#sort of?? I just stared at it- no tracing

[fushiguruuzzzz]

HIDDEN WISHES — M.FUSHIGURO

“Make a wish,” you said, eyeing him expectantly.

And as he stared at you, birthday hat atop your head and a smile so wide it was almost child like, he couldn’t fathom the possibility of wanted anything more. What more could he want when he had you, pretty and warm and so sweet it hurt his teeth?

But for your sake, he humoured you. His lips curled into a barely-there grin, and he blew out his candles. Your name repeated like a mantra in his head, all he could ask for and all he could think about.

“Did you wish?”

His head tilted lazily to the side, eyes trained on you. “Mhm,” he hummed.

You smiled again—he figured he should’ve been the one beaming, it was his birthday after all. You always had a way of finding the light in things, of shining even in the darkest of places.

Picking up a fork and scooping a messy bite of the cake with the utensil, you held it up, the heap of icing and sugar hovering around his closed mouth. When your pointed looks proved worthless, you prodded at his lips with it. A sprinkle stuck to his face, making his otherwise nonchalant expression seem rather silly.

“Say ah,” you said, poking a little more aggressively. He quirked a brow, unimpressed. In all seriousness, he somewhat enjoyed your playful coddling. Not that he’d admit that, never. So he stared at you like he was bored, though you knew him better than that. The glint in his eyes told you well enough.

Some sort of impulse became too strong, and you smeared the baked good across his mouth—and everything around it. His jaw only then fell open, brows furrowing in a mix of amusement and offence. “Hey!”

You grinned, obviously proud of your work. A gentle hand came up, tilting his chin toward you. “I think you’ve got a little something there,” you teased.

When you kissed him, you could taste the sugar. It was sweet, but you much preferred the taste of his lips on a normal day.

He chased you when you pulled back, a desperate attempt to get the fill that he wasn’t bold enough to ask for. When you opened your eyes, you wished you had brought a camera. He was a blank canvas smeared with cake and traces of your lipstick; remnants of your love clinging to him like they were always meant to be there.

Megumi couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed, eyes twinkling with something you’d never really seen before. Just then, he started thinking that maybe, just maybe birthday wishes came true after all.

a/n — mmm I tried to wait to write this so it didn’t simmer in the drafts but now it’s dec 11 and I’m writing this smh. Sigh I love Megumi so bad can you tell… also he shares a bday with my friend so today is a glorious day 🙏 my fav part of these is making the little icons for the top megumi is so silly

Jjk & general tags: @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniya @kashee-h @anotherwriternamedclara @ruruisru @lizbix

[darksturnz]

BETWEEN THE CRACKS

CONTENTS:・teeth rotting fluff-heavy plot (again..) ・star!reader ・mild language ・mentions of death/hospitals・artist!chris ・mild language + more WC: 3.6k

slightly a part two to this, and once again, highly recommend you listen to this on repeat as that’s what i did.

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, painting faint streaks of gold across the small, cluttered room. Star stirred, her body caught between the pull of sleep and the growing awareness of something unfamiliar. Warmth.

Her eyes fluttered open, her breath catching as she realized she wasn’t alone. Chris’s arm was slung loosely around her waist, his hand resting on the fabric of her shirt like a promise he hadn’t meant to make. His face was inches from hers, his expression uncharacteristically peaceful in sleep, the usual tension smoothed from his features.

For a moment, she froze, her heart pounding in her chest. She’d spent years perfecting the art of keeping people at arm’s length, of never letting anyone close enough to see the cracks beneath the surface��� besides madison of course. And yet, here she was, tangled up with Chris Sturniolo of all people—the guarded, gruff boy who never smiled, never laughed, and yet somehow felt safer than anyone she’d ever known.

Her gaze flicked over his face, taking in the faint scar along his jawline, the way his dark lashes rested against his cheekbones. He looked softer like this. Human, even. It was a stark contrast to the sharp edges he usually wore like armor.

She swallowed hard, unsure of what to do. The rational part of her wanted to slip away, to put distance between them before he woke and they had to confront whatever this was. But the softer, quieter part of her—the part she tried so hard to ignore—didn’t want to move.

Her hand rested against his chest, and she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. It was grounding, in a way, and terrifying all at once.

Chris shifted slightly in his sleep, his arm tightening around her for just a moment before his eyes opened.

Star froze again, her breath hitching as his gaze met hers. For a split second, there was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, a glimpse of something raw and unguarded. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by a sort of quiet confusion.

“Morning,” he muttered, his voice rough and low from sleep.

Star blinked, the sound of his voice snapping her out of whatever trance she’d been in. “Morning,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Neither of them moved. The silence between them felt heavy, but not uncomfortable—more like the weight of something unspoken, something fragile.

Chris glanced down at her hand still resting against his chest, his brows furrowing slightly. A faint, almost self-deprecating smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t mean to, uh, hold you captive,” he said, his voice gruff but tinged with awkward humor.

Star felt her cheeks flush, but she didn’t pull away. A ghost of a smile flickered across her lips. “You didn’t,” she murmured, her voice quieter than she meant it to be. “I didn’t mind.”

That quiet admission settled between them like a secret, one neither of them was ready to unpack.

Chris finally shifted, breaking the silence but not the closeness entirely. “m’gonna make coffee,” he muttered, his voice softer now, as if the moment had chipped away some of his usual defenses.

Star stayed where she was, staring up at the ceiling as the sound of his footsteps retreated into the kitchen. Her chest felt tight, her thoughts swirling with feelings she wasn’t ready to name.

This was dangerous. She knew that. Letting someone in, even a little, was a risk she couldn’t afford to take. And yet, as she traced her fingers over the wrinkle in the sheet where Chris had been, she couldn’t help but feel the faintest flicker of something that felt an awful lot like hope.

The coffee maker sputtered weakly, its rhythmic bubbling filling the small trailer as Chris leaned against the counter, staring blankly at the chipped mug in his hand. He wasn’t sure why he’d said what he had back in the room. Didn’t mean to hold you captive. It wasn’t like him to really joke—at least not in a situation like that.

But Star did something to him. Slowly, without permission, she had slipped past all the defenses he’d spent years building. He didn’t know how to navigate it, the strange pull he felt toward her. It was terrifying. Maddening. But when he heard her footsteps padding softly into the kitchen, a part of him—the part he didn’t like to acknowledge—felt calmer.

Star lingered in the doorway, watching him. The faint smile she’d worn earlier had faded, replaced by something quieter, more thoughtful. “You okay?��� she asked, her voice soft.

Chris turned his head, meeting her eyes. There was a vulnerability in her question, like she wasn’t just asking about him but testing the waters to see if it was okay for her to stay. He nodded once, setting the mug down. “Yeah. You want some?” He gestured to the coffee maker.

She shook her head. “I’m good.”

The moment stretched between them, warm and unspoken. Chris cleared his throat, turning back to the counter. “Lila should be up soon,” he said, his voice gruff again.

“Right,” Star murmured. She hesitated before stepping closer, leaning against the opposite side of the counter. “Do you think she’ll want pancakes?”

Chris raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “She always wants pancakes.”

Star chuckled softly, and the sound did something to him—something he didn’t have words for.

Lila emerged a little while later, her brown curls a tangled mess and her eyes puffy with sleep. She dragged her blanket behind her like a cape, rubbing at her face as she padded into the kitchen.

“Morning, Bug,” Chris said, his tone softer now.

Lila mumbled something incomprehensible, then perked up when she saw Star standing by the stove. “Star!” she exclaimed, her voice brightening.

Star turned, crouching slightly to meet Lila’s excited gaze. “Morning, Lil.”

Lila giggled, abandoning her blanket to run over and wrap her arms around Star’s legs. “Are you making pancakes?”

Chris smirked from his spot by the counter. “Told you.”

Star rolled her eyes at him before turning her attention back to Lila. “Only if you promise to help me flip them.”

Lila gasped, nodding vigorously. “I’m the best flipper!”

Chris chuckled, the sound low and brief, but it made Star’s chest feel strangely warm. She caught his eye for a moment, and something passed between them—a silent acknowledgment of how natural this felt.

After breakfast, the three of them settled into their usual rhythm. Lila spent time coloring on the living room floor while Chris worked on a sketch at the small table near the window. Star watched them from her spot on the couch, feeling an odd sense of belonging she hadn’t felt in years.

It was Lila who broke the comfortable silence. She climbed into Chris’s lap, her coloring book in hand. “Can we go see Mommy today?” she asked softly, looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

Chris set his pencil down, his expression softening. “Yeah, Bug. We can go.”

Lila hesitated, twisting a curl around her finger. “Can Star come too?”

Chris blinked, caught off guard by the request. His eyes flicked to Star, who sat very still, her gaze carefully neutral. He hadn’t expected Lila to ask, and he wasn’t sure if Star would even want to go.

Star hesitated, her stomach twisting. The last time she’d been in a hospital, her mother had died. Just the thought of stepping into those sterile halls again made her chest tighten.

But then Lila turned to her, her wide eyes filled with hope. “Please, Star? Mommy would like you,” she said softly.

Chris didn’t say anything, but he watched Star closely, his brow furrowed as if he was trying to figure her out.

Star exhaled shakily, forcing a small smile. “Yeah,” she said finally. “I’ll come.”

The hospital was as stark and sterile as Star had expected. Every step inside felt heavier than the last, memories pressing down on her chest like a weight she couldn’t shake. She kept her gaze fixed on Lila, who walked ahead with her small hand clasped in Chris’s.

When they reached Evelyn’s room, Star hesitated just outside the door. She could hear the steady hum of machines, the faint murmur of voices, and her heart began to race.

“You okay?” Chris’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts.

She glanced at him, nodding quickly. “Yeah.”

Chris studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before pushing the door open.

Lila ran ahead, her voice bright. “Mommy!”

The woman lying in the bed was pale and frail, her breathing shallow as she smiled weakly at her daughter. Star lingered by the door, unsure of where to stand or what to do.

“Hi, sweet girl,” Evelyn murmured, her voice thin but warm.

Chris crossed the room to stand by her bedside, his hand resting lightly on Lila’s shoulder. He glanced back at Star, his gaze expectant.

Star swallowed hard and stepped forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “Hi,” she said softly, her voice trembling just enough for Chris to notice. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Evelyn’s eyes flicked to Chris, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “You must be Star,” she said. “Lila talks about you all the time.”

Star blinked, surprised. “She does?”

Lila nodded enthusiastically. “Uh-huh! I told Mommy how you make pancakes and how you help me with my drawings.”

Star felt her cheeks flush, but she smiled. “Well, you’re a pretty great artist, Lil.”

Evelyn chuckled softly, the sound weak but genuine. “You’re very sweet,” she said, her eyes lingering on Star for a moment before shifting to Chris.

Chris stayed quiet, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, but his gaze was fixed on Star. He watched the way she interacted with his mom—how gentle and respectful she was, how she seemed to genuinely care. She didn’t notice Chris watching her, but he couldn’t look away. There was something about the way she fit into this moment, into his life, that scared him and comforted him all at once.

Star sat on the edge of the chair near Evelyn’s bedside, her posture tentative but open. She folded her hands tightly in her lap, unsure if she should lean closer or stay where she was. The machines hooked up to Evelyn hummed softly in the background, their rhythmic beeping both comforting and unsettling.

Lila was perched at the foot of the hospital bed, her sketchbook open as she chattered away about her latest masterpiece. Star leaned in to admire it when Lila held it up, a messy swirl of crayons resembling what Lila insisted was a butterfly.

“It’s beautiful,” Star said softly, smiling at the little girl.

“It’s for Mommy,” Lila announced proudly.

Chris shifted by the wall, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You better get it framed, Mom. Bug’s a professional now.”

Evelyn laughed quietly, her gaze flicking from Lila to Chris. “I might just do that,” she murmured. Her voice was tired, but there was something about the way she looked at her son—pride mingled with sadness.

Star could feel it—the heaviness in the air, the weight Chris carried every time he walked into this room. She glanced at him briefly, catching the way his jaw clenched, his fingers twitching at his sides as if he wanted to do more but couldn’t.

After a while, Lila climbed into the chair on Star’s lap, distracted by her coloring book. Evelyn turned her attention to Star, her soft gaze curious but kind.

“So, y/n,” Evelyn began, her voice gentle, “how long have you been putting up with my son?”

Star blinked, caught off guard by the question. She glanced at Chris, who rolled his eyes but didn’t protest.

“Um… a few months now,” Star replied, a small, nervous smile tugging at her lips. “He doesn’t make it too hard.”

Evelyn chuckled, though it quickly turned into a cough. Chris straightened, his brow furrowing as he stepped closer to the bed. “Mom,” he said quietly, his voice edged with concern.

“I’m fine,” Evelyn assured him, waving a weak hand. She turned back to Star, her expression softening. “It’s good he has someone around. Lila talks about you like your family.”

Star froze, her chest tightening. Family. The word felt foreign, like something she couldn’t quite hold onto. She forced a small laugh, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Lila’s easy to love,” she said, her voice quieter now.

Chris caught that—the slight tremor in her voice, the way her eyes shifted down to her hands. He didn’t say anything, but he stayed close, his presence steady even if his words weren’t.

As Star talked with Evelyn, Chris found himself studying her. She was nervous—he could tell by the way her fingers twisted the hem of her hoodie, the way her shoulders tensed every time Evelyn asked her a question. But she didn’t shy away.

She met his mom’s gaze, listened intently, and responded with a quiet respect that wasn’t forced. Chris wasn’t used to that. Most people tiptoed around his mom, either out of pity or discomfort. But Star just… was.

And it was the way she was with Lila that got to him the most. She didn’t treat her like a kid to be humored but like someone worth listening to, worth spending time with. It reminded him of how his mom used to be before the illness took so much from her.

That feeling in his gut—the one that twisted and ached every time Star was around—was back. He didn’t know what to do with it, so he shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall, trying to look indifferent.

When it was time to leave, Evelyn hugged Lila as tightly as her strength would allow, kissing her forehead and whispering something that made Lila giggle. Chris bent down to press a quick kiss to his mom’s cheek, murmuring something Star couldn’t hear.

As they walked out of the room, Star lingered for a moment, glancing back at Evelyn. The older woman smiled at her, her gaze warm but knowing, as if she could see straight through Star’s guarded walls.

“You’re good for them,” Evelyn said softly.

Star felt her cheeks flush. “They’re good for me,” she murmured with a soft smile before turning to follow Chris and Lila.

The walk back to the car was quiet. Lila held Chris’s hand, skipping slightly as she hummed a tune Star didn’t recognize. Chris opened the passenger door for Star without a word, his hand brushing hers briefly as she climbed in.

The car ride back was quieter than usual. Lila dozed off in the backseat, her head lolling against the window, her sketchbook clutched tightly in her lap.

Star stared out the window, her thoughts swirling. The hospital had stirred up memories she hadn’t wanted to face, but it had also given her something unexpected—connection. She glanced at Chris, his profile sharp and focused as he drove.

“Your mom’s really kind,” she said softly, breaking the silence.

Chris’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, but his voice was even when he replied. “Yeah. She is.”

Star hesitated, her fingers playing with the frayed hem of her jeans. “Thanks for letting me come,” she said quietly.

Chris glanced at her briefly, his expression unreadable. “She liked you,” he said simply. “Kinda knew she would.”

Star’s chest tightened at the admission. She wanted to say more, to ask what he meant, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she rested her hand lightly on the console between them, her fingers brushing his briefly.

Chris didn’t pull away.

The trailer was quiet when they got back. Chris carried Lila inside, her small body heavy with sleep as her head lolled against his shoulder. Star followed, closing the door softly behind her. The familiar warmth of the space wrapped around her, a stark contrast to the sterile chill of the hospital.

Chris gently laid Lila on her bed, brushing her curls back from her face. She stirred slightly, murmuring something incoherent before curling into the blankets. Star hovered near the door, unsure if she should help or stay out of the way, but Chris glanced back at her.

“Can you grab Bug’s stuffed bunny? s’over by the couch,” he said quietly.

Star nodded, moving to retrieve the well-loved bunny that Lila never slept without. When she handed it to Chris, their fingers brushed, and she caught the faintest flicker of a smile on his lips.

Chris tucked the bunny into Lila’s arms and adjusted the blanket over her shoulders. “Night, Bug,” he murmured.

“’Night,” Lila mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

Star watched from the doorway, her heart twisting at the tenderness in Chris’s actions. He moved so easily between his rough edges and these softer moments, and she felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite name.

When Lila was settled, Chris turned off the light, leaving the door slightly ajar. He stepped into the hallway, his gaze meeting Star’s briefly before he nodded toward the porch.

“C’mon,” he said, his voice low.

The air outside was crisp but not cold, the faint scent of pine and earth lingering in the night. Star leaned against the wooden railing, her arms crossed over her chest as she looked out at the dark expanse beyond the trailer park.

Chris stood beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the quiet settling around them like a blanket.

“You okay?” he asked finally, his voice soft.

Star hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edge of the railing. “Yeah,” she said, though the word felt heavy in her mouth.

Chris didn’t push, but his gaze lingered on her profile, studying the way her jaw tensed, the way her eyes stayed fixed on the horizon as if she was afraid to meet his.

After a long pause, Star exhaled shakily, the words falling from her mouth before she could stop them. “The hospital…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “It brought back some things.”

Chris stayed quiet, giving her the space to continue.

“My mom died in a car accident,” Star said, her voice trembling slightly. “She was trying to bring me an essay I’d left at home. She knew how much it meant to me, and she…” Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard, blinking against the sting in her eyes. “She didn’t make it to the school. A drunk driver hit her on the way.”

Chris’s chest tightened. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t realized the weight she was carrying every time she stepped into his home, into his life.

“I haven’t been back to a hospital since,” Star admitted, her voice quieter now. “I couldn’t. Until today.”

Chris’s hand twitched at his side, and before he could think better of it, he reached out, his fingers brushing hers. “I didn’t know,” he said softly.

She looked down at their hands, her lips pressing into a faint, sad smile. “It’s not something I talk about, I hear about it enough from my dad” she murmured. “But… being here, with you and Lila—it’s different. Your place feels safe. And I don’t have a lot of that in my life.”

Chris’s throat felt tight. He wasn’t good at this—at knowing the right things to say. But he couldn’t ignore the pull in his chest, the way her words settled deep inside him.

“You’re always welcome here,” he said quietly.

Star turned to face him fully, her eyes searching his. The vulnerability in her gaze made his heart ache.

“Chris…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do without this. Without Lila. Without you.”

His breath caught, and for a moment, he didn’t move. But then, before he could talk himself out of it, he stepped closer, his hand brushing against her cheek.

“y/n,” he murmured, his voice rough but gentle. “If I kissed you right now, would you stop me?”

Her lips parted slightly, her breath hitching. For a moment, she didn’t answer, the weight of the question settling between them. Then, she shook her head, her voice soft but steady.

“I’d really, really like it if you kissed me.”

Chris’s chest tightened, and he didn’t hesitate this time. He closed the small distance between them, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was as much a confession as it was a promise.

Star’s hands found their way to his chest, gripping his shirt lightly as she leaned into him. The kiss was slow, tentative at first, but it deepened as the weight of their unspoken feelings spilled over.

When they finally broke apart, Chris rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin.

“You scare the hell out of me,” he admitted quietly.

Star laughed softly, her hands still pressed against his chest. “You’re not exactly the safest thing either.”

Chris’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, and for once, he didn’t try to hide it.

“You should stay,” he said softly. It wasn’t a question.

Star nodded, her voice barely audible. “Okay.”

Chris exhaled, his shoulders relaxing as he stepped back, holding the door open for her.

Star followed him inside, her heart still racing.

Maybe this was dangerous. Maybe it would hurt later.

But for now, it felt safe.

AUTHORS NOTE: the “i’d really really like it if you kissed me” line was sooo ib something @bernardsbendystraws responded to an ask to. i seen it on my feed and it literally screamed star & chris idk! anywho they kissed, fr this time and this has opened so many doors to potential blurbs, you’re getting fed.

TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips @sturniolo-fann @coquettechris

[thebigqueer]

"Was there never another ending?" - Caitvi - One-Shot

Summary: After the battle, Vi & Cait are resting in Cait's room and discussing the aftermath of the war. (inspired by "The Aftermath" by @qvert!) Word Count: 5440 Notes: CWs for sensual content (this lowkey borders being sexual but i wouldn't classify it as smut), mentions of blood & wounds. takes place after s2 act 3! Read on AO3

Vi wants to sleep. She’s been lying on Cait’s carpet for hours now, staring at the darkness behind her eyelids, but it’s been no use; it’s already early afternoon. No matter how exhausted she is, her blood is just humming too much to let herself sleep. 

It doesn’t help that Cait is next to her, hooked up to all those tubes and bags of fluid. Cait’s been released from whatever operations her father wanted to do on her since the battle, and she’s been resting on a makeshift mattress against the window of her bedroom, at her own request. Vi asked her earlier why she didn’t just want to stay on her bed, which would probably be the more comfortable option, but Cait shook her head as Vi helped her onto the mattress. “I just want to wake up to the sun in the morning,” she muttered. She offered that Vi stay on the bed, but they both knew the offer was going to be futile. After all that had happened in the past few hours, the very thought of spending a moment outside of each other’s peripheral felt dangerous. 

“You can lie next to me,” Cait suggested before drifting to sleep. “Why sleep on the floor?” 

Vi wanted to take her up on her offer. But she glanced at the tubes, and even though in any other circumstance she would have given in gladly, she knew that she’d be risking too much by taking up that space on Cait’s mattress. She didn’t want to accidentally rip out the tubes or kick Cait in her sleep. So she shook her head, brought over a pillow from Cait’s bed, and laid herself across the carpet. 

Cait narrowed her eyes at her, but her exhaustion quickly whisked her off to sleep. 

That conversation was during the night. Cait’s woken up a few times since then, each time with a jolt, followed by franting swiveling as she looked around her surroundings. But every time her gaze found Vi’s, she relaxed and let herself ease into her mattress again. At one point, she held her hand out, and Vi reached for it.

She hasn’t let go of it since. It’s the only thing keeping her anxiety at bay, knowing that Cait’s in her reach. 

Now the sun shining through Cait’s windows makes Vi’s eyelids glow in a warm orange, and she frowns in frustration. She wants to sit up and talk to Cait, but she’s not sure whether to shatter their silence just yet. Vi knows she’s not sleeping, though. She’s been playing with Vi’s fingers for the past hour or so, tracing the lines against her hand. 

“Can’t sleep?” whispers Cait, and Vi opens an eye at her voice. The sun splits through the window and arcs around Cait’s head, forming a slight blue halo around her, and Vi’s heart skips a beat at the sight. She’s lying on her stomach, face against the mattress as she looks down at her. If Vi was tired before, Cait’s voice evaporates any sort of exhaustion from her limbs. 

“It’s a little bit hard when someone’s playing with my hand.” Vi smiles up at Cait, then opens the other eye. She runs her thumb over Cait’s, feeling the coarseness of her knuckle under her fingertip. “How could you tell?”

A slight pink blooms in Cait’s cheek, and Vi’s almost surprised at how innocent she looks. “Your eyelids keep twitching. And your breathing is uneven.” Then Cait winces. “I’m sorry. I should let you rest.”  

“No, it’s fine. I wasn’t able to anyway.” Vi pushes herself into a sitting position and scoots closer to the mattress, and Cait shifts herself a little to make room. Vi lays an arm on the mattress and leans her head against it as she looks at Cait. “Can’t sleep either?”

Cait huffs a humorless laugh. “It’s a miracle I was even able to dream.” 

Vi hums in sympathy. She glances at the bandage wrapped over Cait’s eye, blooming with a faint red ring, and brushes her thumb against her forehead gently. “How’s the pain?”

“All right.” Cait attempts a shrug, then winces. “Better than earlier.” 

Vi offers a grudging nod, then brings her gaze to the bandages wrapped around Cait’s torso. Guilt pulses in her chest, and she lays a gentle hand against the gauze, feeling the roughness underneath her fingers. “When was the last time you changed these out?”

“I think I’m actually due for a change.” Cait raises an eyebrow at her. “Mind helping me do the honors?”

Vi gets to her feet gratefully. At least now she has somewhere to put her restless energy. She makes her way to the supply cart that Cait’s father set up at the foot of her bed and wheels it closer to the makeshift mattress. When she returns, she’s surprised to find Cait lying on her back now, her head tilted towards Vi. The sunlight streams in a green hue through the window and spills over Cait’s body, and, despite herself, Vi’s eyes catch on Cait’s bare chest. All she’s wearing is sunlight and the bandage holding her together. 

Cait raises an eyebrow. “You’re staring.” 

Vi can’t help the smile that erupts over her face. She doesn’t even have time to bite it back before Cait sees, so she chooses to embrace it instead. “My bad. Got a little distracted.” 

“I can wear a shirt if you’d like.”

“No!” Vi’s adamance makes them both flinch, and Vi blinks in surprise. “I mean, no, it’s fine.” She meet’s Cait’s eye, and her chest heats at the sight of her gaze, so full and bright and curious. “It’s just… I like that you’re comfortable with me.” 

“But you’ve already seen me half-naked.” A playful smile dances in Cait’s good eye. “I didn’t take you to be the shy type.”

“I know.” Vi shrugs. “But I don’t just mean that. I guess… I don’t know. I’m glad that you trust me to see you like this, like it’s an everyday thing. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world for me to wake up to you half-naked.” Before Cait can respond, Vi holds her hand out. “Let me help you up.” 

Cait grips her hand, and Vi wraps her other arm around Cait’s back to ease her into a sitting position. She hisses with each movement, but they eventually have her propped up, although slightly pale. Vi pats Cait’s knee gently as she catches her breath. When some of her color returns, she looks at Vi with incredulity in her eye. “I don’t know how you even managed to survive that wound to your body,” she croaks out. “This is horrible.” 

Vi smiles slyly. “Now we’re twins. Ready to take the bandage off?”

Cait’s eye closes as she takes a deep breath. “Yes.” 

Vi picks at the end of the tape and pulls as gently as possible. Once it unsticks from the rest of the material, she begins unraveling it from Cait’s body. It’s a tauntingly slow procedure, one that consists of a lot of cursing and lip-biting and eye-scrunching on Cait’s part, and Vi feels guilty every time Cait flinches. But eventually the gauze comes off, and Cait’s wound stares back at Vi, gaping red and festering. 

Now it’s Vi’s turn to flinch. “Yikes.” 

Cait’s face is scrunched in pain. “Don’t say that.” 

“Sorry. I mean, wow, your wound is the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

Despite her pale color, a sparkle of amusement twinkles in Cait’s eye. “Shut up.” 

Vi throws a grin at her, then tosses the old bandage on the ground. She grabs a washcloth and a bowl of water from the cart, submerges the cloth in the water for a moment, then wrings it out and holds it in front of Cait. “This is probably going to sting a little more.” 

Cait sighs heavily. She stretches her arms behind her to hold herself against the pain. Her head tilts back as a frown paints itself on her features, and in the sunlight, her neck flashes. 

Vi forces her gaze to stay on the wound, if only to distract herself from how beautiful Cait looks right now. She gently dabs, and it takes a while for her to clean out some of the dried blood. Cait’s body scrunches against the sting, and each twitch of pain makes Vi twitch in sympathy, but she keeps going until the dried blood is cleaned away. 

It feels like an eternity before she’s done cleaning it out, but eventually she throws the cloth - now painted in a faded red - to the ground. She reaches for a roll of gauze from the cart, then sits back down to face Cait, who looks even more worn out now. 

“Last part,” Vi says, then gently brushes her hand against Cait’s knee. “Do you want to eat anything? I think your dad left some food.”

