#so she will never escape his clutches!!!!

[satosuguwifee]

Double Trouble, Double Love — Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

wc: 843

contents: canon AU, fluff, familly

It was an idea inspired by a fanart here on tumblr! Here's the post!

It was another beautiful morning in Tokyo, the sun rising behind the city's tall buildings that seemed to almost touch the newly lit sky. A cool but cozy breeze brushed across his body as he walked in quick steps, messing up his slightly spiky hair while holding a shopping bag with his free hand.

Toji sighs lightly, observing the streets of the neighborhood with his sharp green eyes because, although he and Y/n had managed to get enough money to rent an apartment sufficient for their small family, the neighborhood wasn't exactly known for being one of the safest there, but it was kind of quiet during the day.

He then took his hand out of his hair and used it to get the keys from his coat pocket and open the door to the apartment, finding the familiar warmth of the room.

After leaving the bag containing diapers, a jar of his wife's favorite ice cream, baby milk and a bar of chocolate, he promptly went to their bedroom and came across the scene of Y/n fast asleep and, lying on her chest, were the twins Megumi and Milly, who were looking at their mother with doe eyes with an energy that neither of their parents had now.

“Are you two brats awake yet?” he then sighs tiredly, but a small smile forms on the corner of his lip as he approaches the little ones and sits down on the edge of the bed. ”Lucky you both are cute, you little pests.”

He says affectionately, even though he knows that Y/n doesn't like it when he refers to their children like that. Soon little Milly raised her eyes to him, the eyes that had even inherited their color from her mother, babbling something in baby language and stretching out a small hand towards him, making Toji's heart warm and take the baby in his arms.

“What is it, hm?” he asks, smiling when she just stares at him curiously. “You have your mother's look…” Toji quickly looked over at Megumi, who had his hand on Y/n's cheek and, since he was born, had a slightly more sullen and neutral look like his father. “And you, little man, you're pulling for Daddy here.”

Toji chuckled to himself, the scar on the right corner of his mouth stretching slightly with the movement, and soon he went around the bed to lie down on the empty side, leaving little Milly lying on his chest. He couldn't believe the turn his life had taken: since childhood he had always been despised and ignored by his own Zenin clan relatives because of his “defect” of not having cursed energy, and for many years he had been mistreated and abused by them until the day came when he fled that toxic environment, with no direction in life.

In order to survive, he began to take on underground jobs until he became a hitman and at the end of the day spent all his money on bets that he never won. Yeah, he was totally lost, until…

As he made his way back to the crumbling place he called home, he stopped at a coffee shop to order a simple coffee before his gaze turned to a slender, angelic figure behind the counter: Y/n, it said on the little badge pinned to her uniform.

And heavens, she had been kind to him like no one had ever been before, even frowning at him because of his slightly dirty and wrinkled clothes… She was like an angel and, without realizing it, that little creature had shot an arrow right through his heart, capturing him without giving him a chance to escape.

And, after five years together, they had formed their little family with Milly and Megumi who, while he rambled through his memories, had fallen asleep. The little girl slept against his chest, her tiny hand clutching the fabric of his blouse while Megumi slept on Y/n's chest, who was awake, staring at him with tiredness but indescribable love.

“Hello doll, did you sleep well?” he asked softly, closing his eyes as he felt her fingers gently run through his hair and heard her giggle.

“I did, but it's so early and it's so warm in here… I don't want to get up.” she says, moving closer to him on the bed and sighing. “Can we go back to sleep?”

Toji just nods, circling her waist with his free arm and kissing her temple before thanking whoever is up there for bumping into this wonderful woman, who looks after him and his children with such dedication that he feels more complete than ever. And then, surrounded by his wife and babies, Toji quickly falls asleep after nuzzling his nose against his wife's hair, smiling in a genuine and affectionate way that no one would have thought possible.

[obae-me]

The Devil's Desire

Nothing like trying to come back from a long hiatus with more Luci content. It's always him, I can't escape.

Warning: This fic contains a makeout scene but nothing explicit, so 16+.

Disclaimer: I am NOT bashing religion, nor am I calling out any specific faith, denomination, etc. It's written to be mostly generic on purpose, and is simply based on a real life experience I have had before. Don't take this seriously, please.

Word Count: 2.3k

With that out of the way, please enjoy some Luci romance!:

To lie with the devil is to wake up in hell. Tender lips stained with debauchery embrace nothing but lies. Tainted is the temporary vice. Lost is the lamb who leaves the flock. Damned is the devoured; the ones drowned in their own sins, plunged into the fires, entombed in brimstone. The cries of pleasure now ones of wailing. Of gnashing their own teeth. Made to suffer an eternity of eternities for shunning the light.

At least, that’s what they say.

And by they, right now you meant the very adamant woman standing in front of you, brandishing pamphlets like they were her very own Ten Commandments. If only 'Thou Shall Not Harass Unsuspecting People on the Street' were one of them. If you had your own rules, that would make it into the top five for sure.

Unfortunately, the lady slowly singling you out from the rest of the passers-by did not share your same sentiments. She was on a mission. Her mission? You. The goal? To wear you down and pester you long enough to join whatever group she was promoting. You’d seen these things enough before to see the danger signs in advance. A clipboard so they could take your name and number. A promotion selling tickets that you’d inevitably have to use your email to register for. All in an attempt to get your information so they could track you down in a less stalker-y sort of way.

“Oh, hello, dear. How are you today?” The hunter was closing in, two teens carrying signs at her side working on sequestering you- the weaker link- away from the pack.

“I’m good, how are you?” Damn your polite force of habit! Curse you, customer service default settings!

She grinned, knowing that if she played her cards right, she could probably keep you trapped here for a while longer. She spoke, and due to the survival instinct in your brain, you were capable of tuning her out for the most part. Something something, for the greater good, something something, special soul. They never meant what they said, or even if they believed their own words, it was undermined by their intentions. You’d been in this boat before. You kept waving your hand and nodding your head, explaining to her that you were busy and had someone you were meeting.

As you stepped backwards, she approached again. “Just one minute of your time! One minute could save your soul from Lucifer’s clutches!”

Without entirely meaning to, the drop of that name made you pause. Every once and a while, you forgot that the person you had come to know so well was such a prominent- albeit infamous- figure in the human world. Although, the way he tended to be described made him seem more like a boogeyman rather than a demon capable of Armageddon, scaring children across different nations and cultures into behaving. Perhaps you should be insulted on his behalf. Perhaps you should share some of the stuff you had seen. Tales of ivory wings and the blinding glow of a fallen angel whose twisted voice now told beings to Be Afraid. With a haunting beauty so enveloping, you openly fell further into the nightmare. That being said, you almost laughed in her face, wanting to tell her that the man she was so afraid of had been fretting over what kind of coat to wear this morning. Black was classy. But blue made his eyes pop more. But red was his color. Thirty minutes he pondered over this. “I’m not all that worried about it.”

Maybe you hadn’t contained your amusement as well as you thought you did, because for some reason, a righteous fire had lit under her sandy open-toed wedges. “You should be! Whatever promises the devil gives you, it will only bring you misery in the end! He cares nothing for you! Only HE can give you the joy you seek.” Her pointer finger raised up while she gazed to the clouds like she could peer into Heaven from down here. It was hard to tell if the dramatics were more for you or her. When she glanced at you again, she appeared spooked, clutching pearl hands at the ready.

An arm snaked around your waist, a hand settling on your hip. If the touch wasn’t so familiar, you would’ve jumped. “I don’t know. I think I bring plenty of joy, wouldn’t you say, love?”

Speak of the devil, in a quite literal sense.

Relief flooded your body, the tension you’d unknowingly built in your shoulders loosening. Even posing as a human, Lucifer was intimidating. At the very least, no one bothered to approach him out of the blue. This party buff seemed to extend to you as well. This lady seemed much less interested in trying to convince you of anything now. She cleared her throat and thought about potentially leaving you one last message of warning, but the man in your company wasn’t having it. He scoffed under his breath before he gestured to some of the other sign bearers in the group, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“Strange weather today, isn’t it? You might want to help retrieve your things,” Lucifer announced. Eyebrows raised. The weather was quite nice today, albeit a little cold. Curiosity got the better of her. Just as the woman turned around, a heavy gust of wind blew over you all, making pamphlets and signs fly upwards and into the streets. Subtle. People scrambled. The lady hiked up her skirt and ran to the edge of the sidewalk. Cars screeched to a halt and honked, people stopped to gawk at the calamity, all the while, you felt yourself being tugged away.

Lucifer’s hand remained on your waist for a few minutes until he was certain the annoyance was far behind you. How much of a mess was the scene now? You turned your head to look over your shoulder, but only saw darkness as a gloved hand covered your eyes. A slight huff sounded off to your side.

“Leave it. This hesitancy of yours is what got you caught in the first place.” The hand moved from your eyes to the top of your head, making you look up at him with a twist of his fingers. “I leave you be for a few moments, and you once again find yourself tangled up in nonsense.” His narrowed eyes flitted over your form as if checking for signs of distress or injury, like the woman was a master of combat with pamphlets as her weapon of choice. Always the worrier that one. He’d have still a similar reaction if you found yourself lost in a grocery store…

A frown crossed over your face. “I did try to leave. How many times do I have to say ‘no thank you’ before someone leaves me alone?”

He tisked, his posture straightening as he fixed the scarf around your neck. The plush fabric was rubbed against your jaws. “There’s your first issue. Manners are all well and good until someone takes advantage of it. At some point, you have to drop the politeness and just say ‘no’. With your entire chest.” All of a sudden, he took two pointer fingers and manipulated your cheeks and lips to mouth some words. “N. O. Just like that. Can you say it with me? Nnnn…ooo…”

You narrowed your eyes a bit at his teasing, batting his hands away. “Knock it off, Luce…”

“Hmm. Maybe I should go get one of those eccentrics and tell them we changed our minds and—“

“No!”

“Ah, see, you are capable of it.” Someone was mighty pleased with himself. Anytime he found himself in a place where he was free from his responsibilities, he always got shockingly more playful. It would be cute if it weren’t so frustrating right now. His hand started running over your head. “Good job.”

“That’s not funny. You heard how they were talking about you… I hate listening to it.”

At your words, his teasing smile faded. Rolling his eyes, he lowered his hands. “I would much rather you save that vexation for yourself and how they treated you. All the humans in the world could despise me and I would not bat an eye.” Suddenly, his finger tapped your chin, trying to regain your full attention. “I only care what one of them thinks about me.”

Something about the sudden sappiness in public snapped you out of things. You turned a bit on your feet and started walking. “Did you check us in already?”

“I took care of it. Did you want to head in now or wander around the town a while?” His partial pout at ignoring his romanticism could almost be felt physically as he matched his pace with yours.

“I think I’ve had my fun for now.”

A hum, and his hand found your own. Clasping it, guiding you to the hotel as you both walked. It was astonishing how such a move cast a level of camouflage over you two. Suddenly, it was as if you both were a normal couple following the regular flow of foot-traffic, keeping each other warm in the crisp air with the heat of each others close proximity.

If the devil was so callous, why were his hands so tender?…

The rest of the walk was a bit of a blur. The people, buildings, spoken words, all unimportant compared to the sensation of having him near. The elevator ride jostled, giving you some more awareness to your surroundings. A short walk, a brandished key card, and he opened the door for you, the very picture of a perfect gentleman.

If the devil cared not for you, why would he bother with chivalry?

The “room” was huge, with an entire kitchen, walled off bathroom, closed off bedroom, and separate living area. This was more an apartment than a simple hotel room. The luggage was already brought inside, Lucifer’s portion already opened and put away. “Leave it to Diavolo to save you the biggest, fanciest suite in the hotel. If the tub has jets, I’m never leaving.”

“Do you expect the Avatar of Pride, the right hand to royalty, to expect anything less?”

“You’re funny if you think Diavolo wouldn’t give you something like this regardless of your gilded titles. Careful, your sin is showing.” You rolled your eyes and gave him a playful nudge.

He swiveled on his feet and poked your ribs. “You dare push me?” His voice rumbled in amusement deep in his chest. “Rather bold to do to such a dangerous demon.”

“Oh? Is that a threat? Going to take my soul? Well, you’re going to have to get through me first.” Fake punches flew through the air, striking at his chest and face with no force. Although you knew real punches would have the same utterly useless, painless outcome for him.

The world tilted, some of the air leaving your lungs in a giggling gasp as he scooped you up over his shoulder. He twisted, spinning around occasionally to leave you somewhat disoriented until you were plopped down on top of the bed, the whole mattress bobbing. Lucifer hovered over you. “You cannot hope to win, human. You’re mine now.”

Something in your chest fluttered at that. “So you win then, is it? How would you like my soul? Grilled? Blended? Braised?”

One of his hands worked on removing the scarf from around your neck, the back of his index finger tracing the outline of your chin. Just a breath away from being in contact. “Let me see…” Adjusting, rubbing his nose against yours, he waited for that tell-tale sign of permission, of you closing some of the distance. Temptation struck you, flooding in your heart. The plunge was too alluring. You bit of the fruit, and the devil wrapped his clutches around you.

Watch out for the schemes of the devil, who prowls like a beast, waiting for the moment to strike and devour- lips whispering inner desires. Raise up your guard to save yourself from being pulled into darkness, into his embrace, limbs aching and craving. For his claws shall tear and shred in eagerness, unable to contain themselves as they remove the body of protective vestments. He will take the very breath from your lungs. Crush the bones with a heaving chest. Partake of your flesh.

Lucifer raised his head for a moment, letting you both catch your breath. Your thumb traced his bottom lip, puffy and scarlet where you’d nipped it. Red was always a good color for him. That’s why you picked the crimson coat for him today. It matched his cheeks, the end of his ears, his longing eyes.

“Authentically,” he said, answering your question you felt you asked two lifetimes ago. His mouth covered yours as his broad hands squeezed your shoulders. “Slowly…” You could almost feel his hum in the back of your throat as he spoke between kisses. “Bit by bit…” His teeth grazed you top lip. “Over the course of a lifetime…” His affection moved on, venturing out and exploring your cheeks and gently over your eyelids. “So you’ll be right here with me… exactly like this… for a very-“ a searing mark was placed right under your earlobe, against a tingling part of your neck, “…very long time.”

To lie with the devil is to wake up wrapped up in braids of limb and cloth. Tender lips stained with last night’s embrace whisper saccharine words. Cherished is the temporary stillness. Beloved is the lamb who measures the meter of the heartbeat of the wolf. Blessed is the enamored; the ones drowned in their own affection, plunged into the fires of passion, entombed in each other’s chests. The cries of pleasure echoed with ones of mirth. Of declarations and vows held tight between their own teeth. Made to persist an eternity of eternities for existing as the other’s light.

For it's his desire.

[bump1nthen1ght]

The Family Jewels (Pt. 2/4)

Pairing: M!Vampire!Father-In-Law x F!Reader x M!Vampire!Husband

Genre: Regency, Gothic, Dark, Yandere, Pining

Chapter Summary: Your husband is more observant than you think. He's not quite sure he likes what he sees.

Series Warnings: Obsessive + Controlling Behavior, Fucked up Family Dynamics, Confinement, Misogyny, Future Non-Con, Degradation, Angst, Jealousy

Chapter Warnings: Slight hints of Obsessive Behavior, Jealousy, Intimidation

Part 1

In a strange turn of events, your husband is at dinner today.

You're surprised he’s even awake at this hour, your late dinner still too early for his typical schedule. The staff seemed as shocked as you, hurriedly preparing a glass and plate for his end of table, which is luckily far from your own.

He eats the same meal as your first night here; A steak rare enough to moo, and a goblet full of wine. You ponder for a second how he hasn’t been struck down by scurvy with this diet. 

Unlike the first night, you don’t bother with pleasantries, nor small talk. The first few dinners of awkward half-conversations, gentle questions hanging in the air as he stared at you like you were a bug and you learned your lesson. Besides, you refuse to let anything ruin this night. Especially not him.

Ah, that thought has your lips upturning. There was supposed to be a beautiful meteor shower tonight, one The Earl said you’d have a perfect view of from the garden. Not to mention that they’d be visible for most of the night, stretching deep into the evening, leaving you plenty of time to reminisce and talk with your father-in-law. He always seems insistent you get enough rest, cutting off your rendezvous whenever you show a hint of drowsiness. You’re sure it's just his paternal instinct kicking in, but hopefully tonight he can make an exception.

To your luck your husband doesn't bother any attempts of small talk either. The dinner passes quickly, no need for formalities that draw out this uncomfortable time, and you finish your meal with a curtsy and a good night. Hopefully your husband doesn’t notice the extra energy in your step, fervent to get out of the dining hall.

—

Caleb isn’t sure why he bothered coming to dinner. He easily could’ve had the servants bring his steak to his chambers, allowing him the privacy to eat it in bed and nurse off the thunderous headache. Devils, what did that whore eat to make her blood so noxious on his body?

But he also knew he had a tedious night ahead, his massive hangover tampering any plans of escaping to the comfort of the town. With hours of boredom ahead, Caleb supposed he could at least try to go to dinner. At least have someone to talk to, even if it was the soft questions of his wife.

But tonight she is silent, not even greeting him as he enters the room. No questions, no comments, not even the polite small talk he’s used to. She eats her food in deadly quiet, done with her meal as quickly as she starts it. He barely hears her gentle “Good night, Husband.” as she scurries out, even with his superior hearing.

Whatever. Like he cares what she does in her free time. The less she bothers him, the better.

Now Caleb finds himself wandering the halls, the estate’s poorest wine bottle opened and clutched in his hand. His creator had disposed of the rest when Caleb slept one day, probably in an attempt to shape up Caleb’s act. He doesn’t understand why he’s still trying to curb him, especially when it was his creator who first introduced Caleb to the finery life had to offer. To give him everything and then force it away, Caleb wonders what kind of game he is playing-

Oh, speak of the devil.

There stands his creator, eyes pointed toward the night sky. It was a common habit of his, one Caleb never quite understood. He’d seen the same stars for centuries now, what appeal could it possibly still have?

It did not matter, the old man was probably being poetic, waxing to himself as he watched the moon. His creator did always have a flair for the dramatic. It’s no wonder no other vampire fancied him, far too brooding and fanciful. An absolute and total bore-

“Oh, it’s wonderful!”

Your soft voice coos, finally entering Caleb’s vision. He’s almost surprised he missed you, the tantalizing scent of your blood usually catching his attention even from across the house.  Maybe it’s because you're standing so close to his creator; His deathly smell covering up the sweeter notes of yours.

Caleb’s fingers curl tighter around the neck of his wine bottle

“They look like fairies, flying across the sky.” Your arm points up, the bareness of your arm almost shocking to Caleb. It was quite cold out, didn’t you think to bring out a jacket? Maybe it’s being so close to the large coat of his creator that leaves you unbothered. Even with the vampire’s cold body, the heat of the fabric must be enticing, given how close you lean into the monster’s side. A closeness his creator doesn’t seem to mind.

“Some say they are the tears of a martyr saint, still crying in his afterlife.” His creator points to the meteors painting the sky with one hand. It does not go unnoticed that his other hand rests on your back, too tantalizingly low. Caleb feels his chest burning. “Though, some Ancient Romans believed they were something else.”

You turn to his creator, your face curled up in a smile and a raised eyebrow. You tap his chest with your fist.

“What did they believe it was?”

His Creator chuckles, a deep sound that makes Caleb want to wretch. “I’m afraid it isn’t appropriate for me to say. But it is fascinating.”

“Oh, please tell me. You could whisper it in my ear.” You pout, the alluring pout of a nymph. Caleb’s knuckles go white. “No one is around to hear, Edric.”

Caleb has to stop himself from dropping the bottle. Since when did you call his creator so informally?

His creator acts if he’s contemplating, before of course giving in. He draws your body in even closer, leaning his free hand up to cover his mouth as he whispers in his ear. Once he’s done you do not draw away, nor does his creator’s hand leave its place by your neck. You two are practically attached at the hip.

A bashful, shocked look covers your face, quickly followed by a giggle like that of twinkling bells. 

“That can’t be true!”

“It is my dear. They believed it blessed their fields. Those Romans were quite odd.” Edric leans in again, his nose close enough that he must be drawing in your scent. “And quite provocative.”

You slap his chest, another delighted giggle coming from your covered mouth. 

Caleb can’t watch anymore. Can’t stand looking at your exuberant face, expressions he thought were impossible from you. Can’t stand to hear your delight.

He takes a swig of the piss-wine, stomaching it better than he thought.

The creator had weird delusions. Surely he is buttering you up due to his son’s utter failings. He had a way of falling into his roles almost effortlessly. Caleb is sure in his mortal life he was a performer, or at least had a dying wish to be one.

As he stumbles into his bedroom, half the wine gone, Caleb banishes the thought of you and his creator from his head.

There is simply no reason for him to be bothered by this. None at all.

—

To your relief, your husband is not at dinner the next night.

You take it later than usual, only heightening your fears that he might be present. Having slept in this morning due to the length of your last night, it brings a lightness that he is gone. You had forgotten how dreadfully awkward it was with him around, even when you ignored it. The fact that he was in fact your husband made it only worse, despite the fact you had discarded ideas of a loving marriage years ago.

But it does add to your despondence when you do see him in the garden, right next to your usual spot.

You notice him too late to leave, about to sit down on your favorite bench before you recognize his usual shoes, sprawled out on the grass with the rest of him. Those dark eyes of his merely graze of your from over the lip of his bottle, his clothing surprisingly neat despite how he lays supine in the dew.

“H-hello.” You unfortunately stutter, flinching at this invasion of your private space. “Husband.” You hastily add. You may not like the man, but you’re not a scoundrel.

“Wife.” Caleb says, much less vitriol and derision than you’re expecting. He says the term as it is, neutral. 

In a normal circumstance you’d ask what brings him out here. Ask if he enjoys the stars like you do. But months of nothing have taught you it’d be fruitless and that your words were better left unsaid. So you sit on the bench, look upwards, and try your best to ignore him. 

For a blissful moment you hope your arrival would convince him to leave. At least so he could drink and mope and…whatever else he does by himself. But he doesn’t. Caleb stays laying down, sipping on his wine and also looking toward the stars. 

You wish you could dismiss his presence as easily as he does yours. But like his father your husband is a rather large man, his spread out form hard to miss now that you know he is there. His alabaster skin and golden blonde hair deeply contrast against the blue-green of the grass, like a marble statue laid out in a field. Eye-catchingly attractive, you have no doubts the ladies of the town are missing him dreadfully.

It doesn’t matter, you don't intend to let him spoil your quiet time. He has free reign over every other part of the house, you refuse to back down from your corner of safety.

—

Caleb counts himself lucky you're so oblivious. So locked in your stargazing you don’t notice the periodic glances he takes your way.

Your skin looks extra soft in the moonlight, rays of it only highlighting your best features. The same smile from the night before is back on your face, even after several minutes of looking up at the stars and nothing else.

So, you were as star-obsessed as his creator. That must be why you were smiling so much last night, caught up in the rapture of the meteor shower. Only someone like that would enjoy his creator’s ramblings either, probably drawn together at that moment from sheer boredom. The knot unravels in his stomach, just a bit.

“Hello Caleb, I did not realize you’d be joining us.”

