#t$$ test track au

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

ribbon, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook asks you what you would do to him if he was naked, blindfolded, and tied to a chair. He really is asking for it, isn't he?

warnings: rated M (18+) – JK is insolent bc he's secretly nervous smh; reader is unafraid to challenge him; smut (fem reader, he's obv naked, blindfolded, and tied to a chair, hand appreciation (?) spit kink, photography during sex, use of safe word, m-receiving oral, edging, f-masturbation); non-idol!AU; switches between reader's POV and JK's POV

--

“I’ve been wondering – do you ask me these questions because you’re bored, voyeuristic, or propositioning me?���

“W… What?”

“Hm? I’m allowed to ask that, aren’t I? Or can only you ask the questions?”

-

Truth to be told, you already had a good guess. It was just more fun to put someone on the spot. Strange that, even with the certain, ahem, reputation you had, people still took the time to misconstrue. It was tiring. Not entertaining in the slightest. Well, being entitled and self-serving was human nature. You didn’t mind it, as long as one owned up to their shamelessness.

Which never happened.

One could hope.

Regardless, you were willing to entertain when you felt like it. However, you refused to be a performance monkey. Even that practice was becoming obsolete as people realized the inhumanity of it all. If only the same could be applied to openly sexually active femme fatales. Sigh. For this reason, you avoided dating, both because it was exhausting and because we all die alone. Mhm. And, due to your rigid stance against romance, you of course kept finding yourself in long-term relationships. The universe never ceased with its paradoxes. With age came a rare lull. You figured that surely now was the time to be alone. Thus, the universe put Jeon Jungkook in your path, who did everything except for leaving you alone.

Ah.

The universe and its great paradoxes.

You were well aware of his fascination with your freak. He was green to it, too. It was the off-hand questions trying to catch you off guard paired the attempts at producing shock factor to a seasoned veteran that were the dead giveaway. Not that things weren’t moving forward as they normally did. A drag racer was slower than how you and him were progressing. Eh, you always believed time was a finite resource. So, you let him lead you along while skirting the edges of what if. Mostly to test his persistence. Alright, it was pretty fun for you as well. But the next evolution couldn’t quite continue without discussion.

Even nymphomaniacs could have morals.

Sometimes.

You watched his thoughts play out on his face. He was stuck in the mental battle of societal expectations, self-respect, and the truth. You wondered which would win.

“I… Just bored. That’s all,” he mumbled.

Hm. Societal expectations won. To be expected. Someday he would work up to the truth on the first try. He was one of those men with a pretty face, an arm sleeve of tattoos, and few reservations. But one of them was still sex, because sex was an undefined creature that he was still attempting to domesticate to that fantastical mold that media tended to favor. False idols attracted fanatics and fanatics generated payola. The most profitable subscription service was the lies that bound society.

It was what it was.

You weren’t surprised or disappointed by it. Didn’t hold it against him either. You leaned against the sofa cushions, facing him. With a smile. His jumpiness was quite cute. The tip of his tongue danced over his lower lip in involuntary nervousness. He had a tiny mole underneath his mouth, right at the center, that you were mildly obsessed with and hadn’t told him yet. Large black-brown eyes that shattered the tough image he was trying to aspire to but you weren’t going to tell him that. His style was big, baggy, and dark. Today was no exception. Black t-shirt, black track pants, gray beanie. Didn’t even dress up for the occasion of trying to bang you in his basement.

Well, trying to get you to bang him in his basement, actually.

You preferred it this way. It was authentic. You proceeded to question him. Just because you knew why he said what he said didn’t mean you had to accept it. You were trying to get to know him, after all.

“Is that so? Just bored, so you wanna get tied up?”

-

Actually, his reason was that he was horny. Which was probably obvious, but wasn’t something Jeon Jungkook felt like confirming. He learned for the start that she was not the subtle type. She did not seem to mind making the first move, so much so that Jungkook hadn’t realized she had until she had him backed in a corner that one time. It was a refreshing change. However, he had made the mistake of putting up an I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude in attempt to match her confidence when he very much did give a fuck. He gave a lot of fucks. To be more precise, he was trying to get fucked. And now trying to make her think it was her idea.

It was going…

Well.

Ish.

He knew from their first meeting that she was endgame. He didn’t do anything about it, because that would have gotten him labeled as a creep. Jeon Jungkook had flaws, but he was not a creep. He wasn’t her target at the time either, so. That was that. Over the years as he learned more about her, he was even more convinced that she was it for him. She was clever, resourceful, and unafraid to be the villain in someone’s story if it meant doing what was right. Sometimes you have to be a little bad to do a lot of good, she once said. It stuck with him. He used to think that his one true love would have to be his career. Film school was not cheap either. Money was required for existing, sadly. A person would, therefore, always come second. But, right now, seeing the way that her sleek black turtleneck and those tapered slacks draped over her body as she sat beside him on his black leather sofa, knowing that she was gently chastising him with her teasing smile, and, hell, even knowing that she in no way fell for his bait – there was no one else. There would never be anyone else. He just knew.

Whether it worked out or not, uh, remained to be seen.

Outlook was currently bleak.

“Why are you into that stuff, anyway?”

She leaned her head against the back of her hand with her elbow on the back of the sofa. “I’m not so much into it as it is my very nature.” The tip of her tongue grazed the edge of her teeth. He wanted her to bite him. He could also listen to her talk all day. But he would prefer the biting first. “Personal lore aside, everyone has things they are passionate about. Such as you and your mini movie theater down here.”

She was referring to the room they were in now, with the projector and sofas. The basement allowed him to enjoy the surround sound without disturbing his neighbors. There were a couple folding chairs leaning against the far wall for extra seating when he felt like hosting a karaoke night. He was actually very interested in her personal lore but maybe it was too much childhood trauma dump for this sexually charged moment. She knew time and place like that.

“People will talk behind your back if you like sex that much,” he pointed out.

Not for the first time, it seemed. “They talk behind your back even if you don’t like sex that much,” she chuckled, the oscillating blue-and-purple mood lighting making her eyes gleam. “For instance, I know for a fact that people speculate about your sexual prowess all the time. I’ve heard stuff.”

Jungkook doubted that. People possibly couldn’t be that unhinged. “Like what?”

She mused. “Like how you have a huge dick and are super dominant in bed.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Uh… huh…”

She smiled at him.

The same way a lioness would smile at a desert hare.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be thought of in such a… nice… way. It would be an ego boost if she hadn’t made it sound so objectifying. There was something off about it. Like looking into a mirror and seeing a blemish he didn’t remember having. He watched her eyes rather than looking into them. They had a distinct, sharp shape that reminded him of his favorite female characters in video games. She leaned a little closer. She always wore very nice perfume. Her natural scent was better, though. Tasting skin on tongue and breathing in at the same time, feeling her breath scatter at his touch, now that was perfection.

She ticked her head. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He realized he was slouching and straightened. He was most certainly not leaning forward in eagerness. Or anything like that. Nope. “You didn’t answer mine either.”

“I answer your hypotheticals every day. Humor me.”

Yeah, and didn’t offer to test any of them. He did his best to not feel bitter about it. He felt bitter about it anyway. “I said I was just bored.” Her waist-to-ass ratio was accentuated by her sitting position. Unreal.

She either didn’t notice his wandering eyes or didn’t mind it. “They say the first thought you have is the thought you have been conditioned to have.” Her hand was resting on her thigh. Didn’t move. She had said earlier the glittering reflective dark blue color she was wearing was from a Star Wars nail polish collection. It made the points of her almond manicure glisten in the low lights. “True feelings take a little more time to process.”

His eyes traveled up.

He wondered if she had ever thought about chilling the fuck out.

“What if you were the one being tied up?” he asked shadowed eyes.

She frowned slightly. “Now that sounds boring. For me, personally.” She stuck out the tip of her tongue before adding, “Hate that.”

He leaned onto his knees. “Oh, but you’re ready to do it to someone else?”

Her eyes slid downward to track his movement. “In my defense, you asked,” she said softly. Dangerously. “There’s no need to stress for compatibility. It’s either there or not.”

A pause.

In all honesty, Jungkook had first started asking the vulgar questions to see if he could throw her off guard. Then it became fascinating how unbothered she was by it. At some point, he couldn’t really help it anymore because he had become suddenly aware that she was aware of her effect on him. She had begun to notice how acutely he was listening to her answers. How he always had an involuntary reaction to her standing close to him. One time, he had felt the tips of her fingernails grazing over his lower back and visibly shivered. She had paused. Given him this look. He had held it but didn’t say anything. They were amongst other people. Must have been an accident. The next time, she did it intentionally. He held himself together better this time, but still returned the same knowing stare.

It became a silent game they played, just the two if them.

He asked the question of if she ever considered being on the receiving end of the power dynamic. She always rejected. He knew by now. He was only asking to stall for time. It was a dumb question, because nothing was a front with her. He liked that. He liked that she didn’t try to control anyone around her but rather had complete control of who she was. Didn’t try to convince anyone to change their opinion of her even though Jungkook hated it when he heard other people call her a slut. They used to be his friends but he stopped talking to them. He didn’t want to deal with that shit. He could get new friends.

He tilted his head at her.

She mimicked him, intrigued.

“So, you’re all talk and no walk?”

-

Damn, Jeon Jungkook was really trying to push your buttons today. You had to admire the audacity. Or maybe he was just horny. Nah, let him have the gumption. You hard let him get pretty close already, to test the waters of your compatibility, and you were feeling pretty confident about it. In conclusion, very successful. But nothing as intense as what he was suggesting. Pushing for, really. The best course of action was to talk about logistics and follow up some other time. That wasn’t really the way you or he rolled, though.

“What’s your safe word?” you asked plainly.

Jungkook looked confused. “Safe word?” he echoed.

You nodded. “Mhm. You know what that is, don’t you?”

His dark eyes shifted. “Uh. Yeah. Of course.” He frowned. You waited. “Stop?”

You almost laughed out loud. Almost. “Try something more obscure,” you coaxed. “Sometimes we say stop out of habit but not because we mean it.”

Jungkook was giving you this look. Fiercely protective with an even split of jealousy. “Oh, so you do this often, huh?” A little accusatory.

You blinked slowly.

Gave the time to let his own words sink into his ears. Then you said, “I’m fine walking out of here and pretending you never existed. I’m really good at playing the ignoring game.”

He got the hint. Winced and looked away. There was a bit too much pride to apologize for his rude remark. You could tell he sort of wanted to, yet the seconds marched on. The silence extended. Well. As long as he got the hint that you weren’t tolerating that shit.

“S… Sorry,” Jungkook mumbled under his breath.

You stilled a bit, wondering if you heard correctly. “Apology accepted.” You decided not to hold it against him since he proved you wrong. “The safe word is not just for you. It’s for me, too, so I can alert you that you’re asking for something I’m not willing to do. So, technically, it’s for us.”

Us.

That seemed to reignite his interest. “There’s stuff you’re not willing to do?” Of course that was what he was curious about.

You half-smiled. “Mhm. Such as heavy physical abuse. Blood play. Also, I’m not into cages. Those types of things aren’t for me.”

His eyes widened. “O… Oh.”

You ticked your head teasingly. “Disappointed?”

His eyes darted away. His deep voice became small. “Kinda scared… What even is…” He quickly cleared his throat. “I mean, okay. Yeah. I understand.”

You didn’t fill the silence. You let him think about it. Giving him an easy out if he wanted it. To be honest, this wasn’t your plan for tonight. Maybe some making out, but you didn’t walk in the door thinking about blindfolding Jeon Jungkook, tying him up, and having your way with him. Bit of an excessive lead-in. Hm. Suited him, though. You would have worn something less boring if this was your plan for seduction. Turtleneck and slacks weren’t exactly screaming I-am-going-to-fuck-your-brains-out.

“Yanggaeng.”

You broke out of your thought bubble. “Sweet bean jelly?”

Jungkook shrugged. “I was thinking about food.”

You liked that. “Mmm. You have rope? Fabric. Preferably all-natural.”

He shook his head. “Uh… I have some leftover ribbon from wrapping Christmas presents?”

You considered it.

“Eh, that’ll work.”

-

The tight turtleneck and tailored slacks looked even better when she stood up. Her sensual figure was made imposing by the cut of the fabrics. Either she was very good or very lucky at selecting clothing. He could clearly see the enticing body lines while at the same time seeing nothing at all. Even her shadow looked good. He felt a bit like a potato next to her. Best not to think about it too much. He changed the mood lighting to red. For ambiance. She let him know what she needed. He told her to stay and wait. A spool of dark cranberry velvet ribbon, a pair of scissors, and one folding chair later, she tucked her hands in her pockets and tilted her head at him.

“Blindfold?”

Jungkook went off in search of a silk sleeping mask. Close enough, right?

“Ah, smart.” She nodded. “Okay, strip.”

He stared at her. “Uh.”

She looked back at him, unbothered.

The silence extended.

“You weren’t serious about that?” she finally asked.

Calmly, as if she was asking for clarification of his lunch order. Awkward. He bit back his tongue. He looked from the line up of collected objects on his basement coffee table and then back at her. Instead of looking expectant, she looked curious. They hadn’t seen each other fully naked yet. Just mostly. And touched. But that was different.

“What about you?”

She glanced down. Then back up. “In due time.” There she went with that lioness smile again. “It’ll be a temporary embarrassment.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” he shot back instantly and then regretted it. But she didn’t taunt him. Just continued standing there. He touched the seat of the folding chair. “It’s kinda cold.”

She looked around. “You have linens down here? A hand towel in the bathroom?”

“There’s some on the bar cart back there.”

This was happening. Really happening. It was sinking in now. All the more reason to not think about it. He yanked his t-shirt off as she searched the bar cart for the spoken towels. He plucked his beanie off too, and realized how flat and unappealing his hair must look. He had not planned this, obviously. Quickly, he made his way to the bathroom by the stairs. Yup. His reflection was not it. It took some water and aggressive pushing back to fix his hair. Wet dog was a better look than compressed.

She seemed a little perplexed when he re-entered the room. There was a plush white towel on the seat of the chair now. She was holding another one in her hands. She immediately looked over to him as he approached. Made zero comment about his shiftlessness.

Rude.

“You’re wet.”

He snatched the spare towel from her hand. “Turn around.”

She blinked slowly. “Why?”

He thwacked the edge of the towel against her hip. She looked down, acknowledging the action, but didn’t react much. Raised her head with a slight tilt. He tried not to blush. Believed he had succeeded with the combined force of sheer willpower and a hearty dose of delusion. He glared.

“I’m going to see everything and you won’t get to see my reaction,” she reminded him.

He clutched the pearly white towel quite intensely. “So what?”

She smiled. In that way. “You can use your safe word if you want.”

He clenched his jaw.

“Turn. Around.”

She searched his face for a second. Then, she did as he asked, facing the other way so her back was to him. Damn. Nice ass. Not the first time he thought that. He must be crazy. She had given him the option to drop it all and go back to just the usual hot-and-heavy-almost-there. He stared at the back of her head. Her hair was twisted upwards, trapped in a claw clip. The covered nape of her neck made his blood run hot. He pressed his lips together before slapping the towel over his shoulder and reaching into his pocket, pulling his phone out and setting it on the coffee table. Then he took off his pants and boxer briefs.

He picked up the sleeping mask.

Sat down, draping the towel over his crotch before turning off the lights for himself behind black silk.

“Okay.”

Now would be a good time to get out of his head.

Sadly, that was not how life worked. And so Jungkook was forced to endure the revelation that he was not Daredevil, sigh. His hearing did not suddenly become more sensitive due to the absence of sight. Fuck. Hadn’t been bitten by a radioactive spider recently either. Damn. He heard nothing but the hum of the wine fridge. He tried to listen for any movement – rustling clothes, a change in breathing, even a single dust bunny shivering, but there was nothing but a looming sense of what-the-fuck-am-I-doing.

A fingertip touched his cheek.

He almost flung himself off the chair. He would have lost his chastity towel in the process though, so instead he clutched it and jerked his head, realizing partway that it was probably a bad idea. He might startle her with his sudden movement. He froze.

Her voice floated down, dreamlike and airy.

“Was I not supposed to turn around?”

“I… I wasn’t expecting…” Which was a dumb thing to say. Duh, she was supposed to turn around.

“Jumpy like a bunny.,” she purred.

His breath caught in his throat.

Her fingertip had only left for a second but it was back again, tracing his cheekbone. Then he felt the other three follow in a cascading caress. His skin tingled. Her fingers danced down, cradling his jaw. His body felt strange. It felt like his blood was burning in his veins. She gently guided his head back to face forward, cupping his chin in the base of her soft palm. He could smell her hand lotion. Herbal and warm with a hint of yuzu. The pad of her thumb touched his lower lip.

Then her lips were by his ear.

He felt her breath stroke his earrings.

“Can you see anything?” she softly asked.

He almost choked.  Somehow, he held it together. At least, he thought he did. “Fuck no.”

She tipped his head back. He realized he had instinctively closed his eyes under the sleeping mask anyway. He didn’t try to check if he could see but he heard her say, “I’d like for it to be nice and snug. That fine with you?”

He gave her the classic, “Whatever.”

That made her stifle a chuckle at least. Her hand let go of his chin. He let out the breath that he didn’t know he had been holding. He felt her adjust the plastic slider against the elastic so it was a little tighter and added alight pressure. Then he felt her wrist lift his chin and then her warm hand slid down his neck, fanning over his chest. He gasped and then immediately shut his mouth. Her other hand touched his forehead and tipped his head back once more.

Her lips brushed against the edge of his.

“Ready to get tied up?”

No, Jungkook was not ready. His heart was beating in his throat and cutting off all his air. His blood was on fire. What was scaring him was not what was happening but his reaction to it. The epitome of desire was too physical. It was freaking him out. Her name escaped his lips. He did not like the way it sounded to his ears. Hopefully she didn’t catch any of the nuance.

“Mhm? What’s wrong?” Her breath mixed with his breath.

He sucked in air. “You know what you’re doing, right?”

She kissed him.

He didn’t expect that at all. If it wasn’t for the damn chair, he would have tumbled to the ground. It was only a press of lips to lips, lasting for perhaps one very long second. Her lips were very soft. Plush. Fun to kiss, he had always thought to himself. And then she pulled away with a satisfied sigh.

“I know what I’m doing. Do you remember the safe word?”

He heard her pick up the scissors.

-

“I’m not going to need the safe word.”

You rolled your eyes. He couldn’t see it, thankfully. You could only control yourself for so long. You stood behind him, holding the velvet ribbon and scissors. “What’s the safe word?” you repeated, more sternly this time.

“Yanggaeng.” Jungkook scoffed like a bratty kid that wasn’t getting his way. If he didn’t look so good naked and if you didn’t have the patience, you would have called this off by now. “You’re not gonna get all crazy on me, are you?”

Was it your imagination, or did he sound a little bit scared?

This probably wasn’t the time to bring up snuff films. “Good thing you have the safe word,” you remarked, crouching down and unraveling the ribbon. The cranberry-colored ribbon had weight and a sleek pile. It was the high-quality velvet. The price was still on the paper spool. Damn. His family must have gotten some nice gifts. You snipped off a decent length and called out to him. “Bring your hands back here.”

He hesitated for a second. You waited. His shoulders shifted and he crossed his wrists behind the folding chair. The muscles of his arms stood out, one bare and the other accented by dark, colorful, swirling tattoos from hand to shoulder.

You did smile.

What? His obedience was cute.

But you took a moment to readjust so his hands were side by side instead of crossed. You also turned his wrists inward so the pressure points wouldn’t be stressed. He would probably twist and move around eventually but you preferred to start off like this. You made sure there was some distance between his hands before you made a loop and began wrapping around both wrists.