“I don’t even know if I have it in me to eat today.”

“I don’t blame you. Ready?” 

“No.” But Cait clutches her mattress again, and a new determination comes over her. 

Vi meets Cait’s eye, tilting her head to make sure she’s really ready, and Cait offers a slight nod. Vi starts by leaning forward and reaching her arms behind Cait’s back. She moves slowly, trying to be as gentle as possible as she wraps the gauze around and around. Cait only flinches a few times, which Vi considers as progress. She can feel Cait shivering against her every time she pulls in close, and despite the circumstance, a heat flickers in the pit of her stomach at the feel of her skin, warm and humming in her arms.

Finally, the gauze is thoroughly wrapped around Cait’s waist, and Vi uses the scissors on the cart to cut through it. As soon as Vi sticks it together, Cait releases a shuddering breath.

Vi’s about to ask if she wants to lie down again, but Cait beats her to it as she slowly crawls herself back onto the mattress. As soon as she hits the bed, a sigh of relief escapes her, and she presses the back of her hand to her forehead. A gentle silence falls over them as Cait steels herself against the releasing pain.

Vi watches her breathe for a moment. The sunlight soaks her body again, and even though she’s still a little pale, everything about Cait seems so vibrant in the light. Vi’s gaze travels up to the bandage over her eye, and she reaches out to brush Cait’s forehead again. When Cait opens her good eye in response, Vi gestures to the bandage with her chin. “How do you really feel?” she murmurs.

Cait shrugs. “It’s going to be difficult to get used to having one eye. And I’m sure I have some sort of concussion. But all that matters to me right now is that I’m alive, and that Ambessa didn’t get my good eye.” 

Vi nods. Then she nips at her thumb to hide the twitch in her lips. “I know this is the least of your worries,” she muses, “but I think the one-eye look is gonna look so hot on you.” 

Cait fixes Vi with a raised, playful eyebrow. “I’m glad you have your priorities straight.” 

“Of course I do.” Vi meets Cait’s eye again, and they both giggle. But the laughter slowly dissipates into quiet again, and soon the only sound in the room is of their breathing. 

In this new silence, Vi’s eyes trace Cait’s body. She starts at her face, radiant in the sunlight, then rolls over her neck, over her bare chest, down her abdomen. It’s kind of amazing the way Cait almost commands the light to fall on her. Her gaze catches on every scratch and gash and bruise on her body, and, impulsively, she reaches out and brushes her fingers over each blemish. Even bloodied and battered, she somehow has a way of stealing the beauty from the room.

She has the look of a warrior.

Vi drags her fingers down her bandages. The gauze is rough under her fingers, and she zigzags gently down the surface, until her touch lingers over the same place where Cait’s wound is. Then she retraces her steps, runs her fingers back onto the bare skin over Cait’s abdomen. Vi can feel the shiver in her skin as she breathes, and she swears her own fingers are glowing. She flicks her eyes up at Cait again, and when their gazes connect, Cait releases a breath and closes her eye, accepting Vi’s touch. 

So Vi keeps going. Her fingers follow the trail of Cait’s muscles to her sternum, and the motion gently tugs Vi forward, too. Cait’s ribs rumble underneath her fingers, like sharp hills on her body. She risks another glance at Cait, whose blue eye pierces her once again, but now there’s an ease in it, as if she’s floating. 

Vi brushes her fingers over Cait’s heart, and Cait’s breathing shallows the barest inch. Vi takes this as her permission to lay her lips on her sternum, and the scent of violets overwhelms her. She closes her eyes, trying to permanently memorize Cait solely through her fingertips. Her lips drag down Cait’s body, leaving kisses against every bare inch of skin that she can, but she stops just above her bandages. She looks up again to meet Cait’s eye, to make sure she’s not hurting her. Cait only looks curious, like she’s eager to see where Vi goes with this. 

Vi flattens her fingertips a little more against Cait’s chest, so that the curve of her breast just barely fills Vi’s palm, and she traces her kisses up Cait’s sternum again. Then she shifts herself closer to Cait’s body, cupping her other hand against her waist to hold her better, and leaves kisses against the rising part of Cait’s breast, up into the dips of her collarbone, into the crook of her neck. Cait sighs and tilts her head, inviting Vi in. Vi takes her hand on Cait’s waist to the other side of her face, brushes her thumb against her cheekbone, savors the heat of Cait’s flush between her fingertips. She’s so close that she can feel Cait���s chest rising into her own each time she breathes, and the feeling sets her heart on fire. 

Vi pushes her fingers under Cait’s chin and forces her head to tilt just a little bit more, then lets her bottom lip trail against Cait’s jaw, runs every bruise and knick under her lip, tastes her skin humming, until she reaches her final destination: Cait’s lips. Cait parts her lips a little wider, and as Vi finds her way in, Cait traces one hand over Vi’s back, up her neck, into her hair. Her fingers cradle Vi’s head so gently, and a tingling warmth erupts at the pit of her core, like a match just ignited. Her touch is a wildfire against Vi’s skin, and Vi swears her heart’s about to break out of her chest.

Vi tries to sigh, but it barely gets anything through because each time Cait scrunches her hand, another wave of desire steals Vi’s breath away. The hand on Cait’s face glides down her body again, this time with more purpose as Vi presses her palm against the side of Cait’s breast.

Cait’s neck arches at the touch. 

Then Vi pulls away, and Cait blinks up at her, a daze buzzing in her eye. 

Vi looks at Cait from here, watches her brow furrow in irritation. She tugs Cait’s bottom lip with her thumb, and another pinch of desire makes her want to dive right back in, but there’s a weight beginning to settle in her chest that pulls her back. Something about being this intimate right now, after everything that’s happened, feels… wrong.

She looks up and glances at the tubes still connected to Cait. She looks at her feet and spots the old bandages on the ground. She doesn’t look out the window, but she can hear some shouting every now and then as the world tries to rebuild itself outside. 

Then she looks down at Cait again, and just as she expected, the world drowns itself out of her peripheral. She just wants to stare at Cait like this for a bit, memorialize the view of her in the light. Before the sun disappears.

And suddenly Vi realizes why she feels so off. All that destruction outside, and here they are, keeping themselves in this little bubble. 

“Careful,” Vi says finally, and the way Cait’s brows dig deeper into her frown makes her smirk. “Can’t have your wound opening up again. We need you up and running, Commander.” 

Cait releases a huff. “Don’t call me that,” she mutters, but there’s barely any fire in her words. Her hand in Vi’s hair glides down, down her neck and down her shoulder and down her arm. Her fingers whisper over Vi’s bicep, and Vi watches her gaze run over her arm, one finger carving over the lines of her muscles, then tracing her tattoos. Even though it was Vi doing most of the kissing, something about her touch feels more intimate than anything they’ve ever done together, like she's trailing promises against Vi’s skin. She closes her eyes and lives in the touch. 

“How are you feeling?” Cait murmurs now. Her voice is soft, like sweet clouds against Vi’s ears, and behind her closed lids, Vi can almost pretend she’s floating. 

“Probably better than you.” Vi opens her eyes and runs her hand against Cait’s bandages gently. But there’s a subtle weight in her words, and Vi knows that wounds are not what she’s talking about. 

As if reading her mind, Cait drops her fingers from Vi’s arm to her hand, holding on a little too tight, and Vi’s throat aches all of a sudden. “Seriously, Vi,” she insists, running a thumb against her knuckles. A beat of silence passes, and then she whispers, “I want to know what happened.”

Vi looks down to watch her touch, and with every motion she makes, Vi’s chest grows heavier. 

After a moment of hesitation, a long sigh drags out of Vi, like a snake that’s been coiled up in her chest. A new exhaustion falls over her, and she drags herself onto the ground again, knees pressing into the soft carpet underneath her. She crosses her arms against the mattress and drops her head into them. In response, Cait turns to her side, folding her arm underneath her head as she watches Vi, her good eye filling with overwhelming concern. 

“She’s gone,” breathes Vi. “Her and my father.”

She surprises herself by the casualness of her tone, like this is an everyday occurrence. And maybe it is. After all, hasn’t she been practicing this line for months? She’s been practicing it ever since she first met Jinx, when everyone was trying to convince her Powder had died. 

But it’s only now that it’s become true. 

If Cait’s surprised by the news, Vi can hardly tell; the only difference is in the way her eyebrows cower together in the middle. “I heard,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry, Vi.”

Vi looks at her through her lashes, then points her gaze down to the foot of the bed, to the blanket cowering at Cait’s feet. She shrugs. “I guess it’s probably good news for you, though.” 

She almost regrets the words as soon as they come out, because she knows it isn’t fair to Cait, not now. But she can’t help it; it’s a thought that’s haunted her ever since the night of the attack.

Jinx’s missile had been bad enough; the attack at the memorial was Cait’s breaking point. She had narrowed her gaze on Jinx so easily, like suddenly the rest of the world didn’t exist. And Vi understood - sympathized, even - but watching Cait’s every working thought narrow in on Jinx like she was just another one of her sniper targets made Vi’s skin prickle. Jinx became a shot she refused to miss, and even though Vi told Caitlyn - told herself - that Powder was gone, the thought of watching her sister die at Cait’s hands made her stomach turn with every step closer to Jinx. 

What made her even sicker was the fact that she’d followed so blindly. 

Cait releases a deep sigh, but she stays quiet for a moment. And Vi’s grateful for that; right now, all she really wants is silence. Maybe it’s not fair to Cait, but maybe she wants her to sit in the implications of her words anyway. 

Maybe she wants them both to sit in the weight of their mistakes. 

“I don’t think it’s good news.” The gentleness in Cait’s voice surprises Vi, though she doesn’t really know why. Vi turns her gaze back at Cait, only to find that Cait’s own focus has shifted to the foot of her mattress as well. “I know Jinx and I have never seen eye-to-eye, but… things are clearer to me now.” Cait closes her eye, and Vi wants to reach out to touch the crinkle that appears between her brows. She doesn’t, though. “I don’t think she was ever the villain. I think I made her out to be one because… because I wanted someone to blame. I think she was… a product of failed dreams. A victim of her environment.” Then Cait meets Vi’s gaze. Her eye shines with so much sincerity, so much fear, that it makes Vi want to eat her own words. “An environment that I regret ever playing a part in.”

Vi begins to draw circles against the mattress sheets. She’s quiet for a moment, and the silence feels heavy on her shoulders, like a weight pressing over both her and Cait. The weight of responsibility, of truth. 

“I guess it just feels a little stupid.” Vi shrugs. “It felt like every move I made with either of you, I was making the wrong one. Like any time I tried to protect one, the other would always be pointing a gun at me. There was just no winning. But now Jinx is gone, and the game’s over, and I failed to protect her or save her, and it’s just… What was all my fighting for? If she was just going to drop out like that, what did I fight for all that time?”

Vi closes her eyes, and when she does, all she sees is the glow of the Hexgates beneath her, almost beautiful, blue as Jinx’s hair. Powder’s hair. And she sees the light in Jinx’s eyes, almost violet, as she looked up at her, an eerie peace solidifying in her irises.

Always with you, sis. That smile, soft and subtle and beautiful. Her Powder, in a different body. Her Jinx, in a new form. 

And then she fell, the distance between them growing stronger with every passing second. 

“I don’t think you failed, Vi,” Cait says, and her voice an anchor on Vi’s thoughts; she finds her gaze swimming back to the present. “I wasn’t there when she died, but if there’s anything I’ve seen from the few times I’ve seen you together…” Cait blinks a few times, as if trying to clear her vision. “You have such a deep bond. Even after all that time, even after everything you’ve done to each other and have been through, you loved each other. I saw it in the way you protected her in that explosion at the camp. I saw it in the way Jinx gave herself up without any hesitation - she thought it was going to save you.” Cait’s eyes harden in thought, as if trying to piece together a puzzle, and the sight of her frown makes Vi almost want to laugh. If there’s anything Cait loves doing, it’s finding answers. “I don’t think her decision to fall was you failing to protect her. Maybe it was her trying to repay the favor. Maybe she was protecting you.” 

Vi considers this, frowning. “Well, she did a pretty shit job. Nothing’s going to protect me from the guilt of knowing she sacrificed herself for me, all because I was stupid enough to think Vander was still in there.” Vi’s eyes prick with tears, and against her will, her chin begins to tremble. “That’s just my problem. I don’t expect people to change.” Vi lets out a shaking breath, trying to ease herself out of a sob. “But they do. They always do.” 

Then she meets Cait’s gaze, and Cait’s eyebrows rise in both concern and regret, and Vi is suddenly hit with a wave of dread. Her thoughts flicker back to that moment in the sewers months ago, the two of them leaning against the wall, warm in the chill of their surroundings. How sincere Cait looked. How hopeful Vi had been. 

And she knows Cait’s thinking exactly what she’s thinking. 

The air around them hangs heavy and dense, and Vi’s shoulders burn under the weight of the moment. She knows what she’s implying, and she knows she has Cait backed into a corner. Suddenly the world around her feels darker, smaller. Like she’s back in her prison cell. 

“I don’t think change is something you can stop,” Cait says, and the way her voice wavers, Vi knows she’s trying to tread cautiously. The distance between them, though minimal, feels too deep and treacherous. “You’re talking about change as if it’s your fault people change. But it’s not, Vi. People change for a lot of reasons. For love. For a greater cause. For grief.” Cait’s eye closes and takes a deep breath, and Vi knows she’s thinking of her mother. “I don’t think it’s stupid for you to hold onto hope for people. If anything, I think it shows how big your heart is. You look for the good in everyone, especially those you care about. That’s a strength a lot of people don’t have.” Cait frowns. “It’s a strength I didn’t have, and look where it landed us. A war on our front step.” 

Vi narrows her eyes and points her gaze at a loose thread of the sheet. She picks at it. “Was it strength when I thought Vander was still in that… that body? If I had just moved like Jinx told me to, she wouldn’t be gone now.” 

Cait’s gaze moves past Vi, to a spot above Vi’s head, as if looking for the answer behind her. She’s quiet for a few moments, and with each passing second, Vi’s heart feels heavier in her chest.

“Jinx made her choice,” Cait says finally, bringing her gaze back to Vi’s. “I know this is so much easier said than done, but you can’t blame yourself for what she chose to do.” 

“Was it really a choice, though?” Vi’s brows furrow, and she can feel the tears burn against her throat again. “I didn’t really give her much of one. I was the one just standing there. If she hadn’t shoved Vander away, it would’ve been me falling instead.” Vi blinks, and for a fleeting moment, she imagines it: her in Jinx’s place, falling right down with Vander. Her being the one to hold onto him. Sure, she would’ve died - but Jinx would’ve been saved. And now a tear slips out. “It should’ve been me.” 

“At what cost?” Cait asks, and the adamancy in her voice makes Vi flinch. It must surprise Cait, too, because she blinks as if the voice wasn’t even hers. Then her eyes soften, and she reaches out and threads her fingers through her hair. The touch brings some semblance of calm over Vi, and she closes her eyes. “You can pretend that sacrificing yourself would have made things better, but they wouldn’t have, Vi. If it was you who fell, I don’t think Jinx would have been able to handle it.” Cait’s brows furrow. “Ekko told me she was about to commit suicide before he convinced her to come. If you had been the one to go, I think that would have just sent her over the edge. I have no doubt she would have jumped right after you and Vander.” Cait tilts Vi’s chin closer gently, urging her to look at her. “Think about it like this. If you had been the one to fall, who, exactly, would you have been saving?”

Vi narrows her gaze at a spot on the mattress as she considers it. She knows there’s some truth to Cait’s words - Jinx might have followed her down. And, for a brief second, an eerie calmness falls over Vi at the thought. At least then we would have been a family again, she thinks selfishly. 

Maybe Cait has a point - maybe there was never going to be a good ending. Someone was going to die at that moment. But still - the regret has been burning a hole through Vi for hours now. 

Was there never another ending? Another future?

For some reason, the question makes Vi’s chest burn with rage. Cait’s asking too much, suggesting too much. Her fist slams into the ground, so hard it shakes the floor around them, and her face falls into the mattress. Her knuckles pulse with pain, and that pain bounces all the way back into her heart and transforms into a sudden wave of desperation, and a sob explodes out of her, so painful she’s convinced her chest has cracked open in half. The fabric around her becomes wet as her tears come pouring down. 

“It’s so unfair,” she seethes, her words muffled by the mattress. Her voice catches in her throat, and another sob cracks her chest like lightning. “All that waiting… all those years wasted in a prison, telling myself that I’ll find her or die trying. And the moment I do… She just fucking leaves.” Her sobs fall easier now, as if some coil in her chest has been released. “It’s not fair.” 

Cait doesn’t say anything, and Vi’s grateful for it. The silence gives her the space for her grief, and she takes every inch of it that she can. In the vicinity of all the high walls and empty space of Cait’s bedroom, Vi’s ears echo with every sob that racks her body, and each echo sends another wave of devastation through her heart. It turns into a vicious cycle of grieving and listening, grieving and listening. 

Then Cait’s hand touches her own, and Vi tilts her head to look at her. Her heart cracks even further at the glistening in Cait’s own eye and the sucking of her bottom lip, as if she’s trying not to break for Vi’s sake. Cait’s thumb rubs over Vi’s bruised knuckles, and even though she feels hollow and exhausted right now, the motion still brings a sense of comfort through her. 

Cait leans forward and kisses Vi’s head, slowly, softly. And when she pulls back, she brushes her thumb over Vi’s cheek.

Even though she doesn’t say anything, her touch feels like an apology. A promise. 

And Vi’s tears come hotter than ever.

Vi’s not sure how long she’s sitting there, ruining Cait’s sheets with her tears, but eventually she opens her eyes again. Except they feel weird - swollen and stiff, like stinging weights on her eyes. Her face feels hot, her nose too heavy. And, as she blinks up, she’s surprised to find only darkness above her. 

With a start, she realizes she’s lying on the ground again. A blanket puddles around her. 

She feels a weight on her waist, and she looks over her shoulder to find Cait on the carpet with her, fast asleep, the tubes and vials removed from her body and a sweater over her. Her chest rises and falls against Vi’s back with each breath she takes. 

Vi’s eyes burn again at the sight of Cait, down on the floor with her, curled up against her, but this time the tears feel lighter. Not happy, but not sad either. Just relieving, like shme’s shrugging off a heavy weight. She tries to keep quiet, but her attempt at holding back her tears makes her start shivering, and Cait’s eye opens. She frowns in confusion, bleary with sleep. But when she searches Vi’s face through the darkness, the furrow in her brows releases, and she moves her hand on Vi’s waist to touch her cheek, her fingers soaking in her tears. She pulls Vi’s head gently towards her, presses her forehead to hers. 

Vi breathes out a sigh. And she lets her eyes flutter close again.

[daniwolf9005]

Sorry this came so late- but Merry Christmas @part-time-pixie !! I was your secret Santa for the @mlsecretsanta 2023 event! This piece went through a lot of complications because I was so unsure about a lot of things! Let me run down the process!

I knew it had to be your AU since that’s a lot more personal and I myself am a big fan of personalized stuff! So I actually never knew anything about Winx before this so I researched- about 6 episodes for context of the fairy and specialist relations- so that’s one reason why the startup was slow but then!! I needed to figure out a setting- originally I was going with Magix City- but the color palette was more green and I wanted a more warm palette- but for the life of me I couldn’t find a place that screamed romance- eventually I gave in and just looked up “date in Winx” or something like that- and boom!! This place showed up- so heavy inspiration of the setting from this screen shot (lots of details were forgotten waaah-)

And then it was little things- from my research I realized they only transformed when battling so I needed a casual outfit (note for some reason I forgot to apply this logic to Luka’s fit I’m sorry 😭) for Adrien that wasn’t his powered up form for a casual setting- I ended up just asking- and I hope that didn’t clue you in but nonetheless I hope it was still somewhat a surprise! I’m so glad I did though because at that point I could finally finish the sketch- which was around the end of December so I was stuck on that for a while 😭

I finished the line art and coloring in a rush and man you can tell ;v; I went through a lot in coloring stage- I tried finishing this piece during a family outing and my markers (about 80+) fell out of their holders and went everywhere- also learned coloring over my white pen did not in fact keep it solid and the white began to get washed away from the marker on top, revealing the line art I messed up on beneath- one of the things that made me glad I was late is when you made this piece and I realized his gem clasp was teal- I was gonna make it yellow since that was the last red fountain specialist color not used and I assumed he’d just take it lmao! Though in short I went through all the stages of grief when doing the coloring ;v;

All to say though I hope despite all the flaws you still like it! I was really happy with this around the line art stage and even now- I’m just harsh on my own work but this is actually the biggest piece in my art book (I’ve been working on this book since Summer 2022!) so I suppose that is to say I’m glad I was able to try something new with this one!

(Also small note but I realized the quality turned out really fuzzy on here- if you want @part-time-pixie I can send a zip file to you in dms?)

[saphronethaleph]

Soresu Negotiations

“Get help,” Palpatine said. “You’re no match for him. He’s a Sith Lord.”

Obi-Wan turned to look at the Chancellor. “...yes?” he said. “But he’s also something else – something I’m surprised you’ve forgotten.”

“What?” Palpatine asked.

“A politician,” Obi-Wan replied, turning back to Dooku.

Anakin groaned, then sat down.

“Here we go,” he said.

Palpatine blinked, looking from Anakin to Obi-Wan.

“...what do you mean, Anakin?” he asked.

“This happens sometimes,” Anakin replied. “How do you think he got his nickname?”

“Count,” Obi-Wan said, at about the same time. “It’s occurred to me that I never actually found out what the Confederacy wants.”

“Isn’t it a little late for this?” Dooku asked. “We have been at war for several years.”

“True,” Obi-Wan conceded, readily. “The war having started on Geonosis, because of tracing back your clone army which we… appear to have appropriated, mostly because you did it in our name. But that’s how the war started – not your objectives.”

Dooku was silent for a moment.

“I assume some semblance of a point will be emerging,” he said, eventually. “If you could be so kind as to provide it?”

“Wars begin for all sorts of reasons,” Obi-Wan replied. “But how they end… they end because a mutual settlement has been reached. And it’s occurred to me that I don’t know what you’d want out of a victory.”

He spread his hand, the one not holding the – unlit – saber. “It’s not the conquest of the Republic, I can tell that much. If the CIS annexed the Republic, what you’d have would still be the Republic, just under a different name… it’s not the Republic without the corruption that’s been causing it problems, because most of the corruption in the Republic was – was – the big industrial concerns like the Techno Union, Commerce Guild, Trade Federation. But you seem to have taken all of those off our hands, and they provide essentially your entire military so I don’t think anyone else could honestly believe that either.”

“I wouldn’t expect a Jedi to understand,” Dooku replied. “The Confederacy’s member systems have concerns relating to over-centralization.”

Obi-Wan stared at him for a long moment.

“...no they don’t,” he said.

“I hardly think you can have earned your reputation as a negotiator, Kenobi, if you are so willing to be insulting,” Dooku said, archly.

“That’s not what I mean,” Obi-Wan replied. “I mean… yes, now the Republic has an army, though really it’s actually the Jedi’s army and we’re simply letting them borrow it, but four years ago the Galactic Republic was proverbially incapable of doing anything. It took emergency powers for the Chancellor to get the Republic to authorize having any kind of military whatsoever – and the only one available was the one you ordered. That’s not over-centralization.”

He drummed his fingers on his ‘saber. “And I note that I overheard Nute Gunray insisting on the head of Senator Amidala – literally, in those words – as his price for signing a treaty. But I still haven’t heard an actual answer. What does the Galaxy look like if the Confederacy wins?”

Dooku frowned, and after about three seconds Obi-Wan glanced at the Chancellor.

“Didn’t you discuss this at any point, your excellency?” he asked. “Count Dooku doesn’t seem to have thought about this.”

Palpatine blinked.

“...he’s a Sith Lord,” he repeated. “Shouldn’t you be fighting him?”

“It’s called diplomacy, Chancellor,” Obi-Wan replied, before returning his attention to Dooku. “Grandmaster, are you seriously telling me that you never thought about what you would do if you won?”

Anakin checked his comlink, for the time, then the ship trembled slightly.

“Artoo?” he asked. “Can you tell those ships outside to stop shooting at us and give us a wide berth? This could take hours and I don’t want to find out if my name’s literal.”

“Hours?” Palpatine repeated.

“He’s rolling,” Anakin replied, rolling his eyes. “Like I say, I’m used to this.”

He rummaged in a pocket of his robes, taking out a miniature toolkit, and began disassembling his lightsaber. “I’m pretty sure I can retune these crystals to give two stable configurations which it’ll snap between, that should give me a length toggle instead of a single adjustable length…”

“Are you taking your lightsaber apart?” Palpatine hissed. “What if you need to fight?”

“It’s okay, Chancellor, I’ll get about five minutes’ warning if the negotiations are going downhill,” Anakin replied. “That should be time to put it back together again…”

Palpatine looked up to Obi-Wan, who – sure enough – was still going.

“...of course, a separate but related issue is what it’s going to be like afterwards,” Obi-Wan said. “In principle the Republic and the Jedi Order could probably accept the existence of Sith so long as we actually knew who they were and they weren’t trying to destroy us. It’s the fact that the first Sith we met in a thousand years tried to run Anakin over and cut Qui-Gon’s head off as an opening move that’s soured us towards them a bit… but are you really going to be content as someone whose whole job is to die for Sidious?”

Dooku stared at Obi-Wan, baffled, then glanced at Palpatine and Anakin.

“What do you mean?” he asked, forcing his gaze back to Obi-Wan.

“Sidious is your Master, we know that much,” Obi-Wan replied. “Partly because you told me yourself. But has he ever put himself in danger? Or has it all been you dealing with Jedi like myself and my apprentice? Putting yourself out there, in danger, while you do exactly what he says?”

He smiled slightly. “A Jedi would accept that, but you’re a Sith – you’ve said so yourself. Sith are self-interested. What do you think your new master is getting out of the situation? Because if you don’t know, it’s got to be something and it’s probably something he doesn’t want to tell you.”

“My master is quite willing to put himself in danger,” Dooku said, then clamped his lips shut at a frantic mouthed shut up from Palpatine.

“Real or feigned?” Obi-Wan asked. “Do you think he wouldn’t manipulate you? He’s been doing it to everyone else – you’ve said it.”

Dooku’s brow furrowed.

“But we’re getting off topic,” Obi-Wan said, turning to look at Palpatine. “Chancellor, what about this as a starting point? Your emergency powers were granted to resolve the crisis, and I’m sure you want to abandon them as soon as possible… so why not take away the whole reason why the individual systems in the Confederacy had problems with the Republic to begin with? Freely allow the departure of any system which wishes to do so, under the emergency powers legislation; enact a progressive tax, one which hits the Core worlds harder owing to their greater ability to pay, to sustain a carrier based navy able to hunt pirates more effectively than conduct occupations or orbital bombardment, and have the navy established on a sector-federal two-level model?”

Palpatine stared at Obi-Wan for at least ten seconds.

“...he’s a Sith Lord,” he said, yet again.

“Oh, shut up,” Dooku replied. “You’re a Sith Lord and I don’t see you doing anything constructive.”

Obi-Wan glanced at Palpatine.

“...you know,” he began. “I’m quite sure you’d need to note that on your financial disclosure forms, your Excellency.”

He turned sideways, so he could see both Dooku and Palpatine at the same time. “What was the point of this whole abduction, anyway?”

“As it happens, I was supposed to kill you,” Dooku said. “It’s the only way to turn Anakin to the Dark Side, if you’re out of the way.”

“Huh?” Anakin asked. “Is something up? I’ve almost got the crystals realigned.”

