#tbh i have never been this close to one before

[fictionalsweethearts]

ONE-EYED EMISSARY | SEVIKA X READER | ARCANE

Synopsis: Sevika was clear from the start; no attachments. However, you were hopelessly in love with her and believed that if you tried hard enough, you would make her give in. You didn't count on a one-eyed cat to help you with such a task.

Contains: wlw, f!reader, toxic situationship, mention of cheating, one shot, fluff, a very pathetic reader tbh, cats.

Word count: 4,198

You had grown accustomed to her intermittence. Sevika was an intermittent lover, her affection and attention were rationed, her visits were difficult to predict and impossible to ask for. It wasn't that it was up to you to demand anything from her, Sevika was clear from the beginning about her lack of interest in a relationship, and you accepted believing yourself capable of keeping up with her. But you found yourself glued to the window every night, curled up in a cold bed, expectant and impatient, wondering when she would knock on your door and demand your attention with the certainty that you would give it to her every time. Because you always do.

She liked your body, she always told you that. Sevika wasn't a bad lover, on the contrary, she made you forget about your daily sorrows as long as she was buried between your legs or her hand was around your throat, kissing your mouth without shame or limitations, reminding you that as much as you sought her passion in someone else, nothing could be compared to her scent of tobacco and her whiskey tongue. She doesn't promise you to spend the night, but she did it a few times, curling up next to you in bed and feeding a naive fantasy that you knew was hurting you. You dared to kiss her with a love that you shouldn't profess to her, only for her to whisper to you the next morning, "I have to work, go back to sleep," and then put on her poncho and leave your bed.

You had become dependent, you sought her approval, her affection, her attention. The slightest sign of certainty that you were still as important as the first time, hoping that there was no other girl to keep her busy or her bed warm. She had many, you feared, the rumors of her frequent visits to the Rupturewalk were as painful as they were true. And you cried, you cried because you were asking her for something that was not yours. She would never reciprocate.

You were falling asleep, you had grown tired of waiting and you put the sparkling wine back in the fridge and blew out the candle next to the bed, you curled up in the hope of forgetting your disappointment when you heard a knock at the door. You were embarrassed by how quickly you left the bed, stopping halfway to compose yourself before opening the door. Sevika looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

"You're up late."

"You've come late." you to retorted.

"Not my problem if you choose to wait up all night for me." she replied, taking her cigarette and flicking ashes into an empty beer bottle that was siiting on the hallway. She didn't need to ask you to let her in. You closed the door slowly, not noticing the box Sevika was carrying under her poncho.

Sevika sighed, placing the box on the coffee table and turning to look at you. She had dark circles under her eyes, you could tell they were from fatigue, but her eyes lit up as she looked at you. They traveled over your soft neck and the valleys of your shoulders, down your arms before focusing on the cleavage your silky slip dress showed.

"All dolled up for bed." she said, a hint of a smirk on her lips. "You've been waiting for me."

"Don't flatter yourself." you spat, knowing damn well that you took a long bath before bed, scrubbed your knees and armpits with soap and perfumed your neck with that chocolate scent that Sevika enjoys so much. You oiled the ends of your hair, applied chapstick to your lips and even a thin layer of blush. No one looked that pretty just for going to bed.

"I'm flattered anyway." she smirked, shortening the distance to steal a kiss from you.

She cupped your cheek and gave you a second, slow and methodical, trying to get your frown to soften into an expectant, complacent expression. Sevika hummed against your mouth, feeling your curves with her rough palm before your eyes landed on the box on the coffee table. "What's that?"

Sevika stepped back and glanced at the box. "Supply of cigarettes I picked up on the way here."

The box didn’t seem to contain any cigarettes, but over time you learned not to ask Sevika more questions than you had to. She had too many secrets to keep and they could spill out of her mouth once you two got into the sheets, so she didn’t let you pry too deeply into her affairs. She only told you a few details about the business and Silco’s affairs when she smoked a cigarette after making love to you, and most of them were pretty vague.

Sevika sat down on the couch, pulling you into her lap and placing a firm hand on your waist. Your limbs were still stiff, your discomfort still raw. Sevika had been gone for almost two weeks, giving no sign of life. Because of her line of work you believed the worst, more than once you went to the Last Drop to ask for her without success. Until one night one of the lairs pulled you aside to a corner and asked you not to show up again unless Sevika summoned you, which resulted in a drunken binge and an hour of karaoke at the club before passing out in the bathroom and being brought back home by one of Silco’s employees, probably sent by Sevika herself.

"I thought I told you not to go to the Last Drop." Sevika mentioned after placing a kiss on your neck.

"I was worried." you mumbled.

"I don't need you to worry about me. It's not your place." Her words were harsh, but her grip on you was tender.

You clenched your jaw. "You didn't show up for two weeks, no one was giving me any answers."

"And that's why you made a scene at the club and passed out in the toilet?" Sevika asked in a firm tone. "It's not up to you to know where I am or who I'm with. I thought we already talked about it."

You two talked about it from the first night you spent together. Sevika had seen you at the club, alone and half drunk, probably drowning your sorrow over some recent breakup or your chronic loneliness. The truth is that you had a few coins in your pocket and were calming your nerves before going to Rapturewalk to ask for a job as a last resort. But Sevika changed your plans with a couple of words and a drink on the house. She waited for you to sober up before making the first move and you didn't regret having invited her to your bed. Then she caressed your cheek, realizing that there was something about you that stopped her from leaving.

"We can keep seeing each other." Sevika whispered. "No attachments."

And you accepted. How foolish of you.

"I'm a busy woman and I don't always have time to tell you where I'm going or when I'm coming back. It's not your right to demand explanations from me." added Sevika, gripping your chin so you couldn't look away. "Do you know how risky your tantrum was? There are pervs in this city, murderers and rapists. Don't ever expose yourself like that again."

Sevika's grip softened, her thumb tracing circles on your shoulder.

"I'm warning you," she grumbled. "I'm a dangerous woman, and I have dangerous enemies. If they catch wind of you, they'll use you to get back at me. Don't make the mistake of being careless like that ever again."

"Yes, Sevika." you nodded, swallowing the little pride you had.

You felt the straps of your dress slide down your shoulders, the fabric pooling around your waist as Sevika kissed your neck and cupped one of your breasts in one hand. "Good, don't forget it then." she grumbled against your neck, leaving a way of kisses down your chest before taking your nipple into her mouth.

"Ah." you moaned lowly, cupping the back of her neck and knowing the small talk was over.

You cried during sex. Sevika wasn't harsh or cruel, she was so gentle that you hated her even more. You cried because you knew you couldn't kick her out of your house or your life, you cried because you missed her like you miss a lover, you cried like you were the other woman when there wasn't a formal one in Sevika's life. Yours were silent tears, almost confusing with pleasure ones after Sevika edged you until you begged for a release she denied it over and over again. But she could tell you were hurt, and all she could do was to kiss your wet cheeks and speak the truth.

"You need to stop getting so attached to me, doll." Sevika murmured in the silent room. She couldn't deny that she was a selfish woman, she took from you what she needed and never gave anything of herself in return. And she knew you needed more from her, but she just couldn’t give it to you.

"I'm sorry."

"Apologize to yourself." she stated. "You're crying, not me."

Sevika gently wiped a stray tear from your cheek. "I can't give you more than this." She said, almost in a gentle warning. "I won't. And you need to understand, or else I should stop coming."

"No." you shook your head vehemently, as the sole thought made your chest hurt. "No..."

She leaned down to kiss you, your lips slightly salty with tears but also willingly open.

You lay down on her bare chest, your feet brushing against hers, your breathing synchronized as the caresses you shared with your fingertips began slowing down while you began dozing off. You traced circles on her abdomen while she followed the lines of your stretch marks on your hip with her index finger, looking at the ceiling and questioning why she kept coming to you if she got nothing but pain out of it.

And why the hell did you keep letting her in?

The rustling of cardboard caught your attention, thinking the night breeze had knocked over the coffee cup by the window, but the meow that followed made you sit up suddenly. A high-pitched, insistent and urgent meow. "Did you hear that?" you asked, waiting for the next meow.

"Don't tell me you have a cat." she grumbled half asleep.

"I don't." you stated. Sevika yawned, watching you leave the bed and head towards the source of the sound in the living room. You thought a kitten had snuck into your apartment, you searched for it with your ears as the room was dark. The sound led you to the box on the coffee table.

Sevika’s box.

"Sev," you called. "Your cigarettes are meowing."

The aforementioned left the bed, her heavy steps reaching the living room and she turned on the lamp next to the sofa. "Cigarettes don't meow," she growled, although you didn't notice that her tone sounded more tense than usual. Sevika's expression transitioned from annoyance to irritarion as you lifted the lid of the box. Sure enough, a small, black kitten with a single eye popped its head out, wide eye looking up at you before letting out another meow.

"Alright, list-"

"You brought a cat?!" you inquired as Sevika let out a groan.

"No! I-, fuck, yeah." she tried to explain. "I meant to tell you tomorrow."

Sevika's expression hardened as if she was weighing her options in her mind, deciding how much she wanted to reveal to you. She was quiet for a moment before finally sighing and running her hand down her face.

"I found this damned thing while on my way here. It was in the alleyway, meowing and getting on my nerves and-" she paused and shook her head. "I don't know why I brought it with me."

You looked at the little one again, meowing like a complaint as he tried to climb up the box and soften you and Sevika up with his thin fur and single eye. He was succeeding.

"You rescued him." you said.

She leaned against the couch nd letting out a sigh. "It was following me down the street, meowing its little head off. I thought it was just hungry and I didn't want to listen to it whine anymore, so I carried it here."

"And what was your plan?"

"I don't have time to babysit a damn cat." Sevika said. "I figured if I brought it here, you could take care of it."

You couldn't help but chuckle bitterly. "Great. Not only the whore but the babysitter now?"

"Who said you're a whore?" retorted Sevika, leaning towards you. "As far as I can remember, you're not working at Babbette's anymore."

"Personal bedwarmer, then." you insisted.

"Stop it." she spat, as the cat demanded attention meow after meow. "I'm just asking you to keep it for tonight, while I figure out what to do. I can't carry a furball down the harbor, can I?"

You looked at the little animal and sighed, believing that Sevika was simply getting rid of it with you. ""It's just a little cat, doll. Don't act like I just dropped a whole damn child in front of you."

"Gosh, I can't believe you." Sighing heavily, you leaned down to take the kitten into your arms. Its claws tickled your skin, its smell of street and sewer didn't seem to bother you, nor did its single eye.

Sevika let out a sigh. "Thank you."

You didn't look at her, you walked towards the kitchen instead to feed the fussy little thing. You watched the kitten feed himself fervently from a bowl of boiled milk, hearing his tiny licks. Crouched in front of his dinner, the kitten looked harmless and certainly fragile.

"He's your cat," you said to Sevika. "I can take care of him, but he's yours."

"Alright... it's mine." nodded Sevika. "Don't get attached, then."

And you huffed. "I've heard that before."

The space next to your bed was empty the next morning, but you didn't allow yourself to regret it, as the kitten demanded attention as soon as he noticed you had woken up. He was a natural communicator. You soon distinguished between his hunger meows and his attention meows. He was smart and affectionate,following you around and seeking to lay on your chest or climb on your shoulder when you were working at the desk. You limited yourself to calling him 'cat' the first few days, unsure of getting attached to an animal that didn't belong to you, but whose owner was too busy to care for him or come see you. On the second day someone came to drop litter box and cat formula at your apartment, on the third a kitty bed. Sevika didn't have the time to come but she hadn't forgotten her agreement; the cat was hers.

Within a week the furball had taken over your home. He learned your routine, developed whims that you indulged without complaint, and got used to sleeping next to you in that bed you so longed to fill. "When you're bigger, Sevika won't have to come fill this space," you whispered, to which the kitten meowed.

Sevika arrived that night to your surprise. As you opened the door, the cat snuck between your legs and came out to meet her.

"Hey, little bastard." said the woman, kneeling to pet the black kitten which looked way more round compared to a week ago.

"Coming early." you teased her. "Feeling guilty?"

"I wasn't coming for the damn cat, I was coming for you."

"My bed is occupied tonight." you said, glancing at the cat on Sevika's hand.

"You let the damn cat sleep in your bed?" she groused.

"You mean your cat." you retorded. "He's a well behaved kitten, even more than you."

"Remind me to not bring any more animals to your place." she sighed, stepping into your apartment.

The kitten did not stop seeking Sevika's attention throughout the evening, meowing non-stop, climbing up her poncho and using all of its charms to get what he wanted. The kitten even climbed up the bed while you were in the middle of a session with Sevika and she almost crushed him if it weren't for the fact that you noticed its furry silhouette on the bed. The kitten finally succeeded, sleeping on Sevika's chest that night.

"You have to give him a name..." you whispered.

Sevika pursed her lips, looking down at the purring ball on her chest before petting it with her knuckles. "Let's call him Wink. After his single eye."

Wink. You smiled.

"Wink..." you repeated. "It suits him."

Wink learned his name quickly. As the days passed, he began to grow by leaps and bounds. His fine coat of fur was now thick and dark as night, his single yellow eye scanning around without problem, becoming a nocturnal hunter and the object of your anguish when you didn't see him return home until several hours later. Once he came with a small bird between his teeth, still alive, and he placed it at the foot of your bed as an offering. "I guess he loves you," Sevika murmured, looking at the dying little animal.

Wink became your roommate and the most reliable guarantee for Sevika to show up at your apartment. Her absences were getting shorter, her stays longer. She often came to see the kitten, sleep with you, and even started staying for breakfast when her work didn't prevent it. You wondered if Wink was really the reason for her presence, and that made you cling to the animal even more, achieving what you tried to do for two years.

Keeping Sevika close.

You often watched Sevika sleep, her breathing long and calm, her chest rising with each breath. Wink would often curl up between the two of you, cradled in the warmth of two women who seemed to attract each other like hymans but hurt each other like poison in small doses. Your fantasy would fade as soon as Sevika woke up and she would start thinking about you more often during work or during her gambling breaks.

Things were changing.

However, after a month you went to the Last Drop, as Sevika had forbidden you so many times. But this time the reason was valid and urgent. A guard stopped you at the entrance, you asked him anxiously to let you through, that you were looking for Sevika. Until she appeared behind the man.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice stern. "You know you're not supposed to be here."

"Wink is missing." you said. "He's been gone for three days, I've been looking for him all over the Lanes."

"The hell do you mean he's missing?" she asked, her voice betraying a hint of worry. "Have you checked all his usual spots?"

You breathed heavily, weighing the possibility that Wink was lost or something else had happened to him. Zaun was a cruel place for humans and animals alike, there was talk of markets selling dog and cat meat, of unscrupulous sellers who bought cat skins and sold them as rabbit skins. You feared the worst.

"Hey, we'll find him." she said, her voice firm yet reassuring. "Don't think the worst just yet. He'll turn up."

Sevika ordered the guard to step aside, allowing you to enter. A murmur seemed to stir at the sight of Silco's second-in-command with a girl, comforting her with more gentleness than the woman had ever shown. But one look from her had them all quieting down and going on with their business. "Sit down, doll."