Caleb finds himself jolting, sitting up on his forearms as his creator creeps as silently as usual. His nose scrunches up, his eyes squinting. He’ll never get used to that. 

“I’m not joining you. Just wanted to lay in the garden for a while. I came here first.”

Caleb says, taking another defiant sip from his bottle. His creator, infuriatingly, shows no outward distaste. Instead he moves onto you, stepping right over Caleb’s outstretched legs.

“I see. That makes more sense.” His creator says, not even looking him in the eye. “He never was fond of stargazing, though I tried my best to teach him. Too obsessed with catching bugs to care for it.” He says entirely to you, in that tone fathers have when needling their children. It catches you off guard, a laugh caught by your open palm thrown across your mouth. 

If Caleb could still blush, he fears his cheek would be aflame. His fangs dig into the inside of cheek, his acrid blood mixing with the terrible wine. He jerks his head away, throwing himself back down to lay in the grass, unfortunately just like a child would. His creator just rolls his eyes, gesturing for you to stand and walk a couple paces over, to have some modicum of privacy.

Caleb fears at first that his creator’s greater perception would catch his frequent glances; That he’d call him out, embarrass him again. But to Caleb’s relief and great consternation, he seems far too wrapped up in you to make notice of his fledgeling. Your small talk is of the same drollness of last night, cooing over the heavens and exchanging stories, the kind that bore him to death. But you are enraptured, leaning into his creator’s every word, even excitedly grasping at his coat when a particularly joyant emotion crashes through you. His creator is just soaking it up. He lingers on every touch, takes in every detail and listens with a thoughtful look on his face. Caleb’s focused eyes catch the way his own drag across your neck when you point upward, how his hand moves from resting on your back to your shoulder to your neck, all in the guise of showing you something far away. 

You, oblivious as always, lavish in the attention like a blushing maiden. Far from the shy and proper touches you gave him on your wedding day, ever so polite even to your husband. Caleb hates the way it makes his unbeaten heart throb, makes his chest feel like lava as he sits in this feeling, unused to being on this side. 

But what sends Caleb over it is when you lock eyes with his creator. Still deep in a ramble about some story, your mouth moves a mile a minute, and Edric can’t take his eyes off it. It’s small, but Caleb sees his tongue dart out, wet his palette as he just stares at your plush lips.

Caleb stands up, making a huff and show of it to grab your attention.

“It’s late. I’m going to bed.” Caleb says, eyes focused on you instead of Edric.

“Oh.” you say, as if someone had just remarked on the weather. “I suppose it is. I should probably retire too.”

“Hmm.” His creator hums, a certain, cutting look in his gaze as he eyes Caleb up and down. “I as well.” He slowly turns back to you, “I had a great time, as always dear.” He bows.

“Me too.” You curtsy, that demure look back on your face. “Good night.” You say to both of them, but Caleb can tell you mostly mean it for Edric.

Your room lies on the opposite side of the estate, a tactical move to keep you as isolated as possible from him, another decision his creator had despised. It works to Caleb's advantage, as it means you give him and his creator ample time to talk.

Just as Edric turns to leave, Caleb strikes.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Edric stops in his tracks, that smirk returning to curl up one side of his mouth.

“Whatever do you mean, Caleb?”

“You know what I mean, old man.” Caleb spits the words, knowing they fall like cats claws against steel.

“I am playing my part.” Edric says, so obviously with fake ambivalence. “Since you see fit to do as you please, it is up to me to make our guest feel comfortable. I am only acting as any normal father-in-law would.”

“Bullshit.” Caleb takes satisfaction in the way Edric flinches, his disgust for foul language apparent. “No father-in-law dotes this much. Hell, fathers hardly dote this much.” Caleb takes a stride closer, emboldened by cornering his maker. “Seems much more than playing a part to me.”

Edric’s head turns as if on a slow swivel, his perfectly trimmed brow quirking upward.

“Not that you would know, but the girl actually makes quite good company, the first I’ve had in years.” Edric keeps his eyes on him now, unblinking and void-like. “It is not odd for me to seek out actually stimulating conversation, once in a while. I too have needs.”

Caleb laughs, hand thrown against his forehead.

“She’s my wife. Do you remember that?”

In an instant, all the low light of the garden is sucked out. His creator crosses the space between them in mere seconds. He looms over Caleb, a cruel smirk on his face, eyes filled with a simmering rage. The sheer effect of it has Caleb taking a step back, fear catching in his throat.

“Do not forget your place, boy. Do not forget that the privileges you enjoy were given by me.”

This close Caleb can see the dormant swirls of red in Edric’s eyes, the pools of dark burgundy just hidden in his black irises. Caleb forces himself to keep eye contact, even if his animal brain calls for him to flee.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, merely minutes or hours. When you’re undead, time feels weird that way. But Caleb is thankful for his lack of breath, the lack of ache in his muscles, because if not he is sure he would’ve collapsed by now. 

The Earl’s lips curl back up, all of Caleb’s posturing for not. He knows his son too well.

“Go finish your wine, child. It will not enjoy you neglecting it for so long. It can be quite a jealous lover.”

Just like that, the mask slips back on, the Earl stepping back and finally allowing Caleb to rest. Glass cracks in his palm. With a swivel of his coat, Edric leaves him, knowing he’s won.

Caleb waits until he’s gone to throw the bottle, savoring the way it shatters against the garden bench.

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror............Part XIV

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length)

Summary: With everything so precarious, Macrinus feels the tension in the palace. A sign from the gods steers him to the conclusion of this long, protracted series of events.

Warnings: violence, death, 18+ only.

Word Count: 4.2k

Part 14 of 15 (I'm sorry)

[ Part XIII ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: Okay, here it is. I did the best I could with the hole I'd written myself into. I hope you enjoy it. The end might feel final, but we still have another part after this where we get some more much-needed closure. Thank you for following me on this ride.

Geta reclined in his chair, watching the spectacle, isolated, all sound missing his ear. The food tasted like nothing, his head swam, the wine serving as his only comfort. Even Caracalla had retired early, clutching a plate of treats for Dondus. When his boredom grew to a suffocating level, he rose from his seat, coldly dismissing their guests. 

He could feel their stares, could still hear the mutterings in the arena that afternoon. 

A moment of weakness. One he would not suffer from again. He’d promised Macrinus as much. Which was why he’d sent him to retrieve his weakness so she could be dealt with once and for all. How he would do that, he had no clue.

Macrinus had appeared almost anxious after Caracalla’s man took Plautianus down. Flighty and on edge, he carried himself with less grace than usual. He openly watched the guards standing around the Emperors, keeping himself aware of where they were and when they came and went.

Geta was beginning to realize he’d killed an innocent man.

Before the grief of his stupidity could wash over him, the man himself reappeared, glancing around at the abandoned seats, servants already moving in to clear tables and any other flat surface used as one. He kept his commentary to himself and approached Geta.

“Geta, she is gone,” Macrinus spoke, true concern in his voice. It was the most agitated he had ever seen the man. 

“Gone? What do you mean, ‘gone’?” 

Macrinus grew uncharacteristically frustrated. “She was not in her cell. Viggo could not tell me what happened.”

“You seem to surround yourself with incompetence,” Geta commented, his wine dulling his desire to maintain a friendship with this man he no longer trusted.

Macrinus’s eyes flashed for a moment before he corrected himself. “They were given a delivery of wine, your majesty,” he explained. “From the Emperors. You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?”

Geta relished the way the man seemed to be coming apart at the seams, his perfectly tailored persona cracking just a bit under the pressure. 

“No, but I believe it is customary. To repay the effort spent in readying the prisoners.” Gets finished his glass, setting it down on the table. “Are your men looking for her?”

“As we speak,” Macrinus confirmed.

Geta wasn’t even particularly mad Letha might have escaped. If she meant what she said, was as good as Caracalla seemed to believe, she wouldn’t be returning to collect. She would disappear. He might never see her again. 

That was what bothered him. 

More than bothered him. Filled him with despair. Every second was another opportunity to wallow in that grief. Wine.

“Where is Emperor Caracalla?” Macrinus asked. 

Geta waved him off. “Probably with his concubines, having a much more entertaining evening than I. Besides, what does it matter?”

“If he sent the wine–”

“A customary gift,” Geta reminded him, growing irritated.

“I do believe it was hand-delivered, by that Praetorian always at your brother’s side.”

“Ancus?” Geta laughed. “Yes, well I will instruct that he stick even closer to my brother. No more excursions.”

“That is not what I–”

“Enough, Macrinus. I am tired. You ought to get some rest yourself, it’s been a long day.”

Geta stood and walked away through the eerily quiet hall, wondering if he’d live through the night. He would ask someone to fetch Tegula. He could sit in his study with his best men, to make sure no one got through to his bedchamber.

As he entered his chambers, stripped the day from his skin, and sank into his bed, he realized just how much he missed Letha. He missed the hope she brought him. The possibility of a life steeped in warmth and love. But it had been ripped away just as quickly as it had taken root, and the agony of that still consumed his waking thoughts.

Maybe she escaped the city. He tried to imagine where she might go, with nothing to her name and no family that he knew of left to find. He could picture her so vividly, cycling through the innumerable times he looked at her long enough to memorize the expression on her face. 

She had so willingly accepted her fate, resigned herself to death. It was him that put her in that position in the first place. Her death would surely have shattered what bit of his sanity remained. He did not think of consequence when he ordered the fight to end. He could feel his blood racing through his ears, could hear each beat. It was what she was owed. A life for a life. He hoped she would use it well.

He fell asleep clutching a pillow that still bore some scent of the oil she’d brushed through her hair. Jasmine.

Macrinus paced. And paced. And paced. He could see the hallway that led to the Emperors’ rooms. What he was waiting for, he hated putting words to. To have to admit it, even if only to himself, it was just another indignance dealt by Letha. One he would rise above, once he worked up the nerve.

He was suffering her loss. For all his threatening and scheming, he realized quite quickly he wasn’t cut out for this direct involvement. He needed a new agent, but lacked the connections while stuck inside the palace. He felt the Praetorians watching his every step, could feel the heavy scrutiny from Caracalla at every mealtime. 

It shouldn’t be so difficult, he agonized. If Letha could do it, so can I. 

With renewed purpose, Macrinus strode down the hall, thinking of what he could say if caught. Before he got more than a few steps down the hall, one of the doors opened. He tucked himself behind a column, beside a bust of Caracalla. He peered around the edge of the column and watched.

Someone wearing an elaborate cloak, complete with a hood, stepped out into the hallway, followed by a guard.

Ancus.

“You ought to stay here,” the figure spoke. Her voice was low, hardly a whisper. “I know where it is.”

“You will need someone to check if anyone is there,” Ancus retorted, concerned.

“You said he is sleeping, yes?” she questioned, glancing down the hallway. She turned, about to look in Macrinus’s direction. He tucked himself flush with the wall, out of sight. He could only listen now.

“Yes,” Ancus confirmed. “Tegula is watching over him.”

“Then I will be only a moment. Do not leave Caracalla unattended with that snake about.”

Macrinus’s blood ran cold. 

Letha.

By the time he could hear footsteps retreating, she had already turned the corner, heading deeper into the Emperors’ wing of the palace.

Letha was in the palace. Kept hidden by Caracalla. And Geta didn’t know.

Macrinus felt a weightlessness settle just above his shoulders. Fresh, delicious surprise and hope sprang forth. He hardly resisted the urge to laugh at this fortuitous turn of events. The gods smiled on him in his hour of need.

As he strode away to his chambers, he was already putting together ideas.

Yesterday Morning

“I think I like this one best,” Caracalla commented. He turned to Ancus. “Ancus, what do you think?”

The guard raised his eyebrows, looking over the tunic his emperor held up. “I-I do think it brings out your eyes, Imperator.”

That drew a smile from the smaller twin, and he stared down at the garment. After a moment of thought, Caracalla approached the servant, holding the outfit out for them to take so he could be dressed in it.

“Do I have your loyalty, Ancus?” Caracalla called out. 

Ancus turned his back to his Emperor, pulling at some of his armor. “Of course, Emperor.”

“You will not speak of this to anyone, even Tegula? Or my brother?”

Ancus glanced over his shoulder, concerned, but he didn’t let his eyes focus on anything in particular. “If you will it.”

“Leave us,” Caracalla muttered. 

Ancus waited until the servant left the room to turn and set eyes upon his Emperor. The color did brighten his eyes.

“I intend to save my brother from himself,” Caracalla explained.

“How?”

Caracalla approached a small table. He opened a drawer and produced a linen-wrapped object, setting it in Ancus’s larger hands. 

“We start with this.”

As Ancus realized the genius of Caracalla, he couldn’t help his smile.

“You will help me, Ancus?”

“With anything.”

Later that day

“Letha?” The voice was soft, uncertain. 

She looked up, more than a little shocked to make out the form of Caracalla standing outside the cell in the dark, Ancus dutifully holding a torch up behind him. 

“Caracalla?”

He approached, clinging to the bars of the cell, his jewelry clinking against the rusted metal. “How is your arm?”

She didn’t spare it a glance. “What are you doing here? Where is–”

“My brother is not well.”

Her fear returned, quick as lightning. “What’s happened? Did Macrinus–”

“He’s heartbroken,” Caracalla interrupted. “You, that’s what happened,” he frowned. 

Letha moved to Caracalla, her dirty hands covering his on the bars. He didn’t draw back. “Tell him I’m sorry,” she pleaded. 

“Would you have done it?” Caracalla asked. “Really?”

She shook her head. “No. I… I couldn’t have.”

“And it wasn’t Thraex’s doing, was it?” 

She frowned. “No.” He didn’t seem to need to be told who was truly responsible.

He studied her in the torchlight, mulling things over. Finally, he pulled his hands out from under hers, taking a step back away from the door, closer to Ancus. 

“I’m an Emperor too,” he announced, “and I require your presence. Your sentence is vacated by the order of Marcus Aurelius Severus Antoninus Augustus. The door, Ancus,” Caracalla ordered, beaming. 

Ancus stepped forward, a slight smile tugging at his lips at Caracalla’s display.

Letha released the metal, stepping back away from the door, uncertainty swimming in her gut. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as Ancus unlocked the cell door, pulling it open, leaving it open for her to step out of, free.

“Come back with us. You can stay in my rooms until my brother is less… volatile.”

“He’s angry?” she asked, thinking back to the way he’d looked at her with blazing eyes. Should she be fearful?

“He can’t get over your betrayal, Letha,” Caracalla sighed. “He’s lost a bit of himself. It’s a bit ironic, right? Me trying to look after him?” He let the question hang in the air, but he didn’t need an answer from her, just giggling to himself. “Let’s go. Dondus will be delighted to see you.”

Letha felt touched by Caracalla’s faith in her as he grabbed her hand, tugging her along beside him as he left the cavernous depths where she’d been kept, Ancus following behind.

The next morning, Geta didn’t want to leave his bed. It was an ordeal for his servants to get him up and dressed. There were still more games to attend, more people to meet, and dinner parties to host. He didn’t understand how he was expected to return to the normalcy of their life with all of it so fresh.

His thoughts drifted to Letha. The one stolen night. The happiest he’d been in years. He could pretend she waited for him in his rooms to get him through the day. As he sat and forced food and drink down his throat at Caracalla’s nagging, as he watched men fight for glory in the arena, as if he hadn’t just seen his love almost meet her end in the exact same spot. And even now, guests dwindling, as he was forced to paste on a smile with some of the senators, the play-by-play of the day’s fight boring him nearly to tears, he thought of Letha.

“Excuse me,” Geta muttered, abandoning the glass in his hand on the nearest table before heading to his rooms for a moment of peace.

As he passed Caracalla’s door, he heard a laugh that stopped him dead in his tracks. In a split second he was back in the box, the first day of the games. His eyes lifted just the same, but a door was all that greeted him. Before he could convince himself his sanity was slipping, he knocked loudly.

A few seconds passed, long ones. Geta heard rustling, but not much else.

“Yes?” It was Ancus.

“Can I come in to speak with my brother?” Geta asked, his stomach in knots.

After a moment the door was opened, and Caracalla stepped out, the shreds of a smile still on his face and in his eyes. “Yes, brother?”

“You have guests?” Geta questioned, his voice strained from lack of use and the nerves burning his throat.

Caracalla stared at him before falling into one of his usual giggles. “Just, you know, my usual attendants.”

“I heard a woman’s laughter,” Geta accused. 

A flicker of concern was overridden by sympathy. “Hearing ghosts, brother?”

Geta scowled, waving off his brother’s concern. “Nevermind.”

“Are you alright?” Caracalla asked, a hand on his brother’s arm.

“Just perfect,” Geta ground out before turning and heading back to the party. There wouldn’t be enough wine to get him to forget this.

Macrinus watched Geta return to the party, his troubled state much more obvious. As he downed a glass of wine and requested another, Macrinus knew this was his opportunity.

“That was close,” Caracalla sighed, looking up to where Letha was currently stepping out from behind a large curtain panel, her face drawn. “He was so sure it was you.”

“How do you know?” she asked.

“It was in his eyes.”

Letha nodded, sitting on the edge of Caracalla’s unmade bed. “Is it still too soon to tell him?”

“While Macrinus still stays here you are in too much danger,” Ancus spoke up, scratching at his jaw. “He’s supposed to leave once the games are over.”

Letha thought it was amusing how Caracalla and the Praetorian he’d dismissed so readily had truly bonded. There was a glimmer in the Emperor’s eyes as he looked up at his guard. It relieved her to see him happy like this. And Letha did not miss the flush that filled the cheeks of the man anytime Caracalla paid him specific attention.

Oh, Ancus.

The Emperors truly were magnetic.

A small part of Letha wanted to ignore their advice and storm out of Caracalla’s rooms in search of his brother, but she understood their hesitance. And she truly believed her reappearance would not be met with joy. She wasn’t sure she wanted to feel that agony so soon. 

“Well, I need to go out and show my face some more, but we’ll be back in a bit. Keep Dondus company for me.”

“I will, Caracalla,” Letha promised, looking down at the small monkey pulling at her dress. “We’ll have our own party, right Dondus?” She got a squeak in return as he climbed to her shoulder.

Geta walked further into the gardens, another night coming to a close, the day weathered by some miracle. He wasn’t drunk, just comfortable, warm. He could allow himself this, now that their guests were gone. His feet led him, no destination in mind. Still, tragically, that jasmine-smothered statue came into view and he took another long sip of his wine to try to swallow down the confusing slurry of emotions.

He found himself leaned back against it once again, trying to remember, wishing he could have done something to help her. If she’d just trusted him enough to tell him, he would have protected her. He would have shielded her from Macrinus, he wouldn’t have told another soul, his selfishness overriding duty. 

He pressed his own palm to his chest, over his heart, his eyes closing to avoid the welling of emotion, the pressure behind his eyes, the knot in his throat.

“Brother?”

Geta stood up straight, shaking off his melancholy. “‘Calla?” He spotted his brother as he walked over, saw Ancus lingering by the stairs, a good distance away.

“You look sad.”

Geta scoffed. That wasn’t the half of it. “It’s fine.”

“You haven’t been yourself lately.” 

It irked Geta that he wasn’t allowed to feel the wealth of emotions in his chest without someone having something to say about it. Everyone else was allowed their moods and frustration, but if he felt something so strongly… He felt like he wasn’t being allowed to mourn. Because that’s what it was, mourning.

“Emperors, how fortuitous,” Macrinus spoke, disrupting the calm that the gardens granted. 

Caracalla made no effort to mask the shift in his expression, annoyance obvious.

Geta stepped away from the statue, gesturing to Macrinus with his cup. “Something you need?” 

“Oh, no,” Macrinus smiled, a return to form after stumbling through the last couple of days. “I just wanted to thank you both for your hospitality.”

Geta watched him, the relaxed lilt to his voice concerning.

Caracalla groaned in frustration. “Yes, yes,” he muttered. 

The impolite response didn’t deter Macrinus, not for a moment. Geta should have known then that whatever he was about to say stood to derail the entire day. But he didn’t, instead shooting his brother a scolding look.

“I have not had the opportunity to meet your other guest. She seems to avoid parties, meals, games…”

“We have no other guest, Macrinus,” Geta explained, quite confused. He looked to Caracalla, surprised to see him clammed up. “Brother?”

“Should someone go fetch her?” Macrinus suggested, eyes fixed to Geta. 

“No,” Caracalla insisted. 

Geta looked to his brother, concern growing. “What did you do?”

Caracalla’s frustration grew under the intense scrutiny. “Neither of you can be trusted with her!”

Geta felt overwhelmed. There was no way. “You lied to me?” he questioned, feeling faint. 

“You are not in your right mind,” Caracalla accused.

“So it is I who cannot be trusted?” He couldn’t help his frustration.

“For all we knew, you would kill her!”

The glass collided with the stone, shattering. Geta still spoke, though Caracalla paid him no attention, his eyes glued to the shards littering the grass. “You know nothing.”

At the commotion, Ancus approached, a protective hand pressed to Caracalla’s shoulder as he took in Geta’s affected state. 

“Ah, here she is. The search is over, your majesties. Here is your traitor.”

Geta’s heart stopped. He felt each agonizing second it took for him to turn, to see Letha being led into the gardens, Macrinus’s man keeping a tight grip on her arms. The sight drove a spike of anxiety into his chest. 

Letha didn’t struggle, she kept her eyes trained on Macrinus, wondering what was coming next. 

“What a reunion,” Macrinus chuckled, rubbing his hands together. “Didn’t you have some justice to dole out, Geta?” At that, Macrinus approached Letha. A sword was produced, and Macrinus held it to her throat. “How did you put it? A weakness, to be dealt with once and for all?”

Letha’s eyes met his, and Geta felt tears coming as he took in her fearful expression, the cut across her cheek, the bruising.

“Stop,” he ordered, approaching them, his hand held out for the sword.

Macrinus leveled the sword at Geta, the flat of the blade smacking his open palm. “I don’t think so.” 

Geta recoiled, withdrawing his hand. 

“I didn’t expect this,” he admitted, gesturing between Geta and Letha. “I should have, and I have paid for that mistake, but I will not make it again.”

Geta bit back his protest as Macrinus reached over, his hand squeezing Letha’s bandaged shoulder tightly enough to bruise. The cry she let out wounded him.

“I should thank you, Caracalla,” Macrinus smiled. “Up until last night, I was so sure I’d wake up in a cell myself. But the gods have other plans for me. They sent me this solution as a sign of their unwavering support. It could not be anything else.”

“The gods do not care for you,” Letha spat. She struggled beneath Macrinus’s grip, trying to wriggle her shoulder free. 

Viggo renewed his grip on her wrists, scowling at her, as Macrinus brought the sword back to her neck, a warning. She stilled.

“Ancus,” Caracalla muttered, his voice betraying his fear. 

Geta felt trapped. They were all in danger, all caught off guard.

“I will tell you of my plan,” Macrinus grinned. “It’s too good not to share it. While not perfect, I do believe it is the best anyone could do in these circumstances.” He let the blade leave Letha’s neck, pacing leisurely before them. “It would seem that Letha here, having escaped, decided she would come back and finish the job,” Macrinus gestured to her with the sword tip. “Finding the two of you here in the gardens, after felling him, of course,” he gestured to Ancus, “she made quick work of you. And I, hearing the commotion as I just so happened to be passing by, came upon this grizzly scene. Fortunately for you both, I was able to avenge you. And with your last, gasping breath, you named me your successor,” he spoke, moving the sword over to press against Geta’s neck. “Go on, say it.”

