temper again. — He waited for a confirmation, which came with a sneered lip.

— Yes, father.

Dick looked back a Bruce.

— What about (Y/N)? — He bit his lips. Bruce hummed, turning to look at the monitor again.

— … What do you all think?

— Well… Damian said their name, they might not remember it, but they can't just wake up at home. They’d try to flee from us. We could bring them home earlier, but our ideal plan was to make them come willingly, in the period of at least two years, in the best case. We could leave them at the hospital, and just keep our plan going. — Dick listed the possible strategies they could take. Bruce hummed.

Tim piped up.

— I already altered their phone's algorithm to send the job application as my assistant at Wayne Enterprises to them. And the Wayne Foundation’s application for the internship at Gotham Uni. — Bruce nodded.

— Damian? What do you understand about that? — It was clearly the beginning of his test.

— The more secure in their independence they feel, the easier it is to heal and open themselves up to new opportunities. — Damian exclaimed with confidence. Bruce nodded.

— Jason, are you still interested in college? — Everyone looked at Jason surprised, he was also surprised, he hadn't talked to Bruce about college since before he died.

It took a few seconds to processes what it would mean.

— Uh… I think so?! — Bruce nodded.

— What about me, father? — Damian spoke inquisitively. — I also want more opportunities to get closer to (Y/N)! — Bruce narrowed his eyes at him.

— We will think about that when you're in the clear.

— But-

— That's final. You reap what you sow. — Damian huffed and nodded begrudgingly. — … Now, since Robin was the one to save them, take the batmobile and leave them in the hospital. Then come straight back home. Understood? — Damian clenched his jaw and nodded silently, leaving to get your unconscious body.

Moments later, when you were both out, on the way to the hospital, Tim fiddled with the computer, the scream showed the batmobile’s tracker, your tracker, Damian's tracker, Damian's contact lenses’s camera and the car’s camera. They all looked at him.

— … It's just to make sure…

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rainrot4me · 8 months ago

Text

Outrun, Undone

Summary: Your body hurt, heaving and clawing to escape. They were catching up, laughter echoing through the dense trees as you ran, praying for your stamina to hold. But you knew you weren’t fast enough, and so did they…

Characters: Masky & Hoodie x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Chasing, predator and prey, primal sex, blood, injury, fear, threesome, double penetration, vaginal fingering, anal, blowjob, vaginal, overstimulation, power play, fighting, aggression, mocking, degradation, forced submission, pussy spanking, oral fixation

Words: 8.2k

Fight or flight is described as an instinctual reaction that occurs when the body perceives a threat, rallying for survival. Psychologically, it changes you, gripping for any out or sense of security as it pushes its own comfortability. It’s primal, animalistic, and desperate; mind clawing for any serenity. Your mind and body were screaming, like every inch of your consciousness was being ripped apart the harder you fought. You wanted to cry and scream and get away, but they wouldn’t let you. They were going to make sure you lost this bet.

The woods felt like they went on forever, large pines and ominous maples cutting off your direction and forcing you into a maze, the schlick of mud under your shoes echoing with every quick step. You were soaked with sweat and rain, hair clinging annoyingly to your face and blocking your vision. Your clothes felt heavy on your skin, making it hard not to get overstimulated and tired. “Fuck-” You gasped, rounding a mound of roots to find a patch of brambles, head spinning and looking for another direction. The loud thumping of boots was heavy behind you, branches and leaves snapping as you heard hollers paired with eager laughter calling out your name, searching for you. There was no other direction. You hauled forward.

It was your fault, really. You roused them on, claiming stealth and agility were better tactics for a killer than brute force and power. The boys chuckled, arms crossed and stupid grins shining as they teased. It was always so odd to see them without their masks, especially in such good moods.

“Oh yeah? And who says that?” Masky poked at you, leaning back into the door of the rental truck you had all lived in for the past week. This mission was exhausting, another hitman job for the Operator that you really couldn’t bring yourself to be passionate about. The boys weren’t too thrilled either. Sleeping cramped into a single cab as the only girl was devastating. The smell of no showers and lack of proper meals was getting to you now, a two-day headache pounding at the base of your skull and making you nauseous. At least they let you have the back seat to yourself.

“Uh, says the one who’s gunned down more than both of you?” You scoffed, kicking some gravel from the campsite parking lot. “Don’t you ever notice how I’m the one having to pick off the stragglers when you two come in guns blazing? I swear, you two only think with your revolvers instead of your actual brains.”

Hoodie chuckled, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the truck bed. “These brains don’t do much thinking anymore anyways.” You rolled your eyes, “Obviously.” Looking out across the field meant for hunting, a dense treeline hung just over the clearing as the sun began to set, deep oranges and pinks pushing through the leaves. You couldn’t remember what state you were in, somewhere north and cold, early autumn setting in as the breeze whipped against your cheeks. It was going to rain tonight, you could see it in the way the leaves upturned, the thick smell of distant downpours on the bark stirring in the air. “Just saying. I could outrun you both and still have the energy to take down someone. You two wouldn’t last a second without your precious little weapons strapped to your hip.”

The boys tensed, eyes narrowing as they looked at each other, a silent challenge welling up. “How about a game then? Put your little stealth tactic to the test.” Masky huffed, a stupid grin matching the eagerness in his eyes. Hoodie nodded along, pushing off the truck bed as he stepped closer, his boots crunching into the gravel.

“The woods out there. It’s only about fifty acres worth, but it’s dense. Good enough for hide and seek, huh?” Hoodie’s voice sounded a little more chipper than his usual monotonous one, laced with excitement and almost giddy. “We’ll give you ten minutes, put your money where your mouth is. If we can’t find you, we’ll buy you a hotel room for the rest of the trip.” You glared, heart thumping at the idea of finally getting a shower and some heat, fingers fidgeting at your sides. “But, when we catch you, and we will, who knows what we’ll ask for?” Masky shrugged cockily. “Guess we’ll be thinking about it while you’re runnin’.”

The boys pressed forward, shoulder to shoulder as they stared down at you, nauseating smiles making your heartache. You glanced back to the tree line. Crossing your arms, you rolled your eyes, stupidly accepting their bet. You were going to win, you knew you were, but all they could do was smile. “Ten minutes starts now, sweetheart.” Hoodie fiddled with his old-style military wristwatch, wiping the glass as he clicked some buttons to start a timer.

“So I just… start runni-”

“Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…” You tensed, taking steps back before spinning on your heels, zipping your jacket up as you began to run, slipping into the trees.

When you began to run, that’s when the excitement truly swept in.

The ten minutes had long passed, your feet carrying you deep into an unfamiliar forest where every tree looked the same. But you had to keep going, if for nothing else, then to create distance.

It was getting too dark to see, the sun hanging low on the horizon and dense night setting in. The silhouettes of trees stretched ahead, endless in every direction. There was no trail or path to follow, only the thick underbrush and ferns that whipped at your legs as you ran, branches scratching your skin. You had no clue where you were going.

The rain had begun as well, thick droplets soaking your clothes and face, making your hair cling to your skin. Your legs burned, muscles tensing as you dodged trees, mud clinging to your shoes the further you went, your breath already quickening. When you reached a small clearing, you paused, catching your breath as you searched the shadows, listening intently for any signs of movement. Nothing caught your attention besides the heavy patterns of rainfall, leaves, and branches whipping in the wind as you set off again, catching your pace.

Adrenaline couldn’t differentiate this from real danger. You dealt with these boys every day, watching how they worked and killed, studying their every move. But now that you were on the other side of the fight, there was no clue just how real they were going to make it. You knew they wouldn’t kill you. They were all for bets, but they weren’t sore losers. They might catch you, they might hurt you, but they wouldn’t kill you. And, somehow, that excited you.

There was something so rousing about playing the victim for once. It made you feel vulnerable and small, but oh did it make you desperate.

Climbing over a fallen pine and sliding down the short ridge beyond it, you crouched close to the ground, pressing close to the roots and bushes as you caught your breath again. You had to think one step ahead, had to conserve your energy; any chance for a break was a good one. They wanted a chance, so you’d give them a chase. But you had to be smart too.

Snap.

You froze, slow breaths shaking as the condensation fogged at your mouth. You clenched close to the ground, careful not to move as you heard the thumps of boots more clearly now, a matching pair. You clenched your jaw, bracing your hands against the side of a tree as their voices grew too.

“Come on, little mouse,” Masky called out, the giddiness in his voice making you cringe. “You’re not very good at hiding your tracks.” Shit. The rainfall had roused the ground with mud, your imprints being left everywhere and leading right to where you crouched. You had to move.

Rain and sweat dripped off your nose, teeth clenched as you shook, the cold breeze cutting against your skin. Your pupils blew wide as you scanned the ground, snaking your body up quietly as you took eager steps in the opposite direction of the boys. The mud squelched, your body aching as you pushed off the tree, steadying your pace back into a jog to not make too much noise. You heaved, letting your pace grow the further you got, the small steps turning into a desperate sprint as you whipped through the trees, the wind burning your cheeks raw. You were panting, sucking deep breaths of air, and fighting against the strain in your chest.

“There!” You cursed, Hoodie’s voice ringing through the trees as you sprinted, fists clenched as you dug your feet into the ground. In your attempt to get away, you had done exactly what you wanted to avoid, catching their attention. You heard the sound of their boots taking heavy steps in the distance, far enough but definitely still too close for comfort. Your heart thumped, adrenaline pumping. You tried to look back, to gauge just how far they were, just how fast you needed to run. You couldn’t see when your ankle snapped against a root popped from the ground, flinging your body down.

The ground was damp, mulch and rocks lodged into your knees as you clattered to the dirt, heaving for breath. You didn’t remember which direction you were trying to go, but it didn’t matter as you pushed your aching body up, lunging back into a sprint. Rain and fog blurred your senses, the stout smell of wet earth suffocating you with every labored gasp. You groaned, palms and clothes covered in mud and grass, your chest aching from the abrupt contact. The boys howled with excitement, their chanting and loud laughs making you nervous, and desperate to get away. The worst part, however, was the fact they had now put on their masks.

The three of you had grown comfortable, there was no desire to cover their faces around each other, saving the covers for jobs. But now, the stupid masks were snugged on, concealing their expression and making this situation all the more terrifying. Now, you realize they saw you as a job, a mission to catch and take, no longer just a little game. You wanted to cry, the anger shooting through your veins as you ran, heaving for air and distance, your brain screaming to get away. They were going to catch you.

You were so used to being on the other side. You were the one chasing, the one seizing runaways. But, something about being the one having to get away, the thought of you fighting within an inch of your life against your friends. It got you stirred in the worst kind of way.

You sprinted, half-running half-sliding down the steepening slope, your shoes catching on vines and mud as you went. You had no clue where you were going or why the terrain was suddenly changing, but you continued to press forward, feet flinging out from under you as you sprinted. The slope picked up, rocks and thicker soil breaking under your steps, clattering down the side of the hill you were pressing down, leaning back to claw into the mud as you lost your footing, pummeling down. Your foot caught on a root, hauling your shoe off your foot and snapping your body with it.

You met the clearing at the bottom face-first.

You landed hard, a thick stream of water splashing against your face as you gasped. The air knocked from your lungs, rolling onto your back as the water flowed around you, the tiny stream picking up from the rain. Rocks and moss stuck to your clothes, your teeth grit as your chest ached. You had to get up, you had to keep running.

But the chuckles from above you made you whine, footsteps crunching down the muddy slope as they paced just out of your sight. “Aww, think before you run. Don’t go panicking now.” You could hear the smile in Hoodie’s voice despite your dizziness.

Out of pure adrenaline, you shoved yourself up, looking towards the slope, but finding nothing there. You spun on your heels, surveying the trees and sides of the hill, nothing sticking out. You hissed, looking down towards your hands as dirt sunk into the cuts, your palms torn and bleeding down your wrists, mixing with the rain. Your socks were soaked with mud, your feet aching and pounding with pain as your foot had been welted raw. But you couldn’t find them. For how large and annoying they were, you couldn't find them. You had to keep moving.

Turning away from the slope, you dug your heels in, pushing away from the stream. It was hard to focus, hard to keep your mind from spinning as you clawed, legs burning every step they ran. Your head felt light, too nauseated to notice the flash of yellow in your direction.

A hand seized around your throat from behind, the other gripping into your hair as you cried out. You flung, fighting back against the tight grasp Masky held, kicking your knees. How the hell had he gotten to you? You swung your arms, reaching back to claw at the fists wrapped around you, elbow flying back to make contact with his ribs.

Masky gasped, grunting heavily as how grip loosened, reaching for his side. You slammed back hard, taking the opportunity to shove your shoulders back, knocking the brunette off balance and releasing you. In the process, you took the chance, sprinting away and pressing through the rain, gasping as you heard his yells behind you.

Gripping the side of another steep hill, you clawed at the roots and rocks protruding from the side, launching yourself up the side of the ravine and scrambling up onto flat ground above. Your socked foot caught on a rock, slicing through the fabric and through to your skin too, making you hiss and clench your jaw. Don’t look back, don’t stop, don’t be afraid-

Hoodie grunted as you slammed into him, chest knocking against him so hard you landed flat on your ass. He wasn’t so easy, not allowing you to get back up as the taller man pinned you down. You thrashed wildly, arms and legs flailing as his fists gripped your jacket, raising your chest to slam you back down against the ground, knocking the breath from your lungs. You gasped, tired arms reaching up to claw at his hoodie, tugging the soaked cloth, and trying to reach his skin. Hoodie laughed, his fingers digging into your sides as you groaned, panting your exhaustion. Masky was following behind, grappling up the side of the hill and chuckling his amusement. You were panicking, flailing under the man as you whined.

“Didn’t last very long at all, huh?” Hoodie mocked, pushing your legs out of the way as you tried to kick him, your hands still clawing. The man just pressed harder, reaching up to clench your jaw, angling your head closer to the ground and into the mud. It was disgusting, your pants and whines making him smile as you gripped his hoodie, feeling for anything you could use.

When your fingers brushed his pistol holstered snugly against his side, you strained your jaw, reaching as far as you could. Hoodie was focused, eyes locked onto your face as his fingers clenched around your throat, tightening excruciatingly as you gasped, head already spinning. Your breathing was labored, the intensity of his grasp faltering your reach as you strained, the eagerness in his grasp making you dizzy.

You whined, pressing your shoulder down as you finally wrapped a finger around the end, tugging the weapon out of its holster. Masky was close now too, boots crunching in the mud as your vision blurred, rain and lack of oxygen snaking a darkness into the edges of your sight. You snagged a finger around the cold metal of the gun, hauling it up and bringing it down quickly, slamming against the side of Hoodie’s skull. His groan rang, his grasp on your throat letting free as he hauled back, gripping at the side of his head.

You scrambled up, panting breaths of moist air as you pushed back in the mud, hauling yourself up. Masky tried to press in, your hands were quick to shoot up and aim the pistol, a finger placed steadily on the trigger. The man stopped, mockingly holding his hands up and laughing, angling his head to the side in amusement.

“What? Is the little mouse scared now? What happened to all that big talk earlier?” You cringed, panting loudly as puffs of condensation clouded around your mouth. You were shaking wildly, mud and rain crusted deep into your clothes and skin, soaking you to your core. “I thought this was some game, not a real chase.” You grit your teeth, snarling your desperation through angered words.

Hoodie was up now, looming close to Masky’s side as he watched, an expression showing he was ready to pounce. He wanted more, you could see it in the way his fingers flexed and palmed against his jeans. You shook, keeping the pistol aimed between both of them. You didn’t give them a chance to get to you again. Turning on your heels, you lunged into another sprint, chest, and legs aching at the sudden burst. The boys latched on, not giving a second thought before chasing behind you, desperately trying to match your pace. You were faster than them, but there was no way you would be able to beat them again physically. With a hurt foot and weakened body, they would overpower you in an instant.

Mocking chants and laughs echoed loudly behind you, the rain and wind snapping at your skin. You limped through every step, trying to keep a good pace as the pain began to sink in, mud clinging against your cuts. Your mind was racing, excitement and pent-up energy exerting themselves in every ache and stretch. So many times on missions you were forced into uncomfortable situations, clawing and begging to prove yourself, to show just how useful you were.

But now, you weren’t chasing anymore. You were the one running, the one begging and sobbing to be shown mercy. Masky and Hoodie weren’t capable of mercy, they didn't know the meaning of the word. So now, the role flipped on its head, you were truly aware of just how much you needed to get away.

You swung your arm around as you felt bodies close in, gripping the pistol tight and aiming high as you took a shot. An ear-piercing ricochet rang through the trees. Curses shouted, loud gasps as the bullet whizzed past their heads, and maniacal laughter soon followed. “Shit, Hood! Mouse’s got some bite!” Masky panted, exhausted tone showing as he continued to run. Hoodie growled his approval, grappling off of trees and closing in again. You’d been a fool to think they’d scare so easily. Of course, your violence would just get them more excited.

Clattering across a stretch of gravel and mud, you cursed, the gash in your foot screaming with pain. The limp caused you to be ill-timed, Masky taking the falter and seizing you, your bodies clattering to the nasty ground.