She handed you a glass of sparkling water, her hand coming to rest on your shoulder as she gauged your worry. "Alright, listen to me." Sevika said. "We're gonna find that damn cat. I'm gonna call in some favors and put some eyes out there."

"What if he's dead?" you asked.

"He's not dead, doll. He's a smart bastard."

The next few hours were a dream and a nightmare all at once. For the first time you walked the streets of Zaun with Sevika at your side, clinging to her arm as you asked about a one-eyed black furball that had strayed. You hadn’t noticed Sevika’s effect on people until they came closer and seemed to brace themselves for something, backs straightening, conversations dying down, and a few nervous smiles appearing. But many turned to look at you as well, seeing the second in command with a tearful girl on her arm. A girl who didn’t look like a lady-in-waiting.

As night fell, you were tired and hopeless. Wink seemed to hide from you and Sevika was getting more and more impatient. He's a damn cat after all, why bother so much? But seeing you like that, reminder her that for you it wasn't just a cat.

"Doll, I'll take you home." she said then, stopping you. "That's enough for today, we've been searching for hours and I can't keep you company any longer."

"But…"

"I still have people searching, don't worry."

When you got home, Sevika insisted that you take a bath and have dinner. She wouldn't let you fall into a depressive episode over a case as solvable as a lost cat. If necessary, she would find another one-eyed furball and deposit it in your bed the next morning. But she couldn't keep watching you cry, she had done it before when she was the reason for your tears.

Sevika sat next to you on the bed, you were half asleep but still sniffling. The woman studied you silently, understanding that your distress was not only due to the probable death of a cat, but to what that cat meant.

"Are you sure he's just a cat?" she asked quietly. Your eyes fluttered open, her expression looking oddly gentle.

"He's your cat." you whispered.

And the reason she comes to visit you. The reason she's spent more nights with you and smiled more. The reason she stayed for breakfast and gave you gentler kisses. Wink was way more than a cat.

And Sevika reached out to stroke your cheek. "I'll find him, doll. Don't worry."

You dreamed of purrs, the smell of coffee, and an arm around your waist. You dreamed of a kiss on your temple and the certainty of an “I love you.” And you felt pathetic as soon as you woke up.

You sighed, noticing the sun streaming through the window and welcoming you to another noisy morning at the Lanes. You thought of Wink but didn’t rush to get up, the idea of ​​him lying at the bottom of a pot, seasoned with cumin and pepper was already settling in you and you seemed to accept it. Sevika would no longer have to come again.

You stood up to pour yourself a glass of water, unaware of the lump on the couch until the lump meowed. You stopped short, rushing to scoop the furry ball into your arms and hold it against your chest. “Damn rat!” you cried. “Don’t you ever do this to me again, how dare you.”

You kissed his furry head and thanked Janna, telling yourself that you'll put a collar on your cat and close the windows of your apartment better next time. But your happiness was interrupted by Sevika entering the apartment, a black ball of fur on her hand.

And her eyes widened by finding you up and with the damn cat between your arms.

"Well I'll be damned," she muttered, her eyes flitting between you and Wink.

Your eyes widened as much as hers. "Who's that?"

"Fuck." she muttered, shifting in place somewhat sheepishly. "I thought, well… the fucker didn't show up and…"

"A substitute?" you asked.

"A supplanter." she admitted. "Only this one has two eyes."

The kittens looked at each other and Wink hissed at the newcomer, while Sevika seemed to want to hide from your gaze. “Sev…” you said.

“I’ll take it back.”

“No!” you said, taking a step. “No, it’s okay. It can stay.”

"It's just..." Sevika muttered. "I thought you'd be less sad, that's all."

The way she said it, the softness of her words, and the tangible gesture of bringing a cat home just to cheer you up tugged at your heartstrings. Gently, you reached out and touched her chin, tilting her face down towards yours. "I haven't been fair with you." she muttered.

"I've been too naive myself." you whispered.

Sevika sighed, stepping forward to place a kiss on your lips. "The cat was an excuse," she finally admitted.

"The best excuse you could come up with."

Sevika pulled you into a warm embrace and for a moment you wondered if you were still sleeping, only to realize that all of this was as true as the fact that Wink began attacking the newcomer.

"Hey, stop it!" yelled Sevika.

[ch0llies]

YOU ARE IN LOVE | MATTHEW STURNIOLO.

oneshot - matt x reader

It’s the night before you leave for college, and like always, you’re spending it with Matt- your best friend since preschool, the boy who has been by your side through everything. With only hours left before everything changes, the unspoken bond between you two presses against the surface, begging to be acknowledged. Will you fight it like you always have, pretending it’s nothing? Or will you finally say the three words that have been sitting on your tongue for years?

story warnings: fluffy as fuck, smut, oral (fem receiving), angst (if u squint), love confession, both characters are 18, and i think that’s it tbh. If any of these topics upset you… don’t read!

word count: 8k

for @mattsobvimyfav 💙

The room is bathed in the soft glow of fairy lights, their golden hue flickering against the ceiling. The hum of quiet music plays from your record player, the familiar melody of You Are In Love by Taylor Swift threading through the air like a whisper. The night feels heavy, thick with the weight of time slipping away, with the things left unsaid.

You pull the blanket up to your chin, sinking further into your pillows as a shiver runs down your spine. Your head is pounding, your body aching, and your throat burns every time you swallow. It’s just your luck- you’re leaving tomorrow, and instead of spending this night making memories, you’re curled up in bed, feverish and miserable.

And yet, you don’t feel alone. Matt is here.

He’s been here all night, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside your bed, flipping through one of your cliche romance books on your nightstand absentmindedly. His messy brown hair falls into his eyes, and every now and then, he pushes it back with an exasperated little sigh. You wonder if he realizes how much he does that.

“You should sleep,” he murmurs, not looking up from the page he isn’t actually reading.

“I don’t want to,” you mumble, voice hoarse.

He finally glances up, blue eyes soft with something unreadable. He sets the book down and leans his elbows on the mattress, close enough that you can see the worry creased in his brows. “You’re sick. You need rest.”

You shake your head, the movement making you dizzy. “If I sleep, I’ll wake up, and it’ll be tomorrow.”

And tomorrow, you’re leaving. The words aren’t spoken, but Matt hears them anyway. He swallows, his throat bobbing, and you watch as he wrestles with something in his head.

Instead of answering, he reaches forward, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. His skin is cool against your warmth, and the simple touch sends a shiver through you- not from fever, but from him.

“Still hot,” he murmurs. “Let me get you some water.”

He moves to stand, but you grab his wrist weakly, stopping him.

“Stay,” you whisper.

He exhales, settling down beside you in bed, his fingers ghosting over your knuckles. It’s nothing- just the softest brush of skin against skin but your breath catches anyway.

The song plays on loop in the background. Your record player is older than the both of you combined and will sometimes repeat a certain track over and over and over.

It just happens that it’s this song.

Your eyelids feel heavy, but you fight against it, desperate to hold onto this moment, to him.

“Are you scared?” you ask suddenly, voice barely above a whisper.

Matt doesn’t answer right away. He shifts, his fingers curling slightly against yours, like he’s debating whether to hold your hand. “Of what?” he asks.

“Of everything changing.���

Silence stretches between you, and then- so quiet you almost don’t hear it- he says, “Yeah.”

Your chest aches, and it has nothing to do with your fever. You turn your head toward him, blinking drowsily. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?” you murmur.

He looks at you, brows knitting together. “What is?”

“How you can be around someone for so long and never really say the things you want to say.”

Matt stills. For a long moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t even breathe. His eyes search yours, something unreadable flickering behind them- something fragile, something breaking.

His fingers twitch against yours. You wait, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he feels it too.

Then, so quietly it’s almost lost in the music, he asks, “What do you want to say?”

Your heart stumbles over itself. You open your mouth, but no words come out. Maybe it’s the fever, maybe it’s exhaustion, maybe it’s the fact that you don’t know how to say it- how to put into words what’s been building inside you for so long.

So instead, you just whisper, “I don’t want this night to end.”

And Matt…Matt, who always finds the words, who never stumbles over what he wants to say, just looks at you, like he understands everything you mean without you having to say it.

Like maybe, just maybe, he feels it too.

He shifts closer. Your hands brush, and he doesn’t pull away this time.

The silence between you is thick, filled with everything neither of you are saying, everything you want to say but can’t. The fever weighs heavy on your body, making your limbs feel like they’re sinking into the mattress, but the warmth of Matt beside you keeps you tethered.

He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, still close, still there. His fingers brush absently against the blanket draped over you, like he wants to hold your hand but isn’t sure if he should.

“You’re gonna love college,” he says after a while, his voice gentle, careful. “You’re gonna meet so many new people, take cool classes, do all that independent adult stuff.”

You let out a weak, dry laugh. “That’s a nice way of saying you’ll be drowning in assignments and have an existential crisis once a week.”

Matt snorts. “Yeah, well. You’ve been preparing for that your whole life.”

You shake your head, staring up at the ceiling, watching the fairy lights blur as your exhaustion deepens. “I don’t feel ready.”

Matt is quiet for a moment, like he’s letting your words settle between you. Then, he exhales and says, “I’ll visit you. You know that, right? It’s not like I’m just gonna disappear off the face of the earth.”

You turn your head to look at him, your tired eyes searching his. “It’s not the same, Matt.”

Something flickers in his expression, something vulnerable, something he doesn’t want you to see. He quickly masks it with a small smile, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know,” he murmurs. “But I’ll still be there. However you need me to be.”

Your throat tightens, and not just from the sickness. Because Matt has always been there.

Ever since the first day of preschool, when you found him crying behind the jungle gym at recess, small and overwhelmed and anxious. His triplet brothers had rushed off ahead, caught up in their own excitement, leaving him behind, and he didn’t know what to do.

So you had just… sat down next to him. Quiet, patient. You didn’t ask what was wrong, didn’t try to fix it. You just stayed, let him feel what he was feeling.

And then, after a moment, you had whispered the words that changed everything.

“I’ll wait for you.”

Matt sniffled, blinking up at you with wide, watery eyes. “Really?”

You nodded, swinging your little legs beneath you. “Yeah. We can play together.”

And from that moment on, you were inseparable.

Years passed, and things changed- new schools, new friends, different phases of life- but Matt was always the one thing that stayed constant. The one person you could always turn to, the one person who knew you, even when you didn’t know yourself.

And now you’re supposed to leave him behind?

Matt must sense the thoughts racing through your mind because he suddenly clears his throat and murmurs, “You know, if you wake up with a fever, your mom won’t let you go.”

Your heart stutters.

“You’ll have to wait,” he continues, voice light, teasing, but his eyes say something else.

Your lips part slightly, chest tightening.

“I really hope I wake up with a fever,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

Matt lets out a soft laugh, but there’s no humor in it. He looks down at his hands, playing with the hem of his hoodie. “You don’t mean that,” he says, but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than anything.

“I do,” you insist, turning toward him fully now. “I don’t want to leave you, Matt.”

He presses his lips together, his jaw tightening, his fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie.

For the first time since you’ve known him, Matt looks lost for words.

Then, all at once the weight of everything crashes down all at once. It starts as a small, creeping thought- what if things change? But then it spirals, tangling and twisting until it’s too big to contain. Your chest tightens, your throat constricts, and suddenly, you can’t just lie here.

You sit up too fast, the dizziness from your fever making your head spin, but you don’t care.

“What if you forget about me?” The words tumble out, breathless, desperate. “What if you go to community college and meet cooler people? What if you realize you don’t even want to visit me? What if-” Your voice wavers, and suddenly, there’s a lump in your throat so big it hurts.

Matt’s eyes widen slightly, and he sits up immediately, his hands hovering near you, unsure if he should touch you or give you space.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, voice gentle but firm, like he’s trying to ground you, to pull you back from the edge of whatever storm is brewing inside your head. “Slow down.”

But you can’t.

You shake your head, chest rising and falling too fast. “What if everything changes and we don’t talk as much and then it turns into barely talking at all and one day we just become strangers who used to be best friends-”

Your breath stutters. You’re trying not to cry, but your eyes are burning, your hands are shaking, and your body feels too hot, too overwhelmed, too everything.

Matt moves before you can spiral any further.

He grabs your hands, his touch steady, warm, real. “Y/N.”

You look up at him, your vision blurry, your breaths uneven.

And then so soft and so certain, he says the same thing you said to him all those years ago, when he was just a scared little kid on the playground, left behind, lost.

“I’ll wait for you.”

Something inside you cracks.

The words settle deep in your chest, in the place where all the fear and doubt have been building, and suddenly, you’re eight years old again, sitting next to a crying Matt, holding his hand, telling him the same thing.

You had meant it then.

And he means it now.

A shaky breath escapes you, and Matt squeezes your hands tighter, like he’s anchoring you here, keeping you from slipping away into your own thoughts.

“You hear me?” he murmurs. “No matter where you go, no matter how much time passes- Im not going anywhere.”

Your chin trembles, and this time, you can’t stop the tears from slipping down your cheeks.

Matt doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you, holding you like he’s afraid you might slip away if he lets go.

You grip his hoodie, pressing your face against him, breathing in the familiar scent of home. Of him. The warmth of it against your cheek is grounding, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear calming your own. His arms stay wrapped around you, strong and unwavering, even as your breathing slowly evens out.

Neither of you move for a long time. The same song hums softly in the background for the millionth time, the fairy lights flickering against the walls, casting shadows that feel softer now, less suffocating.

Matt is the first to break the silence.

“Feeling better?” he murmurs, his chin lightly resting against the top of your head.

You sniffle. “No.”

A quiet laugh rumbles in his chest. “Liar.”

You pull back slightly, just enough to look at him, though he doesn’t let go of you entirely. His face is inches from yours, his eyes searching, like he’s making sure you’re okay before he lets himself relax.

For a second, you just stare at each other, the weight of the moment pressing down on you again.

You exhale, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “Is there anything you’ve never told me before?”

Matt stills. “…What?”

You shrug, your voice light but a little shaky. “I don’t know. Just… before I go, I wanna get things off my chest. Feels like the right time, you know?”

His expression shifts, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Like what?”

You purse your lips, suddenly feeling nervous, but you push through.

“Well,” you start, biting the inside of your cheek, “one time I cheated at Wii Bowling and blamed Chris.”

Matt blinks at you, his body frozen.

You don’t notice.

“And another time, that girl in tenth grade- the one I hated- she wrote you a Valentine and left it in your locker, and I threw it out before you could see it.”

Matt doesn’t move.

You keep going.

“Oh, and once, you let me borrow your hoodie, and I got a stain on it, so I shoved it under my bed and told you I lost it. And I only found it, like, six months later, but at that point, it was too late to tell you, so- ”

“I think I’ve been in love with you since we met.”

Your breath catches.

The words hit you like a sudden drop, like the floor has disappeared from beneath you and suddenly everything feels way too real.

You blink at him, your lips parting slightly. “You’re…What?”

Matt exhales, his grip tightening around your hands, his expression so open, so vulnerable, you almost can’t breathe.

“I-” he murmurs, shaking his head, his voice rough with something you can’t quite name. “I- I thought you were gonna say it. I thought you were finally gonna say it, and when you didn’t, I just-” He cuts himself off, swallowing hard. “I can’t let you leave without knowing.”