Geta said nothing.

Macrinus’s grin grew, the sword pressing closer to where his neck met his shoulder, the razor sharp bite of it beginning to draw blood. Letha let out a cry, struggling with Viggo. 

As Macrinus turned to ridicule Viggo, a jovial jab that he seemed to be having trouble restraining a woman, a hand gripped Macrinus’s wrist, pushing the sword away from Geta’s neck. 

Macrinus whipped his head around, eyes falling to Ancus, indignation settling in on his face for only a moment before a dagger pushed through the ornate white robes he wore, sinking into his stomach, pushing the breath from his lungs. Geta’s eyes fell to the hands wrapped around the hilt, seeing his brother’s ornamental jewelry.

Geta was pushed back as Ancus stepped in to shield Caracalla, ripping the sword from Macrinus’s hands.

Still partially frozen, Geta looked over to where Letha was, or had been. His feet moved him before his brain could formulate a plan.

Letha was on the ground, struggling against Viggo, the base of her palm pushing at his chin, her other hand trying to pull his hands away from her throat. He seemed to have the strength of ten men, knowing death awaited.

Her throat burned, the pressure in her head from the buildup of blood, her circulation cut off, overwhelming. Spots filled her vision, and she wondered if this would be it, finally. She should’ve been happy, she got all her wishes. Macrinus dead, or in the process of dying, and she got to see Geta one last time. It was all she had asked for. But the desire to remain, to live, breathed life back into her muscles.

Letha abandoned her efforts to claw his hands away, instead opting to make a firm fist and punch as hard as she could into his groin. Viggo let out a choked gasp, one of his hands moving down to shield himself from further attacks, a reflex. The vice around her throat lessened and she could get some air. As Letha was able to suck in a halfway decent breath, Viggo was ripped off of her.

The unnerving sound of a fist meeting Viggo’s face filled the normally tranquil gardens. Letha sat up, surprised to see Geta leaned over her attacker, one of his knees pressing hard into Viggo’s stomach, a hand gripping his clothes while the other repeatedly punched his now-bloody face, rings and all. 

Letha tamped down the satisfaction she felt, calling it relief, and moved over to Geta. She pulled at his shoulders, trying to get him to stop, telling him it was enough. He didn’t listen at first, but she pressed herself to his back, pulled his arm to her, her hand wrapping around his wrist. 

“It’s done,” she soothed, inspecting his hand, seeing the bite of his rings in his own skin. It would need the attention of a healer and it would surely be swollen purple in the morning.

“Letha,” he whispered, his eyes closed as he turned his head, pressing his forehead to hers. 

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, her throat still quite tender. 

“Mmmh, no,” he managed, shaking his head. 

“Emperors?” 

Praetorians were upon them, forcing everyone apart, taking stock of the damage done to their rulers, if any. Letha stayed sitting on the ground beside Viggo, not sure what might happen next. 

Before long, Tegula himself appeared, speaking with the twins, and then Ancus, who delivered a succinct version of events that included a charitable explanation that Macrinus had masterminded the entire thing, even down to Letha’s inclusion, implying that she was innocent after all. 

She didn’t dare correct him, her eyes fixed on Geta where he stood. His knuckles were stripped of his rings, the healer dabbing at the small cuts. Geta winced each time, eyes falling to his injured hand for a moment before he continued watching Ancus recap their evening, as if surprised by it.

Caracalla stood beside Ancus, quite close, certainly closer than an Emperor would be to his guard, rubbing his fingers together, staring down at the blood on them with soft fascination in his eyes, his other hand still clutching the dagger. Plain, military issued, it looked like. 

Letha was brought to her feet as someone inspected her neck, commenting on the redness around her throat. Geta looked over, the people and the circumstances creating a great gulf between them that he couldn’t yet ford. There would be business to attend to before she would get her chance to speak to him again. 

It gave her something to look forward to. 

[ Part XV ] coming soon

[partially-controlled-chaos]

Snippet Sunday

Still plagued by the Lucanis brainworm and it's angsty this time. I'm absolutely obsessed with his line of "I thought I lost you. All I had left was the fight." So, because we're not given a canon sequence of events that eventually got Rook out of the Fade prison, I've got my own little take on it. Angsty Lucanis completely shutting down and focusing on murder while Rook is gone. This isn't edited and may change as I write more for it, but this is what I've worked up so far. This is a Lucanis and f!Rook piece, but there's nothing descriptive about the Rook other than being female. So origin and appearance are a complete blank slate.

The knife sliced through the throat of a Venatori mage cleanly, the fresh wound spurting blood as the body hit the ground with a muffled thump. The magic the mage had begun to cast fizzled and died with the host, the residual magic lingering in the air made Lucanis’s eyes burn and itch. He ignored the feeling as he wiped his blade clean on Venatori robes, inspecting the sharpness with a quick glance before sheathing it back in the holster strapped to his hip. The soles of his boots squelched against the various pools of blood that had begun to mix with mud as he stepped over body after body, each step heavy and purposeful. 

He was quickly slicing his way through the remnants of Venatori soldiers that lingered in Arlathan Forest after so many had been sacrificed for Elgar’nan’s archdemon, not that he minded. The only good Venatori was a dead one and he had plenty of knives and revenge to go around. No blood mage would leave this forest alive as long as he still could take a breath and the promise of watching each members of this demented cult gasp and die by his blade was the only thing that kept him going lately. The toe of his boot had just touched the first stone step in a winding staircase when he heard a small sound caught his attention. 

Lucanis stopped as he heard the gurgle of another Venatori, eyes glancing the field as he searched for the soon to be corpse. He quickly spotted the dying man clutching at patches of grass in an attempt to escape, slowly crawling towards a discarded mage staff. His fingers wrapped around the hilt of his blade as he stomped towards the dying mage, preparing to drive the dangerously sharp blade through the base of his skull when an arrow zipped through the air from the direction he was heading. The arrow struck the Venatori in the temple, quickly ending his struggling as he died with a sigh.

“Not fair!” Spite’s voice mixed with Lucanis’s in an irritated snarl, “Took. Our. Kill!”

“Sorry, Lucanis!” Bellara shouted as she jogged across the battle field to join him, also stepping over fallen bodies, “I didn’t know you were going for him. You know, you don’t have to kill them all. Everyone here is also capable.” She gave him a sympathetic smile, but was only met with a cold, emotionless glance.

“It’s my job.” Lucanis said cooly, clicking the knife back into place. 

“O-oh, right.” Bellara stuttered as her smile broke, “Master assassin, of course.” 

Lucanis stood in silence next to Bellara as she pulled the arrow from the corpse, slinging the blood from the tip before dismissing the weapon with a wave of her hand. Both bow and arrow disappeared in a shimmer of magic, further irritating the sensation that never seemed to leave the backside his eyes. He screwed his eyes shut and pressed against his eyelids firmly with his forefinger and thumb, hoping the bit of pressure would be enough to alleviate the discomfort until he could return to the Lighthouse.

“You should get back to Emmrich.” He said while pinching the bridge of his nose, “Don’t worry about me.”

“He’s just up ahead,” Bellara said softly, “but we shouldn’t get separated. We can’t afford to lose anyone else.” He bit back the urge to argue with her. Instead, he gave a curt nod and extended his hands towards the stone staircase, ushering her to lead the way to the necromancer. 

Bellara took the lead with quick steps, her hands folded neatly in front of her as she marched her way up the stairs. Lucanis followed begrudgingly, not ready to face the false sense of hope they desperately clung to. Although he hated to admit it, Bellara was right. The team had already far too many members already and he couldn’t shake the guilt that ate away at his heart each night. 

Harding was dead; pierced and impaled on the disgustingly blighted tentacles of Ghilan’nain and thrown into an oozing, pulsating pile of blight because he’d tried to strike against the god too soon. Neve was gone and more than likely dead at this point. She’d been snatched by Elgar’nan weeks ago in an attempt to break down blood magic wards. He should have sensed the trap. He should have been able to save her. Lucanis shook his head at the thought. He couldn’t afford anymore mistakes. He couldn’t allow his emotions to get in the way of completing the contract.

Think nothing. Feel nothing.

“It’ll work this time, Lucanis.” Bellara said once she reached the halfway point of the staircase, her voice breaking though his brooding, “It has to work.”

“Bellara.” He said sharply, not wanting to hear yet another attempt at an uplifting speech.

“You just have to keep the faith.” Bellara ignored his warning and continued anyway, although he had a feeling it was more for her sake than his, “Have faith that this time we’ve found the right route. Faith that the dagger will work and not just fizzle a little bit like the last time and that we can pierce the Veil just enough and in the right spot and at the right time and that we’ll find Ro-” She was rambling. She was always rambling.

“Bellara!” Lucanis shouted, stopping in place on the steps and forcing his eyes closed at the surge of emotion, “…Please.” The last word came out as a broken whisper, his voice threatening to break and crack at the simple mention of that name. Her name. Bellara stopped as well, taking a step or two down until she was close enough to reach. She placed a single hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“I know it’s hard, Lucanis, but you can’t give up hope.” Her voice was strained as if she was holding back tears of her own, “We’ll find her. We’ll find Rook.” He took a deep inhale through his nose, holding his breath for a long while before finally releasing.

“Emmrich,” he said after taking a moment, “we need to get to Emmrich.”

[willowcried]

i'm a huge dianna agron + quinn fabray lover so ofc i'll indulge you :3

was thinking about your vampire!quinn post. vampire!quinn and then vampire!skank!quinn UGH. has you straddling her in the backseat, her bedroom, hell, maybe she's got you against the wall of the bathroom, whatever. nails leaving white streaks on your hips, sucking hickies into your throat, not giving a shit whatever bullshit excuse you'll feed to your boyfriend later even though you both know her strap is better than his small dick'll ever be. being careful with fangs at first, but then you bite at your lip and draw blood and quinn just can't help it anymore.

she's only fed from you on a few occasions before this, maybe never if you're into the 'you taste divine addicted to your blood' thing. eyes rolling into the back of her head when she cums hard, you following shortly after from the pain and pleasure. whining and pushing at her weakly when she starts rutting up into you again, begging her to slow down, but oh, just take it baby.

this was a little filthly but! :3

— 🪽

"mm, baby, you smell so fucking good," she purrs against your throat, tongue flicking over a fresh bruise she just had to leave there. like a brand.

your fingers curl in her hair, tugging, but she just chuckles, gripping your hips tighter. you can feel the sharp press of her rings against your skin, the lazy drag of her nails over your thighs, up, up—

her hands are everywhere—trailing up your spine, gripping your thighs, pinning you in place. she noses against your jaw, lips dragging over your pulse, and god—you can feel her fangs, just barely grazing.

"let me bite you," she whispers, more plea than demand.

like you were ever gonna say no.

oh, she's had you before. a few times, here and there—just a taste, just enough to leave you lightheaded and gasping, clutching at her as she soothed over the marks with that cool, perfect tongue of hers. and she swore, swore every time, that she'd be careful. that she'd take care of you.

but then you had to go and bleed for her.

you had to bite your lip—just hard enough to break the skin. just enough for her to smell. and now she's shaking with the effort of holding back, nostrils flaring as she grips your hips hard enough to bruise.

but can you blame yourself? her shaft moves so deliciously inside you, every slow roll of her hips making your breath stutter. you just didn't want everyone outside your room to hear how good she was stretching you out. you bit down to keep quiet.

"please. let me." she whines against your neck.

and fuck—quinn begging?

you tilt your head, just enough for her to press a kiss against your throat. just enough to tell her "fine. fuck. do it."

your gasp is sharp, swallowed up by quinn's palm over your lips. the sting is brief—just a second of discomfort before something deeper takes over, something molten and dizzying that spreads from the bite like wildfire through your veins.

and she groans when she tastes you, a sound so needy, so starved, that it makes your head spin worse than the blood loss usually does after a while. you know what you're doing is forbidden, that your mind flashes with the reminder of him—your boyfriend, who's always been there, always so good—but in that raw moment, as her fangs graze your skin and her lips claim you with desperate intensity, all you do is move your hips, meeting hers. it’s sticky, wet, and they clap together.

you can't see, but by the guttural sound she lets out when you do, her eyes roll to the back of her head. her grip tightens—fingers digging in, pulling you closer, making sure there's no space between you, no room for second thoughts. her other hand presses harder over your mouth, smothering the little noises escaping you.

she moans low when she becomes rougher, her legs trembling, her hips twitching in wild, desperate spasms before she finally stops with one last deep thrust. the adrenaline of cumming inside you makes her instincts go crazy—her fangs sinking impossibly deeper into your neck, sending a sharp, searing jolt through you. it’s what tips you over the edge, the pain making you cum.

with a slow, almost tender motion, she pulls her fangs out—careful not to hurt you as the intensity threatens to overwhelm both of you. her mouth drips with your blood, and hell, what a sight.

you can’t help yourself—you lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss that tastes of your own mingled desire, the heady tang of blood and sweat binding you together.

"freak," she whispers with a mocking tone, her lips brushing against yours—like the action alone didn’t make her horny again. like she isn’t about to fuck you again.

[growthgoddess]

The luxury mall in downtown Shenzhen gleamed under bright, artificial lights, its towering glass walls reflecting the city’s nightlife. Inside, crowds bustled through designer boutiques, food courts, and high-end restaurants—oblivious to what was about to happen.

Sophia Chen strode through the polished marble floors, her black stilettos clicking rhythmically. She looked stunning, dressed in a form-fitting red mini dress that hugged what little curves she had.

She had always been small.

Overlooked.

Never the woman who turned heads when she entered a room.

She wanted more.

No—she needed more.

A slow smile played on her lips as she reached into her clutch, pulling out a small shimmering vial. The old man who had sold it to her warned her—one sip, and her body would never stop growing.

"Perfect."

She tipped the liquid back.

The warmth hit instantly.

Her breath hitched as the heat spread through her limbs, her spine, her skin.

Her dress pulled tighter around her body.

Her heels dug into the floor as her legs stretched subtly longer.

A soft moan escaped her lips as a deep, pleasurable pressure built inside her.

She was growing.

Shoppers brushed past her, oblivious, as her hips widened, her ass filling out, pressing against the tight fabric of her dress.

She bit her lip, running her hands down her lengthening thighs, feeling them grow thicker, stronger.

"I think I should be... 6 feet tall now...!"

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, arching her back as her chest rose higher, her breasts swelling against the straining neckline of her dress.

The designer boutique ahead of her had floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

She grinned, watching herself change.

Her B-cups rounded into full Cs, then perky Ds, pressing tight against the fabric.

Her nipples stiffened, visible through the stretched material.

“Ohhh, I look so much better like this…” she purred, cupping her growing tits, squeezing them together.

The first rip came from her dress.

She laughed, running her fingers over the tearing seams, loving the sensation of fabric failing to contain her.

A security guard finally noticed her—his eyes wide with shock.

“Miss—you—are you alright?”

Sophia threw her head back, she can't be stopped now. Moaning as her body surged upward.

8 feet.

Then 10.

The ceiling seemed closer now.

Shoppers finally noticed, their eyes following the towering woman as she stretched taller, foot by foot.

Her dress snapped at the seams, her massive, soft tits bouncing free.

She cupped them, rolling her shoulders, letting them jiggle in her hands.

“Ohhh, I love this…!!!”

The food court erupted in chaos as people screamed, dropping their trays, sprinting toward the exits.

Sophia staggered slightly, her legs stretching even longer, her ass swelling out behind her.

15 feet.

Her hips slammed into a pillar, cracking the marble.

She smirked, turning to the storefront beside her, pressing her massive tits against the glass.

The window display mannequins toppled, crushed under the sheer soft weight of her growing curves.

A manager inside the store screamed.

“Ohhh, I love being too big for anyone and anything …”

She arched her back, stretching taller again, her hips widening, smashing through another row of storefronts.

20 feet.

She ducked as her head hit the ceiling, her shoulders pressing against the metal framework which bent from her sheer strength.

Then—BOOM.

She burst through it, her massive body tearing through the upper floors.

Entire clothing racks rained down from above.

Sophia moaned, running her hands over her expanding thighs, loving how effortlessly her body shattered through the structure.

30 feet.

Her bare tits crashed through the beauty section on the second floor, knocking over shelves of perfume and cosmetics.

With another surge, her hips crushed through the escalators, trapping people as they scrambled to escape.

“Ooops~,”

She teased, giggling as she stretched her long legs, her ass smashing through more of the building’s structure.

Another BOOM.

Her head burst through the ceiling again, smashing through yet another floor.

The entire mall trembled, support beams groaning under her weight.

Security had completely given up, running for the exits, abandoning the crowds.

Sophia moaned loudly, her body still stretching taller, her hips breaking through even more floors.

50 feet.

Her huge ass flattened the luxury boutiques, her tits wobbling violently as she burst through the final floors.

Then—

BOOOOOOOM.

She exploded through the rooftop, standing in the open air.

The entire building trembled beneath her, conforming to her strength.

Sophia gazed down at the city, rolling her shoulders, adjusting to her new size.

The mall she had outgrown barely reached her thighs.

She bit her lip, pressing her massive bare tits together, feeling their sheer, unstoppable size.

“Ohhh, Shenzhen looks so tiny now…”

She took a step—

And her massive foot crushed the streets, shaking the city.

She could feel her body still growing, her massive hips knocking over buildings as she stretched taller.

Two military helicopters swooped in, their spotlight blinding her.

She grinned, licking her lips.

"Trying to stop me?"

With a single step, she swung her huge, thick thighs forward—

And CRUSHED an entire skyscraper between them.

She moaned, throwing her head back in pleasure, her massive tits bouncing wildly.

“Ohhh, I think you're too late! I’m too big to stop now…”

And she was still getting bigger.

[eyepatchdate]

i would accept the joker if like, the brainiac brainwashing unlocked the joker locked in batman's mind though. a jokerfied batman is right there. then you don't even have to kill him. that'd be a blast.

[forcedhesitation]

why should it just be steve who has all the torturous purgatory realm fun?

[riddleriddles]

ಇ do i wanna know, hozier cover.

pairing. mattheo riddle x hufflepuff!quiet!reader

summary. sometimes, pansy knows exactly how to bring couples together. when mattheo, known for his grumpy mood, finds himself growing closer to a quiet, introspective girl, he must come to terms with feelings he never expected to have.

warnings. a bit of suggestive scene, but nothing explicit

add notes. I feel like my dialogues would never be said in real life.

visit my masterlist :)

ಇ

It was Pansy Parkinson’s birthday. The Parkinson Manor was a spectacle—a grand, ancient, and imposing structure, surrounded by meticulously tended trees. Its tall stone towers stood in stark contrast to the ethereal silver of the moon on that autumnal night, while the crisp air carried the fresh, melancholy scent of fallen leaves. The entrance hall sparkled with the glow of greenish lights that reflected off the polished marble floor. Music flowed through the vast corridors of the manor, mingling with the voices and laughter of the guests. Pansy never did anything halfway, and her seventeenth birthday party was no exception.

The main hall was teeming with Hogwarts students, predominantly Slytherins, although a few figures from other houses stood out, strategically placed. Groups gathered around enchanted tables laden with exquisite appetisers, while others chatted or danced in the centre of the hall beneath the enchanting glow of chandeliers and floating magical candles.

Mattheo Riddle leaned against a wall near the fireplace. His spot had been carefully chosen, allowing him to observe the entire room without drawing attention to himself. A glass of some drink—nearly forgotten in his hand—served more as a distraction than a necessity. His eyes scanned the scene with the detached air of someone watching a mediocre play, clearly indifferent to the excitement around him. He despised parties, but Pansy had been emphatic: “If you don’t show up, I’ll never invite you to anything again, and you’ll have to live with that.”

And so, here he was, enduring the loud music, empty chatter, and the unbearable feeling of being out of place.

The room buzzed with familiar faces: Blaise was chatting with Daphne near the makeshift bar, Draco was laughing at something Theodore had said in a secluded corner, and at the centre of it all, Pansy shone like a star, greeting her guests with a smile that was as rehearsed as it was charming.

Mattheo let out a deep sigh, raising the glass to his lips and sipping half-heartedly, merely to occupy himself. His thoughts drifted to the garden, which promised a quiet, solitary escape—perfect for smoking a cigarette far from the noise and frivolity of the hall.

You entered the party hesitantly, your measured steps and reserved posture betraying your unease. Your eyes scanned the room cautiously, taking in every detail before allowing yourself to fully step in. You clutched a small, delicately wrapped gift in your hands, your arms tucked close to your body as if forming a barrier against the chaos around you.

This wasn’t your kind of place—not in a bad way, just different from what you were used to. Your hair, styled in a carefully crafted half-updo, fell in soft waves over your shoulders, catching the golden light of the chandeliers and the greenish glow of the magical candles scattered around the room. Your pastel yellow dress, a nod to your Hufflepuff identity, was graceful and perfectly suited to the occasion, modest yet elegant without being over the top.

Stepping inside, you carefully shut the door behind you with a soft thud, masked by the music filling the air. You looked around attentively, moving with the grace of someone trying to avoid drawing attention. Your eyes landed on Pansy, who, upon noticing your arrival, quickly made her way over, a radiant smile lighting up her face.

“I’m so glad you came! I’ve been waiting for you,” Pansy exclaimed excitedly, and you smiled shyly, offering her the neatly wrapped gift. She took it with equal enthusiasm and, without missing a beat, guided you with a gentle touch on your arm, introducing you to her closest friends, most of whom you didn’t know—predominantly Slytherins. To anyone watching from afar, you might have seemed out of place, but you nodded politely, feeling quietly pleased to be surrounded by the friends of your close companion.

You tried to adjust to the atmosphere. The party was loud and full of people, but you knew this was exactly the kind of event Pansy loved, and it had been hard to turn down her insistence—especially on such an important occasion as her seventeenth birthday. What you hadn’t anticipated, however, was the intensity of it all: the loud laughter, the conversations about topics you barely understood or didn’t care about, and the overwhelmingly high volume of the music.

“Relax,” Pansy whispered in your ear, giving your shoulder a light squeeze as she noticed your discomfort. “You’re going to have fun, I promise.”

Her words carried a hint of something unspoken, though you didn’t catch it immediately. She continued introducing you to her friends, eventually steering you toward a more secluded corner near the fireplace, where Mattheo Riddle stood leaning against the wall, his expression bored, as though he were merely fulfilling an obligation. Holding a half-filled glass in one hand, his grey eyes scanned the room with disinterest.

“Mattheo!” Pansy’s voice interrupted his reverie, casual but still confident. “I want you to meet someone. This is my friend [Name]. [Name], this is Mattheo.”

Pansy smiled, looking far too pleased with the situation. “I’m sure you two will get along wonderfully!”

“Uh… hi,” you said softly, offering a timid smile as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, revealing a delicate gold moon-shaped earring that Mattheo noticed with mild indifference.

“Hi,” he replied curtly, his tone brief and aloof.

Pansy watched the exchange, clearly unimpressed by the lack of enthusiasm. “Did you know that [Name] loves taking care of magical creatures? And Mattheo, you have an impressive tolerance for people who talk too much—aren’t you two a perfect match?”