“How do I know that you would even listen if I said the safe word?”

“I’m not going to gag you,” you replied a matter-of-factly. After a few wraps, you turned the ends perpendicular to the loops and crossed them before beginning to weave them parallel to his extended arms. “You can yap however much you want.”

“Yeah, but are you gonna listen?”

You paused before making the knot. “You don’t think I will?”

“I dunno. What if you go beastmode or something?”

Ah. You brushed aside your initial hurt feelings once you realized he wasn’t personally attacking your character. “If I could go beastmode, I would find a way to make money off it, not use it on you when you’re tied up like a Christmas present.” You tied a square knot. Fuck it. And added a bow to finish it off. You saw him test his restraints.

“… You do know what you’re doing, huh?”

“I keep telling you that and you keep not believing me.” You unraveled another long length and snipped it off.

Jungkook heard it and flinched. “What are you doing now?”

You were about to cut another one to match but you stopped. “I’m going to tie your ankles to the legs of the chair.”

“O… Oh.”

“Unless you don’t want me to.”

“I… It’s whatever.”

You felt a muscle in your cheek twitch. “Do you want to stop?”

He shrugged as much as he could. “Up to you. You’re in charge, right?”

You had not known Jungkook on a personal level for very long but you had enough intimate moments to know when he was being a cocky lil shit. It was mostly a bluff of false confidence to hide his nervousness. But it was annoying. He was basically low-key making fun of you. Well, not you specifically but BDSM in general. Probably unintentionally and out of ignorance, which was why you hadn’t brought down the axe yet. You licked your teeth, thinking.

He called your name.

In the same way he did before, when you had been holding his chin and asking if he was ready to be tied up. Low. Breathless. Fleeting, as if he didn’t want you to really hear it. You softened slightly at that. You cut the last length and let him hear you put the scissors and ribbon back onto the coffee table. Your misgivings would probably resolve themselves. You trusted him that much, at least. Whether or not that was a mistake would soon be known. Still, you had to teach him a lesson. You couldn’t let him think you were going to tolerate these comments forever. Then you got an idea. An awful idea.

You got a wonderful, awful idea.

You smiled the entire time as you bound his ankles to the legs of the chair.

-

“You scared?”

“Not really.”

This was fine. Everything was fine. Jungkook was not scared. One, because he totally wouldn’t be intimidated by a girl. Ever. Yup. Not him. And, two, because she had assured him that she was not going to go crazy on him and she totally wouldn’t lie. Right. So. He would be fine. His limbs were getting a bit cold now but his chest felt hot, as if someone was pointing a heater on his ribs. Cooked, if you will. He breathed in deeply yet quietly, trying to relieve the undefinable tension. She was behind him because he heard the click of her claw clip. Must be readjusting her hair. Haha. He was worrying over nothing. It wasn’t like she had whips and chains in her purse.

He heard her breathe in.

He was about to quip, are you nervous, but then he felt her hands close in around his forearms.

Her fingernails skimmed over his skin and dragged down.

He stiffened at the rising tingling sensation. It bloomed from his arms up to his shoulders, crawling down his pecs and into the pit of his stomach. His breath caught in his throat. Did time stop or was it due to the fact that he couldn’t see? Her warm touch closed in the cold backs of his hands. The binding around his wrists was secure but allowed her to turn his palms outward. Her lips touched the pads of his fingers.

She kissed his hands.

Never in a million years did he think she was going to kiss his hands. He was bound to a chair, blindfolded, naked, and the one isolated sensation he could feel was her lips traveling over the lines of his palms. His fingertips. Her breath trailing after. He could hear the delicate sound drifting up from below. He felt her fingers cup his, caressing his knuckles, and shivers slid up and down his body, diffusing the heat from his chest to his limbs. It was weirdly intimate. More intimate than sticking his dick in someone, which seemed fucking impossible, but it was. He didn’t know how to react. His entire body was frozen.

His breathing went shallow.

Her tongue slid out and curled around his right index finger.

Warm. Wet. Agile. His legs were spread open, locked in place by the binds. The towel was still draped over his crotch. He felt it shift when his dick twitched as her tongue licked his hands. There was almost no sound. Saliva dripped down his fingers. He suddenly felt her warm mouth closing in around two of them. She must be low on the ground to do that since his elbows weren’t raised at all. Jungkook bit back what was surely to be an embarrassing sound.

His fingers were halfway in her mouth when she said, “You can make noise, you know.”

Somehow, she was able to enunciate while sucking. His cock twitched again. “W-What are you talking about?” He only stuttered because he had not realized what little breath he had. “You haven’t… Haven’t done anything yet.” His racing heartbeat was choking him again.

She exhaled, low and slow.

His fingers slid out of her mouth with a wet plop. Then into the warmth went the fingers of his left hand, her tongue snaking in between, back and forth. Her pointed fingernails dug into the backs of his hands, almost pulling him. The persistent tingling danced all over his skin. He sucked in a breath. His hands were let go and then it was only her hot mouth traveling all over his fingers and palms. She hummed and the vibration coursed through his entire body. It was foreign and sensual and mind-numbing. She didn’t say anything but she didn’t have to. He kept thinking about how good it would feel to wrap his wet, slippery hands around his growing erection and yet he couldn’t, trapped in her circling tongue.

He shuddered.

His right thumb was pressed against something hard and cold.

It lasted for maybe a millisecond. His brows knitted together in confusion. Then he felt her tongue slide up his right forearm, dripping saliva. Soaking the velvet. He couldn’t feel her hands anymore. The trail of kisses traveled up his arm and to his shoulder. He leaned into it, wanting more.

“Hm. I think I found a nice place to sit,” she whispered.

He would have replied with a snappy comeback but then she started kissing his right ear, melting away his thoughts. Lightly biting. Sucking. Toying with his earrings, and he heard the zipper of her pants unravel. This was familiar territory. He let himself bask in the attention, letting out a satisfied sigh. Then he heard it.

The sound of a camera shutter.

For a moment, he thought he imagined it. He was so focused on the sensations on his right ear that he wasn’t paying attention to the left. He turned his head slightly, puzzled. Her warmth shifted. Circling. He was about to ask if she had heard it too, but then he felt her knee slide between his legs, stopping just so. He became highly aware that she was right in front of him. He moved his head to face the direction of her breath, tilting upwards. He couldn’t see but it was obvious. Her fingers laced into his now mostly dry hair and she yanked. The pain was momentary.

Click.

“Woah!”

 His hands clasped instinctively. He was quickly cognizant of his compromising position. His throat exposed, the towel barely clinging to his erection, dangerously low, and it occurred to him that she was holding his head with her left hand. He heard the sound of the camera shutter again. There was no mistaking it now. Panic shot through his ribs.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Her voice was eerily calm.

“Guess.”

Click.

Her hand turned and the base of her palm pressed against the top of the blindfold.

“Are you taking pictures of me?” he gasped, feeling his face flush hot.

She didn’t answer. She did not answer. He pulled against the velvet ribbon but his ankles and wrists were going nowhere. Her knee on the seat of the chair prevented him from moving it. He would have to throw his weight to one side to break out of her grasp but then she might be injured at the same time. His mind reeled. Click.

“Stop squirming,” she finally said.

“Stop –?” He did not know why he was hiss-whispering and yet he didn’t want to yell in her face. “I didn’t agree to this!”

“What’s wrong with it?” Click. “You take selfies all the time.”

His cheeks were on fire. “That’s… This isn’t the same at all!” He writhed, arching his back. “You can’t… Don’t… Please!”

All of a sudden he felt her chest press against his. Or, more accurately, her breasts. Still clothed, apparently, because he felt the smoothness of the turtleneck fabric and her bra underneath. He stopped raising the volume of his voice. Her face was close to his. He was breathing very rapidly and very shallow.

“What was that?” she murmured.

His head felt hot. His pulse roared in his ears.

“D… Don’t…”

“Just the last part,” she prompted, sweet like poison.

Confusion ate through the tension. “Uh…” He racked his brain. “Please?”

“Hm.”

Click.

Jungkook opened his mouth to protest, but then his lover whispered, “That wasn’t the safe word.”

The safe word.

He felt the edge of the cell phone touch his collarbone.

“Y-Yanggaeng,” he gasped.

She immediately pulled back and lifted the sleeping mask.

He blinked hard even through the red mood lighting wasn’t bright at all. Hurriedly shook his head. Panting. The tension eased down his limbs, melting away. He looked up. She was right there. Her left hand was on his shoulder now, bracing herself. In her right was his cell phone. The back, showing his phone case with a print of black marble with white veining. She turned it around wordlessly.

Jungkook saw his face.

Barely. The front camera was on. The front camera was on. He frowned, confused. Huh? He glanced down at the preview of recently taken photos and it was merely a black circle. He looked up, not quite understanding. She was looking down at him with an undefinable expression.

“Eh?”

She tapped the gallery and showed him the photos. All black screens. She swiped through them until she got to the most recent photo he took – an image of falling snow in the city. It was clear that she did not actually take a photo of him. Not a single one. He tilted his head. She switched back to the camera app and turned the phone around again, bracing it against her chest before he heard the camera shutter sound again. She had used her right thumb to press the button. All of the photos were when the lens was pressed to her covered chest.

“I’m not going to need the safe word,” she echoed hauntingly.

His eyes widened.

She raised an eyebrow.

Oh. “O…Oh.” He felt his cheeks warm again.

“Using the safe word is not just for extreme pain,” she said quietly. Her expression reflected mild disappointment. “I’m not fucking around, Jungkook. The safe word is not a joke.”

“Y… Yeah.” He looked down and then immediately couldn’t focus upon seeing her naked legs. “Yeah. I get it. Sorry.” He realized he should not have made light of something that was now proven to be very important. He looked back up, hesitantly. She seemed to relax due to his reaction. Even half-smiled. Forgiven, for now. “When did you swipe my phone?”

“When I put the scissors down.”

He smirked. “Sneaky.”

She chuckled. “Surprised you didn’t notice me unlocking it with your thumb print.”

He frowned slightly. “I felt it but I wasn’t sure what that was.” He narrowed his eyes. “I was a little distracted.”

Her shadowed eyes sparkled. “I think you liked it more than you let on.” She straddled his thighs, leaning her arms around his shoulders. The towel on his crotch was barely holding on. She didn’t look down though. Just stared into his eyes. “But I had to teach you a lesson.”

“Nuh uh.” He made a face. “You scared the shit outta me.”

Her amusement was subtle like a cat. “That would have been a nasty situation.”

“You know what I mean.”

He could stare into her eyes forever.

He probably should have been madder but she was right to begin with. Plus, it was hard to care when he could feel the weight of her naked thighs on his thighs. It was hard to think when he could almost feel their bodies pressed together with little air between them.

“You can put more weight on me.”

She didn’t take the bait. “I’m good.” Her tongue slid out and traced the edge of her lips.

His eyes followed. He sucked in a breath. Glanced back up.

She regarded him curiously.

“Kiss me.”

She didn’t move. Picturesque in the shadows. Imprinted into his memory.

“Please kiss me,” he breathed, low with want.

She tilted her head and kissed him.

Pulled her body closer and he moaned into her mouth. The towel bunched up against his hard length. He felt the warm dip between her legs. So close and yet so far. She kissed him deeply, the tip of her tongue against his lip, and he craned his head forward, driven by desire. Her tongue slid inside. He sucked on it, tight. His heartbeat against his ribs. Heat rising. Intensifying.

She broke the kiss, tearing his breath apart.

He half-opened his eyes. Her lips were glossy. Gleaming in the dark.

“Hey.”

Her eyes shifted under her lashes. Pupils slightly dilated. “Hm?”

“Take a selfie.”

Bewilderment. “Right now?” She frowned a bit. “My phone is over there.”

His voice was shaking a little. “With mine.”

She pulled back her right hand. The screen was dark. She still looked perplexed but made to get off his lap.

He immediately protested. “No.”

She turned the phone around. His lock screen was his Doberman who was blissfully asleep upstairs. “I need your fingerprint.”

“Use the PIN.”

She swiped the screen with raised eyebrows. Before she could ask, he gave her the answer.

“It’s your birth date.”

Her eyes flickered to him.

“What?” He shrugged as best he could. “I have to remember it somehow.”

She looked like she wanted to say something. Didn’t. Instead, she typed it in. The last open application was already loaded. It was still on the front camera. She raised off his thighs, holding onto his right shoulder with her left hand.

“Uh. Wait. The towel.”

She paused. Looked down. Back up. “What about it?”

He pouted. “Move it.”

Something flitted across her gaze. But she didn’t ask. She angled her hips and lifted the white towel from his lap gently. Upwards, so the edges had clearance before she tossed it aside. He glanced down, just in case. He wasn’t exactly hard. Not completely limp either. He was very aroused. He could feel pre-cum leaking onto the towel under him. His eyes went back to her face. For a split second, they shared a gaze. He couldn’t quite work out her expression. She had touched him before. Sucked him when he was fully hard. But never really seen him completely naked and not hard.

Every guy was self-conscious about that stuff.

She lowered back down and slid up higher. Higher, so the top of her crotch was against his abdomen. He inhaled sharply. She reached around and cupped his head, pressing it to her chest. He almost squeaked. Her thighs pressed against his hips. He wished she was completely naked.

What? Guys thought about that stuff too!

“Only my face, right?”

“Don’t get any of me,” he mumbled to her tits. “I don’t need any pics of myself.”

“You take a lot of pics of yourself. I’ve seen your Instagram,” she chuckled and then he heard the camera shutter.

“I deleted that,” he grumbled as she let go of his head and turned the screen. He could barely make her out but the highlighted details were exquisite. The red light and deep black shadows cast her pretty face with a vampiric glow. She had said she wasn’t into blood play but Jungkook was pretty sure he would let her suck his blood.

“Satisfied?”

His mouth was open. He closed it. “Uh. Yeah.”

She smiled. “You wanna continue?”

It did not occur to him that he could stop all this right now. “What? Duh.” He wiggled in place. “I haven’t even cum yet!”

Her smile grew. “Oh?”

“Hey! You gotta hold up your side of the deal,” he complained, stressed that she wasn’t going to let him bust a nut like this. “Come on.”

She was really serving Cheshire cat now. It might have been the lighting.

“Then it’s lights out for you.”

And she pulled the sleeping mask down, leaving him in the dark.

-

There was no plan. There never was when it came to Jeon Jungkook. You just knew you would end up in some shit whenever you stepped into his place. Like tying him naked to a chair and making out with him while he was blindfolded. You loved the feeling of dragging your nails over his skin. He slipped into the darkness much more freely this time, accepting anything you did. You hadn’t removed your turtleneck or undergarments yet. It added to the ambiance. He could feel the shape of your body but not your skin and it was driving him insane. His breath caught. His body went tense.

You dragged your nails down his chest and followed it with your tongue, slithering down his legs.

His gasps were slowly turning into whines.

You pressed your hand against his hard abdomen.

You lowered your head and drenched his cock with your spit. He wasn’t hard and yet he moaned to the ceiling as you swallowed him, guiding him down your throat with your tongue. You didn’t need to use your hands. You toyed with his thigh, spreading your fingers out over muscle and tapping your manicure against his skin. Moved your head back and forth. He grew harder and harder in your mouth. You kept it soft and excessively wet, sucking out the air at the back of your throat.

His moan rocked through the chair.

You worked him to full hardness rather quickly before pulling off.

“Fuck, what…?”

“Surely you didn’t think it was going to happen right away,” you said with your tongue against his balls. You held his wet dick up and out of the way, drawing one of his balls into your mouth and swirling your tongue. His whole body went stiff. You stroked the underside of his shaft at the same time.

“C-Careful.”

You held it delicately with your teeth and said, “Sensitive?”

He made a sharp sucking sound with his cheek. “A-Ah…”

You eased, pulsing, testing the limit. Licking at the same time. Jungkook made an odd moan-yelp.

“I dunno why, the biting kinda feels good…”

You changed sides, working him with your tongue first. Took him in your mouth, sucking back and forth. Tugging a little at the same time. His erection became hot. You slid your hand up and down, keeping him hard as you chewed lightly on one of his balls.

“Feels tingly…” he murmured, more to himself than you.

You let go and slid your tongue below his balls. Pinched the skin in between your teeth and placed a little more pressure there. His breathless gasp quickly turned into a moan as you sucked while jacking him off at the same time, using your own saliva as lube.

“A-ah, fuck, I’m gonna…”

You released your teeth and licked up his balls, up the length, releasing his cock milliseconds before you crammed it down your throat. His thighs snapped against the seat of the chair. He swore, or maybe that was a prayer, but you were busy planting your hands onto his thighs and sucking him off. You took him deep so he could feel your throat close in, over and over again, keeping a steady pace while building his orgasm. It was easier using gravity to your advantage. You had to spread your knees and hold your torso up so you didn’t hit your chest into anything, but that was easy to adjust to. You slid your tongue along the underside with each descent, hearing his moan drop into a hiss.

“Gonna cum, fuck–”

You pressed your lips into the base of his cock.

You felt his hips flinch and cum shoot into the back of your mouth. It flooded into your tongue, blanketing over the throbbing head of his cock, and Jungkook groaned, his collarbones standing out from the strain. Shoulders and chest tense. His thighs were rock hard in your hands. You felt him twitch. You didn’t move. The wave of orgasm shot up and rolled down, down. Slowly, he relaxed.

You swallowed, savoring it.

He shuddered.

Soft, grazing, lazy. Barely any pressure. You rocked your head up and down, licking up any excess liquid. Your turtleneck was becoming a little too warm. But then that meant your mouth would have to let go of Jungkook’s cock. And he was still hard.

So, that wasn’t happening.

You moved your hands from his thighs.

“Holy…” He panted, struggling to breathe. “Fuck, that feels good… Aaah…”

You drew your knees together. If he was paying attention then he would have heard you, but he was too busy basking the high of the afterglow. Or your mouth was too distracting. Both were possible. You drew closer. Took him a little deeper. Closed your eyes. Time slipped away. You forgot your own heartbeat, becoming one with the rhythm you commanded. Curling tongue. Excessively wet. A tight pocket in the darkness. Licking the lower base as your throat pulsed around the swollen head, and you heard his moan vibrate to the walls, the sound spreading and then falling, drenching you in his wanton want.

He came again.

You didn’t stop.

In fact, you reached between your legs to join him.

“Are you…? O-Oh, fuck. I can hear it…”

You spread your knees and slid two fingers into your pussy, letting it make a loud, wet sucking sound as you pulled out. It was more fun than pleasurable, really. The real pleasure was letting him listen to you fingering yourself while you continued sucking him off. You placed a hand on the seat of the chair to brace yourself, increasing the speed and saliva. It was noisy and obscene, the repeated sticky separation sounds, and you kept going, getting closer, your back tingling, blood burning, closer, tucking your fingers in between your upper folds instead, rubbing your clit, feeling electricity crawl up your abdomen, closer.

You pinched your clit and moaned around his cock.

Jungkook threw his head back and groaned, his hips rising into your face.

You focused only on the head. He orgasmed with a hiss and an intelligible moan, and you tucked him all the way in the back of your throat. Thankfully you didn’t choke. The volume wasn’t as much as the first one. You locked your limbs and felt your own orgasm seep into your bones, setting your nerves on fire in heated blood. Your grip on the chair tightened, unwilling to collapse under the pressure. Wave after rolling wave, scalding you with ebbing ecstasy, and you endured it while licking him clean, feeling reborn. Proud of the session.

Pretty good if you could say so yourself.