Masky chuckled, your hair knotted in his hand as he forced you onto your chest. Your fingers dug into the mud, desperately trying to push yourself up as you flailed, pistol gripped tight. Limbs burned, lungs gasping for air as you felt a knee press between your shoulder blades before you could move. He crushed you against the gravel harder and harder. Masky pressed down close, dragging your head to the side so he could groan into your ear. Hoodie was already on you too, the sole of his boot crushed atop your hand to pry the pistol away, tossing it a few feet away. Masky’s knee pressed hard, the mask covering his expression, but you could hear his excitement all too well.

“All that running just for us to still catch you, little mouse. I say we deserve some compensation for all that work.” You clenched your teeth, tears welling in your eyes not only from the exhaustion that was creeping in but from the terrible pain shooting through your body. Everything hurt, sleepiness hanging on every limb. They must have noticed as the Hoodie knelt down beside your head.

He caressed his fingers over your skin, marveling at the softness of your cheeks cool with the rain, before nudging your jaw with his fist. “I think I know a pretty good reward, eh?” His hoodie was soaked, the usual mustard color a dark brown as Masky loosened his grip on your hair, tugging your shoulder over as his knee lifted. You tried to gauge their expressions and understand what they were so giddy about as you lay on your back, face, and clothes splattered with mud and rain. “I’d say I have to agree with you there, man.”

As Masky stood, you tried to sit up before large pairs of hands shoved you back to the ground. Your bodies pressed close, Hoodie wedging himself against your side as Masky gripped your arms, pressing them down against the rocks. That’s when you felt it, the heat in his jeans pressed against your hip, your skin exploding with warmth. You tried to look through his mask into his eyes, shimmying your hips as Hoodie did the same, gripping the side of your face to keep your head down. They were overpowering you, binding you down to submit, forcing you to stop. You didn’t want to. They wanted a fight, and you weren’t so willing to lay down and take it.

“Keep moving your hips like that and watch what happens.” Masky barked, snaking a knee between your legs as he pressed close, breathing muffled as he held you. Your body was useless, their arms and hands gripping tight and hauling you close, gasps ringing at every fist tightening. “You’ve lost, alright? Just fuckin’ give up.” Hoodie jerked your jaw, pressing your shoulder to the ground as you kicked your legs, Masky’s knee slid up against your core and held it there even when you squirmed. “Even after all that runnin’ you’ve still got energy? Fuck.” Masky angrily laughed, tugging at your jeans and undoing the buttons, your heart immediately jumping from your chest.

“Masky-” Hoodie clasped a hand over your mouth, tugging your body up against his own as he pressed beside you. Masky let go of your hands, Hoodie quick to take them in one hand, and hold them above your head as the latter worked on shimmying your pants off of your thighs. The rain made you twitch as drops hit your bare skin. “We won, remember? Gonna have to show you just what girls with big egos get, yeah? You could use a little humbling…” The hooded man smiled, snaking a hand around your throat and clamping down, your airway choking closed as you gasped. It felt like a rush, every inch of your body overwhelmed as they gripped at your skin. You were falling apart, fighting and fear leaving your body, anxiousness and excitement slowly creeping in the lower Masky’s hands dipped against your thighs.

“Every inch of you is a tease.” He snapped, your muddy jeans discarded as fingers dug into your skin. The man acted ravenous, fingernails clawing against your damp skin as he nudged himself between your legs, your head swaying lightly as Hoodie pushed his grip on your throat harder. “Been dying to get a good look.”

You couldn’t deny how many times you caught them staring. Every time you stripped down to your underwear to bathe in the creek or laid out in the truck's backseat to get some rest, their eyes lingered, awkward silence hanging in the air. It was obvious now. That same ravenous look was caught behind the eyeholes of their masks, your heart skipping as Masky hooked his fingers into the waistline of your panties. Jerking against Hoodie’s grasp on your wrists, you let your back arch off the ground, panting against the fingers gripped onto your throat as Masky slowly slid the cloth down.

Rain soaked your face as Hoodie took his time sliding a hand up your shirt, palming at your moist skin and dragging your jacket off of your shoulders. “You’ve always had such a loud mouth, y’know that? It’d be nice to see it occupied with other things.” Hoodie chuckled, letting his fist off of your throat to slide up to your lips, your gasps and coughs music to his ears. He was quick to slide two fingers past your teeth, shoving them down to the knuckle and pushing down your tongue. You gagged, head rearing back but his fingers followed, pressing down into your throat with a cough. He let go of your wrists, snaking a fist into your hair as he held his fingers still, your throat constricting around the digits as you reached back to grip his hoodie, tugging him closer. Masky watched close, your warm cunt throbbing as the cold air ran goosebumps across your skin.

“Christ.” Masky hummed, pressing your knees apart as he adjusted himself between them, his cock constricting tight against his jeans. He slid your folds apart with his thumb, swiping the digit through your wetness and spreading it, smiling at the way your hips instinctively jerked. You whined, senses overwhelmed as you choked again, gagging as Hoodie began to pump his fingers. “If you can’t even take my fingers, how are you supposed to take my cock? Do better.” Hoodie was so much more gruff than Masky, barking his command and pushing you further than you knew he could go. The man was always the quieter of the two, his shadow-like demeanor starkly contrasting Masky’s. So when it came to primal instincts, the two flipped like a coin. Masky took a much more silent authoritative stance, while Hoodie was all bark and bite. The two worked perfectly together, you realized, in murder and sex. Perfect contrasts no matter the circumstances.

Your cheeks shot red, your eyes watering the louder you heard him huff. You tried to let your throat relax, you tried to breathe steady. But when you felt a finger screw into your cunt, forcing its way into your hardly prepped warmth, you cried out.

Masky’s nails dug into your thighs, his knees shoving your legs open as he twisted his middle finger, angling to press up against the gumminess of your walls. “So warm, damn…” He grunted, letting his thumb press against your clit and rub aching circles against the nub. Hoodie didn’t give you a moment, however. His fingers were soon tugged from your lips as he snagged your hair back, pushing your cheek against his jeans, face-to-face with his boner. How were you going to take that? You tried to stammer, tried to press your hands on his legs, but he was already undoing his belt. “Hoodie-” You hissed, your sentence cut off as you jerked your hips up when another finger crammed itself into your tight cunt, digits spreading and scissoring you loose. Your eyes shot back and forth, focused on fingers tugging down their zipper but also on the hungry way fingers dug into your folds.

You were overwhelmed, the rain and wind snapping at every naked part of your body and sending chills. And the boys were eating you alive.

“Wait, please- I’m sorry! Ah! I was wrong okay-” Hoodie’s palm was back around your mouth, your pants and whines muffled behind the hand as he tugged his jeans down with his boxers. Your eyes shot wide when he tugged his cock out, shoving his waistband below his balls and giving his length a few good tugs. Masky chuckled, pressing the heel of his palm down onto your clit as he rhythmically curled his fingers up, your cunt soaking them. “If you’re so sorry, then show it, sweetheart.” You gawked at the girth wrapped in Hoodie’s fist, unsure of how you were even supposed to take half of that in your mouth. But take it you would. It didn’t matter if you screamed, bled, or passed out, Hoodie was going to make sure you would melt on it.

You were trembling, as vicious as you were, you were excited. Hoodie and Masky could see it. They had no intention of hurting you, but they had every intention of breaking the little ego you held onto. You held their gaze, rain streaming down your face as you whined. “Open up.” The brunette didn’t give you much of a choice as he pressed his cock to your lips. You gasped around the tip, his hands wrapping into the back of your hair and pressing your head closer. Hoodie groaned as he went deeper, your throat convulsing around him with a barely suppressed gag. You felt like you were losing air, taking a last deep breath before Hoodie stopped, your lips wrapping tight around the middle of his girth.

He held steady, Masky keeping you distracted with his fingers, but you couldn't fight the dizziness in your head. Hoodie drank up the way your eyes slammed shut, the way your hands gripped into his clothes and pawed for release; he couldn’t stand it. Masky couldn’t either.

When you caressed your tongue along the bottom side of his cockhead, Hoodie growled, fisting your hair tight. He snapped your head closer, pushing your throat open around his girth and tugging you back off quickly, snapping his hips back again to set a sickening pace. You choked, slobber pooling around your lips and glistening on his length as he fucked into your throat, giving you no time to breathe. You dug your nails into his hoodie, clawing for something to hold onto as he rattled your head. Every squeeze of your throat just spurred him on, the resistance only making him more eager to fuck you open and raw. “God, you must be real sorry, huh?” Hoodie growled, letting one hand shove up your shirt up and tug your bra off of your tits, gripping onto the mounds.

Masky watched, smiling wildly behind the mask as his cock throbbed against his jeans. Your cunt had soaked his fingers loose enough to slip another in, his free hand shimmying his belt undone and tugging his zipper down. The man took a shaky breath when his cock met the cold air, twitching and eager as he unscrewed his fingers from your cunt, surprised at the way your hips tried to follow them. The loud sound of slobber and gagging on Hoodie’s cock made Masky excited to hear more, pumping his cock in his fist covered with your arousal as he pressed a free hand back to your folds. “Don’t pass out now, little mouse.”

You couldn’t hear him over the sound of your own head roaring, throat tensing and convulsing at every press of Hoodie length into your mouth. He was so rough, so aggressive in his actions, desperately clawing for more as if he had been begging for this for forever. You finally felt like you could get the hang of it, finding a good position for your mouth until-

Smack!

You nearly screamed when you felt a palm slap down on your cunt, snapping against your cunt and sending your hips shooting off of the muddy ground. Masky laughed, his fist jerking his cock as your eyes shot open, trying to pull your head back off of Hoodie’s length. He growled, snapping your head back down onto his cock and shoving your nose into his pubes, snapping at you to stay still.

Masky raised his hand again, your stomach tightening as you watched through tear-beaded eyes when his palm made contact with your clit again. It stung, your throat grunting and sobbing as Hoodie gripped either side of your head in his hands, fucking his hips into your warm mouth. You tried to press your thighs shut, Masky shoving them apart as he slapped again, spanking your cunt and grinning at the squelch. Pained whines muffled around Hoodie’s cock as he rubbed his fingers against your clit before hauling his hand up, smacking back down to watch your hips jerk. You dug your heels into the dirt, trying to press away, but Masky’s hands were already gripped around your hips and tugging you back.

Your head was light, oxygen barely seeping through as Hoodie completely ignored your wails, hips jerking, and balls slapping against the side of your face the deeper you drank his cock down. “So good…” He muttered, gasping as he hunched over your head, driving his hips at an exhausting pace. Your jaw hurt, eyes raw with tears as you lulled your tongue against the underside of his length to desperately hurry his orgasm along.

Your mouth was so full, so warm and tight, and took the brunette the best you could. Hoodie whined when he felt his balls tighten and abdomen tense, ecstasy shooting through his body as he throbbed in your mouth and spilled down your throat. You clung to his hoodie, unable to swallow as quickly as he pumped into you, cum and slobber dribbling down your chin. You gasped as you felt the intrusion leave your mouth, desperately trying to catch your breath as seed dripped down your chin. Masky didn’t give you time, barely able to swallow before you felt a tension pushing into your cunt.

“I think you still owe me an apology, right?” The man between your legs chuckled, pushing your hips down to the soaked ground as he slowly sunk in, stretching your cunt uncomfortably. Hoodie was panting, wringing the last of his orgasm from his cock as he hauled your head up, craning your neck to face him. He shoved his mask up, the fabric bunching at his brow as his flushed cheeks glistened with sweat. You whined as you felt Masky’s cock press deeper, your walls throbbing around him as Hoodie caught your lips, breathing deep as he panted into your mouth.

“Mmn, fuck-” Masky chirped, raising your ass off the ground as he pressed against your tightness, sinking into your gooey warmth. Hoodie ravaged, gripping your jacket and shaking it off your arms, fingers tugging at your shirt until you could hear the seams popping and snapping. Masky bottomed out, you gasp giving Hoodie enough access to shove his tongue past your lips and suck on your own. Groans and whines swapped, Masky watched, stomach twirling with arousal.

He slowly tugged his hips back, your thighs trembling as you peeked out, groaning when you watched Masky slide his own mask off of his face, the object clattering into the mud. His hips didn’t get far before they snapped back, nails tugging your hips back to meet with a stifled moan. Hoodie shuffled behind you, adjusting himself to your back pressed against his chest as Masky started his drowsy pace into your puffy cunt. You whimpered with every inch, panting desperately. Your pussy gripped him tightly as Masky pressed all the way inside—before withdrawing completely and plunging back in again. You screamed, the sound choked with frantic need as Hoodie replaced his lips with his fingers again. Masky pulled your hips back, fucking mindlessly until your knees tightened around his sides. He snaked a hand between your legs and rubbed your clit, grinning as you shook from head to toe and went limp against Hoodie’s chest, the pleasure shattering you.

“Too much, little mouse?" You managed to shake your head, defiant little thing. Masky snapped his hips again, pace slowly and sickeningly increasing, thrusts getting harder but not faster. You mewled, sucking on Hoodie’s digits as he played with your nipples, massaging your tits with every heave of your chest. “Don’t get needy now, sweetheart,” Hoodie noted the way your hips craned to meet Masky’s every move, stomach tightening to get a better grip around his cock. You groaned, flexing your hands as they both laughed at your desperation. You were irritated. They wanted badly to ruin you, to make you theirs. But when it finally comes time for you to enjoy their part, they won’t let you. You felt yourself snap as you hauled your bodies forward.

Masky grunted as you shoved your hands against his chest, kicking your feet free from his hands and slamming the big guy on his back. Hoodie was quick to follow, stunned at the sudden movement but sure to find his place snagged onto your back as you straddled Masky again.

“You’re a fucking prick.” You groaned, pressing your nails into his face as your knees dug into the rocky mud-caked ground. You all were nasty, sweat and rain dripping from your brows but you were so horny it didn’t matter.

Masky pressed back, tugging at your wrists to let off of his face. It was only when he shoved your jaw back did you saw the gleam of metal in the rain, the dark pistol smeared with mud but close enough to grasp. You pressed forward, shoving Masky’s forehead down as he snapped, Hoodie gripping your hips to drag you back.

You tried to claw, to reach the gun, but the boys were stronger. “Little cunt. You never learn, huh?” Masky barked, gripping his cock tight as Hoodie angled your hips to sink back onto the length. You choked out when they slammed your hips together, Masky setting a brutal pace up into your cunt as Hoodie pressed you down, jerking his own growing cock now.

“I don’t know where you- ah- where you get this attitude from,” Masky growled into your ear, your chest pressing down against his as he quickly tugged his cock in and out of your drenched warmth. You whined through every echoed slap, the rain, and sweat making you both slippery, and every thrust of his hips reverberating off the density of the trees. You reached out, stretching your shoulder as far as it would go to reach the pistol just at your fingertips. You groaned, pressing your sore hands into the mud for one final stretch, your index brushing the metal and tugging it in your direction.

“Fuck you.” You growled out, tugging the gun into your hand and turning to aim it at the side of Masky’s temple. You wanted a reaction, for his pace to hesitate or his eyes to stutter, but they never did. He just kept tugging your hips down, mercilessly shoving the air from your lungs with every press of his cock against your sore walls. Your noses brushed as you stared deep into the other’s eyes, a silent challenge. If anything, he went faster.

Hoodie chuckled behind you, letting his cock slide between your ass cheeks every time they bounced in Masky’s cock. He was grunting, pressing your lower back down to get a better arch out of you. “Cute.” He smiled.

Masky glanced, acknowledging the weapon pressed so aggressively against the side of his head, but keeping his attention on you. You wanted to yell, to tug the trigger just enough to watch fear creep in, but your thoughts got abruptly lost.

Masky let your hips go, tugging a fist into your hair as he slammed your lips together. You grunted into the kiss, anger fuming between the two of you and tearing your resilience apart. The kiss was aggressive, teeth snagging on lips and tongues shoving against cheeks as Hoodie took his chance to rest his hands on your hips. “Shit.”

Hoodie tugged his cock back, your hips riding Masky on their own and setting your own pace, cunt gushing and squelching at every move. You hadn’t even cum yet, and the desperation was getting to you.

“Stick your tongue out.” Hoodie reached between you two, cutting your kiss short as he selfishly shoved two fingers into your mouth, Masky growling at the loss. The brunette just laughed, a cheeky grin flashing as he tugged his fingers back, swiping them between your asscheeks.

You hissed, hips stuttering their pace as you felt Hoodie press his index finger against your asshole, swirling the muscle eagerly. “Hoodie.” You grit, craning your neck to look back at him, Masky letting his hand fall to your upper thighs. The brunette smiled, slowly nudging his index finger through the tight ring and making you sit up straight. Masky growled, reaching up to wrap his arm around you, tugging your shoulders back down, your neck in a headlock against his chest.

He slowly began to thrust his hips up again, achingly slow to distract from the feeling of Hoodie stretching your asshole. You wanted to growl, to fight back, but your eyes just rolled. Masky smiled as he watched the pistol slowly slip from your grasp, clattering back against the gravel as he fucked lazily up into your cunt, the warmth a lot more gooey than before. You could feel your abdomen flutter, clit brushing against Masky and sending your thighs tensing. “Please…" you moaned. "Coming… make me come…”

Hoodie craned his index, stretching the rim of your asshole and jerking your ass apart. Masky’s breath startled, resilience cracking as you came on his cock, cunt tightening and throbbing around his length. You convulsed, breath hitching as they brought you to your peak, shuddering violently in Masky’s arms. He couldn’t take it, he had to pull out.