Your heart stumbles over itself, racing, tripping, trying to catch up.

Matt doesn’t blink, doesn’t waver. “I’ve been in love with you since the moment you sat next to me on that playground and told me you’d wait for me.”

The memory rushes back in full force. The small, anxious boy, the way his brothers ran ahead without him, the way you had just sat there, patient and quiet, letting him know he wasn’t alone.

Matt lets out a breath, shaking his head. “I didn’t say anything because I was scared I’d lose you. I didn’t want to ruin this.” His voice drops, softer now, raw. “But you’re leaving, and if I don’t say it now…” He exhales. “I can’t risk you leaving without knowing how I feel.”

Your chest is tight, your mind spinning, but the only thing you can focus on is him.

Your mouth parts slightly, but no words come out. Your mind feels like it’s moving too fast and too slow all at once, trying to grasp onto the reality of what’s happening- of what he just said.

You blink at him, your breath unsteady.

“…Matt, why-” your voice is barely above a whisper, trembling, “why didn’t you say anything?”

Matt exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, like he’s been holding this in for years- because he has.

“Because I was terrified,” he admits, his voice rushed, like now that the words have started, he can’t stop them. “I was terrified of losing you, of ruining everything, of making things weird-” He shakes his head, laughing almost bitterly. “I thought maybe it was better to just have you, even if it wasn’t the way I wanted.”

You don’t even know how to breathe, don’t know how to make sense of the fact that Matt has been carrying this inside him all this time.

And then he just keeps going, like all the love he’s held back is pouring out now, raw and unfiltered.

“I-” He swallows, his hands gripping yours tighter, like he’s afraid you might slip away. “I’ve memorized you. Every little thing about you.” His voice turns softer, more certain. “I could pick out your laugh in a room of ten thousand people.”

“The way your eyes twinkle when you’re really, really happy,” he continues, almost breathless. “And how you get that tiny dimple in your left cheek, but only when you smile a certain way. How you furrow your brows when you’re confused, and you don’t even realize you do it.”

He’s looking at you like he’s seeing everything- like you are everything.

“When you’re scared, you always cover your ears first, like the noise is the worst part,” he murmurs. “And when you’re nervous, you play with the hem of your sleeve, and when you’re thinking really hard about saying something, you chew on your bottom lip like you’re debating whether or not to say it out loud.”

Matt doesn’t stop. It’s like now that he’s started, he can’t stop, like every single thing he’s been holding back is tumbling out all at once, raw and unfiltered. His grip tightens on your hands like he needs you to hear him, understand him, feel everything he’s saying.

“I know the way your voice sounds when you’re tired,” he continues, his voice softer now, like a confession. “That quiet, raspy little hum you get when you’re about to fall asleep.”

His eyes flicker over your face, memorizing you even though he already knows every single detail.

“I know the exact way your nose scrunches up when something annoys you,” he murmurs, his lips twitching slightly. “And the way you roll your eyes when you pretend to be mad but you’re not really mad, because if you were, you’d get quiet instead.”

Your throat feels tight, your chest aching with something too big to hold.

Matt exhales, shaking his head. “I know you hate the sound of ticking clocks because it makes you anxious. And I know you never finish your drinks because you get distracted halfway through and forget they exist.”

He laughs a little, but it’s breathless, almost disbelieving, like he can’t believe he’s actually saying all of this out loud.

“I know you love thunderstorms, but only when you’re inside and wrapped in a blanket,” he continues. “And that you get weirdly emotional when you see old couples holding hands because you think love like that is rare.”

Your vision blurs, tears threatening to spill because how… how has he always known?

“I know you like your fries extra crispy, but your cookies extra soft,” he says, shaking his head with a fond little smile. “And you always order the same thing at restaurants, even when you say you’re gonna try something new.”

Your breath is shaky, your hands trembling in his. Matt’s eyes darken, his voice turning softer, more careful.

“I know the way you look when you’re sad,” he whispers. “And the way you look when you’re sad but you don’t want anyone to know.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, gentle, reverent.

“And I know that every single time you smile,” he murmurs, his voice almost breaking, “I fall a little more in love with you.”

You suck in a breath.

Matt just looks at you, his heart in his eyes, his love written in every single thing he’s ever noticed, ever memorized, ever felt.

And for the first time in your life, you realize he hasn’t just loved you for a while.

He’s loved you forever.

Your breath is shaky, your chest so full it feels like you might burst.

You stare at Matt, his words still ringing in your ears, sinking into your skin, wrapping around your heart like they were always meant to be there.

And then, suddenly, it hits you.

He’s loved you forever.

And he never told you.

A new kind of emotion surges through you- one you can’t quite name, something between heartbreak and frustration, something that feels like God, why did we waste so much time?

Your hands tighten in his.

“Matt,” you whisper, your voice trembling, “why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

He blinks, thrown off by the shift in your tone. “I- I told you, I was scared-”

You shake your head, your eyes burning, your heart pounding. “Matt, I would’ve spent my whole life with you.”

His lips part slightly, his breath catching, but you don’t stop.

“You’ve had me, Matt,” you whisper, voice breaking. “Since the day you met me. You just didn’t know.”

Matt’s grip on your hands tightens, like he’s trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers. “I-”

“I wouldn’t have looked at anyone else,” you continue, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I wouldn’t have wanted to. Because it was always you.”

Matt swallows hard, his throat bobbing, his entire body frozen as he watches you- like he can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth.

Your voice is barely above a whisper now, raw and aching. “I thought I was crazy. I thought I was the only one who felt it, and I was so scared of losing you that I never said anything, either. I’m sorry.”

A small, choked sound escapes Matt’s lips_ somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes, running a hand through his hair like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

You shake your head, your hands still gripping his. “We could’ve had so much more time-”

Matt doesn’t let you finish.

Before you can even process it, his hands cup your face, and suddenly his lips crash into yours and it’s like everything in the universe shifts into place.

For a moment, you freeze, too overwhelmed, too shocked, too full of everything you’ve ever wanted but never thought you’d have. But then your body reacts before your mind can catch up, your hands gripping onto his hoodie, pulling him closer, your lips moving against his like they were meant to.

It’s desperate and soft all at once, like he’s trying to make up for years in a single kiss. Like he’s trying to prove to you that you were never crazy, never alone in this- that it’s always been him, and it’s always been you.

But then you remember your fever.

You gasp, breaking the kiss, hands pressing lightly against his chest to put just enough space between you. “Wait- Matt, I don’t want to get you sick.”

His eyes are dark, his breath uneven, and for a second, he just stares at you- like he’s been starving for this, for you, for so long, and he just got a taste, and he can’t bear to stop now.

Then, he exhales a shaky laugh, his forehead pressing against yours.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, “I’ve been sick for the past eighteen years because I haven’t been able to do this.”

And then he kisses you again.

Slower this time, but somehow deeper, more intense. Like he’s pouring every unspoken word, every what if, every year of love he kept locked away into you.

Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him impossibly close, and he groans softly against your lips, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

Then, without breaking the kiss, Matt shifts- his hands finding your waist, his body moving over yours until you’re beneath him, his weight pressing into you in the most perfect way.

You barely have time to react before he’s kissing you harder, like he wants to memorize every inch of you like this, like he wants to ruin the space between you so it never exists again.

His hands move slowly- tracing the curves of your body like he’s worshiping you, like he can’t believe you’re real. His thumb brushes over your cheek, then down your jaw, then to the side of your neck, where his fingers press just slightly, feeling your pulse race under his touch.

“God,” he breathes against your lips, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

You whimper softly, and that’s all it takes. Matt’s lips move to your jaw, then to your neck, kissing you so slowly, so intimately, like he wants to take his time, like he’s savoring the moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips brushing over the spot just below your ear.

Your fingers dig into his back, your breath coming faster, and Matt groans at the feeling, his hands gripping your waist tighter, pressing you further into the mattress.

He moves with a kind of reverence you’ve never felt before, like he’s worshiping every inch of you, like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life.

His lips leave a slow, burning trail along your jaw, down the curve of your neck, lingering just enough to make you shiver beneath him. His hands stay steady on your waist, his grip firm but careful, like he’s afraid to rush this- like he needs to savor it.

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

Because the way Matt is touching you, the way he’s looking at you, says more than words ever could.

His fingers brush against the hem of your shirt, hesitating for just a second, his breathing uneven. Then, he glances up at you, his eyes dark, filled with something so raw, so intense, it makes your whole body warm.

“Can I?” he murmurs, his voice rough but gentle.

You nod, barely able to breathe, and that’s all he needs.

With deliberate, careful hands, he lifts your shirt up and over your head, letting it drop somewhere on the floor.

His gaze flickers over you, his chest rising and falling faster now, his hands ghosting over your sides, your stomach, like he’s committing every detail of you to memory.

“God,” he breathes, his voice almost broken. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

His lips are on your collarbone, slow and warm, his mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses down the center of your chest.

Your body trembles beneath him, and he feels it, his hands gripping your waist tighter as he moves lower.

His lips trace along the curves of your ribs, your stomach, his pace agonizingly slow, so intimate, like he wants to worship every inch of you.

Every press of his lips sends heat pooling through you, makes your breath hitch, makes your fingers instinctively reach for him- except he doesn’t let you take control.

This is his moment. His chance to show you exactly what he’s felt for years.

Matt’s lips return to your chest, his mouth brushing over your peaked nipple, his tongue flicking just barely before his lips close around you, sucking gently, teasing, making you arch into him.

A soft whimper escapes your lips, and Matt groans at the sound, his grip on you tightening, his body pressing closer.

“Fuck,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with something desperate, something needy.

And then, slowly, so slowly, his lips continue their path downward, kissing, teasing, taking his time.

Because for Matt this isn’t just a moment.

This is everything.

Every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every suppressed urge finally unraveling all at once.

His hands trace the curves of your body with reverence, memorizing, savoring. His lips ghost over your collarbone, down the center of your chest, mapping you like you’re something sacred-because to him, you are.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathes, his voice almost a plea, his forehead pressing against your stomach as his fingers flex against your hips. He needs to hear it, needs to know that this isn’t just his own longing finally overflowing, but yours too.

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently until he looks up at you, his blue eyes dark with need, with something deeper than want.

“I want this. I want you,” you whisper, and it’s all the permission he needs.

A shaky breath leaves his lips before he resumes his path downward, kissing, tasting, worshiping every inch of you like he’s been starving for this, for you, for longer than he even wants to admit.

Matt’s fingers hook into the waistband of your sweatpants, his movements slow as he tugs them down inch by inch. His lips never leave your skin, pressing soft, lingering kisses down your stomach, his breath warm and uneven against you.

His eyes flicker up, meeting yours through the dim light, and the look in them is nothing short of worship.

“You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen,” he murmurs..

He slides your underwear down your legs, his fingertips barely grazing your skin, but it sends a shiver through you. His hands are firm yet gentle, grounding you in the weight of his touch. And then, once you’re bare beneath him, he just looks. Drinks you in like you’re something sacred.

His breath hitches as he presses his lips to the inside of your thigh, his grip tightening like he’s barely holding himself together. And he isn’t.

Because the way he wants you- it’s all-consuming.

His hips rut against the mattress, seeking friction, unable to help himself. His need for you, for this, is so intense it borders on unbearable.

His breath fans over your skin, warm and uneven, as he lingers there, lips hovering just shy of where you need him most. His fingers press into your thighs, thumbs tracing slow, mindless patterns, like he’s trying to ground himself- but it isn’t working.

“God,” Matt exhales, his voice wrecked, half a whisper, half a plea. His forehead briefly drops against your inner thigh, like he’s trying to steady himself, trying to hold back, but the restraint is slipping.

He presses another kiss there, softer this time. Then another. His nose brushes against your skin, and you can feel the way his breath shakes, the way his hands flex like he’s fighting every urge to lose himself completely.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs.

His lips part against your skin, warm and soft as he drags them over the sensitive flesh, barely there, just a ghost of a touch. He presses another kiss, firmer this time, his breath spilling hot against you before his tongue flicks out, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of your thigh. He lingers, mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses, his tongue flattening against your skin before he pulls away just enough to let the cool air chase the warmth he leaves behind.

His fingers flex, thumbs smoothing up and down the insides of your thighs in lazy, absentminded strokes, like he’s savoring the way your body reacts to him. He kisses higher, a little closer, but still teasing, still holding back, his nose brushing against you as he exhales another shaky breath. His lips part again, and this time, his tongue drags in a slow, unhurried line, tasting, testing, his grip tightening when your body tenses beneath him.

“Mmph- yeah baby that feels good,” you moan softly.

A quiet, broken sound escapes him as he finally gets a taste of you. One that sends a sharp jolt of heat through you, because it’s not just about what he’s doing- it’s about what this is doing to him. The restraint, the desperation, the way he’s been holding himself back only to finally give in, to finally let himself fall.

He tilts his head and licks you again, slower this time, dragging it out. His pace is torturous, every movement deliberate, like he has all the time in the world, like he wants to unravel you inch by inch. He sucks gently, his lips sealing over sensitive skin, his tongue flicking in short, teasing strokes before he pulls back just enough to let his breath fan over the damp heat he’s left behind.

His hands move, one sliding up to press firmly against your lower stomach, holding you in place, keeping you right where he wants you. The other ghosts higher, fingers brushing, tracing, exploring without urgency. He presses another kiss, softer this time, then another, his tongue flicking between them, lazy and unhurried.

He groans again like he’s savoring every second, like the taste of you is something he wants to commit to memory. His mouth opens wider, his tongue pressing flat and slow, dragging, circling, before he pulls away just enough to murmur against your skin, his lips brushing with every syllable.

“So damn sweet.”

Matt shifts slightly, settling in like he has no intention of rushing this, no desire to do anything but take his time and savor every second. His breath is warm, steadying, as he nudges his nose against you before his lips part once more. He starts with another slow, open-mouthed kiss, his tongue flicking out just enough to tease, to taste, before he pulls back and does it again.

“Oh my- fuck.” you cry out, hands flying down to tangle into his brown locks.

Then he presses in deeper, his tongue flattening against you, warm and wet as he drags it through your folds again with an unhurried precision. He hums low in his throat, the vibrations sending a shiver straight through you as he licks again, savoring the way you react beneath him as he explores, his tongue slipping between your folds, swirling, tracing, tasting.

Then he latches on, his lips sealing over you as he sucks, slow and deep, his tongue flicking in teasing strokes before he pulls back just enough to let his breath spill hot over your leaking cunt. He groans, a deep, needy sound, before he leans back in, sucking again, harder this time, his mouth working against you in slow, deliberate pulls.

“Yeah baby- Matt-” you moan, pulling his dark hair between your fingers as he hits your sweet spot again.

His tongue flicks out between each pull, circling, teasing, slipping lower before he sucks again, his lips wrapping around your folds as he draws them into his mouth, slurping softly, unashamed, like he’s lost in this, in you. He lingers, his tongue pressing and swirling, tasting every inch, every drop, before he shifts slightly and does it again, his pace slow, torturous, precise.