You finally removed your mouth, wiping your chin with the back of your hand. You stood up, somewhat shakily, and righted yourself before plucking off the blindfold. You tossed it to the ground. Jungkook’s eyes were still closed. His black hair was damp with sweat. His chest, too, shone with a thin sheen of perspiration.

He panted, “Kiss me.”

“Do you want me to untie–”

“Fuckin’ kiss me now.”

-

She slid onto his aching, trembling thigh. Her lips felt like heaven in the hellfire, gentle against his racing pulse, pressing against his greedy mouth over and over. He could taste a hint of himself in her saliva. He felt the slick lips of her pussy on his upper thigh and he hissed between breathless breaths, “Rub on me, ugh, fuck, yes,” and she curled her fingers into his sweaty hair, pulling him to her. Tugging. Ah. Sweet, delicious pain.

He forgot he was tied up, really. It was just part of him now.

“Take it off,” he grumbled, realizing she was still wearing her turtleneck. It was a nice fabric but he wanted her naked. “How the fuck… How are you not hot in that?”

“I was busy sucking your dick,” she laughed, and he opened his eyes to see her peeling it off her body, crossing her arms. Pulling up and back to reveal her torso. He had seen it a few times already and every time he marveled. She tugged it off her head. It messed up her claw clip, but she looked better that way. More beautiful in chaos. She tossed the clothing aside and unclicked the front clasp of her bra.

Jungkook was convinced bras were made by the devil, but he couldn’t deny the magic of a front-clasp bra opening the gateway to heaven.

“Like what you see?”

He stared at her. She looked amused.

“Put them in my face right now.”

There was a certain rapport when it came to power dynamics. He didn’t know anything about that. Maybe he would get better at it. She laughed and lifted herself, dropping the bra to the ground, half-standing with one knee on the chair, and scooped up her perfect breasts to present those delicious-looking nipples to his face. He didn’t even care that he couldn’t use his hands. Ugh, they were just so perfectly soft and supple. She tasted so good. Was it creepy to think her skin tasted good? He didn’t care. She rubbed her breasts against his cheeks as he sucked, licked, buried his face into them like an excited puppy.

“I think we are losing the plot here,” she joked.

“Don’t talk to me,” Jungkook sighed, self-asphyxiating with her tits.

“I should be taking them away from you if I was really being dominant.”

He unstuck himself and planted his chin in her cleavage, staring up at her.

She looked down, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

He could have offered a witty comeback or even put on his best puppy eyes to convince her otherwise, but instead he stared into her eyes in stunned silence. His limbs were burning, now not from arousal but longing. Maybe also soreness. But mostly longing to hold her. The puddle between his legs was also alarming. His sweat was becoming cold as the seconds marched on.

“Don’t go.”

She tilted her head. “Did you think I was going to walk off and leave you tied to the chair?”

“What?” He frowned. “You’d never do that, right?”

She blinked at him.

“Right?”

“Maybe when you have more practice,” she chuckled. “What did you mean by, don’t go?”

The red mood lighting made her ethereal. “Don’t go home. Stay here with me.”

A pause. “In your house?”

“Yeah?” The way she said it made him question it too. “Uh, yeah?”

She sucked in a breath while pressing her tits against his face. “Huh, I dunno… That’s usually how women get murdered.”

“Hey!” He wiggled in place, or at least as much as he could. “I let you tie me up. You should trust me by now!”

She made a thinking expression. He would be much angrier if her soft breasts weren’t caressing his cheeks. “Mmm, okay. As long as I get to tie you up before we sleep.”

His eyes went wide. “What?!”

“I’ll even put a bow on your head. You would look really cute.”

“You can’t–”

She laughed. “I’m joking. I wouldn’t do that. It’s dangerous.” She slid down his body and pecked him on the lips. “Let’s get you outta these ties.” She was about to say something else but then stopped. Confusion fluttered over her features. Her eyes cast downwards. He felt his cheeks flush warmly.

“Uh.”

“Why are you hard?”

“No reason.”

Those shadowed eyes drifted back up. She gave him a slow, knowing nod. “Noted.” She got up to undo the velvet ribbon ties.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he called out.

“I don’t,” she said from behind him, loosening the knot before rubbing his forearms. “You give them to me.”

Oh shit.

He did.

And would continue to.

--

masterpost

[tteokdoroki]

Denji blushes when you hold his cock hand

☆༉ — DENJI. pretty boy.

about. let’s pretend this ask isn’t years old but yeah actually he does omg :( !! started writing this ages ago but finished for @miguelism mwah <3

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact. characters aged up to 20s, smut, nsfw, handjobs, exhibitionism, praise kink, college!au, gn!reader, roommate!denji.

“denji…”

“uhuh— i mean, uh, yeah?”

“has anyone told you, you’ve got such a pretty cock?”

you feel the entirety of denji’s length twitch within your hold— his head full of sunshine blonde hair falling back on the wall you’ve caged him against. your fingers are soft, pillowy around his thick shaft and your thumb presses to his leaky slit curiously, watching his face for a reaction. “y-you’d be the first…ah—fuck!” denji whimpers, golden brown eyes falling away from the world as you give your wrist an experimental flick, testing the waters on what you can do to him. “that’s nice…that’s real nice.”

you giggle, his precum oozing into the seat of your palm the more you start to jerk him off in the right space of aki’s bathroom. “yeah? i want you to feel good, denji.” you doubt that your roommates would want to be woken up by slick sounds and whiny whistle tone moans, so you step forward and reach out into the dark— pressing your lips against your boyfriend’s in a slow, syrupy kiss.

it’s adorable how he chases the warmth of your mouth, like a moth drawn to a candle flame, when you pull away to check the door only briefly. “come back, baby…please,” he pleads while he feverishly fucks your hand as if he’ll never get the chance to do so again. “feels good when you’re close…when you kiss me ‘n you use…shit, y-your t-tongue on me!” pleading turns to soggy, pathetic whimpers that are muffled by your tongue as you push your way back into denji’s mouth to shut him up.

you make denji feel like he’s going fucking insane, desire ripping through is chest, lewd squelching noises from his cock bleeding arousal all over your hand overlaying his soundtrack of moans and tongue lapping over tongues. opaque white slings around your knuckles as it drips from his creamy tip, only serving to guide your fist up and down his throbbing a little easier — as if it were a makeshift flesh light.

he really is so cute like this — pliant and needy underneath you, his body seizing up at your sensual ministrations and his skin shiny with sweat under the moonlight. the chainsaw devil can’t help but hiccup loudly despite how you pacify him with sweet, loving smooches. tears slip down the apples of his cheeks and track salt along your tongue too where they land at the corner of denji’s mouth. “you look so pretty with your cock in my hand,” praise for denji comes easily to you — he deserves to be cherished, to know that he’s good and loved. squeezing the base of his length, you push your thumb through his seedy slit just to see him cry, circling his bright red and mushroomed cockhead in order to lube him up more.

a pink flush blossoms across the expanse of his milky skin with every pump of his dick and his his head falls back against the wall with a dull thud. you lick your lips at the sight of his adam’s apple bobbing and his body shuddering, revealing to the naked eye just how desperate denji truly is.

“do you think you could cum for me, denji?”

the stutter in his hips tells you the answer, but you want a verbal one anyways — so for a moment, you stop palming his dripping wet cock and wait for his response.

“well?”

“please, i can do it,” he pants, eager to please — his honey brown eyes crazed and delirious. “j-just call me pretty again. ‘nd i promise i’ll—“

even with his back pressed right up against the wall and his shoulders quivering in anticipation of his impending high — denji still towers over you. so you stand on your tippy toes, languidly flicking your wrist to get him off, in order to whisper your command into the shell of his ear. “make a mess for me, pretty boy.” you simper, mouth falling open to mock his moans like you’re right on the edge with him.

denji cums with a shout and his release spills into your spoiled palm like a stream of molten igneous rock, painting your knuckles a gooey white. you have to cover his mouth with your remaining hand, muffling any sounds that escape him since his brain quite literally short circuits, reducing the poor blonde to nothing but tears and brainless babbles.

you do your best to keep him quiet while he twitches through the aftershocks — after all, it would be a shame if some else got to see your pretty boy blushing with his cock out.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[witchingwithscissors]

Divorce Lawyer Rio/Brewery Owner Agatha + I’m 🍃 = this sapphicy AU thing. Ps I’m an elder millennial so I don’t know how to flip the gif so just imagine they’re seated across from each other in your terror dome.

Rio hadn’t meant to stay this late.

She had only stopped into Cinder & Grain because her usual bar was packed, and she wasn’t in the mood for small talk or lingering stares. She wanted a drink, a quiet corner, and maybe a moment to forget she’d spent the last eight hours in her office breaking apart marriages for a living.

She didn’t expect her.

The bartender. Agatha, according to the embroidered patch on her worn-in T-shirt, moved like she belonged to the space. Effortlessly pouring drinks, laughing at someone’s joke, and running a towel over the bar top with absentminded ease. She had the kind of presence that made people lean in, that made a room feel warmer just by being in it.

And, at some point, her eyes caught Rio’s.

She looked once. Quickly. Then twice. Lingering. And before Rio could pretend not to notice, Agatha was sliding into the booth across from her, elbows resting on the table like they’d done this a hundred times before.

“You’re not a regular,” Agatha said, tapping a finger against Rio’s whiskey glass.

Rio raised an eyebrow. “That obvious?”

Agatha smirked. “Whiskey neat? In a brewery?” She shook her head. “Yeah, that stands out.”

Rio exhaled through her nose, amused. “I don’t do beer.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” Agatha said, leaning back like she had all the time in the world. “I was just about to offer you my favorite one.”

Rio smirked. “Would it change your mind if I said I was allergic?”

Agatha tilted her head, considering. “Not unless you’re actually allergic.”

“I just don’t like it.”

Agatha sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “Tragic.” Then, after a beat, “Let me guess… you’re a lawyer.”

That made Rio pause. “That obvious?”

Agatha grinned. “You have that whole I could argue you out of your own drink order look about you.”

Rio let out a short laugh. “I’d be offended, but you’re not wrong.”

“Lucky guess.” Agatha drummed her fingers on the table, studying her for a second. “Wait! Fuck, hold on.” A flicker of recognition flashed in her expression. “You’re that hot witch lawyer, aren’t you? The one from that billboard a few years ago?”

Rio smirked. “Depends. What do you remember?”

Agatha snapped her fingers. “It had a fucking witch pun… ugh what was it? Something like—”

“Don’t Let Them Hex Half Your Assets.”

Agatha pointed at her, grinning. “That’s the one.”

“Wow,” Rio mused, swirling her drink. “A woman remembers my face… from my shitty divorce ad. That’s a first.”

“I mean, you made an impression.” Agatha smirked. “Some part of me wanted to call just to see if you were actually that dramatic in person.”

Rio lifted a brow. “And?”

Agatha’s gaze flickered lower, slow, deliberate. “Still deciding.”

The way she said it sent something warm through Rio’s chest. No, maybe lower.

This was flirting. Definitely flirting.

Rio should have finished her drink, thanked Agatha for the company, and gone home. She had an early morning conference call she had to be on camera for. But she didn’t go home yet.

Instead, she leaned in slightly, watching the way Agatha tracked her movement. “Alright,” Rio said. “Let’s test something, then.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “Test?”

Rio reached for the glass Agatha had brought with her, half-filled with some dark amber brew, the kind that looked deceptively rich and smooth.

She picked it up, took a slow sip, and waited.

The taste hit her tongue. Not bitter like she expected, but something layered, something full, with just the faintest hint of brown butter honey at the end. Good. Really good.

Agatha was watching her closely, eyes flicking to her lips as Rio swallowed.

Finally, Rio set the glass down, tilting her head. “Alright. I’ll admit it.”

Agatha quirked an eyebrow. “Admit what?”

Rio let out a slow, heated breath, voice dipping lower. “I never realized how hungry I was… until I tasted you.”

The words hung between them, heavier than she expected, and for the first time all night, Agatha didn’t have a quick reply.

She just looked at her. Really took her in.

Then, finally, Agatha let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “That was fucking smooth.”

Rio smirked. “I know.”

“You always this bold?”

“Only when it works.”

Agatha’s lips twitched. “And what makes you think it’s working?”

Rio leaned in just a fraction more, voice dipping lower. “Because you haven’t looked away from my mouth since I picked up that glass.”

Agatha drew in a sharp breath, hesitation flickering for only a moment before instinct took over. Her fingers slipped around Rio’s wrist, her touch light but possessive, her thumb tracing a slow, teasing stroke over the rapid beat of her pulse.

Rio’s breath hitched.

Agatha didn’t say anything at first, just let her touch linger.

Then, quietly, “Tell me to stop.”

Rio’s fingers twitched, itching to close the space between them entirely. Instead, she tilted her chin, holding Agatha’s gaze steady. “Not a chance.”

And that was it.

Agatha moved first, sliding closer, brushing her lips against Rio’s in a way that wasn’t desperate, wasn’t rushed… just a slow, lingering confirmation of something inevitable.

The kiss was warm, unhurried. Testing. Tasting. Teasing.

Agatha let her fingers trail along Rio’s wrist, anchoring her there. Rio parted her lips slightly, letting her lean in deeper, letting the taste of the beer linger between them.

By the time they pulled apart, Rio was breathless, and Agatha looked entirely too pleased with herself.

“Damn,” Rio muttered.

Agatha exhaled a soft laugh, thumb brushing against Rio’s wrist one last time before letting go. “That’s one way to convert you to beer.”

Rio huffed, shaking her head as she reached for her glass again, lips still tingling. “I’m still not a beer person.”

Agatha smirked, leaning back, her gaze lingering on Rio’s mouth with clear amusement. “Sure you aren’t.”

A charged pause passed between them only long enough for Rio to feel the echo of Agatha’s touch warm against her wrist. She wanted to stay. Wanted to close the distance again. But instead, she grabbed a bar napkin, scribbled something across it, and slid it across the table, letting her fingers brush against Agatha’s one last time.

Agatha waited until Rio was nearly out the door before picking it up. She raised an eyebrow at the neat digits beneath a single name: Rio. Flipping it over, she caught a hint of laughter in her own breath as she read the note scrawled on the back:

“If you’re still deciding, let me know when you’ve made up your mind.”

Her lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile. Rolling the napkin between her fingers, she slipped it into her back pocket, already imagining Rio’s voice on the other end of the line.

Outside, Rio paused on the sidewalk, glancing over her shoulder through the window. Their eyes met in a heated, unspoken promise.

Yeah.

Agatha would definitely be calling.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

sfw masterlist (contains no smut but may still have mature themes, please heed any warnings!)

a place we could escape sometime words: 2k

rafe being an aggressive lover headcanons words: 800

before dinner words: 350

birthday morning words: 300

crybaby words: 400

drunk words: 700

fruit stand words: 1.2k

hoodie words: 1.1k

jealous words: 200

just friends words: 3.1k

legacy words: 4k

locked in words: 1.7k

m.i.a. words: 900

office hours words: 1.4k

pretend words: 1k

redemption words: 1.2k

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t-ball words: 1k

nightmare words: 350

only a little jealous words: 700

apocolypse words: 3k

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reluctant friends to lovers words: 1.3k

second chance words: 800

how you get the girl words: 900

childhood friends to lovers words: 800

a collection of soft moments with rafe words: 2.4k

live like a kook words: 5.2k

sleepy reader request words: 700

just not home words: 1k

black eye words: 500

talk to me words: 800

party's over words: 1.1k

savior words: 1.1k

who did this to you? words: 1.4k

defending you words: 1.9k

silent treatment words: 900

broken words: 500

emergency words: 1.2k

grilled cheese words: 300

everybody wants him, that was my crime words: 2.1k

wisdom teeth words: 1.1k

bad dreams words: 400

kook princess words: 3.3k

dealbreaker words: 500

love tested words: 1.1k

stupid baby words: 600

orange peel theory words: 1k

grumpy words: 400

i am a rich man words: 1k

girliest girly girl words: 800

destruction words: 1.5k

little protector words: 800

good boys words: 1.5k

tatted words: 1k

girls night guardian words: 1.3k

safe words: 1.1k

the pogues and the princess words: 1.8k

gamers words: 800

the compound part one words: 2k part two words: 2.6k

pink unicorn words: 600

chew toy words: 600

babys first flight words: 1.3k

vodka red bull words: 300

sanctuary words: 900

just add water words: 5k

babysit words: 300

w for wheezie words: 1.5k

out for a run words: 900

keeping secrets social media au

pizza night words: 2.2k

tee time words: 1.5k

deliveries words: 1.2k

separate lines words: 600

followed (part one) words: 1.2k accused (part two) words: 1k

in sickness and in health words: 1k

your friendly neighborhood spiderman words: 3k

finding freedom words: 4.2k

sunny words: 500

vip section words: 400

wax words: 400

yoga words: 1.2k

first moments words: 1.5k

hormonal hunch words: 800

tracked words: 1.5k

eventually words: 700

favorite girl to see words: 700

healing touch words: 700

range words: 700

never truly gone words: 2k

bodyguard words: 2.1k

over the clouds words: 1k

slap words: 1k

escape from isla nublar words: 2.6k

crash words: 2k

gone wrong words: 500

gold ring words: 1.3k

5 acts words: 2k

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Siren song (Sam Winchester x female reader x Dean Winchester)

Sam, Dean and you are working a case - a siren is posing as "the perfect woman" to get men to commit terrible acts. But tensions between the brothers are already running high, and their unspoken feelings for you aren't helping...

Canon-divergent version of s04e14, "Sex and Violence".

My Sam x reader x Dean masterlist

Teen. 7.1k words. Pining. Under the (magic) influence. Sam and Dean fighting. Episode AU.

You walk back into the motel room, one of those carton trays with three cups of coffee in it - black, no sugar for Dean, a little bit of creamer for you, a shot of vanilla syrup for Sam - and despite the fact that Dean is only just waking up and it’s before nine in the morning, tension is already thick between the brothers.

It’s been that way for a while now and you’d think you’d get used to it, but it’s been frustrating. Sam’s sitting on his bed, fully dressed, while Dean is lying in his. You walk up, pass Dean his coffee, which he accepts with a nod, and then sit down next to Sam, sides close against each other, as you pass him his cup.

“Found a job,” Sam says after taking a sip from his drink, giving you a small smile at the added taste, the one he always makes you swear on your life not to tell Dean about. Typical brother things. Except the way they’ve been fighting hasn’t been typical.

“Bedford, Iowa,” Sam continues. “Guy beat his wife’s brains out with a meat tenderizer.” 

“Yikes,” Dean comments, raising his eyebrows at you.

“And get this,” Sam continues, “third local inside two months to gank his wife. No priors on any of them, all happily married.” You pull down the corners of your mouth.

“A psycho husband murdering his wife isn’t exactly our thing,” you note, “they do that all the time.” Dean snorts in reply.

“You’re a romantic,” he says. You give him a sarcastic smile.

“Guess they must get sick of all that tension in the air all day,” you reply. “Early in the morning. Before coffee.” You take a sip from your cup to underline you’re not talking about husbands in Iowa, but Sam and Dean elect to ignore it.

Sam and Dean pose as lawyers and talk to the most recent hubby-gone-Jack Torrance while you run over to the morgue, do your own research. When you come back to the police station, Sam and Dean are just walking out of the interrogation room, both looking spiffy in their suits.

“So,” you ask, turning to walk alongside them, “he all rueful? Misunderstood? She cook his dinner every night but then she chewed too loudly once?”

“He was involved with a stripper named Jasmine,” Sam explains. “He said she was perfect , everything he ever wanted.” You snort.

“Oh, of course,” you reply as Dean pushes the door to the parking lot open, lets you walk through first, “so it’s another woman’s fault?”