You moaned out, whining when Masky slipped from your cunt and groaned loud, regaining his composure. Hoodie still worked your ass, the sting and stretch were painful but strangely so addicting. He let a second finger tease the rim, your hips sensitively jerking against the feeling as another finger slowly sunk into your ass. Your cunt clenched on nothing, tensing through your orgasm before Masky realigned himself, squeezing his cock back in. He could’ve come from how warm and gummy your walls were after cumming.

“You ready for both, mouse?” You felt dizzy, head straining as Masky kept a hold on your neck, locking you down against his chest. You tried to nod, mumbling your eagerness as Hoodie successfully pressed another finger past your rim, your whine making them grin. The brunette gave you a few good tugs before pulling his fingers out, stroking his length as he pressed the tip to your rim. You groaned against Masky’s chest, biting into the cloth of his shirt as he thrust his hips, trying to give you a good duality as Hoodie slowly pressed in.

It stung, the stretch and fullness making your fingers grip into anything you could get, nails indenting into Masky’s sides. Hoodie cursed, fingers digging into the mounds of your ass and tugging them apart, trying his best to sink in through the constraint. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re tight as hell- shit-” You sobbed through the tension, trying your best to relax as both of your holes slowly filled, your abdomen swirling with waves of arousal. You felt dizzy, panting in Masky’s scent as Hoodie finally snapped in the rest of the way, the stretch making tears spill down your cheeks.

“Fu… Fuck me…” You choked out, craning your hips just enough to make Hoodie whine, nails cutting into your hips. The boys got the hint, Masky slowing down his pace to match Hoodie’s stuttered one, the brunette fighting against the constraint of your ass while he bluntly thrust. You moaned anyways, Masky’s cock snagging your g-spot and ramming there, his grin telling. He couldn’t resist leaning forward to steal a kiss again, biting into your plump lips.

Hoodie couldn’t get over your mouth, however. He needed to be in that warmth again. So, he leaned forward, pressing his fingers against the side of your cheek and pressing them into the corner of your mouth, Masky tensing at the foreign taste. He looked like he was going to say something, but you shut him up with a plop of your hips, raising your ass up to fuck against Hoodie’s cock and ride right back down onto Masky’s. “Be nice.” You gasped as Hoodie curled his finger into the side of your cheek, tugging the skin back to make drool pool against your lips. Masky growled, rolling his eyes before snagging your lips again, loud groans and hisses panted into the other’s mouth. You felt so full, holes stuffed so nauseatingly well you could feel the way their cocks brushed together inside of you.

You could feel it again, the way your gut clenched. Masky clenched your thighs, his cock aching inside of you as Hoodie snapped his hips, riding close to the edge again. You tried your best to angle your hips back, giving them both the best angle to tug their cocks in and out. “‘M coming- Fuck! Please, please, please…” You panted through every snap of their hips, their cocks squeezing and stretching your holes so wide you knew you were ruined for anyone else. Your head was so tired, cunt throbbing and aching for release the harder they went, chasing their own.

“Pull out, Hoodie…” Masky choked, getting the last few thrusts he could as he felt you tightening, his cock teetering dangerously close to the edge. Hoodie whined, the tip of his cock popping in and out past your rim and dragging him closer too, both of the boys a whining grunting mess with you sandwiched between them. “Ma- Masky… Hoodie…”

Both of your holes clenched down as you came, the intensity of your orgasm washing over you so strongly that your eyes lulled to the back of your head. Your stomach twisted, the knot unraveling as you released on their cocks. Masky moaned lowly, biting into his lip as he forced his cock out of your swelled cunt, ropes of cum dripping from his tip as he stole your lips. Hoodie followed quickly, pushing your ass off of his cock as he started fisting his length quickly, pumping tight at the base to shoot his seed across your back. He whined through his orgasm, smearing his cum across your ass and lazily smiling at his work.

You all panted, shoulders slumped and bodies sore. You felt like you couldn’t move, every muscle inside and out aching from the exertion you had gone through.

Rain still poured, the chill seeping into your bones as you shook, water and sweat dripping from your nose. You felt so spent, cunt and ass ruined and throbbing wildly as you let your head go limp on Masky’s chest, the man grunting underneath you. “Fuck…alright, mouse.”

You were far too sleepy to care much as they shoved their limp cocks back into their jeans, everyone’s clothes soaked and cold as Hoodie wrapped his arms under your limbs, hauling you up. “C’mon, sweetheart…” Even they sounded tired.

You slipped in and out of sleep on the way back to the truck, Masky collecting your items as they went and tossing everything into the bed as the engine roared. Hoodie laid you in the backseat, climbing into the passenger as Masky peeled back towards the interstate. You were too tired to ask where you were going.

You only stirred back when the obnoxious luminescent lights showed into the truck window, blinding you. You squinted, tossing your hand in front of the light as you sat up, the backseat suddenly opening.

“Don’t make me regret buyin’ this,” Masky growled as he tossed a blanket towards you, you just now realizing how nasty with mud you all were. You smiled as Hoodie helped you out, shuffling you close to his side as the boys dragged you around to the shabby door of the motel they had found. You flinched as you remembered your foot, the crusted blood and mud staining the underside of your sock as you limped through the rusty door.

It wasn’t anything nice, definitely not five stars.

But as you three tugged off your clothes and cleaned as much of the mud off as possible, it didn’t matter. The boys cringed at your cuts, mumbling their apologies and helping you clean them up, too. Exhausted, the three of you crawled into the way-too-small bed, the boys on either side of you as they cradled in, sticky and sore body parts finding their comfortable spaces.

It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was better than sleeping in the back of the truck. You smiled when their breathing labored, faces cradled into your shoulders while you slowly blinked your sleepiness away. You didn’t want to acknowledge what this night might mean for the future, at least not tonight. You’d much rather sleep.

But as Masky and Hoodie slid their arms around your torso, legs interlocking as you all finally relaxed, maybe it didn’t seem so bad anymore.

You’d have to learn to watch your tongue, though. For your sake.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thank you to my wonderful editors: @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

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noirscript · 1 month ago

Text

scripted fate

Pairing: Yandere!CEO x Yandere!Reader

Description: Every move led you to Cassian Veltre—but his smirk said it all. You weren’t the only one pulling the strings.

Note: Random one before heading to bed. Enjoy!

Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar

The first time you met him, it was orchestrated down to the second. The coffee shop was crowded, your friends chattering about mundane things as you calculated the perfect angle, the perfect timing. When you stood up, your shoulder brushed against his, and the steaming coffee in his hand tilted—just enough to spill onto his crisp white shirt.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry!" you gasped, reaching for your handkerchief before he could react.

His brows knitted in irritation, lips parting as if to reprimand you, but you were already pressing the soft cloth against his chest, dabbing away the stain with delicate, practiced strokes. Your fingers lingered longer than necessary, feeling the warmth of his body beneath the fabric. Your heartbeat quickened—not out of guilt, but from the thrill of touching him so intimately within minutes of meeting.

He exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. "It's fine."

But you didn't stop, not yet. "Please, let me make it up to you," you insisted, tilting your head just right, voice honeyed with remorse and something else—something darker. "I can buy you another coffee?"

He studied you then, his annoyance melting into something more calculative. A smirk ghosted over his lips. "That won’t be necessary." He took your handkerchief from your grasp, fingers grazing yours as he folded it neatly. "But I’ll hold onto this. A little collateral, in case you owe me later."

Oh, he was good.

You returned to your table, heart pounding—not from nerves, but from the thrill of setting things into motion. Your friend Lucas raised an eyebrow, sipping his iced coffee. "That was… convenient."

"What was?" you asked innocently, stirring your drink.

"Come on," Lucas scoffed. "You’re usually so careful. And you just happened to spill coffee on one of the most well-dressed men in this place?" He smirked, leaning back. "Was he your type or something?"

You shrugged, feigning indifference. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Your other friend, Mia, giggled. "Well, he was ridiculously handsome. And rich, judging by that watch. I mean, if you’re going to bump into someone, might as well be a catch."

Lucas rolled his eyes. "You do realize he was totally onto you, right? He took your handkerchief like he’s keeping a receipt."

Your lips curled slightly. "Good."

The second time, you hadn’t expected to see him so soon, but you'd hoped. Your friend—a harmless pawn—had invited you to dinner at a high-end restaurant, and you'd chosen a table strategically. Back-to-back with him, close enough that you could hear the soft murmur of his voice. Close enough that he could hear yours.

And so, you spoke just a little louder than usual, laughing at your friend’s jokes, letting your voice drip with sweetness as you addressed Lucas by name. It worked. Halfway through your meal, you felt the weight of his gaze. When you turned your head slightly, you caught the way his fingers tapped against his glass, how his eyes darkened when he noticed the man across from you.

He hadn’t planned on running into you tonight. But now that you were here, now that you were seated so casually with another man, he found himself amused.

And irritated.

Lucas leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "You know he’s listening, right? He hasn’t touched his food since we sat down."

You feigned surprise. "Who?"

"The guy from the café. The one you so conveniently ‘bumped into.’" Lucas’s eyes flicked toward the table behind you. "He keeps glancing this way."

You twirled your wine glass between your fingers, suppressing a smile. "Does that bother you?"

Lucas scoffed. "I just don’t like the way he’s looking at you. Feels… possessive. Like he already knows something the rest of us don’t."

Interesting.

His phone buzzed, a reminder of an impending meeting, but he dismissed it. Instead, he swirled the wine in his glass, contemplating. He had wanted to take his time, let things unfold naturally, but seeing you so soon—so radiant, so close yet untouchable—he realized he wanted more control.

So he arranged it. The perfect excuse to bring you into his world, to bind you to him without raising suspicion.

The job posting appeared three days later, an opening for a personal assistant to the CEO. Not a secretary. Not an assistant manager. A position that would place you right next to him at all times.

And, as he'd expected, you applied.

The moment you stepped into his office, he leaned back in his chair, watching you with open amusement. "Imagine my surprise when I saw your name among the applicants."

You feigned innocence, your smile demure. "It’s a wonderful opportunity, Mr. Veltre."

Cassian Veltre.

His lips twitched. "Is it?" He gestured for you to sit, his gaze never leaving yours. "You seem… overqualified for the position."

"And yet, you're interviewing me."

A chuckle rumbled from his chest. "I suppose I am. Tell me, what made you apply?"

You folded your hands neatly on your lap, meeting his gaze with unwavering confidence. "I've always admired this company. I think working under someone as accomplished as you would be an invaluable experience."

He hummed, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Flattery? So soon? You’re not even hired yet."

You tilted your head, feigning surprise. "Flattery? I thought I was simply stating a fact."

His expression darkened, intrigued. "I see. And tell me… would you be willing to dedicate yourself fully to this job? It’s demanding. Requires constant presence. Close proximity."

You leaned forward slightly, mirroring his intensity. "I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t ready for that."

His grip on control tightened, his heartbeat a fraction faster.

Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @fandangoballs @mel-vaz

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riddleswhcre · 2 months ago

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────۶ৎ 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝟑𝟗𝟒

you were assigned to evaluate the most dangerous prisoner in azkaban. tom riddle was supposed to be nothing more than a case file. a psychological profile. a man stripped of power, locked away, rotting. but then you made a mistake.

warnings: smut, dubcon, knifeplay? (carving initials), pain + pleasure, fingering, overstimulation, possessive, manipulative tom, mind games & control themes.

if any of the above makes you uncomfortable, scroll away. you have been warned.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

you should have never pushed him.

it was a game at first. a little power play between you and the most dangerous inmate in azkaban. prisoner 394, tom riddle. the man who ran circles around every other psychologist they'd assigned to him, until they gave up and threw you in the ring.

you were different. you didn’t play by their rules. you let him talk, let him smirk, let him watch you in that way that made lesser people shudder. but you never let him win.

until now.

because last session, you made a mistake.

you mocked him.

—

tom had been particularly smug that day, lounging in his chair like the chains on his wrists were merely decorative, like this prison was nothing more than an inconvenience. you had watched him, lips curling, head tilting in mock contemplation.

"all that power," you mused, voice dripping with condescension. "all that control you used to have. and now look at you."

tom's smirk didn't falter, but his fingers curled slightly against the armrest. you noticed. his jaw had clenched—just for a second. quick. nearly imperceptible. but you caught it. you had rattled him, and the victory had sent a thrill through you.

you should have known better.

—

because today, the door locks behind you. and this time, tom doesn’t sit.

there’s something different in the air, something that prickles against your skin before your mind even fully registers it. tom doesn’t smirk. he doesn’t taunt. he just watches you, dark and unreadable, as he takes a slow, measured step forward.

instinctively, you step back. a mistake. because the flicker of amusement in his gaze tells you he likes it—likes seeing you retreat, likes knowing you’re starting to understand.

"so quiet now, sweetheart," he murmurs. "where’s that sharp tongue of yours?"

his voice is soft, almost teasing, but there’s steel beneath it. control. a dangerous edge that sends a shiver racing down your spine.

another step, and your back meets the desk. you barely have a second to react before his hand finds your waist—firm, possessive, pressing you down as he leans in, breath ghosting over your ear.

"you wanted to play, didn’t you?" he hums. "wanted to test me? remind me of my place?"

his other hand lifts, and you don’t realise what he’s holding until the cool, unexpected press of something sharp meets your thigh.

you freeze.

"shhh, darling," he croons, his free hand splaying over your stomach, keeping you in place. "we’re just getting started."

he drags the tip of his quill over your skin—slow, teasing, letting you feel it before he presses just a little harder. the first cut is shallow, barely more than a scratch, but the sting makes your breath catch.

tom watches you, eyes half-lidded, as he carves.

his name. his claim. the ink mixes with blood, smearing as his thumb drags over it, pressing down just enough to make you whimper. pain blooms hot and sharp, but the moment his palm slides higher, fingers trailing the inside of your thigh, your body betrays you. heat coils in your stomach, the line between agony and pleasure blurring into something intoxicating.

"so beautifully marked."

he leans in, mouth dragging against your throat.

"so utterly mine." he chuckles, breath warm against your cheek. "you're shaking," he murmurs, thumb tracing the fresh carving. "is it from the pain, darling? or something else?"

you don’t get a chance to answer before his fingers press higher, teasing, just barely brushing over the damp fabric between your legs. a broken gasp slips from your lips, and tom hums, pleased.

"already soaked for me," he muses. "and you call me pathetic."

your mind is spinning, but your body knows exactly what it wants. hips tilting, legs parting. tom notices, because of course he does. his fingers press harder, rubbing slow, lazy circles that make your knees tremble.

"that’s it," he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. "let me see how weak you really are."

“you had so much to say last time.” his fingers trail the wood beside you, deceptively casual. “now, nothing?”

your breath stutters.

“p-please—”

he laughs, dark and amused. “oh, no. you don’t get to beg now. you’re gonna take everything i give you. and then you’re gonna thank me.”

the desk digs into your thighs as he presses closer, his body a wall of heat and power. shackles hang loose around his wrists, the chain between them long enough to allow movement. you know he’s done something to them. manipulated the guards, twisted the security measures to suit his whims. because tom riddle never plays fair.

you shudder as his hand finds your throat, not squeezing, just a weight, a reminder.

“you thought you could control me?” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, your pulse fluttering wildly beneath his touch. “thought you could use that pretty mouth to put me in my place?”

your fingers curl against the desk, nails biting into the wood.

he chuckles, a dark rasp against your skin. “i do love watching you struggle, darling. but we both know how this ends.”

“so sensitive,” he purrs. “wonder how much more you can take.”

“that’s it,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “let me see how weak you really are.”

when he finally pushes the fabric aside and slides a single finger through your slick, you whimper, a sound you barely recognise escaping your lips. his responding groan is filthy, low and pleased.

“fuck, listen to you,” he breathes. “so desperate already.”

he presses the tip of his finger inside you, just enough to tease, to drive you mad. you bite your lip, a useless attempt to stifle the sounds spilling from your mouth. but he’s having none of it.

a sharp nip at your throat makes you gasp, and in that moment, he sinks a second finger in, stretching you open.

“good girl,” he praises, voice dripping with satisfaction. ”taking my fingers so well.”

your head falls back, eyes fluttering shut as he works you open, fingers curling just right, dragging over that spot that makes you tremble. he knows exactly where to press, where to stroke, and he does it with excruciating precision—slow at first, teasing, like he's savouring every moment of your unraveling.

the slick sounds of your arousal mix with the sharp gasps you can’t contain, each one only encouraging him. he pulls his fingers out almost entirely before sinking them back in, deeper this time, dragging against every sensitive nerve until your thighs are trembling with the effort to stay upright.

"feel that?" he whispers, lips brushing against your ear, his voice dark, taunting. "how your body gives in to me so easily? you're dripping, darling. soaking my fingers like you were made for this."

his thumb presses against your clit, a calculated roll that has you gasping, your nails digging into his forearms. he does it again, harder this time, a slow, devastating rhythm that has heat coiling low in your stomach, the tension winding tighter, unbearable.

"come on," he purrs, fingers working faster, thrusting deeper, his thumb relentless against that aching bundle of nerves. "give it to me, love. let me see you fall apart." your hands fly to his arms, gripping hard, but he doesn’t stop. doesn’t slow.

“look at you,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue over the shell of your ear. “falling apart for the man you thought you could control.”

your release builds fast, overwhelming, and he knows. he knows, because his smirk presses against your cheek as he picks up the pace.