Every movement is deliberate, every pull of his lips, every flick of his tongue, every slow, wet slurp as he drinks you in like he can’t get enough. His fingers flex against your thighs, his grip tightening as he tilts his head, angling himself just right as his tongue moves with purpose, slow and deep, before he latches on again, sucking, savoring, swallowing every sound, every reaction you give him.

His eyes flutter as he shifts, pressing himself closer like he physically can’t stand the distance. His mouth is soft, wet, and devastatingly slow as he licks through your folds, savoring every inch, every taste. His tongue flattens against you before he pushes it deeper, slipping inside you with a slow, deliberate stroke. His groan is muffled, vibrating against you as he thrusts his tongue in again, slick and hot, his hands gripping you tighter to hold you steady.

“Fuck baby yeah- mmph- right there, yeah-” you blab underneath him.

He pulls back just enough to drag his tongue through your slickness, circling your clit in slow, teasing strokes before dipping back down, pushing his tongue inside you again, fucking you with it in steady, deliberate motions.

His hips stutter against the mattress, barely restrained, and when he groans against you again, it’s deep, needy, and frustrated. He grinds down, seeking friction, his body reacting instinctively to the way you arch beneath him, the way your hands tangle in his hair, tugging, guiding him deeper.

His tongue keeps working in slow, steady thrusts, in and out, pushing deeper each time before he pulls back to flick and circle your clit again. His lips wrap around it, sucking softly, then harder, before he licks back down, slipping his tongue inside you again, dragging out the sensation, stretching it, making sure you feel every inch of him.

He hums against you, his pleasure evident in the way his hips roll into the mattress, the way his breath stutters between each stroke of his tongue. His pace never falters, never rushes. Just deep, slow, purposeful movements, his mouth working you over as he grinds down, chasing his own relief against the bed.

His fingers dig into your thighs as he pushes in again, tongue pressing deep before pulling out in a slick, slow drag. Then his mouth is back on your clit, sucking, teasing, worshipping, while his hips rut into the mattress, desperate, uncontrolled, his body reacting to yours like he’s just as lost in this as you are.

The tension between you coils tighter and tighter, pleasure building with every slow, unhurried touch as he continues that same pattern.

Matt can feel it. The way your body starts to tense beneath him, the way your thighs tremble in his grip, the way your breath turns ragged and uneven. He knows you’re close, knows you’re teetering right on the edge, and fuck, it does something to him. His hips jerk harder against the mattress, grinding down in slow, desperate rolls as he groans into you, his mouth sealing over your clit with renewed urgency.

His tongue flicks over your sensitive bundle of nerves in steady, deliberate strokes, dragging slow before wrapping his plump lips around it and sucking it into his mouth, pulling whimpers from you that only make him push himself harder against the bed. His hands tighten even more on your thighs, fingers pressing deep, holding you open for him as he devours you.

The way you react- the way your body arches into him, the way your hands tighten in his hair, pulling, guiding, needing- drives him insane. He groans, a desperate, muffled sound, before sucking harder, his tongue swirling, flicking, stroking. His hips rut into the mattress with growing urgency, each movement perfectly timed with the way his mouth moves against you, like he’s losing himself in the rhythm, in the way you tremble, in the way your breath hitches each time he flicks his tongue just right.

“You’re so close,” he murmurs against you, his voice wrecked, vibrating through every nerve in your body. He licks again, slow but firm, dragging his tongue over your clit in long, wet strokes before sucking it back into his mouth, rolling his hips into the bed with a deep, needy groan.

His movements grow messier, more desperate, his hips grinding down harder, the friction barely enough but still too much. His breath is ragged, his groans coming more frequently now, broken, needy sounds muffled against your slick skin as he buries himself deeper, tongue and lips and hands working you over like he’s determined to pull you apart.

“Come on, baby,” he rasps, barely pulling away, his breath hot against you. “Give it to me.”

And then he’s back on you, tongue flicking, lips sucking, hips rolling into the mattress with frantic, helpless need, completely lost in you, in this, in the way you’re about to fall apart for him.

You’re right there- so close it’s almost unbearable, your thighs trembling beneath his grip, your body arching into his mouth, seeking more, needing more. And Matt knows. He can feel it. He’s so in tune with you that he can tell the exact second you’re about to go under, can tell by the way your breath catches, by the way your fingers tighten in his hair, by the way your body goes tense and ready to break.

You moan, a soft, wrecked sound, and in the midst of it, the words spill out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered and real.

“I love you, Matt.”

The second they leave your lips, Matt falls apart. A choked, wrecked noise rips from his throat as his whole body tenses, his hips jerking into the mattress with a desperate, uncontrollable need. His groan is deep and guttural, vibrating against your clit as his entire body shudders, his grip on your thighs tightening almost painfully as pleasure crashes over him in waves.

And at the same time, he pulls you with him.

His mouth doesn’t stop, his tongue flicking, sucking, lapping at you with frantic, desperate movements, completely consumed by the feeling of you, by your words, by the way you moan his name as you shatter beneath him. The vibrations of his groans send shockwaves through you, tipping you over the edge with him, your body trembling as you crash into your orgasm, every nerve igniting under his touch.

Matt’s hips stutter against the mattress, rolling through the aftershocks as he whimpers against you, his body wrecked, spent, completely undone. His grip on you doesn’t loosen, his mouth still moving lazily against you, tasting, savoring, dragging out every last bit of your pleasure even as his own leaves him shaking.

Finally, he stills, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. His forehead drops onto your thigh, his hands smoothing over your legs as he presses soft, lingering kisses against you, like he’s grounding himself, like he’s trying to process what just happened.

And then, barely above a whisper, he breathes, “Fuck, I love you too.”

His breath is still uneven, his body still trembling slightly as he presses soft, open-mouthed kisses against your inner thigh, his hands stroking soothing circles over your skin. He nuzzles against you, like he can’t quite bring himself to pull away, like he’s still lost in the moment, in you.

“God, I love you,” he murmurs, voice thick, still wrecked. He presses another kiss, this one softer, almost reverent, before whispering again, “I love you so much.”

But then, as the haze starts to clear, his touch falters. His brows furrow slightly, his breath hitching as he lifts his head and really looks at you. Your skin is still warm- too warm. The fever that had you curled up and miserable earlier hasn’t completely broken, and the realization crashes over him all at once.

“Shit,” he mutters, pushing himself up slightly, his hands immediately going to your face, brushing your hair back, feeling your forehead. His expression shifts, guilt flashing across his features as his lips press into a thin line. “Sweetheart, are you okay?” His voice is softer now, filled with worry as he cups your face, his thumb stroking over your cheek. “I- I shouldn’t have done that. I wasn’t thinking. You’re still sick.”

His eyes search yours, concern bleeding into every inch of him. “Do you need anything? Water? Medicine? A blanket?” His hands are already moving, like he’s ready to jump up and grab anything you might possibly need. “I’m so sorry, baby, I-”

But you don’t let him go anywhere.

Instead, you reach up, grab his wrist, and tug him down until his body is pressed flush against yours, his head resting against your bare chest. He tenses for half a second before melting into you, exhaling shakily as you wrap your arms around him, fingers threading through his hair, holding him close.

“I’ve never felt better,” you murmur, voice soft, sincere.

Matt lets out a breath, something between a sigh and a laugh, and buries his face against your tits, his lips brushing over your skin as his arms slide around your waist, pulling you in tighter. His body is warm, solid, grounding, and for a moment, he just lays there, listening to the steady beat of your heart beneath his cheek.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbles, pressing a lingering kiss against your chest. But there’s no frustration in his voice, just quiet, exhausted affection.

The two of you stay there for a long moment, just breathing, just feeling. Matt’s weight is warm and solid against you, his head resting against your chest as his fingers lazily trace along your side. His breath is still a little uneven, but there’s something peaceful about the way he holds you, like he never wants to move.

But then, after a few minutes, he shifts slightly and mutters, “Fuck, I need to clean you up.” He pauses, groaning softly as he shifts again. “And I, uh, need to take care of myself too.”

You blink, tilting your head down to look at him. “Wait,” you murmur, teasing. “Are you still hard?” You grin slightly, running a hand through his messy hair. “Do you want me to blow you?”

You barely start to sit up before Matt’s entire body tenses against you. He jerks back slightly, his breath catching as his vision momentarily swims. “Oh- shit,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut for a second, like just the thought alone was enough to make him dizzy.

Then, with a reluctant groan, he shakes his head. “As much as that sounds fucking incredible… I, uh…” His voice drops a little, and suddenly, he’s fidgeting, shifting awkwardly as he clears his throat. “I already came.”

You blink at him, surprised. “Wait, what?”

His face turns bright red, his ears practically glowing as he runs a hand through his messy hair, looking anywhere but at you. “Yeah,” he mutters, clearing his throat again, looking almost painfully embarrassed. “Like… while I was eating you out.”

Your gaze instinctively drops lower, and that’s when you see it- the very obvious, very large stain on the front of his grey sweats. Your cheeks heat instantly, and you swallow, eyes flicking back up to him.

“That’s just from… eating me out?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Matt presses a hand over his face, groaning softly, but he nods. “Yeah.”

Silence hangs between you for a second- awkward and heated all at once, because somehow, that’s both incredibly embarrassing and incredibly hot. Your mind swirls with the thought of him grinding against the mattress, that desperate, that lost in you, that completely wrecked just from tasting you. You wish you had seen it.

He clears his throat again, breaking the tension as he finally forces himself to move. “Okay,” he mutters, shaking his head, like he needs to get himself together. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

Without another word, he rolls off the bed and heads into your bathroom, still visibly flustered. You hear the sound of running water, cabinets opening, and then he’s back, a warm towel in his hands as he kneels beside you. His touch is gentle as he cleans you up, his brows furrowed slightly in concentration, his lips pressed together like he’s still processing everything that just happened.

But as he works, his gaze flicks up to yours, and despite the embarrassment lingering in the air, there’s something warm and fond in his eyes.

“Never gonna live this down, am I?” he murmurs, his lips twitching slightly.

You bite your lip, suppressing a smile. “Probably not.”

Matt groans, shaking his head. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

As Matt finishes cleaning you up, you let out a little amused hum and murmur, “It’s okay. I probably would’ve done the same if you let me blow you.”

His entire body locks up. His grip on the towel stills, and he visibly tenses, his breath catching in his throat. For a second, he just stares at you, like his brain short-circuited, before he shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut like he’s trying to physically push the thought away.

“Sweetheart,” he groans, his voice low and strained. “You gotta stop talking about that or I’m literally gonna break.”

You giggle at his reaction, tilting your head at him, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Why don’t you let me, then?”

Matt groans again, dragging a hand down his face. “No,” he says firmly, shaking his head. “I’m not letting you blow me while you’re sick. You’re not doing anything to me while you’re sick.” His voice softens slightly, his gaze flickering over you with concern. “I don’t want you overworking yourself.”

You sigh dramatically, pouting. “Okaaayy.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a fond smile playing on his lips as he finishes cleaning you up. Once he’s done, he stands, heading back into the bathroom. You hear the soft rustling of clothes, the wet drop of fabric hitting the floor, and then a moment later, he steps out- now dressed in a fresh pair of sweats and boxers that he’d left at your place before.

When he looks at you, though, his breath catches slightly. You’re still sprawled out on the bed, naked, your body relaxed and already starting to doze off, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks.

His heart clenches at the sight.

With a soft sigh, he walks over, crouching beside the bed and brushing his fingers gently over your arm. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice filled with so much love it makes your chest ache. “Let me get you dressed and bundled up, then you can sleep.”

You let out a little sleepy whine but don’t protest as he carefully slips his own sweatshirt over your head, his hands gentle as he pulls it down over your body. It’s oversized on you, swallowing you up in warmth, and he smiles to himself as he rolls up the sleeves just a bit. Then, he grabs your sweatpants and helps you slip them back on, making sure you’re comfortable before pulling the blankets up around you, tucking you in snugly.

Just as he’s about to stand up and leave, you reach out, grabbing his wrist weakly. Your voice is small, tired, but filled with so much quiet pleading.

“No… please stay with me tonight,” you murmur, blinking up at him sleepily. “You can’t leave.”

Matt exhales softly, his expression melting into something so incredibly tender.

“Okay, baby,” he whispers, brushing his knuckles gently over your cheek before slipping into bed beside you.

The second he does, you shift closer, nuzzling against his chest as he wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly. His warmth seeps into you, his steady heartbeat against your ear lulling you further into sleep.

Matt presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, tightening his hold on you just a little.

“Get some rest, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

You nuzzle closer into Matt’s warmth, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sweatshirt as you bury your face against his chest. His scent, familiar and comforting, fills your senses, and you let out a soft, content sigh.

“I love you, Matt,” you murmur, your voice muffled against him but filled with quiet sincerity.

His arms tighten around you instantly, like he’s holding onto something precious. He exhales softly, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head before whispering, “I love you too.”

And in that moment, with his heartbeat steady beneath your ear and his arms wrapped securely around you, everything feels right.

No matter what happens tomorrow, no matter where life takes either of you, you know it’ll be okay. Because in the end, you’ll always find your way back to each other.

You’ll always wait for each other.

MASTERLIST

tags: @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt @sturniolohohoho @courta13 @izzylovesmatt @matthewsturnsgf @aaa-mi @bigbeefybitch @hopelesslydevotedsstuff @wastelandzella @yourmother29 @whore4-chrissturniolo @idefinitelyhateu @madisonnxtdoor22 @user1smvtysturniolo @briisturniolo @sturniololuvz @hesvoid34 @butterflytsblog @mommymomm @mattsbunnyxx @blushsturns @i8kth @annalisesturnioloxo @kenziesturniolo54 @ribread03 @sturnl0ve @grace-sturniolo12 @sophsturns @mattsturnfx @lilyloveschris @milo-the-dog @riggysworld @scrumptiouskoalabasement @tenaciousearthquakeperson @sturnlovematt22 @seros-girl @sofsturnz689 @sturniololuvz @eeyoresturnz

[tinkerbellknockoff]

lovergirl // fem!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

lovergirl // fem!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

headcanons of fem!katsuki bakugo with her relationship with you

a/n-- tbh wrote this during work so likeee. on another note, it'd be super funny if I used toga pics/gifs from fem!bakugo stories and gaslit y'all that it's just female bakugo. that's funny, i'd laugh

fem!Bakugo who has to have a clean appearance 

She will spend hours and hours in the morning cleaning up her appearance (straightening her hair, doing her makeup) 

Hours into the school day her hair ends up exploding with either her quirk or rage, causing her efforts to go to waste as her hair gets frizzy/ spikey

She tries to act like she doesn’t care but is secretly super mad about it 

Will secretly ask you to fix her hair

“(Y/N)...” Bakugo would whisper with a hushed voice once class ended, people filling the room beside you and her. Your hand is mid-movement, placing items into your bag as you quirk up to look at her. 

“Yeah?” You hum in acknowledgment, closing your bag, your eyes meeting her fiery red ones. She turns sheepish, almost seeming annoyed (you both know she’s not),

“Can you…” Bakugo clears her throat with an annoyed huff, “brush my hair?”

You almost laugh but you know Bakugo would hate that. You instead give her a pleasant grin, “Of course. I would love to. You have a brush?”