“Funny, Pansy,” Mattheo remarked, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head with a trace of amusement in his otherwise dry tone.

“Thanks, it was sincere,” Pansy quipped with a playful grin before stepping away with a conspiratorial air. “Enjoy yourselves!”

With one last smile, she left you both alone, disappearing into the crowd.

For a moment, the sound of the music and the chatter around you filled the silence as you, uneasy with the quiet, fidgeted with the star-shaped pendant on your necklace.

“So…” you began cautiously, looking at Mattheo. “Do you not like parties in general, or just the people who talk too much?”

The question caught him off guard, and he raised an eyebrow, taking a moment to think before answering. “Depends on the party. And the people.”

You let out a soft, almost inaudible laugh, but it was genuine. “I get that. This isn’t really my kind of place either.”

“Then why’d you come?” Mattheo asked, his tone casual but curious, as if waiting for your answer without much urgency.

“Pansy insisted,” you admitted with a small shrug. “And you?”

“Same.”

At that, you felt a little more at ease, tilting your head slightly towards him. “Well, at least we’ve got that in common.”

“Besides Pansy,” he added, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he warmed to the idea that the conversation wasn’t as tedious as he’d expected.

The silence returned, but this time it felt less strained. You leaned against the wall beside him, gazing up at the ceiling, where floating candles with green flames illuminated the room alongside the warm, golden glow of the grand chandelier, while Mattheo’s eyes followed the movement of the partygoers.

Feeling slightly overwhelmed by the commotion, you noticed the atmosphere beginning to feel heavier. The grand and magical hall, while impressive, didn’t make you feel at ease. Mattheo, seemingly indifferent to the pressure of the space, appeared entirely unbothered. So, you decided to suggest something.

“How about we head out to the garden?” you asked timidly, looking up at him. “It’s… quieter, maybe?”

Mattheo, still leaning against the wall with his usual impassive expression, raised an eyebrow. “You really think the garden will be quiet, considering how many people are here?”

You smiled, slightly embarrassed. “It’s worth a try, I guess.”

With a sigh, he slipped a hand into his pocket and pushed himself off the wall, nodding. “Fine. Let’s go.”

The Parkinson mansion’s garden was undeniably stunning, but you barely noticed the perfectly trimmed hedges shaped into geometric designs or the softly glowing magical flowers. Your attention was more on the refreshing coolness of the night air and the silence—a welcome contrast to the chaos inside the hall.

The two of you walked in silence for a while. Mattheo observed you discreetly, noticing how your fingers gently brushed against the petals of the flowers along the path, as if you were connecting with their textures and details. There was no urgency in your steps, and eventually, you reached a secluded corner near an ornate fountain illuminated by floating candles casting dancing reflections on the water. He stopped by a tree, crossing his arms and tilting his head back to look at the starry sky.

“Do you always go to Pansy’s parties?” you asked, finally breaking the silence as you strolled slowly, examining the plants with more interest.

“Not a chance,” he replied with a short laugh, as if the idea were absurd. “I try to avoid them, but she’s always got these… oddly persuasive arguments.”

“Like what?” you pressed, curious.

“Like, ‘if you don’t come, I’ll tell everyone you sketch people in your notebook like a frustrated artist,’” he said, smirking slightly.

You blinked, surprised at the confession, then let out a soft laugh. “You draw?”

Mattheo shrugged, almost defensive. “Sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”

“It doesn’t sound like something to be embarrassed about,” you said simply, your tone free of judgment. Kneeling beside a bush of blueberries that seemed particularly enchanting, their tiny fruits shimmering under the magical light, you added, “Actually, it sounds pretty interesting.”

He frowned slightly, as if unsure how to respond, before muttering, “You haven’t seen it.”

“Maybe,” you replied with a small smile, still studying the delicate berries. “But it’s good to have a hobby. Everyone should have one.”

He remained quiet, thoughtful, as he watched you. There was something about you that felt disconnected from the party—yet perfectly at home here in the garden. The calmness in your movements, even when you seemed shy or slightly flustered, struck him as unusual.

“So, what’s your hobby?” he asked, breaking the silence this time.

You took a moment before answering, as if reflecting. “I suppose it’s taking care of magical creatures… They don’t need explanations. You just feel and understand them.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by the clarity in your answer, but didn’t comment straight away. It was rare for someone to talk about something so simple with such genuine passion.

“Fair enough,” he finally said, his voice free of sarcasm but still lacking much emotion, as though he were processing your words.

The silence returned, though it was comfortable now—almost natural. Yet, your curiosity about him grew too strong to ignore.

“Do you go to these parties often?”

“Not at all,” he replied, his tone carrying a faint hint of amusement. “Just every now and then. Pansy’s good at twisting my arm. If I don’t show up, she starts predicting my social death.”

You chuckled lightly, your gaze shifting to him rather than the garden around you. “And you always give in?”

“I’m not great at resisting emotional blackmail,” he admitted with a short, slightly insincere smile. There was a coldness in his comment, as though he didn’t place much value on his presence here. “Pansy has a way of turning invitations into ultimatums.”

The floating candles swayed gently around the fountain, their light casting dancing shadows on the stone. You took a step aside, feeling the cool night breeze against your skin. After a few moments of light-hearted conversation, you realised the dialogue had run its course.

“Maybe we should head back,” you suggested, breaking the silence. “Before Pansy comes looking for us.”

He remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on you. His expression still carried a hint of seriousness, but his eyes had softened somewhat.

“Maybe you’re right,” he finally said, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. “But you decide when to go back, not me.”

You chuckled softly, shyly, as though the conversation had taken an unexpected turn, though it didn’t bother you. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

ಇ

The Slytherin common room was bathed in a cosy silence, broken only by the gentle crackle of the fire. The flames cast flickering shadows across the stone walls, creating an atmosphere that felt entirely separate from the rest of the castle. Mattheo was sprawled across one of the black leather sofas, his posture completely at ease, as though he belonged to the room itself. He twirled his wand idly between his fingers, his sharp gaze lazily drifting over the surroundings, disinterested.

The peace was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of firm, purposeful footsteps echoing off the cold floor. Mattheo didn’t look up—he didn’t need to. Pansy Parkinson always made her presence known. She strode into the room with the kind of authority that promised trouble, her eyes glinting with determination.

“Riddle,” she started, stopping in front of him with her hands firmly planted on her hips. “Saturday. Hogsmeade. You’re coming with me. Theo, Blaise, Luna, and [Name] will be there too.”

Mattheo didn’t even glance up, continuing to spin his wand between his fingers. His lips curved into a faint smirk. “No.”

“No?” Pansy echoed, raising an eyebrow, her expression morphing into one of incredulity. The set of her jaw only made her look more stubborn. “Come on, you haven’t even heard what I—”

“I’ve heard enough,” he cut her off, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers. His voice was dry, laced with boredom. “And the answer is still no. I’m not going, I don’t want to, and I’m not changing my mind.”

Pansy let out a heavy sigh, though the self-satisfied smile creeping onto her lips only deepened Mattheo’s irritation. “You say that now, but come Saturday, you’ll be there.”

Mattheo let out a short, humourless laugh. “Pansy, I’d love to see you try. I’m not Theo, who does everything you say just because he thinks you’re ‘cute.’”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Pansy shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she crossed her arms. “Is this about [Name]? I saw you talking to her in the garden. You actually looked… sociable.”

“And? We exchanged a few words. That doesn’t mean anything.” His tone hardened as he narrowed his eyes, clearly irritated. Leaning back into the sofa, he added flatly, “If this is some attempt to set me up with someone, just give up now. You know I hate that.”

“Merlin, you’re dramatic,” Pansy scoffed, rolling her eyes. “No one’s setting you up. [Name] doesn’t even care if you’re there, to be honest.”

“Brilliant,” he replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “All the more reason for me not to go.”

Pansy let out a long-suffering sigh, though a mischievous smile tugged at her lips. “I know you, Mattheo. You say you won’t go, but come Saturday, you’ll end up tagging along with Blaise and Theo anyway. You need to connect with the world once in a while, you know.”

“I’m perfectly connected right here, thanks,” he shot back, gesturing around the room before rolling his eyes again. “I’d rather stay here than deal with people who think I owe them the courtesy of being interesting.”

Pansy tilted her head slightly, as though considering his words. “You’re so full of yourself. She’s not even thinking about you like that. And you know what? Maybe you should try acting normal around people who don’t fear you because of your surname.”

Mattheo huffed, but before he could muster a retort, Pansy was already making her way up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory. She threw a parting remark over her shoulder, her voice bright with smug amusement. “Saturday, Mattheo. Be there, or I’ll add this to my list of lifelong grudges!”

He stayed where he was, his gaze falling back to the wand in his fingers. It spun faster now, less smoothly than before. Pansy was wrong. He wasn’t going. And if [Name] didn’t care whether he came or not, that was fine by him. A relief, really. A big relief.

ಇ

The streets of Hogsmeade buzzed with chatter and laughter, the crunch of footsteps in the snow, and the sweet smell of warm drinks wafting out of nearby shops. Despite the lively atmosphere, Mattheo would still take this over the castle any day—at least here he wasn’t constantly followed by stares and whispers. He walked with his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his black overcoat, his expression bored, though his sharp eyes missed nothing.

“So,” Blaise started, nudging Theo with his elbow. “Whose brilliant idea was it to drag him out here? Thought Mattheo was allergic to socialising.”

“Don’t start,” Mattheo muttered without even glancing at them. “I’m only here because someone wouldn’t shut up about how this was going to be ‘fun.’”

Theo laughed, unbothered. “It is fun. You should be thanking me.”

Mattheo opened his mouth to fire back but was cut off as the three of them rounded a corner and found themselves face-to-face with Pansy, Luna, and [Name] standing outside the Three Broomsticks.

“Oh, what are you lot doing here?” Pansy exclaimed, her voice dripping with faux surprise. Only Mattheo caught the teasing glint in her eye.

“Pansy,” he began, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t even try it.”

“Try what?” She blinked at him innocently. “This is pure coincidence.”

Mattheo was about to argue when his attention was pulled to Blaise and Luna. The moment they spotted each other, Luna lit up with a bright smile, and Blaise… Well, he looked like someone had hit him with a softening charm. It was rare to see him like that—genuinely smitten.

Luna stepped closer immediately, lightly tugging Blaise by the arm as she spoke. Whatever she said made him laugh, low and almost shy, a side of him Mattheo hardly ever saw. Blaise was usually so composed, but with Luna, he seemed… different.

That’s when it hit Mattheo. This wasn’t some trap for him. It was for them.

He glanced at Theo, who was watching the scene with a smug smile. Theo shrugged in response, as if to say, Don’t look at me, this wasn’t my idea.

Pansy, however, wasn’t even trying to hide her satisfaction, though she kept her focus firmly on Luna and Blaise.

Mattheo sighed quietly. Right. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe this whole outing really was just about those two.

But then his eyes landed on you. You stood a little behind Pansy, a small, almost shy smile playing on your lips as you watched Blaise and Luna. You didn’t seem out of place, exactly—just quiet, like someone unsure where they fit into the group dynamic.

He looked away before you noticed, but Pansy, ever observant, caught the movement.

“Well,” she said, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Since we’re all here, why don’t we do something together?”

Mattheo was already preparing to decline, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the way you, distracted, reached out to catch the falling snowflakes in your hand, that soft, almost enchanted smile still on your face.

He frowned. What was so special about snow, anyway?

“Relax, Riddle,” Pansy said, pulling him back to reality. “I didn’t plan this.”

“You planned this,” he replied flatly.

“And if I did?” She held her hands up, her smile infuriatingly casual. “It’s not the end of the world. Try being social for once.”

Before he could respond, Theo slung an arm casually around his shoulders, as if to stop him from bolting. “Not every day we hang out with such a… diverse group.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes but didn’t bother arguing. Judging by how glued Blaise and Luna were to each other, it was pointless. Still, the way Pansy kept glancing at you before whispering something to Theo made him suspicious.

You, meanwhile, seemed completely oblivious to it all. You adjusted your scarf, your attention caught by a nearby shop window where tiny enchanted ice figurines were dancing.

“Alright,” Theo said, breaking the moment of silence. “So, what’s first on the agenda?”

Mattheo let out a heavy sigh and glanced over at you. You were standing a bit apart from the group, but somehow, your eyes met his. A small, tentative smile crossed your face, the kind that seemed unsure of its place, before you quickly looked away.

He considered walking away, but something made him stay. Maybe it was the sense that Pansy would never let him hear the end of it if he left.

“The Three Broomsticks?” he suggested, his voice laced with reluctance. “If we’re doing this, might as well get it over with.”

Pansy’s smile widened, like she knew exactly what he was thinking, but to his annoyance, she said nothing.

ಇ

The Three Broomsticks was as crowded as Mattheo had expected. The buzz of conversations and laughter mingled with the clatter of mugs and the sweet smell of butterbeer, creating a lively, almost chaotic atmosphere. For most, it was a place to forget about the pressures of school, but for Mattheo, it felt suffocating. He stood near the entrance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat, ready to leave at any moment.

“See? Told you this would be fun,” Theo said, flashing a carefree grin as he dropped into a chair beside Pansy.

“If this is your idea of fun, I’d rather be back at the castle,” Mattheo replied flatly, choosing the chair furthest from the table.

Pansy, ever the orchestrator, settled in beside Theo and shot a smug look at Mattheo. “Oh, stop being dramatic. You’ll survive.”

Luna and Blaise took their seats next, the pair seemingly lost in their own little world. Blaise leaned in to whisper something, and Luna let out a soft, musical laugh. Mattheo rolled his eyes.

“They’ve already forgotten we’re here,” he muttered, tapping a keyring against the table in an almost absentminded rhythm.

Pansy smirked. “Leave them be. They’re cute.”

Mattheo huffed but didn’t bother replying. His eyes drifted across the room, eventually landing on you. You had chosen a seat near the window, detached from the group’s chatter. The soft glow of candlelight reflected in the glass as you gazed out at the falling snow, your expression calm and contemplative, as though soaking in every detail of the world outside.

For a moment, Mattheo found himself wondering what was so fascinating about the snow. It was just snow—falling endlessly, especially this time of year. But to you, it seemed to hold some deeper meaning, something he couldn’t quite grasp. You watched the flurries with a quiet intensity he found… puzzling.

“Paying attention, or has the snow got you too?” Theo teased, nudging Mattheo as he caught him staring.

Mattheo shot him a sharp look. “Shut up.”

Glancing at you again, he lowered his voice. “Why’s she so quiet?”

Pansy, ever observant, turned her gaze from you to the two whispering boys. “Because that’s how she is. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Very funny,” Mattheo shot back, narrowing his eyes at her.

Theo chuckled. “She just doesn’t like all the noise. Makes me wonder, though… why’s she here with us?”

“Because you invited her,” Mattheo said dryly, his tone clipped. Theo shrugged, unbothered.

“She’s here for Pansy. And maybe because sometimes people like to shake things up a bit,” Theo replied, as if it were obvious.

Mattheo didn’t respond, his attention drawn back to you. You were still lost in the view outside, but you must have felt the weight of their stares because, after a moment, you turned to face the group. Your smile was small and uncertain, a touch of embarrassment in your eyes. “What?” you asked quietly, your voice soft and cautious.

“Mattheo thinks you’re mysterious,” Theo said boldly, grinning as he leaned back lazily in his chair.

You frowned, your gaze shifting to Mattheo, who let out an irritated scoff. “That’s not what I said.”

“No need to explain yourself, Riddle,” Pansy chimed in with a sly grin, hiding behind the menu.

You gave a shy smile, clearly flustered, and buried yourself in the menu as if it were a shield. Mattheo caught the faint blush creeping across your cheeks, and for some inexplicable reason, it made him glance away, feeling oddly unsettled.

“What’re we ordering?” Blaise asked suddenly, breaking the tension and redirecting the group’s focus.

While the others debated their orders, Mattheo remained silent, his fingers tapping against the table. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was something about you that left him uneasy—not in a bad way, but in a way that made him feel restless, like he couldn’t quite figure out what to do with himself.

The waiter arrived, looking a little tired but polite, his quill poised to take orders. Theo and Blaise rattled off their choices with ease, but when it was your turn, you hesitated, your voice so soft that the waiter leaned in.

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” the waiter asked, his tone patient.

Mattheo noticed the discomfort on your face as you tried again, your cheeks flushing with self-consciousness. It was such a simple moment, but something about it made Mattheo feel compelled to step in.

“She’ll have a butterbeer,” he said abruptly, leaning back in his chair as if it were no big deal. “And I’ll have the same.”

The waiter blinked, then nodded. “Right, and the rest of you?”

You glanced at Mattheo, your surprise evident. For a moment, he wondered if he’d made things worse. But then you murmured, “Thanks,” so quietly it was almost inaudible. Your smile was small and a little shy, but there was something about it—something genuine—that made Mattheo’s chest tighten unexpectedly.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and while it wasn’t much, it was enough to make Mattheo look away, feeling a strange heat rising in his neck. What the hell was that?

He focused on the table instead, letting his gaze fall on Pansy. She was watching him with her usual smirk, the kind that screamed, I know something you don’t. That look alone was enough to irritate him further.

He clenched his jaw, determined to brush it off. Whatever Pansy thought she saw, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like him to get caught up in whatever game she might be playing. And yet, he couldn’t shake the thought of that small, genuine smile you’d given him—or the way it had made him feel completely out of his depth.

Later, the group had finished their meal and was now strolling leisurely through the softly lit streets of Hogsmeade. Snow fell in delicate flakes, blanketing the rooftops with a fine layer, creating a scene that was ordinary but, in your eyes, uniquely enchanting.

Mattheo walked in silence, his hands casually shoved into his pockets, while you stayed a little ahead with Luna, Blaise, and Pansy. The latter seemed particularly alert, as if she were plotting something in her mind.

“Let’s stop by Honeydukes,” Pansy announced suddenly, pausing beside Blaise and Luna. “I’m absolutely craving those ginger caramels.”

“Now? is probably a nightmare,” Theo grumbled, though his protest was pointless as Pansy was already dragging him firmly towards the shop’s entrance.

Before you could say a word, she turned to you and Mattheo with a sly, self-assured grin.

“How about you two check out the bookshop? We’ll catch up in a bit!”

You hesitated for a moment, glancing uncertainly in the direction of the bookshop and then back at Pansy. But she didn’t wait for a reply. Without giving you a chance to argue, she disappeared into Honeydukes with Theo in tow.

Mattheo let out a quiet sigh, his expression laced with a knowing irritation at Pansy’s obvious intentions. But he didn’t comment. Instead, he gave a small nod towards the bookshop.

“Fancy it?” he asked, his tone straightforward.

You nodded slightly, not trusting your voice to come out steady, and followed him towards the shop.

The interior of the bookshop was warm and serene. Tall shelves were crammed with books, from old, worn-out tomes to pristine, freshly bound editions. The air was filled with the unmistakable scent of aged paper, and the soft glow of strategically placed lamps added to the cosy atmosphere.

Walking slowly down the aisles, you trailed your fingers over the spines of books, savouring the texture of each one. Mattheo had wandered to a quieter section, where he pulled an old, dark-covered book from the shelf and examined it with mild curiosity.

“I’ve read that one,” you remarked casually, stepping closer.

Mattheo looked up at you, his expression faintly surprised. “Have you?”

You nodded, your eyes lighting up shyly but genuinely. “It’s really good, though a bit sad.”

He shrugged, placing the book back and reaching for another.

“That one too,” you said, glancing at the new book in his hand.

He raised an eyebrow, holding the book for a moment before putting it back and selecting yet another.

“Oh, that one’s brilliant!” you exclaimed, a spark of enthusiasm slipping through. “A bit heavy in parts, but it’s one of my favourites.”

Mattheo paused, studying the book in his hand before looking back at you.

“Have you read all of these?” he asked, disbelief evident in his tone.

You hesitated, your gaze flickering away briefly before meeting his again, your cheeks warming under his scrutiny.

“Almost all of them,” you admitted softly. “I just… really like reading.”

A faint, genuine smile tugged at Mattheo’s lips as he shook his head slightly.

“All right,” he said, holding up another book. “How about this one? Have you read it?” He revealed the title: The Great Gatsby.

Your eyes lit up instantly as you nodded. “Yes. It’s a classic. Sad, but so good.”

Mattheo let out a short sigh, glancing at the book with more interest. “Do you cry at all of them, or just the ones I pick because I like the cover?”

Your timid but sincere smile answered before your words. “Only the good ones.”

For a moment, he just watched you, his eyes lingering as you studied the shelves around you with quiet fascination.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “Think I’ll like this one?”

You tilted your head thoughtfully. “Depends. Do you like happy endings?”

Mattheo chuckled lowly, a hint of dry humour in his voice. “Wouldn’t know what that’s like.”

Your expression softened at his response, but you didn’t say anything right away. Instead, you looked up at him, as though trying to understand him better. He shifted uncomfortably under your gaze and glanced away.

“I’ll take it,” he muttered, holding the book firmly. “If it makes me cry, it’s your fault.”

You laughed quietly, the sound lighter this time, as he tucked the book under his arm.

“Do you read much?” you asked, your voice still a little shy as your eyes lifted to meet his.

“Not really.”

The moment was abruptly interrupted by Pansy’s familiar voice cutting through the quiet. She appeared suddenly beside Mattheo, a smug smile on her face.

“You two are taking ages,” she teased, throwing a loaded glance between the two of you. “Buying a book or writing one?”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, refusing to dignify her with an answer, while you glanced away, feeling slightly flustered. Pansy’s satisfied grin made it clear she’d gotten exactly what she wanted. Without ceremony, she tugged Mattheo towards the counter to pay for his book. You followed quietly as they left the shop, snow beginning to fall again outside.

ಇ

Once again, the group had gathered, this time in a more comfortable setting, as if they had already gotten used to the rhythm of their regular outings. The Slytherin common room felt cosy and calm, bathed in the soft light of the fire crackling in the hearth, casting a warm, golden glow across the space. Theo and Pansy were chatting animatedly about something trivial, while Blaise and Luna stayed, as usual, wrapped up in their own bubble, oblivious to the world around them.

You and Mattheo, however, were more on the edge of the group, tucked away in a quiet corner where silence hung comfortably in the air. He was staring into the flames, his mind distant, while you flicked through a book, your eyes quickly scanning the shelves of volumes in the common room.

It was you who broke the silence, your voice soft, laced with your usual curiosity.

“Have you finished that book, Mattheo?”

He gave you a look after a brief pause, responding casually.

“Yeah, it was quick to read, just like Cat’s Cradle.”

“You’ve read Cat’s Cradle?” you asked, surprised, your eyes lighting up instantly at the thought that he might be interested in such a quirky book.

Mattheo nodded with a relaxed gesture.

“Mm-hm.”

“I love that book,” you said enthusiastically. “I thought you said you didn’t read much.”

He laughed and shrugged, not giving it much thought.

“Well, what’s ‘much’?”

You laughed, satisfied with the answer, before diving back into your love for the book.

“Cat’s Cradle is just so chaotic, so human, you know? Like a distorted mirror of ourselves.”

Mattheo furrowed his brow, now visibly more interested.

“Human?”