“This plan looked a lot better this morning,” Palpatine muttered.

[shotmrmiller]

johnny dates your friend and then asks her if she's got any friends (you) for his friend (simon). but simon freaks you out. he can't hold a conversation— or won't, you're not sure; you're lucky if you get monosyllabic grunts out of him as if he were a neanderthal. the only times you've seriously heard him talk is to bark out words at either johnny or the bartender.

he walks around with a poorly concealed weapon on his hip, almost like he is expecting trouble. he wears all black, which is completely fine, but then a skull balaclava that he refuses to take off, even to drink his liquor. you don't try to hide the grimace on your face when you watch him sip through the thick fabric. he's got skeleton gloves on his hands too, like some sort of shit cosplay to match his mask.

and he fucking stares, unashamedly so. it is unblinking, scrutinizing, intense— his dark eyes, pools of midnight, keen. he stares at the people walking in through the door, stares at johnny when he takes your friend to the dance floor, and when you tell him out of courtesy that you're going to go get another drink, you can feel him boring holes into the back of your head as you walk away, piercing flesh and bone.

the phantom fingers of his gaze trace icy paths along your spine, erupting your skin in goosebumps. you find him immensely creepy, and you thank the fucking stars you're only here as a favor for your friend. you don't think you want to do this again. he's either a wanted serial killer or just a goddamn freak.

a heavy arm wraps around your shoulders once you're at the bar, and with a sneer on your lips, you turn to the owner of said offending limb, only to come face to face with johnny. he leans into you, close enough to where you can feel his stubble grazing the shell of your ear. (back up, brother.)

"listen, bonnie!" you wince; it's really not that loud in here for him to be yelling like that. "ah ken, ghos— er, simon, might no' be yer average man. he can be a little off-puttin'—" a little? if he doesn't follow you home and skin you alive, you'd be incredibly fortunate— "but ah promise ye, while he may no' be boyfriend material, he's an incredible fuck."

excuse me? he's got to be positively pissed. "maybe you should slow down, yeah? you might already be three sheets to the wind if you're gassing up your unsettling friend's cock. no offense."

"naw! ah'm tellin' ye. long ago, we had a mission tha' ran everyone tight, 'n so we relieved tension the only way we could— big, strong guy like him had me limpin' for a few days after."

you're about to ask for an angel shot because there is no way in hell that your friend's boyfriend is making casual conversation about him getting absolutely railed by—

"give 'em a try. jus' the once, i swear he don't bite," johnny pauses-- the rosy flush on his nose and cheeks vibrant, "unless ye ask nicely. yer friend said ye needed to get laid, anyways." oh, you're gonna fucking kill her, that long-tongued cretin.

"right!" you drink the remainder of your cocktail in one big gulp, liquid warmth trailing down your throat, before not-so-kindly shrugging him off. "i'm gonna go, you, uh— we didn't have this conversation, for the sake of my friend." you gesture at the bartender. "one more, please. i'm gonna need it."

-

damn. now johnny's got you thinking about getting your back broken by simon. maybe you really are just down horrendously, or maybe it's the alcohol in your system that has decided to toss all self-preservation out the metaphorical window because now you can't stop noticing him.

he's real tall— enough to have him slightly tipping his head to walk through a doorway. his shoulders are mountainous, his hands the size of a bear's paw. his physicality is undoubtedly impressive and well, you've always been weak to burly, commanding men.

you make eye contact with johnny from across the room, his bright blue eyes alive under the dim light of the dingy bar, and the bastard shifts his gaze from simon to you, giving a cheeky wink.

lifting your glass, you drink the last of your liquid courage— the taste of it bittersweet. it has been a long time since you've gotten laid.

double damn.

"hey." you lean slightly toward simon, cupping your hand around your mouth. "you and i both know why we're here. take me home?" the way he looks at you has you shifting restlessly in your seat. did you perhaps make a mistake? oh, fuck. did you just throw yourself cunt-first at someone who is not interested? your face burns with embarrassment, heat licking up your cheeks. maybe the earth will split open, right here ri—

"let's go then." oh thank fucking god. you don't know what you would've done if he'd said no. shrivel up and die, probably. "uber'll be here in 4."

when it arrives, he places his leather jacket around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth— the heady scent of nicotine clings to the garment— and leads you outside with a hand on the small of your back.

-

the world outside the car blurs into a hazy painting as the driver navigates the streets. colors blend together, once sharp outlines now dissolved. the rain gently taps on the window, a soothing sound that could easily lull you to sleep until you start when a roughened palm suddenly glides along your thigh— fingers slowly tracing intimate patterns on your skin.

simon's hand is hot, and it only burns hotter the closer it gets to your center under your least favorite skirt. he cannot be serious right now. you place your hand over his, short nails biting into him because there is no way you're about to be fingered in an uber—

his voice is deep, a deliciously thick rumble, right by your ear. "nice kitty." you've never been one for pet names or anything else for that matter, but the pulse of arousal that shoots up your spine has a shaky exhale leaving your lips, a ghostly breath fogging up the window.

the tips of his fingers tease the seam of your knickers, a generic cotton fabric that clings to your dampening cunt like a second skin— desire trickling onto the gusset. your whimper is drowned out by the terrible music the driver is currently playing when his small finger grazes over your slit, featherlight.

"so wet already? i've barely even touched ya, love." again with the cunt-clenching nicknames. he has no business purring them out like that. "i can smell your sweet pussy from here. you really must be achin' for it." of course the time he chooses to be vocal, it's to spew filth. "don't worry, i'll treat ya good."

somehow, you actually manage to choke out a response. "i'm sure. johnny-" you hiss through clenched teeth when he slips under your knickers, a finger brushing along your slick entrance, "said you had him walking side to side once." you buck your hips, seeking the friction you need, but it only makes him pull away a bit; how unsurprisingly cruel.

"only because he was bein' a brat. you're not a brat though, are ya? gonna be good f'me?" your tongue is heavy in your mouth, words lodged in your throat— all you can give him is a slight nod. "i expect verbal answers. i'd hate to spank your arse raw. how would ya sit down after?"

the idea of being bent over his strong thighs, face pressed into his couch as his firm hand takes you into the needy subspace you crave is too much, or maybe not enough because you're tucking your face into the side of his neck in an instant. "please," you warble, unsure of what you're even begging for.

he curls his finger, slipping between your lips, and when he finally brushes your clit— a fleeting, tantalizing touch— your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head. "needy little thing. i bet there's a damp spot right where you're sittin'. drippin' all over my fingers—" your breath is ripped from your lungs when he abruptly pulls his hand out and away, the sodden material of your knickers snapping against your heated skin. you're about to snarl out a vicious what the fuck, but the once-blurred scenery outside sharpens into focus.

the driver parks and looks at you from the rearview mirror. "we're here." you mumble a muted thank you, stepping out with quivering legs and a drenched cunt. a crisp breeze dances across your skin, a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat from inside the car.

as soon as the car drives off, you're hoisted onto a broad shoulder. the world tilts, and you fist the back of simon's shirt for stability. "highly unnecessary. i can wa—" you let out a squeak when he slaps the back of your thigh, the sharp bite of it sending a jolt straight to your throbbing center.

"hush."

you sputter indignantly as you hold on tighter, breaths coming out in short gasps, syncing with each step. "i beg your pardon?"

you yelp when he gives you another slap, this time closer to your cunt. "then beg." you're rendered speechless.

wow. maybe you've actually bitten off more than you can chew.

the wet cement under you is a blur, the texture lost in the rush of his movements until he comes to a stop, and you hear a familiar jingle of keys. he bursts through the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and you're staggeringly planted on both feet.

"nice place." a lie. it looks unlived in— brand spanking new. you vaguely hear the lock behind you as you take in your surroundings. a perfect, leather couch, not a crease in sight. the rug under it is pristine and bland, a cream color that matches the rest of his flat. impersonal. not an ounce of real personality anywhere. you begin shrugging off his jacket when you're suddenly pressed against the cold door, simon bent at the knees in front of you, his dark eyes— sharp as blades— lock onto yours.

"gonna beg?"

the fire in your lower belly reignites at the sight of his unmasked face. ash-brown hair in a simple crew cut, thick brows with the right one bisected by a pink, gnarled scar. slightly crooked nose, broken one too many times, and thin, pale lips. a countenance to match his rugged personality.

you're pulled out of your thoughts when he licks a hot stripe over your covered slit and you mewl at the sensation. "i asked you a question."

the words rush out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them. "yes, yes! please, god, i don't- just- please let me come! i-" his thumbs hook into the waistband of your knickers and tug them down slowly, strings of arousal sticking to the gusset, smearing on your inner thighs.

"alrigh', since ya begged so prettily." your vision goes white when he throws one leg over his shoulder, and his slick tongue slides through your folds, the tip flicking your clit lightly. he laps at your cunt like it drips milk and honey— nourishing and sweet. simon groans into you, the sound crawling up your vertebrae and into the base of your skull.

he begins to draw lazy circles around your pearl, every swirl of his tongue has your back bowing as if winding it, inching you closer to the precipice. your toes curl in your shoes, hands finding purchase in his coarse hair, knuckles staining white as you start the feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly.

and then he pushes one thick finger into you, down to the scarred knuckle, and crooks it. the squelching noise your dripping pussy makes when he presses on the tiny patch of rough skin inside is loud and obscene; practically echoing off the dull, ivory walls of his flat.

"gonna come f'me? make a mess all over my hand?" simon adds another finger, a slight burn nipping at the heels of the pleasure coiling under your navel.

"c'mon. give it to me, pet." his lips encircle your clit, giving it a light suckle and it's—

the coil snaps, a sudden release of tension. it is violent and oh, so exquisite. white noise in your head, your ears, coursing through your veins. it prickles, it stings; it's pleasure and pain. your soul sinks back into your body— like a feather returning to its nest— and you blink, momentarily unbalanced.

"ya with me?"

you breathe deep— the taste of salt in the air, the scent of sweat-slick skin, your heart pulsing with life. "yes. i'm here." the man took you to the stars and laid you on them. jesus.

"good." the room spins, and you're weightless, nestled in his arms. it'd seem innocent if it wasn't for the stickiness in between your thighs, or the prominent bulge in his jeans occasionally pressing into your arse.

simon kicks a door open, knob bouncing off the wall with a crack, and quickly places you on the bed before tugging his shirt off. the belt and jeans come off next, and—

"you don't wear pants." why would he let that monstrosity just hang like that?

"good observation. is water still wet?" he asks, tonelessly. you narrow your eyes at him, pushing your tongue against the back of your teeth.

"fuck me for having eyes and using them as intended, i guess," you mumble under your breath. he grabs you by the ankle and tugs the skirt off, then your shoes, "ouch, i like my feet where they are, thank you," and literally rips your shirt in half. "you'll be giving me on of yours before i leave as recompense."

he holds himself up with his arms over you, your thighs burning as they cradle his hips.

his cock is a heavy, hot weight on your stomach— ruddy, leaking tip right under your navel. you're not small by any means, but he's going to tear you in half. there's no surviving such an onslaught. he's not just leaving you with a limp, he's going to turn your two smaller holes into one big one.

he tears into a golden wrapper with his teeth, and expertly rolls the condom on. simon lowers down to his elbows and nudges your jaw with his nose. "i'll stop the moment ya call it. tap on me if you're feelin' overwhelmed."

that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you, and the fact that it comes from a massive creep who stares at people like they owe him money has you a bit dumbstruck.

his stubble grazes the side of your neck as he glides his cock along your slick folds; once, thrice, until the head catches on your swollen entrance. simon pushes in slow, agonizingly slow— you don't know if it's better or worse because you feel every devastating inch of his length as it forcibly wrenches your walls apart.

your senses are solely focused on him: his body enveloping yours completely. his breath, sweetened like malt, wafts gently across your skin. his thick waist that you can't fully wrap your legs around. everything about him is big— his physicality, his presence, his cock.

"take a deep breath for me, pet. feel everythin' i'm givin' you."

your lungs expand as you do, and when you exhale, your muscles slacken. rapturous pleasure begins to bleed through the delicate membrane that separates it from the bite of pain, until boundaries are blurred and—

and he sinks into you like a rock breaking the surface tension of still water, bottoming out in one, smooth stroke. you can't help the mewl that falls from your lips nor the way your walls clamp down around him.

"fuck, there it is. so bloody tight, this greedy cunt is takin' my cock like it was made for me."

there isn't a single coherent thought in your head and you're glad for it. finally, someone to fuck you stupid.

simon gives you an experimental thrust, dragging his length along every single one of your nerves, and then another— desire overflowing from where he stuffs you to the very brim. "good. ready?"

he takes your tiny nod as an answer this time and begins to fuck you in earnest. it takes everything in you to not black out from how perfect it felt.

simon puts his weight behind every thrust, a steady pull out, and a spine-jarring push in. you can feel him deep in your stomach, a delicious pinch of discomfort each time he presses against the plug of your womb.

"so fuckin' wet, your cunt's droolin' all over me." he hooks an arm under your left leg and lifts, the angle he's put you in tittering dangerously on the tightrope of rapture and ache.

it's so good, so fucking good, your slick walls fluttering as he carves himself into you, your soul, your cunt when you feel a tight snap inside.

simon pulls out in an instant, taking your breath with him as he does. you look down at his cock and notice that—

"the condom broke. i've got another in the drawer, gimme a sec."

there is some weird thing that lodges in place somewhere deep in your sternum when you realize that he's been nothing but considerate and attentive to you since he brought you home and hasn't fussed over anything once. it's an extremely low bar, you are aware. rewarding what should be the bare fucking minimum is sad, but you're not completely altruistic in your motives anyway. you want to feel his bare cock inside as he rearranges your insides.

"no!" he quickly turns to look at you, "no. it's okay. i'm clean and i'm also on the pill. if that's okay with you, of course."

a man his stature should not move as fast as he just did, blinking from one side of the room to the other. he quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, heels resting on his back when he sinks back in, this time letting out a guttural groan as he does.

you can feel the ridge of his flared head, the warmth of his cock seeping into your tender walls— a new level of intimacy. he fucks you with fervor now, a precise snap of his hips that has your teeth clacking with every thrust.

your climax takes you by complete surprise, crashing into you like waves on a rocky, jagged shore. burst after burst of blinding pleasure threatens to consume you whole, and when your limbs are loose and syrupy— body limp— only then do you realize that he came just as fast. thick white ropes of viscous spend cover your stomach and trail down to your abused cunt.

your hamstrings already hurt with delayed onset muscle soreness. you might actually need a wheelchair to go back home.

(thank god your hips held out, and no, you don't care that it's essentially sacrilegious of you to even think that.)

his breathing comes out in ragged bursts, beads of sweat dripping onto the valley of your breasts.

and he's back to the fucking staring. "simon."

"pet."

"please stop looking at me like that."

he huffs and dips his head to flick your hardened nipple with his tongue, making you hiss with over sensitivity.

"make me."

-

as dawn breaks, the world begins to stir awake. hues of pale pink stain the sky, the first blush of morning. light and shadow begin to blend in the bedroom.

your phone vibrates under the pillow, simon's arm tightening around your soft waist at the buzzing sound. his lips press a light kiss on the sensitive skin by your ear, and his large hand begins to weave its way downward, pads of his fingers gathering the evidence of last night (or early morning) and gently parts your folds, brushing light strokes on your clit.

when he places your leg around his hip and sinks into you from behind, your phone buzzes again-- alone and forgotten.

good morning!!! i expect a full, detailed report by lunch or so help you god.

sent 5:30 am

about time you got laid, you're not you when you're horny.

sent 5:49 am

[cherry444kisses]

give yourself a reason

lando norris x fem!reader

summary : you believe yourself to be unworthy of love. lando shows you otherwise.

warnings : a lot of angst with a whole lot of comfort, fluffy, friends to lovers, mentions of mental health issues and insecurities, swearing, based off 'call your mom' by noah kahan.

wc : 2.7k

req : no

rory speaks : hi this is my first proper fic on here! it deals with quite serious topics, so please remember to reach out if you are struggling. i've had a lot going on, so this is just a self-indulgent splurge that turned into a fic so... enjoy! feedback very much appreciated <3

masterlist

After carving out a couple weeks from your schedule, you found yourself walking, or at least trying to walk, down Monégasque streets, away from the noise of the nightlife. Your head was fuzzy and the movement of your legs was just a little concerning, as you trailed slightly behind the rest of the group.

Getting this drunk wasn’t in your plans for tonight, though you welcomed it with open arms, as it offered some sort of respite from whatever the fuck was going on in your life.

A ‘mess’ was probably too weak of a word to describe it. Too diluted. You had your dream job, your fashion designer apprenticeship allowing you to travel all around the world, great friends and yet it was not enough. The work load seemed to be overwhelming all of the time, you were homesick more often than not, and you felt so distant to the rest of your friends.

An ugly, sick feeling had nestled itself deep inside, and had steadily been growing since. You felt so lonely. So lost. A want to be loved and supported unconditionally taunted you constantly. You just wanted to be held. And with no effort to do anything except sleep, it was all getting at bit much.

A little further ahead, your friends had stopped at a convenience store, and all but one of them had entered. The pounding in your head somehow managed to get worse upon stopping and standing next to him. You swayed, and his hand came out to steady you by the small of your back.

“I told you to stop drinking, you know,” he stated, hand still on your back. A light breeze passed between you two.

“I don’t need you to parent me, Lando,” you scoffed, wrapping your arms around yourself, turning towards him and away from the pulsing lights from the street lamps. The unimpressed look he gave you was almost scathing, and you diverted your eyes back to the lights. It hurt less.

“Sit down before you fall over.” His hand, that was still on your back, moved slightly, grasping your waist so he could wrap his whole arm around your back, and you felt your legs almost give way as he began to lower you down. The two of you sat on the curb, knees up to your chins and touching each others’. Lando’s thumb began to gently trace circles on your waist as he spoke.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He was looking at you. Staring hard. You could feel the heat of it, and you mulled over his words.

“Talk about what?” you asked, turning to make eye contact with him, almost shrinking under the intensity of his gaze. If you played dumb, not knowing what he was referring to, hopefully he would drop it.

Lando knew you too well.

“Whatever it is that’s made you try and drink yourself to death,” he said, eyes squinting, as though he was picking you apart. And he was. He could definitely see right through you. You wanted to get up and run away because damn him for being your bestfriend, damn him for knowing you so well and damn him for making you fall for him.

It had probably been a minute of silence before you spoke, looking away from him again.

“I want to disappear again,” you whispered, throat beginning to close up and burn. Your cheeks flushed with the embarrassment of your confession, and the heat of Lando’s gaze returned. His hand squeezed your waist again and your eyes welled up. “I’m sorry.”

He moved, quickly, to crouch in front of you, hands enclosing your own that were on your knees. His eyes, slightly hazy from his own drinking, bore into yours. There was so much concern in them , and something else that you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“What are you apologising for?” he asked, and a tear escaped, rolling down the flushed skin of your cheeks.

“I don’t know,” you replied, honestly. You didn’t know why you were apologising, it just felt right. “Everything’s just too much,” you continued, removing one of your hands from his hold and wiping away the tear. “I’m just so tired. All the time. And I feel so… lonely. But I have all of you guys, and I have a house, and a job and so I shouldn’t be compla-”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Both of Lando’s hands had come up to cup your face. They covered the expanses of your cheeks entirely, and he cradled you as though you were the most important thing in the world. “It’s okay. It’s okay to feel that way, you’re not being ungrateful,” he spoke gently, thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks as he did so. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

And you swore to God above, then and there, that you would never love another man more than the one crouched in front of you. Your heart hurt, with how much he cared. His words and actions stomped out the ugly beast of emotions that had spilled out, and you leaned into his touch.

“Sometimes life can seem like it’s everything we wanted, but we don’t feel that way. And that’s okay. We just need to figure out why, so we can feel happy with life, and I’m gonna be here for you throughout all of it,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours.

Your head was still pounding, and you still felt a little sick, yet everything in this moment felt so right. Your hands moved from your knees to behind his neck, shoving your face into his shoulder. Lando’s arms circled around your waist to embrace you tightly.

“It’s just so hard. I’m always so close to giving up, Lan. I don’t know what to do,” you mumbled into his shoulder. At your words, he held you impossibly tighter, and all the barriers you had ever set up crumbled, sobs racking your body. Repetitions of, ‘I know’, and ‘I’m so sorry love,’ left his mouth as he continued to hold you. At some point Lando had brought the two of you to your feet, and you released him from the hug, wiping your eyes.

“We’re going to figure this out together, yeah?” he said, bringing his own thumbs underneath your eyes in order to clean your smudged mascara. You could only give a weak nod and a smile, before whispering a thank you.

The door to the convenience store opened, and out tumbled your still very drunk group of friends. Your conversation with Lando had managed to sober you up, and now you found yourself desperate to get back to the confines of your hotel room. However, the rest of the group seemed to have recovered their energy, talking about heading to a final bar to end the night.

“You two coming?” Max asked, swaying slightly on his feet as he did so. The question pulled you out of your head and caught you off guard. Desperately, you turned to look at Lando for an answer, who was already looking at you. He offered you a smile, reaching out to interlock your fingers as he replied.

“No, I think we’re done for the night, sorry mate.”

Max rolled his eyes and booed you two, before hugging the both of you.

“Make sure you get her home safe,” he warned, trying to look intimidating and point his finger in Lando’s face, yet all he managed to get was a giggle from you.

“I will,” Lando laughed, batting Max’s finger out of his face. “You behave.”

He grinned in response, before waving goodbye and jogging to catch up with the rest of the group. You laughed at the sight of his attempted running, leaning into Lando’s side and squeezing your interlocked hands.

“You ready to get going?” he asked, peering down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Yes? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You yelped as his hand slipped from yours to your waist, and the other came behind your knees. He lifted you into his arms, and you quickly wrapped your arms behind his neck in order to stabilise yourself.

“What is wrong with you? Put me down!”

He threw his head back and laughed, continuing on the trek back, shooting you a cheesy grin.

“No can do, I’ve gotta make sure you stay safe.”

“Don’t drop me,” you warned, meaning every word. At your words, he looked up at you.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, smirk gracing his face as he tightened his hold, unaware of the gymnastics routine your stomach was currently performing.

You were so pathetic. You had just cried your heart out to this man and now you were swooning over two words. Jesus Christ you needed to pull it together. He was your best friend.

Once off the side streets, your surroundings became busier, and your anxiety spiked ever so slightly. Absentmindedly, you played with the curls of his hair at the nape of his neck, grounding yourself. He groaned and you stopped your movements.

“Don’t stop,” he said, caressing your skin with his thumbs as you rounded another corner. If it were possible, your stomach would’ve probably won an Olympic gold medal for the somersault it just did. You resumed your actions, and a soft smile graced his features once more. You allowed your eyes to roam over the rest of his face, admiring him and his beauty. From his face, your gaze trailed down his neck, across the expanse of his chest and shoulders, to his tan arms and hands that held you. Every part of him was so beautiful, and you loved him. Inside and out.

Being so enthralled by the beauty of your best friend, you didn’t notice that the building you were approaching was definitely not your hotel. Lando came to a halt, once inside, and tapped your leg.

“I’m gonna have to put you down love,” he stated, before lowering you. His hand stayed on your waist. He fished in his pockets for a card for the elevator;

“This isn’t my hotel, Lan,” you said, staring at him accusingly.

“I know. Think you should stay with me,” he replied, eyes searching across your face for a reaction as he scanned the card and pressed the button for the elevator.

And maybe this was it. Maybe this was why everything felt so right. The unconditional love that you had been searching for was in front of you all along. It just so happened to come in the form of your best friend who you were in love with.

“Are you sure?” you asked hesitantly, not wishing to intrude or overstep by any means. Lando definitely sensed your insecurity, because when the doors opened, he stepped inside, grabbing your wrist, and pulling you in too. You ended up falling into him, pushing him against the railing. He looked down at you, smirking as he spoke.

“If you wanted to be all over me, all you had to do was ask.”

“Freak,” you replied, giggling and pushing his face away from yours with one hand. The other lay splayed on the bottom of his torso, dangerously close to the top of his jeans. Lando’s hands remained clasped around the small of your back, holding you close.

You let both of your hands wander ever so slightly under his shirt, intent on stealing his body heat. At the contact, he pulled you in closer, most definitely over the line of ‘friendship’ that you two had been walking like a tightrope. Comfortable silence settled, and your heartbeat fell into the rhythm of Lando's breathing.

The elevator came to a stop at his floor, signalling for him to gently grab one of your hands, and lead you to his apartment. Regardless of the fact you knew which apartment was his, he still pulled you along, aching to be close to you. He even wrestled with his keys and lock with one hand just to keep your fingers interlocked.

The air around seemed to still once the front door shut after you had walked in.

Lando squeezed your hand and turned to you.

“We don't have to speak about anything else tonight. At all. I just want to know that you're safe.”

As his eyes bore into yours, the guilt of your confession washed over you. This wasn't the first time things had gotten… hard… and you hadn't been able to cope. Lando had been there countless times, on the phone, running to your hotel room, driving to your house. Just to check you were still here. And he was always there. You felt like you didn't deserve him.

“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to upset you.”

And oh fuck you were crying again.

You let out a half-hearted giggle, desperately trying to wipe your eyes.

“It's okay. I'm just… I'm sorry,” you started, pulling yourself together enough to look at him. His lips parted, as though he was going to speak, but your hand on his chest stopped him before you continued.

“You've done so much for me, Lan. So many things and I’m stuck in this cycle of being unstable. I'm sorry for being such a burden and making you worry for me all the time.” The tears were returning to your eyes. “I just wish I could give you more. And I can't. I'm sorry.”

Lando's hand came to envelope yours and his other cradled your face. You swore if he did that again you would start sobbing. He was so gentle.

“I don't need more. I just need you.”

His eyes were trained directly on yours, staring intently. Now it was your turn to try and speak, but the thumb of his cradling hand moved over your lips to shush you, and his other hand squeezed yours.

“You think a lot of things about yourself. Mainly you think that you don't deserve anything. That you don't deserve things like love and happiness and peace. And I know you. So you convince yourself there is no point. No reason to keep going.” Lando's hand, previously enclosing yours, came up to mirror the one cradling your face. He focused your eyes on his, wanting you to hear and listen to his every word.

“You have so many reasons to be here. But I really want to add one more to your list.”

Looking back, your brain had probably short circuited at this moment in time. He'd managed to move impossibly closer towards you, eyes still searching yours for any discomfort.

“Let me love you.”

Oh yeah, you were sobbing now. The tears escaped as soon as he finished speaking and you instinctively hid your face in his chest, embarrassed. He held you tight, rocking you both back and forth.

“You don't mean that,” you mumbled, after a while. Even though your face was still pressed into his shirt, he heard you as clear as day. Lando pulled back to look at you.

“I've never meant anything more. I love you,” he said.

Perhaps it was the scramble of your brain, or the built up tension between the two of you, or even the alcohol in your system, but every single part of your body screamed for him, and so you brought yourself up on your toes, and wove your arm round the back of his neck. The two of you were impossibly close, and Lando's eyes searched for any sign of discomfort before pressing his lips to yours.

It was loving and slow and caring. He held you in a tight embrace as you kissed, wishing to keep you close, as though any slight relaxation of his arms could allow you to slip away into oblivion. You let him lead, falling into step with him, and giving in to his want to love and care for you. Through the kiss, you could feel every unspoken word and every unexplained feeling pass between the two of you until you were left with clarity.

Lando held you with love and kissed you with love and wanted to help you because he loved you.

And suddenly, as you both pulled away, cheeks flushed and smiles sheepish, you found that you did have a very important reason to live every day.