Bakugo shifts over to you in silence, roughly handing you her bright red brush, then turning around to let you brush through her blonde locks.

She normally has you fix up her appearance 

Starting to date her was basically becoming her personal stylist. You don’t mind it at all. 

It took a while to adjust to, for both you and her

She’s never been a physical or affectionate person but wanted to change that at least a little bit for you

You never really made any complaints- you knew what you got into when you started dating her, and you tried to make it equally as comfortable for her just as it was for you

The first step for her was basically just simply being around you more- starting to brush her shoulder against yours, purposefully asking to be paired up with you for training, and other things

Overall made an effort to start being around you more

You noticed Bakugo beginning to be basically everywhere you were

In the dining hall? There’s Bakugo!

Locker room? Bakugo!

Courtyard? Bakugo!

Dorm lounge? Bakugo!

At first, it was almost a little odd. But you eventually warmed up to it

It was how she expressed herself, who were you to judge?

“Bakugo,” You spoke softly, looking up from your homework. You were both lounging on the couch, you having been there first but Bakugo had eventually joined you- on the other side of the couch. She looked up from her phone, her red eyes naturally in a glare as she looked at you, making a gruff noise in response. “What are you doing?”

“None of your business!” This is how she responds, her voice defensive, but a light blush adorned her cheeks. 

“Aww, c’mon, can’t I wonder about what my girlfriend is doing?” Your voice is light-hearted and sincere, something that took Bakugo some warming up to, but eventually Bakugo huffed, 

“Nothing. Just wanted to be around you.” Bakugo’s voice was firm. If you weren’t properly listening, you would’ve missed how kind her words were through her harsh voice. You let out a laugh, shaking your head,

“How can you be around me when you’re so far away?” You jest, not expecting anything but disgruntled grunts and insults. Instead, Bakugo takes you by surprise (which she often does throughout the relationship) as she stands up and plops herself right by you on the couch. You’re not given time to react as she throws her arm over your shoulder roughly, bringing you tightly to her side as she grunts.

“Is this better?” Her voice is raspy with a slight softness, tightening her hold onto you. 

You had little to say, still processing her actions before letting out a soft giggle, letting yourself be pulled into her hold, “much.”

[green-crow]

Absolutely self indulgent post but

HTTYD characters and what TMA entities I'd assign them

(just as a disclaimer, I'm assigning them one that fits their personality, and another one that fits their fears, sort of what they'd thrive in and get pulled into to become an avatar VS what would kill/feed off of them)

Hiccup:

Personality-wise, the vast is just too good of a fit for him. Part of why Hiccup loves flying is his friendship with Toothless no doubt, but he also adores the vastness of the sky, the fact that there are literally no limits for him. He could go and on and on, and he probably would have were it not for his responsibilities in Berk and his friends later on. This boy would be seen having fun as an avatar of the vast like Fairchild, he'd have such a blast. Bonus points if he has some sort of special bond with Toothless, like Breekon and Hope. Without the one, the other crumbles. They are truly one and the same. I feel like for him to become an avatar, he'd have left Berk in the first movie when he tried to. Fly away instead of facing Hookfang in the arena, have an encounter with the vast, turn into an avatar and never look back. Now, when it comes to his own fear, I'd probably go with the buried. This boy has been on the verge of drowning a few too many times, one of them being in a relatively small space while closed off to everyone else, so he'd absolutely crumble if he got an experience similar to the cave sisters or getting thrown into the coffin. Not to mention the metaphorical spin of this fear that also applies to Hiccup's struggle with being chief. Gone would be his infinite freedom, the endless possibilities of flying off with no worries at all, just him and his best friend. Instead he'd be crushed with responsibilities, buried in the life of a chief far too deep to ever escape. I do like this fear for Hiccup too because it's the opposite of his assigned one, so it gives it even more power.

Astrid:

Slaughter. 100%. I considered the hunt as well, but I feel like this fits better. She's a warrior, a soldier, she's a troop ready to kill and take on any and every enemy in her way to get what she wants. She doesn't have a clear victim, she doesn't hunt others, rather she just has this deep, unpredictable sense of violence rooted inside her that the slaughter would love to get their hands on. I have no doubt she'd become an avatar extremely soon, being marked since little and starting off with dragons before moving on to actual people. Disclaimer because I don't want people thinking I'm an Astrid hater, I'm not saying she's always angry and will kill someone over the tiniest thing unless you are Snotlout, but rather that her anger issues would be perfect for the slaughter to get a hold of her. She kind of reminds me of Melanie in some ways, and if I trust anyone to do what Melanie did, it would be Astrid. As for what she fears... I don't think we see much of Astrid's fears, except for her fear of losing Hiccup or those she cares for. So, the girl is getting into the desolation. I can't help but remember the episode in which she almost lost her parents, and for some reason, I always pictured the house going down in flames. This would fit perfectly with the desolation, her loved ones taken away by a sudden flame, destroying lives for a senseless reason such as war and vengeance. I've also considered the corruption, given she almost died of a rare illness that one time, but I'm not too sure about it. She wasn't really scared as she suffered, more like confused and weak, but not scared of the end that was drawing in or the fact that she was ill. She also isn't the biggest fan of the spiral given her annoyance towards the twins, but I think that's more just her trying to keep things organised and running and getting frustrated when they aren't, not an actual fear.

Snotlout:

This one, for the personality one at least, is a tough one tbh. I'm not sure what would feel right for him, maybe because I've yet to study him closer, but for starters, I'd go with desolation personality-wise. Yes, maybe I chose it because he literally has a dragon that sets himself on fire at will, yes, maybe because he discovered a gel that makes everything flammable and canonically uses it for his own amusement. But what if there's more to it? Snotlout obviously has this deep-rooted fear of not being enough, so he always one-ups everyone. He tries to be the strongest, the bravest, the one who saves the day and gets the chick. But with flames on his side, he has a new way of feeling superior. With just the smallest of efforts, he can set aflame anything he wishes. He can burn things, animals, people. He can control fire, and thus, he is superior to others for it. I think in a twisted TMA version of him, Snotlout would love to end others before they can surpass him or just use fire to hurt and diminish others to appear better and stronger. As for what he fears, oh boy, this guy is going straight into the lonely. "The fear of isolation, of being completely cut off and alone or disconnected from the rest of society." Now go to the episode in rtte where he has a nightmare about everyone turning their backs on him and casting him away from their lives. Obviously, for him, it's not so much isolation in itself that scares him but the mix of loneliness and others finding him pathetic and weak, a fear courtesy of his daddy. I do feel like Snotlout is a very social person who needs others around to function, as his whole character arc is a journey of him trying to fit in by following the rules his family, mostly Spitelout, set for him, and the chance of never finding his spot for one reason or another terrifies him. The lonely would have a blast torturing him by making him feel invisible and go unnoticed.

Fishlegs:

I feel like Fishlegs would get pulled into the eye. His curiosity and wish to learn more are some of his main personality traits, so no wonder the incarnation of curiosity would pull him in. I feel like his descent into it would be similar to John's: slowly, without him noticing at all, but being tempted to go deeper and deeper, getting small treats and glances at what he could reach to know. Not to mention how paranoid he gets when he has no sleep as shown in that one rtte episode, which is very similar to season two John. Only when it is too late, he'd noticed he had trapped himself into the position of an avatar, hurting others and acting as the monster he'd be then. I'm not sure he'd go all the way, though - John was alone, paranoid, hurt, it was easy to tempt him further. Fishlegs, however, is far too kind and has Meatlug and his friends for support. He wouldn't reach the avatar level, but I think he'd be a follower at the very least. The issue about trying to pinpoint the fear that would end a character as fearful as Fishlegs is I don't know which one would affect him the most. The lonely would certainly fit, he is a very loving person and would be devastated if he didn't have, say, Meatlug or Hiccup around, and we see him plenty of time searching for validation from his peers, in a way no doubt to fit in with others. But I think he'd be fine being alone, and rather he fears the loss of those connections in itself. Thus, he has a high chance of getting attacked by the desolation. He would do anything for his loved ones, sacrificing himself and overcoming his fears just to save them, partly fuelled by love and, in this case, also fuelled by the fear of losing them. Another interesting fear for him would be the extinction. I have no doubt that in modern times Fishlegs would be into climate change discussions, researching ways to stop the effects of pollution and maybe the effects it has on different species, be it plants or animals. I wouldn't be surprised if he was scared about the end of it all, not death itself, but rather the extinction of different species as the world sinks further and further into desperation. I've also considered the end or the hunt, but, I feel like at least in the show he can get through those, therefore while he fears death or being hunted by others, those wouldn't be his main fears.

Tuffnut & Ruffnut:

Spiral. What, you thought I wouldn't assign the fear of madness to the chaotic Loki worshippers? I considered the desolation for a few seconds given their love of blowing stuff up, but come on. They are the spiral avatar. Michael and Helen should be taking notes from them. You see a yellow door, or in their case probably zippleback gas, and you run. I trust these two to actually perform The Great Twisting and do so flawlessly. The distortion would thrive with these two, no doubt, and the world would be severely fucked. As for what they fear, I'm going to treat them separately in a second, but they do have things in common. They don't have any clear strong fears, except the whole "tears" incident with Tuffnut, which might not even be fear and just something else entirely, and the few times they do seem scared, it's stuff they get over with pretty soon. They obviously don't fear the desolation (while they were sad about the change of getting separated, Ruffnut acted accordingly to Tuffnut's "death", I feel like it was just regular grief, not really an over-the-top reaction (for what the twins are used to) to the loss itself (plus I already assigned it to many people and didn't want to repeat myself)), the corruption (these are the guys who eat mouldy bread and their own toenails just fine), the slaughter (violence is more of a game to them rather than a fear, even when directed towards them), or the spiral. (disclaimer of mild gore incoming; skip ahead to the next character's section if you want to skip it)

For Tuffnut, I'm going with the flesh and the hunt. The main reason I'm assigning two right off the vat is that while both are good fits, the flesh is not really a thing until the Industrial Revolution, so I feel like just like Fishlegs with the extinction, it wouldn't be possible for him to be haunted by it without being part of a modern times AU. Regardless, here's my thought process for both: When I started assigning these to characters I really wanted to give the flesh to someone, and I feel like Tuff is the best candidate. After bonding with Chicken, he is way more perceptive of what he and others eat, especially around his feather friend, and I wonder if that could also be thanks to some kind of fear being transferred from Chicken to Tuffnut. Tuff is highly empathetic, always caring for Chicken's opinions, thoughts, and reactions, so it wouldn't be such a stretch to say he'd somehow understand Chicken's fears to a deeper level than most. In modern times, with how the meat industry works and how exposed Chicken would be to the mutilation and breeding of her kin just for meat, I have no doubt both the bird and Tuff would realize they are just animated meat and bones, a bunch of food ready to be torn apart, disfigured, and cooked. I can see him having wacky nightmares about being reincarnated into a bird himself and then torn apart, feeling every single bite and pull of a human or a creature devouring him. For the Viking era, though, the hunt is my go-to. Following the same line of thought, Tuff would be very empathetic to Chicken's fear of being hunted down as prey to the point of sharing it. We also have some instances where Tuff himself is the one hunted down, like the wolf biting him or the episode where he meets Chicken and is surprised by the night terrors. I feel like, eventually, that'd get to him to the point of being genuinely scared of beasts lurking nearby waiting to hunt him or Chicken down. And as a special mention, I'm also including the dark. It's only because I remembered Ruff mentioning Tuff being scared of the dark when they were kids, so, for the one time I get an actual fear spelt out for me, I'm not throwing that away.

Now, as for Ruffnut, I was completely lost so I went to the wiki for help, and wouldn't you know if I found this: "In the DreamWorks Dragons: The Series, despite having tamed Barf (and technically Belch), she seemed to have a slight fear of wild dragons that could potentially kill her and would often panic in situations in which she encounters a wild dragon. It's also shown that she might be afraid of dying, even to the point of naming the Scauldron "Please-Don't-Kill-Me".". Well, that makes things easier. Ruffnut would be haunted by the end. I guess the hunt would also be an option, given she is scared of wild dragons presumably hunting her down, and it would be cute if she shared a fear with her brother, but ultimately, I think she has either overcome the fear or never had it to begin with. In Rtte, she seems fine being chased down by hunters or infiltrating Viggo's base even with the knowledge that she'd be most likely hunted down and trapped when found. So, ultimately, the end is the one and only fear that would haunt her to the end of times. Sorry I don't have a more in-depth analysis for her; I genuinely couldn't think of anything Ruff would be scared of. If anything, the fears should fear her.

Dagur:

Well, if we take a look at his nickname... Yeah, Dagur the Deranged screams either the slaughter, the hunt, or the spiral. And from those three, I'm leaning more towards the first two. This boy was out for blood since the beginning. But unlike Heather, I feel like he does more violent acts in a fit of madness rather than holding premeditated long hunts. He enjoys the thrill of the battle, but not so much the actual process of getting closer to his prey before ending them. The slaughter manifests as people driven "mad with Slaughter," and Dagur sure does fit the description. He did not care what he grabbed, he just wanted a target to torture and kill. Dagur spends his whole life going from victim to victim in a mindless rage rather than an animalistic or premeditated kind of way. It's violence for violence's sake, and he excels at it. If anything, I feel like most of the people he goes after are mere excuses to perform violent acts, even if, later on, they might actually become real enemies and give him reasons to hunt them down. He would be a follower of the slaughter from an early age, considering his track record, and would rise as an avatar quickly. As for his fear, the desolation makes an appearance once again. I feel like while in his villain era, he did not care about anything or anyone. The slaughter was all he could focus on, all he cared about. The thrill of battle, downing his enemies, why think about anything else when you have those? But after that, after almost dying and straying away from that mindless violence, he started to care. Shattermaster, Heather, his father, Mala, Sleuther, his village... He has people to protect and look after. And knowing firsthand just how ruthless people can be, I feel like the fear of losing everything he worked so hard to get would slowly creep onto him. After falling out of the position of avatar of the slaughter other fears would see him as weak and vulnerable, and I have no doubt the desolation would take him as prey. Funnily enough, one could argue he'd also fear the slaughter or a mix between the two. And it would be pretty petty but also in character of a fear to consume what was once theirs.

Heather:

Given her whole arc of finding and killing her brother... Yeah, Heather gets the hunt. She isn't mindlessly violent like Astrid (not saying Astrid is violent 24/7, rather her anger issues make her most likely to react violently), but rather, she chooses her targets and hunts them down. Dagur, Viggo, whoever it is Heather does not stop once she has marked her enemy. I'd love to see a monstrous version of her similar to Daisy's, but instead of turning into a wolf, Heather would become an enraged razorwhip. ...And now I'm thinking about Heather and Astrid as Daisy and Basira, great. That's a thought for another day. Regardless, Heather the unhinged would definitely get pulled into the hunt at an early age, being vindictive and resentful, and growing up into a fine warrior. She has a thirst for blood, no doubt, and the ability to end with someone else with relative ease. The hunt would be very pleased with her. I've also considered the lonely since she seemed very happy minding her own business before joining the riders or Dagur, but the hunt is just such a perfect fit for her. Now, for her fear, this girl has a long track record of being haunted by the desolation. Losing his parents (both biological and adoptive), part of his village... She can't catch a break. She most likely was marked by the fear right after Dagur set her adrift, and with that, she became that much more vulnerable to it. I can see a world where she becomes so haunted by this she eventually turns into an avatar or the desolation rather than just a victim, sort of like Helen with the spiral, but there would at least be a bit of a back-and-forth between the hunt and the desolation to fight for this girl.