“Yeah,” you continued, gesturing lightly. “The way Vonnegut portrays people, with all their confusing flaws—it’s so real. It’s a bit uncomfortable, but still, it’s genius.”

Mattheo watched you for a moment, trying to understand your perspective before replying in a teasing tone.

“I’m not sure ‘genius’ is the right word.”

You let out a soft laugh, not offended.

“No? And how would you describe it?”

He shrugged, his eyes drifting to the window beside him, watching the snow fall gently outside.

“It’s more like… a bunch of people getting into trouble because they’re too thick to see what’s right in front of them.”

You tilted your head slightly, amused by the simplicity of his argument.

“Exactly. That’s what makes it genius.”

Mattheo blinked, clearly impressed by your response. He wasn’t sure if you were joking or if you really believed it.

“You think stupidity is genius?”

“Nooo,” you said with a sideways smile. “But it makes us reflect on that human stupidity, like a portrait of our own contradictions, in a raw way. It’s uncomfortable, but in a weird way, it’s beautiful.”

Mattheo fell silent for a moment, processing your words.

“Beautiful?” He raised an eyebrow, as if trying to decide whether the comment was fascinating or just plain weird.

“Yes, beautiful,” you insisted, your tone calm but firm. “I think there’s beauty in accepting that we’re flawed, that we’re always trying, even when we know we might fail.”

He let out a low, almost incredulous laugh.

“You’ve got a peculiar way of looking at things.”

“Peculiar?” You laughed back, not losing the lightness of the moment. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Before he could respond, you leaned forward slightly, without thinking too much, and with a gentle gesture, you brushed a stray curl of hair from his face. Your touch was so natural that he barely had time to process it. Your fingers slid smoothly through his dark hair, pushing the curl away, and you did it with such ease that it felt completely normal to you. But for Mattheo, the action was enough to freeze him for a moment.

Mattheo froze. His mind instantly went on alert. The touch, though brief, had triggered a cascade of disconnected thoughts that he had no idea how to sort or deal with at that moment.

You, completely unaware of the inner battle Mattheo was facing, turned your attention back to the book you were skimming through, still intrigued by the shelves in the Slytherin common room. They were filled with delicate details, snakes and symbols, which gave the place a peculiar touch.

Mattheo, on the other hand, remained silent, lost in his own thoughts. He tried to push the moment’s impact aside, but it seemed impossible. The touch was still fresh on his skin, and the echo of your words about the book lingered in his mind.

ಇ

The night was quiet and peaceful at Hogwarts Castle. Mattheo lay in his dormitory, the soft light of the moon streaming through the window, casting a subtle glow over the room. His mind, however, was restless, filled with thoughts that were hard to sort. Almost mechanically, he reached for his wand, and with a subtle motion, began to move it, calling the music.

The first notes of “Crash Into Me” began to fill the room, softly, as Dave Matthews’ voice echoed through the space, enveloping him in a familiar melody. The song seeped into him like a comforting whisper, and something in it gripped him almost viscerally. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be consumed by the music, and, without knowing why, raised his wand again to put the track on repeat.

The words of the song began to take on more meaning, subtly echoing within him, much like the thoughts swirling in his mind that he couldn’t quite organise. It was as if the song spoke directly to him, not in a clear and direct way, but through its rhymes and melody, something in between the lines made him think of you. Your calm presence, yet shrouded in mystery, took shape in his mind.

He turned over in bed, still immersed in confusing thoughts, trying to understand the nameless feeling that overtook him. What was this unease? The music seemed to break something inside him, as if it were unveiling parts of himself he didn’t know existed.

As the chords of the song filled the space around him, a quiet exhaustion began to settle in. He surrendered to the melody, letting himself drift, without haste or resistance. The last thing he thought of before falling asleep was your face.

In his dream, you were beneath the Astronomy Tower. The stars watched silently as you leaned against the balustrade, your hair softly shimmering, floating with the night’s breeze. They saw when you approached him, and the world around seemed to shrink, as if everything became insignificant. You kissed him, a simple, gentle kiss, incredibly soft, full of sincerity. When you pulled away, his eyes opened.

The song “Crash Into Me” still played in his ears, but the sensation of the kiss, the soft touch of your lips, lingered with him, even though the dream dissipated as quickly as it had come. He lay there, motionless, not knowing exactly when he had been struck. The confusion that had once dominated his thoughts now seemed entwined with that fleeting memory, and he allowed himself to feel.

ಇ

Theo’s dormitory was as cosy as ever, lit only by the bedside lamp, casting a soft yellow glow that created an intimate atmosphere. The lazy tendrils of cigarette smoke drifted in the air, mixing with the low hum of music playing from a small gramophone in the corner. Lorenzo was slouched on the sofa, his feet carelessly propped up on the coffee table, while Theo, seated on the floor with his back against the bed, took long drags from his cigarette, releasing the smoke in the air as if following a ritual.

Pansy, meanwhile, leaned against an armchair, distractedly fiddling with her wand. Mattheo remained on the outskirts, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and visibly more distant than usual.

“So,” Pansy began, breaking the silence with a mischievous smile playing on her lips, though her tone remained casual, “I’m thinking of organising another group trip to Hogsmeade next Saturday. You coming?”

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, sceptical. “Who’s going?”

Pansy shrugged nonchalantly. “Me, obviously, Theo, Blaise, Lorenzo, Daphne… if she’s not busy.”

He gave a small nod, considering the idea. Maybe getting out a bit wouldn’t be so bad, even if he wasn’t exactly in the mood.

“And [Name],” Pansy added casually, throwing him a sly sidelong glance.

The effect was immediate. Mattheo froze, quickly averting his gaze. “Ah… no, I don’t think I’ll be going, then.”

Pansy stared at him, taken aback. “You’re not?”

“I’m just not in the mood,” he replied flatly, still avoiding her gaze.

“Not in the mood or running from her?” Pansy pressed, her tone sharp. She uncrossed her arms and stepped away from the armchair, facing him head-on.

He let out a humourless laugh, pushing away from the wall. “Oh, spare me, Pansy. This is just one of your dumb ideas to try and push me onto one of your friends. I’ve told you, it’s not going to work.”

“Push you onto my friends?” she repeated, incredulous, the disbelief clear in her voice. “Merlin’s beard, do you even hear what you’re saying? I’m just organising a trip, it’s not your bloody wedding!”

“Oh, right,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly. “You think I don’t notice? You’re always trying to set people up, like it’s some kind of game. But this isn’t some stupid romance novel. And honestly? She’s none of that, not worth the hassle.”

The silence that followed was thick, almost tangible. Even Lorenzo, who had seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, lifted his gaze, surprised by the bitterness in Mattheo’s voice. Pansy stood still for a moment before letting out a bitter laugh.

“Not worth the hassle?” she repeated, each word laced with icy venom, as she stepped right up to him. “Do you have any idea what utter rubbish you’ve just said?”

Mattheo tried to hold her stare, but there was something in her stance that unsettled him.

“You don’t even believe that,” she continued, her voice firm now. “You’re so terrified of the idea of liking her that you’d rather say something vile like that than admit it to yourself. But guess what, Mattheo? It doesn’t change a thing.”

He crossed his arms, frustration clearly etched on his face. “I’m not scared of anything. You’re the one harassing me with this ridiculous conversation.”

“Ridiculous?” Pansy raised her voice, frustration seeping through every word. “You’re the one acting ridiculous! As if liking someone is some kind of weakness. It’s pathetic, actually—it’s so sad, it’s almost funny.”

“Oh, fuck off, Pansy,” he snapped, his anger boiling over.

She laughed, a sarcastic chuckle escaping her. “I’m just trying to stop you from being an idiot. But, then again, maybe you don’t deserve someone like her. Maybe she’s too good for you, yeah?”

Mattheo clenched his jaw, irritation flashing across his face before he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

In the stillness of his own dormitory, he threw himself onto the bed, his chest still heaving from the argument. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to organise his thoughts, but Pansy’s words continued to echo in his mind like an unshakable spell.

“Maybe she’s too good for you.”

He knew he shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t true, and he knew it. She was worth the effort, without a doubt. He remembered the way she spoke about books, how her eyes lit up with passion for things he didn’t even bother to notice. She was kind, funny, incredibly genuine, and, above all, special.

With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Pansy was right. He was an idiot. And, worse yet, an idiot in love.

ಇ

The pub in Hogsmeade was packed, but the noise around Jasmine felt distant as she watched the group of friends play pool with curiosity. The soft lighting gave the place a warm, inviting atmosphere, while the low music in the background punctuated the occasional laughter of Theo and Lorenzo, who were arguing about who the better player was.

Mattheo kept his gaze fixed on you, knowing there was no escaping this. He was already falling, and he knew it. Rather than resist, he decided to enjoy the moment. There was something about your cautious yet charming manner that stirred him in a way he couldn’t quite understand. But soon he realised there was no need to comprehend it. It was as if the fall was inevitable, and somehow, the view would be worth it. All that was left for him to do was relax and let it happen. Maybe it was time to be bolder. Let the fall happen. He was ready for whatever came next and wanted to see how far it could go.

“Go on, who’s next?” Theo asked, twirling the cue stick with a teasing smile, aiming it at you.

“Definitely not me,” you muttered instantly, shrugging behind your butterbeer.

“Oh, come on,” Pansy teased, smiling. “You’ve never played?”

You shook your head, feeling a little out of place. “No idea how to play.”

Before Pansy could insist, Mattheo pushed off from the wall where he had been leaning, arms casually crossed, and approached. “I’ll teach you.”

You looked up at him, surprised. “You don’t have to, I—”

“Come here,” he interrupted, leaving no room for protest. He reached out and, before you could object, gently took hold of your wrist, guiding you to the right spot at the table.

Frozen, you watched him as if he’d just cast a spell. There was something so natural about the gesture – as though you’d shared this kind of proximity for years – that it left you speechless.

“Grab the cue,” he instructed, his voice low and slightly husky. You obeyed, holding the cue with clear hesitation.

Mattheo took a step back, so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “Like this,” he said, adjusting his hands over yours. His fingers were firm but didn’t squeeze; the touch felt casual, yet it carried an intimacy that made you blush instantly.

He tilted his head, his voice close to your ear. “You need to align with the ball.”

His breath seemed to brush against your skin, and your heart raced. “Right… okay.”

He chuckled softly. “Relax, you’re all tense.”

“I’m not tense!” you protested, though the nervousness in your voice gave you away.

“Of course not,” he teased, shifting his hands slightly to adjust the position. “Now aim here.”

Biting your lip, you tried to focus, even though the closeness made it nearly impossible. The sound of his voice, the way he leaned in, his firm yet careful touch – it was all making your mind spin.

“Ready?” he asked, and you nodded, feeling your face heat up.

With his help, you moved the cue forward, striking the ball harder than you expected. It rolled across the table, hitting a few others before dropping into one of the pockets.

“See?” he said, stepping back slightly but keeping his hand near yours. “That wasn’t so hard.”

You laughed nervously, too shy to meet his eyes. “I think it was more you than me.”

“Maybe,” he replied casually, but his gaze was now locked on yours.

You noticed he was still holding your hand, even though it wasn’t necessary anymore, and for a moment, you were completely speechless. When he finally let go, the touch seemed to linger.

“Next,” he said, handing the cue to Theo, who was already laughing.

You stepped away from the table, trying to regain your composure, but your heart was still racing. Pansy watched you with a mischievous smile, but said nothing – which, in some way, was even more embarrassing.

Mattheo, now leaning back against the wall again, looked relaxed, though a subtle smile played on his lips. He knew exactly what he’d done – and he seemed to be enjoying it.

The night was light, filled with laughter and pool shots. You still felt a bit embarrassed about the last shot, about Mattheo’s unexpected touch, and the way he seemed so at ease. The way he approached so naturally, as if there was an intimacy between you two that you didn’t know how to handle, made you nervous, but also… curious.

At one point, you stepped away to grab the drink you’d left on the table, and Mattheo was right behind you, not wasting a second before taking the empty glass from your hand.

“I’ll get you another,” he said, flashing a casual smile.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him and then at the empty glass he’d taken from your hand. “Hey, I can do it myself.”

He shrugged as he walked away. “So what? Let me do it for you.”

You stared at him as he made his way to the bar, wanting to protest, but knowing he probably wouldn’t care. He was back quickly, drink in hand, placing it gently in front of you.

“Here,” he said, smiling tranquilly.

Still unsure how to react, you responded, “You really don’t listen, do you?”

He laughed easily and sat beside you. “I listen, I just don’t care. And let’s be honest,” he chuckled softly, “you’re not exactly good at hiding that you like it when I do things for you.”

Your face flushed, but you weren’t sure whether you were more surprised by the comment or by how comfortable he seemed with the situation. You tried to change the subject, though your voice still sounded hesitant. “I really could’ve filled my own glass.”

“Sure,” he interrupted with a sly grin, “but I wanted to do it.”

Not knowing how to respond, you looked down, crossing your legs and resting the drink on your thigh, unsure of how to act when Mattheo was messing with your composure. But secretly, you were enjoying this new side of him – unsure of how to react, but liking it all the same.

“I know what I’m doing,” you whispered, more to yourself.

“I know, princess,” he replied with an easy grin, “but I like doing it.”

ಇ

As time passed, your meetings became more frequent. The group hangouts gradually gave way to moments alone, and the relationship between you two became more comfortable and intimate. Being in each other’s company felt natural, easy, almost like an extension of everyday life. Mattheo’s behaviour grew more spontaneous, with fewer of the usual walls he built up when you were around. And it wasn’t just you who noticed; the entire group of friends could see it too.

One night, you were in Mattheo’s dorm. The atmosphere was calm and welcoming, with the scent of scented candles he’d started using now permanently filling the room. They were burning all around, three on the dresser and others on the bedside table. Meanwhile, Mattheo was rummaging through the wardrobe shelves and found a few hidden bottles. It was cheap wine that Theo had bought to settle a silly bet, but had forgotten there. Mattheo remembered it like it had happened yesterday. He looked at the bottle with a smile, laughing to himself. You raised an eyebrow, suspicious.

“I can’t believe you’re going to drink that,” you said, laughing lightly while lying on the black carpet in the middle of the room, fiddling with the radio.

Mattheo shrugged, flashing a carefree smile. “Of course I am, it’s here, right?”

You gave him a sceptical look, but couldn’t help but laugh at his audacity. “That’s a bit weird.”

“It’s nothing,” he replied, walking over and sitting beside you, holding the bottle out. “Try it, go on.”

Hesitant, but tempted, you sat next to him, smiling nervously. You took the bottle from his hand, laughing before bringing it to your lips, keeping your eyes fixed on his.

After a bottle and a half shared between you, the effects of the wine were already clear. The conversation flowed easily, words coming out freely, and you both laughed at anything, letting yourselves enjoy the sense of freedom the moment brought.

Then Mattheo stood up, walked over to the radio, and adjusted the music. Fleetwood Mac, one of his favourite bands, and he knew it well. The soft notes filled the room, creating a relaxing and warm atmosphere. He smiled at you, stood up from the carpet, and waited for you to follow. “Don’t you want to dance?”

You looked at him hesitantly, but he was watching you as if daring you. It didn’t take long before you got up, still a bit loose from the alcohol, and started dancing awkwardly, singing along with Stevie Nicks, a silly grin on your face. Mattheo held your hands and settled on the bed, watching your dance. There was no pretension; it was a spontaneous dance, a bit off-beat, but genuine.

Mattheo watched you with a satisfied smile, but his gaze revealed something more. He saw you differently. You moved with clumsy grace, not caring about the rhythm, and he was completely captivated by the way you threw yourself into the moment, without a hint of self-consciousness. Your movements, though not sensual, were, in that instant, the most captivating thing he’d ever seen. You were so at ease, as if you were dancing just for him. And, in a way, you were.

You laughed, unaware of the effect you had, how your hair shone and moved perfectly with the rhythm of your motions. That sight, so natural, only drew him in more. When the music finally ended, you stopped, out of breath, and looked at him with a mischievous grin, holding onto his shoulders while he watched you from below, his expression one of admiration.

“See? Was this what you wanted?” you asked, regaining your composure, but with a faint blush on your cheeks.

“More than I expected.”

The music still filled the room, but slowly, it became a distant echo, overshadowed by the tension that now dominated the space. The air felt heavier, each heartbeat ringing in your ears as you locked eyes with him. Your hands still rested on his shoulders, and despite the relaxed smile that appeared on his face, there was something in Mattheo’s gaze that made the lightness of the moment take on a new weight.

His eyes were fixed on yours, serious, intense, filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. Something in that look seemed ready to spill over, and before you could even question it, the space between you two was vanishing. Mattheo moved, his strong hands reaching up to cradle your face, holding it with a gentleness that contrasted with the fervour in his expression. The world around you faded in the blink of an eye. No more cheap wine, no more candles, no more Stevie Nicks in the background. It was just the two of you.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, filling the silence between you. His gaze didn’t waver, and the proximity made each word feel even more intimate, almost like a confession. A shiver ran down your spine, but you didn’t respond. There were no words that could capture what was going through your mind.

When he finally closed the remaining space between you, his lips found yours, and everything seemed to fall into place. The kiss began firm but soon softened, as if he was exploring each detail, testing, savouring the moment with an almost palpable intensity.

His hands didn’t stay still. One slid to your waist, fingers slipping beneath your shirt, touching your warm skin with a mixture of firmness and care. The other moved up to your neck, fingers light as a caress, but determined, keeping you close, as if he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t slip away.

When his lips left yours, it was only to trace a deliberate path along your jawline, down to the delicate spot on your neck, where he could feel your pulse quicken. Each kiss was meticulous, almost reverent, as you closed your eyes, surrendering to the sensation. The softness of his touch seemed to contradict the intensity he maintained with every movement, and it made the moment all the more overwhelming.

Then, unexpectedly, Mattheo made a quick movement, pulling you onto the bed.

He was firm, but careful, lying you down with precision and security, as if guiding you through a dance he had already mentally rehearsed. Your bodies moulded into the surroundings, as if the moment had been waiting for you both.

Mattheo pulled back slightly, his hands slowly lifting your shirt, with a near ceremonial slowness. There was no rush, just a clear intention in every gesture, as though he was absorbing the significance of what was happening. His eyes scanned your body, but not with haste or crude desire. There was something almost devotional in that gaze, something that made your breath quicken and slow at the same time.

His lips descended to your stomach, touching it with the lightness of a promise. Each kiss seemed to hold something unspoken, something long-kept. Mattheo's fingers traced slow paths along your skin, as though he wanted to memorise every detail, while you let out a sigh that seemed to echo in the intimacy of the room.

For a brief moment, he lifted his head, meeting your gaze. His eyes sparkled with a mix of desire and playfulness, and a light smile curved his lips before he leaned in again, the kisses resuming their course, now with even more care, as if each touch was a silent vow of adoration.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

lotus

a/n: this has been sitting half-written on my pc for i don't even know how many months (tbh at least half a year. i was living somewhere else when i started it wow). finally took a deep breath and finished it (though with an ending that kinda flies by a bit because just wanted it to get done. i was scared that the story would never see the light of day, so zooming through the ending was a better option)

summary: a nervous breath then escaped his lungs before he uttered, “you do know what kind of massage this is, right?” to which you only blinked back at him all the same, none of your shock evaporation at his words, “you know that I’m here to give you more than just a regular massage?”

warnings: massage therapist!bucky barnes x reader, smut, sex worker!bucky, bucky doesn't have the metal arm in this one, thinking that your friend just signed you up for a normal massage but then it turns out to be an erotic one, kissing, dirty talk, manhandling, fingering, toys, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, anal, double penetration

word count: 4000

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With a hand tangled up in one of the ties of the robe you wore, you answered your front door after finally hearing the bells chime.

“Hi,” a soft smile swiftly warmed up the features of the man standing on the other side of the threshold, “are you miss Y/l/n?”

“Yeah, I am,” a tingle of nerves flickered through your body as your gaze washed over him, “you must be the masseuse.”

Why did he have to be so attractive? If it was this difficult to remember to breathe when he was standing completely out of your reach, then how were you going to survive a guy such as him touching you?

Following your gaze down to the folded-up table he carried, he nodded, “guilty,” before setting down the duffle bag he clutched in his other hand and extended it for you to grasp, “my name is Bucky.”

“Bucky,” you briefly shook it, “nice to meet you.”

“You too,” the touch faded, and he bent down to pick the supplies back up, “so, where should I set up?”

“Oh, in here, in the living room,” you gestured behind you and shifted to the side for him to enter. As he set up everything, you stayed at the perimeter and felt your heartbeat thump behind your ribcage, “is it weird that I’m a bit nervous?” you then quietly asked.

Briefly pausing his actions as he unfurled the massage table, he cast a glance your way.

“It’s not weird at all, it’s okay,” he stated in a calm tone, “but I assure you, this is a completely safe space, you’re in good hands.”

“I just–, this wasn’t exactly my idea, or even at all,” your hands fiddle further with the terrycloth tie around your waist as you began to ramble, “Nat, my friend, she told me that I needed to relax, so she booked this appointment for me as a treat. I don’t even know what it is she signed me up for, if it was just like a little five-minute long thing or what.”

“Oh no, she signed you up for the full package, 90 minutes.” 

“Really?” your eyebrows rose, “wow, that’s amazing.”

Once the table was set up and he rummaged through the bag for a towel as well as other supplies, his low timbre filled the room once more.

“So, before we start, I’d just like to ask if there’s anything off limits to you, anything you don’t like or that you’re not interested in? Or perhaps something in particular you’d like today?”

“Uh, I don’t think so,” your eyes narrowed slightly as you thought, quickly scanning through your body to get a good sense, “you can just be as rough with me as you want.”

“Alright, you like it rough, good to know,” you felt yourself suck in a silent breath at the way the phrase fell from his lips, “you ready to begin?”

“Yep,” you swallowed, hoping he didn’t notice how flustered he seemed to make you. 

He then lifted up the ivory sheets he’d sprawled out on the plush bench and held it up high, giving you a smidge of privacy as you dropped your robe to a nearby armchair, before laying down on the table and feeling the cotton drape over you. 

As you layed there on your stomach with your face comfortably nestled in the little nook, you sensed Bucky adjust the fabric, folding it down so that your entire back was exposed. 

A dull click found your ears as he pumped some oil into his palm. The very first touch conjured a brisk breath to fill your lungs as his hands slid along your spine, spreading the slickness around. 

Though when you finally managed to force yourself to relax into his touch, a soft moan slipped from your lips as his meticulous grip found a muscle particularly sore.

“Sorry,” you timidly apologized for the sound. 

But he simply zeroed in on the very spot that had made you groan and said, “don’t apologize, whatever bubbles up, please let it out.”

Your lips stayed half parted as his touch dug deeper, “it just feels really good right there...”

“Yeah, you seem to be holding a lot of tension in your back, especially right here between your shoulder blades.”

“Probably all the time on the couch,” you let out a pitiful chuckle, “I just kept on getting into uncomfortable positions and then stayed like that. Which, funnily enough, is pretty symbolic of how I ended up there in the first place, stuffing my face with Ben and Jerry’s and binging the most depressing of romcoms.”

“Bad breakup?” he guessed. 

“I don’t think you can call it a break-up if you never really were together in the first place,” you let out a sigh. Yet again had you fallen for a guy who’d turned out to be a complete and utter asshole, “men are just pigs,” you spat out, “no offence.”