“cum for me,” he orders, voice dark and commanding. “cum for the man who owns you now.”

you shatter.

a strangled cry escapes your lips as you arch against him, thighs shaking, body writhing beneath his relentless touch. he doesn’t let up, working you through every pulse, every wave, until you’re gasping, overstimulated, gripping onto him for support.

tom hums in satisfaction, finally withdrawing his fingers. he lifts them to his lips, eyes locked on yours as he licks them clean, a low groan vibrating in his chest.

“sweet as sin,” he murmurs.

your legs barely hold you up, but tom isn’t done. he grips your chin, tilting your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“same time next week, doctor.”

and with that, he steps back, leaving you trembling, ruined, and entirely at his mercy.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

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skrunksthatwunk · 1 month ago

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ive started a brainstorming doc for the kaiji koi-koi fic and a large large amount of it is just trying to figure out what works about kaiji and how i can innovate without diverging too much from the tone or themes etc. anyway ive been thinking about how the modifications fkmt makes to the games in kaiji function (i.e. minefield mahjong, restricted rps, one poker, etc), and how they each tie into key traits/feelings of playing to original versions. minefield mahjong centers and intensifies the feeling of waiting on a crucial tile while trying not to leave too much of a trail, one poker leans heavily into the bluffing via raising/calling elements of poker, and rrps sort of flips rps' main issue(?) on its head by removing its arbitrariness (while preserving at first the illusion of arbitrariness), and thus making it like.. something you can win via strategy and not just luck. ANYWAY i think ive figured out the key thread to pull for koi-koi and im very excited about that

#idk if i wanna say it but like. why not who cares #one of the things that interests me the most about koi-koi is how uneven the card hauls can be #halfway through a round your opponent can have 12 carss and you can have 2 and it's just Like that #and for a card hoarding game that can be really tense #finding some way to play with that dynamic is my key to making this engaging i can feel it #my current (first) idea is to create a punishment for having claimed cards that don't form a finished hand #(i.e. having 4 poetry ribbons or having 2 lights and the rain man)#a card hoarding game that punishes greed!! where you have to be so much more careful with what you do #and where laying out a card rather than taking smth unlikely to benefit you is much more often a good idea #but youve gotta balance that with sabotaging your opponents' hands and racking up points etc #and there's just such a big luck component to koi-koi that no matter what you do you're just gonna have to go all in #on some hands anyway #i think it could be really fun is my point and i (more than any prior fic) want to create smth very similar to fkmt's work #like it's a missing arc or something #ah but im not sure if that's enough of a simplification to really feel like a fkmt mod #(the nature of all these modded games is such that theyre reduced to these really intense much more granular steps #so you get all the psychological thrill and mind game shit without irreparably tanking the pacing)#while i don't think kk is nearly as complicated a game as smth like mahjong idk if this would have that same effect #BUT i think it does bc it intensifies those more throwaway moments of kk to a massive degree #i just gotta find a way to make it a little more iconic like op and rrps and mm #ANYWAY. spoilers for a fic thats probably never getting finished. not for like 5 years at least #kaijiposting #im also trying to figure out if/how i wanna make this a battle royale. i think my favorite kaiji setups have that dynamic #and im kinda sad that it's pretty much disappeared since part one #seeing the meta evolve during rrps is so cool and the group psych elements of brave men road is what makes that arc so good #im very excited. maybe it'll suck maybe it'll never get made maybe it's super pedestrian for gambling manga/associated (<- not a genre im #especially involved with) but *i* like it and im happy and thats what matters the most #and although i havent looked into kaiji fic i imagine projects like this aren't that common? bc theyre a Lot of work to plan out #anywy i gotta hype myself up so in 5 yrs i can post it to thunderous silence (nobody cares about koi-koi enough to read 99k words about it)

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phoenixrisingastro · 3 months ago

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Synastry Hot Takes: The Spicy Edition 🔥

When it comes to synastry, the stars don’t lie. Some connections sizzle with chemistry, while others leave you wondering if the universe is playing a joke. Here are some bold takes on synastry and aspects that might just explain why you can’t stop thinking about someone—or why they drive you absolutely insane.

---

1. Venus-Pluto Aspects

If you have Venus-Pluto in synastry, good luck. This aspect will have you obsessing over someone at 2 a.m., scrolling through their Instagram, wondering why they’re suddenly your entire universe. It’s magnetic, transformative, and absolutely maddening.

Hot Take: Is it love or a karmic lesson in boundaries? Probably both.

---

2. Mars-Uranus Aspects

Mars-Uranus synastry screams "instant attraction" with a side of unpredictability. This connection is electric—think whirlwind romance, sudden confessions, and "how did this happen so fast?" vibes.

Hot Take: It’s thrilling until one of you ghosts because the intensity was too much to handle.

---

3. Moon-Mars Aspects

Emotional meets physical with Moon-Mars in synastry. The passion is off the charts, but so are the arguments. You’ll either be making up... or breaking up... every other week.

Hot Take: This is the ultimate "can’t live with them, can’t live without them" aspect.

---

4. 12th House Synastry

When someone’s planets fall into your 12th house, it’s like they’ve stepped into your subconscious and started rearranging the furniture. The connection feels karmic, but it can also be confusing and heavy.

Hot Take: Is this soulmate energy or a psychological experiment? You’ll find out eventually (maybe).

---

5. Mars-Pluto Aspects

This is raw, primal attraction that’s almost impossible to ignore. The chemistry is undeniable, but the power struggles? Intense. It’s the kind of connection that can feel addictive and destructive at the same time.

Hot Take: Mars-Pluto synastry is like playing with fire—and loving every second of it.

---

6. Sun-Moon Aspects

In harmonious synastry, this is the “you complete me” aspect. In challenging synastry, it’s the “you don’t understand me at all” aspect. Either way, it’s impossible to ignore.

Hot Take: Sun-Moon connections are either soulmate energy or a masterclass in compromise.

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7. 8th House Synastry

Planets in the 8th house in synastry create a connection so intense it feels fated. The physical and emotional chemistry is unmatched, but the vulnerability can be overwhelming.

Hot Take: This is "I’ll never forget them" energy—but it might cost you your sanity.

---

8. Mercury-Mercury Aspects

When Mercury synastry flows, the conversations never stop, and you feel like you’ve met your mental match. But if it’s in hard aspect, it’s just endless debates and miscommunications.

Hot Take: Intellectual foreplay or exhausting mind games—there’s no in-between.

---

9. Venus-Mars Aspects

Venus-Mars synastry is all about sexual tension. The attraction is magnetic, but if the aspects are challenging, it can turn into a frustrating game of “who’s in control here?”

Hot Take: This is that “love-hate” energy everyone secretly craves.

---

10. Saturn Synastry

Saturn synastry can feel heavy, but it’s what makes a connection last. It’s all about lessons, commitment, and (sometimes) karma. You either grow together or feel trapped in a cosmic lecture series.

Hot Take: Saturn synastry is the “parent” of the zodiac—strict, but it keeps you grounded.

---

Which synastry aspect do you secretly love (or hate)? Share your stories below! 😉

#astro community #astro observations #astro placements #astrology #astrology content #astrology observations #pluto astrology #solar return #vedic astrology #astro blog #astro tumblr #astro notes

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amiableness · 5 months ago

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Hockey!James Potter x Lupin!Reader ❆ 847 words | thank you to @pizzaapeteer & @moonpascal for reading! you’re both angels <3

series masterlist ; main masterlist

The sharp scrape of skates cutting through the ice and the booming commands of the coach blend with the hollers and laughter of the players. It’s chaotic, but years of attending practice has taught you to tune it out, your sole focus on your psychology homework. Well it should be, instead your eyes keep drifting up to number seven—James Potter, your brother’s best friend.

They’re just warming up, and yet you can’t seem to pull your eyes away from him.

Watching James on the ice was nothing short of mesmerizing. It baffled you how he managed to track the puck so effortlessly, his movements sharp and precise—he was almost as fast as the damn thing. You’d never admit it to anyone, but during games, you could hardly take your eyes off of him. The way he raked his fingers through his damp curls, his chest rising and falling as he hauled himself onto the bench—it was addicting. And the fights. Seeing James Potter rough and unyielding stirred something in you that you didn’t want to analyze. Every time he ended up in the penalty box, his chest still heaving, curses tumbling from his lips, you found yourself shifting in your seat, heat creeping up your neck.

With a reluctant sigh, you tear your gaze away, knowing full well that if you didn’t stop, James would catch you—and you’d never hear the end of it.

With your legs propped up, feet resting on the chair in front of you, you highlight your psychology textbook, trying to focus. You're falling behind, and you can't help but feel that your lingering gaze on James isn't exactly helping.

Just as you’re getting into the flow, a sharp thwack against the clear barrier jolts you from your thoughts. You glance up to find your brother’s best friend standing on the other side, his stick in hand as he taps it against the barrier. Sitting so close to the rink, he’s only a few feet away, his presence impossible to ignore. You know he should be warming up with the rest of the team, but like clockwork, every practice, he manages to find you first.

“I missed you last Wednesday.” James calls out, flashing you that familiar, irresistible grin—the one that always seems to dare you to react. As usual, you send him an indifferent glance. It’s a game the two of you have been playing since the day you met four years ago: James flirts with shameless persistence, and you brush him off like it’s nothing. But deep down, you can’t help the secret thrill that warms your chest every time he tries.

“I had somewhere to be.” Your tone is disinterested, but there's an undeniable tug in your stomach at the thought of him being disappointed by your absence.

“If you tell me you went on a date, you’ll break my heart.” He says it with that trademark cocky grin, running a hand through his damp hair and for a moment, you catch yourself staring—fighting the thought of how effortlessly good he looks and how badly you want to tug on those curls.

You didn’t have a date, and you weren’t at practice because you had to study for an exam. But you’re not about to admit that the real reason you haven’t been productive with your studying these past couple of months is because you’ve been too busy watching him play.

“Not like you don’t have a shortage of girls to comfort you.” You glance back down at your textbook, willing yourself to focus—looks like tonight will be spent finishing this up, after all.

“I can’t believe you think I’d want any other girl besides you, angel.” Your stomach flips, and your eyes snap to James, surprised by the sudden rush of heat. You quickly clear your throat, but he’s already grinning, clearly pleased with the faint flush he’s managed to pull from you. There’s my girl, he thinks, the smug satisfaction evident in his gaze.

“Potter!” Coach calls sharply, and your gaze flicks over to the displeased figure standing on the other side of the rink, eyes fixed firmly on James. “Get your ass back on the ice!”

James doesn’t move, his eyes still locked on you. You raise an eyebrow, pointing your pink highlighter towards the ice. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Promise you’ll wait to talk to me after?”

You roll your eyes, struggling to suppress the tug at the corner of your lips by biting down on your lower lip. “You know I’ll be here. I have to wait for Remus anyway.”

“Just promise me, angel.” His tone softens, that same familiar charm slipping back into his voice.

You sigh, trying to fight the way your heart skips a beat. “I promise.”

James flashes you a wide grin before skating off, and Coach shakes his head disapprovingly, muttering something under his breath. You try to look away, but your gaze lingers on James a moment longer than you'd like, the flicker of embarrassment creeping in as you realize just how long you’ve been watching him.

next blurb <3

please please please consider reblogging and/or commenting. it keeps me motivated to continue writing and reblogging spreads my work 🤍

#hockey!james and lupin!reader universe #hockey!james potter #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x you #james potter x reader #james potter blurb #james potter baby blurb #james potter scenario #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter fanfiction #james potter hc #james potter headcanon #james potter au

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crushmeeren · 7 months ago

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⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

࿐ take this 🍧 to keep you occupied while you browse ࿐

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ Hoshina’s version ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ Mating runs are boring and common where you come from. You’ve taken part in more than you can count, yet no one has been able to catch you and the thrill’s worn off. You’re on the verge of giving up completely when someone new joins your pack. It startles you when you realize that you’re about to be in for the mating run of your life.

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ Bakugou’s version ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ You’ve danced around each other since you were kids. It didn’t start that way, no, it only developed into something more once you turned into teenagers. Once you’ve both reached 21, it’s no secret who you’re deliriously hoping will pin you down during your first, and only, mating run.

⋆ ⬪ KINKS INCLUDED ࿐ knotting, breeding, scent kink, biting/marking, fighting as foreplay, a/b/o dynamics.

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ Shinsou’s version ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ Hitoshi is the only other vampire that works at the bar with you. In fact, you’re two of the only vamps in town. It’s kind of isolating, but you have each other to lean on. You’ve resisted sleeping with him for fear of losing you’re only vampire companion, but when the shitty drunk regular takes it too far you and Hitoshi decide to…. “take care of him”. And each other.

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ Inumaki’s version ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ Being the only vampires in your specific group of assassins, you and Toge get contracted out and sent into a vampires only club to pose as a couple and hunt down your next non paying target. Someone must slip something into Toge’s drink to distract him, because the next you know you’re being dragged into a “private room” and riding Toge until your thighs burn.

⋆ ⬪ KINKS INCLUDED ࿐ biting, blood play, exhibitionism, sadism/masochism ish?, mild body horror, etc. full versions have all the warnings!

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ Touya’s version ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ Touya’s a regular at the coffee shop you work in. It’s in a seedier part of town and nobody bats an eye at the villain who stops in every night before close. He never speaks to you after he orders, winking and smiling eerily until the hair on the back of your neck stands up. But he’s the least of your worries. There’s someone wearing a ghost face mask who’s been stalking you after every shift. It’s been going a lot longer than you care to admit. Maybe it’s because, in a twisted way, you kind of like it?

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ Megumi’s version ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ Megumi’s your boyfriend, but he’s a bit too obsessed with you. He starts pretending to stalk you at night while wearing a demon mask to drive you even further into his arms and see him as your protector. It backfires when Megumi doesn’t realize that you found out it was him almost immediately. Nevertheless, you’re going along with it because you’re just as obsessed and delusional about him.

⋆ ⬪ KINKS INCLUDED ࿐ hints of hunter/prey, stalking, mask kink, breath play, knife play, a mixture of degradation and praise, yandere vibes.

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ Kirishima’s version ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ Boys fucking suck. Especially when it comes to sex. When you come across a forum of other women who have dealt with this problem, the word incubus catches your eye. After spiraling down a rabbit hole of what and how to obtain your own incubus, you think you’re getting a demon who’s dark and mysterious who can satisfy you. You end up with a demon that has the sun shining out of his ass. Although, he still ends up being way more than satisfying.

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ Kenma’s version ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ Kenma, according to you, is the laziest and worst incubus you’ve ever worked with. As a succubus, you work twice as hard as he does and still he ends up wreaking more havoc and causing such an insane amount of psychological damage that it causes your blood to boil. When you confront him about it, Kenma’s apathetic as usual. Then he shows you why he wears the crown. What a fool you were.

⋆ ⬪ KINKS INCLUDED ࿐ light bondage, choking, size kink, biting/marking, praise kink, rough sex, anal sex.

⇣ ⇣ ༄ ⇣ ⇣ ⇣ ༄ ⇣ ⇣

Whether you’re into monster fucking or something creepier, I’ll be feeding you little bats well this year. I do hope you’ll take a look around and find something that interests you.

I can’t promise these will all be super long since I’ve decided to torture myself and use two characters for each prompt, but I can promise they will be written to the best of my ability!

For the record, I will be writing these as 𓐩 ⋆ FEM READER ⋆ 𓐩. I hope this doesn’t disappoint anyone, but this is what I’m comfortable with and I’m not changing my mind.

That being said, cross my heart and hope to die I’ll put my blood, sweat, and tears into these! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

master list link

#bakugou x reader #hoshina x reader #todoroki touya x reader #shinsou x reader #inumaki x reader #kirishima x reader #kinktober 2024 #fushiguro megumi x reader #kenma x reader #bakugou smut #inumaki smut #hoshina smut #shinsou smut #todoroki smut #dabi smut #kirishima smut #fushiguro megumi smut

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goldsainz · 4 months ago

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# DREW STARKEY — BEHIND THE SCENES !

MASTERLIST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ a recollection of moments from when you and drew filmed your first movie together.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ probably inaccurate acting scenes, slight angst.

003. NOTE !

✯ guys i’ve spent more time conjuring up ideas about the fictional movie (knowing greek mythology paid off) than actually writing this. again, zendaya is just a face claim for the social media parts but the reader can be imagined as anything or anyone you want! this is also the longest piece of writing i’ve ever done so i really hope it was worth the wait 🫶

word count : 6,6k

There was something undeniably thrilling about starting a new movie project. It wasn’t just the act of filming that exhilarated you, no, it was the entire experience: stepping into a fresh role, meeting new colleagues, and immersing yourself in the intricacies of a new story. Each character brought a unique set of challenges and emotions, making acting as intoxicating as it was fulfilling.

When your agent first mentioned Damien Chazelle’s latest project, it felt like the stars had aligned. A psychological thriller, a role so complex and sought after—it was the kind of opportunity actors dream about. After various auditions and callbacks, you finally got the call: you’d landed the part. But nothing could have prepared you for the shock of learning that Drew Starkey would also be starring in the film.

You’d first met Drew during Variety’s Actors on Actors interview series. The chemistry between you two had been immediate, magnetic, and brimming with potential. The interview itself was lighthearted, but fans couldn’t stop buzzing about the dynamic between you afterward. Social media was flooded with calls for you both to star in a film together. Little did they know that dream would soon become reality.