Viggo:

This man wouldn't get pulled into the web, the web would be pulled towards this man. The scheming, the strategies, the toying with your victim and letting them think they indeed have free will only to control them from the shadows... Oh yes, if he was a powerful enemy back then as just a human, imagine with the power of being an avatar. I do wonder at what point he'd turn into an avatar, but I feel like pre-rtte events would make sense. His whole empire would be just a way for him to spread his web of lies and deception, to trap more people into his real-life game of maces and talons, and Hiccup would definitely be at the top of his list. Who knows, maybe it could even be a family thing like the Lukas family with the lonely? I don't think Ryker would be an avatar of the web though, so maybe only partially. As for his fears... Well, we don't see much of that, but I'd discard the hunt, the desolation, and the end. He lost everything, he sacrificed himself without a second thought, and he was hunted down multiple times, all without showing much fear (he was scared when he fell into the volcano but that doesn't seem to me like a strong contender for fear of death or fire, rather just a regular reaction to falling into an active volcano, as one does). If anything, maybe he'd be a victim of the spiral? Hear me out now, Viggo is an extremely intelligent character. His mind is his key weapon, the one and only thing he can always trust. Not his men, not his brother, not his strength, not his gold. His mind. The idea of losing it, of his sanity thinning little by little, growing paranoid of everyone around him... If he fears something, I don't doubt it'd be madness. Oh just how delicious it'd be for the spiral to toy with this man! Michael would certainly have a field trip playing with Viggo.

[rohirric-hunter]

The Grim Southron can have an extremely stupid sword. As a treat

[b1gwings]

some teens from class today + some traditional daddies i drew last summer and never posted ^_^

[thedreadvampy]

My housemate is moving out in January

She told us this a week or two ago, when she sat down and, after sitting with us watching TV for over an hour, said "hey so I bought a house and I'm moving out. We agreed on 2 months notice so I won't move until the end of January."

The last time she talked in the immediate terms about buying a house was in 2021, when the sale she was working on fell though and she was unemployed so it was a "when I'm back in a position to look I'll start looking again." Since then I've occasionally asked her how she's doing on the house buying front and she's been like "oh I'm getting there financially" but hasn't mentioned anything concrete.

She didn't tell us she was looking at places. She didn't tell us she had put in an offer. She told us when the offer was finalised. A week AFTER she emailed the letting agent about getting out of her part of the lease. And, it increasingly feels like, only because the letting agent's response was that we had to agree to change the lease.

The letting agent's response (which our housemate obviously didn't copy us into; we had to follow up separately and they copied us into the email chain) also includes that when we change the lease, they're empowered to change the rent, quote, "no cap". Rent was already going up in January - there's no possibility of Sam and I paying her share of the rent.

The really fucking upsetting thing is we're not strangers. This isn't a casual "housemate we found on flatshare" thing. She and Sam have lived together literally their entire adult lives. Me and her have known each other well over a decade. I lived in her and Sam's flat when I was homeless. We were the first people she came out to as trans. We're not super close but I thought we were fucking friends. And she's literally gone out of her way to not talk to us about this for what must have been months while the sale completed - which means she's lied to my face at least once cause I've asked her about her finances in that time (cause she's in a job she hates that she only took to get the house money, so it's like. when we've been commiserating about work stuff I'm often asking 'are you almost free?'). she literally went out of her way to talk to the letting agents before talking to us about putting us in a situation where we could lose our fucking home.

And she keeps. trying. to pretend nothing's happened. Every time I've seen her since then she's not mentioned anything or apologised or anything, she just keeps chatting away and offering hugs and fistbumps like nothing's happened. Like we're still fucking friends.

All it would take for us to still be friends and to be happy for her would have been one fucking sentence in the groupchat like "hey, just put an offer in on a house" or "I'm looking at properties, just so you know, that might happen in the next few months". Like nobody begrudges her for buying a house! It's very cool for her! She's 31 she's worked really hard to get the money I would love to be happy for her! Unfortunately she decided avoiding conflict is more important than giving the people she fucking LIVES WITH (who btw fronted her a month on the rent here while she was unemployed and agreed to take on a larger proportion of the move-in cost back in 2021, if we're still holding ourselves to shit we said 2.5 years ago), so no, you are not entitled to our friendship or to going back to normal.

like if she'd been honest with us it would have been something to process but we'd have had time to figure out our next steps. instead she's left us in a position where we have to find a new roommate before she gives her one month notice, which means finding someone by the end of December, which oh look that's the middle of the fucking Christmas holidays. and she didn't tell us anything until the START of December, or copy us into her conversation with the letting agent, meaning we still don't know what the rent on that space will be so we aren't yet in a position to advertise it. Has she offered to help find a roommate? Has she fuck. Has she offered to help out by moving her move-out date? Nah, she's moving as soon as she gets the keys because, quote, "that means her finances won't have to change". SOUNDS LOVELY. NOT HAVING YOUR FINANCES SUDDENLY CHANGE. I THINK THAT SOUNDS LIKE A REALLY REASONABLE FUCKING GOAL.

Thirteen fucking years she's lived with Sam. Four fucking weeks over Christmas she's left us to figure out a way to not turbofuck our living situation. And she's got the fucking nerve to try and pretend we should be interacting like nothing's changed. Jesus Christ. What a fucking unhinged way to treat...anybody, honestly. never mind the friends-your-entire-adult-life part. literally cannot imagine a scenario in which I would buy a house without telling the people I lived with.

(haha actually this is what my parents divorced over so apparently it's not unusual. although at least my dad had the decency to tell the woman he shared finances with at the point he put in an offer not the point the fucking sale went through.)

Like we'll be fine. It's a huge city centre flat with decent rent and queer housemates, hopefully even when the rent goes up it'll be an easy sell in a city with a huge housing shortage and big queer community. We've got a couple of people interested already, sight unseen - worst case scenario we have to live with someone we don't get on with. And it's given Sam and me a push to look at our own finances and as of today, we've got a mortgage decision in principle and can start looking at flats in the area - mind, we'll be transparent upfront and tell any prospective housemates that yeah, we're looking to buy and move out in the next 6-12 months, and we'll tell them if we put an offer in, because we're decent fucking people who aren't going to spring that on someone out of the blue.

But it's been I think 2 weeks and I'm so fucking angry I could spit. It's such a fucking betrayal. And frankly you know selfishly like. I just had a breakup a couple of months ago, I'm in the middle of moving jobs, both me and Sam have a history of housing instability and this has been the first decent, stable, safe, not-mouldy not-freezing home I think any of us have had, and this is so fucking triggering and upscuttling I could just start biting. like I was talking to my friend about it last week and it's just like. Can I have One Fucking Thing of the three main tentpoles of survival - home, work, relationships - that are fucking stable right now? because shit has been In Flux lately. and at least the work and relationship stuff has changed because of my decisions. going through all that work to make myself short-term unstable to gain long-term stability has been really hard and draining and then just as I was reaching the crisis point with work stuff BOOM, IT'S HOUSING INSTABILITY WITH A STEEL CHAIR. fuck. seriously fuck this and fuck her. we're going to make something good come of it but what a deeply, unbelievably shitty thing to do.

[phagodyke]

weekend melancholy is starting to kick in >~<

[waywardsalt]

so um. very glad that throughout all this time i never had the end poem spoiled to me

[foxgirlmoth]

So my life is feeling like its on an upward swing since this is my final semester for my associates, I'm starting a new job real soon and also possibly have a really nice remote job if I hear back from a few places I recently applied to.

And it always terrifies me when good stuff starts happening.

Change is really hard for me especially when it feels like its all at once. With better pay comes the opportunity to leave my parent's house finally and move in with a girl who has lovingly stolen my heart. With my school behind me I can find better jobs even!

But at the same time, its just. So scary for me. What if I can't keep up my part of rent. What if my chronic pain or ADHD or other disabilities put a strain on someone I love to my core, and I end up making things worse because I get extremely emotional and will scream (at myself mostly) and panic during these high stress times (especially if money is involved)

I've had a 'safety net' of family members who barely tolerate the fake me I present myself as, and I know my mental health is going to be so much better when I'm not around them, but at the same time I need so much help sometimes. Family just happens to help in terms of shelter and food. It also doesn't help that the one other time I moved out it ended so so poorly that I'm still working through that trauma.

Hurting the love of my life in any way fucking terrifies me. I want nothing but the best for her always always always. I just know I can't always be at my best, its impossible to be. I will break at some point and probably scream and cry about how things aren't going nearly to plan and I'm so weak so often I don't know if I can pull myself together fast enough to not hurt myself or her with my untrue words.

[guinevereslancelot]

is there anything worse than feeling like ur the only one putting any effort into all of your relationships. el oh el

[winterdusktales]

yg has conditioned ot7 ikon to be a touring group so now even when they all left yg, all they (ikon & hanbin) do is tour and join various music festivals. like i know those guys would prefer inviting other artists to guest in their concert over inviting them for a quick tiktok challenge or something

[inkskinned]

which is fine, because love is love, and you're getting gay-married, so it would be kind of ironic if love was only sometimes love.

except The King Of Demons (his is Edmund) is always late, to everything, always. which is fair, because time doesn't work in hell, and it's not like he can just catch a bus. except that you specifically asked him not to do this, didn't you, because he's always doing things like this.

He splays out his hands, the light catching on long, ivory claw tips. god, doesn't he know not to wear white to a wedding?

so many people are screaming right now.

it's not that he's the golden child. you guys had normal parents, middle-class. your mom was kind of an "almond mom," according to your fiancée, who pursed their lips when they found out about how your mom used to wrinkle her nose any time you asked for an extra snack in your lunchbox.

you close your eyes for a moment. think of your beautiful almost-spouse. ashe. their name like a bloom inside you. how the dress looks on ashe's body, their shy little smile. how they'd walked down the aisle, and you'd both been half-laughing, half-crying. your hands had trembled when you saw them. like the whole world was pouring down your throat, golden. like you were catching a moment and casting it in amber.

ashe'd been the one to help you when your parents were pushing for you to invite edmund. god, the amount of fights you'd gotten in with your parents - the same six sentiments, over and over again.

you'd been sitting on your bed, biting your lip, your fingers hovering over the little button send. ashe'd nuzzled your neck. you used to be close, and i think that's important. but you know your relationship to him the most. i'm willing to make the effort, and i love you no matter what you choose, they'd said. we don't have to if you don't want to, though, no matter what your parents say about him.

you'd thrown yourself down, supine, arm over the eyes. he's just... we are just.... you tried to phrase that-which-is-love-and-rage.

you're the normal twin. your "big thing" was only "being a lesbian." in high school, edmund started being able to make birds die by looking at them. you came home, trying to tell your parents i kissed a girl. i think i'm - and they just kind of nodded at you. edmund was eating the bible in front of them, like a goat.

on the bed, you'd held your hands out vaguely to ashe. edmund is a just always a lot.

ashe had shrugged. don't invite him then. and it was that - that they were okay with either of your decisions - that is why he even got an invite, in the end.

and now here he is, like how you wanted (?), and your hands are red, clenched hard around your bouquet. the officiant is crying. some people are on their knees, praying. some are trying to touch your brother, like he could impart a blessing.

"i made it!" he's triumphant. "i know i'm late, i'm sorry, there was - do you know anything about right-wing politicians?"

"i'm going to fucking kill him," you say, although you're not actually sure who you're talking to, or if he can be killed.

ashe is blinking, their face in a tiny oh of surprise. you take their hand, drop their hand, take their hand again. they blink at your brother. their voice is low but steady. "there's, um. is there a dark halo around him?"

you duck your head to meet their eyes. "fuck, ashe. i'm sorry. he wasn't supposed to -"

"did i miss it?" Edmund is swinging his head around far-too-wide. his 2 sets of horns leave little red mist any time they scour through the air. "I didn't miss the kiss, right?"

the town clerk is in the audience, and she's frowning. you send her an apologetic look. she shakes her head. "as we've discussed," she manages to throw her gentle voice over the din, "the wedding isn't official if someone objects. that is the legal statute. which people tend to be understanding of." she sends a dirty look to edmund, and that makes you love her. she seems completely calm, which makes sense, because she works in the town hall, and this probably isn't even her first demon-showing-up-at-a-wedding.

he somehow hears her, holds his hands up. "i'm not objecting!" the back of the event hall catches on fire. of-fucking-course. "i'm not - don't mind me, uh, please continue." edmund sends a look to the back-of-the-room fire and it whimpers and gutters out. he flashes you a winning smile, and then puts his hand to his king's-garb chest and mouths sorry! and then cartwheels his glittering talons to say go ahead.

"i think i'm going to throw up." the officiant's voice is barely a whisper.

you watch in horror as edmund tries to awkwardly slide into a waiting line of chairs. the sound of begging follows him, people on their knees at hell's king. he pats a few of them on the head, holding up his finger in a sheepish shh! while his touch leaves a bleeding rune on their skin. his hooves click, and his footprints leave ruby-bright fireroses in his wake.

he tries to sit down, but the wooden chairs are made for people and not the lord king of demons, so he has to span his furred hindquarters over two seats. he smiles again, offers you a little wave.

the room is dead silent, minus the weeping. you look back to ashe. you ruined this. you shouldn't have invited him. you spent so much money on this event, and ashe looks so fucking handsome, and you haven't even gotten to kiss them. to make it official.

ashe looks up at you, manages a little smile. "could be worse?"

you feel yourself start to smile too, but then edmund's chairs give out, and he falls directly on the floor, and with his startled yelp, everything around him bursts into the cold whip-crease of hellflame, disintegrating everything that isn't-a-person, including the flowers and the decorations and the cake and the tables. everything you saved for months to be able to afford. the venue that you both agonized over choosing. you picked this place because it was significant to both of you and was equidistant from both your parents and had a deal with the local hotel for people coming out of town. two years of planning, literally burning down around your ears.

edmund manages to stop the fire pretty much immediately, but it's too late. the officiant faints clear away. the town clerk gives you a sympathetic look and mouths see you soon and steps neatly out of the room, taking ashe's parents with her, chatting gently. an arched flower frame collapses into dust with a loud whoomp. pretty much nobody is left in the building, and you're standing at the top of the steps, at the fucking hour of your marriage, and there is nothing left but blue-cold embers, the lights blown out in favor of the eerie hellfire glow.

you sit down, hard. after a few seconds, you feel ashe sit down next to you. you put your head between your knees so you don't puke with rage, which would be somehow more humiliating than everything else happening at the moment.

"okay, it's definitely too soon," they whisper in your ear, "but i have to admit there is something that's going to be so funny later about my name being ashe and my wedding going up in flames." they wrap their hand in yours. "i can't believe we worried about candles. we should have just gone with them instead of worrying about safety. are you okay?"

you send them a look. "am i - am i okay? this absolute bitch -" you gesture with your free hand out to where edmund is trying to piece together the cinders of his chair, "ruined my fucking wedding."

your mom is standing awkwardly in what used to be the "family" row of chairs. your father is absent, of course. she makes a noise at you. "don't call your brother a bitch."