©cherry444kisses

[sh1-n0bu]

i have noticed a small pattern of elves being on my latest fictional character obsessions and HEAR ME OUT!!

elf who has lived for hundreds upon thousands of years, who had experienced many of the things the world has to offer. sadness of bidding hundreds of farewells to the beauty of life and alliance of different races

elf who even after all his years of living still yet to find a love for himself. regal and seemingly detached to the concepts of relationships elves may be, even they get lonely. some nights feeling a little bit too long, a little bit too cold as they add another layer of blanket over themselves or reaching over to hug one of his puffy pillows like how he would hug his future lover. the coldness of being immortal seeping into his bones and making him shiver despite elves being above the concept of getting sick or feeling the cold temperatures

elf who runs into you by some chance meeting. maybe you were walking in the territory of elves without knowing it, maybe he purposely goes to human residences and towns, seeking adventure, excitement and change of pace. who immediately is enamored by you just by your smile that you flash his way, a kind one, a gentle one, to a nearby passenger. who falls in love with the callouses of your hand, the freckles, the small scars, the little bits of imperfection that marked you as clearly human, very much mortal, very much brittle but still with your own strength that he hasn’t felt before

elf bf who starts to court you the moment he realizes that you weren’t seeing anyone, bringing small gifts, exchanging knowledge, singing you soft ancient lullabies that no other mortal has ever heard before. maybe he finds himself writing a poem about you one day, describing your looks, your feelings, your everyday actions that you may see as mundane but ones he sees as just as courageous and beautiful in their own ways

elf bf who has never seen human flesh or bare skin before, finding the rippling biceps and toned legs of yours to be… curious. a tentative finger touching the muscles here and there, stopping you mid work as he inquires about them in a soft tone. elves of course were magical beings, blessed with magic and eternity and had no need to develop visible physical muscles till the point they become buff or beefy to some extent all due to their magic and ancient powers. the tips of his pointy ear twitching softly, eyes wide in wonder as you explain that contrary to his kin, your own develop muscles if they are put to work in physically demanding job for enough time

elf bf who over time, finds himself obsessively scribbling down any sort of new information about human anatomy on a journal, always asking you new things as he finds himself able to learn more despite having been alive for hundreds upon thousands of years. tracing the old faded scars on your body with the tip of his finger, counting the freckles, kissing the stretch marks as they were all you. regardless of how you see it, to him it was all you, together and healthy. you were alive even if you may have battle scars and he always makes sure to thank the stars as it was thanks to the tribulations you have conquered that you two were here now. staring eye to eye, touching your foreheads together as you whisper about mundane things

elf bf who one day sees you cut down a tree, cut a log off or prepare firewood and finds that he was imagining the bulge of your muscles against himself. big arms caging him in a bear hug, legs to support him and strong back that he could sink his nails into as he moans under you— hold. since when has his thoughts of you turned… impure? since when has he become turned on? sitting there on one of the logs with a painful strain against his pants as he swallowed the saliva that gathered in his jaw down, tearing his gaze away. no no, he really shouldn’t think of you as such, you were still in courting phase after all and elves were a race that took their romances and courting extremely important

yet regardless of his kin’s customs and traditions, your pretty elf bf couldn’t help but continue to stare. his gaze constantly seeking your figure out, seeing you just go through the motions of every life peacefully while he gets pathetically turned on by your actions as if he was still but a fledgling who learned of a kiss. chopping down trees for firewood, maybe you would work in front of a fire or heat for too long and get sweaty, removing one of the overtunics. maybe you’re just simply dragging a bucket full of water from the well, cranking the pulley as the muscles on your arms and back strained

elf bf who finds himself extremely aroused as his mind wanders to the gutters as he just shamelessly stares at your working form. oh, to feel those calloused hands touch his colder skin, palms smoothening over his creamy skin, and down his chest, his stomach and over his bulge. maybe you would tease the poor thing, tease him of how quick he is to get aroused, the pre of his half-hard cock weeping through his underwear and pants like he was some sore pathetic loser. a little virgin. bully him about being unable to use his cock, make him whine at your mean words as his hips weakly buckle under your exploratory hands

elf bf who couldn’t help but imagine the usual sweetness of your attitude gone, replaced by one that was just a tad bit meaner as you pushes his face down into the pillows of your bed, force his hands to stretch open his puckering hole for you to fuck senselessly. imagining you whispering all sorts of filth into his twitching ears, promising to breed him full, to use him to your heart’s content all night long as he whines and squeals like a little lamb caught in the nest of a hungry wolf. who couldn’t swallow down the quiet whimper coming from his throat as he imagined your hand grasping at his long locks, fisting it tightly as you yank him back, forcing him to arch his back and push the tip of your cock to bruise his guts even more

elf bf who waves off your worry when you had managed to hear the embarrassing noise that slipped past his lips, saying that he was having a bit of a sore throat. gods, he would love to actually whimper from having a sore throat of getting his mouth plowed all day by your fat cock head forcing his jaws wiiideee open

elf bf who couldn’t help but get a little needy in his kisses since then. hands that touched your muscles with curiosity now running over your skin as if trying to feebly seduce you. dropping things to the ground a bit too many times, following you close behind even as you told him that some of the work you needed to do required space and for him to be away for his own safety. who straddles your lap all snug, pushing his chest flush against your own as your simply daily evening kisses after dinner becomes a bit too heated. he definitely had little to no experience with the way his tongue kept licking at your lips meagerly, long fingers curling over your shoulders tightly while his bucking hips on your lap as he starts to get hard again

elf bf who has finally had enough of just his meager imaginations, tugging on the strings of your white tunic with shaky hands as he rambles about touching you, you touching him, feeling him, using him — anything dammit! use those hands of yours on him!

elf bf who soon realizes that he had perhaps bitten off more than he could chew when your hands grip at his hips, dragging his clothed cock against your thigh that had him whining like a cat in heat. meagerly, he tries to replicate what you just made him do, dragging his hips back and forth on your thigh but he all but just looks like an inexperienced bunny. which he probably was judging by the things he spoke to you about himself

elf bf who finds so much pleasure in simply grinding against your thigh for now, the precum of his now hard cock weeping through his pants, staining it into a darker color. all cute and red in the face that spread to his pointy ears, cute high pitched whines falling from his chewed up pink lips. a cute, surprised “a-aahn♡︎??” echoing in the room as you pull his eager body against your own. your chest to his back, hands loosely draped over the hip bone of his

elf bf who lets out the most embarrassing high pitched squeals when your hands travel up his body under his clothes, traveling more and more until teasing at his nipples. rolling your fingertips against the soft areola, squeezing and fondling his pecks as if they were breasts. who jolts in place when you pinch at the hardened buds, tugging at them to test the waters as he arches his back off of your chest, a filthy mewl falling as if he was being fucked stupid already

elf bf who blubbers out uncharacteristic words of “s-shensiitiivgh♡︎ n-no, don’t pinch the-eeengk♡︎♡︎!“ his pleads of your rough hands not torturing his sensitive nipples being replaced with an open mouthed wail when you place a kiss to the pointy tip of his ear. his ears were so sensitive! you knew that and now you were just being downright mean to him as you whisper filth into his ears of acting like a cooped up virgin for merely getting his chest played with. he wasn’t! he was way older than you! slurring out “how c-could you be sooh m-meanngk…♡︎?” as you lick a slow stripe up the pointy helix

elf bf who bucks his hips on your thigh, trying to bounce, trying to move away but ending up whining as his clothed cock grazes against your hardened muscles again. his cute nipples being tortured and groped by your hands, the delicate helix of his ears being assaulted by your wet kisses and licks. any time your hot breath spoke into his ears of how he was such a precious little thing, just like a bunny in heat, he would try to wiggle away. shaking his head with a weak sniffle, his mind churning into a mush as all he could do was to pathetically fuck his cock into your thigh, letting out a soft mewl everytime you buck your leg up to meet his shy excuse of thrusts, jumping in place

elf bf whose minds and body starts to feel weird. the room feeling stifling and your touch making his own skin heat up too much. who tries to tell you that he was feeling ‘odd’ and concerned, yet only to harshly thrust his hips back into your own arousal. eyes widening, a shudder running down his spine at the feeling. still clothed and hidden like his own but good grief, it just felt… so huge since he was sure your human dick couldn’t possibly be much bigger than his own. but no, it got him gulping down the saliva in his mouth

elf bf who bounces himself experimentally onto your own hardened, covered dick, feeling his balls brush against where he guesses is the tip of your strap. his earlier cute whines growing in volume as your torture of his sensitive spots grow worse, groping, squeezing, calling him too eager to get fucked, making him dumb and airheaded. the constant tugs to his chest, the words you spat into his mind so lovingly and the small actions of your hips thrusting up to meet his own weaker excuse of grinding

elf bf who’s voice grow more and more breathier, who finally loses it as he throws himself back against your chest, his head on your shoulder as he let out a wail of “h-hoowt!! t-too ahgg♡︎ haah anhg t-too hoounwt...♥︎!” as he cums into his pants, dirtying the material as a single glob or two of his sweet transparent arousal oozes out through the linen. the dark patch growing into a considerable size, his body racked with twitches and jolts as he cums untouched on your lap. precious little thing getting drunk on the feeling of sex and physical pleasure so much till the point he disregards all of his traditions, bending himself over onto the bed, his hand reaching back to tug you forward by the belt with a desperate whine and a cute blown wide pupils and twitching ears♡︎

⇨ meludir, lindir, legolas, maglor, mairon + whoever you like

[lovesculprit]

Kinktober Day 25 - Cuckolding with Sylus & Zayne

contains: nsfw content: (mdni), fempov, pnv (unprotected), creampie, cuckolding, established relationship (reader is sylus' wife), cheating? (it's agreed to), oral (receiving/giving), 69, come eating, masturbation

˚₊‧ for more kinktober here - wc: 4.9k

a/n: sylus is the cuck because i said so + let's ignore how behind i am right now

You had been married to Sylus for years. He was tender, attentive, making sure you were always safe and of course, a little possessive. Lately, though, there'd been an undercurrent, a tension of sorts, that you couldn't quite define. You didn't know where it was coming from or why, but it was there.

Then there was Zayne—your best friend and constant since long before Sylus came along. Zayne’s presence was different, his caring nature wrapped in an aloof, sometimes unreadable shell. He and Sylus tolerated each other well, their respect tentative at best, for your sake rather than any common bond between them. 

Lately, though, Sylus had been catching the subtleties: how Zayne would stare at you a beat longer when you laughed at one of his jokes, or how his hand would brush yours in passing with a gentle caress that made Sylus' jaw tense. He'd always been possessive, but never in a way that made you uncomfortable—until one night, when he told you something that managed to leave you speechless.

Sylus admitted he'd caught Zayne's glances, and instead of anger, he felt something more complicated-something unexpectedly charged. He thought aloud if he had a kink for the curiosity of seeing you with someone else, namely Zayne.

You were speechless at first. This thought of your husband wanting to share you-especially with Zayne-was surreal. But Sylus' vulnerability, as he spoke this desire out loud, called to you. Reeling you into his fantasy of the need to explore this side of himself and strangely enough yours. You’d felt the chemistry with Zayne, the unspoken current you'd ignored for your loyalty to Sylus. But now it seemed like a door opening to something new.

You felt the weight of Sylus' eyes on you from across the room, fixed with longing and tension. He sat in the corner of your shared bedroom, his hands bound behind him with Zayne's tie, his breaths shallow and strained. It had been Zayne's idea-to hold Sylus in place, to make sure he had no control over what happened next.

Zayne's hand rose to cup your face, his thumb brushing light over your lips, as if testing the waters. The warmth in that touch sent a ripple down your spine and you glanced over at Sylus-your husband-bound and silent, his chest rising in uneven breaths, his eyes wide with jealousy, hunger, and something darker that raced your pulse. He'd asked for this; now, as he watched the scene unfold, the intensity seemed to shake him more than any of you had bargained for.

I think you've waited long enough," Zayne whispered, his hand delicately turning your face to his. He leaned forward and kissed you lightly, a teasing kiss, the kind that would relish anticipation. His hand slid down to your waist, pulling you close, as his lips hitched in the kiss and his warm breath stroked your skin. In every touch, it felt like melting into him, the excitement of this moment erasing the lingering doubts in your mind.

The kiss grew bolder, his hands moving with a confidence that sent a thrill through you. His fingers traced the line of your neck, down to your collarbone, each inch claimed with deliberation that felt almost reverent. You forgot everything but his touch, his mouth, the feel of his fingers, and the way he knew just how to make your body respond.

His lips moved down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that grew hungrier with each beat of your heart. Your hands, tangled in his opened shirt, pulled him closer, caught in a moment heavy with both anticipation and release. And still, beneath the desire, you felt Sylus' gaze, sharp and focused, like a steady heat against your skin.

Zayne paused, his lips inches from yours, a wicked gleam dancing in his eyes as he turned back to glance across the room at Sylus. "Think he's holding up alright over there?" he asked with an edge of satisfaction to the tone that carried so clearly across the room.

Turning, you caught his gaze upon you from where he was restrained. He ran his tongue across his lips and managed a mumbled "Just… keep going." His eyes flashed between you and Zayne, his face a mix of hunger and restraint.

A low chuckle rumbled from Zayne as he returned his focus to you, pulling you onto his lap so you were straddling him. His hands gripped your hips with an urgency that felt possessive, his kiss deeper, almost claiming, knowing Sylus could do nothing but watch. The weight of Zayne’s body against yours, his hands sliding up your back, made you feel alive in ways that left you breathless. 

Being wanted by both men, feeling Sylus’ gaze on you as Zayne pulled you closer, filled you with a strange mix of excitement and thrill. Sylus was here to witness every moment, but it was Zayne who held control.

His lips travelled lower, each kiss deliberate, as he murmured in your ear, “I’ve always wanted this… to see you here, with me, like this. And now he’s watching me have what he can’t.” His voice dropped to a whisper meant just for you. “You like that, don’t you?”

A shiver ran through you, the unguarded thrill rising with each word. You did like it—the feeling of being caught between them, of being wanted so completely. Zayne’s lips pressed lower, leaving a trail along your collarbone, his touch lingering and unhurried as he traced over your skin.

You looked at Sylus, your heart pounding at the sight of him, bound and silent, his body tense, chest rising with rapid breaths. The raw arousal in his eyes was unmistakable, his own emotions fighting with every moment he held back, watching but unable to act.

Zayne’s hand slipped down your thigh, his touch teasing, deliberate, as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “He’s not going to stop me,” he whispered. “He wants this… needs this.”

Your mind grew hazy, caught between Zayne’s heated touch and Sylus’ unwavering gaze. Every second felt like an unspoken dare, testing your will and Sylus’ resolve. Sylus’ eyes were wide, pupils dilated as he watched, his chest heaving with each ragged breath as his own control began to falter.

With a smirk, Zayne felt your fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling yourself closer as you let the thrill overtake you. His fingers brushed lower, tracing a line that felt both exhilarating and grounding as he murmured, “I wonder how long he’ll last… think he’ll come without being touched?”

Suddenly, you felt shy under Zayne’s intense gaze. He’d been your best friend forever; you’d never expected to see this side of him.

Zayne’s breath tickled your ear, his voice a low murmur, and each word wrapped around you with an intensity that felt almost palpable. The air between the three of you was charged, each look, each touch only heightening the simmering tension. Your heart beat faster as his hands traced along your waist, fingers playing at the edge of your clothes, sending a thrill through you.

Across the room, Sylus sat bound, a mix of control and surrender flickering in his expression. His chest rose and fell sharply, his knuckles white as he gripped the back of the chair with hands bound tight behind him. This was something he’d asked for, something he’d wanted—yet now, seeing Zayne’s hands on you was pushing him to an edge. His jaw clenched, and his dark gaze revealed the turbulent mix of jealousy, desire, and longing within him.

A smirk played on Zayne’s lips as he seemed to relish Sylus’ struggle, his fingers slipping just beneath the fabric of your shirt, grazing your skin with a teasing slowness. “See that?” he whispered, his voice a deep, provocative murmur, meant only for you. “He’s already so hard just watching me have you.”

A shiver ran through you as Zayne’s firm hold and Sylus’ intense stare stirred something deep inside. You let out a soft whimper, Zayne’s hand finding your skin with a gentle but possessive touch. The thrill of Sylus watching, powerless to intervene, mingled with the intimacy of the moment and brought out desires you hadn’t even realised were there.

Zayne met your gaze, and for a moment, the smugness softened, replaced by something familiar, something that reminded you of your shared history. Beneath everything, this was still your best friend—someone who knew you, someone you’d trusted with all of yourself. That quiet understanding brought its own charge, blending comfort with the newness of this intensity.

He kissed you again, more forcefully, with a confidence that claimed you in Sylus’ view. The kiss deepened, unhurried but consuming, and you found yourself clinging to Zayne, your body responding to his touch with every nerve awakened. You could feel Sylus’ gaze heavy on you, each one of Zayne’s movements met with a sharp hitch of breath from Sylus, the tension in his body unmistakable.

Zayne’s hand slipped lower, fingers hooking under your panties as he tugged them down just enough to tease you—and Sylus—with what was to come. He broke the kiss, leaning close, his forehead resting against yours, and in a breathless whisper asked, “You ready?”

You nodded and he slid the fabric away, his fingers trailing a path that made you arch into his touch, craving more with each slow caress. Seeing Sylus react to this, watching his restraint unravel, brought a thrill that you could feel in every inch of your body.

A satisfied grin spread across Zayne’s face as he noted your response, his fingers moving purposefully, his touch exploring your thighs before finally running them along your glistening folds. He threw Sylus a quick, triumphant look, his voice barely above a murmur as he teased, “Look at her… already so eager for me.”

With precision, he positioned you so Sylus had an unobstructed view, every shift of Zayne’s hands carefully in focus for him. Bound in place, Sylus couldn’t tear his eyes away as Zayne’s touch deepened. Knowing you had this effect on both men, feeling their separate intensities, was an exhilarating power you hadn’t expected to feel.

Zayne’s fingers teased your entrance a little, before slowly pushing one inside, his touch confident as he found the perfect rhythm. You gasped as pleasure surged through you, your hips moving instinctively in response to him. He chuckled, his voice low with satisfaction.

“You like that, don’t you?” he murmured, his fingers circling with a maddening slowness. “Bet you’re dying for more.”

With a shift, Zayne reclined back on the bed, turning you around and guiding you so you were almost straddling his face. One hand gripped your hips as the other pressed on your back, urging you closer to his cock that was straining against his boxers. He gave a slow, appreciative smile, his voice thick with need as he whispered, “Come on, beautiful. Show me what that pretty mouth can do.”

You glanced at Sylus, his body was tense, muscles taut with arousal as he absorbed the scene, desire and frustration warring within his expression.

Zayne’s hands guided you down until your lips hovered just above him. You pressed a few teasing kisses to his clothed erection, before tugging them down enough to free his cock, long and pretty. Slowly, you lowered your head, tracing your tongue over his skin, tasting the warm saltiness of him. A low, satisfied moan escaped your lips as you took him deeper, inch by inch, savouring the way his breath caught and his head fell back, eyes slipping closed.

Just as you lost yourself in the rhythm, Zayne's mouth finally began exploring your pussy, his tongue exploring in slow, purposeful circles that made your breath hitch. Your lips wrapped around his cock and his tongue parting your folds created an electric rhythm between you, every touch a wave of pleasure that reverberated through your entire body.

Sylus watched, unable to look away, his own arousal plain, pressing insistently against his pants. His eyes were fixed on you, his expression dark with need, as if the intensity of what he felt for you were palpable in the room. A fierce blend of longing and envy seemed to coil in his gaze, growing with each muffled sound you made.

Zayne’s tongue circled your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through you. His hands tightened on your thighs, steadying you as you rocked against him, chasing every wave, every shudder. The tension coiled tighter, winding deep within you as he continued, each touch pushing you closer to the edge.

You were dimly aware of Sylus, his breaths heavy and uneven, his eyes never leaving your face. You could feel his desperation, the silent plea in his gaze as you gasped under Zayne’s touch.

You moved in rhythm, your hips meeting Zayne’s mouth, each brush of his nose against your clit was a spark against your sensitive skin. Each touch, each taste, was overwhelming. And as his hands held you, his moans mingled with your own, it was a fevered exchange that blurred the world around you. You ran your tongue along his shaft, before returning to take him deeper, bobbing your head as much as you could from the angle. Each pulse bringing him closer, his hands pressing into your thighs with renewed fervour.

Finally, as your body strained for release, Zayne’s hand left your thigh, his touch easing back as he pulled away, his breath fast and his gaze full of promise. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I want to feel you cum around my cock.”

The words ignited something fierce within you, a trembling anticipation as you moved, shifting in a quiet ache for what came next. 

Zayne released your hips, and as you shifted, he quickly positioned himself behind you whilst you were already on all fours, his presence warm and solid. His hands moved over you, one sliding around your hip, his fingers finding your most sensitive spot, each slow circle a tease.

You looked ahead, meeting Sylus’ gaze, seeing his chest rise and fall as he watched, bound and captivated, his gaze hungry and unwavering.

Zayne’s fingers continued, slow and knowing, as he pressed forward, sliding his cock inside you with a steady ease that made your breath catch, filling you completely. The feeling of his touch, and Sylus’ dark, intense stare, held you suspended between them, every sensation amplified as your body moved in time with Zayne’s, grounded in him, but electrified by Sylus’ silent, longing presence.

In this moment, caught between their two worlds, every touch felt infinite, every movement a reminder of the power you held over them both, leaving you completely breathless, each sensation more vivid and alive than the last.

You arched your back, pressing your hips against him, craving more of that delicious intensity. Zayne responded eagerly, thrusting deep inside you with a powerful rhythm that took your breath away. He established a relentless pace, his fingers dancing over your clit, each thrust punctuated by the sound of his skin meeting yours, a primal slap that echoed in the charged air.

With a firm grip, Zayne shifted his hand from your hip to your jaw, tilting your head to face Sylus. The moment your eyes met, you felt a rush of heat. Sylus’ gaze was a storm of raw hunger, jealousy, and desire that ignited something deep within you.

“Look at him,” Zayne growled, his voice low and commanding. “See how much he wants you? How badly he wishes he could be the one inside you right now?”

You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Sylus, lost in the intensity of his stare as Zayne continued his unrelenting assault from behind. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body, eliciting gasps and moans that filled the room like a symphony of desire.

Sylus looked utterly consumed, his chest heaving with every ragged breath, an expression of fierce longing etched across his features. He appeared to be a man possessed, his own arousal evident as he squirmed against his restraints, his body betraying the desperation that simmered just beneath the surface.

“Zayne,” he gasped, voice strained and thick with need. “Please… I need…”

Zayne paused, his hips stilling as he turned to Sylus, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. You could see the triumph in his eyes, relishing the power he held over your husband. “What was that?” Zayne taunted, a playful mockery lacing his voice. “You need something?”

“Please,” Sylus breathed again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Untie me. I just need… I need to touch myself, fuck-”

Zayne's smirk widened, his eyes glinting with mischief as he watched Sylus writhe in his restraints. “What’s the magic word, Sylus?” he teased, thrusting deep into you once more, sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body.

You cried out, the force of his movement making you lean forward, your body desperate for something to anchor you amidst the waves of sensation. Sylus’ eyes were wild with need, his breathing laboured as he fought to regain control.

“Please,” he gasped, desperation creeping into his tone. “I promise I won’t touch her. I just need… Fuck, Zayne, I need to touch myself.”

Zayne chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through the room like a potent aphrodisiac. “And why should I let you do that?” he challenged, his fingers gripping your hips tighter, holding you in place. “Why should I give you any relief while you just sit there, watching me fuck your wife?”

The tension in the air was palpable, thick with a heady mix of lust and jealousy. Sylus squirmed against his restraints, the sight of you lost in pleasure, vulnerable and exposed, driving him to the brink of madness.

Zayne pulled out, his cock glistening with your arousal as he approached Sylus, and you whined as you felt the emptiness of his absence.

Leaning in close, Zayne brushed his lips against Sylus’ ear. “Beg for it,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Beg for me to untie you, and maybe I’ll let you touch yourself.”

Sylus' breath hitched, his eyes wide and pleading as he looked up at Zayne. “Please,” he begged, voice strained. “I need… I need to touch myself. I promise I won’t touch her. I just… God, I need it so badly.”

Zayne chuckled darkly, amusement flickering in his eyes. He reached behind Sylus, finding the knot binding him, and with a sharp tug, he loosened it, granting Sylus his freedom.

Settling himself at the edge of the bed, Zayne spread his legs, inviting you closer with a sultry smile. “Come here, baby,” he purred, patting his thigh. “I want to feel you ride me, want to watch you lose yourself on my cock while your husband watches.”

You hesitated, glancing at Sylus, who was already palming himself through his pants, his eyes dark and hungry as they roamed over you. The thrill of being watched, of knowing he was so aroused by the sight of you with another man, sent a shiver of excitement coursing through your body.

With a deep breath, you moved forward, positioning yourself over Zayne’s lap. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you down onto his waiting cock. You gasped as he filled you, stretching you in a way that felt utterly exhilarating, even more so in this new position.

Slowly, you began to move, finding a rhythm that delighted both of you. Zayne's hands slid up your body, cupping your breasts, teasing your nipples until sparks of pleasure shot through you.

As you rode Zayne, your eyes locked onto Sylus’, watching him free his aching cock from the confines of his pants. It stood hard and glistening, the tip slick with pre-cum, and your mouth watered at the sight. Imagining tasting him, feeling him throb against your tongue, sent another wave of desire washing over you, causing you to grind down harder onto Zayne.

“That's it, baby,” Zayne groaned, his grip tightening on your hips. “Fuck, look at you, so desperate for it.”

His fingers dug deeper into your skin as he urged you to move faster, to give in to the pleasure coursing between you. “Tell him,” he commanded, his voice low and rough. “Tell him how good I feel inside you, how much you love being fucked by another man.”

You hesitated, glancing back at Sylus, who was now stroking himself faster, his breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. The sight of him so enthralled, so aroused by the thought of you with Zayne, sent another thrill through you.

“Feels so good,” you moaned, your voice breathy and needy. “Zayne feels amazing inside me, oh god—”

Sylus’ eyes widened at your words, his hand moving faster over his cock, his hips bucking involuntarily. “How good?” he gasped, his voice strained.

You bit your lip, locking eyes with Sylus as you continued to ride Zayne. “So full,” you moaned, rolling your hips in a sultry motion. “He’s stretching me just right, hitting all the perfect spots.”

Sylus’ eyes were glued to the sight of you, impaled on Zayne’s cock, his strokes becoming more frantic. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. “You look so hot like that, taking his cock so well.”

“Good girl,” Zayne purred, his fingers urging you to pick up the pace, the intensity of his thrusts matching the fervour of your movements.

Sylus' hand moved faster over his shaft, each stroke deliberate and firm as he watched you. His breath was heavy, his hips thrusting in time with the rhythm you created, caught in the overwhelming pleasure of the moment.

Your breasts bounced with every roll of your hips, the soft flesh enticingly bouncing as Zayne kneaded them. The tension inside you began to coil tighter, pleasure building with every thrust, and you lost yourself in the sensations, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

“Fuck,” Sylus groaned, his voice strained and urgent. “You’re so fucking hot, baby. Gonna make me cum just watching you.”

Zayne’s thrusts grew harder, more demanding, his voice low and filled with desire. “That’s it,” he growled, his words urging you on. “Take it. Take my cock. You feel so fucking good.”