Your first day on set felt surreal. Despite all your preparation, a flicker of nervous energy pulsed in your chest. It wasn’t just about embodying Isabella, a role that demanded every ounce of emotional depth you had; it was about reuniting with Drew after the whirlwind of speculation and excitement that followed your previous encounter.

Then, as if on cue, you spotted him. He stood across the bustling set, deep in conversation with Damien Chazelle. Already in costume—tailored slacks, an impeccably pressed shirt, and a hint of disheveled hair that somehow enhanced his charm—he looked every bit the enigmatic and manipulative art dealer, Theo. It was almost unsettling how effortlessly he slipped into character.

A pang of nervous energy tightened in your chest, but you masked it quickly. You were no stranger to working alongside talented actors, but something about Drew made you want to push yourself even harder—to impress him, match his intensity, or simply hold your own against the charisma that seemed to radiate from him.

As Drew turned and caught sight of you, his expression shifted. A flicker of recognition passed over his face, followed by a grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth. He excused himself from his conversation with Damien and strode toward you, his step casual yet deliberate.

“Well, look who’s here,” he said, his tone teasing but undeniably warm. “The artist herself.”

“Drew,” you replied, matching his energy with a smirk. “Or should I say, Theo?”

“Touché,” he shot back, his grin widening as he stopped in front of you. “Guess we’re both stepping into some big shoes this time.”

The air between you hummed with unspoken energy, the hum of the crew around you fading into the background.

“So,” he began, his voice quieter now, tinged with sincerity. “How are you feeling about all this? Ready to dive into the chaos?”

You chuckled softly, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling beneath the surface. “As ready as I’ll ever be. And you?”

His gaze softened, the playful edge giving way to something earnest. “Same. But if there’s anyone who can bring Isabella to life, it’s you. You’ve got this.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a warm blanket, bolstering your confidence. “Thanks, Drew,” you said, your voice touched with gratitude. “That means a lot.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Just don’t forget to save some of that intensity for the scenes. I hear Theo and Isabella have… interesting dynamics.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile curving your lips. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten. Just try to keep up, Starkey.”

His laughter was genuine, the kind that made your chest feel lighter. “Challenge accepted.”

The set had an almost electric feel today. The tension in the air mirrored the intensity of the scene you were about to film, a confrontation that pushed Isabella to her limits. Drew had just finished his scenes as Theo, but instead of retreating to his trailer for a break, he chose to stay behind the cameras, watching you as you prepared for your big moment.

He leaned against a quiet corner of the set, his arms crossed, his gaze never leaving you. You were already in character, your body language shifting as you transformed into Isabella. Drew had seen it all; the way you could disappear into your role, the way you made every moment feel alive, even the smallest of gestures. It was magnetic, captivating, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

You were standing across from a male crew member, discussing the next scene. Drew noticed how naturally you interacted with him, the ease with which you joked around, the warm laughter that escaped you as you shared a quiet moment between takes. There was nothing flirtatious about it, nothing intentional. It was just your charm, your ability to connect with anyone, to make them feel like they were the only person in the room.

But as Drew watched, a pang of something unfamiliar twisted in his chest. The crew member—an assistant director, he knew—was praising you. “You’ve really outdone yourself today,” the man said with a grin, clapping you on the back. “Isabella’s depth? Incredible. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone pull that off quite like you.”

You smiled, your cheeks flushing with the kind of humility that made Drew’s heart ache. “Thank you, that’s all I wanted,” you said, clearly grateful for the acknowledgment but never one to boast.

Drew’s grip on the railing tightened, a strange feeling settling in his gut as he watched you laugh and engage so effortlessly. He had always admired your talent—hell, he had always been in awe of it—but today, for some reason, it felt different. The warmth in the crew member’s praise, the way he seemed to linger a little longer, a little too long, sent a sharp twinge of jealousy through Drew. He hated the way it felt, hated how quickly it consumed him.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want you to be appreciated—he did. You deserved all the recognition in the world. But the knowledge that someone else was seeing the very qualities he had admired in you from the start, that someone else could see what made you so unique... it made something inside him stir.

And it wasn’t just admiration he felt for you—it was something deeper, something he had tried to ignore ever since that first interview. He could remember the spark between you both, the effortless connection that had only grown stronger since then. Every moment with you, every conversation, had somehow led him here. To this feeling, this painful realization that he wasn’t just drawn to you as a friend or a co-star—he was falling for you.

But he wasn’t sure if you saw him the same way. Or if you ever would.

He swallowed hard, trying to shake off the feeling, but it lingered, gnawing at him as the scene began. Drew watched from the shadows as you took your position, your posture shifting with the weight of Isabella’s inner turmoil. The camera rolled, and the world seemed to disappear. He wasn’t thinking about the crew member anymore, or the way you had smiled at him.

No, Drew was too focused on the way you delivered your lines. Every word you spoke seemed to come from a place of real pain, real desperation. It was like watching a storm roll in, one that consumed everything in its path.

When Damien called cut, the set fell silent for a beat. Drew’s breath caught in his throat. You were brilliant. He’d known it for a long time, but watching you right here, right now, brought it all to the forefront—how far you had come, how much of yourself you put into every scene.

He watched you stand tall, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes still distant from the intensity of the scene you’d just played. And as you looked around, Drew’s gaze softened. You were remarkable.

The crew member who had been praising you earlier walked up to you again, and Drew couldn’t help but feel that same uncomfortable stir in his chest. He had to admit, it wasn’t just the praise that bothered him—it was the way this guy kept looking at you. Drew quickly averted his eyes, his jaw tightening as he turned his attention back to the crew.

But as you turned toward Drew, your eyes meeting his for just a second, something passed between you, something unspoken. You offered him a small, genuine smile, the kind that only he seemed to get. And in that brief moment, everything else faded away.

He took a breath, forcing the jealousy back down. The weight of it, the sting, wasn’t going to cloud this moment. He knew what he felt. It was real, it was undeniable, and maybe, just maybe, there was still time to figure it all out. But for now, all he could do was admire you from afar, watch as you brought your character to life, and hope that one day, you’d see him the way he saw you.

And with that thought, Drew finally stepped forward, his resolve firming, ready to give you the space and respect you deserved while also knowing that there was so much more he wanted to say.

The scene you were filming was a culmination of everything Isabella had been building toward—raw, vulnerable, and utterly shattering. It wasn’t just a performance; it was a reckoning, the moment when all her carefully buried pain and longing erupted to the surface. Every word you spoke felt like tearing open a wound, every gesture a desperate plea for salvation. The air was thick with tension, and you could feel the weight of every eye on set, holding their breath, waiting to see if you could pull it off.

Drew, as Theo, stood before you, towering in every sense of the word. His presence wasn’t just physical; it consumed the space, dominating the scene like a storm about to break. His voice, low and cutting, delivered lines that felt like knives slicing through the air, leaving no room to hide. When his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity was unbearable, like he could see right into you—not just Isabella, but you.

The camera captured the moment your composure shattered, tears spilling as your voice cracked under the weight of the scene. You weren’t sure where Isabella ended and you began anymore. The pain felt too real, too sharp, and when Damien finally called “cut,” the word sliced through the tension like a knife. The silence that followed was deafening, a stark contrast to the storm you’d just weathered.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, the rawness of the moment clinging to you like a second skin. Your chest heaved as you struggled to come back to yourself, but the emotions wouldn’t let go. Your hands trembled at your sides, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you thought you might break apart completely.

“Hey,” Drew’s voice cut through the haze, soft but insistent. His hand was on your arm before you even realized he’d crossed the room. His touch was grounding, his presence a lifeline. “Look at me,” he said, his tone low, coaxing.

You turned your head slowly, meeting his eyes, and the concern there undid you. Your breath hitched, and a tear slid down your cheek before you could stop it. “I… I don’t know how long I can keep doing this,” you whispered, the words tumbling out, raw and unfiltered. “It’s too much. I feel like I’m drowning.”

Drew didn’t hesitate. He stepped closer, his hand sliding from your arm to your shoulder, then to the small of your back, pulling you gently but firmly into his embrace. You froze for a moment, caught between the instinct to hold it together and the overwhelming need to let go. His arms wrapped around you, warm and steady, and the dam broke.

“I can’t,” you choked out, your voice muffled against his chest. “I feel like I left everything out there, and there’s nothing left of me. Nothing.”

His grip tightened, his hand cradling the back of your head as his fingers threaded gently through your hair. “Shh,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re not empty. You’re just wide open right now, and that’s what makes this real. That’s what makes you extraordinary.”

You clung to him, your hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as sobs wracked your body. He didn’t rush you, didn’t try to fix it or make it better. He just held you, his own breathing steady and calm, like he was anchoring you to the world.

“I saw you out there,” he whispered after a moment, his lips brushing against your temple. “You weren’t just acting. You were her. Every ounce of pain, every flicker of hope—you brought it to life. You made them feel it. You made me feel it.”

You pulled back slightly, your tear-streaked face tilted up to meet his gaze. His eyes were glassy, his own emotions barely restrained, and the vulnerability between you was electric. “But what if it’s not enough?” you asked, your voice breaking.

“It is,” he said firmly, his hand cupping your face now, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “It’s more than enough. You’re enough.” His voice cracked on the last word, the raw sincerity in it making your chest tighten.

The world around you seemed to blur, the sounds of the crew preparing for the next take fading into the background. All you could see, all you could feel, was Drew. He gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod, his hand steadying your shoulder.“You’ve got this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but laced with unwavering conviction. “And I’ve got you. Always.”

The day had been long—endless takes, precision, and the kind of emotional exhaustion that made every muscle in your body ache. Filming had wrapped for the day, but the atmosphere on set hadn’t fully shifted. The quiet hum of equipment and the occasional voices from the crew still echoed around you, but you felt the weight of the day lift as you retreated to the solitude of your trailer.

You were halfway through removing your costume when a soft knock at the door caught your attention. It was a gentle knock, familiar in its rhythm, and you immediately recognized it.

“Come in,” you called, already knowing who it was.

The door creaked open, and there stood Drew, leaning against the frame with a lazy smile that instantly made the tension in your shoulders ease.

“Long day?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, and there was a glint of playfulness in his eyes, but it was tempered with something warmer, something more tender.

“Understatement,” you replied, rolling your eyes, though your smile betrayed the exhaustion you were trying to hide.

He nodded and pushed the door open a little more, stepping inside. The space felt smaller with him in it, but somehow it didn’t feel crowded. It felt… comfortable. Safe.

Drew’s gaze drifted over to the small sofa beside the window, and without a word, he took a seat, kicking his shoes off and stretching his legs out. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly he seemed to move, like he was made to fit into this small space as if he belonged here, with you.

You finished removing the last of the costume and dropped it into the nearby hamper, but instead of diving into your usual post-filming routine of unwinding, you found yourself walking over to him, drawn to the quiet energy between you. He looked up at you, his gaze softening as you neared.

“Come here,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper, as if the very sound of it could pull you closer.

You didn’t hesitat to sit down beside him. There was a comfortable silence between you two, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. You leaned back against the cushions, the heat from his body radiating beside you.

Drew turned his head slightly, catching your eye. His expression was different from how he’d been on set—this wasn’t the charismatic, calculated Theo. This was Drew, the man you had come to know off-camera. His gaze was tender, almost searching, as if he was asking permission for something more.

Without a word, he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing over yours before lacing them together. The small contact sent a flutter through you, the simple act of his touch carrying an intimacy that felt far more profound than it had any right to be.

“Can I just…” he began, his voice trailing off for a moment before he squeezed your hand gently. “Can I just be here with you for a while? No cameras, no lines, just us?”

You nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I’d like that.”

His thumb began to trace soft circles over the back of your hand, and you leaned into him, the quiet between you two settling into something even deeper than physical proximity. His body was warm, and his scent—fresh and slightly woody—wrapped around you like a blanket, comforting in its familiarity.

“You were incredible today,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His words held no pretense, just raw sincerity. “Every time I see you step into a scene, it’s like you bring something new to the table. I don’t know how you do it.”

You could feel your heart flutter at his praise, but instead of letting it sink in fully, you shifted your focus back to him, tilting your head slightly to catch his eyes. “What about you? You’re kind of a force to be reckoned with, Starkey.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and genuine, and you felt him shift closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. “I’m just trying to keep up with you,” he teased, but there was no mistaking the fondness in his voice. He leaned in just enough for his breath to graze your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Before you could respond, he moved his hand from yours, slowly resting it on your cheek, his touch soft but possessive. The weight of his gaze locked onto yours, and you could feel the air shift between you—charged, magnetic, undeniable.

“I’ve wanted this moment for a while,” he admitted quietly, his thumb grazing your cheekbone.

Your pulse quickened, your breath hitching as his hand slid around to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. You didn’t fight it; you closed the gap, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and filled with the kind of quiet longing that had built between you for weeks now.

The kiss deepened, and everything outside of the small trailer seemed to fade away. There was no set, no crew, no expectations—just the two of you, wrapped up in the space you had created together. It wasn’t hurried or urgent. It was soft, a tender promise without words, like something neither of you had realized you needed until it was happening.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you found yourself leaning your forehead against his, sharing the same air between you. He smiled, his eyes glimmering with something that went beyond attraction.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection.

You closed your eyes, savoring the quiet after the storm of emotions on set, the gentle sound of his heartbeat in your ear, and the warmth of his embrace. “Me too,” you whispered back, letting the moment stretch on, knowing it was one you’d carry with you long after the lights went down and the cameras stopped rolling.

The morning after your quiet, intimate moment in the trailer felt different. There was a strange kind of weight in the air between you and Drew that neither of you could ignore. The atmosphere on set was charged with an unspoken energy, the kind that hung between two people who had shared something personal but weren’t quite sure how to navigate it in the daylight.

As the crew began setting up for the first scene of the day, you found yourself standing off to the side, absentmindedly checking your script, but every now and then, your eyes would flicker toward Drew. He was standing with Damien, talking animatedly about something, but there was a tightness in his posture that wasn’t there before. He had always exuded confidence, but now, there was a subtle hesitance to his movements—like he was still figuring out where you stood with each other after the kiss.

You could feel it too. The usual camaraderie between you two was laced with something different now. The chemistry was still there, but it felt like a live wire; dangerous and unpredictable. The playful banter that had flowed so easily between you the day before seemed distant, replaced by awkward silences whenever you found yourselves in the same vicinity.

You tried to shake it off. This was your job. You were here to work, to give your best performance, and that had to come first. But no matter how much you told yourself to focus, the tension was inescapable.

The first scene you were filming together was a pivotal one—Isabella’s first real confrontation with Theo, a moment where everything changes between them. Your character was supposed to be cool and collected, but deep down, she was unraveling at the seams. You had to bring all that turmoil, all that internal chaos to the surface in a matter of moments.

When Damien called “Action,” the professional masks slipped on almost instinctively, and you both fell into character.

Drew’s performance was colder today, more distant, his usual charm replaced by a simmering, quiet intensity. His eyes, once warm and full of teasing, now held a cold calculation as they met yours. You could feel the weight of his gaze, and though it was just acting, the memory of the night before lingered, making the scene feel even more charged than it should have been.

“You think you have control of this, Isabella?” Theo’s voice was sharp, the words cutting through the air like a blade.

You shot back, the defiance in Isabella’s eyes glaring through your own. “Your entire scheme depends on me, Theo. Without me, it crumbles to dust. If that’s not control, I don’t know what is.”

The words came easily, but every time you locked eyes with Drew, there was a brief flicker of something behind his gaze—a flicker of the intimacy you’d shared, a memory that was suddenly alive in the space between you. It was hard to shake, and you could tell it was affecting his performance too. His lines weren’t as crisp as usual, his timing slightly off, as though he was distracted.

The tension was palpable, hanging over the scene like a cloud, and the moment you wrapped the scene, the silence that followed felt deafening.

Damien looked between the two of you, his brow furrowing slightly. “Let’s take a break,” he said after a moment, clearly sensing the shift in energy. “Maybe a few minutes to reset?”

You nodded quickly, eager for the space, for the chance to breathe outside of the tight bubble of tension. Drew, on the other hand, didn’t say anything. He simply nodded curtly, giving you a quick glance that made your stomach flip before turning away to walk toward the corner of the set.

You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Should you approach him? Pretend nothing had changed? Or should you give him space, let the awkwardness settle, and let the scene breathe?

You didn’t get the chance to think too long. A hand gently touched your shoulder, and you turned to find Cailee Spaney, your co-star, standing beside you, a concerned look on her face.

“You two okay?” she asked, her tone light, but there was a genuine curiosity behind it. She knew you both well enough to sense the shift.

You hesitated. “I think so. Just… a weird energy today, you know?”

Cailee’s eyes flickered over to where Drew stood, chatting with the crew but still glancing in your direction. “It’s pretty obvious to everyone. You’ve got to clear the air, or it’s going to keep hanging over both of you.”

You knew she was right. The unspoken tension between you and Drew wasn’t just something that could be ignored—it would affect the work, the connection between your characters, and maybe even the rest of the team’s comfort. But you weren’t sure how to fix it. How do you go from that intimate moment behind closed doors to this, to being back in the public eye with cameras rolling, no room for vulnerability?

As you stood there, lost in your thoughts, Drew’s voice broke through, calling your name.