"oh my fucking god." you have to put your head between your knees again, fighting that stupid fucking rage-puke urge. your blood pressure has obviously reached "skyrocket".

"he's here, isn't he? you're not being particularly grateful," your mother says, because of course she does.

"oh my god! ohmygod. ohmygod." you feel yourself hyperventilating, and then you start laughing, and you hate the hyena hysteria of it, the way it pitches dangerously close to a sob. "this is just - this is just like you! this is the fucking - you blow out the candles on the birthday cake! you curse the kids i'm trying to babysit! you get straight-A's on every test without studying, and get all the friends, and everyone is obsessed with you! and then when i graduate from art school, do i fucking get a party? nope! but hey, let's throw edmund a party for his 300,000th tortured soul! and his 300,001st! and fucking everything else. and fuck me, i guess! edmund gets hurt on the playground, let's burn down the playground. i got fucking bullied, and our parents don't even notice. i am fucking struggling, but we need to pay attention to edmund. he gets fucking everything. while we're at it, why don't we let him fucking ruin my wedding!"

you are dimly aware of ashe wrapping one arm around you and then the other, and then you are sobbing into their shoulder.

"oh, come on. stop with the hysterics," your mother chides you. "you had a perfectly fine childhood. all kids fight. you should have gotten the ceremony done faster. and you know i didn't approve of you spending all this money when you have student loans to -"

"respectfully," ashe's voice is cold and cutting while they rub circles on your shaking back, "and i know you're about to be my mother-in-law, but -" you hear them force a smile, "maybe you could choose this moment to leave your daughter the fuck alone?"

you are so fucking in love with ashe at that moment that it stops your weeping like you got hit by a truck. you look up at them, and want to go back to crying, just overwhelmed by the sheer fucking amount you care about them, but then you look over at your mother, and her shocked expression, and you burst out laughing.

your mother makes a few almost fish-like motions with her mouth, and then turns on her heel, stomping over cinders on her way out. and then it is just you and ashe and edmund and how you are half-crying half-laughing quietly to yourself, like a tap that won't stop dripping.

edmund has put the chair down. he is staring at his hands. he is at least 500 pounds and over 7 feet tall (he doesn't use metric, he's the devil). and somehow, right now, he just looks... small. crestfallen.

"yeah, i mean." his voice cracks. there's no boom of thunder or hellhound echo. he sounds like he did as a kid, before the strange powers and the levitating and the souls of the damned. he sounds like he did the night he accidentally melted most of the pieces in your first glass art show. he sounds - like your brother. he puts the heel of his palm against his eye. "i ruined my sister's wedding."

ashe offers him a little half-grin. "i do just want to say i love the aesthetic, by the way. but you did very much ruin my wedding too."

he points at them, finger-guns. "....ruined their wedding too." something in the attempt at humor - how his voice breaks on the words, how lonely he sounds. it makes you have to close your eyes against the sound. "....you seem cool," he says. "it's... it was nice to meet you."

you hear him come over, his hooves clacking slowly on the floor. when you open your eyes, he's sitting closer to you.

he opens his hand. inside are two little ceramic figures. wedding cake toppers. "i... i made them for you two. i figured i would try - how you make art, without magic. i... i took a class, and i made - i made them." he looks down at the little white-dressed people in his wide, calloused palm. "it's... i wanted to be ... good. i..." he looks at you, and then at ashe. "i tried, you know?"

ashe reaches up, lets him roll the figures into their palm.

he stands up. folds his hands in front of himself. "i don't. know how to be good. i know it doesn't come naturally to you, either. i saw you... choose. to be kind. you could have treated me different, too. like everybody? i was weird, and everyone knew. if you'd been ... mean? it would have been okay. but you." he shrugs. "one time you tried to kill me in the bathroom."

you don't know why you're crying. you look up at him through the cracks between your fingers. "twice," you croak. "but the second time i had a knife." you tuck your hair behind your ears. "but that was only after you pushed me down the stairs at grandma's and i broke my leg before a dance performance. you fuckin' deserved that one."

"i pushed you because you were being a wretched bitch."

"hey now," ashe says, a little edge to their voice, "that's my wife."

you squeeze their hand. "no, he's right. i had deleted his pokemon gold save file right before the elite four."

ashe drops your hand like you scalded them, showing the only horror you've seen this whole time. "you - girl, what the fuck?"

you shrug a little. "i was being a wretched bitch. and he did break my leg about it."

edmund shifts a little. "i just - you are...." his voice dies.

in your family, you don't say i love you. in your family, you don't touch each other or show affection. in your family, you just show up for each other, quietly. neither of you knows how to speak or process what needs to be said. you can see that lacking flashing over his face, literally playing out in shades of crimson. you get that weird twin-sense of something unsaid.

ashe sets the little ceramic people to the side. "she treated you like a person when everyone else treated you like a prophet."

you cut your eyes to them, and then edmund, who gives you one very short, sharp nod. "i, uh. i can. never try." he clears his throat. "i can never try hard enough. for that. i can - what you gave me. by. doing that. by ... just. i made. one thousand. wedding toppers. so it could be perfect. because - i ... it needed to be perfect." he appears to be dying of embarrassment, which does imply he might be capable of dying. oh good. in case i need to try to kill him a third time.

the thought makes a weird, wet laugh bubble out of you. "remember that one time i failed my math test and you set mr. fog's car on fire about it?"

edmund looks shyly at you, and a very small grin spreads across his face. not the dark lord - just a 30-something year old man who has just upset his one-and-only twin.

"you're throwing us the most ostentatious, egregiously expensive wedding," you tell him. "above land."

he frowns a little. "okay, but i'm not doing anything in miami. the vibes there give me the heebie jeebies."

ashe holds up their hand. "and you'll be repaying the deposit on literally everything. oh, and replacing the cake."

you kiss their cheek and then point to him. "and you'll be on time for it."

he shrugs a little. "okay, i literally can't perform miracles, so like. set the bar lower. i can't promise i'll-"

you look down at your feet. "i'd like you to be my man of honor this time. like. by my side. so. you can't be late this time. okay? we do it the right way. finally."

"huh," ashe says, looking between the two of you. "you guys have the same smile."

edmund's grin becomes a little wider, a little easier. he raises an eyebrow at them. "okay, i get that you're cool, but you're like, very cool about this whole thing."

ashe lifts a shoulder. "used to work for the monster under the bed."

"oh shit, simon? fuck." he points to them. "remind me not to mess around with you."

you want to tell edmund i love you and i missed you, but you can't. instead, you pick up the figurines. they're not perfect, but you can tell hours of his life went into each. his hands are so big - it must have taken him so much work to make these things so small. you picture him with his back bent over a workbench, trying to get a face into a tiny clay figure. the ceramic version of you is smiling. he's given you little fangs and a unibrow. he gave ashe a tiny yellow crown. you make the two figures kiss.

snow is falling indoors, little icicles of hellfire. ashe reaches out and take edmund's hand, and then, very awkwardly, he reaches out and takes yours too.

for a moment, it's just the three of you, and the beautiful quiet of the room.

You’re standing at the altar, about to get married to your beautiful fiancée. When suddenly the king of demons bursts through the door of the room, which naturally causes panic. You tried to warn everyone that inviting your sibling to the wedding would mean trouble, but they kept insisting.

[the-bluestreak-cat]

My extremely personal red flag is if you’ve never lived independently.

Do not open tags it’s just a personal vent and I hit the tag limit (30) and that’s never happened to me before ajskdlf

[rottenlittlefink]

You genuinely need to heal I’m not even kidding if u still feel falsely validated by the “Preferences” being abused/unalived/turned into baby mothers/etc that shit is still devastating why are u so happy other women are being abused. Another woman being unalived doesn’t mean that he loves you. Being male identified will literally end u, sis.

Think about *why* you associate your crush literally MURDERING his “preference” with him “loving and desiring” you, instead. Do u hold the subconscious belief that he would do the same to you and blame it on you being dark skinned because he hates himself? Sis, WAKE UP, THE PROJECTION!!!!

[rowarn]

IF YOU NEEDED ME !

simon riley/reader – 7.1k words sale of a lifetime mini series !

tags: smut, childhood best friend!simon, virginity for sale trope, unrealized feelings, soft!simon, protective!simon, virgin!reader, afab!reader, no prns for reader

cw: loss of virginity, cunnilingus, wet & messy, fingering, creampie, mid-sex love confession, a little arguing but nothing crazy tbh, petnames (love, lovie, sweetheart)

; he remembers the way you would look at him when you were children, all smiles and bright eyes. he never thought he was deserving of such happiness. but now, with you shyly covering your bare breasts, in his bed, he feels like he’s the only man deserving of you.

or.

he may not have been the first man you picked to give your first time to. but looking back, you realized he was the only right choice in the end.

Meeting some unknown, shady guy out on the street outside of a seedy bar wasn’t the smartest decision you’ve ever made. Nor was it how you actually intended to spend your Friday evening. But it was the only option you had at the moment, so you swallowed your nerves and forced yourself to stay put at the spot the guy had chosen despite the fact that being out on the street made you feel x10 more nervous and vulnerable. 

You could hear the loud music and chatter inside the bar every time the door opened to let someone in or out. There was a chill in the air that had you contemplating actually going inside and just telling the guy to meet you in there – you were about to give the bastard your damn virginity, the least he could be was accommodating to your temperature struggles. Plus, you could really use a drink.

A car, expensive by the looks of it, pulling up to the curb had you pausing in that train of thought. You recognized him from his profile picture when he stepped out of the vehicle – Lucas, you recall being his name. Whether that was really his name or not didn’t matter; all that mattered was he brought what he promised.

“You have the money?” you asked when he approached you, giving him a tight-lipped smile as a greeting.

“Yeah, got it in the car. All cash, I hope that’s alright,” he grinned, a sight that made a shiver go down your spine. His tone didn’t match the smile, all transactional and dull despite the glimmer in his eyes.

He wasn’t necessarily unattractive but he certainly wasn’t your type. There was a look in his eyes, one that made your skin crawl because you felt like you were nothing but a piece of raw meat in front of a starving, salivating predator. 

“We should get going,” he said, hurrying to open the backseat of his car for you.

You paused, “Aren’t we going to go inside or something?”

He looked confused, grip on the door tightening for a moment before he bursted out laughing. When he saw the shocked look on your face he sobered up, “Sorry, sorry, that was rude of me. Sweetheart, this isn’t a date. I’m just here to get what I paid for.”

“Oh…” you swallowed around the lump in your throat at the condescending tone, humiliation making your cheeks burn, “Right.”

Tears stung the back of your eyes and you quickly averted your gaze so he wouldn’t see how much that stung. Of course, you knew it wasn’t a date. This was a transaction. But you at least thought you’d get to know the guy who was about to take your virginity. You should have known better.

A man who was paying for your virginity wasn’t bound to be someone you could trust to feel comfortable around. You quietly sigh, resigning yourself to this all for the sake of some fucking money. 

You settle into the car, heart jumping into your throat when the door slams. It feels as if you’ve just sealed your fate and you can’t deny that you’re scared. 

But there’s an envelope next to you that you can see stuffed with bills and you clench your fists, trying to calm your racing heart by closing your eyes and breathing. 

You just hope this decision doesn’t cost you your life or something. You’d hate to imagine what that would do to a certain someone.

Suddenly, the car jostles. Your eyes snap open and you see Lucas is jacked up against the side of the car, a very familiar form caging him in. His scarred hands grip the man’s shirt in tight fists. You can’t hear what they’re saying but you can see Lucas is chattering frantically, gesturing wildly with his hands in an attempt to quell the angry man in the skull balaclava. 

You curse to yourself, a different kind of terror shocking through your system. Lucas is thrown to the side and you wince at how hard he hits the pavement before the car door is jerked open.

You can’t even say anything before a strong, rough hand wraps around your arm, yanking you out. You stumble once you’re on your feet, falling right into his chest. 

You try to pull away but his arm clamps down around you. 

Lucas is cursing and screaming his head off, words you don’t even bother to try and decipher because you’re too preoccupied with the masked figure that made his sudden appearance. Nerves make your knees shake and from the look of pure rage in his eyes, you know you’re in deep shit. 

Lucas opens the car door and slams it before driving off, tires squealing against the pavement before he vanishes. Along with that wad of cash that was going to be yours in just a short time. 

Suddenly you’re angry, shoving your hands against his chest to get him away from you.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Riley?!” you shriek, shooting him the fiercest glare you could muster.

“I should be askin’ you that,” he sneers, “The hell were you doin’ with that prick?”

“I–”

“Don’t answer that,” he snaps, cutting you off swiftly, “I know what you were doin’. If you needed money that badly you should have told me.”

“It’s not your concern, Simon!” you cry, resisting the urge to petulantly stomp your foot.

You’re so pissed. 

Simon Riley and you went way back, childhood friends. The two of you had always been in each other's lives. Simon especially was always there when you needed him, a beacon of safety and protection. Your best friend and someone you loved to the ends of the Earth. 

But right now, you’re so angry with him that you can’t seem to think straight.

How dare he show up now, when you’re about to do the most humiliating act of your entire life. How could he show his stupid, masked face here when you didn’t even ask for his help in the first place for a reason. 

“You are always my concern,” he shoots back, scarred knuckles turning white from how hard he clenches his fists, “I have always taken care of you. You should have come to me for help instead of puttin’ yourself in danger like this. You didn’t know that guy, what the fuck were you thinking?”

Anger makes your skin hot, sweat beading on your forehead, blocking out the chill that once made goosebumps rise. You feel ashamed that you were caught in this situation – that the man you’ve known your entire life knew you were about to sleep with some random asshole for a fat wad of cash. You don’t like that he’s made you feel ashamed and confronted you with it.

“Just fuck off, Simon!” you shriek, the only thing you can think of before turning on your heel and stalking away from him.

You don’t glance over your shoulder to check if he’s following because you know he most likely is – from a safe distance to make sure you make it inside your apartment alright but far enough that you can’t get mad at him for it. Your jaw is clenched so tightly that you feel a headache radiating down your neck. 

By the time you reach your apartment, the anger has simmered and all you’re left with is a festering shame that makes tears fill your eyes. You wrap your arms around yourself and quickly shuffle yourself inside, not bothering to check if Simon is out there or not. All you want is to get a hot shower and crawl into bed for the rest of the weekend. 

You do just that, letting the burning hot water scald your skin until you can’t feel any emotions except exhaustion. And then, you crawl into bed and let sleep overtake you without a second thought. 

When you wake up, it’s clear that it’s late into the afternoon. The sun is high in the sky and shining painfully bright through the crack in your curtains. You groan and roll over, slapping the bed to find your phone. 

You grab the device and unlock it, taking a moment to scroll through your notifications. There’s some angry messages from the guy from last night – cursing you out for setting him up to be jumped. It makes you roll your eyes before a particular notification catches your eye.

It’s from your bank – alerting you of a deposit. 