The dual sensations of Zayne pounding into you and Sylus' heated gaze bore down on you, propelling you closer and closer to that sweet release. Your moans rose in pitch, more frantic as the tension coiled tighter within you.

“Fuck, baby,” Sylus gasped, his voice strained, “Gonna cum with you. I want to see you come on his cock.”

The sensation of Zayne thrusting into you, combined with Sylus watching, stroking himself to the sight, was almost more than you could bear. Your body trembled, muscles tightening as your climax approached.

“I’m close,” you gasped, your voice high and breathless. “Zayne, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” Zayne commanded, his hand moving to your clit, rubbing in firm, deliberate circles. “Come for me, baby. Come all over my cock while your husband watches.”

That added stimulation was the final push you needed, and with a cry, you came undone. Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your body shaking as you gushed around Zayne’s cock, urging him to join you in ecstasy.

Sylus sat there, utterly captivated, his hand working furiously over his cock, eyes glued to the intoxicating scene unfolding before him. You were lost in pleasure, unravelling on Zayne's cock.

And with a groan that rumbled deep in his chest, Sylus surrendered to his own release, his cum spilling over his hand and chest as he watched you completely consumed by ecstasy with another man.

Zayne's breath came out in ragged gasps, and with one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, feeling his cock pulse as he reached his peak. You could feel the rush of warmth as he filled you with his cum, an overwhelming sensation that sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. A soft moan escaped your lips as you felt him spill inside you, the thick release flooding your core and dribbling out and down your thighs.

Zayne’s hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he rode out his orgasm, his body jerking with each pulsating throb. “Fuck, that’s so good,” he rasped, his voice laced with raw desire. “Take it all, baby. I want you to feel every last drop.”

Exhausted and blissful, you leaned back against him, your mind hazy and body spent. Zayne’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close as he pulled out slowly, his softening cock slipping from your well-fucked pussy. A shiver ran through you as you felt his release spill out, a tangible reminder of the pleasure you’d just shared. Sylus remained seated, his own arousal evident as he took in the sight of you, marked by another man.

As you lay there, panting and glowing, you sensed Sylus draw closer, the magnetic pull of your dripping pussy too tempting for him to resist. With a low, primal growl, he dropped to his knees at the end of the bed, his eyes dark and hungry as he locked onto your cum-filled hole. “Look at you,” he breathed, his voice thick with lust. “Taking Zayne’s load like a good girl.”

Before you could respond, Sylus’ hands gripped your thighs, parting you wider as he leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste the sensitive folds. The moment his warm tongue brushed against your over-sensitized clit, you gasped, your body instinctively bucking for more of that delicious friction.

Sylus moaned as he devoured you, his tongue exploring every inch, savouring the mix of your cum and Zayne's. The depravity of it all sent fresh waves of arousal coursing through you, igniting a fire within your already sensitive body. As Sylus pushed deeper, your whimpers turned to soft moans, the pleasure mounting in a way that was almost overwhelming.

“Too much,” you managed to gasp, fingers tangling in the sheets as you struggled to handle the sensation. “I can’t... please.”

But Zayne's hands were firm on your hips, keeping you open and exposed for Sylus’ eager mouth. “Shh,” he murmured, his voice a low, sultry command. “Let him worship you. Let him taste how good I made you feel.”

The vibrations of Sylus’ growl against your body sent shockwaves of pleasure through you, each stroke of his tongue pulling you closer to another peak. As Zayne’s hands roamed your body, teasing your breasts and rolling your nipples, the sensations became a blissful storm.

“Just relax,” Zayne encouraged, his voice dripping with approval. “Let him enjoy every inch of you. You’re such a good girl.”

With each flick of Sylus’ tongue and the soft, persistent pressure of Zayne’s hands, your body instinctively responded, rocking against Sylus’ face. The combination of their ministrations was intoxicating, building you up higher and higher, pushing you toward a point of no return.

Sylus’ fingers joined his mouth, teasing your clit while his tongue explored your depths. The mixture of sensations became too much; you could feel your climax bubbling up, threatening to spill over. “I’m close!” you cried, your voice breathy with desperation. “Guys, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” Zayne commanded, his hand moving to your clit, rubbing in firm, deliberate circles. “Cum for us, baby. Let it all out while your husband laps it up.”

The intensity was suffocating, and with a cry, you shattered into pure bliss, your body trembling as waves of ecstasy washed over you. Sylus lapped at your release, his eager mouth prolonging your pleasure, coaxing every last drop from your body. Zayne held you tightly, supporting you through the aftershocks of your climax.

When the waves of pleasure finally ebbed, Sylus pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal. He leaned up, capturing your mouth in a heated kiss, and you could taste yourself on his tongue—rich and intoxicating. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and crevice as he deepened the kiss, claiming you with a possessive urgency that sent shivers down your spine.

You melted into him, surrendering to the heat of his touch. It felt both filthy and undeniably right, the three of you entwined in a web of passion and desire. As the final echoes of your orgasm faded, the three of you collapsed onto the bed, limbs tangled and bodies slick with sweat.

Zayne lay back, arms wrapped around you as you nestled against his side, head resting on his chest. Sylus sprawled beside you, his hand possessively resting on your hip. For a moment, the room was filled with the sound of your ragged breaths, the three of you basking in the afterglow of shared pleasure. Zayne’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, soothing and gentle, while Sylus nuzzled into your neck, peppering soft kisses along your pulse point.

With a low chuckle, Sylus murmured, “Round two? Where I get to actually join in this time.” You shivered at the promise in his words, your body responding to the heat of his touch. Zayne’s arm tightened around you, drawing you closer as he whispered, “I’m down for that.”

taglist:

@l0v3m3-p13as3 @hishearttohave @williamafton26 @kentochronicles

@jays-adventure3 @nctislifue @eeveedvck @needtoloveoutloud @yowumi

@sweetpo1son @betelgeuse420 @yuhig-blog @psychedellyc @char-35

@kaeyeahsworld @sukunadckrider @ladyackermanisdead @szired

© lovesculprit ↣ do not copy or translate any of my works

[ozzgin]

OZZ OMG OMG OMG THAT YANDERE PRISON THING OMG OMG OMG

*jitters with excitement*

I NEED MORE AHHHHH IT TICKLED MY BRAIN THE RIGHT AND WRONG WAY AT THE SAME TIME

Like if you're nice they'll just become your dogs and if you're not nice they'll give you a very rough foursome I'm down for either OMG OMG OMG help I have problems

To quote Markiplier: "I'm not a masochist, this is about power"

*drops dead*

*instantly revives*

Ahem, I saw you mention you might come up with small plots, so I'll do the logical thing to try to inspire you:

- clueless darling ask the leaders about their gangs and whatnot. Like nonchalantly. Because they're too nice darling thought it's no big deal lol

- darling subconsciously avoid blonde man (even tho he is my favourite hahah) after seeing him beat up the guy

- darling got drunk (somehow in a prison) and either gets horny (and try to let it out under the blankets forgetting they got roommates)or innocently touchy hugging all three of them and poking their unique features, sitting in their laps and so on. Or better yet, touches/approaches other inmates in front of the roommates...

content: gender neutral reader, alcohol consumption, NSFW below the cut!

Inmates are creative. They will always find a way around the rules, and this time it happened to be a rather clumsy attempt at brewing alcohol. Had this been discovered by a guard, whoever concocted the beverage would've landed in detention.

Instead, it was you who found it, innocently assuming someone must've forgotten their water behind. You gulped down the clear liquid, thirsty after you walk, then promptly grimaced at its unexpected bitterness.

Safe to say you're now quite drunk.

That in itself would already be troublesome enough, but another thing is endangering yours and everyone else's peace: you're in a particularly flirty mood.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The officer's smile drops instantly, and he turns towards the deep voice. One of your criminal roommates glares at the sight with hollow eyes. You were clinging to the officer's arm, a dumb grin plastered on your face. The man in uniform quickly shoves you aside, his features pale and drained.

"It wasn't me who started it," he pleads.

You're quickly picked up by your bunkie, who is still staring at the guard. He won't be leaving this prison alive, that's for sure. Now, however, his priorities lie somewhere else.

The hallway spins as you're being carried away, and you shamelessly cling to your ride, feeling and groping the muscles and tracing along his tattooed skin.

"My God, at least wait until we're back to our cell," he groans with flushed cheeks.

The blonde one is trying to play it cool. Come, now, you're obviously out of it. He needs to be mature and tuck you in, or something along the line.

Easier said than done, especially with a raging boner. You're quick to notice it, and you certainly don't hesitate to point it out, making lewd gestures with your hands as some sort of offer.

"Are you sure you won't regret it tomorrow?"

"Hey now, I'm drunk, not unconscious," you bark between hiccups.

He may have interrogated you further, but the thought of your pretty little mouth struggling to take him in is too much to bear. He's essentially drooling by the time he pats his knee for you to come over.

The pierced one drops you on your bed with a flat expression. Annoyance? A closer look at his pursed lips, and one can tell he's really just struggling to maintain his composure.

"Please, I really need to-"

You hold him back by the arm and bat your eyelashes. In return, he clicks his tongue. Is this some sort of test from above? His beloved Darling is essentially begging to be fingered. Yet, he shouldn't be taking advantage of your state. He shouldn't...

Too late. You gasp at his rough fingers making their way in.

"Alright, don't be too loud," he concludes with a faint smirk.

The masked one gently places you on your bed, then plants himself before you with crossed arms.

"Nonsense. You're drunk."

"I mean it", you repeat yourself.

He does his best to look imposing. Truth be told, his knees weakened from the moment "fuck me" slipped out of your mouth. He gladly would, but he has morals. Well, when it comes to you, anyways.

Your pout seems to suggest this would be a long standoff. He sighs, then pushes you back onto the mattress.

"How about this? I'll take care of it," he explains quietly, his cloth hovering above your groin. "I'll be awaiting your offer again once you're sober."

For now, his tongue will have to do.

[Yandere Prison] | [More Yandere Stories]

[pseudowho]

Men With Big Noses

(help me find the Higuruma artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

You accidentally let on to Hiromi Higuruma that you find his big nose sexy-- so he shows you exactly what he can do with it.

Warnings: 18+ as always, Higuruma is nearly face-sat to death and would absolutely die a happy man.

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"Why have you poured me another glass of wine?"

"Why not? You've had a long week. I've had a long week. And I don't want to finish the bottle alone, so..." Hiromi pressed the glass into your hand, planting a deliberately sloppy kiss on your cheek as you laughed, slapping him away, "Drink up."

Feigning disgruntlement, you mumbled into your wine as you shot Hiromi a side-eye.

He loped, slim and wiry, to the windows, swirling his wine glass thoughtfully, one hand in his pocket as he stared out over the Tokyo skyline. Your relationship was new, only just into the early stages of physical intimacy, but you caught yourself looking him up and down over the rim of your wineglass.

It was his brain that had attracted you at first. Fiercely intelligent, Hiromi appeared to see straight through you, and adore you anyway. His passion certainly wasn't limited only to his career. He was dry and sharp, but conversely so mellow at points. He kept you guessing, but never about how he felt about you. You had never found a partner so unusually thrilling as him.

But you couldn't deny...there was a certain something about how he looked that made the gears deep in your belly whir, puzzled and magnetic in your attraction towards him. But you couldn't work out what that something was.

You approached him slowly, breathing in the heady fumes of your wine as you appraised him; his eyes, and the way they turned into pools of pitch black when he looked at you? No. His fine-boned hands, so articulate and clever, that you wondered what else they could be clever with? No, not that either. His body, lithe and slim but deceptively strong? You sighed, unable to puzzle it out. You were halfway through your third glass of wine now, feeling loose, warm, intimate--

"I can't work out what it is that you find attractive about me."

You jumped, your remaining wine sloshing as he turned to you, his sloped eyes sparkling with curiosity, inquisitive and dark. You gaped for a moment, your brain short-circuiting as you swore he had read your thoughts, and said the first thing that came to your head--

"Your nose." Hiromi snorted into his wineglass, hand over his eyes now as he shook with mirth. His hand lowered, fingering his big, hooked nose, and he laughed again.

"Be serious," he chastised. Your inhibition had abandoned you, emboldened by the alcohol.

"No, I...I mean it. There's something sort of...sexy about it. Men with big noses."

"Oh?" He approached you slowly, hand still in his pocket, a slow, sloping walk, "All men with big noses? Is that a kink?" Oh, those eyes. Dark and glowing, like little coals in the dark, and looking at you like that, you felt heat rush through you, so scrutinised--

"Or-- or maybe-- just yours I think. A you-specific kink. I wonder what you could do with that nose, other than-- other than--" You flushed, downing the rest of your wine. He was close now, and your skin felt electric. Not breaking eye-contact as he stared into you, he slowly reached out to take your empty glass, draining his own now and placing them both on the table.

Pulling you in with one hand on the small of your back, and the other creeping up the side of your face, he leaned over you. Still teasing you, his big eyes hooded, he ghosted the tip of his nose over the side of your neck, tracing shapes against your pulse point.

You pressed one hand against his chest, the other into his hair as you shivered.

"--other than?" he prompted. He laughed again, rich and bold, "My nose," he scoffed, "Where would you like my nose?" You blushed, mortified, and tried to shove him away for teasing you, but he held on tight, rubbing his nose gently against yours now. He kissed you, leaning you backwards, deep and convicted in his hold on you.

Your head wasn't swooping just with the wine now. Plaiting your fingers behind his neck, you suddenly didn't feel embarrassed to tell him what you wanted. You pulled away from his kiss, and he leaned his forehead against yours, nose to nose, as he stared into your eyes, your gaze shy and averted.

"Between...between my legs, maybe." You regretted it the moment you said it, hands up to slap over your eyes, cupping your red-hot cheeks, and Hiromi still didn't let go of you, his nose and lips pressing soft, tipsy kisses to your decolletage. He whispered to you, only deepening your regret.

"You could sit on my nose, if you like. Undressed, obviously." You felt his hips pressed against you, and felt his cock against you, now half-hard and growing--

You nearly imploded, stammering, "Oh please, no man actually likes that. Face-sitting is just one of those stupid things you joke about. Men don't actually like giving women oral," you scoffed, cynical and embarrassed. Hiromi raised his eyebrows, releasing you now, looking mildly offended.

"Oh dear. Another sceptic. Were your other boyfriends that bad?" You swatted him with a cloth.

"Pretend I never said anything!" You shouted in from the kitchen, "Forget about it! I'm going for a shower. There's more wine on the side if you want it."

You honestly considered drowning yourself in the shower. You'd barely even got past heavy make-out sessions, and you'd just told him you wanted his nose between your legs, you could just die of shame--

Stepping out from the shower and into your bedroom, you squeaked to find Hiromi lying on his back on your bed, the top of his shirt unbuttoned, and as he saw you, he smiled loosely and rubbed one of your pillows over his face.

"What are...what are you doing?"

"Polishing your seat, of course."

You melted against the wall, mortified, gripping your towel in one hand and covering your eyes with the other. You heard slow footsteps creep up behind you, long-fingered hands pulling you against a hard torso, feeling Hiromi's nose rub behind your ear. Despite yourself, your eyes fluttered closed, wanting him.

"I think you'd like it," Hiromi insisted, voice low and convincing, "and I like it when you tell me what you want. It's...bold. Honest. Sexy." You moaned softly as he pressed into you from behind, his cock hard and insistent against your body, and he loosened the front of your towel to snake his clever fingers to your breast, fingers brushing it softly at first before cupping and giving an appreciative squeeze.

"So please sit on my nose. And the rest of my face." You bit your lip...and slowly nodded. You felt warm air huff out of Hiromi's nose behind your ear, "Good girl."

Spinning you round, Hiromi pulled you in for a deep kiss, the wine heavy on both of your tongues as he slipped his against yours, probing, curious. You accepted warmly, your hands tracing down to untuck his shirt from his trousers, your hand slipping flat against his abdomen and trail of dark, wiry hair, and Hiromi shivered, tongue trembling against yours.

He fell back onto the bed, pulling your legs up to straddle his lap, panting and kissing the sides of your throat as you unbuttoned his shirt, your fingers gliding over the taut muscles of his shoulders in appreciation. He nuzzled you, hooked nose rubbing over the shell of your ear, unintentionally bucking his cock up against your unclothed  sex as your fingers grazed his nipples in their exploration of his torso.

"I can't wait...I want to taste you," he insisted, breathless, his eyes dipped and flinty as he fell back onto the bed, pulling you with him, but holding you upright by the hips. Suddenly shy, so aware of your body with those smouldering eyes looking up at you, Hiromi sensed your hesitation and grabbed your knees, scooting you up his body so you were straddling his upper chest.

With your legs parted, you felt his breath roll over your folds, now so wet with your arousal, and Hiromi stared up at you, seeming grave in his devoted assessment of your face as he traced his hands up your thighs, two fingers slipping idly between your legs to rub a long stroke from entrance to clit and back again. He sighed, thrilled to feel you plant a hand on his abdomen, grounding yourself as he started to rub smooth circles over your clit.

"You're perfect, and those other guys didn't  deserve you," he insisted, slipping his fingers teasingly close to your entrance as you let out a breathy moan, and Hiromi stared at his fingers, scientific in his appreciation of how your arousal was glazed over them.

Raising his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean, Hiromi stopped, considering. He placed his wet fingers over your towel instead, gripping your hips.

"No," he puzzled, "I want to taste you straight from the source." You squeaked as he dragged your knees and hips upwards again, your pussy now hovering directly over his face. Hiromi lifted his face, looking at you with a glint in his eyes, "Sit."

You hesitated, and Hiromi pressed his nose up, nuzzling it between your folds and pressing it firmly against your clit, holding your hips tightly as you jolted and gasped, never realising that nose could feel so good on your aching core. Thighs trembling, you lowered your weight until you sat directly on Hiromi's nose, mouth and chin.

Hiromi got to work like a starving man, groaning with desire as he nuzzled his nose and mouth between your puffy folds, his nose rubbing firmly over your clit as his tongue sank as far as it could into your hole, and you cried out, gripping his hair tightly with one fist, and grasping his hand on your hip with another.

As the firm tip of his nose rubbed insistently on your clit, making you burn with pleasure, you involuntarily ground your pussy down onto his face, and mewled when his shaky moan vibrated through you. Hiromi began to move your hips above him, encouraging you to hump his mouth and nose while his tongue alternated between dipping into you, and flicking against your clit as Hiromi sucked it into his mouth.

Your pleasure building, your cries and the hand grasping his hair becoming more and more urgent, Hiromi squeezed his rigid cock through his trousers, determined not to embarrass himself by cumming untouched while you humped his face. But as precum leaked through his trousers, wet on his thigh, Hiromi was drunk with the taste of you, sweet and natural, and he felt his cock throbbing as he neared his release.

Hiromi rocked your hips urgently against his face, his nose creating a constant alternating pressure on your clit, and you felt your belly tighten, pressing yourself down on his nose in a desperate need to cum, babbling his name in sweet praise.

With one last determined nuzzle against your clit, you shook, waves of pressure breaking through your whole lower body and Hiromi moaned, hips bucking against the air as he tasted and smelled you, overwhelmed by the authentic intimacy of the moment, feeling streams of cum soaking his boxers as he came completely untouched.

You moaned, short little mewls as you came down from your high. Gathering yourself, you shifted yourself down onto Hiromi's chest, looking down at him, blushing and concerned. You had never seen a man look so delighted with so much cum on his face. You were baffled, and of a mind to marry this man.

"Any man that actually likes women, sweetheart," Hiromi panted, dazed, "Would happily die like that."

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Love you Hiromi Higuruma, MWAH! 😌☕

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 28th. theodore nott. lorenzo berkshire — humiliation / degradation

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: never let enzo berkshire find out about one of your kinks. unless….

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, halloween ghostface costumes, threesome, fwb!theo, bestfriend!enzo, reader is involved in a bet unbeknownst to her, mask kink, humiliation on high, degradation, fingering, denied orgasm, oral m!rec, PIV, dirty talk, manipulation.

"Black cat mask?"

You shake your head, barely sparing the thing a glance.

"Mm, no. Too unoriginal."

"Right," Enzo sucks his teeth, tossing the mask back into the bin you're both half-heartedly rifling through. "Orange cat, then? That's far more fitting for you anyways."

"Enzo—no cats, please," you mutter, running a hand through your hair, staring down at the disheveled heap of plastic. None of it catches your eye, none of it sparks anything. "It's Halloween. I want something...scarier."

"Of course. Only day of the year you get to pretend you're as terrifying as me." He croons—half-laughing through the words. The tease itches in your mind, and you're halfway to some retort when he's already holding up another mask. "How about this one?"

You glance up, ready to dismiss whatever nonsense he's holding this time, but the sight of it stills the air in your lungs. A Ghostface mask. Stark white, hollow eyes staring back at you—it's grimace cast in a faded glow under tired shop lights. It's nothing—just a mask, just a piece of cheap plastic in Enzo’s hand—but your heart skips, stumbles, clutches at your ribs, and you can't look away.

And there's no goddamn reason for it, no logic—but you're already seeing it, aren't you? Your current fwb—Theo, standing over you; his face hidden, mask in place of those half-lidded eyes that you’ve learned to read so well. And you know—you know the thought is fucking absurd—yet, it knots something in your stomach, spreading heat like a fuse just lit.

"You alright there?" Enzo's teasing pulls you out of your thoughts, and you realize he'd been staring at you that entire time. "You're looking a little...hot."

Hot. Right. Of course he'd notice—of course your best friend would notice the way you went still, frozen in place as if someone struck you with Glacius. You're no good at lying to him, not even on a good day—and right now, your mind is in shambles, already too far gone into the fantasy and—

No. No more of this.

You tear away, fumbling for the edge of a cloak that suddenly seems like the most fascinating thing you've ever seen, your fingers tracing the fabric as if it can save you.

"It's...fine—it's nice," you blurt out, too quickly, too forced, the words tumbling over themselves. "Just—no, not really my thing."

But Enzo knows better. He can spot your lies from miles away. You hear him shift, the quiet rustle of the mask in his hands—and then, he's pulling it over his face, tilting his head just to spite you.

You don't have to look to know he's smirking behind it.

"Bullshit." He steps closer, casually closing the distance, but you know it's deliberate. "You're into this, aren't you?"

The warmth on your face feels like fire now, prickling heat across your skin. He shifts closer again, and for a moment you consider jinxing him—mind scattering into dark, unbidden places—filthy, wild things, flashing behind your eyes, too real. Enzo tilts his head the other way now, letting the mask catch the light, letting it grin.

"Should I get it?" He asks, as innocent as a serial killer. "For Nott, of course."

"No."

It scrapes out of your throat, barely audible, far too small to hold truth. You’re sure he can read you right now—all your depraved thoughts in the rasp of your voice, painfully transparent.

There’s a huff, a snort of sorts. "Are you sure? I think he'd love it."

Despite his insufferableness, he’s probably right. Theo has never shied away from indulging your kinks before. That’s what no strings is about. Maybe he would love it, you know you certainly would—gods how you’d love it—even if you’d rather die before admitting it.

The cloak—you focus on the deep purple velvet, the dark lace edging. "I'm sure. Put it back."

"You don't sound so sure." Gods, he's such an asshole—point only proved further as he takes another step closer. "Does this...does this turn you on?"

"Enzo—For Godric's sake, stop." The humiliation is suffocating. This is just a glimpse at your future should you ever decide to disclose this information to him. Relentless and bloody insufferable. "Let's just—pick something and go. Please?"

A pause, then, and you don't dare look up. The mask slips from his face with another soft, satisfied hum—you don't need to see him to feel the damage done. He knows.

"Sure, angel," he says, trailing as he turns. "Whatever you want."

————

"Matt—have you seen Theo?"

"Uh—not since earlier." Mattheo replies without even looking up, his focus on pouring another dangerous looking drink rather than on you. "He's probably just out for a smoke."

Yeah. Right. Forsure—because his smoke breaks last all bloody day. Doubt twists your stomach, but you nod anyway, grabbing your own drink—something bubbling, far too bright a green to be safe, but it burns down easy all the same. The room spins in a foggy haze, lights bleeding together over costumes, wizard and Muggle and something in between—and you struggle to tell who's who.

Theo had refused to tell you what he was dressing up as—claimed he wanted it to be a surprise. Now, that surprise is nowhere to be found.

"What are you supposed to be?" You raise a brow at Mattheo's striped inmate costume. “Your future?"

Riddle's eye flash as he pretends to be offended for about two seconds until his gaze drops to your own costume and his tongue darts over his lips, taking it in. Beer-maid, tight bodice, shorter than preferred. It's not what you were going for, not in the slightest, but it's all Pansy had in her closet to save you after you and Enzo failed to find anything interesting at the shop the other day.

"Maybe. But you definitely aren't dressed as yours." His attention shifts back to the crowd, a failed attempt at hiding his grin. "Way too much fabric."

You scoff, but that's just how Mattheo is—always a sly comment, always pushing. You roll your eyes and swat at him, but he sticks his tongue out at you and steps back, slipping off into the crowd with a final goodbye wink—and just as you lose track of him, Draco saddles up next to you, prattling on about something you don't care to listen to.

Great, that’s two annoying Slytherins accounted for. Where the fuck is Theo?

Five seconds into pretending to be interested in whatever Malfoy is babbling on about, you give up, turning back to the drink table and skimming over the options when someone new brushes up behind you—

"Enzo told me," the words barely register before you feel it—a hand settling low at your hip. "About your kink."

With lightening speed you twist your neck, glancing over your shoulder—only to fucking gasp at what you find there. That mask. The mask. The Ghostface one from the shop; the one Enzo hasn't let you forget, hasn't stopped teasing you about—you blink, your heart barrelling out of the room, fingers tightening around your cup until it hurts—

The mask tilts, just slightly. "Looks like he was right."

"Theo—"

"Go." His voice is muffled, but sweet Merlin—the sound of it makes your knees threaten to buckle right then and there. His hand slips lower, teasing against the ruffles of your dress. "Run, Bella. Let's play."

Your body locks up, muscles tense and poised on the edge of something feral. You can't look away. Can't think. Can't breathe. His fingers slip lower, lower, until you feel it—cold leather against the heat of your skin and your throat tightens, words dying dead on your tongue.

Run.

A slight lean, and the mask brushes your neck. "Now."

He steps back, a slow retreat, but it feels like he's tugging you with him. You spin to face him, smirking, your voice barely above a whisper—

"And when you catch me?"

"Find out." His head tilts toward the door. It's your cue.

Your feet move before your mind even catches up, slipping through the rowdy crowd, darting through the half-drunk revelers in their costumes—everything blurring into an afterthought as you push past the cobwebs, pumpkins, fake spiders, all the other Halloween decor filling the fogged ballroom. Your fingertips buzz from the adrenaline—pulse echoing in your ears as you dart down one hall after another, not quite sure where you're going, but knowing you need to keep moving.

Theo told you to run—so you run.

You sprint through the castle, the corridors empty save for your hurried footsteps and the scattered Halloween decorations lunging at you from the shadows. You round a corner, making for the dungeons. It's as good a place as any, right? Dark, quiet, somewhere to hide.

Few more minutes and you make it, lungs burning as you stumble into the dreary main hall. You realize the detention room is empty—and it's perfect. You take two steps inside, already thinking you'll be able to catch your breath when—

You slam headlong into something solid.

Head swirling, your vision barely refocuses before you feel a grip on your wrists, pulling you forward with enough force to make you gasp. Everything happens so fast you don't have enough time to process what's occurring before you're forced to focus on the thing you're seeing—ghostface. Staring down at you with those empty, gaping eyes. Unreadable.

It's then that you realize you're caught.