“Hey,” he said, walking toward you, his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes uncertain but earnest. “Can we talk?”

You nodded, stepping a little closer to him. There was an intensity in his gaze now, but it wasn’t the cold, calculating Theo you’d seen on set. This was Drew, the one you knew—the one who had kissed you, the one who was just as affected by everything as you were.

“Look,” he started, his voice lower than usual. “I’m not… I don’t want this to be weird. I don’t want it to mess with the work, with the scenes. I just—”

“Yeah,” you interrupted softly, “me neither. It’s just… it’s hard to go back to pretending nothing happened.”

He smiled weakly, and you could see the tension in his face ease a little. “You’re right. But we’ve got this. We’ll figure it out. Just need to get through today, right?”

You took a deep breath, nodding. “Right.”

And for the first time since you’d kissed him, you both shared a moment of quiet understanding—no more words needed. You still didn’t know how this would all play out, but for now, you had a scene to finish, a role to play, and a bond that had quietly shifted in ways neither of you could ignore.

The last day on set arrived like a blur—one moment, you were just starting the project, and now, you were standing in the middle of the set for the final scene, everything winding down. It felt surreal, almost like you were moving through a dream. The camaraderie you’d built with the cast and crew, the long hours, the inside jokes, and the late-night rehearsals were all coming to a close. And yet, there was a weight in the air—one that had little to do with the wrap-up of the film.

You and Drew had navigated the tension between you both for weeks now, silently acknowledging it but never fully addressing it. Both of you had poured your energy into the project, the work taking center stage, but there had always been that quiet pull between you. Now, as you watched the final scene being set up, there was no denying it: this wasn’t just about wrapping the film. There was something unspoken that you knew needed to be said.

Drew was already on set, his costume as Theo impeccably sharp, his eyes distracted as he ran through lines under his breath. He looked different today—softer, like the walls he’d built around himself throughout the project were crumbling.

The last scene between Isabella and Theo was intense, charged with everything they’d been through together. It was a pivotal moment, where they both stood at a crossroads, neither sure of where the future would take them. The connection between you two felt more real than ever, and you knew this was the moment where it all had to come to a head—both on screen and off.

As the crew prepared for the final take, you caught Drew’s eye from across the set. There was something in his gaze—a flicker of hesitation, like he wanted to say something, but the moment wasn’t quite right. You couldn’t let it go.

You moved toward him, your footsteps echoing in the quiet before the chaos of the scene began. As you approached, Drew straightened up, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides.

"Hey," you said, offering him a small smile. “Ready to wrap this up?”

He returned the smile, but there was an unreadable look in his eyes. “Yeah, but... I’ve been thinking.”

You raised an eyebrow, a sense of curiosity stirring in your chest. “About?”

He shifted slightly, the weight of his words hanging between you two. “About us. About... everything.” He swallowed, his usual confident demeanor faltering. “You know, the way things have been between us. We’ve never really talked about it.”

Your heart skipped a beat. The air between you felt thick, charged. It was as if the words had been waiting to spill out for weeks, and now, in the stillness of the final day, they couldn’t be contained any longer.

“Drew…” you started, your voice barely a whisper, unsure of what to say.

He stepped closer, the space between you narrowing until it felt like no one else existed. “I’ve wanted to tell you this for a while now,” he continued, his voice a little rougher than usual, the weight of his feelings making every word feel like it carried more meaning than it ever had before. “I can’t pretend anymore. Not after everything we’ve been through. Not after how I feel about you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to fade into the background. The noise of the set, the crew bustling about, even the upcoming scene—it all vanished as Drew’s words sank in.

“I care about you,” he said, his voice softer now, the intensity of his confession undeniable. “More than I’ve let on. More than I probably should. But I can’t ignore it anymore, and I don’t want to walk away from this without telling you.”

You stood there, the weight of his confession hanging in the air. It felt like a moment frozen in time—one that had been building for weeks, but now that it was finally here, you didn’t know how to respond.

For a beat, you didn’t say anything. You just looked at him, trying to process the rush of emotions his words had triggered. But then, a smile began to tug at the corners of your lips. You took a step closer to him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I’m glad you said that,” you whispered, your voice steady, but your emotions running wild beneath the surface. “I’ve been feeling the same way, Drew. I just didn’t know if you felt the same.”

He gave a small, relieved laugh, his eyes brightening with that familiar warmth. “I’ve been trying to convince myself to wait until the film wrapped, until everything calmed down. But every time I looked at you... it just felt like I was lying to myself.”

You laughed softly, the tension between you easing, replaced by something deeper, something real. “I think we’ve both been lying to ourselves,” you said, your hand unconsciously reaching out for his.

Drew’s fingers curled around yours, and for the first time in weeks, there was no awkwardness, no uncertainty—just the simple connection between you both, like a thread that had always been there, waiting to be pulled.

As the crew called for the final take, you both stood there for a moment longer, simply taking in the quiet of the moment before the storm of filming began again.

“Let’s finish this,” Drew said with a grin, his fingers still tightly holding yours.

You nodded, the anticipation in your chest matching the excitement in his eyes. "Yeah. Let’s do this."

The scene was about to begin, but for once, you weren’t worried about the cameras, the crew, or the pressure. For the first time in a long while, you were just here—with him. And that was enough.

As you both walked back onto set, side by side, you knew this moment, this day, was one that would stay with you long after the credits rolled. Drew had confessed his feelings, and the truth between you was no longer hidden. You had one more scene to film, but in that moment, it felt like the beginning of something entirely new.

The post-wrap party was everything you’d imagined it would be—laughter, music, and the celebratory sound ofclinking of glasses. The set was a distant memory now, the whirlwind of the past few months slowly fading into the background as you found yourself in the midst of the crew and cast, celebrating the end of a long, intense journey. The atmosphere was warm, filled with a sense of accomplishment and camaraderie.

Lights twinkled overhead, casting a soft glow over the gathering. The chatter was a mix of congratulatory remarks and funny anecdotes from behind the scenes. You could hear snippets of conversations as people relived the chaos of filming, the challenges, and the triumphs, but amidst it all, your eyes couldn’t help but drift back to Drew.

He was leaning against the bar, chatting with a few of the crew members. Even from across the room, you could feel the pull between you—the magnetic energy that had only intensified since that first kiss. The way he’d laughed with you on set, the way he’d confessed his feelings on that last day—it all felt like a beautiful dream, yet it was real. You couldn’t shake the quiet contentment that had settled in your chest, a feeling that only seemed to grow stronger with every passing minute.

Your heart warmed as you watched him, the soft light from the party highlighting the sharpness of his jaw, the playfulness in his eyes. Drew looked at home here, yet he had a way of making everything feel more meaningful just by being present. He was grounded and alive in a way that made you feel safe, as if you’d found a place in this world where you truly belonged.

Finally, your legs moved on their own, carrying you through the crowd. Each step brought you closer to him, closer to something that felt inevitable. And when he turned toward you, as if he’d sensed your approach, his eyes lit up with the warmth that had become familiar. There was no awkwardness now, no uncertainty—only the comfort of knowing that you and Drew were no longer tiptoeing around each other. What had started as something tentative had grown into something real, something undeniable.

“Hey,” Drew said with that soft smile of his, his voice like home. “I was wondering when you’d come over.”

You smiled back, moving closer to him, feeling the way his presence filled the space between you. “Couldn’t resist. The party’s fun, but... I’d rather be here with you,” you replied, your voice low and sincere.

Drew’s smile deepened, his gaze softening as he looked at you, his eyes full of something that went beyond simple affection. He raised his glass in a mock toast. “To the film, to the work, and to... us, I guess,” he said, a little shy but so genuine that it made your chest ache.

You lifted your own glass to meet his, the soft clink of the glasses an almost imperceptible note in the music that surrounded you. “To us,” you echoed, the words settling deep within you, filling the empty spaces you didn’t even realize existed. It was real now, the connection, the undeniable bond that had been growing between you since the moment you first locked eyes on set.

The music played softly in the background, but in that moment, it felt like everything was quieter—more intimate. You were standing there together, both of you caught in the soft embrace of a night that felt endless, where time stood still. Drew’s presence was a comfort you hadn’t known you needed, and as you stood beside him, a peace settled over you that you hadn’t expected.

“Are you happy with how everything turned out?” Drew asked, his voice sincere, his eyes searching yours for something only you could give him.

You thought for a moment, your heart beating steadily in your chest. The long hours, the late-night rehearsals, the emotional scenes—it had all been a whirlwind. But standing there with Drew, feeling the warmth of his hand resting just above your waist, everything felt clearer. “Yeah,” you said, your voice steady but filled with warmth. “I’m proud of everything we did. Proud of how far we’ve come.”

Drew nodded, his gaze softening, and his lips curved into a smile that made your heart flutter. “Same here. You were incredible. You brought Isabella to life in a way I never thought possible.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Well, you weren’t so bad yourself, Starkey. Theo was... captivating, to say the least.” The words were teasing, but your smile spoke of something deeper—a sense of admiration and respect for everything he’d brought to the character.

His laugh was soft, a sound that sent warmth through your veins, and he moved a little closer, the space between you disappearing. “Thanks. But I think you’re the one who made everything come together. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner.” His words were simple, yet they carried a weight that made your chest tighten in the most wonderful way.

The connection between you deepened in that moment, like two puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. Drew’s gaze softened, and his voice dropped to a quiet whisper. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured, taking a step closer, his hand slipping into yours. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I know it’s crazy, but... I don’t want this to be just a set thing. What we have, I mean. I don’t want it to end when the film does.”

Your heart raced, and without a second thought, you took a small step toward him, the space between you now nonexistent. “Me neither,” you whispered, your hand gently cupping his face as you looked into his eyes. “I think this is just the beginning, Drew.”

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, and his hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you. Without another word, Drew leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in the softest kiss—a kiss that held everything unspoken. It was slow, a gentle exploration, as though both of you were savoring the moment, the sweetness of everything that had led you here.

When you pulled away, the world around you seemed to fade. The music, the laughter, the chatter—it all felt distant, as if the only thing that mattered was Drew, and the feeling of his arms around you, his lips on yours. “Then let’s see where it goes,” he said softly, his breath warm against your cheek.

You smiled, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. The world felt right in a way it hadn’t before. The film was over, but the connection you shared with Drew was just beginning to blossom, and you were content, certain that whatever happened next, you’d face it together.

The night continued around you, but for the two of you, it was just the beginning.

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l0v-ly-c4t · 6 months ago

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Movie Night - Daisuke x fem!reader

Summary: You and Daisuke have a scary movie night, but it turns out he's too scared to sleep alone + after care

Pairing: smut and fluff

T/w: smut, mentions of Anya, protected sex, full consensual sex, loss of virginity, whinny soft dom Daisuke

Wc: 3,3K

A/n: This is an AU where the shitty compan- I mean, Pony Express doesn't exist, so our boy Daisuki is on college living his best life as the lover I know he is.

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━━ ❝ It has been some time since you started crushing on Daisuke. You met him when you first arrived at this school. Being the new student is taught, and he knew it, that's why he made so much effort just so you could have friends and feel welcome. After that you guys became best friends.

Obviously, you always thought he was handsome, and kind, and funny, but something about him kept bringing you closer, leaving you in the situation you're right now: friend zone.

The worst part is that, no matter how much you try to show him that you like him, he's just too danm naive to get a hint! Urgh, this feeling is consuming you from the inside.

Little did you know that he thought of you in the exact same way you did of him. Well, not exactly "exact same way." He had his own little way.

It took him a while to realize his feelings. At first, he just thought of you as his prettiest friend. He would stare at you and be lost in your looks without knowing why. He would always try and be useful for you, being it by carrying something for you or paying you something to eat at the cafeteria. He wanted to be around you all the time, he would get bored and blue without you.

It is actually impressive how he didn't realize his feelings until very recently, when he saw you talking very closely with another boy. How to describe his feelings? It wasn't jealousy, it was more a sense of loss. He finally realized that being friends didn't mean that you would always be by his side. For that, he needed to be more than friends. THAT'S when he realized his feelings.

But then, he panicked. "What does it mean??? Do I... l-like her?" Silly little thoughts like this were frequently on his mind. Oh, if only he knew that you thought of him too...

You and Daisuke were chilling on your sofa, waiting for the other friend of yours, Anya, to show up. You had decided to make a little movie section in your house since you and Daisuke haven't been able to talk much with Anya. She's just really focused on getting her degree.

You were both on your phones. Daisuke is playing some silly mobile game, and you are just scrolling down your tumblr timeline, looking for something fun to pass the time. It was already 8 pm, and Anya hasn't given any news yet.

"Dude, she must be really busy. She didn't even send a message or something!" Daisuke says, his lips almost pouting like a disappointed kid. "Don't worry, she has a lot of work to do, we can hang out another time." You confort him.

"Yeah..." he answers. "Is just that I was so excited, I was like 'Let's watch a movie, yay, bom bom clap!!!' But now I'm just 'yeah, movies'" He emotes.

"What?"

He sights. "Nothing. Do you still want to watch a movie? Just the two of us?" He asks.

"Yes, it'll be fun! Let's watch something scary!" You give the idea. Daisuke instantly smiled at your words, thrilled to watch a super super horror movie with you.

You let him choose a movie, and after a while, deciding which one, you finally settled on a psychological horror movie. You sat by his side on the couch, eventually laying your head on his shoulders.

Daisuke didn't even notice, but he would probably have blushed if he wasn't so absorbed in the screen. If you didn't know him, you would say he was scared.

After about 2 hours later, the movie ended, and Daisuke was just too pale. "Daisuke U good? Are you scared?"

"Me? Scared? Pfff, c'mom y/n!!! I'm the thoughtest guy you know!" He said, playing it off. "U sure? I don't want you coming at my room at midnight"

"Don't worry, you'll get your well-deserved beauty sleep, and I won't bother you," he said. "Whatever you say gorgeous" you played.

You guys watched some other movies, one scarier than the previous one. I mean, scaring for him. You were just cool, but Daisuke was biting his nails and playing with his fingers the whole time. You didn't pay much attention at the beginning, but as time passed, you could literally see his nervousness.

Worried for your friend psychological state, you decide that you should both take a bath and go to sleep, even though Daisuke kept swearing he wasn't dirty enough for a bath and that he could sleep that way just fine.

Both of you cleaned up you decide is time to sleep, the clock already hitting 2am. "S-so, am I going to sleep here? In the couch? A-alone?" He asks.

"Why? Are you scared?" You tease him, resulting in him making an angry face to prove it to you that he wasn't scared. "What? Naah, I'm, like, totally fine." He says. Oh, how he regretted that later that night.

You were almost falling asleep when you heard a light knock on your room door. You got up and checked just to see Daisuke, with the puppiest eyes you had even seen on a man, standing in front of your door eith a pillow under his arm. "Daisuke," you called. "What are you doing?

"You were right, I'm scared. Can we sit and talk just so I can fall asleep?" Daisuke said, silently begging for you to let him in already. You invite him to sit on your bed, and you both stay there for a while, just chilling. You were almost falling asleep again when he started a conversation.

"So.." he said. "Are u seeing someone?"

"Why are you asking this so randomly?"

"I-i don't know, I'm just trying to break the ice ans start a conversation" he eyes you. Even though the only light comes from the moon past your windows, you can notice the little blush forming on his cheeks and top of his ears. You also blush at the sight.

"Sooo, are you seeing someone or not?" He asked again "no I'm not. What about you?" You look back at him. "No"

At that moment, being right there on your bed sitting and talking in the middle of the night. That was so good to Daisuke. He didn't know why, but just to know that you weren't seeing anyone got him full of happiness, his sleepless far gone now.

You eye him, his lips hard pressed together. This feeling is new to him. He doesn't know how to describe it. He just wants to kiss you, hug you, and be close to you. So close that your bodies become one. In a fearless act, he leans closer to you, his eyes asking for permission as your lips grow closer and closer.

When your lips touch is like heaven to him. You were coight off guard, but you followed his actions without thinking twice. The kiss is slow and passionate, and the chemistry is just right. In a slow move, he drags his hands along your arms and place them behind your neck, pulling you even closer. He couldn't believe in his own actions. He was actually kissing you!

While one of his hands is still behind your neck, caressing the hair and pulling you more and more to him, his other hand travels to your tight. He's so scared he moves in slow motion. What if you feel uncomfortable? What if you pull away from him? He's so scared, but he needs to touch you, or he'll drive himself crazy.

Your body grew hotter as you felt the warmth of his hand gently caressing your tight. A low sound scales his lips when you pull the kiss apart, leaving him with a red face and pouty lips. "Is this real?" You asked. Daisuke didn't reply, he was too embarrassed of himself to do so. It all happened so fast he didn't have the time to think straight about his actions.

The kiss was something you wished for a long time, and now that it was actually happening, you needed time to cope. To be honest, you have always imagined you and Daisuke together. You have always wished for him, craving for him silently. You wouldn't let this chance go to waste.

He stares at you with doe eyes, melting your heart. He looks so cute and so sexy at the same time that you actually feel dirty for having this kind of thought about him. Not knowing how to proceed, you both just stare at each other. For a moment, it feels like time has paused. For a moment, everything is about him and you, sitting on your bed with clumsy feelings and red lips.

"H-hey, so.. c-can we do more? Like... I want to kiss you more." Daisuke breaks the silence. You look at him, but it feels like you're looking straight to heaven. All you want to do is kiss him more. Not just that, you want him in a way you never wanted anyone before.