“What is with you, Gloria?” Dean asks, voice annoyed. “No, he actually says it was all him. He seemed very clear about it.” Before you can snap back anything, Sam interrupts the bickering between you and Dean.

“Did you find anything?” he asks. You turn, stopping them both in their tracks.

“Yes,” you say, “very interesting actually. All the husbands had tests run on them when they were arrested, regular stuff, blood work, you know?” Sam and Dean nod, both listening.

“And there were anomalies in the blood work, all three of them,” you say, make a short pause for dramatic effect. “Oxytocin. Stupid high levels.” 

“Oxytocin?” Sam asks with a slight frown. You pull out the small note you wrote your findings on from the inside of your jacket, read off it.

“It’s a hormone that’s produced during childbirth, lactation,” you read, then look up, “and sex. People call it the love hormone.” You fold the note and push it back into your pocket just as Dean grins.

“You know what they say about hormones,” he says, “if you can’t even make a–” 

“Oxytocin?” Sam interrupts his brother who shoots him an annoyed look. “You were saying?” You can’t help but smile. This kind of stuff feels like it used to.

“You know how it feels when you first fall in love?” you ask, looking up at both brothers in turn. “The whole weak-in-the-knees, tattoo-your-name-on-my-ass thing?” Dean pulls his head back and his eyebrows up, giving you a surprised look, while Sam inclines his head, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, tries not to let his eyes flick to the part of your body you just mentioned.

“Sure,” he says, the word almost sounding like a challenge for some reason. You shrug.

“That’s oxytocin,” you conclude, then sigh.”Of course then it eventually fades and you’re just stuck with some guy named Steve. That and the painful and degrading process of tattoo removal.” 

Sam chuckles, while Dean starts walking towards the car again.

“I thought the guy’s name was Nick,” he says, giving you a cocky glance when you and Sam follow. “The one you made all the bad decisions for?” You laugh.

“Oh,” you reply, “who said there was only one?”

It turns out the two other murdering husbands have exactly the same story - they loved their wives and then out of nowhere had the overwhelming urge to murder them. They both also went to the same strip club husband number one did - The Honey Wagon. Only their stripper girlfriends weren’t called Jasmine and it seems to be three different women. And all were described by the men the same way: perfect, and everything that they ever wanted. 

“At least until they convinced them to murder their wives,” you say with a sigh. “Love spell?” Sam nods.

“Let’s hit the motel, get changed,” he says. You agree. You can’t wait to go to your room, take a shower. Have ten minutes of alone time in which you’re not worried about Sam and Dean, getting annoyed at each other in the next room over. Dean seems to be somewhat unbothered by the gruesome murders.

“Strippers, guys,” he says, grinning like a fool. “We’re on an actual case involving strippers. Finally.”

You and Sam look at each other, long suffering victims of Dean’s sexual wiles. Which is why you miss the look Dean throws you, checking your reaction, hoping for some indication that you care.

It turns out the two other murdering husbands have exactly the same story - they loved their wives and then out of nowhere had the overwhelming urge to murder them. They both also went to the same strip club husband number one did - The Honey Wagon. Only their stripper girlfriends weren’t called Jasmine and it seems to be three different women. And all were described by the men the same way: perfect, and everything that they ever wanted. 

“At least until they convinced them to murder their wives,” you say with a sigh. “Love spell?” Sam nods.

“Let’s hit the motel, get changed,” he says. You agree. You can’t wait to go to your room, take a shower. Have ten minutes of alone time in which you’re not worried about Sam and Dean, getting annoyed at each other in the next room over. Dean seems to be somewhat unbothered by the gruesome murders.

“Strippers, guys,” he says, grinning like a fool. “We’re on an actual case involving strippers. Finally.”

You and Sam look at each other, long suffering victims of Dean’s sexual wiles. Which is why you miss the look Dean throws you, checking your reaction, hoping for some indication that you care.

“Wow,” you say, looking up at a beautiful tan brunette in a suggestion of a red outfit wrapping a stiletto’d leg around the pole. “Bendy. ” 

Dean makes a face, then moves you along by the arm.

“Don’t make it weird,” he says, but you refuse to tear your eyes away.

“No, no, no,” you say, taking two unwilling steps, “I think I get it now. I’ve been converted.”

“Okay,” Dean says, letting go of you, pushing his fists into his sides, looking like a disappointed mom, which finally makes you look away from the dancer and at him. “You can’t be into this.” You frown at him, your amusement at making him uncomfortable palpable.

“And why not?” you ask.

“Because,” Dean starts, then shuts his mouth, looking away, thinking, before he shrugs. “Because that would make you the perfect woman.” You wink at him, click your tongue.

“Exactly, ” you reply. Just then, Sam walks up to you both. He went to talk to the club’s owner, but by the look on his face you can tell it was a bust.

“Anything?” he asks, and Dean shakes his head.

“I think I might actually have a theory,” Sam continues. “I'm thinking sirens?”

Sam fills you and Dean in on the basics - Greek mythology, beautiful creatures that prey on men, luring them to their downfall. Just like the men that murdered their wives.

“So whatever floats the guy’s boat, that’s what they look like?” Dean asks and Sam nods.

“Yeah, you see, sirens can read minds,” Sam explains. “They see what you want most and then they can cloak themselves.”

“So it could all be the same chick?” Dean asks. “Morphing to look like different girls?” You shrug.

“Could be,” you say.

“So how do we kill it?” Dean asks, voice frustrated.

“Not sure yet,” Sam says, “but even if we figure it out…”

“We first have to figure out who it is,” Dean ends the sentence for him. You nod, letting your eyes graze over Sam and Dean before looking around the club again.

“It could be anybody,” you conclude.

“He killed his mom?” you ask with an uncomfortable expression, sitting in the motel the next day. Sam presses his lips together, nods.

“He brought a stripper called Belle home,” he says as you pull up your legs, feet on the chair and cross your arms over your knees. “Couple hours later, he beat his mother to death. Belle is MIA, of course.” You sigh.

“Jesus,” you mutter, “that’s horrible.” Sam nods, then walks up to the table you’re sitting at, looking over the books you have opened.

“Find anything else?” he asks, looking down. You stand, picking up the book you were reading, holding it with one hand while pointing at something on the page with the other. You have your back slightly turned to Sam so that he can look over your shoulder at what you’re trying to show him.

“So it looks like sirens just look like hot women because that’s what the sailors wanted,” you say, running your finger along the page to show Sam what you’re referring to. There’s no point though. Sam tensed the moment you came so close to him, your shoulder blade only inches from his chest, the smell of your shampoo and perfume filling his senses. He has to fight the urge to close his eyes, inhale your scent and then drag your body back against his.

“But,” you say, and Sam snaps out of his daydream, focuses on what you’re saying, "that doesn’t mean that they can’t look like someone else if they needed to.”

You turn around, seemingly just a little surprised at how close Sam is standing behind you. You take a quick breath, blinking up at him while he swallows, before you collect yourself.

“Uhm,” you say, look down at the book to focus again. “Well, I’m thinking if she looks like a hot stripper to get to those men, maybe, you know, in her off time, she looks like the exact opposite.” Sam narrows his eyes and you raise your eyebrows.

“The club owner?” you ask and Sam raises his chin. "Think about it. She can scope her next victim and no one's paying attention to her in a place like that."

“Of course,how did I miss that?” he says, and you smile up at him, brilliant, proud.

Sam nearly does it then. Leans down, presses his lips against yours. He imagines it for a second, can almost feel it. The way you’re looking at him… is he crazy or does it look like you want him to?

“Sam?” you say and he’s surprised to find you looking up at him with a curious, open face. He steps a little closer to you.

Just then, the door behind him opens, and Sam turns, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Dean walks in, brown bags of food in his arms.

“Hey!” Sam says by way of greeting, overly casual.

With a sigh, you turn to the table, put the book down. Stare at the illustration of the siren, beautiful and terrifying.

Almost as if Sam is avoiding you, you end up on stakeout duty with Dean. While the fact that Sam is being weirdly distant is upsetting, you don’t mind hanging out with Dean. Not at all.

He’s sitting behind the wheel of the Impala, looking out into the darkness and you do the same. He turned up the heating earlier for a little bit when you shivered, so it’s toasty in the interior of the car.

You shift, making Dean look over at you. You turn to him, smile softly. He swallows, looks outside again.

“Looks like our guy is staying in tonight,” you point out, and Dean nods.

“I guess running a strip club and turning a bunch of people into murderers is gonna tire you out at some point,” he says and you chuckle, making him look at you again. This time you don’t look back, so Dean’s eyes stay on you for a second.

“So what is going on between you and Sam?” you finally say, slowly turn to him. Dean raises his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” he says and you give him a challenging look.

“I get that you and him have a buttload of history, of course,” you explain, “but I feel like I'm flying blind.” Dean shakes his head.

“We’re fine,” he answers, “everything’s good.”

“Yeah, right,” you reply. “Look. I don't know what will set either of you off anymore. And then you fight or, which is way worse, both go completely quiet and I just live in this valley of tension all day every day.” You turn fully to him, look at him in a way that makes it impossible for Dean to disappear behind his wall of reflection the way he usually does.  

“Am I a part of this team or not?” you ask and Dean shifts, uncomfortable.

“It's complicated,” he finally settles on. You look down at your lap.

“I guess it is,” you say, voice sad. And Dean can’t stand that, can’t stand that you’re upset because of him, because of his goddamn family drama.

“I’m sorry,” he says, leaning in a little. “It’s… I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.” You look up, at his face, study him for a second.

“You used to tell me things,” you say. “All the time, before… But now you don’t.” Dean takes a slow breath through his nose.

“Yeah,” he says, not sure what else to tell you. It’s been hard, ever since he’s come back. He doesn’t want to scare you away with some of the horrors he’s witnessed. You don’t deserve that.

“I see you keeping everything to yourself,” you say, voice impossibly soft and Dean’s eyes shoot to you, your beautiful face, softly illuminated by the street lamp outside. “And I just wish I could do something. So you wouldn’t have to carry all this on your own.” 

Dean’s gaze drops to your mouth, your lips. They’re perfect. It’s not the first time he notices. He realizes you must have leaned in closer.

“You take care of everyone,” you continue, and then your hand lands on Dean’s, there on the bench between you. “But who takes care of you, Dean?”

You are looking deep into his eyes, then down at his lips too. Dean leans in, almost unwillingly, but it’s too tempting to be close to you. He can feel your breath on his face at some point, sweet and warm, all of you impossibly close as he moves in, does what he has sworn to himself never to do.

Your lips meet, and your hand goes up to run over his ear, down his neck, pulling him in. It’s better than he’s ever imagined. Soft and intense and you’re sort of taking the lead, so he feels like he doesn’t have to. At the same time, a high, quiet sigh leaves you, and Dean knows he did that, pulled that from you. He feels almost dizzy with it all, but then it’s over and you’re pulling back.

You don’t go far, though. You stay close, look deep into Dean’s eyes. Your fingers are still warm against his neck.

“We shouldn't,” he says, voice quiet so no one else in the world can hear because he actually thinks you absolutely should. “I want to, I just...” You nod slowly.

“I know,” you say. A sad smile comes over your face.

“It’s just too bad that I can never have,” you continue. “That I can never totally be yours.” Dean feels himself frown, even though he knows exactly what you mean. As if you’re reading his thoughts, you continue.

“Because you’ve seen the way Sam looks at me,” you say. “And you know he’ll never let us be together.”

Dean pulls his face back a little, stunned. He knows there’s something wrong with this, with what you’re saying, but it’s hard to grasp at it.

“You would sacrifice everything for him,” you say, slightly tilting your head, “and he won’t even let you be with the woman you love.” Dean blinks. He feels confused, like he’s missing out on something. But slowly it’s all coming back to him as you lean in, still looking into his eyes while you give him another slow kiss.

“Are we really not gonna be together just because of him?” you ask, almost a whisper, blinking at Dean. “The one thing you want for yourself, and you’re gonna give up on it? Let him have that, too?” You pause, look down, now almost looking scared.

“Let him have me?” you ask, blinking up at Dean again. “I know he’d never treat me as well as you would.”

“I–” Dean starts, but you move even closer and he can’t talk, can’t think, can’t anything.

“I think you should kill him,” you whisper, your lips moving against Dean’s. “I think you should kill Sam so you and I can be together. Forever.”

And it makes perfect sense. Dean nods, and then he’s reaching forward, one hand going to the steering wheel, the other to the key in the ignition while you lean back with a satisfied smile. 

“Sam?” you say, and Sam looks up. He’s just taking off his jacket. You look around the room. “Where’s Dean?” He frowns.

“He was… with you,” he says as you take another step into the room, shaking your head.

“I went to get us some coffee, for the stakeout,” you say, now starting to look worried that Dean’s not where you expected him to be. Sam tosses his jacket on the bed. “When I came back the Impala was gone. I assumed you had called him about something.” Sam shakes his head and then reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone. He throws you another look after selecting his brother’s number and raising the phone to his ear.

“Dean?” he says into the speaker, then turns to you, shakes his head. “Voice mail.” You cross your arms over your chest as Sam hangs up, thinks.

“Think maybe the siren got to him?” he asks, raising his eyes back to you, but in response you scoff.

“Dean?” you ask, shaking your head. “Dean, who sleeps with a gun under his pillow and doesn’t let anyone get closer than arm’s length to him? I doubt it.” Sam presses his lips together.

“Yeah, but…” he says and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“But?” you ask, voice challenging. “He barely lets you in close anymore, so I don’t think anyone else stands a chance.” You lower your gaze and Sam looks back at his phone, stares at the screen.

He dials the number again, but there’s no response. He’s worried about Dean, but you’re right - he’s not the type to have anyone get the jump on him. When he lowers his phone, you are just looking up at him again. Sam fidgets with the phone in his hands before he pushes it back into his pocket.

“What did you mean by that?” he asks, voice careful. “About no one standing a chance?” You uncross your arms, lay your hands on your hips instead and Sam has to swallow down the urge to stare at them, at the soft shape of you.

“I mean that no one can hold a candle to you in his eyes,” you say, shrug. “Must be tough to be the focus of all his attention all the time.” Sam shakes his head.

“No, it’s…” he says, not sure where he’s going with this. “It’s good, fine, I mean.”

“I’m just saying,” you more mumble than say, “if Dean ran into that siren, it’d probably look like you.” Sam raises his head, grimacing.

“That’s…” he says, “disturbing.” You roll your eyes.

“Not like that,” you reply with a chuckle. “It shows you what you want the most, right? It doesn’t have to be sexual. It just happened to be for those guys. I think for Dean’s it’s… yeah, well, you. Maybe a little less secretive. Maybe with a better haircut.”

Sam shoots you a suspicious glance, and you press your lips together to hide your grin. He huffs, shakes his head.

“Where on the co-dependency scale does that fall?” he mutters, not looking at you. But you only shrug again.

“I don’t know,” you answer. “I mean sometimes it has to be nice, right? To be loved that much.” 

Sam looks up, expression telling you he thinks you’re joking. But then he sees your face, the slight dreaminess in it and he quickly bites back the comment he was preparing. Instead, he shifts around.

“What about Steve the tattoo guy?” he asks. “Or was that Nick?” You smile wistfully.

“That was just… I don’t know,” you say, voice quieter. “Distractions. I’m talking about love.” You take a step towards him.

“Real love,” you say, taking another step, your eyes not leaving Sam’s face. “The kind that burns you alive, makes you feel like you’re flying and falling at the same time, like you only exist for one reason.” 

You’ve made it all the way to Sam, standing close to him while you look up. His gaze runs over your features, features he knows so well but always needs to look away from so he doesn’t get lost in them.

“I don’t even know if Dean can feel something like that, though,” you say, lips slightly parting. “But you can, Sam. I know you can. If you only gave it a shot.” 

“I don’t–” Sam says, but his words get stuck in his throat. Your eyes are glistening, looking up at him with reverence. 

“I can feel it in you,” you continue, your intonation almost hypnotic as you lean your head back a little, basically offering your lips up on a silver platter. “I can feel it burning in you, Sam.”

Sam clenches his jaw. His heart’s beating fast, so fast it’s gonna burst him wide open. He thinks he wants you more in that moment than he’s ever wanted anything before in his life.

He’s about to kiss you, and it’s only because he clenches his fist that his attention is drawn to the phone in his hand. Phone, he thinks, and then: Dean. He clears his throat, just as you are closing your eyes.

“We should go and find him,” he says, his voice surprisingly croaky, and your eyes snap open. There he goes, he’s ruined it. Just like he ruins everything else.

To get away from the hurt and disappointed look on your face, he needs to move. He walks past you and then towards the open room door, grabs his jacket from where he dropped it before turning to you.

“You coming?” he asks, trying to make his voice sound neutral and absolutely failing. You turn to him.

“That’s a shame,” you say, and Sam frowns at you, not understanding. “I really didn’t want it this way, Sam.” 

Sam just manages to open his mouth to ask you what you mean, when someone grabs him from behind just as he hears the door fall shut. He just barely manages to get a look before he’s held fast in place by a grip he knows all too well.

“Dean?” he calls out as his brother drags him backwards, his back meeting the wall before Sam suddenly feels the sharp edge of a knife against his throat. “Dean, what are you doing!?”

His eyes snap to you. You’re still standing there, seemingly unbothered by Dean’s strange and violent behavior. You turn, take slow, languid steps towards Sam that make his blood boil when he understands.

“What did you do, you freak?” he presses out through gritted teeth. “Where is she!?” 

The siren smiles, using your mouth, your lips, the one Sam almost kissed just a minute ago. She lets her eyes roam over the two men.

“Watch the name calling, Sam,” she says in your voice, that voice Sam has heard a million times, the one he knows every inflection of. “That’s not how a nice boy like you should be talking.” 

Sam scoffs, his hands gripping Dean’s arm to keep the knife as far away from him as possible.

“I swear, if you hurt her–” he says but she interrupts him.

“I killed her,” she says, watching with amusement as Sam’s expression changes from self-satisfied to one of horror. “I don’t like getting my hands dirty, but I will if it’s necessary. And I couldn’t have her interrupting us, could I? Plus I got what I wanted. I wanted Dean.”

Sam is frozen for another moment, the realization of what the monster in front of him is saying washing over him, before he starts struggling against his brother again.

“You’re lying,” he almost whispers, his voice failing him. She shrugs.

“Am I?” she asks. Sam turns his head.

“Dean!” he begs. “Come on, man. This isn’t you. You can fight this.”

The siren walks closer to the two, a murderous smile on her, and your, lips. She stops when she’s next to Dean, raises her hand to run it along the back of his head.

“Dean, baby,” she says, “why don’t you cut Sammy a little bit, hmm? Right there, on his neck.” Sam doesn’t hear Dean say anything to confirm, but then the blade is pressing against his skin and a second later he can feel a thick drop of blood run down from where his brother is holding him. She steps back into Sam’s view. 

“Dean’s all mine,” she says, voice low.

“You poisoned him,” Sam shoots back immediately, but she shakes her head.

“No, I gave him what he wanted,” she answers, widening her arms, indicating her form. “Granted, a little more sexually forward. Plus, I’m pretty sure the boobs are bigger.” She indicates them with a grin.

“But underneath it all,” she replies, almost sounding dreamy, “the same girl.” Sam frowns.

“I thought–” he starts, but is yet again interrupted by the monster.

“You thought it would always be a stripper in a g-string?” she asks. “Some mindless, sex-crazed hottie?” She inclines her head. 

“Usually, yeah,” she admits. “So imagine my surprise when I looked into Dean’s noggin and all I could find was this real, flesh-and-blood girl.” She smiles, then chuckles to herself.