Something shifts behind the mask, an almost imperceptible movement of his head. You'd almost think you imagined it but given that there's nothing else to look at you know it's impossible. The silence is ballooning and you wonder if this is part of the game, if Theo is just savouring the moment, relishing in your reaction. The way you're trembling, your breath stuttering, the way you've gone still—waiting.

You swallow, throat drier than the Sahara, but something about this has you emboldened, the fact he's playing into your fantasy like this—so you decide to tease him, breaking the silence with a soft, breathless laugh as you pull one of your hands free from his grip.

He wanted to play. It's your turn to act the part.

"Looks like you caught me...Mr. Ghostface..." you purr—the silence sticks heavy, making the space between you feel thick, electric. All you can feel are his eyes devouring you. "And now...now that you've caught me...what are you gonna' do with me...hm?"

Gods—the thrill of this is so real, one your certain is more addictive than any drug. An adrenaline rush—not knowing what he's thinking, what he's about to do. Not being able to read him like you normally could. It makes your thighs quake—and there’s half a second where you wonder how much Enzo would pay to see this, how much he’d fucking taunt you for it.

But just as quickly as it came, you shake that thought��focused on Theo, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth and sink to your knees, fingertips teasing from his chest to his abdomen, tilting your head to look up at him through your lashes.

"...please don't punish me." You giggle—and the debauched absurdity of it all makes you nearly choke. "I'll be so good—I'll do anything, Theo—"

You feel him huff, tense, and when your fingers graze the front of his pants—just barely touching his crotch— his hand snaps down like a vice, gripping your wrist, stopping you dead in your tracks.

And then, you hear it. "Salazar sakes—shit—"

Your heart plummets. That voice—it's like being thrown into ice-cold water. No, that's not—it can't be—

"Enzo?"

Your voice cracks as you all but screech, your head whipping up so fast you feel dizzy. No, no, no—

Enzo, who you previously thought was Theo, pulls the mask off and all but verbally confirms it. Your nightmare born to life. Spooling to fruition right in front of you. He smiles, lips curled into something thoroughly entertained, and gods, how his eyes glint with pure assholery—you could fucking kill him.

"Enzo—" you stammer, horror flushing through you, burning through the mortification lodged in your throat. "Gods—what the fuck—"

"Surprise," he breathes, like this is the most casual thing in the world to him.

You scramble back, knees scraping against cold stone—mind spiralling in every direction at once—shame collides with shock and it all burns under your skin, the kind of heat that never settles. You know Theo's voice. You could never mistake it. You know for a fact that was him back at the party— but this, this makes no sense.

"What...what the hell-" your voice stumbles like you're trying to outrun the words. "Why would you—what were you—"

"Relax," he is all too fucking calm. "It was a prank."

"A prank?" You're still on the floor, and for some reason that makes everything worse. "You call that a prank? A—a funny little joke?"

"That's usually the definition—"

"No." You hiss between clenched teeth, anger strangling any hope for composure. "What were you doing in here? This— this isn't—you were trying to-"

"Trying to what?" He sounds so goddamn innocent but you know better. He's toying with you, making sure you know it. He's been your best friend since you were kids but you never said it was by choice. He steps closer. "I was trying to what, angel?"

Your blood boils, the heat spreading fast—pooling low in your core against all specks of your sanity. He's relishing this, drinking in your mortification like it's fine wine—and for some reason, it makes you weak.

"You—" words die with another one of his steps, the toes of his shoes brushing against your skin as he crouches down in front of you, elbows resting casually on his knees. You sit back, ass meeting cold stone. "Enzo—"

"Yeah?" He cocks an eyebrow. "You just gonna' parrot my name all night? Maybe you're too embarrassed to speak?"

The constant mocking feels like ice and you want to slap that smug look right off his face but instead your fucking thighs tense. You have nothing to say—can only stare at him, lungs seizing further as you notice the smirk fading from his lips, something darker replacing it—

"You didn't even know who was under that mask, and you were ready to suck me off," he's whispering, but he may as well be screaming. "You'd do anything for anyone with a mask, huh? I wish I knew about this kink of yours sooner."

He leans in closer, his knees pushing yours apart—you and Enzo had never been strangers to toying the line of friendship one too many times while drunk, but this—

You blink. Staring at him. "You...you're enjoying this way too much."

"Guilty as charged." His smile spreads wider, cockier, his eyes dipping to your lips, then lower. You shiver involuntarily. "I know I should have stopped you sooner, but seeing you on your knees...in front of me...I just..."

He shakes his head before he slowly stands back up—and his eyes flicker to your chest, lingering on your fucking tits and not even trying to be subtle about it.

Then, there’s a sound—the sound of the door creaking open.

You barely hear it, the faint shuffle of footsteps, but it's enough to pull the grin from Enzo's face as he looks up. You're not sure your heart can handle anymore of this—plummeting to the stone beneath you as Theo steps into the room, dressed just like Enzo—black robes, black gloves, Ghostface mask.

"Nott." Enzo's voice is too casual, too easy. "Great timing, mate."

Theo’s silent as he takes in the scene. You—still on the floor, dress hitched up, legs spread. Enzo standing over you, smug, unbothered. Theo's presence fills the room as he shuts the door behind him and locks it, stoking your humiliation into something even hotter, something impossible to escape.

Theo's voice is flat, his tone too even. "Looks like you got caught."

Wait—

"You—" your gaze jumps between them, a wild panic bubbling up inside you. You're so fucking confused. "What is this? You two—"

"Like I said, a prank." Enzo says as he steps toward Theo, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "A bet, really.”

Theo doesn't respond. He doesn't move. He doesn't look away from you.

"A bet?" You choke out, trying to piece everything together. "What bet?"

"Well, you see, angel," Enzo pushes away from Theo and slumps down into a chair just off to the side of you. You feel the dread rolling in like a storm. "I bet big Theo here you'd get so weak in the knees over the mask, you wouldn't even notice the switch. As usual, I was right."

Andddd, there’s the dread. Yup. As expected whenever Enzo is fucking involved in anything.

"Oh, wow—" you'd laugh if you weren't this utterly mortified by the entire situation. "You guys are—gods. You’re going after a whole new high score in the prick olympics, aren't you—"

"Oh, I don't know if you believe that, topolina...I think you're just being shy." Theo cuts through your rambling and you flinch at the sound of his voice. "It's clear this is a fantasy of yours."

Your head tilts up, eyes widening as they meet the empty, hollow eyes of the mask drawing closer.

"I bet you're just embarrassed," Theo's pressing—he's fucking pressing and you don’t think you’ve breathed since he walked in. "Embarrassed that you got on your knees for your best friend...or maybe you're afraid I'd be mad." He pauses, and his gaze sweeps down over you. "Which, to that I'd have to say, I'm far from."

You swallow hard, your mouth dry. "You're...you're not mad?"

Perhaps you were afraid of that—even if you and Theo are unofficial in every aspect.

His answer is instant. "No."

He crouches in front of you, gloved fingers finding your chin, tipping your head up so he can look at you— really look at you.

"In fact...I think you should let him watch..." his thumb ghosts over your lower lip, so soft, so slow—without thinking, your tongue flicks out, barely grazing the leather covered tip, and you hear the soft exhale he releases in response. "After all, this was his idea. He deserves some fun too, don't you think?"

Heat floods your cunt, your stomach tightening at the suggestion. You glance at Enzo, sitting back now with his mask on—legs spread wide, leather hands clasped, calm—you wanted to kill him five minutes ago, but now—

Oh gods—you're really losing it.

"Yeah," you whisper, barely managing the word. "He probably does."

Theo's hand slides down to your thigh, leather fingers curling into the soft skin, pulling your legs open further.

"Mhm." He mutters. "You like being watched, don't you?"

Your breath catches, your pulse thundering in your ears as you nod, your eyes glued to Enzo. "Yes..."

"Say it." His fingers trail higher, teasing the soft skin beneath your dress, fingertips grazing closer—too close—just below the lace hem of your panties.

Salazar save you.

You bite your lip, and the air between you feels like it's thickening, growing too dense to breathe in. That fucking mask. You've fantasized over it. And now, there's two of them. Two sets of eyes—faceless, emotionless, and watching you. It's like something out of your fucking dreams.

"I—I like being watched," you manage to whisper, voice breaking between building lust.

"Louder," Theo growls this time like he's pulling it from somewhere deep in his chest—it sends liquid heat spilling through you. "Louder, topolina. He can't hear you if you're whispering."

Your heart stutters in your chest, and Enzo—gods, Enzo is still watching—stays silent, the mask concealing whatever reaction he might have, but his posture speaks volumes. Stillness, dark fabric of his trousers tight across his thighs, a coiled tension that radiates off him, permeates the space between you.

"I—fuck—" a breathless moan cracks through your words as Theo's leather-clad fingers slip under your panties, grazing your slick slit. "—love it. I love being watched."

Theo hums, the sound vibrating low in his throat, and rewards you by pushing two fingers into your dripping heat. So slow, the pace of his strokes torturous—slick sounds of leather working you open filling the room, mingling with your quiet, shuddering breaths. His thumb brushes your clit, teasing over it until you moan—hard and shameless—

"So loud," Theo mocks, your spine arching into him as his fingers curl inside you. "Eager, filthy little thing. You love being on display, don't you?"

A whimper catches in your throat, your gaze still locked on Enzo, watching him watch you.

You're shaking. You're close. Too close.

Your voice cracks again, nothing more than a whisper caught in a moan. "Theo...fuck—"

"You're so wet, bellissima," Theo breathes behind the mask. You're burning, every nerve sizzling. "You want to cum, don't you?"

You can't speak. Words don't exist anymore, only the pressure—only the way Theo's fingers curl inside you, the way your thighs tremble and ache from holding yourself open, from being watched, from being this goddamn humiliated.

"Y-yes," you choke out, desperate. "Yes, please, I—"

"Ask him." Theo's cuts you off. "Ask Enzo to let you cum."

The room spins. The air thickens into something cloying.

Ask him. Ask Enzo—

You swallow hard, your eyes darting between the two masks. Enzo is silent, still motionless, but he tilts his head slightly, the only indication that he's heard. That he's waiting.

"Please, Enzo—" the humiliation is sickening but you force past it. It’s a broken prayer, vulnerability in verbal form. "Please...let me cum—please—"

Time stretches. It feels like hours, an eternity where nothing exists but the weight of their hidden eyes on you, the way Enzo's fingers twitch, curl over the thick ridge at his crotch, leather knuckles tensing as if he's restraining himself from something primal. You're being devoured whole by this moment—by the unbearable tension, by Theo's fingers inside you, relentless in their assault, and gods—you're going to die if they don't let you—

"Yeah," Enzo finally murmurs, breaking the silence. Theo's gaze flickers to him, waiting. "Yeah, you can cum, angel…”

But as he says it, he shakes his head, and Theo—the absolute bastard—pulls his fingers out without a word.

"…just not yet." Enzo finishes.

The sound that leaves your throat isn't even human, some guttural, helpless whine torn straight from your throbbing, empty cunt. Theo shushes you.

"You'll get to cum, Bella," he coos, standing up slowly. "It'll be soon."

They're toying with you, playing you like a goddamn puppet on strings and it's infuriating in its deliciousness. You've known these men for years, yet it's almost laughable—the way they feel so foreign, so terrifyingly new.

"Oh, Enzo," you sigh, feeling your arousal cool, your body suddenly aware of the icy stone beneath you, of the wet heat slicking down your thighs. "I'm going to kill you tomorrow."

Enzo snorts. "You're welcome to try."

Theo exhales a half-chuckle, helping you off the floor and onto a desk, his hands firm on your thighs as he spreads you open like he's done a hundred times within the last few months.

A moment passes before he moves to loosen his belt and you realize just how close Enzo is now—his chair right beside the desk, his hand palming the bulge in his pants, shameless in his observation. The sight makes you fucking dizzy with filth. Surely, you've lost your mind. This is madness. Every line between friendship and lust—between restraint and indulgence—has blurred and bled into something you can't define, and the thrill of it is intoxicating.

"This is insane," you hiss, breathless, feeling the way Theo's gloves scrape over your skin, two thick digits dragging in your slick. "You're both fucking insane."

"Too much talking," Theo mutters, so infuriatingly calm, even as he drags the head of his dick over your folds, teasing your clit. "So much attitude for someone dripping down their thighs. You want to stop?" The silence stretches, your eyes locked on his, and you can feel the smirk behind the mask. He nods. "That's what I thought. Now shut up and let me fuck this wet cunt."

His hands grip either side of the desk, his body looming over you—the scene from your fantasy you've envisioned a million times. Ghostface—dominant and rough—gods, you want it. So bad it fucking hurts.

Your head lolls to the side, eyes immediately finding Enzo's again—forgetting for half a second that he was even there. His jeans are unbuttoned now, his hand moving rhythmically beneath the denim, mask locked onto you with a single-minded focus that makes your breath stutter.

"Enz-ohhh—" you go to say something to him, but then Theo pushes into you—no warning, no slow build—just a deep, unforgiving thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs, and your voice cracks on his name, the syllables lost in the moan that spills out of you.

"Shit." Enzo groans in response. "Did you just—"

"She did," Theo snarls, his grip on your hips punishing as he slams into you again, harder this time. "The little slut just moaned your name."

There's cursing, from both of them, but it's all a blur in your ears, drowned out by the sound of Theo's hips slamming into yours, the fevered slap of skin on skin, the obscene sounds you can't help but make—

"Yeah, I noticed," Enzo mutters, and fuck, he sounds ruined, completely lost in the sight of you—his best friend, getting fucked by his other best friend. "Fuck."

Theo's hand finds your jaw, forcing your head back to face him, Ghostface mask looming above you like a delicious nightmare.

"Who's fucking you?" His voice is caught somewhere between a snarl and a purr. "Is it Enzo?"

"N-no—" you manage, trembling with every thrust.

"Of course it's not," Theo hisses, driving into you with punctual thrusts to make you feel him, making you cry out when he slams your cervix. "So why'd you moan his name? When it's—fuck—my cock inside you?"

"I—I didn't mean—" you whimper, eyes squeezed shut, but there's no escape. Not from the relentless pace of Theo's dick, not from the way Enzo's eyes never leave you, burning into you like fire. You can't form words.

"Mm—don't be shy now, topolina," Theo purrs, his voice thick with effort. His hips snap forward, and your back arches, a broken sound escaping you. "I think you just love having him in your mouth—his name, his—"

"Fuck, Nott, shut up," Enzo cuts in, his head thrown back, chest tense. "I don't want to hear your voice—"

You can hear the strain, the way he's barely holding it together—

"Look at him," Theo ignores Enzo's words. He lets go of your jaw. "He wants you. He's always wanted you."

Your eyes dart between them, head spinning, unable to form a coherent thought—Theo's fucking relentless, pushing you closer and closer to the edge—and every time you glance at Enzo, you see the way he's breaking, hand moving faster, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths—

"I never knew you were such a voyeur, Nott," Enzo spits, trying to sound casual. "Never took you for being such a filthy bastard."

"What can I say?" Theo groans in response, propping your legs up over his shoulders to drive into you deeper. "Just discovered a new interest, you should try it sometime."

They're still bantering, like this is some kind of fucked-up competition, like you're not about to shatter into a million fucking pieces while your best friend watches—after he got you here and humiliated you with a fucking bet—gods, you'd laugh if you weren't so utterly lost to the pleasure ripping through you.

"And watch you get off on it?" Enzo spits back, voice rough. "I'll—"

Theo snorts, cutting him off. "I think there's more than one person getting off on—"

"Shut the-fffuck up—please-" you manage to moan, the words barely intelligible. You look to Enzo, eyes wide and pleading. "Enz...come here."

"Yeah...?" Enzo breathes out, his voice catching, tipping his head back forward to look at you. “What?”

"Come here," you moan again, trembling, fraying under the pleasure that's building inside you from Theo’s insistent dick. "Let me help you."

For a moment, he hesitates, and you can’t tell what he’s thinking because the goddamn mask hides everything. He's always been the calm one between you—always stopping your drunk kisses, always refraining from taking things too far. But tonight, there’s no more of that calm left in him—

He stands.

Each step he takes feels like a lifetime, but when he's standing next to your head on the desk, towering above where you're laid out like a feast, you don't know whether it's the mask or the situation itself that has your pulse racing. Erotic and terrifying, the not-knowing—a power exchange in its purest form. Theo growls infront of you, his thrusts growing harder, more vicious, as you reach out to pull Enzo's hips closer.

You're already eyeing the throbbing bulge in his jeans, your mouth practically watering as you stare.

"Go on," you rasp, lips parting as you look up through your lashes. "Take it out."

The breath Enzo sucks in is sharp, a hitch in the darkness. His fingers tremble, just barely, as he pushes his pants down his thighs, and the noise that escapes him when his cock slips out and smacks his stomach—low, strangled—makes you moan and clench in response—he's huge.

Your breath catches, a soft exhale of, "oh, fuck."

And the words are barely out of your mouth before both Theo and Enzo respond—low growls and breathless groans that echo in the shadowed room, vibrating through you like electricity.

"Open your pretty mouth," Enzo whispers and you obey without hesitation, tongue slipping out, wanting, eager. His breath shudders, and you wish you could see his eyes. "Good girl."

And then he's pushing into you, sliding hot and thick over your tongue, and at that exact moment, Theo thrusts harder, deeper, and suddenly you're overwhelmed—both of them inside you, filling you, consuming every breath. Moans ripple through the dungeon air, a chorus of sin, and you shake with the sheer intensity of it all.

Theo's thumb finds your clit, starts swirling over it, and you keen—eyes rolling back in your head, Enzo’s leather hands in your hair to hold you still. Tears stream down your face as you gag, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, but neither of them stop—if anything, they're both lost in it, in the wrecked, messy beauty of it all. Your hands claw at the desk, desperate for something to hold on to as the pleasure builds, tightens, spirals out of control.

Time collapses. It's been moments—it's been hours.

And then it happens—all three of you tipping over the edge at once, crashing into a release so fierce it shatters you. Your climax rips through you, violent, leaving you shaking, milking Theo until he's spent—until he's pouring his cum deep inside your cunt at the same time Enzo groans deep and spills his own over your tongue. A moment passes, and then Theo is the first to pull away, panting, tearing off his mask and dropping into the chair beside the desk, and Enzo follows, tugging his jeans back up before slumping into another chair, mask still on—

Both of them are sprawled there, utterly spent, just as wrecked as you.

And then, after a few long, tense moments, you hear it—the clink of Galleons exchanged. You don't even need to look up for it to register. Theo tosses the coins into Enzo’s greedy palm because he was the true fucking winner here. The sound cuts through the stillness, and with it, that smug, unmistakable sneer in Enzo's voice.

"Told you she'd love it."

Asshole.

You roll your eyes. Your limbs feel like they're moving through molasses as you stand, your hands mechanically fixing your costume, adjusting the fabric against your thighs.

"You know, Enzo, if you wanted to watch Theo fuck me that bad, all you had to do was ask."

"What can I say," he shrugs, lazy, like he's discussing the weather. "I enjoy a bit of gambling."

Theo snorts, adjusting his collar, as if none of this fazes him. His eyes flick from you to Enzo. "Next time you'll be paying me."

"Next time?" You cock an eyebrow. "How generous of you."

"There will be a next time," Enzo says, flipping one of the Galleons between his fingers, that same smirk playing on his lips. "And I'll get my turn."

Your pulse quickens at the sheer arrogance of it, the way he says it like it's not even up for debate. You hate how much you like this side of him.

"Maybe next time you should."

They nod, both of them wearing their smirks like crowns. "Until next time, then."

[madwomansapologist]

──────〃✰ KINKTOBER DAY 1: 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏 𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑

title: poker face synopsis: luckily, mr. zero didn't knew you were a mugiwara. luckily, mr. zero fell for your bluffs. unfortunately, you never imagined it would be that hard to not fall for crocodile's charm. [3.1K] cw: mugiwara!fem!reader, strip poker, strip tease, public sex, cock crush, nipple stimulation, size difference, fingering (f!receiving), riding, biting, scratching, finger sucking, p in v, creampie, possessive behavior, mob boss meets a baddie, pussy so good he wonders about marriage.

PREV POST ✰ NEXT POST

With a thick cigar between his teeth, Crocodile forced himself to smile. “Five of a kind”, he dropped his cards on the table. “Seems like the house won. Again.”

Crocodile’s presence in Rain Dinners works to reinforce his reputation as a hero in this wretched island. Unfortunately, it also means Crocodile is tormented by the most boring clientele.

To watch someone gambling everything they own out of delusional hope and losing it all because of sheer mischance is only interesting the first few hundreds of times. Now, all Crocodile feels is disdain.

He curses those vermin that stole the joy of victory.

Murmuring complaints, two bettors left the table. The croupier stretched his arm, reaching for the cards left far away from him. As the cards were shuffled, Crocodile took in the chance to observe the tables nearby. Searching for chaos to be dealt with, such a common occurrence in a casino, an unusual sight stole his attention.

A long, thick, light pelted fur coat. Crocodile inhaled the smoke, holding it in. Admiring you with that coat over your shoulders, no one would’ve imagined this is the middle of a desert. And still, you didn’t break a sweat.

One of the bettors decided it was the right moment to thank Crocodile for his protection over Alabasta. He did his best to sound modest, heroic. To embody the last hope of this dying island. The moment a white blur entered his peripheral vision, Crocodile simply ignored the man’s existence.

With a hand over the chair’s top rail, you stared directly at the croupier. “May I?”, you asked, voice sultry as the desert.

Crocodile took the cigar out of his mouth, releasing the smoke in the direction opposite from you. “Made just in time”, he moved his hand towards the croupier ready to start. “Do you know how to play, hon’?”

You took a sip from your glass, not bothering to answer him. Placing your coat over the chair’s rail, you reached inside its pocket and took the poker chip’s box. You left it open on the table, emerald dress moving on your body as you sat down and crossed your legs.

The box was filled to the brim.

Your lack of interest on him ignited something within Crocodile. Curiosity. Something far more interesting than gambling against weak bluffs. “New to poker?”, Crocodile smiled devilish. The sort of smile that make pretty women like you forget about decency.

If only you had looked at him.

“New to this island”, you answered, sounding as bored as Crocodile was before you got there. The way you danced around his question was enough for him to know you didn’t want the others to think of you as an easy target. Usually, Crocodile would simply profit on it. This time, with you staring straight into his eyes, he couldn’t care less about this game. “Is it worth?”

“It will be.”

A promise Crocodile intended to fulfill.

Feeling his gaze burning your skull, to not smile was never so difficult. If you were weaker, you would’ve laugh until your cheeks fell apart from your face. How funny. How alluring. Ah, Luffy really told you the truth.

Your life will be funnier around me, Luffy gave you the brightest smile you ever saw. Stroking your cheek, he cleaned the trace of tears. I will never let you get bored.

A Shichibukai stands before you, unable to see you as part of the threat he is so interest in dealing with. The man that sent thousands of bounty hunters after your crew, that forced Vivi to witness as unnecessary violence tore her nation in pieces, doesn’t even know that you’re part of the group he wants to exterminate.

Good. That means the plan of distracting Crocodile has a chance of working.

Each bettor made an initial contribution for the deal to start. At every round, you raised the amount of chips. It didn’t matter if others were dropping out of the deal or if Crocodile doubled the bet with no hesitance. You simply continued to bet more.

That was alluring. It told more about you than your pretty lips could. You’re not here to make money. You’re not here to waste it. You’re here for amusement. And that Crocodile can give you any time.

“Showdown”, the croupier called. “Please, bettors, show your hands.”

The woman sitting beside you sighed, showing two pairs. Two bettors had dropped out, choosing to wait until the next deal. You placed your cards on the table. 4, 3, K, 10, 10. One pair. “Does that mean anything?”

The first man to drop out chuckled. “Only that you lost.”

Lost in the way your smile spread across your face, the croupier had to remind Crocodile it was his time to show the cards. “Three of a kind”, he murmured. This time, he put no effort into acting as if he cared that he won. Crocodile just wanted to learn more about you. “Do you know the rules?”

“Does it really matter?”, your bright smile was enough to enlighten the whole place. As the croupier changed the card sets, you gave him your solely attention. “The best liar wins at the end.”

“No surprise you haven’t won yet”, Crocodile smirked. He spread his legs, cigar between his fingers. His golden hook glistened, reminding you of the threat he represented simply by breathing. “It’s so easy to see right through you.”

But not to see how I stole all those chips from you, was what you thought. “Seems like a failure of mine”, was what you said out loud.

With a movement of his hand, a waiter approached. Crocodile whispered into his ear; eyes still fixated on you. Intoxicated on his presence, you forgot to look away. What a tempting man. From then on, your glass never remained empty.

Deal after deal, you continued to lose just as Crocodile continued to win. Deal after deal, you continued to answer just as Crocodile continued to ask.

Until there were only you two left at the casino. You let go of your glass and closed the poker chip’s box, raising from the chair. “Should have expected a pirate to be a good gambler.” You took your coat, walking away from the table. “Have a good night, Crocodile.”

“One last deal?” Crocodile was quick to offer. Desperately, you would add. “And then we call it.”

You raised the empty box. “I have nothing left to bet.”

And at that, Crocodile saw his last chance of amusing you. “Then let’s bet everything we have.”

Sat down again, chin supported by your palm, you frowned. The wine had started to affect you both. “And by that you mean…”

“Everything”, Crocodile spread his legs, resting his hook on his thick thigh. You told yourself he was begging for you to stare, but you weren’t that sure of it. “Every chip on this table. Everything on our bodies.”

As he closed his mouth, a part of Crocodile feared his proposition would offend you. It doesn’t happen often, but there is a chance he misread your signals.

“I’ve been eyeing your rings since I sat here”, you wondered out loud. “Just as you been eyeing my dress.”

But to be so straight to the point… Crocodile wasn’t quite expecting that. It was what he wanted, but to see how you two were connected made harder for him to breath.

Then you sighed.

“As tempting as it is,” and you were standing again. Crocodile hated to see that. He would hate even more to see you leaving. “It is also getting late. Like I said, I’m new to this island.”

“You have nothing to fear”, Crocodile bargained. “Not when I’m around.”

“But you won’t be around on my way back to the hotel.”

“Then stay here”, he offered. You arched an eyebrow. “I don’t intent on letting you walk away that easily. I’m a pirate. I’m used to taking what I want for myself.”

For an eternity, you both stared into each other’s eyes. A silent negotiation. His final offering, your final chance of doing the right thing and walking away from danger. You could see his very soul. How it burned just beneath the surface. Crocodile felt the same heat coming from you.

The croupier forced a cough, remind you of his presence. It took much of his strength for Crocodile to not kill him right then and there.

“Shuffle the cards and leave”, you ordered.

He obeyed. Quickly. You both took a look at your cards sets. A smile died within you. A smirk grew on Crocodile’s face. The moment the croupier closed the exit door, Crocodile showed his hand.

Crocodile looked even bigger than he already was, filled with the confidence of a winner. “Four of a kind.”

Dropping your hand on the table, you were the winner he believed to be. “Royal flush”, you smiled. “Pretty sure that’s the highest since we’re not using any wild cards.”

Shock was a good look on Crocodile. After analyzing your cards, his gaze returned to you. “You said you didn’t know how to play.”

“Oh”, you drank the last sip from your glass. “Did I?”

And at your answer, all he could do was laugh. Crocodile ran his hand through his black hair. “You hustle me”, he whispered. Crocodile wasn’t able to get rid of this genuine smile.

Your laugh was real too. It made Crocodile breath in your scent, get drunk on the sweet sound coming from you. Not a bluff, not an act. It was real, and it only made you more beautiful. “And now you have a debt to pay.”