"S-soo... are you going to accept or... it's okay if you don't wanna, really!! A-actually, I don't even know why I'm asking, haha!" He fake laughs. His face became more redish and fluttered. He was about to pull completely away from you when you throw yourself on top of him.

You kiss him again, this time in a more needy and desperate way. You caught him off guard, but it didn't take long for him to respond to your kiss. Very gently you start to move, now sitting on his lap, never breaking the kiss as you do it.

He's overwhelmed. He can't say he never thought of you on his lap, but to actually have you there is a totally different level. He can feel himself getting harder as you get closer to him, pressing your body onto his.

Your hands go around his neck, hugging him while you press yourself on his chest. His arms hug you from your waist, caressing your back and sending you chills. He slowly lowers his hands until he reaches your butt, gently grabring it.

"Ahh, so hot" he says between kisses, making you shiver and readjust yourself on top of his laps. You start to grind on his lap, moving in a painfully slow rhythm. With his hands still on your butt you trail your kisses dawn his jawline.

He's lost in the feeling of your mouth in his neck, and just the thought of you leaving hickeys on him makes him even harder down there. How lucky was him for having a girl like you on top of him? He didn't know. He just knew he was lucky as hell.

"I-i need to tell you something.." Daisuke says. You make a signal for him to continue talking but never leaving his neck, your mouth glued to him like you need him to survive. "I'm- ah, I never... uhm, I-m a v-virgin" he finally says.

You stop the kisses, and he panics for a moment. You move back to look at him, his lips red and glimpse from the earlier kiss. You take your hand and put on his left cheek, caressing a little to bring comfort to him. "I-i'm a virgin too. Hehe" you say.

"So, like, do you want to stop here?"

"No- I mean... we c-could make it work. O-only if you want to, or course!!" You say, now being the shy one. Everything is new to you both, the feelings, the sensations, the craving, the desires: everything.

After a while, just admiring you, Daisuke comes back to kissing, not lasting long and going straight to your neck. Now, it was his turn to leave marks on you. The little noises tha scape your mouth almost making him cum right there.

The make-out is way out of control now, both of you kissing and praising each other as the clothes disappear one by one. At one point, you were only in your bra and panties sitting in front of him.

With his hand, he reaches to your arm, slowly making his way to your back. Your faces so close to each other you could count the moles in his face. "Can I take your bra off?" He asks. You nod, and he proceeds to do so.

He helps you take it out and throws it where the other clothes were thrown previously. He trails kisses down your bodies, starting from your neck and going all the way down to your clavicle. He worships you like you're the last drop of water in a desert, kissing and leaving hickeys everywhere he passes.

When he finally reaches for your boobs he can't help but stare. "Ahh, you're just so pretty~ I want you all for me," he says, looking at you.

In a bold movement, you push him down, forcing him to lay on his back while you crawl on him until you reach his lap again. For a moment, you stop what you are doing. "Wait, what about protection?"

"There in my pants, in the wallet, there is one we can use." he says. You get up quickly and gind the condom exactly where he said it was. "Do you always have this thing with you all the time? Why?" You ask coming back to him. You sit at the same position you were before.

"For moments like this." he answers, making you blush and smile a little. He smiles, too.

You look down at him, the volume in his boxes being extremely visible. "This looks painfull" you say as you help him take his boxes, leaving him full naked under you. "Oh, it is, c-can you help me?" He asks, his voice clearly more desperate than before.

You take of your last piece of clothing and open the condom. Stroking him a little before, you put it on his dick. "A-ah, that's... so tight.." he hisses. "I think you underestimated you size baby"

He blushes. "Hey, don't you think it would be less painfully if I was the one on top?" He asks

"Well, maybe... I'm not actually sure."

"Let's try then." He gets you on his arms and switches the position, now being on top. This view of you makes him feel like on cloud nine. The prettiest girl he'd ever seen all open and needy for him? Danm, he could cum just by the view of you like this.

Not being able to watch any longer, he positions himself and moves forward, his dick filling you inch by inch. The pain makes itself present, but it's not something you can't handle.

"Ah- ahh, you're so tight... shit" Daisuke says as he finally puts everything in. "Oh yes, ahh~ you're so hot, so tight, hmmm.. so fucking good"

He lay his body down, letting his weigh on top of you. You can hear his little moans in your ears as you try to get used to his length. "Danm Dai, I didn't know you were s-so big"

"S-stop it, if you talk like this I might already cum." He smiles. "A-ah, I can't believe I'm finally in you"

"I-i think.. you can move now.." You say, the pain now transformed into pleasure, making you crave for more and more of him.

He starts to push into you, the feeling consuming your senses. The extase is just too much. You actually feel like you could come right there already. "O-oh my god, ahh~"

"D-do you like it? Am I, ahh- am I doing g-good?" He asks. His voice filled with luxury, whispering right at your ear. "Y-yes, yes"

He slowly picks his pace, savoring and discovering your body. He wants to know every place you're sensible at, every move that makes you moan louder, he wants to kiss every corner of your body and make you feel so special that your would come just for him. Gosh, that's his greatest wish.

You were getting overstimulated, your clímax approaching so fast your moans started to go silent. Then, he suddenly stops. You look at him with a sad eye, a moan of protest leaving your mouth as you roll your eyes at the back of your skull.

"W-why'd you stop?"

"C-can we switch positions? Uhm, there's this one position I've always wanted to try.." he asks, his lips pouty like a little kid and his dick twitching inside you like a rock. You were in so much pleasure that you would accept anything this man asked you, so you instantly agreed.

He guides you how he wants, and you end up on all fours, with your chest glued on the bed and your ass up like a cat. He stands behind you, his eyes betraying him as he worships you. "Shit, you're so hot, you know that? Perfect, just perfect, ahh"

He positioned himself again, not sparing time for you to get used to him, going as fast as he can the moment he's inside you. He's crazy. So lost in the souce he can't make a proper sentence, he just yaps nonsense and moans desperately, seeking his hight just as he seeks your pleasure.

Your moans are like music to his ears. The more you moan, the more he knows he's good for you. "Aahhh, I don't think I'll- hmm, last any, uh longer" he moans.

He's now totally on top of you, his chest glues to your back while he leaves kisses, hickeys, and bites at your neck, making your pleasure ten times bigger. He's pushing as fast as he can, trying to make you feel as special as him.

"Ah, I-I'm gonna, ahh!" He screams. His movements become more erratic as he reaches his high. The condom becoming even more tight in his cock, now full of his liquids. You can feel his cock throb inside you, the feeling pushing you over the edge, making you both come at the same time.

The movements stop, and you just stay there trying to catch your breaths. After a while, he comes out of you and removes his condom. He lays down at your bed on his back, right by your side. You lay on your tummy and you look at each other.

"Did I do well? Was I good enough?" He asks.

"You were perfect, Dai" you reply. His eyes light, and he finally relaxes. You go closer and kiss his forehead, then his cheeks, then his nose, then you finally leave a peck at his lips. He looks at you with heart on his eyes. He's confident he's the happiest man in the world.

"So, are you seeing someone?" He asks. "Yes," you reply, "you."

After taking a bath, you both finally lay down to rest from your tiring movie night. He's hugging you from behind, leaving sugary kisses on your neck where the bruises start to appear. "Sorry I marked you, I went a little wild, hehe"

You turn to face him. "It's okay, Dai," you smile. He looks at you and throws a sad smile. You know him too danm well to recognize when something is off with him, and since he's just naturally honest, it's usually not hard to find out what it is that is bothering him.

"What happened?"

"Can I ask you a serious question?"

"Sure, go on," you reply.

"What's your favorite Pokémon?"

"Are you serious??" You ask. The sound of his laugher travellings straight to your heart.

"No, seriously now. Do you... happen to like me? Or something?" He plays with his fingers while looking down, just occasionally looking up to see your reaction. You don't even need to think before you answer him. "Yes, I do." You say.

When he was about to say something, you heard a ringtone, someone was calling you.

"It's Anya!"

"God, FINALLY!"

You accept the call. "Girl, you could have sent a message!" You sight. "It's okay, we understand. What I did all night? Ah, you know, casual things... cupcakes." Daisuke smiles by your side. "Okay, rest well, se ya!" You hang the call.

"Is my new nickname 'cupcake'?" He plays.

"Shut up."

F/n: Sorry if it looked like I was babying him, I just had this thought of him being a really sweet young guy. Also, sorry if it looked rushed, I am DEFINATLY NOT a professional, both in writing and in English. (Please tell me if I made a spelling mistake)

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khywren · 2 months ago

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I Wanna Love You (But I don't Know How)

❛ pairing: Astarion/f!reader ❛ word count: 5.7k ┊ ❛ rating: 18+ MDNI ❛ tags/cw: smut, pwp, piv sex, oral sex, blood drinking, anxious reader, soft(ish) Astarion

▸ summary: “I knew you'd understand,” Astarion says, lowering his head to press his lips against yours in a kiss that sets your entire body alight with desire. Never in your wildest dreams had you ever thought you'd be lucky enough to kiss him, yet here he is, slotting his mouth against yours and running his tongue across the seam of your lips as if it's the most mundane thing in the world. And for you, it's anything but that. For a moment you forget to breathe as time stands still, and only once his other hand lays on your hip to pull you closer do you realize that you haven't died and that this is actually happening.

OR: A reinterpretation of your first night with Astarion with an anxious/slightly inexperienced reader.

AO3 ┊ masterlist ┊ dividers

It's well after sundown when you slip as quietly from your tent as you can to meet Astarion in the forest. One last glance over your shoulder at the edge of camp reassures you that no one has spotted you leaving, an embarrassment you would like to avoid at all costs.

Astarion has never kept his flirtatious behavior a secret from the others (in fact, you'd wager he does it publicly on purpose with the specific intent of watching you squirm), but it's one thing to let him tease you and another thing entirely to have anyone discover your little nighttime tryst.

You're already nervous enough about this as it is, thank you very much.

When he'd asked you to join him earlier in the evening, your initial reaction had been… less than ideal. You try not to think about it, which consequently means that it's the only thing you can think about. Reverse psychology at its finest.

“What's your idea of ‘a little fun?’”

“By the hells.” An exasperated sigh and a roll of his eyes, as if he can't believe how oblivious you are. “Sex, my dear. A night of passion.” He leans close, smiles that wicked smile of his. You catch a glimpse of his fangs and curse the heat in your cheeks. “With you,” he adds after a moment, just in case you still didn't get the hint.

Your face still burns at the memory of his voice and the thrill of pleasure it had sent directly to your core. You had almost reconsidered even coming out here, humiliated by your own naivete, but here you were, nonetheless. Not because you didn't want to disappoint him, but because somewhere along the way you had gotten it in your mind that maybe he liked you as much as you liked him.

Wishful thinking, but who could blame you?

After all, what wasn't there to like? His biting, sarcastic humor. The effortless way he moved in battle, daggers as sharp as his fangs as he felled his enemies in a graceful yet deadly flourish of steel. That silver tongue of his, always primed with a clever remark or a quick jab. And that was all without even mentioning how unfairly handsome he was. Most elves were naturally gorgeous, you knew, but Astarion was an anomaly even by those standards.

When you stop to think about it, this girlish crush of yours is perhaps the most embarrassing thing of all. But there's something about Astarion that makes you feel like an innocent, blushing maiden all over again, and you'd be lying to yourself if you hadn't secretly been a little excited by his offer. Even the idea of casually spending time alone with him would have been enticing enough.

So now, here you stand in the middle of the forest, breathing deeply and trying to steady your rebellious heartbeat as you wait for him to find you. It's late summer and the nights have grown significantly colder since your journey began, and when Astarion doesn't appear after several agonizing minutes you consider that perhaps he's had second thoughts after all.

More than a little disappointed, you turn to leave, only to see a figure emerge from the trees at the other side of the clearing. Your eyes immediately fall upon his broad, bare chest, openly gawking at him in the moonlight. Astarion is just as stunning in the dark as he is in the sun – because of course he is. He moves with an almost feline grace towards you, lips pulled back in that familiar smirk of his that you've grown so fond of.

“There you are,” he purrs. His words are husky, sensual, flowing like liquid silver inside every recess of your mind to banish any thoughts that aren't about him – what few there were even remaining. Your mouth is dry when you swallow around the lump in your throat, letting out a shaky exhale. Astarion is standing close enough now that you can catch his scent on the breeze, citrus and something earthy that does nothing to calm your nerves.

“I’ve been waiting,” he says with an arch of his brow. “Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you.”

You don't anticipate the fit of laughter that bubbles in your throat and spills out your lips, but it immediately breaks the tension that had settled between you.

“Oh, gods,” you manage, grinning despite the way Astarion glowers at you. He clicks his tongue in disapproval and folds his arms over his chest.

“Excuse me? What's so funny?”

The way he scrunches his nose makes him look like a disgruntled housecat, something you find both hilarious and endearing. But you keep that little fact to yourself because you value your life, and instead cock your head to the side in consideration.

“First of all,” you say, holding up a finger, “that's an awful line, even for you. And secondly –” you hold up another finger “– the first time we met, you held a dagger to my neck and threatened to slit my throat. Or was that part of the foreplay too?”

A turbulent wave of emotions flicker across Astarion's face before it settles on a petulant sort of pout.

“Yes, well, difficult as it may seem to believe, I made a mistake,” Astarion huffs, pointedly looking away as you've plainly caught him off guard. But he can feel you staring, and he quickly clears his throat and schools his expression with impressive ease. “A mistake that you will find I am here to rectify.”

The silence gives you time to think – time to poke more holes in his story. Before you have the opportunity, Astarion steps swiftly forward again, and you shiver as the ends of his long, slender fingers slide beneath your chin and tip your face towards his. That seductive look is back, no traces of his earlier irritation visible beneath the heated gaze he fixes you with.

“So, darling, what do you say?”

Your heart is in your throat, hammering wildly at just the barest touch of his skin. Despite his shameless flirting, Astarion rarely touches you, and each time he does sends a jolt of excitement through you. This time is no different, amplified tenfold by the circumstances of your present situation. You wonder how he does it, disarming you with nothing more than a simple touch.

Astarion continues to watch you, head tipped to the side as though he's a wolf sizing up a hare, deciding which part of you he'd like to sink his teeth into first.

Gods, yes. Of course. I've only been thinking about this for an embarrassingly long time.

“Okay,” you say instead. You try to match his stare, but his eyes leave you feeling as bare as the day you were born, and you can't help but cast your gaze elsewhere; worse still, you're certain that he can read every one of your most embarrassing thoughts, even without the aid of the tadpoles wriggling around in either of your brains.

“I knew you'd understand,” Astarion says, lowering his head to press his lips against yours in a kiss that sets your entire body alight with desire. Never in your wildest dreams had you ever thought you'd be lucky enough to kiss him, yet here he is, slotting his mouth against yours and running his tongue across the seam of your lips as if it's the most mundane thing in the world. And for you, it's anything but that. For a moment you forget to breathe as time stands still, and only once his other hand lays on your hip to pull you closer do you realize that you haven't died and that this is actually happening.

The feeling of his lips on yours is so much more intimate compared to the way they felt on your throat when you've let him feed on you. They're soft and pliant – far moreso than you would have guessed – especially when the rest of him is all hard muscle and sharp edges. When he's this close, his scent ensnares you completely, and you can detect the subtle notes of brandy beneath the bergamot and rosemary.

You sag against his chest and let him do as he pleases, opening your mouth to let his tongue sweep inside and taste you. He groans softly when you bite down playfully on his tongue, eyes gleaming when he pulls away and smirks in approval.

“Careful, darling,” he growls, close enough to your ear that you can feel the vibration of his voice. “I bite too, and I can guarantee I won't be nearly as gentle.”

It's no secret that Astarion knows how much you delight in letting him feed on you. He knew even before you clumsily admitted it to him the morning after the first time it happened, and by the third time you had invited him into your tent after dark there was an unspoken understanding that it was immensely pleasurable for both of you.

There's nothing quite like it, is there? The sharp sting of his fangs that melts away into the purest form of bliss as he nibbles your skin and sweeps his tongue greedily over the puncture marks between long, slow pulls of your blood. Or the way he murmurs little noises of approval against your throat – “that’s it, darling; so good for me…”

Even now, Astarion fully expects the effect his threat has on you: the way you tremble in his arms and how you press your mouth into a thin line to stifle a moan. He kisses you more insistently this time, one hand tangled in your hair as the hand on your hip guides you back until you're flush against a tree and pinned beneath him.

“Is that what you want, my sweet? Shall I drink your blood while I fuck you?” Astarion peppers a series of deceptively light kisses across your jaw, teasing you with the razor sharp points of his fangs as he seeks out your pulse point. You know he can feel it just beneath your skin, the blood surging through your veins with each erratic beat of your heart telling him what you lack the words to say. You envision his proposal in vivid detail and moan softly in response.

“Who knew you harbored such dirty little thoughts.”

Astarion's tongue traces an idle path over the bite marks on your neck and your breath catches in your throat as your hands scrabble for purchase on the rough bark behind you.

“I have so many thoughts about you, Astarion,” you confess. “That's the problem.”

You feel Astarion exhale across your skin, breath fanning out to tease the nape of your neck. His mouth splits into a wide, wolfish smile.