“Oh, none taken,” he uttered, “you know, it’s actually very common for people to get this particular treatment after something like that.”

“Really? Your touch is on the same level as bawling your eyes out to Joni Mitchell?” you jested, “well, now I’m really happy that I let my friend talk me into this.”

Soon, when his touch had kneaded every inch of your back, it faded away and reappeared lower on your frame as you then felt him fold the sheet up to expose your legs, letting the thin fabric only drape across and cover the curve of your bottom. 

Once his touch had soothingly wandered up the length of your legs and as his broad palms dented your slightly parted thighs, you nearly didn’t notice through the trance-like state you’d drifted off to when his reach crept close enough to your core to feel the heat radiating off it. A gasp parted your lips as his fingers briefly ghosted against the very outside of your puff before retreating back down your thigh. 

“Is it alright if remove this for a bit?” he then asked as you felt his hand clutch the sliver of modesty that remained. 

“Oh, uhm,” you fought to comprehend his question through the haze you’d slipped into, both the haze of relaxation, though maybe more predominately the haze of sin, which was most likely what had swayed you to utter, “sure,” trying your best to stay calm as he removed the sheet completely. 

It became a difficult task to keep your quiet noises at bay and have them not seep through your heavy breath as he then began to massage the soft peak of your butt. 

You tried to remind yourself that it was the biggest muscle on the human body and thereby completely normal to be treated in this manner, but that truth would have been easier to swallow if it had been a less attractive specimen touching you in such a way. 

Eventually, Bucky’s lavish rubs came to spread you apart with each repetitive motion, surely granting himself a perfect view of just how mortifyingly wet you’d become. 

As he let his broad thumbs dig into your sitting points, you told yourself it was the slipperiness of the oil that caused his fingers to sweep closer to your core and not your own nectar that had leaked down towards his touch. 

It felt so good that your hips unconsciously tilted up and into his touch, as his thumbs slid close enough to caress your outer lips, nearly capturing them in a gentle pinch. 

You didn’t know how long it took, how long you essentially grinded into him as if you were in heat, but eventually, you snapped out of your fog and realized just where his fingers were. 

“U-uh… w-what are you doing?” your frame jumped slightly at the realization.

“Do you not like this?” his touch paused, though didn’t retreat. 

“Why–, uhm…” you nearly panted, “you’re just very close to somewhere else.”

And when he simply uttered, “yeah, I know,” in an almost amused and cocky tone. You swiftly propped yourself up onto your arms and glared back at him, successfully prompting him to rip his hands away.

Snatching the sheet back over your frame as you scrambled to a seat, you stared back at him in utter shock, “I’m sorry, but are you actually trying to sleep with me right now?”

His brows furrowed slightly as he blinked back at you, seemingly confused at your outburst, “I’m just doing my job.”

“I’ve had massages before, that was not–… that right there was something else. That was not you doing your job, that was your hands being persuaded by your dick.”

A nervous breath then escaped his lungs before he uttered, “you do know what kind of massage this is, right?” to which you only blinked back at him all the same, none of your shock evaporation at his words, “you know that I’m here to give you more than just a regular massage?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh boy, I’m sorry, I thought you knew…” his glance fell to the floor as he then began to enlighten, “well, the lotus wellness center, where I work, specializes in the blend of not just physical and mental health, but also sexual health and satisfaction. An erotic massage, like the one you were signed up for, is one of the many services we offer.”

Your eyes had grown as wide as saucers during his explanation, “o-oh…”

“I totally understand if you wanna stop, if you’re not interested.”

“I–…” you tried to make heads or tails of the situation you found yourself in, “so you were gonna–, what? Fuck me?”

“I was gonna try and make you feel good, help you relax and unwind. You were signed up for the aurelia treatment which would involve me using my hands to pleasure you, as well as whatever toys you might be interested in.”

“Toys?”

“Yes, I have a generous collection with me,” he briefly gestured back to the duffle bag resting on the couch. 

“Okay, uhm…” one of your palms came down to brush over your features as you fought to comprehend it all.

“Do you want me to pack up and go?” you heard him ask. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, before you even realized it was moving, you shook your head. Letting your gaze flutter back up to find his, you exhaled lowly, “fuck…”

“I can also just give you a completely traditional massage if that’s what you want.”

“…and if I wanna try the other thing?” you nearly whispered. 

“Do you?”  

“I–…” you tried to speak, though couldn’t find the words and ended up just hazily nodding back at him. 

“Alright,” he gently mirrored the nod that still faintly rocked your head, “I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, I promise. You just say the word, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathed, shivering slightly at the tingle of goosebumps that spread across your flesh. 

The way he held your gaze a moment longer before shifting it to the massage table you still sat upon made you feel as if you might melt off it entirely.

“Lay back down,” he faintly nodded to the bench. 

Your eyes stayed glued on him long after you now layed sprawled out on your back. 

Letting his touch graze the sheet you still absentmindedly clutched to your chest, he asked, “do you wanna keep this on?”

“No,” you shook your head faintly, “you can remove it.”

“Okay,” he gently peeled the fabric off of you, “just say if you get cold, alright?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, still having a hard time wrapping your head around the fantasy you found yourself in. 

He began by working at your arms, tenderly spreading some oil across them and massaging down the length of them, one at a time, till his skilful fingers descended to work at your palms. It nearly felt as if he was merely holding your hand before he tossed you into the deep end with how intimate the simple beginning sensed. 

You couldn’t command your gaze to leave his visage as you traced his every move as if he was made of stardust. 

When his warmth let go of your hand, he reached for the bottle of oil that didn’t have a pump and unscrewed the top. Your bottom lip got caught by your teeth as he then poured a bit out over your stomach, curving the s-waves of droplets all the way up and across your boobs, dripping over your pebbly nipples as they stared back at him. 

As Bucky began to rub it in, he first stared softly down at your belly before swooping up, only to skip over your tits entirely and instead yanking a disappointed whimper from your lungs as he then commenced massaging your shoulders. 

You felt a bit lightheaded as you blinked up at him, all tall and broad, looming above your head and digging his warm touch into the base of your neck. 

Though when his rough palms finally did swoop down to caress your soft peaks, he quietly checked in, “this okay?” to which you simply nodded your head, eyebrows knitting together at the intenseness of the built-up anticipation.

Your entire chest cage heaved beneath his touch as he finally massaged your boobs, even occasionally fleeting away to ghost across your nipples, only to capture them in a pinch the next moment. 

You felt as if you were floating down a calm stream, letting the river of sin take you somewhere new and wonderful. 

Eventually, his broad palms swept up and down your form, though each time his reach dared to near your core, he barely touched you at all, missing entirely the spots that throbbed for attention, which of course only caused the sensation to deepen and render you even more desperate from his teasing. 

When he then shifted to stand to the side of the patted table, his deep voice washed over you once more as his touch stayed warm against your skin.

“Everything okay so far?”

“Yeah…” you hummed as you lazily blinked up at him, and the soft smile that curved your lips caused a similar one to bloom upon his own. 

His slow stride then carried him further down till his fingers began to dent the softness of your thighs. 

After he’d made your eyes flutter at the way he worked at the muscles in your legs, focusing on one thigh at a time, slowing working his way up till his fingertips stretched to dizzily brush against your outermost petals, it was then, that his sweeps grew and blossomed till one fleeting tease to your centre morphed into more as he kept coming back, each fluttering time slowly transforming till the maddening pets had become everything you’d dreamed of.

Soft whimpers flowed out of your lungs as he gently folded each of your legs up by your sides and cracked you wide open for him.  

As he gazed down at you with such intensity you’d never experienced before, it only took one step for him to change his angle and stand tall next to your hips. 

Letting his palms run up your inner thighs, the edges of each of his broad thumbs then met and joined on either side of your pussy as he captured it in a light pinch, making you moan softly, “fuck….” as his touch rolled your clit through your glistening puff. 

You nearly didn’t catch it because of how hard your own pants were, but Bucky’s own breaths had picked up as well and with a few stray curses seeping through his teeth as he continued to pluck at the strings of your pleasure. 

But then, before you could truly lose yourself to the ecstasy you felt flicking in your periphery, his hands slipped away, a smirk fast on his lips as a whine escaped you and he returned his attention to the rest of your body. Though thankfully, his torture only carried on a short moment before he finally granted you the first of many treats.

“Oh, yeah,” you couldn’t help but moan as he rubbed your clit and carried you over the peak. 

“Right there?” he leaned down closer to you as he kept up his pace, his free hand coming to rest right beside your head as he loomed over you. 

“Yeah,” you breathlessly panted as your body trembled beneath his touch. 

“Yeah?” he huskily echoed, nearly sharing your breath as he drew out your orgasm for as long as he could, and even as your body began to squirm at the sensitivity that swiftly set in, his touch never left you, only lightened to make it bearable and tickle you back from the high. 

He studied your features fiercely as his fingers then came down to tease your entrance. 

“How about this?” your leaky hole swallowed up the two digits he swiftly filled it with, “how’s that? Is that what you want?”

“Oh fuck!” your back briefly arched and lifted you off the table, closer to him for but a moment as sloppy sounds of your want echoed at the slow rhythm he played you at. 

“Or do you need a little more maybe?” he sneaked another finger inside, “huh?” his frame then bent down till you could feel his hot breath fan across your face, “what do you want? You want something more to make you feel good right here?” his fingers slid back out of your pussy and fluttered up till they found your puffy pearl, “or here?” he briefly soared back down to plug up your cunt once more, but only offered you one messily rock before his digits slipped back out and drifted down much further than you expected, “or maybe even here?” you let out a gasp as the slick pads of his fingers glided over your little rosebud. 

“I–, I–,” you struggled to answer him, feeling so foggy that you might just fall off the table, “fuck…” 

“I have any toy you could dream of with me,” he purred as your grip found his shirt for support, “so, what do you want?”

“I want–, I want–”

“What?” he pushed as he continued to stare down into your eyes. 

And as blinked back at him, only one wish came to mind, one that you timidly whispered, “y-you…”

But as fear began to prickle at your nerves, they all dissipated as the masseuse wasn’t offended at all, your words somehow conjuring a dazzled smile to appear upon his lip before he then chuckled warmly, “roll over for me.”

You nearly gave yourself whiplash from the hast you tried to fulfil his command.         

As he soon kneeled down to be on level with where your head was now twisted and resting on its side, his hand drifted up for you to spot the dildo clutched in his grasp. 

Handing it off to your flicking fingers, his touch briefly lingered on your cheek, stroking it softly as he said, “then pretend this is me, will you? Get it nice and sloppy for me.”

When you began to plant pecks across the silicon, your eyes shadowed him as far as they could as he straightened back up and walked back far enough to disappear from your sight, only for you to know where he’d gone to once you felt his mouth begin to devour you whole. 

It became difficult to concentrate on the task he’d given you, so much so that he had to remind you each time his lavish tongue buried between your legs caused your own to forget itself. 

Arching your ass further up towards his efforts, he tilted away from your drooling cunt and instead nipped up till he lapped against your other hole. 

“Oh, that feels really good,” you moaned around the dildo as you tried to catch a glimpse of him, though only saw the edge of one of his hands and they dented your bottom. 

“Yeah?” he let a dollop of spit drop to your rosebud before he nudged the pad of a thumb against it, “you like having this little hole played with?”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded, then watched as he momentarily dipped away to snatch up a butt plug from the zipped-open treasure trove his bag was. 

Once the toy was snugly buried within your little ass, he snatched the dildo out of your mouth and a string of your drool chased the silicone as he brought it back to tap against the sloppy petals of your pussy. 

It didn’t take very long after he’d begun to fuck you with the toy that you tumbled over the edge once more, making you that much more malleable when he yanked at your legs and manhandled you down to the bottom of the bench till your unsteady feet were once again on the floor and he had you bent over the table like a needy whore. 

That was also when your weak pleas began to bubble out, begging for him to fill you up with something other than a toy. 

Even though you couldn’t see his face, you swore you heard a tinge of astonishment in his tone when he asked you to clarify, making sure it really was him that had you begging and not just the way he made you feel. 

Though once you finally managed to convey the sincerity of your words and convince him of the way he and not just the acts he was performing, drove you wild, it was in the middle of chasing your next high that he broke his pattern and traded out the dildo with his own hard cock. 

A low moan seeped across your spine as he buried his length completely and let himself melt down against your back. Letting himself savour the sweetness of your warmth clenching around his fat girth, it took him a while before he finally began to move and soon found a steady pace that had your toes curling against the floorboards. 

His fingers gently dug into the soreness still remaining all down your back as his hips repeatedly collided with the plush of your ass in desperate thrusts. Though as his digits worked their way down the length of your spine, they eventually found the little plug that still remained in your ass. 

Teasingly twisting the toy, you thought that was everything he had planned, though all of those fantasies fluttered away when he suddenly yanked the small plug out and switched it with the bigger toy still firm in his grasp, your little hole only managing to wink up at him before he stuffed it full once more. 

You lost track of the amount of times he made you cum as the remainder of the intense dance became a bit of a blur. At one point he had you flipped around and lying on your back, gasping up at him as he folded you in half and nearly broke the massage table beneath you from how hard his deep strokes were. At the next, the dildo he drove you mad with was traded out with his own fat cock and he conjured a vibrating wand to hold against your puffy clit as he watched your pussy leak from the bliss. But at the end, once you were nothing more than a puddle on the table, his load painted against your tits as he let his frame drape down atop of yours, a hazy question left your lips.

“Is that usually how that goes?” you asked as you both panted, plastered against one another. 

Raising himself up only enough for his eye to catch your own, he uttered sincerely, “no…” and his gaze flickered down towards your lips, “no, it is not…” before he let himself give you the thing you hadn’t dared to request. The kiss was so sweet it nearly caused you to forget the sinful acts you’d just wrapped up.

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[shaisuki]

❝ A GAME OF CAT AND MOUSE. ❞

✞ FEATURING. BULLY! GOJO SATORU AND GETO SUGURU

▶ SERIES MASTERLIST

CONTENT WARNINGS bullying + university au + heavy bullying + degradation + humiliation + threats + blackmails + she/her pronouns + sabotage + bribes + blow jobs + cunnilingus + name calling (slut, whore, being called pig related names) + noncon + dubcon + dacryphilia + penetrative sex + implied spanking + anal sex + double penetration + nonconsensual recording + DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

NOTES. it's been long since i've paid attention on this one and for @bimbosandbubbles, vanny. thank you for inspiring me to finish this one. semi part 2 here. part 3.

SYNOPSIS. evading your bullies isn't a good idea so they take you to learn your lesson.

at the start of your uni days, you expected life would open a new path for you. meeting new people from different cities or in the international, new experiences and a way for you to start a new life with a degree after college but you shouldn't have planned anything for yourself as life had different plans for you. to mock you and spat at your face for being naive.

stuck in the endless game of cat and mouse with the university's golden duo.

his bright blue eyes peering behind his dark glasses while he watch the busybodies of students walks through the busy hallways of the university. searching for a certain someone that has been the sole enjoyment of his for the last few months. the only one who have lasted them for so long.

spreading his long arms at the back of the bench. legs spread in an inviting manner as he leans back, head thrown back. looking at the person sitting besides him.

“suguru, are you sure she'll show up?” gojo whines, asking the dark-haired male with the same footing as his in the university. looks and popularity-wise.

taking a puff from his cigarette, geto turns his eyes to him before looking at the students coming out for their next classes. blowing out the smoke before replying to him. his purple eyes glints.

“patience, satoru. she will show up.” anticipating the return of their favorite plaything. you could such be a tease at time like this.

it was time. your eyes rapidly searching for them. hoping to avoid the duo that everybody have singing their names. you don't want to deal another humiliation nor degrading remarks coming from them. you prayed. prayed and prayed, hoping someone will hear your pleas. clutching the straps of your bag tighter as you step outside of your class.

you began to made your way to your next class. you were glad many students were still present and crowding the hallways but you could never be so sure. passing the crowd with an apology to your lips as you occasionally bump into them but you keep your guard up, avoiding to look in the courtyard. you keep your sight straight ahead but you could feel your eyes tear up when a sudden shove from a busy student hit you. the collision making you look in the direction where the duo was waiting for you.

even at the distance, you can see geto's eyes fixated on you. a smirk curls in his lips. shooting you a playful smile at your direction.

your prayer wasn't heard that day.

scrambling into your feet and pretends you didn't see him. making yourself blend in the crowd and disappeared into the place where you only know. your heart beating a mile per minute, running away from them.

“there she is, satoru.” geto called out to his friend. making gojo straighten himself up and looks where geto is looking at. you're running away from them. how sad. how stupid.

thinking you could easily escape them and blending in the crowd. clever girl. they thought but they couldn't miss you. like predators marking their prey to be devoured. they know you more than you know yourself. exchanging looks and geto smirks while gojo chuckles. fuck, you interest them more.

two cats letting the mouse escape and corner it again before they can fully escape in their grasp.

looking around, you made sure there's no one following you. no signs of the white hair and dark long hair best friends lurking around. taking the more quiet place that students use as shortcut when in a rush.

you just wanted a peaceful college life. not being a playtoy for the duo who passed you around like you were some cheap whore. you want to ask someone to help you but how could they help you. some attempts were made and the good souls who believes in you where blacklisted from the university for some unknown reasons.

you didn't know how much power gojo held and the words coming from geto's mouth enticing people who hang from his every word and realizing it only at the end.

gojo satoru is the only son and the heir of a multi-million company. who made a name for himself in the campus. the pretty boy who have different arm candies hanging in his arms weekly.

geto suguru who you doesn't know much but made himself popular along with gojo in the campus. charming he is and had a fan club made for him and to his best friend. they're the best if people were asked about them.

and you. you were just nothing but a toy to them. a past time when they're bored and you're left like nothing when they're done with you.

they won't follow you, do they? looking behind you to check and you almost let out a breath of relief. you barely escaped geto earlier. your nerves still working you up.

“i didn't take you the type to ditch us, (y/n).”

you almost jump, making you stop in your tracks as you look up in front of you. hand in his pockets while waving the phone in his other hand. a grin in his face while stepping closer to you.

with every step he take, you took backwards. not wanting to face him or geto. you don't want anything from them. tentatively taking your steps backwards. you just could blend again with the crowd. your mind formulating a thousand escape plans. you only look at him in contempt. a last chance of bravery against him.

spinning your heel and you made a run for a life. you could taste the escape in your lips. away from him. away from the people who made your life hell.

flashes of light blinded you for a second before realizing you were stopped. the tight grip in your arm, the smell of cigarette clinging into his shirt. it almost made you gag.

“nice one, suguru. (n/n) thinks she can escape us.”

there was a stinging sensation behind your eyes. the hope you're once clinging ripping into shreds. falling once again to the madness this two seeks for the pleasure of their own entertainment.

geto pulls you closer to his. wrapping his arm in your shoulder. your back against his chest while his hand went to cup your jaw. raising your head to meet his smile. you sure could punch him if you have the guts but looking at his face, you couldn't deny that geto suguru is attractive. maybe it's the lightning or how his hair is elaborately tied in a bun where the other locks of his hair is loose underneath and the single strand of his hair falling down. acting like bangs in his face. the warm light of the sun illuminating his face like halo. it's almost— godly.

you felt stupid for admiring one of the people in your life who made it hell. it's a realization how small you felt, how powerless you are with this two and they remind you of it every single time of your life.

your lips is curled up in a frown and gojo take notice of it. the latter grinning and walking forward where his friend got you trapped.

grasping your chin in his slender fingers, blue eyes inspecting your face behind his dark glasses. leaning closer to brush his lips to yours and the immediate reaction earns a laugh of amusement to his. tucking back your lips and moving your head to the side. blinking back the tears and he'd be lying if he didn't like the tears on you.

you weren't special. you're nothing worthy of praise nor attention but you do give them a hell of a time. you didn't even look or close to the numerous bitches they had fucked. they were naturally submissive which they like and the worst is they got clingy which is incredibly annoying for them. skanky bitches like them think they can have a piece of them. thinking they're now hotshots for sleeping with them when they're just holes for them to fill and to leave.

you — you got a fight in you. they wouldn't tell you that aloud. they didn't need to shape a bitch for them. bitches are made for them and you, even a dozen times they break you, you're still standing up and perhaps they could keep you longer until you submit to them and throw you away like a trash. follow them like a lost puppy that is still coming back even kicked and worship them at their feet. they needed you to break.

your eyes betrayed you, no. it wasn't tears instead it was the impalpable glare you have given to someone and not just to someone. it was one of your bullies.

his shit eating grin turning into one of a coldest lines forming in his lips before turning into one of a condescending smile. an immediate silence taking over and geto didn't missed that despise being behind you. harshly yanking your arms he was holding and earning a whimper from you.

“ah, ah. what's that? acting brave now are we? who taught you that or perhaps we didn't teach you enough what happens to fat slut like you acting up? mmm?” he hums. closing his eyes as his lips crooks into a smile. his bangs covering one side of his eye and the other opens or both. you couldn't tell when his bangs is covering the other.

“suguru, don't be like that. we've been just too lenient at her and now — acting too brash. we don't want this for our pet suguru, do we?” gojo tuts. tapping his fingers to your cheek, eyes locking to geto. the eye contact generating the sickest of punishments they can sentence you to.

“please — i-i need to go....” your voice stumbling at the words and your false courage starting to crumble. you couldn't think how stupid you were for glaring at gojo. he deserves it and it's not enough. you thought. bitter memories starting to surface while you think of all the humiliations you had to endure by his hands and if you were getting punished which was already placed into you, you should have glared at his friend too.

gojo tuts.“nuh uh, where do you think you're going? this is what you get for avoiding us. you need to learn your place.” the snow white haired boy jeers at you.

suguru only smirks, grabbing your arm to drag you from wherever they wished to punish you. gojo following suit whilst humming a tone from a random song.

you ended up in a vacant classroom in where the area is currently renovated and staff and students alike are forbidden to enter minus the construction workers who were taking a lunch break. giving the duo the time to punish you in their own ways. you can feel the bile rising in your throat and the familiar sparks of tears stinging behind your eyelids. your heart quickening its beats from the nervousness and the shame you have to face on or it will never end. it never ends.

“strip.” the black haired male ordered you. seated in one of the chairs in the vacant room. his friend is also comfortably seated too. a huge smirk plastered on his face, resting his head in his palm while those blues in his eyes glints in anticipation.

“n-no.” you stammer out. your hands trembling. clenched in fists in your back.

geto fakes a frown. twirling his phone in his hand while he types the password in his phone.

“no? such a shame if the whole uni would see what kind of a slut you are. you look good in this one, pretty i might say. taking satoru's cock so well. hm?” tapping the phone in his fingers while showing you a clip of a video they had previously filmed from the past sessions. both had a copy in their own phones. they may never say it but it's a video they treasured whenever they misses you. “poor mommy and daddy. they will know how much of a slut a daughter they had raised.”

“you can't do that. you have no right.” there's a sound similar to a whisper in your voice. a cruel smirk etched in his face, looking at your helpless state. they know the power they hold. what would you do report? ask the others? too bad, they'll never believe you as long they're around. people worship them. what's the power of a peasant against them? nothing.