His face darkened, reminding you of who he is. You hustled Crocodile. You hustled Crocodile. You never thought of yourself as a stupid woman, but here you are. For fucks sake. Luffy really is rubbing on you.

Crocodile bended over the table, his broad shoulders creating a shadow over you. His hand grabbed your chair’s arm, his hook moving your chin upwards. A strand of hair fell in front of his orange eyes, and looking into them you felt like a powerless prey about to be ravished.

Face lurking inches above yours, Crocodile smiled devilish. A smile that made you forget about decency, focusing only on the promise of more of him. More of the man that wants to kill you. “Enjoy the show”, Crocodile whispered.

His blue scarf was the first to be throw away, and neither of you cared about where it would land. His long fingers worked on the buttons of the rumpled black-striped vest, so slowly you almost took it off of Crocodile by yourself.

The peach shirt beneath showed a portion of his wide chest and instead of finally getting rid of it, Crocodile held the leather belt around his waist.

He had so much fun teasing you, admiring how you couldn’t look away. A man as handsome must feel entitled to the silent praise. He really thought he was the one in charge, didn’t he? And for long enough, Crocodile was.

You’re a lot of things, but you’re not patient.

Leaning against the chair, you raised your leg. The silver heel brushed against his pants, from down on his ankle until the insides of his thigh. And when your painted nails shined right in front of his crotch, you forced your feet against it.

“Stop playing around.” Cocking your head, eyes explored his still covered up body. “Don’t make me wait.”

Crocodile grabbed your ankles, calloused hand stroking softly your skin. It wasn’t a rough touch, but not less possessive because of it. You put more pressure, making him groan. “You are insane.”

“And why is that?”

“Anyone else would fear me”, Crocodile’s voice reminded you of velvet and sharp knives. It lingered on your ears. “And here you are. Demanding more.”

You sighed, fingers brushing against your lips. That voice… it was your last straw. Fighting his hold, you put your foot down on the ground. You grabbed his shirt, pushing him back until Crocodile sat down on his chair again.

He opened his mouth as you sat down on his lap, but you gave him no time to do anything. “You talk too much.”

Holding the chair’s top rail as leverage, you dive into him. Tooth biting his lower lip, tongue forcing a passage into his warm mouth. Your free hand found a spot on his large neck, bringing Crocodile closer to you. Instead of waiting, you took what you wanted for yourself.

Just like a pirate would.

She isn’t fragile, Crocodile thought. She won’t break.

Sinking into you, Crocodile forgot about self-control. He simply ravished you, just like you demanded of him. A wild animal and nothing more. Exploring your mouth as if it was his to control, hand grabbing your soft skin without a care about finesse or decorum. Crocodile pressed his hook against your chest, enjoying how it didn’t stop you from moving as you wanted to.

You got him out of that stupidly tight shirt, hands scratching his chest as your hips moved on top of his crotch. He forced you down, putting your whole weight upon himself, and ripped your emerald dress into pieces with his hook.

“You’ll pay for this one.”

It was a complain, but your fingers working to unbutton his pants made clear you couldn’t care less. His kisses travelled to your neck, tongue leaving a trail of drool on your shoulder, mouth closing against your nipples. Your fingers intertwined with his hair, encouraging Crocodile to continue.

“I will get you anything you want”, he said, voice muffled. He couldn’t get away from your body to speak. “You burn hotter than the fuckin desert.”

No shame, no hesitation. Freed from his pants, you licked your palm before grabbing his cock. You pumped him with zero delicacy, thumb pressing against the dark, sensitive head. Just like everything in Crocodile, it was big enough to make you wonder.

As if he could read you mind, Crocodile slid his hand into your panties. Long fingers explored your lips, precise with every movement. Thumb pressing against your clit, two fingers against your wet slit. His hook brushed against your thigh, arm locking around you to press you down on his fingers.

Your loud moan embarrassed your very soul, but all Crocodile did was laugh. His teeth closed around your neck, biting hard enough to make you whimper. That’ll mark you for sure. “Ride me, hon’.”

With your nails deep into his back, you stretched yourself on Crocodile’s fingers. You bit his earlobe, brushing your face against his as you speed up your movements. In your hand, his cock throbbed. Crocodile was leaking, burning in the same way you do.

“Take what you want”, you whispered against his ear. “Fuck me already.”

It happened so quickly, you barely understood how he moved. A second before you were on his lap, two fingers deep into your hungry cunt, lips around his ear. Then you were sat on the table, poker chips falling on the floor, Crocodile standing between your legs.

A fucking monster.

Crocodile took his drenched fingers from you, and wasted no time before sucking them clean. He grabbed your thighs, exposing yourself from him. “She’s delicious”, Crocodile stared at your pussy. His fingers pulled your lips apart. “Will get me addicted to her.”

Using your legs, you got him even closer to you. Crocodile grabbed your hair, pulling you into a messy kiss. Fighting against your tongue, he fit the head of his cock into you. You moaned into his mouth.

Moving your heels against his thighs, you forced him inside of you. A stupid decision. Your head collapsed against his shoulder, the entirety of his length touching all the right places. So good, so right, so… much.

Crocodile wasn’t in that much of a better situation. Eyes closes tightly, lips hanging open as a deep cry escaped. So wet, so warm. Moving slowly, Crocodile chortled. He had no control over his mind anymore.

“Don’t you dare stopping”, you manage to say. “Just… fu-fuck, just like that.”

Deep thrusts as his fingers worked on your clit: Crocodile wouldn’t dream of doing anything other than you wanted. He could feel your drool gathering on his shoulder. How your fingers were deep into his forearms, or how the hold of your legs around his waist weakened.

All Crocodile wanted was to make you as addicted to him as he already was to you. To get you to scream his name, begging for more and more. He wanted you to take from him. To get what you wanted. And Crocodile wanted everything you could give him.

Feeling waves of pleasure washing over you, mind empty as a white canvas, you tilted your head back. Eyes half-open, you admired him. His raw lips, face covered in sweat. Marks of lipstick all over his chest, just as deep nail marks and surface scratched. You looked down, watching as he entered you.

“You are worth way more than eighty million.”

Crocodiled bended, tongue playing with your aching nipple. “After my head, hon’?”, he sucked on them. You stroked his hair, enjoying how primal Crocodile looked.

“Do I look insane?”, you moaned.

Crocodile looked into your eyes, face near yours. You placed your arms around his shoulders, but he held you in place. Crocodile simply looked at you. As if there was something new, something he never saw before.

“You do”, Crocodile whispered. It felt so intimate. For a moment, you weren’t being fucked in an empty casino. For a moment, you two were sharing a secret. “You’re perfect.”

You melted against him. Lost on your orgasm, you unlearned how to breath. The fact you couldn’t think didn’t stop Crocodile from kissing you. As you closed around him, Crocodile reached his limit. Tooth deep into your throat, he marked you again.

Tears formed behind your eyes, throat aching as you finally breathed again. You laid your head on his chest, feeling it rising with his unregulated breathes. A firm hand held your waist, his nose stopped in the union of your shoulder and neck. His biting hurt so good, just like your scratches on his skin.

When Crocodile opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was his hand holding onto the table. He looked at the fours rings you said caught your attention. And he saw how there was only one finger lacking a ring.

Insane, Crocodile thought. She’s making me insane.

As his hips moved away, a cry left your throat as he emptied your pussy, your legs finally stopped working. Crocodile took his cigar from the ashtray, smoking it for a few seconds. When he released the smoke, you grabbed his chin and made him face you. Inhaling it, you closed your eyes.

Not a second after you let it go, his hand and hook slid beneath your thighs. Effortlessly, Crocodile took you from the table. Your shaken legs closed around his waist as he carried you. “What you doing?”

Crocodile finally looked into your eyes again. He smiled, and it was genuinely. “Taking what I want for myself.”

taglist: @ffinosie @lovelyy-moonlight @alzaira @s2-angells @eyes-ofhell @inlovewithmariah @chiiyohiimee @shaquilles-0atmeal @bloodyziggy @salemey @kcch-ns @notanalienindisguiseblink

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[simonrileysfavteacup]

The Morning After

Paring: Simon "Ghost" Riley x wife!reader

Word count: 700 ish?

Warnings: Mentions to sex, hickeys, naked people, Simon wanting you for breakfast

Summary: The morning after a steamy night.

Sunlight creeps in through the curtains you never closed last night. The curtains fly around the room, pushed by the daring wind. The window’s are still open, letting in the chirps of birds outside. The wind pushes a breeze around the room and you shiver.

You’re laying on your right shoulder. There’s a heavy arm that isn’t yours draped across your waist. There’s a head tucked into the crook of your neck. There’s another forearm underneath your head. There’s someone’s heavy breathing going straight into your neck. You can feel a bit of stubble. You can feel hair, long, soft hair. You can feel a strong chest against your back. All of it is memorized in your mind.

And there’s only one person in the whole world who’s body you know inch by inch. 

You squint as you open your eyes, the sunlight almost killing you. The duvet is all messed up, barely covering your tangled bodies. His right arm is underneath your head, draped off your side of the bed. His grip on your waist is loose, he’s still asleep. His breathing is even, you can feel it. 

You push yourself out of bed slightly, making a move to shut the window and close the curtains. He grabs onto your waist tightly and pulls you back into the position you were in before. His voice is raspy, almost not even there, as he says, “Five more minutes.”

It should be illegal. His voice. His hair. His chest slowly falling and rising. It should be illegal to look this fucking good in the morning.

“Just wanna close the window,” You reply, keeping your voice hushed. 

“Who gives a shit?” He pulls the duvet higher over you, covering your naked body from the wind. “There. Now, give me 10 more minutes.”

His hand goes back to your waist, covering the soft maroon and purple bruises that formed throughout the night. 

So, you lay back down, take in a deep breath, and try to fall asleep. 

At least an hour goes by before you finally wake up again. Your position hasn’t changed and Simon’s hold on your waist is loose again. You finally move, getting up from bed. He doesn’t pull you back this time, but rolls over. He lets out a groan. “Oh, shut up, you big baby. I gave you more than 10 minutes.”

He doesn’t respond. Just lets out another groan, but louder and longer.

You grab the shirt he wore last night, the one he threw into a random corner of the room, more focused on your body. You toss it into the hamper. His pants and boxers are thankfully close enough to the hamper, yours nowhere to be found. Guess he was a little too excited.

You walk into the bathroom, getting a fine look at yourself in the mirror.

Hickeys and the traces of fingertips line your neck and chest, your hips and legs are covered, and I mean covered, in bruises. On both sides of your hips are marks of large, muscular hands. The marks are red, and it doesn’t look like it’ll all fade in the next hour. You turn slightly, getting a look at your back. Your ass is marked the same way your hips are, with large hand prints, your back thankfully okay. 

“You’re hurt,” Simon’s voice is barely above a whisper as he stares at you from the bed. 

This happens every time he leaves a mark on you. He turns cold again, becoming distant in fear of hurting you again. Every single time. It takes so many words of encouragement to get him to open up again, assuring him it didn’t hurt. 

“They’ll fade,” You shrug.

“I hurt you,” He whispers. 

“No, you didn’t. Last night was probably one of the best nights of my entire life, love. Don’t you dare think I’m in any sort of pain or anything. I’m fine,” You smile at him. “And I left a fair share of marks on you. Look at your back.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, looking over at you again. “Promise?”

“Swear on my life,” You smile. “You want breakfast?”

“Mhm,” He hums, walking over to you and kneeling in front of you. “It’s already served.” Are his last words before diving in between your legs.

[nezuscribe]

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞?

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

part two of wanna be yours

summary: the aftermath of you and your husband's arranged marriage, but the better side of it. gojo satoru just loves you so much, that he's willing to bring down armies just for you

warnings: 18+ mdni, arranged marriage, very brief misunderstandings but they work it out, eating out (fem!reciving), fingering, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, he doesn’t pull out

word count: 6k

note: part two is finally done! and i think this is gonna be the last installment for this so don't ask for another part bc i will cry. as always, thank you to @jadeisthirsting for beta reading, she's the loml <3

jjk masterlist

there were a few things that changed after your night with satoru. 

as he promised, he got a bigger bed for his room. he promptly ordered all your things to be moved in with his, and it didn’t take long for all your belongings to melt with his. it was different from what you were used to, but you welcomed those nights when you’d curl into his chest, tracing patterns on his bare skin as his fingers ran up and down your back as he listened to you speak. 

mornings you would find him littering kisses all over your naked body, or you’d find him in between your legs, waking you up in his own unique (much appreciated) way. satoru was insatiable and you couldn’t find a bone in your body to deny him.

he smiled more, his eyes bright as he woke up to your cheek smushed into his pecs on other mornings, not wanting to wake you up as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and pulled you closer to his body. 

everybody around you two talked in hushed tones whenever you’d pass by, obvious confusion laced in their tones, but somewhat glad to see the tension between you and your husband had simmered down. 

“he seems happier,” suguru told you one day as you leaned over the balcony, watching satoru spar with one of his men, your arms crossed over the railing as you glanced over at the man. 

“really?” you felt a faint smile tug at your cheeks as you tried to contain yourself. 

he hummed, his back to the railing, his legs crossed. he was dressed in his clans’ colors, a black tunic embroidered with red stitching covering his chest. he had come around more often ever since the feast, and he seemed more open to talk to you. 

the winds were picking up, the seasons were changing. it had been weeks since your night with him, but it felt like a lifetime had passed since then. satoru spent less time training and fighting, making as much time for you as he possibly could. you had your chair moved so that you could sit next to him during dinners, and in his free time he’d take you around the land on your horse, his face relaxed and gleaming whenever you’d turn around to look at him.

“well,” he turned to look over his shoulder, looking down at satoru, his white hair turning into a blur as he rhythmically and methodically moved, evading the wooden swords’ jabs with the agility only a seasoned fighter could have, “not right now. i think he’s trying to show off.” you snorted, rolling at your eyes at his statement (which was most likely the truth) and continued to watch him spar. sometimes you forgot of satoru’s rank amongst the other men, and watching him in this sort of state reminded you just how much he must have picked up on those years spent apart. 

“i’m happy for you two,” he said after a beat of silence passed, offering you a genuine smile as he said it. he was usually more stoic than your husband, never giving too much information off from his face unless it was absolutely necessary, and catching him in these moments would always startle you. 

“thank you,” you murmured, heat blossoming across your cheeks and neck as you kept your stare focused on your husband, not wanting to come off as too giddy. truth be told, you’ve never felt happier. 

you couldn’t remember the last time you woke up with a smile and slept with one on your face. every day it seemed that satoru was trying to win your love in different ways. he was so different from what you had seen from him the last few months, but just like the old satoru you remembered. he was teasing, always finding ways to make you laugh. 

“he told you he was going to be gone for a bit, yeah?” suguru readjusted his hair, making it so that it didn’t keep flying into his face. you nodded, holding tightly onto your clothes in hopes of preserving more heat. 

“yes,” you blew some hot air into your hands as you rubbed them together, “he said you’d be going with him.” 

“he’ll be needing as much help as he can get where he’s going,” suguru murmured, but didn’t try to hide his words as he tapped his fingers on his wrist. 

“what does that mean?” you balanced your elbows on the stone railing beneath you, brows furrowed as he shrugged nonchalantly.  

“he didn’t tell you what it was for?” if satoru was one who wasn’t above gossip then suguru was one who stirred it up. 

“he said it was a meeting with one of the eastern clans,” you say, rubbing yourself. your nose was freezing. suguru nodded, which made you feel a little more at ease. 

“did he tell you why?” you shook your head, indifferent as you looked back at your husband. he was shaking hands with the poor kid who went against him, barely breaking a sweat as he threw his sword to the side, a wide smile on his face as he looked up at you. 

“business,” you murmur, not quite giving him your full attention anymore because satoru was walking near where you were standing, craning his neck to look up at you as he grinned. 

“is he bothering you?” he called out, his chest moving up and down with labored breaths. he tried to make it seem like sparring didn’t take anything out on him and you nodded, smiling back at him. 

“i’m about to throw him off!” you called down, leaning on the railing as you gripped it tightly to ensure your balance and satoru gleamed, suguru scoffing at the interaction. 

“did you see me fighting?” he asked, and you wanted to chuckle at his words, the hopeful smile on his face as he wiped at his nose, the cold getting to him as well. 

“you fought very valiantly!” and suguru thinks that without your words and your praise, satoru would be a mess, not able to function. he wasn’t sure how he did it months without it, because he doesn’t seem to live without it.

his cheeks flush a cute pink, and you want to bottle up the way his smile grows.

“you two make me sick.” he groaned, pushing himself off the railing as he made his way inside, throwing you a playful wink as he shut the doors. the sun was beginning to set and you could see the bits of night peaking through the sky. 

you watched as satoru disappeared through the stairs, likely coming up to see you and you drummed your fingers on your arm as thoughts traveled through your mind. 

despite his playful tone, suguru’s words left a bitter taste on your tongue. even as satoru found you, pulling you close to him as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips you couldn’t get it out of your mind. he led you back inside, talking nonstop about what his men needed to improve on, but your mind began going blank.

---

dinner that night was just as it always was, but you still couldn’t find it in yourself to push past what you’d been told earlier. 

“i’m thinking of having a winter feast during the solstice,” satoru said, drinking his wine as his fingers played with yours, running down the skin of your palm as he absentmindedly pressed his thumb to the back of your hand. 

“sounds good,” you said, not quite listening as you pushed some potatoes around your plate. you should have gotten past this awkwardness to talk to him about these things, but that must have just been wishful thinking. 

“this year seems to be colder than the last, so i’ll ask shoko to see if she can bring back some furs from her clan.” he continued, oblivious to your state of being. 

“okay,” you blankly said, giving him

a short glance only to see him in his own world, plotting. 

“i’ll have one of the southern tribes see if they can bring any pomegranates in, and…” he trailed off, noticing your stare boring into the table. his fingers squeezed yours, bringing your attention to him. 

“are you alright?” he asked, and you quickly nodded, plastering on a false smile as you picked up your spoon, wringing your hand out of his. 

“mhm!” you scooped some vegetables into your mouth, spending an excessive amount of time chewing as you felt his eyes bore into the side of your face. 

he didn’t seem convinced in the slightest, a brow raising at your strange behavior. if you were trying to be funny you had an odd way of showing it. 

“do you feel sick?” he moved closer, his hands finding your forehead, pressing against your cheeks as he felt for your temperature. 

you gently pushed his hand away, holding his wrist as your feet moved quickly in anxiousness. 

this should be easier than you made it out to be. 

he looked worried, finger itching to feel you again despite your silent pleas. it was second nature for him to care about you. if he didn’t spend half the time hopelessly in love with you, he spent the other half hoping that you were doing alright. he wanted only the best for you, and vehemently tried to make up for the months he didn’t do so. 

“no, i feel fine. but,” you sighed, rubbing at your eyes as he patiently waited for you to find your words. you knew he wouldn’t lie to you, he didn’t have the ability to, but the way suguru spoke to you made it seem like there was something he wasn’t telling you, “why are you leaving? i feel as though,” you swallowed thickly, “as though i don’t fully know why.”

satoru sat back in his chair, his eyes squinting as he looked at you. it’s not like he didn’t like being asked things, but normally you didn’t seem this apprehensive about talking to him. he welcomed your queries, answering them to the best of his abilities, but he couldn’t remember the last time you seemed this nervous to talk to him about something. 

and he knew that he should have told you this before you asked, but he put it off. his fingers ran through his hair as he breathed deeply through his hair. 

“it’s with one of the eastern clans,” he started, taking another sip of his wind as his hands found yours again, as if he couldn’t breathe without having you near in some way, “do you remember that girl, the one from the feast?” 

despite him not being very specific, there was only one memorable girl from that feast. the one that he disappeared with four half an hour before he came back. your jaw clenched, nodding stiffly as you moved in your seat. he noticed your shift in emotions, trying to hide his own as he continued.

“i told you what she had tried to do, hm?” satoru seemed a bit awkward in his wording, and if it were in any other case it probably would have made you laugh. but you can only nod again, his words nothing new. he had told you about it after he spent the night with you, answering your questions as to why he had left with her. 

you could barely remember her name, but you distinctly recalled what satoru had said about her. how she had tried to come onto him, how he had forced her off. you hadn’t seen her around since, but that didn’t mean that she hadn’t fully stopped making her way into your mind at random times during the day.

“ i had her clan cut off from trading with ours.”

if you were expecting any response it definitely wasn’t that. 

“…what?” you gave a startled laugh, blinking as you tried to make sense of what he had just said. 

he shrugged as if it didn’t mean much, as if that was the least that was expected of him. 

“that’s why our import of sweet potatoes and eggplants has been lower than usual. but it’s alright, i’ve already ordered for the seeds to be planted in our garden. her father is seething at the moment, it’s why i have to go see them.” he cut away at some meat, glancing at you as a smile was forcing its way onto his lips. he kept it down, watching for your reaction. 

you swallowed thickly, a feeling growing in your chest as you glanced up at him, only to find him staring back at you, a little smile on his face. 

“she had the nerve to ask to be a concubine. i’m only hoping that in this meeting we’re able to get some more of their silk imports in, it shouldn’t take too long.” 

you couldn’t find any words to respond with, but could feel a smile growing on your own face. you were the more compassionate one out of the two of you but hearing this felt like a whole different experience. 

“that’s,” you tried to hide your giddy feelings, “new.” 

satoru rolled his eyes, hooking his hands underneath your chair to pull you closer to him if it was even possible. 

“and well deserved,” he commented, kissing your cheeks as you laughed softly, his lips soft against your skin as they found their way into the places he knew you loved most. 

you tried to push him away, feeling embarrassed at the guards that stood by the door, knowing they were able to see all of this happen before them. 

“suguru was telling me about it,” you felt his hands shift, lifting you over the armrest, his strength godly as he shifted you to sit on his lap, “i just thought that something else had come up.”

gojo hummed against your skin, your dinner promptly forgotten behind you as his nose nudged at your jaw, “yeah, like what?” he enjoyed hearing your shuddering breaths, the way your fingers automatically went to tangle themselves in his soft hair. 

“i-i don’t know,” you felt weak from being breathless from so little, and we’re glad your back was to the men behind you, “but definitely not that.” 

“it was the least i could do,” he said, “i wanted her banished but my advisors warned against it. said it would cause too much chaos,” his eyes flicked to yours, inviting, challenging, “as if i wouldn’t go to war for you.” 

you felt the air in your lungs squeeze out, your hands gripping his shoulders, anything to bring you back to reality as his tongue poked at his cheek, debating some things in his head.

“out,” he spoke, loudly now so that the guards could hear, his voice commanding and starkly different from how he talked to you, “get out.” 

while he liked showing you off, but there were things only meant for his eyes and his ears.

you could hear them shuffling to leave, looking over your shoulder as you giggled at their hurried movements, the door shutting behind them as they left you and satoru alone in the dining hall. 

you turned back to him, his eyes twinkling in the faint candlelight, his hands running across your back, up and down your arms as you shifted across his lap, your clog rubbing on his hard-on as he sucked in a deep breath. 

 “you’d go to war for me?” you teased, your sweet breath fanning across his lips as his tongue poked out, his eyes glazing over as he scoffed at your ridiculous question. his hands settled on your waist, your skirts hitching upwards. 

“i’d do anything for you,” he whispered against your lips, hovering above them as his eyes held yours, “if you told me you wanted me to ransack that clan dry i’d do it.” though he was a joking sort of person, you knew his words were nothing but the truth. 

if you wanted, he’d burn down villages for you. he’d make sure that when the stories were written, your name came first. he wanted the masses to know that he was yours and that his every waking moment was spent in your presence. 

satoru was sure the stars were shifting to accommodate for the two of you, and that it would only take years before he’d look up to see you there with him, splattered across the night sky.

“as much as i’d like you to,” you kissed his neck, enjoying the way he writhed beneath you, knowing that only you had the luxury of seeing him like this, “i wouldn’t want any spillage of blood to be traced back to me. i’d like for you to come home alive.” it’s not as if you doubted his talents, nor his strength, you doubted others. 

“i’ll always find my way back to you,” he promised, tilting his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. 

it was slow, as if he wanted to savor every moment with you. satoru was cheeky, smiling whenever he’d pull slightly away to hear your sweet whines. your fingers tugged at his hair, warning him to stop. 

his tongue pushed its way into your mouth, and it didn’t take long before the kisses turned sloppy, spit staining your chin as you slowly move your body up and down on his. 

“you drive me to shambles,” he said against your lips, a train of spit connecting the two of you together, and it was sinful the way he looked right now. lips rosy and plump, his hair messy and his smile cocky. 

“me?” you ask slyly, coyly moving up and down his dick, enjoying the way he sucked in a breath through his teeth, his fingers digging into your ass as you tilt your head to the side, “really?” 

his hands hiked up your skirt so that it bushed around your thighs, his fingers pressing against your heat as he felt the dampness seeping through your underwear, his own victorious grin plastered on his face. 

“really,” he confirmed, grabbing a hold of your wrist as he guided it to his bulge, watching your eyes gloss over, your pupils widening at the feeling of him, never really getting used to just how big satoru was. 

his finger hicked your underwear to the side, letting it sink into your warm walls, your eyes rolling back, your slick staining his skin as he brought it out, tapping your lips as he motioned for you to open your mouth. 

you did, watching as he pushed his finger in, his eyes darkening at the way you closed your lips around him, sucking him hard as you tasted yourself on him, your hips shifting to ease your aching clit. 

“taste yourself? see why i can’t get enough of you?” he prompts and you slowly nod, not breaking eye contact with him as he feels pride swell in his chest, as well as something else a little bit lower. 

“see how i can’t get enough of you?” you ask, motioning towards his hand, and he chuckles darkly, drawing his finger out as he presses a short kiss to your lips, taunting you.

“be patient,” he murmured, fully enthralled with the way your tongue moved around him, his dick straining against his pants, painful as it wanted to be let free. you could feel him twitch beneath you, growing harder, if it was even possible. 

he couldn’t even be patient himself.

“then hurry up,” you whisper, biting his ear as he groans, pushing all of the silverware and cups out from behind you, lifting you up by your thighs as he made room for you on the table, setting you down as he settled in between your legs. 

he pushed down on your chest and you followed his movements, laying down on the table, your chest heaving up and down, the feeling something you’ve never experienced before. sex with satoru was unlike anything human, and he always left you with a taste of wanting more. 

your top fell loosely against your shoulder, almost undone from all of his ministrations, and some of the wine from his cup had spilled, soaking your white fabric red. it was hard to come out of this dining hall without hiding what had happened inside. 

his hand fisted the top that covered your chest, yanking it off with a swift motion, tearing it off of you in a split second. you didn’t have time to scold him for ruining yet another one of your shirts, taking in the way his breath came out in little puffs at the sight of your naked breasts. 

“‘toru!” you yelled, swatting his hands away as you groaned, looking at what was now rags, not knowing how you were going to be able to leave this dining hall with your dignity intact. 

“what?” he looked as if he truly had no idea why you’d be mad, and then looked at the remains of your top, sheepishly scratching at his jaw as he leaned down to peck at the corner of your lips, and you begrudgingly let him. 

“‘m sorry,” he whispered against your lips, but he didn’t really sound like it, “i’ll cover you in my robes, yeah?” you rolled your eyes, flicking at his forehead. he whined, back caught your hand, kissing just above your wrist as he winked at you. you could never stay mad at him for too long because he knew just what to do to make you forget about it.

“you owe me a new one, alongside the four other ones you’ve ruined so far,” you say, eyeing it with a hefty sigh. satoru nodded insistently, his hands wandering down your torso as he got himself distracted. his hands were so large, and you would never get tired of the way he looked at you.