“Is that so? Why don't you tell me all about them, hmm?”

But where would you even begin? Nevermind that your mind is far too addled to form more than a single, barley-coherent thought.

“I could tell you, but I’d rather show you.”

“Oh?” This seems to pique his interest, though he never stops mouthing at your neck. He must be hungry, and you make a mental note to address that concern as soon as possible.

“What did you have in mind, darling?”

In response, you fumble for his waist, earning a noise of surprise as you spin him around and sink to your knees in the grass. This, he clearly does not expect, if the way he raises his eyebrows is any indication.

You glance confidently up at him, at last feeling like you have the upper hand. You don't necessarily mind him being in control, but neither will you deny yourself the fun of surprising him.

“Isn't it obvious?” You allow yourself a small smirk of your own.

Your hands trace the edge of his waistband, making your intentions clear. For once he is silent, as if uncertain how to proceed. But that's fine – you're more than happy to take the lead for now.

“Most of the men I've been with expected me to do this,” you explain, waiting for his consent before you commit to undressing him further. “It's been a while, but I promise I know what I'm doing.” You huff a laugh and stick out your tongue. “Well. Mostly.”

You can only hope that your eagerness makes up for your lack of recent experience. And that's half the battle anyway, isn't it? Astarion looks at you for what feels like an eternity, and for a moment you see a flicker of hesitation in his expression before his eyes narrow and anchor on your face.

“You don't have to,” he finally says, his hand lowering to brush an errant lock of your hair out of your eyes. He sounds almost sad, as though the only reason you had made the suggestion in the first place was out of obligation.

“Yeah, I know,” you say, smiling cheerfully up at him. “But I want to do this for you. And besides, wasn't it your idea for us to ‘indulge’ ?” you ask, poorly mimicking the teasing lilt of his voice. “That means you too.”

Astarion's expression softens as he smiles almost reluctantly back at you. A weight seems to lift from his shoulders and he visibly relaxes.

“All right, then. If you insist, darling.”

“Good, because I do.”

You shift slightly between his legs, steeling yourself for the task at hand. Your nerves flare yet again, the idea of disappointing him suddenly far more relevant than it had been before. Astarion's skin is cool and smooth beneath your fingers as you slip them beneath his waistband, tugging his pants down over the ample curve of his backside and down the length of his toned thighs. The only remaining barrier between you and the rest of him is his underwear, which is currently doing very little to obscure the very noticeable bulge beneath the fabric. With one last glance upwards, you suck in a breath and give them a swift tug, busying yourself with pulling his clothes down to his ankles so he can kick them aside.

The next time you lift your head, there's nothing left to the imagination. Astarion's cock greets you at eye level, half-hard and already glistening with a slick bead of precome. It's as pretty as the rest of him, the tip flushed a soft shade of petal pink that has you dying to know how much more enticing it would look after he's fed on you. You file that thought away for next time – provided there even is a next time. Best to not let yourself get distracted.

That, it turns out, is easier said than done. You reach out almost shyly and wrap your hand around his cock, impressed by the feel of him. He's smooth and heavy in your palm, and you give him a few experimental jerks, transfixed by the way you can feel his cock begin to swell in your hand.

Astarion makes a quiet noise and your eyes follow the path of his body along his stomach and the hard lines of his chest, surprised to find his own half-lidded and a single fang digging into his bottom lip. You maintain eye contact as you continue pumping him, coaxing more soft sounds of pleasure from his throat.

“Ahh…” Your name slips from his lips, almost as an afterthought, and you instinctively squeeze your thighs together to give yourself some relief from the way his voice has your body begging for his touch. You've never heard him quite like this before, and the effect it has on you is nothing if not potent. His nostrils flare and you know instantly he is aware of your arousal.

Astarion leans back against the tree, one hand anchored in your hair as the other one digs into the bark, desperately trying to help him maintain his balance. The length of him is slick with his arousal, and you want nothing more than to taste him. Emboldened, you guide your free hand between his legs to cup his balls, lifting his cock so you can press the flat of your tongue against the underside at the base. The sensation makes his cock jump and his hips buck forward, eager for the feel of your mouth upon him. He tastes of clean linen and something distinctly Astarion, salty-sweet and decadent.

“Does it feel good?” you mumble against him, tracing your tongue along the vein that snakes around the length of his cock as you work your way towards the sensitive tip. When you wrap your lips around him and swirl your tongue over his slit, Astarion lets out a whine and tugs sharply on your hair, clearly fighting the urge to thrust deeper into your mouth.

“Y-es, love,” he says hoarsely, “that's – ohh… ”

You repeat the action, as eager to hear him again as he is to let you pleasure him.

“Don't stop.”

As if you had anything else in mind.

You tighten your lips around him and hollow your cheeks as you take his cock deeper into your mouth, hand twisting around the base of him in little corkscrew motions. Eyes locked on his face, you moan against his hard length, bobbing your head in time with the hand that strokes his shaft. You feel more than pride when Astarion's mouth falls open and he is unable to do anything but voice his pleasure, each moan and mewl he makes making your clit throb with need.

Precome and saliva coat your chin as you take him deeper still, bracing your hand on his thigh to help you guide his cock to the back of your throat. The sensation is almost too much for you to handle, and you take a moment to breathe through your nose and remember to pace yourself. With his pupils blown, Astarion's eyes look more black than red, slamming shut as you swallow him to the base, press your nose against his stomach, and moan. He struggles to watch you work his cock with your lips and tongue, hips jerking every now and then and shoving his cock even further down your throat.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice tight and raspy. “If you keep this up, darling, I'm going to –” Another groan as your tongue slides across his shaft in a way that makes his thighs tremble. His body is as taut as a bowstring, his release imminent.

Speaking now would only be an inconvenience. You take advantage of the tadpoles to reach into his mind, allowing him to feel the building pressure between your thighs as his cock hits the back of your throat again and your cunt clenches in response.

“It's okay,” you assure him. “I want it. I want you to come. It feels good for me too.”

Astarion needs no further encouragement. With both hands buried in your hair, his hips stutter and he bucks into your mouth, spilling himself down your throat with a groan that tapers into a satisfied whimper. He releases you and falls back against the tree, chest heaving. His cock twitches in the open air, dripping and still half-hard.

“See?” you pant, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I told you I knew what I was doing.”

“Cheeky little pup.” He speaks with that same sensual lilt in his voice that you're so familiar with, but this time it seems almost lighter, less restrained.

Astarion advances on only slightly unsteady feet, pushing you back onto your elbows as he takes his turn settling between your legs. Your eyes are wide as he hovers over your face, lips only inches from yours.

Kiss me. Kiss me, gods dammit.

A low chuckle rumbles in his throat, and you realize that you hadn't bothered to sever your tadpole connection before beaming your thoughts directly into his mind.

“Needy little thing, aren't you? Although I suppose it can't be helped.” Astarion kisses you again, nipping insistently at your bottom lip to encourage you to open your mouth. All the while, his hands slip beneath your sleep shirt, tracing a searing path across your body. But instead of grasping your breasts as you expect him to, he breaks the kiss to pull the garment over your head, one hand on your sternum as he presses you into the grass. The cool air isn't the only thing that makes you tremble.

Astarion mimics your actions from before, fingers dipping beneath your pants as a playful grin slides across his elegant features. “Has anyone ever done this for you, sweet girl?”

He licks his lips and you part your legs further. “N-no,” you admit with some reluctance.

Astarion clicks his tongue. “No? You poor thing. Allow me to fix that mistake as well.”

He doesn't need to ask you to lift your hips for him. Your body moves as if on instinct, letting him undress you with one swift motion. You lay shyly beneath him in the grass, gazing up at him with round, curious eyes as he looks at you in quiet contemplation.

“Do you want to know the reason I asked you to come all the way out here?” he asks, hands on your knees as his eyes rake down your body. Your skin burns beneath his lustful gaze, wetness pooling between your slick folds as he bares your center to him.

“Why?”

“Because this way,” Astarion purrs, sinking between your legs, “I don't have to hold back.” The last thing you see before your vision goes white are the rich, ruby reds of his eyes, narrowed to slits as he descends upon you. The first flick of his tongue against your clit is enough to make you cry out into the night, and when Astarion does it again and wraps his lips around the sensitive pearl and gently sucks you truly think that this might be the death of you.

His tongue glides between your folds to gather your arousal; the taste of it makes him groan, and you dig your fingers into the grass, trying not to thrash beneath him. Pleasure erupts like wildfire over every nerve ending as he works you with his tongue, wasting no time discovering the parts of you that make you whimper for him the most.

“Is it too much?”

It takes you a moment to realize he's asked the question, and you find the strength to peer down at him through hazy, unfocused eyes as he glances up at you.

“Yes… no… I don't…” You stop before you embarrass yourself any further and take another breath. “Maybe a little,” you admit, more coherently. “But it feels good. I want you to keep going.”

“My apologies.” He runs his tongue over his fangs and your poor heart skips a beat. “I'm finding it very difficult to resist devouring you whole. You, darling, are quite the delectable little treat.”

Another unexpected giggle bursts forth from your lips and you fall back against the soft ground as Astarion sits up and looks at you in confusion.

“You don't have to do that, you know,” you manage between laughs, finally propping yourself up on an elbow and tossing him an affectionate look.

“Do what?” he asks.

“Try to flatter me with those terrible pickup lines. I already like you; I wouldn't be out here if I didn't.”

Astarion's brows furrow and he seems to stare at you as if you are some unsolvable riddle, the expression on his face something you have no name for. It's as forlorn as it is relieved, amused as it is exasperated.

He's still studying you when you sit up, and maybe it's just your imagination that tells you he leans into your touch when you cup his face and pull him in for a quick kiss, but that's all right with you. Astarion's eyes are curious and bright, an ocean of precious rubies shining beneath the light of the moon. The sight of it is enough to make your heart ache.

“All right,” he agrees, shrugging. “No more terrible pickup lines.

“Good,” you say. “I like you better that way. Just… just you.”

The grass is already wet with dew when you lay back again, letting your hands fall from Astarion's face. He almost seems to mourn the loss, but after a moment he slides gracefully down the length of your body and gently parts your legs once more.

This time he is far more mindful about what he's doing, tongue gently lapping at your center before dragging slowly across your opening. You moan and writhe beneath him as before, rolling your hips to press your clit against his nose. You don't expect how cold his fingers feel against your opening as he presses one gently inside you, waiting for you to encourage him for more before he coaxes you open.

“Astarion…”

He returns your whine with a groan, teasing your clit with his tongue as he guides a second finger inside you. Your arousal coats his fingers as they dip and curl inside your cunt, stoking the roaring fire inside your body. You're helpless to do anything but be swept up in the current, safe in the knowledge that Astarion will guide you exactly where you need to be.

Your orgasm doesn't slowly build as much as it roars to life, and you have only a moment to tell him before you're coming hard on his fingers and his tongue, trembling like a leaf in the wind as unrivaled ecstasy suffuses through you. Your throat constricts around the syllables of his name, the pace of his fingers and tongue gradually slowing as your euphoria finally fades.

The next time you open your eyes, Astarion is hovering over you, his face still coated in the evidence of your arousal. You pull him in for another kiss to taste yourself on his tongue, sighing contentedly into his mouth. His lips are no less insistent than before, but they lack the same urgency. But you certainly don't mind, letting him kiss you until you're left breathless and panting.

“Are you hungry, Astarion?” you ask, pressing his face against your neck. “You can feed on me, if you'd like.”

Astarion's fangs are an immediate presence against your skin before you even finish making your offer, his hands pinning your arms above your head just before he punctures your flesh. What little blood escapes his lips is quickly gathered on his tongue, and each long, steady pull of your blood is taken in time with the beating of your heart. His fangs dig deep, but you can feel his restraint behind the hands that pin your arms and his legs as they bracket your waist.

As he drinks, you gradually become aware of his cock against your thigh, heavy and full and so enticingly warm as your blood courses through his body. Astarion's hips shift as though he's seeking relief, and you oblige him by untangling one of your arms from his grasp and reaching for his cock, wrapping your fingers around his hardening length. He grunts in appreciation and snaps his hips forward at an increasingly desperate pace.

“Darling…”

Astarion's voice is slurred against your neck, made clumsy by his own arousal and the heady taste of your blood.

“I think…” A pause, another few thrusts, another low groan. “I think I'd like to be inside you now.”

You instinctively squeeze his cock, nodding your ascent.

“I think I'd like that too.”

Crimson coats his lips when Astarion tears himself from your neck, a thin trail of your blood running down the side of his mouth. His tongue flicks out to gather it and he sighs heavily with satisfaction as he sits back on his calves. You feel the blunt head of his cock glide through your slick folds as he coats himself in your arousal, eyes trained reverently on your face. He notes each subtle change in your expression as he enters you, moving with more patience than either of you have to spare.

Your cunt pulses around his cock as Astarion thrusts himself deeper, the thin line between pleasure and pain blurring with every inch he buries inside you. When at last he bottoms out, you watch each other for a moment, listening to the sound of one another's panting breaths.

Astarion's hands move to your legs, tucking beneath your knees as he lifts them up and presses them against your chest.

“I'm going to move now, darling. Is that all right?”

You nod, breathing a shaky “yes” as you will yourself to relax. The first thrust has you throwing back your head with a strangled sob, and Astarion must find it encouraging because he wastes no time rocking into you again shortly after, and then again with even more force. He sets a steady pace, slamming his hips into the backs of your thighs with each punishing thrust. You squeeze your eyes shut and bury your face in the grass as you turn your head to the side, letting the sensation of him on top of you and inside you flood your senses.

Astarion digs his nails into your skin and growls your name. It sounds almost possessive, sharpened to a razor thin point as it cuts through the fog inside your mind. With monumental effort you open your eyes and search for his face somewhere on your periphery, mouth falling slack as a series of undignified whimpers and moans tumble from your lips.

“Eyes on me,” he commands in a tone that leaves no room for rebuttal. Your gaze finally catches sight of him and Astarion leans close, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. “That's it. Let me see you, sweet girl…”

“Astarion…”

Your mind is empty of all other thoughts but those of him, as it should be. How could it be otherwise, when you are full of him in every sense of the word? The feel of him inside you, the touch of his skin on yours. The scent of him that addles your senses and the sound of his voice that mirrors your own pleasure? Beyond it – beyond him – nothing else matters.

“Again,” he says through gritted teeth, and you follow the path of his gaze towards the arch of your neck and the blood you feel trickling down over your shoulder. You slip your legs around his waist, inviting him closer.

“Astarion.”

His mouth is on you again, eager for another taste of you. You acquiesce gladly, craning your neck to allow him better access.

“Again.”

This time when you cry his name, his fangs pierce your neck again, and his thrusts grow even more frantic as he drives his cock inside your quivering cunt. You tighten your legs and cling to him as closely as you can, each snap of his hips intense enough to lift you off the ground. Your tadpoles link, and Astarion's thoughts pour into your mind as liberally as you share yours with him; for a few, blissful moments the sensations you feel are neither entirely your own nor entirely his.

The pressure inside you builds to a roaring crescendo, crashing over you like waves breaking on the shore as you fall to pieces beneath him with a shout that leaves your throat raw. Astarion holds you down as he pistons into you, the tight, inviting warmth of your body pulling him over the edge when he finds his own release.

The absence of his weight as he extracts himself from the tangle of your limbs is a loss you mourn with a whine of protest, and you roll over onto your stomach with an ache in your thighs you know you'll be feeling in the morning. After a moment, you hear the rustling of clothes behind you and find Astarion half dressed already, tugging his pants on with an indecipherable expression on his face.

“I guess it was a bit silly of me to think this could last forever,” you say with a sigh, offering him a sad smile. Astarion approaches you and extends his hand to help you to your feet, and you try not to feel too embarrassed as you wobble like a newborn fawn.

“Not if you and that feeble mortal constitution of yours don't want to catch cold,” he says flatly.

“Hey!” You scowl at him in mock offense. “Fair enough, I guess. Rude, but fair.”

Astarion waits for you to pull your clothes back on before turning back the way you came, and you follow him in silence as you make your way to camp. The moonlight filtering through the trees sometimes catches on his form and you note what appears to be a series of intricate marks carved into his back, a sight that leaves you both curious and filled with a sense of dread.

“Astarion?” you ask, “What's that on your back?”

A bitter laugh leaves him and he turns to offer you an equally humorless smile, his eyes distant in a way that makes your heart twist in your chest.

“A story for another time, darling,” he says, and there's a finality to his words that broker no more room for discussion. You nod in understanding, stepping over the threshold of the woods that circle the clearing where you and the others set up camp only a few hours prior.

Returning alone to your own tent is not something you're looking forward to, but as you turn to look at Astarion he's already pulled his tent flap aside, sparing you one final glance as if he's anticipated the question you no longer have the courage to ask. You feel your lips tug into a small smile, one that Astarion only mirrors after a moment of hesitation.

“Good night, Astarion. Um… thanks. For tonight. I enjoyed spending time with you.”

“It was my pleasure, darling. Sleep well.”

As you watch him slip inside his tent, you have the sudden feeling that whatever happened between the two of you tonight has only further complicated your already curious relationship with Astarion. But like so many other things about the man, it is only one more of the many mysteries surrounding him that you hope one day to unravel. You curl up in your bedroll, unable to keep your mind on anything else as you drift off, eager for whatever awaits you tomorrow.

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