“I was just gonna get out of town when I realized I had hunters on my ass,” she says, crossing her arms. “But then I looked into your head, too, Sam.” 

Sam tenses even more, if such a thing is possible. Grits his teeth. He doesn’t want to hear what she has to say.

“And it’s the same damn girl,” she says, face fascinated and happy the way yours looks when you say something that makes Sam and Dean groan but you find hilarious. “It was just too good to let it slide.”

“How nice for you,” Sam hisses. But she just grins wider.

“Can’t tell you what it does to a woman,” she says, eyes traveling over him. “Having two hunks like you fight over her.” Her eyes land on Sam’s face again.

“Delicious,” she adds. “That kind of devotion, plus three dead hunters? Come on, who would pass that up?”

“I’ll tell you,” Sam presses out, “I have fought some nasty sons of bitches but you are one needy, pathetic loser.” 

She almost looks hurt at that, but then she tilts her head the other way, in a move that is completely unnatural to you. It makes Sam’s skin crawl.

“You won’t feel that way in a minute,” she says. Sam just has time to frown, and then she is stepping closer again.

Her hands go up, cup his face from both sides. She needs to press up on her toes, just like you would, but Sam can’t move away, can’t go anywhere, Dean’s hold on him too tight, the knife keeping his head in place. 

Her lips meet his, eyes closed, and Sam presses his mouth shut, even though he knows it’s probably useless. She just keeps kissing him, and Sam tries not to think about how much this is probably what your lips really feel like, how different this would be if it was actually you.

That’s the last thing he thinks. After that, he just feels.

You drop back down, then reach for Dean’s arm, tug at it until he lets go. Sam takes a step forward, looking down at you. You’re just as beautiful as he always knows you to be.

You take a step back, then another, before you raise your hand and then beckon him toward you with your index finger. Sam steps forward as if he’s being pulled by an invisible rope. He hopes, prays, actually, that you’ll kiss him again. It’s all he wants. He’d do anything for it. He’d kill.

“I know you two have a lot you need to get off your chests,” you say, looking from Sam to Dean behind him. You stop moving, allow Sam to catch up with you, standing close to him and turn your head so you can look into his eyes.

“So why don’t you two discuss it,” you explain, “and whoever survives can be with me.” You turn your head, look past Sam at Dean. “Forever.”

It takes Sam everything to turn around, and he clenches his jaw when he sees Dean there. Dean. The only one who can take everything he ever wanted from him. He still feels the itch and burn of the cut on his throat. The cut his brother opened there.

“You really gonna do this, Sammy?” Dean asks, voice heavy like lead. “I’ve done everything for you. Took care of you, killed for you. Hell, I died for you. But you can’t let me have this one thing?” Sam shakes his head, snarls, the disdain for his brother thick in his voice.

“This isn’t about you, Dean,” he answers. “This is about her. Who she wants. Who she needs. You’re never gonna be able to give her what I can.” 

You slowly walk around them in a half-circle, watching them with a fascinated expression. Dean shakes his head, anger boiling right under his skin.

“I can protect her, no matter what it takes,” he says and the corners of your mouth twitch at his self-immolation. “You know I can. But you? You can’t even take care of yourself.” Your head moves so you can watch Sam when he replies.

“You just wanna lock her up,” he says, and your skin tingles with the love in his voice. “Keep her from everything that could harm her. What kind of life would that be?” 

“And you would do it differently?” Dean replies, his tone now becoming condescending. “The two of you against the world?” He scoffs. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Not as ridiculous as the idea of you making her happy,” Sam says, shaking his head. “Come on, Dean. You think you got it in you?” Dean narrows his eyes in response.

“Not like you have the best track record,” he points out and Sam’s upper lip curls.

“You think she’s not just gonna run the other way the minute she sees how broken you really are?” Sam asks.

This time, Dean doesn’t reply. Instead, he pulls his arm back, throws the knife.

Sam telegraphs the move, ducks, and when Dean comes running at him, he sinks his fist into his brother’s face. Dean roars back, delivers a hard right hook that sends Sam reeling, before he is thrown the other way by another punch.

As the two pummel each other, exchanging blows that are meant to hurt, meant to open skin, meant to kill, you stand there, watch them. Your front teeth have found your lip as you watch as these two men who have sworn undying loyalty to each other beat each other into ground meat. Heart beating faster, flushed. This is it. This is love. 

Dean manages to trap Sam’s arm, angles it up with a sick crunch before elbowing Sam in the face. But Sam recovers quicker than he expects, sinks a fist into his gut, and when that makes Dean let go of him, he goes for his face. One, two, three punches, all of the kind that would lay another man flat on his back. He finally does, when the next one sends Dean flying backwards, through the wooden, decorative partition. Sam immediately crosses the distance to him.

“You’re not gonna stand between us anymore,” he pants, as he grabs Dean by the collar of his jacket, pulls him to his feet. He hits him in the face again, pushes him up against the nearby door, but Dean just so manages to flip them, so that now Sam’s back is against the wood. Dean stumbles back, then leans in. You step forward, shuddering breath leaving you. Then Dean runs forward and tackles Sam.

They both go crashing through the door to the other side, groaning and panting. You step into the doorframe, watch them there, the two men fighting over you. Sam seems dazed, having taken the brunt of the impact, but Dean is already moving again, albeit slowly. He pushes himself up, first on two arms, then to stand, before he looks back at you. 

You smile at him, softly, suggestively. Not that you need to. Dean already knows you’re everything he’s ever needed. With you by his side, all the pain and the horror will have been worth it. He knows you can bring out the best in him. He just knows.

His eyes land on the fire axe on the nearby wall and he walks over to it. When he stands before it, he throws Sam another hate-filled look before shattering the glass with his elbow, then taking out the axe. The metal is light and smooth, fits perfectly into his hands. Just like you will.

Sam sees what his brother does, but he’s too hurt to get up. He looks your way when he sees you step towards him. He looks up at you, eyes pleading - surely, you wouldn’t let his brother do this? Surely, you must know that he loves you more?

Dean walks back towards him. He looks down at his little brother, the one who has been the center of his life, the motivation for all his actions for as long as he can remember. Looks down at him, ready to kill. But there is a moment. Just the tiniest one. Doubt. 

“Do it,” Dean hears your voice and he looks up at you. You’re looking at him, eyes pleading. You don’t want Sam, he realizes in that moment. You’ve always wanted him. This is what this has been about all along. Not about which brother could prove to love you more - you’ve secretly been betting on Dean the entire time, just waiting for him to prove himself.

“Do it for me, Dean,” you say, and it all opens up before him, all the possibilities. A life, outside of all this. No blood and guts and pain and nightly stakeouts. Just the two of you. Maybe a little house. Hell, maybe a couple of kids. If he has to get rid of Sam for that…

He looks down, not even registering the desperate way Sam is looking up at you. Because Sam thinks the same things as Dean. Only he wonders if this is a test, if you’re gonna allow Dean to get this close to killing him, to see that he would die for you. If that is the case, he can accept the axe about to sink into his head.

“Tell me again how broken I am, huh, Sam? How I can’t protect her?” Dean says, and then he raises the axe over his head.

You - the real you, not the hateful version of you the siren is portraying - burst into the hallway of the motel. You turn, see Dean there, axe raised above his head, Sam lying on the floor below him. There’s only one explanation for this, as far as you’re concerned.

You rush forward, the knife going into Dean’s arm. He yells and then you turn and you’re looking at yourself. Your eyes go wide and just in that moment, the siren starts running.

There’s a strange moment, something like an out of body experience, where you watch her, but then you catch yourself, raise your arm, and throw the knife after her as hard as you can. You can hear Sam expel a: “no!” but it’s too late.

The knife plunges in her back and she falls forward, hands briefly trying to reach for something before she lands on the floor, body convulsing before it stills.

You quickly turn, look back at Sam, still lying there but scrambling to sit up, and then Dean, who’s lowered the axe, is holding his hand over the wound where you cut him. Both of them look angry, and then they blink, seem confused. They both look at you and then each other, none of you saying a word.

“Look, I told you,” you say, as the three of you are walking outside to the car, duffels thrown over your shoulders. “She came to my room, knocked me over the head and then tied me up. I’m just lucky this asshole couldn’t tie a knot to save her life.” Dean unlocks the trunk, opens it and you put your bag inside, then step aside so the brothers can do the same.

“And you talked to Bobby before that?” Dean clarifies, and you nod.

“Yes,” you reply, as he throws the trunk shut. “I’d just hung up after he told me how to kill the thing when she knocked. Knife dipped in the blood of one of her victims. Like s snake's venom destroying its host.” 

“Why didn’t she just kill you?” Dean asks, frowning. You make a face.

“Because she wanted to come back with one of you to finish the job,” you explain. “She really didn’t like getting her hands dirty, I guess.” The idea that one of them could have been led to not only kill his brother, but the real you as well, in the end, sends a shudder through both Dean and Sam.

The latter sighs. The cut on his neck has been cleaned and you iced the bruise below your eye where you got hit by the siren. Dean’s face is bruised too and you can only guess that he got that from Sam, but you haven’t asked. It seems like a sore topic. Almost as sore as the one you’re about to bring up.

“So,” you say, pushing your hands into the pockets of your jacket. “Do we need to talk about what she looked like at all, or…?”

Sam clears his throat while Dean shifts around.

“It’s…” Sam starts, then grimaces, changes his approach. “We know what that must have looked like, and—”

“I know exactly what it looked like,” you say, then look up, first at one brother then the other. “And I get it.” Sam and Dean throw each other a quick look.

“You do?” Dean asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah,” you reply, “I was the best way to get to you.” You gesticulate, first to yourself then at them. 

“I’m the person you trust. Once she knew we were hunters, she must have known she wasn’t gonna get close to you by, I don’t know, being a Jenna Jameson-lookalike?” You say that part towards Dean, who just has time to raise his eyebrows. 

“Or, or, some hot, confident, studious lady?” you continue, looking at Sam, sort of guessing. “It was just the easiest way to get to you both.” 

Sam and Dean look at each other again. It doesn’t really work as an excuse, but if it means they don’t have to talk about the topic and explain to you what was actually going on, they’ll take it.

“That’s exactly what it was,” Dean says, then moves towards the driver’s side, you and Sam getting in as well.

You pull the door shut behind yourself, get comfortable in your seat.

“All that’s important,” you say from the backseat while Sam and Dean get in, “is that I saved your asses, and I think that means I get to pick the music from now on.” Dean chuckles, nods.

“Keep dreaming,” he says and you pout at him in the rearview mirror. But something is bugging Sam.

“One thing I don’t get,” he says, shifting in his seat so he can look at both you and his brother, but addresses you. “You said the siren knocked.” You raise your eyebrows.

“Are we shocked the monster had manners?” you ask and Sam smiles, but shakes his head.

“What did it look like for you to let it in?” he asks. You pull your shoulders up, blink.

“Brad Pitt,” you say. Dean narrows his eyes at you in the rearview mirror. “In–in Troy, where he wears that skirt and has the hair. But like, mixed with Will Smith in Independence Day. ” Now Dean turns too, not believing his ears.

“What?” you ask, hoping you’re not giving anything away as you look at the brothers in turn. “What? ”

“And you let this strange crossbreed into your room?” he asks, voice unbelieving. “Just like that?” You open your mouth, then close it.

“I–” you begin, stuttering a little.

“You’re way too paranoid for that,” Sam points out. 

“I’m not paranoid,” you correct him, but it doesn’t make the brothers turn back around. They are still obviously waiting for another - truthful - answer. You press your lips together, unwilling to give so much as an inch. So instead, you go on the attack.

“Why were my siren-double’s boobs bigger than mine?” you ask, eyebrows raised, challenging looks thrown at Dean, then Sam. 

They look away from you, at each other, then turn towards the front. Dean reaches forward, starts the car, the last tape you listened to suddenly beginning to blare out of the speakers. Without another word, Dean maneuvers the car off the lot. It’s a surprise he doesn’t drive straight into oncoming traffic with the nervousness and terror at being found out warring in his chest.

But then he looks up, into the rearview mirror. You’re sitting there, nail of your thumb pressed between your teeth, eyes looking outside like you’ve been caught at something. Dean swallows, looks at Sam, who seems to be about as doom-struck as he is. 

At least the three of you have that in common.

[lelengerine]

pairing. jeno x reader

synopsis. based on this req!

genre. not so confession au, just jeno getting his world shaken hehe, reader uses she/her prns and is implied to be female, reader is DENSE and im putting that lightly... lmk if anything was missed :D

wc. 1.4k

notes. anonie i support u fully because THIS IS SOOO HIM >< highly recommend listening to crazier by le sserafim for this one! sorry it took a while TT i was trying to see if my tags would fix but sadly that isnt the case... likes and feedback are highly appreciated!

m.list

you’ve always been jeno’s constant, his best friend, the person he shares his dumbest jokes with, the person who never fails to laugh when he falls out of the race track at mario kart, the person who knows when to cheer him up without him needing to say much. there was always an ease between you that others would envy, the kind of closeness that lets you steal fries off his plate without thinking twice or crash on his couch for hours without either of you caring. 

that’s just how your friendship was.

at least, he needs to keep reminding himself that was how it was between you two because his thoughts were beginning to steer in the opposite direction. lately he had become hyper aware of your presence, noticing the way the bridge of your nose would crinkle ever so slightly when you smile, how you completely disregard his personal space to sit beside him closely, and even your reliance on him when you can’t seem to twist the lid of a particularly stubborn jar off. it was always the subtlest of things that lingered in the back of his mind, and he couldn’t pinpoint why. 

though, it seems like his friends were more than aware of the answer he was searching for from the way they were teasing him during one of your spontaneous meetups in his dorm.

you and jeno sat side by side on the couch, surrounded by the familiar chaos of his friends. chenle and jisung, as usual, had been locked in a heated game for the past hour, their playful bickering filling the room. across from you, renjun and jaemin watch the scene unfold in their usual, quiet way, content to simply observe. you’re half-tuned into whatever conversation was floating in the air, mindlessly scrolling through your phone—with the occasional nudge to jeno’s shoulder, sharing a meme or video that made you snort on the inside, the casual, easy comfort between you both flowing naturally amidst the background noise.

haechan who was lounging lazily on the opposite end of the couch, passes jeno a look—a sly, knowing smirk that immediately puts the latter on edge. there’s always a hint of mischief behind haechan’s smile, but for some reason, it felt even more suspicious today.

“so,” haechan begins, stretching the word out, eyes never leaving jeno. he leans forward slightly, as if settling in for something big. “what’s been up with you lately, man?”

jeno raises an eyebrow, confused but wary. “what are you talking about?”

“oh, you know…” haechan waves a hand in the air, his smirk widening into something too smug for comfort. “you’ve just been acting a little… different.”

“different how?” you chime in with sudden interest. “did he start doing something weird?”

“not weird, just... off.” jaemin continues the bait haechan’s laid out, the innocent smile plastered on his lips testing jeno’s patience to not go over and close his mouth shut before it starts spewing nonsense.

“off?” jisung perks up from the floor, focus starting to shift away from the large screen in the room. “what do you mean by off?”

“oh, he’s definitely been weird for weeks now,” chenle adds, jumping into the conversation with a grin, catching onto his friends’ intentions fairly quicker than others.

jeno shifts uncomfortably, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t forget to shoot chenle a glare after joining the rest and their sudden urge for mischief. “i’m not weird. you guys are just being paranoid.”

“nah, you’ve definitely been jittery. more than usual.”

“yeah, i noticed it too.”

“jittery?” you ask, your confusion deepening, causing your forehead to form subtle creases. “why would he be jittery?”

before jeno can respond, chenle cheekily cuts in after pretending to ponder on his thoughts. “i don’t know, maybe something’s been distracting him.”

haechan snorts, clearly enjoying the whole spectacle a bit too much. “yeah, pretty distracted, don’t you think?”

you frown, gaze drifting towards your best friend. “is he losing sleep over video games again?”

chenle bursts into laughter, occasionally hitting jisung by the shoulder. “oh yeah, totally video games,” he teases, the sarcasm thick in his voice for anyone to pick up on. “he’s definitely been staying up all night thinking about those.”

"shut up," jeno mumbles, his ears burning as the heat creeps up his neck, trying to fend off the rising embarrassment. with every pair of eyes in the room glued to him, the pointed stares and teasing smirks are becoming impossible to ignore.

"this is so weird," you mumble, glancing between the boys. the playful tension crackles in the air, but you're completely clueless, unable to grasp what was so funny or why they were all being so persistent today.

mark, who’s been quietly observing from the kitchen, finally steps in after the conversation piques his interest. “maybe it’s a girl,” he waves the gentle suggestion in the air, and despite his tone being casual, you easily could tell he was just as in on it as the rest were.

the room falls into a brief, stunned silence. the first of the night.

you choke on your own breath, turning sharply to jeno, feeling a bit betrayed that he’d kept this from you. “jen, you have a crush and didn’t tell me anything?”

jeno’s brain goes into overdrive, panic flooding his chest from the thought of you getting the wrong idea. “no! what are you even talking about?” he sputters, flustered beyond belief. 

as if there weren’t already enough misunderstandings, haechan dramatically nods, paying no heed to jeno’s frantic denial. “oh right, he’s been losing sleep over someone. the poor guy’s probably been agonizing over it.”

jeno’s pulse races, the teasing voices of his friends blending into a chaotic blur. he couldn’t explain it, not when he doesn’t fully understand it himself, but his mind immediately thinks of you. the way his stomach twists when you’re around, how his heart picks up pace whenever you smile—that jittery feeling jaemin mentioned... it’s all starting to make sense in the worst possible way.

there’s a moment, as the others keep prodding and nudging at him, where it clicks. he’s always been comfortable around you, always enjoyed your company, but now—with their teasing pushing his thoughts into overdrive—it feels different. the way his heart seems to lurch every time your shoulder brushes his, how your laugh makes his chest bubble with a ticklish feeling he can’t explain, the way his thoughts keep drifting back to you even when you’re not around.

do i… like her?

the realization hits him like a freight train, and suddenly, all the pieces that were once scrambled come together one by one. the teasing, the jokes, the way he’s been acting lately—it all connects into one perfectly clear line. he’s fallen, and he didn’t even realize it, and now, with every single person in the room staring at him, he feels like the biggest idiot on the planet for not seeing it sooner.

“i don’t…” jeno starts, his voice low, struggling to find the right words as they stick to his throat. his gaze flickers to you, sitting there still utterly confused by the entire conversation.

“oh my god, jeno’s speechless,” jisung deadpans, eyes wide in slight surprise. “this might be the first time in history.”

“must be serious,” haechan chimes in and from what you could tell, there’s no ounce of worry in his tone. instead, the boy is grinning widely, like a cat who’s caught the canary.

jeno can’t find it in himself to respond, the load of the realization still sinking in, heavy and overwhelming. even jaemin, who’s usually more subtle, can’t help but throw in a quick, “just admit it, jeno. we all know.”

you huff, still frustrated and completely lost. “am i seriously the only one not getting what’s going on here?”

“sadly, yes.” haechan confirms with a muffled snicker from his end, leaning back into the couch, enjoying this far too much.

jeno glances at you again, feeling his chest tighten. his head is spinning, his thoughts racing. you’re oblivious to all the teasing, still in the dark about what’s really happening, and maybe that’s for the best. maybe it’s easier if you don’t know—at least, not yet.

“i… i need to get some air,” jeno announces abruptly, standing up from the couch and bolting for the door before anyone can stop him.

“...should we go after him?” you propose, biting your lip out of nervousness, not having seen jeno act this way in all the years the two of you had known each other.