“he can, (y/n)-chan. just one tap away and the whole world will see you for who you really are. a slut who's desperate of attention. now, follow suguru's order or we'll post it.” satoru warns. playing with the arms of his dark glasses. the action making you see a peek of what's under them.

and just like that, like a puppet you obey them. your hands trembling along with your vision blurring from the tears that started to spill from your eyes. forced to follow what they ordered to you. you couldn't risk to be find out. knowing full well that you would just be shamed even it's not your fault. who would believe you after all? you were an unfortunate being that got thrown in a tiger's den. you think of your parents — who worked so hard for your education. if hardwork and determination would reward you along with their sacrifices. you will be the first one to graduate in your family. you just have to endure it. give in to their demands and maybe — just maybe. it will end faster and you could wallow in shame on your own.

retracting your arms and you unhooked your bag slinging in your back. placing it on the nearest table. there's a soft thud along with the taps of their shoes in the wooden floor. impatiently waiting for you to completely strip of your garments.

your head hung know as you hesitate to reach out for the lower buttons of your blouse. your fingers wobbles as the buttons enter the holes of your blouse. one by one. the buttons coming undone and you blinked back the tears again but no matter how many times you blinked the tears came running down your cheeks.

you couldn't run. not when the fate of your education and dignity are stored in their phones — or maybe. you'll let them and disappear forever — away from their hungry gazes and hands that turns filth whatever they touches.

a pair of blue and purple dances at your snivelling form. that look suits you better than being a stubborn bitch you are. all bark and no bite. who's the the loser now?

it's getting quite annoying how you slowly take your clothes off and the modesty of it. a red long sleeved blouse and underneath it a black tank top paired with a long black denim skirt that preserves and gives you the impression of being a modest and goody two shoes person. boring. they make sure to put in mind what clothes you are allowed to wear for immediate contact.

satoru sighs but it's closer to belching. growing impatient as he taps his shoes in the floor before standing up and walks towards you.

he holds the tops of your shirt before tearing it up. the last buttons flying away as they got ripped. you panicked and grasping his hands to stop it but he's stronger than you. easily pulling your arms away as he yank your shirt. the action resulting in your skin burning and welts starting to form where the cloth had touched your skin.

“no! no — please! i—i'll do anything you want but not this!” you cried, hands squirming to take it away from his tight grasp. “tsk. too late.” gojo taunts. turning his head to look at geto who was enjoying the view. “suguru~, lend a hand will you? little mousy-chan is real stubborn today” asking his friend nonchalantly.

geto shakes his head, cupping your jaw harshly that it started to hurt and leaves bruises to the skin. forcing you to raise your head to look at him. “this wouldn't happen if you were obedient. we could have shown you mercy and instead what did you do? running away from us like a squealing pig. accept your punishment.” his pupils darkening and you watch it through your glossy eyes.

“a bad, bad — bad girl, you are. who taught you this? ahh, maybe it's mommy or daddy. run away from the big bad wolf eh. it's that what they taught you. they're wrong. you're a swine who lures men at your undesirable self.” he continues to sneer at you.

you didn't know what's hurting at this point. your body or your soul. you didn't know. you couldn't even shield yourself from the spite of their hatred and disgust for you. if you were really this ugly and undesirable for them. why would they bother for it. you know it wouldn't be difficult for them to get their dick wet. girls swoon and was more than willing to give their body for them and if they want another to give the same treatment you receive, they can. a much more appealing person for their taste. a far cry from what you are.

he lets go of your jaw, the sound of your tank top being ripped from the back resonating in the room. geto grabs your head, your face pressing on his chest while he holds you to avoid interrupting his friend who was having the time of his life tearing your clothes off. your bra following suit. your denim skirt being tugged away and that made you cry even more, leaving you only in your panties.

gojo continues his torment at you. slapping and pinching the muffin top in your waistline. chuckling while his fingers digs marks into the skin. amused from the fat of your body jiggling and swaying with the assault it was taking.

his eyes twinkling in pure glee and it returns to normal meeting geto's gaze at him. looks are exchanged, a quiet agreement that they both fully understand what it meant coming for you.

geto places his hands into your shoulders before pushing it down, forcing you to kneel with no consideration for the bruises that will later bloom. gojo watches in pure amusement while his friend manipulates you into his will. this is what suguru is. his true colors in full display.

geto is not the person you want to be messed up with. striking in the place where you don't expect it. nothing can hinder suguru when getting what he desires and a shame for those fuckers who tried to help you. what they did get? blacklisted from the university with a anomaly he conjured up.

flickers of sunlight and dust mingles in the room. gojo shakes his head watching as his friend switched his charismatic demeanor into one of a sadistic. “suguru, don't get too hasty. i thought you were the cool one here.” he said nonchalantly, eyes hungry with desire and need from raking through your half naked figure. kicking your torn clothes strewn in the floor.

“i don't tolerate defiant bitches who can't follow rules and begs for mercy from their mistake.” his voice cool with hint of malice behind them. “i should put you in your place, (n/n). ” he smirks, relishing on how hope simply vanishes into your eyes.

“now don't be like that to me, (y/n). please me and maybe i'll change my mind.” his eyes narrows down at you while you're in the verge of tears. your lips are wobbling. faced with suguru's crotch and you regret looking in his eyes. a silent plea for him to change his mind. a condescending smile only and you received your answer.

you blink back the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes while you reach for his belt loops. shaky hands unbuckled his belt and you were shook that you were fumbling and when geto took a breath, you quickly managed to unhook the loops and pulling the zipper of his pants down.

you never wanted to make it worse than it was when geto would show his impatience towards you and in your situation you can only obey.

he's huge. always was. the outline of his cock is pressed against his boxers. “i presume you won't be needing my help to get it out, princess.” his tone velvet smooth with a hint of impatience dripping in it. you accepted your fate when you tug his boxers down. his cock springing free and it slaps to his abdomen. “suck.” he orders you with no hesitation and you think you could cry at this moment and then you remembered how cruel the two are when disobeyed especially the male above.

you take a experimental lick in the tip of his cock before enveloping it with your tongue. you feel him shiver. a grunt can be heard next as you swallow half of his cock. bobbing your head in a slow motion while you stroke the other half of his cock.

suguru stare at the scene below him. his cute piggy taking his cock in your mouth. he places his hand behind your head. forcing you to look at him and it makes his cock throb more at your mouth. your round cheeks in display and your lips wrapped around his cock and that teary gaze of yours meeting his own. “take more of this cock, princess.” tapping your cheek and you obediently followed. he let out a curse as you take him deeper. closing his eyes for a brief moment and he returned to watch you take more of him. “you can only follow an order if you're being threatened. might do more of this—shit—haaah.” grunting as you fondle his balls.

satoru watch in pure amusement as you take his friend's cock. slobbering all over it as you suck him deeper and he's a little jealous. not used in his spotlight being taken by someone and suguru was no exception and your attention should be also on him. his blue eyes peering through his glasses. he watch as your round face struggled to swallow more of his friend's girthy cock. drool seeping from the corner of your mouth as you bob your head back and forth.

gojo shudders at the blood rushing in his cock. he began to palm his cock through his pants. groaning and the little puffs of breath he was taking. unable to contain his excitement he pulled out his cock. stroking his veiny cock in a slow torturous manner as his cum dribbles down from the tip of his cock.

“suguruuu~” geto winces at the call of his name. eyes half-glaring at his friend for interrupting the haze he was in of your mouth sucking him. “you're not the only one allowed to fuck (y/n)-chan's mouth. sooo let me have her mouth.” gojo smiles at him and suguru scowls for a moment before giving your mouth to suck satoru's cock.

gojo grins. “f-fuck... suck me more...” the white haired boy stutters. burrowing his dick deeper in your mouth making you gag but he didn't care. feels too good to notice that you're almost choking on his cock as tears appeared in the corner of your eyes. your other hand still occupied jerking suguru's length.

the duo loves nothing more than this. their cute, little toy being used by them. you spent the last minutes alternating between their cocks, both covered by your spit. you were currently sucking him off and suguru groans at his impending orgasm and satoru isn't doing good either but before their orgasm bursts. they made you stop.

“open wide baby.” gojo pants. both of them pumping their cocks in unison before shooting their load in your mouth. spurts of their cum dropping in your tongue and some landing in your face. “what do we say after giving you our cum?” his face remaining passive as he reminds you and if you answer it wrong, this will last longer.

“t-thank you.” you shyly mutters. voice low and sounding so obedient. that seems to satisfy suguru as he replied with a hum. holding your jaw between his thumb and index finger. swiping the sticky cum glazed in your face with his thumb, he smeared it in your face and without further adieu you swiped the cum in your lips with your tongue. the bitter taste of their cum coating your taste buds and it would linger for days to come.

“you could be such a good girl, you know that, sweets.” satoru commented. admiring your face covered in cum. “even you could be such a bitch sometimes and you choose today to act up and we know what happens when you break a rule, you get punished.” squishing your round cheeks before staring at you dead in the eye with his blue eyes glimmering more than ever. “and punishment starts now.”

breathing is not the same as it was anymore. you sat in suguru's lap uncomfortably. your ass stinging, covered with handprints as it starts to form welts. air became lacking as suguru continues to kiss you.

“mmm...” the small sounds is all you can manage while suguru shoves his tongue deep inside. it's been minutes and this punishment gets worst as the clock ticks.

suguru can be gentle as he is rough. the dried tears sticking in your cheeks are the evidence of it and your much demure attitude after a spanking does the trick of it so he's rewarding you of kissing you until you're breathless. your soft lips perfectly melding in his and suguru enjoys every minute of it. you taste of the sea and something sweet or it just could be him. licking your tears before this. it was humiliating to you while he savors every minute for it.

geto smirks in the kiss when he hears gojo speak. “she's so fucking wet, suguru.” gojo laughs. watching as slick flows in your dripping hole. your thighs are spreaded by him and preventing you to close your legs away from his gaze. “all that spanking got you, hah. i barely touched you.” mocking you as he laughs. your body tensed and geto noticing the change in your body chuckles. “getting shy, are we? let satoru do what he wants and maybe we're going to be gentle to you this time.” it wasn't much of a request but an order. you simply nodded. “good girl.” suguru mutters before dipping again for a another kiss. holding you closer to him while his hand in your back gripping the rolls on it and the other hand in your breast. his finger brushing to your stiff buds.

satoru let suguru have his fun and so is he. what's in front of him is going to tastier and he can't wait to dig. parting your thighs wider, satoru first bestowed a chaste kiss to your doughy thighs. making sure they are given equally the amount of being worshipped by him. he won't say it aloud but your thighs are his favorite. smooching the expanse of your thighs and sometimes resting his cheek to your thigh just to feel that softness over it. he will get both of them to squish his cheeks or crush his head. he doesn't care.

a smack sound can be heard as satoru took his first lick to your fat pussy. humming in delight for diving back in. his tongue lapping in your sweet heat and more obscene noises grew from his desperate feats of licking your slit with his tongue. alternating between sucking and flicking his tongue to get more of that goodness.

your plush body jerks involuntarily. all the places with the extra bits jiggling at the sudden intrusion of his tongue. moaning in the kiss where suguru had you locked. “mmm...hah—mmm...” is the only sound you can produce as suguru licks your tongue and going back again to take your lips in his. drool covering both of your mouths. eyes half-lidded and you're drunk in this haze and you take a peek of satoru in between your legs. his white hair moving so gracefully as he slurps loudly the juices spilling in your cunt. his large hands holding firmly your thighs. sinking in the softness of it as your thighs gets bigger at being squish. the flesh spilling in his thick fingers.

satoru let goes on your clit with a loud pop before you can cum. your whines muffled by suguru's lips on your own and satoru chuckles. wiping the juices covering his mouth. “i got on her pussy first, suguru.” satoru reminded him and the man in front of you smiles. “no need to remind me, satoru. i'll take her ass.” he nonchalantly commented and your widens. squirming in his lap to get off but suguru clutches your flabby arms in his hands. “don't be scared. it will feel good like your pussy does.” he convinces you but you don't want it. “who cares about that, it's part of the punishment.” suguru growls and that puts you in your place. accepting what they decided for you.

“hey, suguru. frightening our dear (y/n)-chan will get her holes tight. you might want to loosen her.” gojo commentated whilst rubbing your slit with his fingers.

geto tsk. visibly annoyed, a rare occurrence for gojo to see his friend like this. “satoru, punishment is punishment.” the purples in his eyes darkening and gojo shrugs. “whatever. i still get to fuck her fat pussy.” sticking out his tongue towards suguru.

it was painful to swallow the lump in your throat that never existed again and again. your hands are clammy while the duo began to position themselves to you. satoru slapping your ass before hooking his arms behind your knees and his hands holding the back of your thighs hoisting you up. wrapping your arms in his and the other in suguru.

the black haired beauty holds your ass. suguru spreading your ass cheeks and the tip of his cock prodding at your tight hole. “please, geto. not in there please. i—i'll do any—mmph” the sharp thrust of his cock interrupted your plea. making you cry at the burning sensation in your hole. clenching your fist in a tight manner. your eyes hot and warm tears came rolling down your cheeks from the pain like rivulets. “and what? you'll do anything. too late now, sweetheart.” suguru examines your face as it twist again in the thrust of satoru's cock in your cunt.

“fuck!” satoru curses out. chuckling at himself. “the only good thing in you is tight pussy of yours.” your velvety walls clenching around his cock. “are you crying?” satoru teases taking a mental note of your tears.

both of them adjusts their hold on you. beginning to move their hips in an upward motion to thrust their aching cock in your warm holes.

it burns. everything stings with every move. your muscles begging to rest as it tears from how they stretched your muscles and your limbs put in a uncomfortable manner. this is how your day supposed to go on. why you must be in this position. unwilling and unlucky to escape this kind of situation. you're always in trouble with this two and maybe if you weren't so fat for this two to mock and make fun of you wouldn't be here.

mistaking the tears in your eyes as being overstimulated which is true but you're troubled with the inner turmoil of yourself so you get lost and the two began to harshly pound their lengths deep inside you. groaning and throwing at curses.

satoru rests his forehead in your shoulder and behind his glasses, his eyes, the prettiest shade of blue seems to shine in astonishing sight of your pudgy belly. squished together and like dough being stacked together. jiggling at the impact of their thrusts in you and his sight lowers. his cock disappearing inside your pussy as it glistens and the wet squelch it was making, it was simply music to his ears. biting the junction of your neck. he stare at suguru who's smirking at the sensation of your tight hole gripping his cock. “she feels so good, suguru—ahh.. this pussy's trying to choke my cock.” satoru commented.

“you hear that, you feel so good.” suguru holds your jaw forcing you to look at him. “open your mouth, baby.” parting your lips at his order, suguru spits on your mouth. a glob of his spit hitting your tongue in which you didn't hesitate to swallow and suguru smiles. “good girl.” he praises.

hard muscles are a contrast to your soft body. sandwiched between their bodies while they keep their pace steady in bullying your holes with their cocks. a moan is ripped from your throat when satoru hits the spongy spot in your cunt. knowing what he had done, satoru grips your thighs firmly as he angles his cock inside. hitting that spot repeatedly until you can't stifle the sounds coming from you. involuntary moans come spilling from your mouth and gojo swells with pride that only him, well both of them. he and suguru could make you moan like that. how did he know? silly to ask that. they're the only ones who had fucked you since you started college and the first to take your virginity. they didn't even allow men to approach you.

suguru wanting you to make you feel good like satoru does have to speed up his thrusts usually than what he always do. it's not even a work up from him. his desire for your asshole to only know the shape of his cock and he's the only one who can fuck this ass of yours.

“'too much. too much.” you babbled. the pleasure and pain is getting overwhelming for you to take. instead in pitying you it earned a chuckle from the two. “since when did it became too much for you, huh? you're a slut. sluts don't go to tell that it's too much. all they can do is shut up and take it.” satoru taunts you.

gojo hisses when your cunt squeezes around him. the creamy white ring forming in the base of his cock as you came. “shit! she came suguru.” satoru said in amusement and even he's like that he's getting close too and so is suguru. they exchange looks briefly before putting their strength in reaching their end.

you can't speak. they've taken your ability to speak. you can only moan in silence as you feel another orgasm bubbling in your abdomen again. you're going to cum and it's going to be more intense than the last one. you feel them both. hot and throbbing. the veins in their cocks making ridges in your soft walls. taking and molding their very shape.

harsh thrusts are back to back being blown to you. the tips of their cocks hits deeply as they can before releasing their loads. both groaning as spurts after spurts of their cum are being loaded inside of you. never did you felt to be so full and warm until they've released their loads inside of you. hot and sticky.

it took a few more thrusts before the both of them had ridden their high. handsome as they are and wicked even after fucking their favorite plaything. removing your arms around their shoulder. you slowly descended on the floor. both of their cum escaping your holes. dripping and staining the cold hard floor where you sat. you ignore them and you know the drill after being fucked by them. it's time to leave and slowly, you began to gather your clothes. your blouse are useless. tattered and shredded and it won't cover you. you're lucky your denim skirt are still intact.

reaching out for your bag to get the spare clothing you packed for when it happens. you grabbed the wet wipes. patting where their release had stained you, mostly in your face. a stream of tears you didn't even notice falling from your eyes got you wondering why the floor below you is getting wet. the realization dawning into you and you can only cry silently. dressing yourself and trying to be more decent.

satoru and suguru busied themselves fixing their clothing. not leaving the sight of their toy cleaning their self. suguru crouches down to meet your position. “crying after what you've put yourself into.” he commented. “pathetic.” satoru mutters as he watch you beneath him. “try not to defy us again, okay? it would be much worst than this one.” there's a hint of softness in his voice and maybe you could convince yourself that he wasn't a jerk from the way he spoke but you know better. they had humiliated you until you hated yourself. degrading you like you were nothing a dirt and not a human being.

“i understand. i'm sorry.” you say. bowing your head in shame for being disobedient at them. for not following simple orders. “good.” his only response to you.

“can i please go now?”

suguru hums and with that, you slowly made your way outside. your bag tightly secured in your back with your ripped clothes, you left without saying a word again with tears streaming down your face.

when you disappeared from that door, the duo both left at the building. going on with their lives again as the golden boys of the university and you were left with nothing, not even a shred of your dignity.

satoru reviews the newly recorded of you being impaled by their cocks. feeling hard again from the way your pussy wrapped around him along with your soft body pressed against him. “the best, satoru.” suguru commented after seeing what his friend is watching in his phone. “send it to me.” whipping his phone in a second and quickly typing.

your phone buzzes. alerting you with a message. you were wiping your tears after you nearly trip. absentmindedly wandering in the campus and if it wasn't for you almost tumbling you wouldn't break out from your stupor. more tears rolled in your cheeks, dripping down in the screen of your phone after you've read the message.

suguru: see you later.

[avonnimimi]

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Attitude Adjustment

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an: this is my first little drabble, please be nice, I hope you all like it, lmk if you want more or any other characters my asks are opennnn:) (no i did not spell check this or read it over) MEN AND MINORS DNI

content: college!au, kind of porn with a plot, mean!vi, strap-on-sex (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving) brat taming?, dom!vi, one pussy slap, multiple + forced orgasms, edging?, choking, degrading names, hair pulling, breeding kink, cursing. (lmk if i missed anything)

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It wasn't like you to be so miserable especially not toward Violet. But she'd been gone for four whole weeks, off training with an elite professional boxer, and it was driving you insane.

Sure, she called every night, texted you every morning, and checked in whenever she could, but now it was ovulation week, and she knew it. She knew exactly what her absence would do to you.

You'd tried to take care of yourself, desperate for relief, but your fingers couldn't fill you the way hers did.

Frustration festered in your chest, spiraling into a dull ache that left you feeling empty and irritable. Now, you were curled up in your dorm bed, naked, fat tears brimming in your eyes as you clutched the phone.

It vibrated in your hand.

Vi was calling.

You answered immediately.

"Hey, princess," her familiar voice drawled, warm and affectionate.

You huffed. "Hi, Violet."

She chuckled softly, but there was concern in her tone. "What's wrong?"

You didn't answer. You couldn't.

Instead, you did something you never thought you'd do-you hung up.

Vi always made you feel heard and loved, but the irritation of missing her, the ache in your chest and between your legs, had you acting out of character.

You buried your face in the pillow, ignoring the buzz of your phone as it vibrated relentlessly for the next 15 minutes. Call after call, message after message, it was all Vi.

Still, you didn't respond. Your body, overwhelmed by exhaustion and longing, eventually lulled you to sleep.

But the peace didn't last long.

A loud pounding on your dorm door startled you awake. Your heart leaped into your throat as you scrambled for your phone, ready to speed-dial Vi, but what could she do? She was miles away.

Tugging one of Vi's old shirts over your bare body, you crept to the door. Your hands trembled as you unlocked it, cautiously pulling it open.

"V-Vi?" There she was, in all her glory, and she looked furious. She didn’t tell you she was going to be back early.

You stepped back, fingers fidgeting with the hem of the oversized shirt, eyes wide. Vi didn't say a word as she pushed the door open wider, her sneakers heavy against the floor as she made her way to your couch.

She sat down, legs spread wide, one hand resting on her thigh. "You gonna explain what the fuck that was earlier?"

Her voice was sharp, cutting through the thick tension in the room.

You closed the door quietly, too scared to meet her eyes. You'd rarely seen Vi upset, but this? This was something else entirely.

"C'mere," she commanded.

You hesitated but obeyed, walking over to stand in front of her. Her piercing gaze followed you as you slowly straddled her lap, your legs trembling slightly as you draped them over hers. Her hands immediately gripped your hips, pulling you flush against her chest.

You froze, your breath hitching when you felt her bulge press against your clit.

"Not gonna speak?" she murmured, her voice low and dangerous.

Your gaze dropped to the floor, but Vi

wasn't having it. She grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her. Her thumb brushed over your bottom lip, her eyes dark with frustration and something deeper desire.

"You never use your mouth when you're supposed to," she said, her tone laced with mock disappointment. "Let's put it to use now."

A needy whimper escaped you. "I'm sorry," you whispered, but the words sounded weak even to your own ears.

Vi didn't respond. She slid two fingers into your mouth, her calloused fingertips brushing against your tongue.

Instinctively, you sucked, hollowing your cheeks in a desperate attempt to please her.

Her eyes fixated on you, watching the way your puffy lips wrapped around her fingers. Her thumb stroked your jawline, almost as if she was admiring her handiwork.

Then she adjusted in her seat, her hips shifting so that her bulge pressed harder against your sensitive clit. The friction sent a shockwave through your body, and a moan escaped your lips, muffled by her fingers.

Vi smirked, her annoyance melting into something far more predatory.

"Yeah," she muttered, her voice a low rumble. "That's what I thought."

Her tone sent a shiver down your spine, and when she pushed her fingers deeper, you gagged, your throat tightening around them. A satisfied hum rumbled in her chest as she slowly withdrew her fingers, a thin string of saliva still connecting you.

Before you could catch your breath, Vi scooped you up effortlessly, her strong arms cradling you against her chest. Desperate to make amends, your lips found her neck, kissing, licking, and sucking across her warm skin in frantic, apologetic motions.

She didn't say a word, her expression unreadable, but the heat of her gaze pinned you in place as she carried you to the bed. Gently but firmly, she set you down, her fingers already tugging at the hem of your shirt. She pulled it off in one smooth motion, leaving you bare and exposed under her intense scrutiny.