“how ‘bout i make it up to you, hm?” and you didn’t have any restraint in you as you nodded slowly, knowing that you were the only person who could make him like this, the only person who could have the gojo satoru in such a vulnerable and loving way.

he began bunching up your skirt once again, sinking down to his knees as your back arched off of the table, using your elbow to stabilize yourself as your head tilted backward at the feeling of his fingers pushing past your walls. 

your underwear was thrown to the side, disregarded as his tongue poked at your entrance, his thumb flicking over your sensitive nub, knowing just the way to make you go crazy. he slurped up all you had to offer, the sounds too much for you to handle, cheek heating up. 

he took his time, wanting to make you feel every pleasurable feeling known to man as he ate you out. you would never get tired of the way he could reach that spongy spot inside of you that your fingers never could. 

“you taste like so fucking sweet,” satoru’s eyes found yours, glinting as his nose nudged at your clit. it was too much, the way he ate you like he had never tasted anything better. he hadn’t and he was sure that sin was below you. 

his other hand found your tits, palming them, squeezing at the flesh as he rubbed at your nipples, hardening against him as you whined, fisting the tablecloth beneath you as you panted, it was just so hard to get used to this. 

“f-fuck, ‘toru, please…” you could barely muster up any words, his thumb swiping at your clit in a delicious way, his tongue prodding at your walls. 

“please what?” he teased, enjoying the way he could make you unravel, the way that nobody else could hear the way you’d sing just for him. 

“faster, mhh, shit!” you liked the way he obediently listened to you, his tongue and fingers moving per your request, and you felt your stomach clenching, your release threatening to come at any moment.

it was embarrassing just how fast he could bring you to this sort of state, but he reveled in it. he knew what you liked and disliked, how to tease you to make you cry even louder for him. he was a master in everything he did, and he wasn’t one to fail. 

“who does this to you?” he asked, knowing he was fucking you dumb even without his cock. 

“y-you, you ‘toru,” you couldn’t look at him, everything hot as sweat dotted at your forehead, “only you.” 

a cheshire grin found its way onto his face. 

“come on, know you can do it,” he pushed you further, his fingers joining his tongue, and it was just too much, prodding at the place that made you see stars. he looked just as wrecked as you, with your own essence smeared all over his chin, mixing with his spit, but he couldn’t have had it any other way. 

“‘m ‘gonna…fuck, ‘toru, i’m ‘gonna come…” you breathed out, and it didn’t take long till you did. 

the feeling was unlike any other, your walls clamping around him, your release gushing out, your stomach clenched, and your back arched, spasming around his fingers. he didn’t stop until he was sure you had ridden out your orgasm, watching the beautiful way your tits moved up and down with your every breath, the way the light bounced off your skin. you were a heavenly being and nothing you told him could convince him otherwise. 

he slowly stood up, his hands finding purchase on your hips as he gently pulled you closer to the edge of the table, giving you some time to come back down to earth as he slowly tapped his fingers on the expanse of your naked skin.

“you good?” you groaned, hitting his chest lightly as he chuckled, his eyes softening as he looked more at you. he was so sure that the love he held in his chest was going to seep out that it made him worried, knowing that others could love you the same way, selfishly wanting you just to himself.

“you’re so annoying,” you say, rubbing at your face, eyeing the bulge in his pants, feeling your mouth salivate at the sight. 

“you love it though,” and you couldn’t even argue because you did. you loved all the little things about him, the things he hid away from the public eye and saved just for you. it reminded you that he was yours and you were his and nothing was ever going to change it. 

“i put up with it,” you say, watching him pout, his white hair all messy and his cheeks rosy. 

“you’re so mean,” he whined, but only kissed the tip of your nose as he said it. his swift fingers made use of unbuttoning the buttons of his pants, hooking a finger around them as he tugged it down, his cock springing free as it hit his chest. 

he was long, curving to the right. his dick was pretty, just like the rest of him, and you would never get tired of seeing it flushed red, leaking pre as he shuddered against the cold, biting air. his mushroomed tip was aching to push past your walls, and you obliged him, slowly moving so that your hands found him. 

he sucked in a breath as your fingers wrapped around his length, expertly moving up and down in a teasing manner, your thumb swiping at his head as his pre stained your skin. his chest was moving in a crazed pattern, as if his lungs weren’t working properly, and he watched as your hands moved up and down, up and down. 

“s-stop, i don’t want to,” he scrambled before he embarrassed himself and finished from just your hands, tugging your fingers away from his aching cock as you looked up at him through your lashes, knowing just what made him go crazy for you. 

“hurry up ‘toru, i need you sooo bad,” you whined, your voice laced with something that made him lose all sense of control, and he quickly nodded, his hands gripping your thighs as he tugged you closer to himself. 

it would have been easier if he had you perched on the table with your back to him, but he couldn’t risk not being able to see your face, the way your mouth opened and your eyes squeezed shut, so he lined himself up with your entrance instead, knowing this was the only way he could fuck you. 

his dick prodded at your entrance, his bulbous head pushing past your walls that were still tight, squeezing him as he slowly inched your forehead, the two of you moaning in unison at the snug fit. 

“shit, you’re so tight, how,” his lip caught between his teeth, and his eyes flickered over to yours, “how are you so tight?” his grip on your hips was bruising, but you welcomed the marks, loving the fact that when you woke up the two of you would carry each other on your skin.

“stop talking ‘toru,” your hands hooked around his neck, tugging him in closer as your lips slotted against his, your teeth clashing as your pussy fluttered against him, your noses rubbing against each other, “fuck me…please.” 

and he did, pushing all of himself in, and your head tipped backward at the sting, gripping onto his arms as he let you adjust to his size, his cock twitching in your heat, and his jaw clenched, refraining himself from moving just yet. 

when you gave him the nod to move he slowly inched out, his dick shining in the light, before he slammed himself back in, your cries filling the vast space as he began to fuck you the way he wanted, his lips finding your neck as you thrust your hips against his. 

it was always delirious when the two of you fucked, your bodies meeting at one point that drove each of you to your own euphoria. satoru tried to be slow and gentle, but after a bit, he couldn’t anymore, picking up his pace as his head kept hitting your g spot. 

“love you s’much ‘toru,” your fingers curled in his hair, your other hand scratching lines down his back as the squelching sound resonated around you, “f-fuck-” he cut you off with a chaste kiss, dropping his head to your breasts as he sucked at them, positioning himself in and out of you with all his strength. 

“i know, i know sweetheart,” he murmured against your spit soaked skin, rubbing gently at the marks he left, “i’m yours, all for you,” he promised, his thumb finding your clit as he swiped at it, enjoying the way you mewled for him to go faster. 

your eyes fall all over his naked skin, at the way sweat dots on both of your bodies, and the way satoru can’t contain his moans and whines when he sinks in and out of you. the sounds he makes are for you only, and you want to damn anybody who longs to hear them too. 

“you feel s’good,” you kiss at his chest, his tunic slipping down him as the buttons and knots become undone, your fingers tugging them down so you could have more area to kiss and suckle at, “s’big ‘toru.” 

he loves how your voice gets breathy, the way you can’t keep your hands to yourself and can barely formulate a thought. he fucks you like he hates you, but that’s only because he doesn’t know how else to show you just how much you mean to him. 

“yeah? this dick makes you dumb?” you nod helplessly, feeling like you were going to go insane with the way his veins dragged alongside your walls, at the way your pussy was molding to the shape of him. 

“yes!” you cried out, nails digging into his skin, and he encouraged you to leave more lines, knowing that once he had to take off his shirt for training and the men around his eyes the scratches on his back they’d know who left them. 

“are you ‘gonna come? come with me, know you want to,” his hips are shuttering as if he can barely keep his release at bay, “know you can sweetheart,” and you whine even louder, his thumb relentlessly attacking your clit as your legs wrap tightly around him, keep him from straying too far away from your body. 

“mhh fuck, ‘toru m’gonna, fuck…!” you felt your release come before you could even stop yourself, spasming around his dick as you wailed, creaming around his dick as the tablecloth bunched beneath you, the wine spilling everywhere as your husband came just seconds after you. 

you felt his hot release in you, your walls hugging him in as your eyes rolled back, white dotting your vision as he pumped himself inside of you, keeping his dick in for a little while longer. your orgasm was so powerful that you wondered if you were going to be able to walk after this, feel yourself pulse around nothing as satoru slowly pulled himself out of you, his cum seeping out and sticking to your doughy thighs. 

it was a mess; wine and cum everywhere, but your laughter slowly filled the heated room, laughing at the entire prospect of this. 

“what?” he nudged at your jaw, kissing your cheekbones as he smiled at the sound, “was that not to your liking?” 

you snorted, shaking your head as your legs dropped from his waist, leaning back on your hands as you looked around, taking in the mess as you heaved out a sigh, knowing that there definitely wasn’t any way to hide what you had done now. especially since you were sure that anybody within a twenty-foot radius could have heard you as well. 

“it was fine,” you teased, watching him huff in annoyance because the two of you knew that it was far from fine. 

“just fine?” he asked, scooping a finger into your pussy, watching the way your head fell onto his shoulder, smearing his cum around just for extra measure, chuckling to himself when he felt you lightly bite his skin. 

“you’re painfully full of yourself,” you comment, your skirt falling back down as it hid your fluttering pussy, making it seem as if he hadn’t just fucked you dumb seconds ago, and satoru tugged you closer to his chest, his hands sprawling across the naked expanse of your back. 

“only because i love you so much,” and he wasn’t lying, but you knew that his cockiness stemmed from himself. 

the two of you smiled, your rings shining and you looked out the window to see the moon up, a chill running through the curtains, ruffling them as it hit your skin and you shuddered. 

as if he suddenly remembered your top was ruined, now resembling cleaning rags, he shrugged off the robe that was resting on the back of his chair as he settled it across your chest, buttoning up the buttons for you as you let him work. 

it had some of his military rankings on it, a deep blue that resembled the clan's colors, and you instantly felt warmer in the wool. 

“‘toru?” you twirled some of his baby hairs around your fingers, your voice hoarse but soft. 

he looked up, feeling awestruck by the way you looked right now. he loved the glow you radiated after a round of him pounding into you, the way your skin was shining and you had a content look on your face, resonating deep within him.

“hm?” his thumb ran across your face, tracing your features as he did every night, committing them to memory. 

“come home safe,” you whispered, lashes fluttering against your cheeks as you held his unoccupied hand in yours, your fingers cradling his larger ones, “don’t do anything stupid, please.” 

he went to make a joke but stopped himself when he saw your serious stare, his mouth opening and then shutting until he nodded, smiling carefully, holding heavy emotions as he gave you a smaller, more understanding nod.

“okay,” he murmured, but you shook your head, not satisfied with his answer. 

“promise me,” and he hated and loved the fact that he couldn’t deny you anything. 

“i promise,” he whispered against your lips, bringing you closer as his tongue swiped against yours, your lips swollen and plush, just the way he liked it. 

and he held true to his promise, returning only a week later with a promise of no sort of war between the eastern clan. but according to suguru, your husband had shed off his clothes when he had to fight one of their men, everybody around him, including the girl, had seen the scratches and bruises you had left for him, 

just as he intended.

taglist: @chieeeeeee, @yxnjvnnie, @ladytamayolover, @iheartlinds

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 TELLING THEM THEY'RE PRETTY!

FEATURING: dazai osamu, fyodor dostoevsky, nikolai gogol

SUMMARY: telling the bsd boys that they're pretty! (wordcount: 3.5k; sfw; fem!reader)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: i had cute dividers but this won't show up in the tags if use them D: ! i had sooo much fun with this! i hope you guys enjoy! :D

DAZAI OSAMU

You can’t seem to drag your gaze away from him. 

As a long day of work comes to an end, you rest your head on your arms and lean on your desk. Kunikida is still tapping furiously away at his computer, Tanizaki and Naomi are whispering about something together, Ranpo is sorting through his candy, and Atsushi and Kyouka are looking through files. But your eyes are tracing over Dazai Osamu as he leans back in his chair, lazily spinning and bobbing his head to the music he’s listening to. 

The setting sun casts an ethereal glow over him, his lips idly turned up and his lashes brushing his cheeks as rests his eyes waiting for the day to end. Dazai Osamu is pretty—you’ve always acknowledged that—but there’s something about the peace of this moment, the domesticity of the office and the ambience of the lighting that has you utterly enraptured.

He looks so at ease, and Dazai Osamu is never at ease. Even when he throws up that clownlike mask of his and spends his day entertaining under the guise of joy and humor, you can always see the strain in the corner of his eyes and lips. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible really—if you were anyone else, you’d miss it, but you’re not anyone else, much to his displeasure, because you know he hates how easily you can see right through him.

After a few minutes, Dazai peeks his eyes open—and you’re almost breathless, because his eyes are like melted honey beneath the sunset, warm and gentle, glittering with amusement. You think you can stare at him forever and never tire of it.

He rolls his chair closer to you, resting his forearms on your desk so that your arms are brushing and laying his head down on them so that his face is mere inches from yours, matching your position. There's a smile on his lips, soft and teasing as he whispers, "You've been staring at me for five minutes."

"Mhm," you agree, voice just as quiet as if to not disturb the tranquility of the office. You can feel his breath light against your face from the proximity he's laying at and you can smell peppermint on his breath from the candy you’d seen him swipe from Ranpo’s desk earlier when the other man had gone to speak to Fukuzawa.

“Is there something on my face?” he asks playfully, dark eyes glimmering as he waits for your response.

You can tease him back and say yes, as you usually do and is probably what he expects—and you fully intend to do just that but the words that leave your lips are not that. 

“You just look really pretty today,” you say softly, watching as his eyes widen just a bit at your words, pink dusting his cheeks. 

His lips part to say something but no words leave them. He opens and closes them a few times and you marvel because Dazai must know that he’s pretty from all of the attention he gets from women, so you don’t understand why he’s so thrown off hearing you voice it out loud. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him genuinely speechless before now.

“So you don’t think i’m pretty every other day?” Dazai pushes his bottom lip out into an over-exaggerated pout, recovering swiftly from your words, though you expected nothing less from him. But you can’t help but note that his cheeks are still a bit pink and there’s something indecipherable in his eyes.

“Prettier than usual,” you amend and watch as the flush on his cheeks darkens and he instead resorts to completely burying his face in his arms with a frustrated groan.

“I am supposed to be the flirt, bella,” he complains, voice muffled by his arms as he hides his face from your view. He cannot hide the way his ears have gone bright red, and you have half a mind to reach out and tug at them

You lift your hand to your lips to hide the giggle that rises to your lips, scooching your chair a bit closer so you can knock your shoulder against his. 

“I’m not flirting,” you say. “Just stating a fact.”

He turns his head to the side, just enough so that he can give you a heavy side eye—you can only barely see the red hue coating his cheekbone. 

“Not mutually exclusive,” he says grumpily, and you lean down to press your lips against his now exposed forehead, smiling softly as his eyes instinctively flutter shut and his body relaxes as the touch.

Then, you receive a pencil to the side of your head. You yelp as your hand flies to where it had made contact with you, scowling at your assailant who is none other than Ranpo, smiling widely as he waves at you and then motions to Kunikida, who is red faced and staring at the two of you. You can’t tell if it’s in embarrassment or anger.

“Not during work hours,” he snaps, and you realize that he’s definitely embarrassed, so you share a short look with Dazai, who has regained that mischievous look in his eyes as he glances over at Kunikida and back at you.

Without saying a word, or giving any other sort of warning, he leans in to press his lips against yours. It’s a short and chaste kiss, but his lips are soft and taste of candy, and you think you might be able to kiss them forever if you get the chance.

Now you’re the one flustered, you can feel heat rising to your cheeks as you stare at Dazai, who is evidently thoroughly pleased to not be the one uncomposed if the unscrupulous grin on his lips has anything to say about it.

He tosses you a wink before rolling his chair back over to his desk, animatedly complaining about Ranpo and Kunikida being lonely and bitter and getting in the way of Dazai’s chance at true love because of it—you only roll your eyes at his dramatics, as you usually do when Dazai goes off on tangents, but it’s with much more fondness this time. 

•••

FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

You are not listening to a single word that he’s saying. 

It’s a dangerous situation to be in with Fyodor Dostoevsky, you’re sure he’s noticed by now and he will be petty enough to finish his brief about his plans and your involvement and then ask you to repeat what he said, but you just can’t focus. 

He tied his hair back, you note, still quite a bit awed by the sight. There are two locks framing his face and his bangs are falling between his eyes, but the rest of his hair, which has grown a bit long in the weeks that he’s been ardently preparing for the final stages of his plan, is pulled back into a lax bun. 

He looks so casual, and Fyodor Dostoevsky never looks casual. He’s dressed in a turtleneck and loose pants as he leans back in his chair. There’s a folder resting on his lap that he’s idly flipping through and he keeps glancing up at you occasionally, pale lips flat and violet eyes disapproving, but you just nod along to his words even though you know that he knows that you’re not paying attention. 

And you think, distantly, that you probably should be paying attention because he’s talking about your upcoming mission and what you should expect from it but you figure you’ll be fine—it’s a simple infiltration mission, nothing to worry about. And you’d much rather prefer to appreciate Fyodor’s rare repose than to listen him droll on about boring topics. 

Sometimes, you think if he just kept his mouth shut all the time, he’d be perfect. But you think you’d miss his sharp-witted comments and the lengthy debates the two of you have after a few glasses of wine.

He looks extra pretty tonight, even beyond the casual hairstyle and clothes and his uncharacteristically relaxed demeanor, and you think it’s because of the way the flames of the fireplace are casting an enchanting orange and red glow over his face. It makes the violets of his eyes burn alive in a way that they usually don’t, you’re far too used to the glacial visage they take whenever he puts his attention on someone. Every time he glances up at you, you swear that you can get lost in them.

“… And you are not listening to a word that I am saying, are you?” 

Fyodor is giving you the heaviest side eye as he finally calls you out, expression unamused. His brows are furrowed and his pale skin is taut with thinly veiled irritation.

“Of course, I am,” you dismiss, waving your hand. “Infiltration mission, detective agency, get close to the tiger boy.”

Fyodor looks distinctly unimpressed by your words, brows deepening—you figure you must have spoken wrongly, you probably shouldn’t have been so indifferent, and you bite back a sigh before reaching forward to press two fingers between Fyodor’s eyebrows, as if to forcibly smooth away his annoyance.

He blinks and draws back, out of reach of your arm, and then casts you an even more irritable look.

“You’re not taking this seriously,” he accuses. “This mission will be dangerous, you’ll be at risk of being exposed every moment you are in the agency and if you are exposed-“

“Your plans will be ruined,” you finish, forcing yourself not to roll your eyes. “I kno-“

“You could be killed,” Fyodor corrected, voice cold and sharp, and you look back over to him. He looks unusually intense, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the appearance that the flames of the fireplace are giving him as they flicker dangerously across his face or if it’s because he’s that displeased with you being distracted. Either way, you find your mind drifting again because wow. “Dazai Osamu is not a man to be taken lightly. When he manages to figure out who you are and what you’re doing, we will need an immediate extraction plan.”

“Careful, Fyodor,” you drawl, watching as his violet eyes narrow briefly, “almost sounds like you care.”

Fyodor’s lips twist but he doesn’t respond. You raise your eyebrows, he looks away. Your eyes shoot open.

“You have a bigger role to play,” Fyodor finally says, but he’s no longer looking at you. “You cannot be killed yet.”

“Yet,” you repeat, amused. Fyodor’s jaw tightens, he doesn’t look at you, his eyes are trained on the fireplace to the side of the two of you and you can vaguely see the flames reflecting in his eyes, burning ardently against the familiar violet.

You lean forward again, shifting off of the couch to sit on the coffee table between the two of you so you can reach him. You reach forward to brush your knuckles against his cheek—he doesn’t move away this time, but his eyes cut to the side to watch you carefully.

You don’t say anything for a moment, absently tucking one of the locks of hair framing his face behind his ear. His hair is soft, freshly washed—for once—it smells faintly of lavender and vanilla and you wonder if he stole your conditioner.

“You look very pretty tonight, Fyodor,” you say quietly, and then smile. “It’s hard to focus when you look like this.”

The expression Fyodor directs toward you is extraordinarily blank, except for the faintest specks of pink that glare compared to the pallor of his face. 

He shakes his head, looking away from you yet again. 

“… You cause me much suffering,” he murmurs, and somehow, you know that might be the closest you might get to an admission of love from Fyodor Dostoevsky.

You smile to yourself. “And you to I,” you say, voice a bit teasing, and then you add, “Now, can you tell me again what to look out for?”

The moment is ruined. Fyodor’s eye twitches and he’s giving you that unamused look again, and you think having him repeat himself might be a mistake because now you’re even more distracted, but Fyodor sighs and starts on his lecture again so you force yourself to listen.

It takes about three minutes for him to release a sigh of utter suffering when he realizes that your eyes have glazed over yet again. 

•••

NIKOLAI GOGOL

Nikolai has a wild sort of beauty about him. He’s unpredictable and dangerous, and it’s widely apparent in his frenzied laughter and chaotic behavior. His eye glitters and his teeth gleam sharply beneath the glow of the moonlight as he waves his hands around, animatedly describing to you all of the details of the things he’s been doing while you were away. 

Fyodor’s masterplan has involved Nikolai apparently taken upon an infiltration role at the ministry of defense—you think it’s a bold move for Fyodor to use Nikolai for such a tenuous mission, but he’s apparently been having the time of his life with it. Though he thinks his boss is deplorable and one of his coworkers has evidently pissed him off beyond repair, because now he’s telling you about how he’s been ‘pranking’ the man in righteous vengeance. 

You think Nikolai’s idea of pranking varies from yours, because you’re pretty sure him using his ability to break into the man’s house constitutes a crime not a prank. But you don’t have it in you to make that distinction when he’s so excitedly telling you about how every day he’s been going into his house to move around all of his stuff and hide some of his belongings to make the man squirm. He’s succeeding outstandingly in his ambition, if the videos he’s waving in front of you have anything to say about it. 

You watch as he frantically scrolls to the next video—“this one is the best,” he claims, as he has for every video thus far. You watch with an amused smile as his dark-haired coworker steps into his apartment and nearly starts crying when he realizes that all of his stuff has been moved again, scrambling for his phone to call the police, who have—according to Nikolai—apparently already told him multiple times that there’s nothing they can do about it. The video is shaking wildly, as if the person filming can barely hold the camera straight, and you’re convinced that’s exactly what it is because you can hear Nikolai’s muffled laughter coming from recording.

Nikolai naturally finds it much funnier than you do, half-way keeling over as he wheezes, his laughter shattering the peaceful night. The two of you are sitting at a park near the apartment that Fyodor had leased for you for the duration of the Yokohama operation. The moon is high in the sky, casting a bewitching glow over the lake in front of you and there’s a chill in the air—it’s a nice night all around, you think there will probably some frost dusting the grass in the morning but the cold hardly bothers you now with Nikolai pressed to your side as he laughs himself into a near-coughing fit over his harassment of his coworker. 

“Why aren’t you laughing?” Nikolai suddenly complains loudly, scowling at you, but even then he keeps having to bite back residual laughter whenever he glances back down at his phone. “It’s funny.”

“It is funny,” you agree. Nikolai gives you a look as if he doesn’t believe you. “It is.”

“Then why aren’t you laughing?” Nikolai accuses doubtfully, and then adds, even more accusatory, “You hate me.”

You’re not sure why you aren’t laughing, honestly. Usually you’d be burying your face into his shoulder trying to smother your snickers, because even though you might not entirely agree with Nikolai’s idea of a prank, you can still find some humor in it. Because it is kind of funny. Kind of. 

But then you realize that you’re probably not laughing because you’ve been spending most of the night admiring Nikolai rather than listening to him prattle on about his escapades and watching his poorly recorded videos, so you can’t fully appreciate the humor in the videos. With his cheeks flushed from copious amounts of laughter and his eyes glowing with excitement, you think he’s very pretty tonight—Nikolai is always pretty, but the angle at which he’s sitting leaves the moon haloing behind his head, and maybe it’s just because you’ve missed him the past few weeks when you’ve been abroad dealing with a territory dispute with Tolstoy, but you think there’s something special about tonight. 

“I don’t hate you. I guess I’ve been too busy admiring you,” you finally say, a playful smile on your lips as you tilt your head to the side to look at him. “You look pretty tonight.”

Nikolai blinks, eyes wide and owlish as he processes your words. The longer he goes unresponsive, you acknowledge that a quiet Nikolai is far more unnerving than a loud and erratic Nikolai, you’d expected a more… theatrical response to your comment. A swish of his cape, him leaping to his feet with a twirl and an agreement, even just a wild laugh; instead, he looks away abruptly. He doesn’t even just look away, he physically turns his whole body away from you. 

You blink.

“Nikolai?” you ask, a bit astonished when he literally ignores you. You lean forward, trying to get a look at his face, but then he swivels around even more and your lips part in shock. “Nikolai.”

You’re only met with a face full of his soft white hair, impeccably braided, as per usual—you have half a mind to tug at it hard to try to get a response from him, but you aren’t in the mood for the lewd comment that would likely spill from his lips after. 

“Koly-“

“Poor me, poor me,” Nikolai suddenly cries loudly, “The little koshenya mocks me when all I do is try to make her laugh. Poor me, poor me.”

His hand flies to his face, melodramatic as he bemoans your alleged cruelty. You stare at him, mind trying to piece together what exactly is happening—Nikolai is always hard to predict, but you feel like this is a bit strange even for him, and that’s saying something. 

“… What?” you start to ask but Nikolai has thrown himself into a loud and theatrical tirade about how he doesn’t deserve such injustice and how he was only trying to make you laugh, and how it’s so, so cold-hearted of you to taunt him when this is the first time the two of you have seen each other in weeks. 

Nikolai is impossible to bargain with when he gets like this, so you only sigh and tilt your head up to the sky, his words flying in one ear and out the other as you wait for him to settle down on his own. 

Instead, you swear the world is against you because rather than settling down, he becomes increasingly more noisy and distressed, and his accusations become even more asinine. Now, he’s saying that you’ve always had it out for him and how you weren’t laughing at his jokes because you hate him and want to report him to the police and how he should tell Dostoy about your betrayal, or better yet, he should stuff you in his cloak and leave you there?

You side-eye Nikolai heavily as he continues on, slightly alarmed, but brush off the casual threat as just Nikolai being Nikolai. You don’t know how to shut him up, you think you might be out here all night listening to him, and now you’re the one bemoaning your fate because how did a simple compliment turn into this. 

Finally, an idea strikes. 

You brace yourself, questioning your sanity and your entire existence before you interrupt him with a loud, “Quiz time!”

Nikolai goes silent instantly, head snapping toward you, eye even wider than before. 

You think you’ve hit an all time low as you say, “Was I trying to mock you before?” Nikolai opens his mouth to respond but you cut him off before he can. “What’s that you say? I wasn’t? Ding ding! We’ve gotta winner!” 

You think Nikolai might be having an internal crisis. He’s staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time in his life—his lips are parted, his eye void of the usual mischief dancing in it. He looks as if he wants to say something but he doesn’t know what. 

You let out a long breath as you go to speak up again, but before you can, his eye is glittering again, sharp and dangerous, and his lips are curving up into a slow smile. 

Nikolai inhales and then he takes a complete one-eighty as he bursts into loud cackles and says, “Ahahaha! I knew you loved me!” as if he wasn’t just lamenting your irrational hatred for him moments before.

Your eye twitches. He begins a second tirade, this one far more embarrassing for you than the last. 

You regret everything.