“just let him be for now.” chenle pats your shoulder out of genuine consolation, “he’ll find his way back to you.”

[milf-murdock]

The Scare: Part II

A/N: Y'all this is filthyyyyyyy. Absolutely fucking disgusting and I cannot get enough of it omg. I think I blacked out while writing this.

Check out Part 1 here

Warnings: Dark!Simon AU, breeding kink, pregnancy mentions, baby trapping, creepy behavior, red flags (dreamy), and if there's anything else I need to tag just let me know!

Putting the read more right at top because babes we are just jumping right into it ;,)

Simon is legendary when it comes to details. Nothing gets past this man. Especially, when he’s on a mission. And right now? Simon was a man on a mission. 

“Fuck babe,” he grunted as he pressed your legs even farther back, your knees nearly to your ears. “So fuckin’ tight.” His thrusts were deep, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with every thrust. 

You were beyond response. Not only had he made you come on his fingers while he sucked on that pretty little clit, but he’d made sure to put a couple pillows underneath you, propping up your hips for him, opening yourself to a new angle that had you seeing fucking stars. All you could do was moan and gasp as Simon gripped your hips and drove his cock into you at a relentless pace. 

He had seen this position online, when he was conducting his late-night research on a private, completely locked-down browser, searching up the best ways to get you pregnant. 

___

He knew that he needed to lock you down, to ensure that there was no way you were going anywhere. He wanted you all to himself. And he wanted everyone to know just who you fucking belonged to. 

You’d be the prettiest mum, Simon thought to himself as he scrolled through the online articles, absentmindedly stroking his cock. You were fast asleep in the next room, and he was so thankful. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, round with his baby, heavy breasts, your supple curves growing even more. His fist moved faster, sliding over his thick cock, pulling back the skin to tease the bright red head. If he got you pregnant now, you’d be due just at the end of summer. The thought of you in one of your gorgeous sundresses, heavily and adorably pregnant with his baby, was enough to send him over the edge, hips rutting up into his hand. He tried to conceal his groan as the hot spurts of come landed on his bare chest. 

___

Simon is phenomenal when it comes to details. Which is how he has your cycle fucking memorized. Which is why he has you spread on your bed, legs in the air, pounding into you with everything he has. 

He knows this is your ovulation window. Sure, he had made sure to fill you up yesterday, and he’ll make damn sure to fill you up tomorrow, too, just to be safe. But today? Today was when you were most fertile. He knows, because he’s been secretly tracking your ovulation, taking your temperature while you sleep to make the most accurate prediction. He had been so disappointed to see that negative test last month. His hopes had been so high when he saw that you were late. Only to be dashed the next morning when your period had started. He coddled you through it, of course, bringing you medicine, hot tea, heating pad, endless snuggles. But the whole time, he was planning how this month would be different. 

He’d knock you up if it was the last thing he fucking did. 

___

“Such a good girl, taking my fuckin’ cock,” Simon groaned, pulling back his hips, all the way so just the tip rested inside you. 

“I can’t—it’s too,” you sputter, absolutely cock drunk. 

“Ah, but you can, love,” Simon smirked to himself as he thrusted deep into your weeping pussy, all the way to the hilt. He reveled in the way you screamed in pleasure. He continued the pattern: pulling out, thrusting in, picking up the pace. His heavy balls bounced off your ass as his pace picked up. You were getting close, he could tell, your body starting to stiffen, your cries getting louder. He used his broad hands to grab your hips and hold you steady as he hammered into you, relentless in his pursuit. 

“Gonna come for me, dove?” He teased, his voice deep and earnest, filled with lust. He needed you to finish. He’d read an old wives tale saying the seed was more likely to take root when the mother finishes. The thought alone nearly had Simon coming right then and there. Your shaky voice brought him back to reality. “Yes, uh huh, don’t forget—“ you screamed as he thrusted in you particularly hard. “Pull out,” you mumbled, hazy in the oncoming fog of your orgasm. “Fuck Simon, fuck, fuck FUCK,” you screamed as your orgasm overtook you.

Simon watched as your eyes rolled back into your head and your back arched off the gentle stack of pillows, pushing your breasts forward. Simon couldn’t help the mental image that popped into his head: you, swollen with his child, those same breasts full of milk, ready to nourish your child, his child. Everyone would know how he had pleased you, claimed you, made you his. 

Simon’s hips stuttered as he came, a resounding growl of pleasure escaping his lips as he slammed into your cunt a final time. His seed flooded your cervix, filling you with a warmth you were too blissed out to recognize. Ropes and ropes of his spend filled you,  his cock twitching inside you, as Simon pressed his face against your chest, breathing heavily. 

“Fuckin hell, love,” he moaned. “Gonna be the fucking death of me.” 

He slid his softening cock out of you, careful to use his fingers to scoop any escaping seed back into your aching cunt. He silently tutted to himself. We can’t be having that, now can we? 

[whoopsyeahokay]

Alphabet Soup

summary: prompt fill. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it.

pairing: grey!Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. cheating (not on you). egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - C

C is for Wally's competency and control on and off the field. That single-minded focus that he puts toward the task at hand. He's not a show-off, doesn't flaunt his skills unless the showmanship is called for—"And that's another touchdown assisted by 57!"—you know, those times when the crowd is chanting his name and Coach is punching the air.

It may be hard to believe, but Wally dedicates a lot of time to learning about what interests him. Does the research, collects the tools, and works himself hard until he has it mastered before he shares what he's capable of with others.

This dedication earned him employee of the month at Reggie's Auto Repair several months in a row; big hands making quick, greasy work of mistreated car parts. It's how he helped his grandfather remodel his mama's kitchen; expertly cutting pieces of wood for new cabinets; drilling in the finished product; smearing mud on the wall to set the new backsplash his mama swooned over at Home Depot.

Point is, Wally's gets really fucking good at whatever he puts his mind to. And, these days his mind is almost exclusively occupied by you. A cyclical kaleidoscope of things he's learned about you on auto-play from the moment he wakes up to the moment he passes out.

He wants to learn more—everything—about you. Your favorite food, color, season, show; your stupid star sign, fuck, e v e r y t h i n g. And he will. Because that's what Wally does. He absorbs facts like a sponge and sticks them in his arsenal to use when he needs to.

Wally wields his knowledge like a weapon in the bedroom, noting every sound you make as he tests the waters. He's draped over you, propped up on an elbow, watching your face for clues as his hand tracks down down down your side to your hip to your thigh. Squeezes hard enough to leave prints and lifts your leg to hook is around his waist.

"You want me, baby?" He asks, grinding against you, your skin and his wet with too much black cherry lube. His breathing is ragged, voice strained, hips a maddeningly slow back-and-forth as he teases those sounds out of you. "Want me inside you?"

He dips in, brushes his lips over yours once, tickle-soft, before truly pressing in with teeth and tongue. The kiss is dirty, hard, deep, but the roll of his hips remains at that too-slow pace.

"Want me to make you feel good, baby?" He pinches your nipple between thumb and index. He smirks, proud and so fucking turned on, when you grab him by his necklace and drag him into another kiss.

It's all he needs to convince him to stop teasing, line himself up, and rock into you with one hard thrust. Your mouth falls open, eyes squeezed shut, expression open and pink and so fucking beautiful it takes everything in Wally not to bust a nut right then and there. You've done quickies in the locker room, fast ones in the car, and as hot as all that is, Wally wants to see what you look like when he fucks you slow.

He can last for a while. Has made a fucking point to learn how to prolong his own pleasure so he can give you yours and he isn't going to consider coming until you're a mess beneath him. Sobbing and begging and needy for him to fill you up. And you will be. Because he's learned, hasn't he?

Reaching under the pillow beside you, he pulls out something he's been aching to play with. He shifts, up and back, sitting on his haunches as he turns you onto your side. You make such a pretty picture, hair fanned out, eyes glazed, lips bitten pink and pouty.

"Gonna be a good girl for me?" Wally presses the button. The wand starts to vibrate, low at first and then harder as he adjusts it. "Gonna let me play with you?"

Before you can respond, Wally places the head of the toy against your clit at the same time he rams into you. A choked-off moan, head thrown back, fingers clawing Wally's chest, arms, hips.

"That's it baby," He coos, rolling his hips, in and out, cock grazing every nerve-ending inside you, fat tip hitting your g-spot on every upstroke. "That's it, fuck, you're so hot, baby," Wally groans and he can't look away, has to watch you tremble apart over and over as you convulse around him.

Minutes later, "You're gonna make me come," he warns, listening to your mewls and moans and pleas for mercy, too much, please, Wally, I can't please please please, I can't.

And it's blinding; a long, flushed, thunderous feeling when Wally comes inside you, grinning like an idiot because he's learned more about your threshold for pleasure-pain and plans to use that knowledge over and over again, until you can't think of anything else but how good Wally makes you feel.

🧿___________________________

MASTERLIST

also available on AO3!

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[romirola]

The Prince Shifter: A Redactedverse/Princess Bride AU (1/22)

Read the Prologue of The Prince Shifter on AO3 here!

Summary: To help Caleum wait out his first experience with Magical Depletion Syndrome, Gavin offers to read him a very special book, The Prince Shifter, a tale of fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, shifters, stealths, vampires, chases, escapes, true love, and miracles!

When Alexis, Princess of Dahlia, selects commoner shifter David Shaw to be her husband, his whole world is turned upside down. Wasn’t it bad enough that his mate, Angel, was lost at sea? To make matters worse, just as David resigns to his miserable fate to marry the royal vampire, a pack of three kidnap him and his cousin. But they’re no regular kidnappers: Asher is overcoming a traumatic past, Milo is devoted to tracking down his mother’s murderer for revenge, and Sweetheart is carrying a grave secret about Dahlia's political stability. Meanwhile, a mysterious, masked stranger complicates the kidnapping and "rightfully steals" away David. Before long, everyone finds themselves in the middle of a daring adventure as they put the bonds of their love to the ultimate test.

As always, any and all feedback is welcome and cherished. Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy!

More details under the cut!

Rating: T; WC: ~40K words across 22 chapters.

Characters: David, Angel, Asher, Babe, Milo, Sweetheart, Alexis, Quinn, Gavin, Freelancer, Caelum, Sam, Darling, Damien, Huxley, Lasko, Avior, Kody, Blake, Adam, Avior, Porter, Vincent, William, Marie, Gregory Keaton, Brachium, Morgan

Pairings: Angel/David, Asher/Babe, Milo/Sweetheart, Damien/Huxley, Sam/Darling, Freelancer/Gavin

Tags: AU, Fairytale, Romance, Love, Mate Bond, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Suspense, Adventure, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Banter, Trust, Revenge, Duels, Torture, Escapes, Chases, Kidnapping, Nonconsensual Trancing, Rescues, Found Family, Bravery, Grief, Miracles, Healing Magic, Hope, Happy Ending, True Love, Framing Narrative, Adult Language, All Listener Characters are Gender-Neutral, Pack Feels

This story should come as no surprise to anyone. The Princess Bride is one of my favorite films. I adore all things Redactedverse. It was only a matter of time. For longer than I’d like to admit, I’ve been thinking about how to blend these two wonderful pieces. I humbly offer you, dear reader, the product of those thoughts.

Shoutout to @userkatekane for graciously creating art to accompany this story, which will be linked for each chapter. Follow them for amazing art!

Shoutout to @us3rnam3-r3dact3d for being so very supportive as I drafted the fic and suggesting the use of the Dread Pirate Keaton. Follow him for more fun Redacted content!

Shoutout to William Goldman for writing the film that inspired this fic!

Taglist: Empty. Would you like to be tagged in updates to this story? Please let me know!

[tracklessreason]

Hive Prime AU. Anyways...

Ratchet's turn!

So Ratchet has been a little obsessive over the changes to Bumblebee's frame since he became a Prime. He wasn't there to study Optimus when he first obtained the Matrix, so this has been a pretty big medical opportunity for Ratchet. He's run a lot of tests and compared the data to Optimus' vitals to track differences in how they handle the energy of the Primes.

Something is wrong though. Hive's vitals...they aren't normal. There's fluctuations in his EMF field comparable to a very sick bot, his T-cog shows signs of damage you would expect in a mech several times his age.

Ratchet doesn't know if he should say something. He has no basis of knowledge for if this is normal wear and tear of being a new Prime, or if he should be seriously worried about Hive. He would talk with Optimus, but despite efforts to hide it, it's pretty obvious that Hive Prime is still fully aware of what happens when other Primes have control of his frame. Ratchet doesn't want to tell him yet, not until he's sure...

Please ask me about Hive Prime AU. I will literally tell you anything.

[steviestits]

In The Family Way - Part 3.2

Written for an anon prompt, which can be read in its entirety on this fic's masterpost.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Background Argyle/Jonathan Rating: T Summary: The Munson family has never had the typical values that most modern Americans have as they find thrill in all that's mysterious and spooky. Steve Harrington, a black widow omega, hadn't known this when he mated with the family's eldest alpha, Eddie, and thought that he'd be another easy mark that he could kill to inherit the millions that Eddie owned. However, not only do all his murder attempts fail, but Eddie actually enjoys them! And to make matters worse, the alpha wants to try for a pup! Steve has to find a way to off Eddie for good, before he gets pregnant and maybe actually falls for the death-crazed alpha. (Addams Family Values au set in the Omegaverse after the events of the movie with Steve as Debbie and Eddie as Fester) Trigger Warning: Attempted Murder as a love language, Mpreg

(Link to previous part)

As time went on, however, Eddie noticed that Steve’s heats never came, and Eddie never felt even remotely close to going into a rut. If they were unmated, there wouldn’t be any correlation, allowing Eddie to go into one as his primal instincts searched for an omega to breed. Since they were mated, the alpha in him would only allow his omega to bear his pups, so him not feeling an oncoming rut, meant that his omega wasn’t getting close to his heat.

Worry slowly set into Eddie that something was wrong. The reason Steve’s absent heat could’ve been because he was already pregnant, except all the tests Steve took came back negative. Eddie kept reminding himself that all omegas were different, but the alpha in him couldn’t help fretting over his omega. What if he was sick and needed medical attention? Wouldn’t he be a bad alpha if he didn’t get the utmost care for his omega, and get that care promptly?

The war between giving Steve his privacy and checking on the omega waged inside Eddie’s mind until he reached his breaking point. They weren’t doing anything out of the ordinary as it had become their routine to wake up in the morning then grab a pregnancy test to see if one of their previous attempts had taken. It had become something didn’t even have to discuss anymore, with this simply becoming a part of their routine.

There was one difference today, though. Steve typically waited in the bathroom, but now he sat with Eddie in the living room. He nervously tapped a lighter against his forearm. Neither of them smoked, at least not cigarettes, and Steve’s lighter had been used more often to help light Eddie himself aflame than anything else. In fact, Eddie could see a glint in Steve’s eyes that he was planning to torch the alpha at any second now.

“Maybe we should stop,” Steve said suddenly. “Stop taking these tests. They’re never positive, so this is just a waste of fifteen minutes of our time. We could get to fucking a lot sooner if we stopped checking for something that wasn’t going to happen.”

Eddie’s brow furrowed in concern. “Why isn’t it going to happen? You never know, my pet. We could get lucky.”

“Because I know,” the omega snapped.

Hearing the absolute certainty in Steve’s voice made Eddie feel more concerned for the omega instead of backing off as the threat clearly stated. The alpha inside him stirred with restless energy, knowing something was wrong with his omega. It was then that Eddie couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer. He needed to know what was the matter with Steve.

“I’ve noticed you haven’t had your heat yet,” Eddie said, biting his lip as he cautiously brought up the sensitive topic. “You should’ve gotten it by now.”

The omega bared his teeth. “Have you been tracking it? How do you know that I should’ve had it by now? I told you it was sporadic. Don’t you believe me?”

“I do. Well, I want to, but...” Taking a deep breath, he continued. “But I can’t help but feel concern for you. I’m worried that something is wrong. While I love pain, I never wish to see you in any that hasn’t been caused in the throes of passion.”

Steve started, and the lighter slipped then fell to the floor. Sparking, the lighter set the rug beneath the omega’s feet alight. Eddie’s body moved on its own, and he smothered the flames with his hands, not caring that his hands were burned. He actually liked it, especially because it was done in the name to save his omega.

“Eddie...” Steve sighed, and he took the alpha’s hands into his own, inspecting the burns. “Why do you care so much about me?”

“Because you chose me to be your mate,” the alpha answered easily. “You’re as beautiful as deadly nightshade. You could’ve had any alpha you wanted, but instead, you chose me. I, of course, am obligated, to worship the ground you walk on.”

The omega’s gaze remained steadily focused on Eddie’s hands as he all but whispered, “But what if I was defective? Broken? What then?”

“Never, my pet. I would never think that you were broken or defective. You’re the most perfect creature that I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“But what if I am? You know that I’ve been mated two times previously-”

“And both of those alphas were weak and undeserving. What alpha is killed in a simple car accident? Why, me and Argyle used to play in traffic all the time when we were children. They were the broken ones, not you. Never you.”

Lip quivering, and eyes watering, Steve glanced up at Eddie finally. Eddie could see the disbelief in his gaze, but also the hope. He remembered the slide show presentation that Steve had put on for them as he prepared to kill them. The omega had been tossed aside by all the alphas in his life, which was what lead to each of their untimely demises. Maybe Steve hadn’t realized that Eddie remembered that day, and that he truly didn’t care that he was a murderess.

“I can’t have pups,” Steve confessed suddenly with tears streaming down his cheeks. “At least, I don’t think I can. I’ve been on suppressants since I first presented. My parents didn’t like that I presented as an omega. But even after I killed them, I continued to take them.”

Eddie wrapped his burnt hands around Steve’s, ignoring the exciting sting of pain he felt from the touch in order to comfort his omega. Steve sniffled, so Eddie used his thumb to help him wipe away the tears that were falling. The sweet, murderous omega was much more than Eddie deserved in a mate, yet he couldn’t help want to hold onto Steve more, wrap his being around the omega until he had him completely to himself.

“It’s alright, my pet. Hopes not lost. Even if it’s true that you can’t bear pups, which I don’t think it is, here’s an old family recipe that Grandmama Joyce knows. It could help.”

“And if it doesn’t? What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then I’ll keep loving you and looking forward to your every vile attempt at my life for as long as you let me live.”

“You swear it?”

“I give you the word of a Munson that nothing in this world or the next could stop me from loving you as my mate.”

The omega looked away then nodded stiffly, showing that he understood. More tears were streaming down Steve’s face, so Eddie did the only thing he could do. He sat next to Steve on the couch and pulled him into a tight embrace, stroking Steve’s hair while whispering soothing words to him. For once, Steve didn’t resist and allowed Eddie to hold him as an alpha would hold their mate, with as much love and care that the alpha could give.

Part 3.1 ~ Masterpost ~ Part 3.3

A/N: Going to let them have sex on last time after this then end the chapter, so stay tuned for sweet, fluffy sex in the next part.

[kel-lance]

Team Bonding: JJK students x reader x sukuna Part 1

- TW: Dead dove dont read (DDDR) Minors do not interact (MDNI): SA, Physical Assault, DubCon, NonCon, Mindbreak, Public Humiliation, Multiple manipulation, RWORD, PTSD, a lot more.

- Premise: Characters are (18+) (Reader is 21) Jujutsu College au where things are the same but they found yuuji/He ate the finger at 18/+ the start of college.

- Yuuji “came back” after two months of “being dead” and you’re in charge of the training for today for the kyoto sister event.

- Sukuna switches with yuuji in this and chaos ensues :/

Edit: I reread this a month later and guys oh my god. i wrote these time patches of time, right after hitting the rig, and then blacking out after a few paragraphs im sorry ill actually write this time.