"Ass up. Now."

Her voice was low and commanding, leaving no room for argument. Your body moved instinctively, heart pounding as you obeyed, presenting yourself just the way she liked.

You felt her shift behind you, her calloused fingers spreading your slick folds with ease. "Fuck me," she groaned, her voice dripping with need.

"So fucking wet. This what you wanted? Wanted this slutty little pussy pounded in, huh?"

When you didn't answer fast enough, a sharp, stinging slap landed right on your swollen clit, sending a jolt through your body.

"Yes!" you cried out, your voice trembling with desperation. "Wanted it so bad, Vi... please," you whined, your hips instinctively pushing back toward her.

Your back arched deeper, presenting yourself fully, your body begging for her to finally give you what you needed. The tension in the air was electric, leaving you waiting, trembling with anticipation.

"I know, baby, I know," she murmured, her voice low and soothing as her thumb pressed against your puffy clit, tracing tight, deliberate circles over the sensitive bud. The touch was perfect-just what you'd been craving for weeks.

You clutched the sheets beneath you, a shaky sigh escaping your lips as relief washed over you. Finally, finally, she was giving your needy pussy attention. Soft whimpers spilled from your mouth, your hips grinding back into her hand, desperate for more.

"Mhm, yeah," she cooed, her voice laced with teasing affection. "My baby gets so miserable when she doesn't get what she wants, huh?"

Before you could respond, her middle finger slid inside you with ease, her knuckles brushing against your entrance. The stretch sent sparks of pleasure coursing through your body, and your head fell back against the pillow.

"F-fuck.. Vi," you gasped, your voice trembling as your walls clenched around her.

Before you could fully adjust, she slid in another finger, the stretch making your walls flutter around her. "But y'know what I don't like?" she asked, her tone sharp, almost mocking.

You gasped as her thrusts grew deeper, faster, leaving no room for your protests. "V-Vi, wait-" you stammered, your voice barely above a whine.

"I don't like when my girl gets all bratty just because she doesn't get her greedy little cunt stuffed up," she growled, her voice dripping with dominance. Without hesitation, she added a third finger, forcing another gasp from your lips.

"Fucking slut," she spat, her fingers curling perfectly to press against that sensitive, squishy spot deep inside your gummy walls. "So desperate."

The obscene squelching of your soaked pussy filled the room, mingling with your broken moans that grew louder with every thrust. Your body trembled, completely at her mercy, as she pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

—

Three orgasms in, Vi had her strap so deep inside you that it felt like she was rearranging your insides. She hit every spot so perfectly you couldn’t even think straight. Your vision blurred, stars swimming behind your eyelids. Your face was smashed into the pillows, her hand pressing down hard to keep you there. She didn’t want to hear a single sound out of you, but fuck, you couldn’t help it. You tried to stay quiet, but the way she was fucking you? It was impossible. She’d never been this rough before. Was it bad that you liked it? No. Of course you liked it. You loved it.

You tried to say something, tried to beg, or explain yourself. You just wanted her to understand, you missed her, that’s why you acted out, that’s why you got upset. But the words wouldn’t come.

“You want a break? Hm?” she sneered, her voice dripping with mockery. You couldn’t even answer, too fucked out to form anything close to a response. Your pussy clenched around her cock like it was starving for it, drooling all over her strap. She noticed, of course. How couldn’t she?

She grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you up, dragging your body back against hers until your back arched so deep it nearly hurt. “Fuckin’ knew it,” she growled in your ear, slamming into you even harder. “Such a cockslut. You don’t need a break, you need me to ruin you.”

And you did. God, you did.

Your mouth hung open, words replaced by gasps and moans you couldn’t hold back. You could barely think, let alone speak. She shoved your face back into the pillows like she was disgusted by the sound of you, pulling out until just the tip of her strap sat there, teasing you, before slamming back inside without warning. You cried out, fat tears streaking down your face, soaking into the sheets.

“Shut the fuck up,” she snapped, giving your hair another sharp tug. You tried. you really did, but every thrust knocked the air out of you, made your body betray you all over again. Your cunt was so wet, so messy, it was loud enough to echo in the room. Vi fucked you like she didn’t care, like you weren’t hers, and you fucking loved it.

Your hips moved on their own, trying to meet her thrusts, but she wasn’t having it. She pinned you down harder, her grip unrelenting, her pace brutal. You felt like you were falling apart under her, barely holding on, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the way she fucked you.

Your body gave her all the answers she needed—your pussy creaming for her, clenching so tight it felt like you never wanted to let her go. And you didn’t. You didn’t care how rough she was, how raw this felt. You wanted her to keep going, to leave you wrecked. You wanted all of it.

“Mmm, cumming—gonna cum… V-Vi, I’m gonna cum again, fuckkkkk—” you whined, your voice cracking as your body trembled. But just as you were about to fall apart, she pulled out, leaving you empty, throbbing, and desperate. You barely had time to complain before she flipped you onto your back, manhandling you into a brutal mating press. Your knees were pushed up damn near to your shoulders, leaving you completely exposed.

“Don’t fucking cum,” she growled, her voice low and mean. “Gonna show you what happens when you pull bullshit with me.”

Before you could even catch your breath, she slammed her cock back inside you, filling you to the hilt in one sharp thrust. You cried out, your hands clawing at the sheets, but she didn’t care. Her thumb found your clit, rubbing it just enough to make your head spin. She knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted you to break. She wanted you to cum—so she could punish you for it.

“Gonna be a good girl f’me? Don’t cum, baby,” she teased, grinning down at you like she had you completely figured out. And she did. You were already shaking, your body on fire, the pressure building so fast it felt like you were going to explode.

“W-wait! No, c-can’t—” you babbled, words falling apart as you hiccupped between gasps. You were so close it hurt, and she knew it. She fucking knew.

“Fuck, I wish I could get you pregnant,” she said, her voice rough and breathless. “Breed this fucking tight cunt.”

The filthy words sent your mind reeling, your pussy clenching hard around her cock. You couldn’t stop it—your body betrayed you completely. But that’s exactly what she wanted.

You came hard—so hard you couldn’t breathe. Your chest heaved, your body spasming uncontrollably, but Vi didn’t stop. Not even for a second. “Yeahhh,” she groaned, her voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “Cream all over this dick. Let me see it, baby.” Her words were filthy, but the way her hips snapped into you made it impossible to care. You couldn’t respond, couldn’t even think. The overstimulation was unbearable, every nerve in your body lit up and sparking like fireworks.

Her hand found your throat, her grip firm but teasing, just enough to make you whimper. “Whose pussy is this, huh? Tell me,” she growled, her tone sharp, commanding. Her eyes bore into you as her thumb pressed into the side of your neck, daring you to answer. But you couldn’t. You were still cumming, your body jerking beneath her as she drilled into you, her pace unrelenting. Her cock slammed so deep it felt like she was splitting you open, her tip slamming into your cervix over and over again, sending sharp waves of pleasure and pain straight through you.

“You can’t even talk, can you?” she sneered, her lips curling into a cocky grin. “God, look at you. Fucking wrecked. You like this, don’t you? Being my little cumdump?”

Her thumb dragged over your clit again, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that made the pressure inside you skyrocket all over again. Your legs trembled violently, your back arching so hard it felt like you’d snap in half. “Come on, baby,” she taunted. “Wonder if I can make this little pussy squirt. You wanna squirt for me? Hm? I know you do.”

“N-no! I can’t—I c-can’t—” you babbled, tears streaming down your face. But your body betrayed you. The way your pussy clenched around her cock, the way you gushed every time she hit that perfect spot—it told her everything she needed to know.

“Yeah, you can,” she growled, leaning in closer, her lips brushing against your ear. “You’re gonna squirt for me, baby. Gonna fucking soak me, aren’t you? I know this pussy can do it. Fuck, I wish I could knock you up—fill you up with my cum and watch you take every drop. I’d breed this tight little cunt every fucking day if I could.”

Her filthy words sent your mind spiraling, the heat in your stomach boiling over. “Vi, please!” you sobbed, but you didn’t even know what you were begging for. Relief? More? It didn’t matter—she wasn’t stopping.

“Bet you’d look so fucking good, all round and full with my baby,” she continued, her voice rough and breathless. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you? Make you a mommy, let me breed you over and over until this pussy’s mine forever?”

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, and the pressure inside you snapped all at once. You screamed, your body locking up as a gush of wetness exploded from you, soaking her cock, her thighs, the sheets—everything. She didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, her thrusts pushing you through it as more and more juices poured out of you, leaving you shaking and completely spent.

“There it is,” she groaned, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Knew you had it in you. Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect, baby. Look at this messy little pussy.” Her hands gripped your thighs, pinning you down as you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure. Your body twitched and jerked with every thrust, tears streaming down your face, but she wasn’t letting up just yet.

“Vi, please,” you cried, your voice hoarse and broken. “C-can’t—too much—”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she slowed down, her thrusts easing until she pulled out completely. You collapsed onto the bed, trembling and gasping for air, your body completely wrecked. Vi stayed there for a moment, watching you, her chest heaving as she caught her own breath. Her cocky smirk was painted across her face, but there was something softer in her eyes now, a tenderness creeping in as she took in the mess she’d made of you.

“Fuck, baby,” she murmured, leaning down to brush her lips against your temple. “You okay? You still with me?”

You nodded weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Y-yeah… just… fuck.”

Vi laughed softly, her hand coming up to stroke your hair. “Yeah, you’re a mess,” she teased, her tone gentler now. She pulled the strap off and tossed it aside, then scooped you up into her arms, holding you close against her chest. “Shhh, it’s okay. I got you.”

She pressed soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, anywhere she could reach, her hands rubbing soothing circles into your back. “You did so good for me, baby. So fucking good,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth.

You buried your face in her neck, letting her steady heartbeat calm you. She stayed like that for a while, just holding you, until your breathing evened out. Then she shifted, reaching over to grab a towel. “Hold still, sweetheart. Let me clean you up,” she said softly.

Her touch was careful but firm as she wiped you down, murmuring soft apologies whenever you flinched from sensitivity. She took her time, making sure you were completely clean before grabbing a fresh blanket to wrap around both of you. Once she was satisfied, she pulled you back into her arms, tucking you against her like she never wanted to let you go.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked again, tilting your chin up so she could look into your eyes. “I didn’t go too hard, did I? You’d tell me if I did?”

You shook your head, a tired smile tugging at your lips. “No… it was perfect. You’re perfect,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Vi smiled back, her thumb brushing over your cheek. “Nah, you’re the perfect one,” she said softly. She kissed you again, slow and tender, before pulling you even closer. “Close your eyes, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

You melted into her, letting her warmth and soft words lull you into a peaceful haze. She stayed awake a little longer, stroking your hair and whispering sweet things, her voice the last thing you heard before sleep took you.

—————————————————————————

this is my original post, please don’t repost, translate, or plagiarize my work ;)

©️avonnimimi 2024

[magicfaealaric]

Alaric didnt ever grow up with much... in fact he lived on the streets since he was a child and would stay in little abadoned buildings he saw. He tried to never steal instead would try and work only most places were afraid to hire him, not with the rumours of who his parents had been or at least his mother. "into dark magic so she was, a sorcerer" said another. "Can you believe her husband almost worked in the castle kitchen...? I heard their spawn even used to play wiht the prince.. disgraceful." They would say. There was one small llittle place barely staying open itsself that would give him anything left over. In return he would help with repairs. Alarics father wasnt father of the year up and leaving when he didnt want to sahre his wifes attention but he did teach him some things. His little shed had a whole in the roof but he didnt mind, Alaric loved watching the stars and when he had more energy painting them.

A loud eruption in the streets and suddenly a banging at his door sent him suddenly falling out of bed and rushing towards the opposite wall just to get a glance out of the window. Heart pounding he clutched his chest and stiffened before starting to barricade the door with anything he could find, iced objects suddenly flew across the room his hands quivering. "BY ORDER OF THE KING OPEN UP IMMEIDIATLEY. the king?? What did the king want with..

"BY ORDER OF-" enough of this" Anorther said and kicked the door down. Alaric fell back against the wall. "Grab him.. hes to be taken straight to the king.. this is the one... he owes the kingdom a great deal.. thinking they could rob the kingdom.. marry off to nobles.. pathtic. He'll do well as a servant." Alaric didnt understand a word of what they meant and yelped as he was grabbed. "Restrain him.. we dont want him possibly trying to escape or hurt our prince."

The queen knocked gently on Ferre's door. " I do hope you are up by now.. its nearly 9." She chided. "Its a beautiful day come down darling." @combeferre-the-mothman

[dadsbongos]

sweetnerd

@toxycodone / @maniacpixiedreamboy been waiting to post this one for ya (based on this post of his)

summary - daisuke -desperate for some release after months of passionless jerking- begs to eat you out one night.

1 k words / 18+! mdni

Recently, the lock on medical had been snapped off. Thankfully, you knew the culprit to be Swansea after a belligerent search for painkillers. And unfortunately, you were responsible for watching over the numerous drugs each night.

Well, you claim it’s a misfortune but really you placed the burden upon yourself. Anya insisted that she would sit with you -- seemed borderline inconsolable at the idea of you being there alone. Then she told you where she hid the ship’s gun.

You weren’t sure why a nurse and her assistant had access to the gun when even Captain Curly didn’t, but you also weren’t getting paid enough to ask. Besides, you’ve never had a reason to use it so why concern yourself?

As if sensing all such serenity, the Tulpar bangs outside. Then Daisuke is clambering inside, hands on the doorframe and cheeks flush. His knees are pressed together, his whole body bent like some cheap hanger. Hair tousled, strands upright in odd angles -almost electric in nature. If not for the utter strangling silence behind him and his heavy breathing, you might’ve thought the rest of the ship was on fire.

“Dai… suke..?” you sit up groggily, scrubbing exhaustion from your eye, “The hell’s wrong with you? Do you know what time it is?”

“Do you?” he shoots, abandoning the argument a second later in favor of quietly humming, “I wanted to ask you…”

“Yeah?”

“Uhm, ugh… It was easier in my head… earlier…” he mumbles, hand drifting down toward his pelvis. He scrunches the crotch of his sleep pants, a lofty sigh escaping at the squeeze, “Can you- I’m just, you get it? You’ve gotta,” he clenches his eyes, seemingly shaking away the humiliation that very instant and looking at you with the biggest, wettest plead you’ve ever seen, “Can you please sit on my face while I jerk off please? Please?”

The pinched look on your face does not scream disgust, which only relieves him slightly -- he hadn’t really considered what he’d do if you reported his question to Captain Curly. Head too hot with want to forethink something as trivial as a sexual harassment lawsuit.

“Why…?” you lean back, hesitant though not appalled.

“I need to get off, like crazy,” he stumbles forward, slow enough for you to roughly shove him back if you want to, “All I got is an old mag, and it’s junk!” you can hear the delirium thrumming through him the longer you keep him waiting, “You’re so hot, I just wanna eat you out… You don’t even have to do anything, just ride my face! I’ll be good, I promise. We can stop whenever, too, I don’t need to finish,” he swallows harshly before whispering something you’re not totally sure you were meant to hear, “Just the memory could make me cum anyway.”

“Uhm…”

“I’ll give you some of my sweetener stash!”

“I don’t want that, Daisuke…”

“Then forget you heard it!” his dark eyes scramble over your body, “What else can I give you?”

Your own gaze flips over his shoulder, out the still open medical door and down the hall. Empty. Quiet. You snag him by the loose collar of his spare Pony Express shirt, sunshine fabric pillowing between your finger, wrangling him into the bay.

“Just be quiet,” you hiss, “The lock’s busted.”

Daisuke’s rosy lips drawl upward, loose and loopy and disbelieving, “You’re serious?”

“Aren’t you?”

He nods hastily, jumping back onto one of the care beds before flattening across it -- pleading silently up at you with wet puppy eyes while scrubbing sweaty palms down his thighs. Crinkling the soft material until it’s ricketing down his knees; watching hawklike as you slowly strip. Then you crawl atop of him, he clutches you by the hips and blows out a wildly uneven breath.

Barely able to find the strength to blink -lest he be cursed to cut the sight of your bare skin from his eyes- Daisuke only just scrounges the wherewithal to assist you into kneeling over his scorched face.

Exhaling between your thighs, Daisuke winds one hand around your thigh -blunt nails digging into the fat- while wrapping his cock with the other.

Craning his neck, he approaches eating you out the exact way you assumed he would: eagerly and without forethought. Absent of technique, but so full of hunger; his tongue parting and swirling wherever he pleases in that moment. As rhythmless as he is, he’s overtly sloppy -- wet clicks livening the silent room.

Billows of loose breath echoing. You sigh as he whimpers into you. Your weight jostling over his face as he bucks wildly into his tight fist -the resulting gasp only makes him thrust up harder.

“Ah, Daisuke,” pure instinct encourages you to reach down and wrangle his hair, keeping him still for you to grind down and fuck his face. Swirling your hips for that wet friction and Daisuke puts up no fight: only moaning louder into you. Vibrations making you shudder and weep again, “Ah- Daisuke!”

He croons beneath the praise, thumbing the soaking head of his cock while tongue-fucking you open. Desperately stretching his neck to nuzzle deeper into you with his own mewls leakier than a broken faucet. The messy sound of his clenched fist rapidly working his cock grows louder -- you glance over your shoulder to find him shiny with precum. Hand a mere blur over his thick erection. Ruby head peeking at you with every thrust until pearly ropes are painting his knuckles -- some more ambitious shots flying onto your back.

You’d somewhat expected him to slide back like some content, melty goop.

Daisuke surprises you when he smears cum over you whole before using it as lube to slide in, nearing knuckle deep. He moans in time with you as if he can feel it -or maybe just because feeling you clench around him is that good.

“God,” he whimpers beneath you, fingers curling inside you, “I could die down here…”

It might’ve been alarming, if he hadn’t said it so dreamily.

Maybe you’ll let him go down on you more often, if he’s always going to be so eager.

[tempobaekh]

Jacked and kind super soldier

Pairings: bucky barnes x civilian!f!reader

Warnings: FLUFFF, cutie, bucky being jacked and kind, maybe ooc bucky?

A/N: this trend is the cutest this everrrr. i HAD to write it for my fav super soldier. i also read a rafe cameron one somewhere a bit ago and got inspired by that lol. also I KNOW THAT IS THE HYDRA ARM IN THE PICTURE i just needed a picture of his metal arm kinda flexing.

The weekend was your sanctuary—a blissful retreat where the rest of the world melted away, leaving just you and Bucky in the warm cocoon of your apartment. The soft hum of the shower from the bathroom filled the air as you lounged on the couch, your phone in hand, scrolling through TikTok aimlessly. Alpine was curled up on the armrest, purring softly as if she, too, reveled in the peace.

As you swiped through your feed, a familiar trend popped up—a montage of strong men lifting their girlfriends effortlessly while Sabrina Carpenter’s “Slim Pickins” played in the background. The lyrics floated through your mind: “A boy who’s jacked and kind…”

Each video showed the guy flashing a proud smile, flexing an arm while the girl laughed, clearly enamored by the display of strength. A wistful sigh escaped your lips. The trend wasn’t new; you’d seen it countless times but never mustered the courage to ask Bucky to try it.

Bucky was still adjusting to modern life, often overwhelmed by the ever-changing whirlwind of social media and trends. While he was always a good sport about trying new things, you were careful not to overwhelm him, only occasionally roping him into your TikTok antics. Even then, you had maybe two or three TikToks of you both on your account.

But this trend? This trend stirred a little thrill in you. You couldn’t help but wonder—how would it feel to be hoisted onto his shoulder, his strength so effortless it was almost unfair? Would he smile that soft, proud smile you loved so much? Would he flex just to humor you?

Your lips twisted thoughtfully. Could you even ask? Would he think it was silly?

“Just ask,” you mutter to yourself, biting your lip as you stare at the video again. The sound of the shower shutting off jolts you out of your thoughts. Moments later, Bucky steps out into the living room, his dark hair damp and tousled, a gray t-shirt clinging to his broad chest. Alpine immediately perks up, trotting over to greet him.

“Hey, doll,” he says with a warm smile, rubbing a towel through his hair. “What’re you up to?”

You stand, heart thudding slightly as you approach him. “Buck, can I ask you for a favor?”

His brows furrow slightly, curiosity flickering in his stormy blue eyes. “Of course. What’s up?”

“Well...” you start, clutching your phone like it’s a lifeline. “There’s this trend on TikTok I’ve seen a lot. It’s harmless, I swear! But it involves... you lifting me. For a video.”

Bucky tilts his head, his expression a mix of amusement and confusion. “Lifting you? Like how?”

You quickly explain, pulling up the video and showing him. As he watches, you can see the flicker of understanding cross his face, followed by a soft chuckle.

“So, you want me to do that?” he asks, a teasing grin tugging at his lips.

“Yes,” you say with an embarrassed laugh, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. “But only if you’re okay with it!”

He pauses for a moment, then shrugs. “Why not? Seems harmless enough. And if it makes you happy...”

Your face lights up, and you throw your arms around him. “Thank you, Buck!"

Setting your phone up on the coffee table, you adjust the camera angle until both of you are perfectly framed. The familiar 10-second countdown begins, and you quickly fluff your hair, glancing back at Bucky, who’s standing behind you with an easy smile.

“Ready?” you ask, your voice tinged with excitement.

“Ready when you are, doll.”

The countdown hits zero, and the familiar opening notes of “Slim Pickins” filled the room. Before you can even do a little jump to help him, Bucky’s large hands—one warm, the other cool and firm—grip your waist. In one effortless motion, he hoists you onto his shoulder like you weigh nothing, his flesh arm supporting you.

“Bucky!” you gasped, laughing as you suddenly found yourself perched on his shoulder, your legs dangling. You clung to his shirt instinctively, though you knew he’d never let you fall.

He looked up at you with that soft, proud smile you adored.

Then, to your utter delight, he glances at the camera and flexes his metal arm, the vibranium glinting under the soft light. You giggle uncontrollably, your cheeks aching from the sheer happiness coursing through you.

When the music ends, he gently sets you down, his hands lingering at your waist as he looks at you with a soft smile. “How’d I do?”

“Amazing,” you say breathlessly, darting over to grab your phone and watch the video. The grin on your face only widens as you replay it.

Bucky walks over and wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You’re cute when you’re excited, you know that?”

“Thank you for doing this,” you say, leaning back into his warmth.

“Anything for you, doll,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

Later, as you upload the video, the comments start pouring in, and each one makes you laugh harder.

Each comment had you laughing harder, while Bucky groaned in mock exasperation. “What is wrong with people?” he muttered, though the pink tint to his ears betrayed his embarrassment.

“Oh, c’mon,” you teased, nudging him playfully. “You’re the internet’s new heartthrob. Own it.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “As long as you’re happy, doll.”

You leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Always. Thank you for indulging me.”

“Like I said, anything for you,” he said softly, pulling you into a warm embrace.

You snuggle closer to him, your heart full as he pulls you against his chest. For a moment, the world fades away, leaving just the two of you and the easy comfort of being together.

Note: gifs, pictures, and header DOES NOT belong to me. CREDITS TO THE RIGHTFUL OWNERS!! Feedback and reblog is appreciated.<3