You were coming back from a mission that took about 2 weeks due to traveling and tracking down a spirit as the higher ups were testing your Light Manipulation. You know it was hard for everyone the death of one of the freshmen, now you look after Nobara with Megumi. 

You’re the only 3rd year and they all knew you loved your pride. Something about being the “oldest” (since the seniors are all granted weekly missions.), the authority that just made looking up at them, was just an excuse to point your nose up high, and only got depressed for a /day/ when you found out Kamo was 5 days older than you. 

You’re like an older sister or mom to them, with a few exceptions. The days were leading up to the Kyoto sisterhood school match, while everyone was meeting up to train, Gojo introduces Yuuji back to everyone. 

You’re all shocked to say the least. Gojo was acting normally the whole time, that bastard. “(Y/n)’s in charge of sparring today. I’ll come back later with Shoko in case Yuta’s too tired.” He teased at his baby cousin before he left. He was probably referencing to take it easy pn yuta, he probably beat his ass showing him a new technique.  

You ignored him yet again and started to pair everyone up. “Nobara and Yuta, Panda and Maki, Toge and Megumi,” leaving you with Yuuji. “We’ll take it slow zombie.” 

- Into the match you cursed, “Shit- he’s so durable.” But you loved that. You threw yourself back and used your fingers to catch and push yourself away from Yuuji’s next punch. “He’s a close range fighter, too.” You feel like you found your match in terms of adaptability. 

You fix your stance, both legs balances one in front of the other, knees bend, your body lowers and fingers and knees bent, ready at any time to change from offense to defense. You find his eyes again and don’t dare break contact as he’s fast. Faster than you, a blink could be worse than a misstep.

This was new as you always held yourself back from seriously harming your classmates. That pride doesn’t come from nowhere. Your favorite sparring partner is Todo, because he can get close and handle/not hold back punches. 

It felt like you were getting beaten with respect, not like what I want to do to my underclassmen. What good would they learn from losing a time from sitting in the infirmary so often? But this was different.

You felt like you were fighting Maki on drugs, or with cursed energy, and was face to face to Yuuji, as he pinned you down. He was almost like Todo, but you couldn’t read him since you just met.

“Where’s your pride now?” He had enough of your poking and prodding. No warm welcome, not even a nice reaction from his friends. But he knew it was serious to you, so out of respect, he’ll follow suite. He’ll show off what he learned in his training with Gojo. 

“Shut up Cannibal Corpse.” You teased back, smashing your forehead into the T of his face, hoping he’d be able to take it. 

He backs and stands up, hand covering his face. He stopped in a way to let you know he needed a second. Blood coming from his nose? Or his mouth?

“Oh shit, are you okay?” You stand up too, turning to yell for your medic. “Yuu-“ You’re thrown back by the scruff of your collar landing on your shoulder, butt and hands, scratching them. 

“Woah, dude, look I’m sorry,” You huff, rubbing your scraped skin as you slowly stood again. “I thought you could handle it.” You tried to ease the tension, coming close to him to see if he was alright.

He doesn’t look at you, but you feel an energy forming around him. You didn’t know what this could be, his cursed energy? Why does it feel so suffocating? 

“(Y/N)!” Megumi tries to get his shikigami to get you out of his proximity but they were slaughtered in a a blink of an eye. 

“What the hell was going on, where is the enemy?” You quickly looked up and down, about to grab Yuuji and run. 

But your face was cupped so hard your chin could’ve snapped. Pinkie was looking down at you with cold eyes. Why were you letting this happen? You were in charge, you’re the oldest. You don’t resist but give a look of what the fuck back to him. 

“Sukuna! Let her Go!” Megumi screamed. The other students semi surrounding you both.

“She’s so fun, though.” Yuuji cocks a smile, your brain still trying to make sense of what’s happening and who was really in danger here. You glare harder at him, knowing if you struggled, he would like it, and that it was cause you more pain. You couldn’t freak them out anymore, you’ve gotta get this under control. 

“Tell you what, since /I’m/ the oldest,” He gave your cheeks a squeeze. “I’ll take over this bonding sparring whatever ur stupid sensei said. Putting a woman in charge… ha! I’ll show you a type of bond you all can share.”

He tears off the front of your shirt, holding your body closer, but you still say nothing but feel hate for him. Trying to humiliate you in front of your classmates, like you’re not in your sports bra most of the time. It didn’t bother you that you were semi exposed, you knew you looked good, but what was the reason?

Everyone started to yell and tell him to stop, ignoring the embarrassing sight Sukuna tried to use. Of course they didn’t care about your body, they had to figure out a way to separate you both carefully. You turn to face your classmates.

“It’s okay guys, if he wanted me dead he would’ve killed me by now.” You shoot your eyes back and look glare into Sukuna’s eyes, not the same bright, round eyes you first saw before anything else. You look harder.

“Yuuji’s still in there somewhere.”

Sukuna laughs. “You guys misunderstand. I said I’m in charge,” His other arm that was holding your torso back starts to move down the curve of your body, stopping at your outer thigh and squeezing roughly. “Todays lesson is, endurance. This one here,” He holds you up by your neck, as you’re trying to use your upper body strength up get higher, to get some air but his wrists alone are strong enough for him to pick u up easily. “will stomach all I will give her.” 

He brings you back down, coughing for air as licks a tear from your cheek. He reverts his eyes back to your helpless friends. “Your part now is to endure, all the way til the end, then my game can start.” 

You honestly couldn’t care what he was talking about, you could take whatever ridiculous match he has set up but to involve your mates? it wasn’t a sense of pride anymore but of respect of your friends. You just met this prick, the only thing stopping you from beating his ass to hell is that you saw their reaction about his supposed death. You didn’t want to be the real reason this time, well could you?

If worse comes to worst, you should be fine. You could take a beating, you had no problem being fought by a special grade curses and even showing off before Gojo gets here. Once you get out of his grip you can get everyone to attack. You’re the only thing in the way though you wouldn’t mind being taken with him if it comes to it. how heroic would that date be.

“Interrupt at all, even think about it, and I will end them, you, then anyone else I can find after.” He says to no-one. The parasite everyone was so on edge about needed a moment to breathe?

He huffs for a second, you thought there was a light in his eyes as he tried to let you go. You soften your look when- “Ah ah ah.” Sukuna takes over again, pinning you back to him, his other hand clapping around your neck. “I said I’d end them, and then you all.” He repeats to Yuuji. “Just shut up, watch, and then I’ll go away. It’s so boring being cooped up in this brat all day.” In all this, Yuuji’s trying to fight back? He can see this? Was anyone going to tell you what the fuck was going on. “Id rather be in this one instead.” 

You felt the energies around you shrink down, though, agitated. It seems they knew about what was happening to Yuuji and seeing them scared like this wasn’t really a good sign for you. They can get scared of course, but all of them? Together like this? This was not how you wanted to traumatize them, what would they learn other than powerlessness?

“Let go already, you’ll leave a mark on my neck.” You choked out. 

“You don’t have the brains to worry about that after I’m done with you.”

You roll your eyes at him earning a slap. You fell the ground shake and your friends winced at the sound. “Fuck-“ You shot up from the ground holding your steering hot cheek, right before he kicks you back down, leaving you sprawled and confused at the assault. 

You haven’t been hit like that in years. Tears weld up in your eyes and you choke on a memory that’s created this boastful monster.

Sukuna frowned, “I thought you were tougher than that. Maybe this won’t be as fun as I thought. I knew I should’ve started with the short girl over there.” 

You spit at him. “Don’t touch her, I’ll fucking kill you.” You blink to clear your vision and suppress the overwhelming memory. You glare at him before finding Nobara’s eyes. If they were 2+ years younger than you, you’d joke that they’re just a kid, but Nobi, your new baby sister,Like hell you’d let anyone make her feel how you felt. She was tough like you, even tougher you thought, because of how different you were, but still ended up similar.

“Tell me have any of you tried her out yet?” 

You could only look out to see your friends gritting their teeth and weapons. Panda speaks up, “She’s our best fighter.” Hoping to lead away from this devious situation. You’ve already fought them all, and won. Is kuna trying to piss you off more? You ignore his assaults, the unfamiliar hands now controlling you. 

“That’s just perfect.” He pulls your hips to connect to his, and your heart stops. You can feel it.

You actually freeze this time. Is he actually going to do it? You’d rather be beaten half to death or even to death, but how hard he was behind you, it birthed a black hole in your stomach. 

Your body goes limp, unconsciously submitting to him, your eyes fall, not being able to look at anyone else. Will he be quick, will they fight for me? Is this what he really wants? Or is this just the start? 

He picks you up and drops you to your knees painfully, still holding onto your collar. “Don’t try to run unless u want all their heads stringed together.” He says to you. 

Everyone else watches, clutching each other or their weapons tighter, trying to think of a way, when they can go in, or if they even see when Gojo was coming back . 

Grabbing your chin and lifting it up, he looks down at you and smacks you again. Your ear is on fire. The strike of his finger felt like a whip onto the side of your face. He hits you again, then again, and again. 

You huff, picking yourself up slowly each time. If you didn’t, he’d step on your fingers, almost trying to grind the bones inside. 

Sukuna raises his hand as you stare down and with this one, he sends you to the feet of Toge, Yuta, and Panda. 

They look down at you, mixed feelings of guilt, anger, sorrow,. You speak to them through swelling cheeks, “Don’t worry you guys, I’ll be even stronger after this. Get ready cause next tim-”

Sukuna comes by and grabs you by the hair, dragging you to back to your original spot, tears and blood now messing up your face. 

“You look so stupid right now.” He sneers. “You should see yourself.”  At this point you were exhausted from holding yourself back from beating the shit out of him. 

“Everyone,” He raises his voice for an announcement. “take your phones out and take a picture from your favorite parts of the lesson, okay?” 

He tilts your head towards his, takes out Yuuji’’s phone from his pocket and snaps a picture of you both. *click*

[waterfrontcomplex]

CYCRANE KILLER - A YANQING SERIAL KILLER AU

TW/CW FOR MURDER, VIOLENCE, DISMEMBERMENT, GENERAL MENTAL INSTABILITY, MENTIONS OF ABUSE

AU INFO ↓

after the disastrous battle at dragonprayer terrace, yanqing is left disheartened, confused, and alone. he was just defeated by 2 criminals, and the one person he trusted with his whole being left him there with no explanation.

he gets healed at the alchemy commission, and returns home. jing yuan eventually recovers, and... everything returns to some sense of normalcy. no 'i'm sorry', no 'are you okay?', no nothing. he receives assignments as usual, and goes through with them with ease.

during an assignment in cloudford, he encounters a man who was on the run and had a warrant out for his arrest for domestic abuse. yanqing pursued the man until he accidentally cornered him with some particularly violent mara-struck, and was killed before he could stop them.

that night, he couldn't stop thinking about the man. he had let a civilian die. but... that man was a terrible person. he had a family that loved him, and he hurt them in return. yanqing felt an unexplainable burst of 'satisfaction' or even 'happiness'. that man would never hurt anybody again.

a terrible idea appeared in his head. what if he purposely killed people like those?

it's extremely illegal and goes against his duty as a cloud knight, but they would deserve it and he's just so, so frustrated. so, he looks into a couple cases and finds one he takes interest in. if he wants to go through with this, he can't use yanzhuo or his ice swords; it would make his identity too obvious. he grabs a blade he's been itching to test out, dons a cloak and leaves during the night.

the break-in and murder is easy enough. most people on the luofu stand no chance against him. adrenaline is rushing through his veins, and now there's a body on the floor and his dagger is covered in blood.

the cleanup is simple; he has the knowledge and resources available to make it look as if his target had just vanished during the night. he dismembers and disposes of the body and returns home. he had just killed another civilian... but they were a terrible person— no, they're not even a person. they're just vermin, unworthy of the title of 'human' and waiting to be eliminated. he feels static in his head.

in the following weeks, he does his best to avoid searching up information about his target. yanqing listens in to gossip instead, and gathers that they had been reported missing but no traces were found. he had gotten away with murder.

and he was going to do it again.

the next few nights, he claims more lives; lives of those unworthy of them. after the murders, the static in his head clears, but comes back later. they disappear during the night without a trace.

while disposing of a body, yanqing encounters a partially broken down cycrane with sentience, like his swords. he fixes it up, and it says it doesn't want to 'return to a mundane life of endless deliveries', so he takes it home and hides it. after a bit of searching, he gives it a name: rosebane.

the cases are starting to catch the attention of the higher-ups. the public now knows about the 'mysterious disappearances', and rumors start spreading like wildfire. some claim it's a monster, other say it's a stalker, and some are claiming that it's a whole group of people. nobody suspects him a bit. tensions are high.

yanqing doesn't want the public to worry too much. rumors of a monster could put the cloud knights on high alert. if he let any witnesses see him, they would know it was a human. and if he brings rosebane, they would know it's the same person, and not a group of people. rosebane wouldn't reveal anything about his real identity, and would be particularly useful for tracking down targets. a monster would be extremely concerning, but a person would be... hopefully less concerning. and with a cycrane, it would lead the investigators away from him.

during his next murder, he chooses a time where there would be a witness, and commits the crime, leaving the body. word gets out, and news of the 'cycrane killer' is everywhere. yanqing masks his nervousness as worry for jing yuan, but he doesn't fully buy it.

he's not crazy, he's not insane at all. he doesn't kill for the adrenaline rush, or to clear the static in his head, or for whatever other reason.

he's just... doing the luofu a favor.

☆⋆⋅───────

RELATIONSHIPS

YANQING -> ROSEBANE

friendly. they are extremely close, but can't talk much since yanqing shouldn't bring them out during the day. they're partners in crime, bound to their secret. he finds their sentience interesting.

YANQING -> JING YUAN

tense. yanqing partly blames jing yuan for his... new hobby. he still cares and would never hurt him on purpose, but he's extremely frustrated and confused. he mainly wants an explanation but feels as if he has no right to ask for one. yanqing also has to tread lightly around jing yuan to avoid him figuring out about his murders.

YANQING -> FU XUAN

cautious. if fu xuan suspects him of anything, she could easily rat him out with the matrix of prescience. he's been keeping his distance.

JING YUAN -> YANQING

worry. jing yuan knows yanqing's upset and has been acting strangely ever since he recovered. he also knows that his retainer is hiding something, but doesn't know what.

[bqstqnbruin]

Sidney Crosby Teacher AU

Anotha one

Teacher AU series

Warnings: Age gap (both are adults)

WC: 927

_______________

Pay attention. All he had to do was pay attention. He’s been at this for years, there was no reason why he shouldn’t be able to pay attention to the district’s lawyer talking about all the legal things they needed to know. It was the same thing that he went on about every single year, but it was still important to pay attention.

It all started going downhill when they walked in to the gym to find it set up for their professional development, but with assigned seating like they were younger than the students they taught. Admin said it was because they wanted to make sure all the departments were mixed together for ‘different perspectives,’ but if Sidney was being honest, he and the rest of the teachers sat with their departments because they liked each other. The history department didn’t particularly like some of the science department.

It was worse for Sidney when he realized that he was seated next to the one art teacher he shouldn’t be next to. Ivy was still in high school when he started teaching (not at the same school), and yet, there she was in all her zany glory that Sidney couldn’t stop thinking about. 

She was sitting so close to him, very clearly not paying attention to anything the lawyer was saying in front of them. She was on her computer, scrolling through Pinterest looking at what he was pretty sure were lesson ideas.

Ivy Reid was the exact opposite sort of teacher compared to Sidney. He had his lessons planned out down to the minute, something he prided himself on since so many other teachers said that it was impossible to do that. He had the entire unit planned out before they started it, knowing the test and quiz questions he would ask his students, who would do well and who would need more attention based on the content. He had to have everything in order so that he could keep track of every one of his students and what they needed to get the most out of his class. Everything had a place and everything was in its proper place so anyone could come into his classroom and know what to do.

Ivy, from what his students told him, was a teacher who did whatever she wanted. If her students wanted to do one project over another, she let them do it. They had what she referred to as ‘total artistic freedom’ in her class, and her grading them was based on their own self reflection. There was no right and wrong in her class, only satisfaction or disappointment in their own work. Even walking into her room, which he did once because he was told her classroom was the best space for a committee meeting, made him anxious. Nothing had a place, papers everywhere, art projects wherever they fit and could stand without falling on the floor. The chairs were covered in clay and paint, the tables sticky with glue or some other substance.

She was fascinating to him. 

Sidney let out a sigh, the lawyer still droning on about who knows what at this point. “Aren’t you supposed to listen to this?” he whispers to her.

Ivy looks up from her computer, a strand of hair from the bun messily tied on top of her head falling over her eyes. She blows it out of the way, shrugging. “We get the powerpoint after, anyway. Might as well use this time for something useful.” 

Sidney tried to keep his gaze fixed on the projector in front of him, not knowing what else to say. He kept glancing over at her, the overalls covered in paint, the t-shirt that showed off the tattoo on her upper arm that was technically against their handbook, the ripped sneakers a direct contrast to his pressed dress pants, crisp white dress shirt and a tie with a little bit of a pattern. 

He was mesmerized by her. 

The lawyer finishes the presentation, with a last minute, ‘and I’ll send the powerpoint to all of you this afternoon,’ when one of the assistant principals stands up and starts her tangent as to what they were going to be doing for the next half hour. Sidney couldn’t tune in before he heard the other teachers groaning and muttering under their breath, despite the smile on the AP’s face. 

“Looks like you’re my partner,” Ivy says, gesturing to the screen that has their names right next to each other.

“I have no idea what we’re doing,” he immediately admits, neither of them moving from their seats as everyone gets up and shuffles around. 

Ivy shrugs, letting out a short laugh that made Sidney squirm in his seat. “We’re just talking about what we did this summer.” Sidney nods. “I guess I’ll go first. I went down to DC for an art teachers institute for a week, read a lot, and broke up with my boyfriend, so you could finally ask me out.”

Sidney felt his eyes nearly pop out of his head. “What?”

“Would you rather I ask you out?”

“What?” he repeats.

Ivy scoffs. “You obviously like me, and I’m not gonna lie and say I don’t like you.”

“You’re too young for me,” is the only argument he could come up with to object from something he didn’t fully comprehend how badly he wanted.

“Ten years is nothing when you’re both adults with fully developed frontal lobes.” Sidney sits there with his mouth hanging open. “So, what do you say?”

“Yes.”

[neptunescore]

WIP WORD GAME!!!

(Honestly, I was tagged a while ago and just forgot abt it, so here you all go now T-T)

Since I've been tagged twice (thank you @speciallivery and @brushedbymelancholy <33), I'll be doing the first 3 letters of both the words given to me!! HOICK and RODEO

H

He clenches his hands into fists, “Christian?” he says instead, like a dog asking its master for instructions, tongue lolling out as it pants and whines, “you need something?” “No, no,” the man chuckles, shooing away the question as if Yuki was stupid to ask it at all, “just, hmm, this race wasn't the best, hn? The VCARB sure looks like it's got a lot of problems—what with your whole front wing ripping off.” He laughs after, as though it's funny. Yuki's car crumpling in on itself mid-race for no apparent reason, is something Christian finds funny.

O

Oscar's knuckles ache. His ribs sting with every heaving breath he takes, his nose won't stop bleeding, and he already knows he’ll have a horrendous black eye tomorrow, but— God, do his knuckles ache. His knees hit the ground, body sagging in relief as the roaring crowd around him slowly starts to disperse, forgotten glasses getting refilled again—chattering voices now replacing drunken cheers as the audience waits for the next fight. Oscar leans against the ring post, head dropping back against the stiff padding as he stares up into the shoddy lights right above him—chapped lips pursing together as the rapid rise and fall of his chest slows down.

I

“...I am still not too sure, but this place looked really nice,” Carlos is saying, “and it is just five minutes away from the track! Added bonus, no?” “What.” Carlos pauses, his smile drooping slightly (Alex is going to kill himself. He made Carlos sad—or like. Less happy than before. But also, again, what.)

R

Red clouds her eyes as she marches forward, so much red where there should be blue. Charles is just a few steps ahead, hands moving around erratically as he talks with the marshal in front of him. She can’t quite make out what he’s saying — the padding of his helmet muffling his voice as he gestures about — not that she’s trying to anyway, no; the only thing she’s thinking about right now is the smooth of his skin, how it’d feel beneath her fists, what shades of blue she could colour it— what the fuck was wrong with him? What was he even thinking? First race of the season and he’s already pulling this shit.

O

Oh, Yuki thinks, this is another ‘we don't want you to leave because we still need your results, but we treat you horribly and will never promote you so you might, and this is us acting like we care about you so you don't’ speech. Yuki is so fucking tired of this speech, “ah, yes, ofcourse, but see, um, my flight—it is going to leave soon and–” “Your pre-season testing results were quite phenomenal, really looked like the Red Bull was suiting you,” Christian says suddenly.

D

(I have literally no sentences starting with D for some reason, but here have this marcania... au I'm cooking up) ( @motomamithings you may have forgotten, but I've had your idea screenshotted for ages. I may just write something)

He’s sure of it—has done all the necessary investigations (i.e. door always locked, no unfamiliar belongings littering their would-be shared space, shoe-rack at the entrance only ever occupied by Pecco’s miserable sneakers, kitchen never dirty with anything other than his own dishes—Pecco could go on, but you get the idea; he’s been very thorough) to reach the obvious conclusion; Gigi’s giving him a whole two-bedroom apartment for half the rent. Pecco’s hit the fucking jackpot.

And there you all have it!!! Literally 40% chance any of you will acc be seeing ANY of these works sometime soon (and you DEFFO wont be seeing the R one like ever), but if you want to chat more to me abt one of them, or are interested in any—feel free to drop by my inbox!!! <333

Also, I fear I won't be tagging anyone bc I am literally so late to this, and most of my booties who write have already done it T-T

(...Although. nefarious tag to @colapoint, @toxicrivalries, and @formulaocean bc I know the 3 of you are cooking something I'd love to see more of. Word is SOB (as I don't want you all to worry too much if your wips are not yet large enough for now... yes, that's what I went through leave me alone okay ;-;))

[lanymme]

For requests, could I pretty please request some chenmiya? Maybe a naughty get together from the succubus au we keep talking about? Like their first one. It can be anything anywhere! Thank youuu love you forever!

Of course madame. Our special this evening is angsty dramatic victorian beans undergoing gothic emotions in a stereotypical yuri highschool setting with a side of implied future throuple.

(Everyone present is 18 or older, ofc.) (Dubcon warning, and descriptions of hunger, pls be safe!)

/\/\/\/\/\

Amiya has always been studious. Responsible. Responsive to instruction.

She always gets her schoolwork done ahead of time. She always waters all the flowerbeds across the grounds on-schedule. She always scores in the top 5 on every test. She never misses class. She never lets herself be seen out late.

And she never, ever eats where she sleeps.

But last night she was stuck inside, getting ahead on homework she wouldn’t be able to do on next week’s trip, and she didn’t have a chance to step out at night and get something to eat. And her emergency backup option, the NEET at the corner house by the train station who always sleeps late, had chosen this day, of all days, to get up early and venture outside.

The nurse is out today too. Her teacher asks for some help during lunch, so she doesn’t have time to sneak over to the other section where that scary flashy girl always takes naps for a snack.

And when school lets out, she has an appointment to talk about her college recommendation.

But it’s fine. It’s fine. She’s made it through the day. She just has to finish watering the last of the flowers and go home.

But she’s so, so hungry.

She wipes her forehead clean of sweat and adjusts her straw hat.

“—Amiya.”

Oh no.

Ch’en’s low voice, normally stoic—even chilly—is so warm, curling with fondness at the edges.

A shiver, a pit of dread and tension settles low in her belly.

“Oh, Ch’en!” She pushes herself to her feet and turns. “How—“

Her eye twitches. The way her track uniform compliments her—the exposed belly, the strong arms, the bead of sweat tracing the line of her handsome jaw. The casual potency of her posture. The way her hair is tied up, exposing the line of her neck.

The way she smells.

“…was your meet today?”

“Hmm. I’m proud enough of my performance, but there’s always room for improvement. But the freshmen really put in their best effort this time.” She smiles, then, subtly proud and caring in that thin, hard-won way that torments Amiya’s nights. “It seems like you’re working hard as well. Can I help you with anything?”

Amiya’s stomach growls.

“Oh! No, thank you, that’s very sweet of you to offer, but I’m almost done, and I’m sure you’re pretty tired anyway.” She turns away to hide her irises narrowing like a cat’s.

“Are you sure?” Ch’en asks, stepping forward. The cloud of her scent envelops Amiya, all active sweat and cool assurance and stoic virility, and she feels herself twitch. “I don’t want to push you, but I promise it wouldn’t be a burden. Anything you need, you know you can ask me.”

Ch’en steadying her with a hand on her waist, and smiling down at her with her eyes from so close up. Ch’en sternly scolding the first years, but smiling proudly as soon as they turn around, resolved to give it their best renewed again. Ch’en demolishing the opposition in a kendo match, and stoically, graciously accepting her medal. Ch’en gathering Amiya’s hand in both of hers, murmuring soft words of reassurance and then wiping her tears with her fingertips. Ch’en grabbing a book from a high shelf, and handing it to her with a smirk. Ch’en, warmth in her voice, calling her name.

Amiya grips her watering can, white-knuckled. Her gut flares with hunger. Ch’en, Ch’en is always like this. She’s so cool, but so gentle, considerate. So bold, so unguarded… she’s so good, she makes it hard for Amiya not to be bad.

“… Ch’en, you really—”

“Ahaha! Chenchen, don’t be so needy! Give the little bunny some space.”

“—oof!”

Amiya puts the can down and turns just in time to see Ch’en struggle her way out of the crook of Blaze’s elbow, her top rucking up all the way to the bottom of her sports bra as pushes out of her teammate’s sweaty embrace. She glares at her like an affronted cat, but Blaze has already changed targets.

“Waaahh!”

“Ehe, gotcha!” Blaze’s big arms trap Amiya in their hold, her face pushed up into her bicep and the corner of a boob pressed into her eye.

“Blaze, you’re all sweaty!” she whines, cheeks burning as she stops up her breath so she doesn’t breathe in her scent, doesn’t make a lunge at her own childhood friend.

“Awww, you’re sweaty too, y’know, working so hard out here in all this heat!” She pulls Amiya’s hat off, and ruffles her fingers in her hair. “I guess you’re right, though, I’m probably pretty rank.” She laughs, loud as ever, releasing Amiya from her prison to stumble back a step. “I did run my heart out, after all.” She taps her pacemaker scar where it peeks out from under her running top and winks at Amiya, who rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

Her arms are so strong and heavy, she’s so warm, so generous, surely…

“You know,” Blaze says, turning her gaze back to Ch’en, “this one here smoked everybody in four different events. Pretty impressive, right?” There’s a straightness to her spine, all of a sudden, a firmness—challenge. Ch’en gazes straight back at her, unflinching. “If you’re so humble like that, you’ll make the rest of us busting our asses to catch you feel bad. I dunno, maybe you should take some more pride in your accomplishments.”

“If you don’t like it,” Ch’en replies, “then beat me.”

Ah. She can feel it in the air. Tension, desire. She’s hungry.

“Oh, you can count on it,” Blaze growls, smiling slowly. “I better not catch you resting on your laurels, or I’ll knock you off your feet.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

“I guess we will.”

They stare each other down.

Amiya’s stomach growls. If she pushed them together, here, into each others’ space, she could fill her belly. It would be so so tasty.

She needs to get home.

“Anyway!” Blaze claps her hands together. “I gotta get out of here. I’ve got a meeting I’m gonna be late to. Oh yeah!” she exclaims, stiltedly, and turns to Amiya with a big shit-eating grin. “I totally forgot, I was supposed to wheel the equipment cart back to the storage room. Could you two please get it for me?” She winks at Amiya, with the smug pride of an expert wingman.

Amiya’s stomach drops. She makes frantic eyes at Blaze, who mimes a fistbump and then spins away.

“Okey dokey, that’s all the time I have! See ya see ya!”

Before Amiya can say anything, she dashes off, leaving her and Ch’en alone again.

Ch’en’s eyes are already back on her. Amiya can hear her heart beating in her ears. “Sorry about her,” she says. “She’s always been like that, but she means well.”

Ch’en nods, smiling gently at her in that way she has, just for Amiya. “You’re a good friend. And she’s a good teammate.”

Amiya turns away from her, cheeks warm, insides a mess. It’s not fair, for Ch’en to smile like that, to talk to her so softly, when she’s trying so hard to keep her hands to herself. “Alright! Let me just finish up here, and then I’ll go take care of that cart.”

“We’ll take care of it. Please, Amiya, at least let me help you with that.”

She doesn’t have the heart to say no.

She’s so doomed.

—

Amiya puts her glasses back on, and grips the handle of the cart with sweaty hands. Next to her, Ch’en’s left hand almost touches her right, and she patiently waits for Amiya to brace herself before she starts pushing, together with her.

Amiya’s stomach is full of butterflies and gnawing emptiness. Ch’en smells good. So good. Just a little taste, a little bit—she knows she’d be so satisfying, and then—

She shakes her head.

“Amiya, are you alright?”

Guileless concern. Tenderness. It’s so much.

“I’m fine, don’t worry!”

“You always say that. You’re so strong. But if you ever need to lean on someone, I’m here for you.”

She pulses.

It’s not fair, Ch’en, it’s not fair.

She licks her teeth, inside her mouth.

And together, they push.

She knows she’s cute. People say she’s pretty. And her gently teasing sense of humor, the contrast with her primness, is honed and effective. Amiya is confident in her abilities.

But Ch’en never responds to any of it. Not even a little bit of want to tide her over during the schoolday. She knows Ch’en likes girls, from the low hum of desire that leaks from her in the changing room, even as she graciously and inconspicuously turns her head aside aside. But that desire has never been turned towards Amiya, no matter how hard she’s tried.

Instead, she always gets that smile, that soft smile—polite, respectful, restrained, yet warm and unguarded. It drives her crazy, has driven her crazy. It’s that smile she sees after she falls asleep on Ch’en’s shoulder, when she presses her chest into her arm, when Amiya lets their eye contact linger a moment too long and then smiles, when she laughs at something and then gives her a single glimpse of something mischievous: when she leans in close and brushes hair out of her face, and smiles at her; when she traces her muscles with a little laugh, and then goes quiet breathing just a little harder; when she laces her fingers into Ch’en’s, and smiles up at her.

And always, always, she gets that same smile back. Because Amiya’s been crazy about her since before she used to leave little letters of encouragement in her locker, since before she came of age and started hunting on her own, since before they met again in highschool and before the years they were separated by fate and circumstance.

Ch’en smiled at her that same way during those months in the hospital waiting room back when they were in fifth grade, going through tragedies beyond what anyone their age should have to hold.

And Amiya’s feelings have changed with the seasons, with the years.

But Ch’en’s smile never changes.

Ch’en’s just really fond of her.

—

They reach the storage shed.

And of course, of course, Ch’en asks Amiya to hold the door while she pushes the cart inside—always trying to surreptitiously give her the lighter task, to take on more for herself, always framing it as a request for help because she knows how self-conscious Amiya can get.

If she knew, Amiya thinks, would she do the same thing? Would she feel obligated to…

They fit the cart in, and the doors swing shut behind them, and then they’re alone together in that dark, cramped space.

She feels hollow. Empty. Her hands are tingling, her head hurts. Ch’en smells so so good. She could just, a little bit…

“Amiya? Are you alright?”

“Oh. Yes, I’m… I’m fine, thank you.” She smiles weakly. Her head is spinning. Ch’en frowns at her, unconvinced, worried. “Please. Let’s just… get this done with?”

“… Alright. If you say so. But please, if you need anything…”

Amiya digs a fingernail into her hand.

“You’ll be the first to know.”

Together, they begin to unload the cart. Hurdles, warmup equipment, batons, stanchions… the space is cramped, and they keep brushing against each other. It’s not fair, she can’t take it. The whole room smells like Ch’en, it smells so good, and she has to…

She crouches down to grab a box of starting blocks from the lower rack, and when she stands up she feels a rush of numbness all of a sudden, her vision goes blank, and she stumbles sleepily.

As the blood slowly reaches her brain, she realizes… Ch’en, she’s touching her. She’s slumped against Ch’en’s chest, an arm slung under her own to hold her up. Her touch is so soothing, a slow trickle of the vital energy that spills from her, tantalizing Amiya’s yawning hunger. At some point, Ch’en deftly took the box from her hand. She looks up into those concerned eyes, and she wants so badly that it hurts, a dull sting through her whole body like slow fire.

“Please, Amiya. Please at least let me carry the heavy things.”

“…Okay. I’m sorry. Thank you, Ch’en.”

“Can you stand?”

She pushes herself to her feet, and they stand there, so close together, breathing onto each others’ faces.

She could just stand on her tiptoes, and…

Ch’en gently smooths out the collar of her uniform with her free hand, and smiles at her, all princely worry.

She pats Amiya’s shoulder, and then steps in against her to pass by her on the narrow shelves, heading for the place on the rack for starting blocks.

Absently, Amiya wanders back to the cart, fixing her glasses, and grabs something from it.

Too much. It’s all too much. All these years, and all these hours… she’s at her limit.

I can’t take it anymore, Ch’en. I can’t. I’m so hungry. I know you’ll never want me like that. So I’ll give you a little push, and we can have a pleasant dream together, and then go back to being friends. Help me with this one little thing, will you?

With a feeling of dread anticipation, she spills over.

There’s… no existing attraction there to amplify. So she’s really, really gotta let her have it.

She fills up the dark, cool space of the shed. The shadows stretch and lengthen, a half-dreamscape overtaking the waking world.

“Ch’en,” she says, voice sweet, breathy: stretching, reaching helplessly to place a stack of plastic cones on the top shelf. “Can you help me with this? I can’t reach high enough.”

“Of course,” she says, her voice aching, yearning. “Anything… anything. You know I would—”

Her voice. As she talks her voice sinks deeper and deeper into her chest, becomes something husky, fervid. “And I… you’re so… I don’t—“ Ch’en trails off, behind her. Amiya hears her swallow. Feels her gaze burning into her. She can feel that throb of desire finally, finally, pointed her way, the heat she’s yearned for.

She just wishes it didn’t have to happen like this.

“Ch’en?” She sounds shy, sweet. Ch’en’s always liked that type—bookish, kind, gentle. She’s always caught her eye on girls like that.

Except for…

“Ah. Ah… I’m sorry. Of course.”

Ch’en steps in, pressed right up against her from behind, and gently takes the plastic cones from her hands, pressing her into the shelves as she reaches up to put them away.

“There you go,” she says, husky and soothing.

But she doesn’t step away.

Amiya shivers.

“Ch’en…? Are you—“

Those rough, kind hands gently caress her forearms, up to her wrists. Then they seize her, and press her firmly to the equipment in front of her.

She whines as Ch’en leans in, heavy breaths blowing hot against her ear, chest pressing into her back.

“Amiya, Amiya, I… I shouldn’t, but you—“

Amiya yields to her entirely, letting herself be pinned to the heavy box in front of her, sighing in satisfaction.

Ch’en makes a wounded noise behind her, panting heavily, sweating. “I can’t… you’re so…” she takes in a breath, a pull into her lungs of the scent of Amiya’s hair from just behind her ear, and sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Amiya I’m sorry, I can’t—“

It’s like ice water thrown over her whole body.

What… what is she doing?

She takes in a deep breath, and pulls her energy back up into herself.

Ch’en stumbles away from her and into the other shelves, throwing a hand up to catch herself as they shake with a clatter.

Amiya’s chest feels hollowed out. Crushed. She had shaped it to feel like just a simple, meaningless sexy dream, and idle fantasy, but Ch’en had fought so hard, and… and it had turned into a nightmare.

Oh. She really. Really doesn’t like me, like that, even if I…

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry, Ch’en, I… it was my fault, I made you…”

“No,” Ch’en says, grave, dreadful, but still so gentle. “No, Amiya, please. Listen to me. This is—this is my fault. I didn’t have enough self-control, I—you can’t blame yourself, for things I did. You don’t control my actions, I do. I’m the one to blame. I need you to know that.”

She sounds like she’s gritting her teeth. Like she’s going to cry.

Oh, Ch’en. She’d been careless. She’d wounded her heart, through her own selfishness, and now proud, gentle Ch’en was tearing herself apart for sins that weren’t her own, falling on her own sword to spare Amiya the pain she thought she’d caused.

There’s no coming back from this. She has done something that can’t be taken back.

There’s only one thing she can do to make it right. One way to take back the blame that rightfully belongs with her, even if it destroys this life she’s built these last 18 years.

She pushes off the shelf, pulls away from Ch’en, stepping into the open center of the storage shed. She watches as Ch’en’s heart visibly breaks as she retreats, seeing in it the confirmation of her guilt.

“I’m sorry, Ch’en,” she says. She carves this last look at her into her heart, smiling wistfully.

It’s been so much fun.

“I’ve been keeping something from you.”

She closes her eyes. Her wings unfurl from her hips, her horns spiral from her head, and her long, thin tail fades into existence behind her.

She can’t bear to see the reaction.

“I pushed those feelings on you. Since you… weren’t interested in me, I used my powers to… give you a little push. Just because I was hungry. I’m sorry, Ch’en. I’m so sorry.”

“Amiya…” she breathes. “what…?”

She forces a watery smile. “I’m not human. I’ve been lying to you all this time. I… I’m sorry.”

“I had no idea.” Ch’en’s voice is so soft. She steps closer. Amiya feels the rough, kind brush of her hand, where her neck and shoulder meet. “All this time, you’ve been carrying this alone…”

Amiya trembles. She’s so kind, even to someone like—

“…I’m sorry too. There’s something I’ve been keeping from you, as well.” Her voice is so low, so rough, so heavy with emotion.

Amiya blinks open her eyes. Ch’en is right there in front of her, smiling ruefully.

She bends down, resting her forehead on Amiya’s shoulder, like she’s praying, like she’s in pain.

“You didn’t need any kind of magic. I…”

She takes a slow, painful breath, and lets it out as a shudder, a death rattle.

Her fingers ball in Amiya’s uniform, clutching, desperate.

And then it hits her—a wave of yearning, of hunger, so strong, so compressed, it makes her feel drunk, a head-high that leaves her feeling sluggish and ragged.

“Oh, Ch’en… you—hnnn!”

Ch’en bites her shoulder, possessed with passion, the dull clamp of a predator’s prey-like desperation.

Amiya latches onto her in turn, arms and wings and tail clutching her close, squeezing her tight.

Ch’en licks the mark she’s made on her shoulder, slow and fervent, breaths shuddering, like she’s moving in a dream, so far beyond thought and reason. She nips at Amiya’s ear, and a spark shoots through her.

“I’ve always told you,” Ch’en murmurs, voice hoarse, wrecked, “if you need anything, please, please… please, take it from me.”

Amiya sobs.

Without saying a word, she gathers her power, and pours everything into Ch’en.