You sit up straight in your bed, brows furrowed before your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see your bank statement. It’s more than you needed and you know exactly who was responsible. 

You jump out of bed, not even bothering to dress out of your pajamas before you’re shoving some slides onto your feet and storming out of your apartment. 

You’re so heated that you can’t even remember the walk to Simon’s place, your mind racing a million miles a second. You storm up to the door and slam your fist on it, the hard wood making your hand sting from how hard you pound. 

The radiating tingle of pain is quickly forgotten when the door swings open. 

Simon stands there, looking down at you expectantly. He leans against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. He wears an army-issued t-shirt that’s a bit too tight. The sleeves stretch taunt around his biceps and you can make out the swell of his pecs. It’s not very often that you get to see his tattooed arms, littered with scars since he tends to wear long sleeves most of the time. 

He doesn’t look at all surprised to see you, clearly having expected you. The apathetic look in his eyes just solidifies that you were right all along.

“What the hell is your problem?!” you cry without so much as a greeting.

He sighs, broad shoulders rising and falling with it before he opens the door wide and motions you inside. You duck underneath his outstretched arm, turning to watch as he closes the door and locks it. 

He wanders into the kitchen and you realize you can smell bacon. He doesn’t seem at all surprised by your outburst nor does he seem interested in acknowledging your question.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, only solidifying how unperturbed he is by your display of anger. 

“No!” you snap, “I want to know why you did that, Simon!”

He sighs again, much louder but doesn’t respond. You stand in the doorway to his kitchen, watching him plate his lunch – which is actually just breakfast food. He places the dish on the table and pauses, looking up at you.

“You needed the money, I had it,” he offered with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I was handling it on my own,” you say, “I-It was my problem to solve.”

“By sellin’ yourself to some prick?” he snarls, the anger he was masking coming out in a flurry.

“I wasn’t selling myself–” you refute but he slams his palms down on the table. His cutlery clatters with the action and you jump.

“I read that post you made,” he hisses, teeth bared, “There’s no fuckin’ reason you should be selling your virginity for some cash when I was right here the whole time!”

Your cheeks burn when he brings up your virginity, crossing your arms over your chest protectively, “I-It’s mine to sell if I want to! I needed that money!”

“And now you have it,” he says with finality. 

He takes a seat and you stand there, fuming. Your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding together as your mind races to find a rebuttal. He begins to eat, taking large, fast bites that just shows how he’s been conditioned to eat quickly by the military. 

“That’s not the point, Simon,” you huff, growing less angry and more frustrated by this conversation. You were just going around in circles. 

“Then what is the point?” he snaps, snatching his empty plate and angrily tossing it in the sink. He turns to you again, a frown evident on his face, “You got the money you needed safely. That’s all that matters.”

“It’s too much money, Simon!” you cry, “I was selling something in exchange for it!”

“I care about you,” he says, “That doesn’t matter to me. What’s mine is yours, you know that.”

You silently glare at him, wishing that the heated stare would get through to him. He stands unbothered, staring blankly at you with his fists clenched by his sides.

You hang your head, sighing, “I-I can’t take your money, Simon, alright? I’m already in debt and I’m not going to be in debt to you of all people.”

“You feel like you owe me, is that it?” he asks.

You nod your head, heart rate spiking when he stalks towards you. You’re close enough to smell his body wash and aftershave, a painfully familiar scent that you adore. He stares down his nose at you, brown eyes lidded and lazy. 

He reaches out suddenly, rough hand gripping your cheeks, smushing them together until your lips pucker, “Then give me a kiss as payment.”

“H-Huh?” you whimper dumbly, eyes wide in shock as his face grows closer and closer.

“It can be payment for a kiss, lovie,” he coos, syrupy sweet and soft, “Will that make up for it, then?”

The air in your lungs suddenly doesn’t feel like enough. This is a man that you’ve known almost your entire life so you’ve obviously thought about him in a romantic sense at some point. Hell, when you were a teenager you even had a crush on him. But he never once looked at you any other way than as a friend so you quickly got over it – or maybe that’s just what you told yourself. Because as you stand there, staring into his eyes, you realize that kissing him would feel like a dream come true. 

You find yourself nodding despite the inner turmoil going on in your head. Simon huffs through his nose before leaning down and pressing his lips against yours. 

There’s a shock of electricity that goes through you at the contact. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean into the kiss, letting him take over. He works his lips expertly against yours, eventually abandoning his hold on your face in favor of wrapping his arm around your waist. You gasp into the kiss when he suddenly yanks you closer, your body pressed close against his. 

He’s warm and sturdy against you, a solid form of muscle that makes you feel safe and content – just as he always has. His hands are big and rough as they grip your hips, kneading the soft flesh there as he gets lost in kissing you. 

“S-Si,” you find yourself muttering without realizing.

He hums in response, chuckling when you continue to mindlessly kiss him. He pulls back, one hand coming up to wrap lightly around your throat, thumbing at your jaw as your eyes slowly focus on him, “What is it, sweetheart? What do you need?”

“I-I don’t…” you swallow thickly around the forming lump in your throat, “I don’t know. I just…”

“Show me,” he breathes, softer than you’ve ever heard his voice. 

The sweet, tender look in his big, brown eyes is what gives you the courage to grab his wrist, leading it just under the hem of your shirt so he can touch your bare stomach. You give him a shy glance from under your lashes, hoping he’ll get the hint that you want more. 

You want him.

Simon, in all his experienced wisdom, understands immediately what it is you’re aching for. His hand travels up further, pausing at your ribs, just under the swell of your breast. Your heart hammers in your chest when your gaze meets his. His eyes are lidded, long lashes obscuring his pupils but still burning into you. 

He stares deep into your eyes, waiting for any sign of hesitation as his fingers creep higher and higher. You suck in a breath when he cups your breast in his palm, squeezing lightly to feel their weight. 

A large, calloused thumb creeps up, passing ever so softly over your nipple until the bud peaks and hardens under the attention. You sigh at the feeling, new shocks washing over you that you’ve never experienced before. 

Sure, you played with yourself plenty – you had a healthy masturbation life, you’d say. But you’d always just been focused on reaching an orgasm, never on the build up. You imagine, however, it would never feel as good by yourself as it does with him.

He pinches your nipple between two fingers and you whine, lips parting as the sound escapes. Simon takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. Your hands grab his shoulders, desperately clinging to his shirt as you lose yourself in the sloppy kiss. 

Drool drips down your chin – it's messy and hot between the two of you. His hand switches to your other breast to give it the same attention as the other. You tremble in his arms, overcome by the insatiable throbbing between your thighs. 

You shift on your feet, the fabric of your panties stick uncomfortably to your core. You’re so wet, wetter than you’ve ever been in your life. By the time he pulls back, there’s a string of saliva connecting your lips to his. 

“You want more?” he asks, voice gravelly as he speaks, as if he’s drunk. You nod your head and he clicks his tongue, “You gotta tell me, sweetheart.”

“I-I want more, Si,” you whisper, feeling your cheeks burn as you admit it. 

“Let’s go,” he hums, taking your hand in his as he leads you around the couch towards the hallway.

“Where?” you ask dumbly, hoping that making some kind of conversation would ease the nerves steadily building in your chest. 

“The bedroom,” he responds, stroking his thumb over the top of your hand as if he can sense that you’re nervous, “Wouldn’t want to be stripped down in the middle of the living room, I imagine.”

“N-No,” you squeak, cheeks burning even hotter at those words. 

You’re going to be naked. In front of another person for the first time. In front of him. Simon. 

“There now, lovie,” he whispers as he shuts his bedroom door behind the both of you. He takes your waist in his hands, kneading the soft flesh there, “It’s alright.”

“I-I’m just–”

“Nervous,” he finishes for you, smiling softly when you nod, “I know. We can stop anytime you’d like.”

“I don’t want to,” you rush out, hands coming up to press against his firm chest, “Just…d-don’t be upset when I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The tender way he looks at you sets your heart pounding like a little rabbit. A ghost a smile appears on his lips, “I would never do somethin’ like that.”

“I-I know, I just…” you look down at your feet only for him to catch your chin in his fingers, pulling you to look up at him.

You swallow thickly around the lump in your throat, holding your breath as he descends down. His lips find yours all over again, as exhilarating and mind-melting as the first time. 

Just the sweet, deep kiss he gives you has your nerves dissipating a bit – back to normal levels. You no longer feel the desire to flee, you just feel an intense longing and anticipation. You crave more from him.

As if sensing this, his fingers find the hem of your shirt. He slowly starts to pull it up, agonizingly slow. But you’re grateful for it, it gives you time to prepare before you’re bared completely to him. You lift your arms for him, a sign that you’re still okay with this. 

He pulls it up over your head and lets the fabric drop to the floor. But he doesn’t look down, he continues looking in your eyes, softly pecking your lips as his hands cup your breasts once more. 

When you sigh and lean into his touch, he finally lets himself break the eye contact. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees how pretty your tits sit in his hands. He touches them softly, sweetly brushing over your nipples in admiration. 

“Perfect tits, lovie,” he coos, chuckling when you whine in embarrassment. 

His head descends, pink lips parting to take one of your nipples in his mouth. It’s hot but his tongue is soft when it circles and flicks at the bud. He sucks, popping off lewdly before switching to the other one. 

The sensation makes you squeeze your thighs together, imaging what that would feel like around your clit. Your hole clenches around nothing, drooling messily into your panties. The fabric was so wet by now that it couldn’t soak it up anymore, leaving it to slick up your thighs instead.

Your core ached, a feeling only Simon would be able to soothe. 

“Please, Si,” you finally break, whimpering pathetically. 

He detaches from your breast, lips wet and swollen from the worship he had been giving your now sore nipples. His pupils were blown wide, black swallowing brown and you were sure that yours looked the same. 

He stands to his full height, nudging you backwards until your knees hit the bed. They buckled at that, leaving you to fall back against the bed. Simon’s bedding was soft, the scent of detergent and his own body wash filling your senses. You relax at the familiar, comforting scent, sinking into the blankets with a bashful smile on your face.

To Simon, you’re an ethereal beauty. You take the air right out of his lungs with the way you look at him.

He remembers the way you would look at him when you were children, all smiles and bright eyes. He never thought he was deserving of such happiness. But now, with you shyly covering your bare breasts, in his bed, he feels like he’s the only man deserving of you. 

He scooches you up the bed, crawling on after you until he’s on top of you. Though you’re still wearing your pants, you feel so vulnerable beneath his weight. He’s heavy and warm and he smells so good. You can’t focus on anything except for him – he’s all around you and it’s exhilarating. 

Feeling bold, you reach up and tug at his shirt. He pulls it off with ease, revealing his toned, scarred upper body. You can’t help but trace over some of the ones you’re familiar with – there’s one from a time he fell out of a tree trying to rescue a cat that you had been crying about. He fell out of the tree on the way down, a jagged branch stabbing into his upper arm and slicing it open. There was another one from when you were teenagers, some other kids jumped him and he took a stab to his shoulder trying to protect you. You kiss that one and he softens, as if he’s remembering it too. 

He’s always been there for you, an overwhelming presence that you simply couldn’t live without. The fact you’re here, in this bed, about to give him your virginity is something that you never would have expected. 

And to think, you were planning to sell it off to some random loser. 

“I’m glad you stopped me,” you find yourself whispering. 

He looks confused for a second before he hums, nodding in understanding, “I am too.”

“I-I want it to be you, Si,” you whisper, the confession leaving you embarrassed. It’s true, all this time, you realize, he’s all you’ve ever really wanted. You had just buried it deep down so you no longer felt those sparks towards him.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers back, as if the two of you are sharing some secret little moment that no one else can hear about even though it’s just the two of you in this room. 

“You always do,” you respond, the words making his dark eyes light up. 

He kisses you deeply, moving his lips slowly against yours. When your hands come up to grip the back of his neck, he takes that as his cue to move down to your neck, then your collarbones, down the center of your chest between your breasts, the spot between your breasts, and finally your navel. 

You lay back, head in his pillows with your hands on either side of your head. You watch him, breathing labored as you wait for his next move. He pauses in his path, looking up through his lashes at you before his fingers find the hem of your sweats. You swallow thickly, holding your breath when he slowly begins to pull the fabric down. You lift your hips to help him, pulling your legs free while being careful not to kick him by accident. 

He keeps his gaze on you until you’re settled back down into the bed and the pants are forgotten on the floor to be collected later. Then, he looks down. 

Even though you still have your panties on, you know that the white cotton is soaked through and hides absolutely nothing from his view. 

You watch as he licks his lips, as if his mouth is suddenly bone dry. His hands are burning hot when he touches you again, sliding over your thighs to your hips. He leans down, pressing his lips against each of your thighs. 

His thumb reaches down, stretches over your pubic bone to touch the sticky fabric. You nearly jump at the sensation – someone’s fingers other than your own touching you there for the first time. Simon’s fingers.

As if he can’t help himself anymore, he tugs the waistband of your panties and yanks them down your thighs. You squeal when you’re jostled under the force. 

He holds the material up and you’re mortified to see just how wet they are. He runs his thumbs over the crotch and you whine, drawing his attention from them. He drops them to the floor and returns his hands back to you, gripping underneath your knees, so he can spread you all the way open. 

Your hands fly to your face, covering your eyes in embarrassment at how exposed you are. He doesn’t seem to mind, pressing a kiss over the top of your hands before moving back down your body. 

You peek through your fingers only to find him already staring at you with a sparkle in his eyes. He carefully spreads your slippery folds apart with his thumbs, the movement causing a wet, sticky sound to emanate from between your legs. The little bud of your clit is hard and twitching as it’s exposed to the cool air of the bedroom. When he’s sure you’re looking he leans down, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth. You stop breathing as you watch a fat glob of spit roll down the surface of the smooth muscle and splatter right on your clit. 

“Si-!” your squeal of his name is cut off when your eyes roll back in his head as that sinful tongue slides right over your bud. 

Your whole body twitches at that, hands falling away from your face so you can reach down and grab his hair. It doesn’t even seem like he notices your grip, focused on slurping up that sensitive nub into his hot mouth. 

You choke out a moan, tilting your head back into the pillows as your back arches. It feels just as good as you thought it would when he was giving the same, lewd treatment to your nipples. 

He continues to suck and lick your clit until your mind is completely blank and all you can think is him. Then, all at once it stops and he pulls back, letting your bud slip from the heavenly clutch of his lips.

“You ever have somethin’ inside you, lovie?” he asks, bringing up one of his fingers to swipe through the folds of your entrance, as if to show you what he intends. 

You swallow to moisten your throat before nodding, “J-Just my fingers.”

“How many?” he asks, growing more confident in prodding at the tight little hole. 

“T-Two,” you breathe, any embarrassment you felt long dissipated in the face of true pleasure.

“Alright, lovie,” he hums, “Just lay back, I’ll take good care of you, yeah?”

You nod and do as he says, turning utterly boneless against the blankets. The sweat already slicking your skin despite the fact you’ve only just begun makes the fabric stick to you. 

He prods at your entrance for only a second longer before finally, he pushes his thick middle digit inside you. Your cunt is so wet and pliant that it hungrily swallows it up to the very last knuckle. You clench around it intentionally, getting used to the feeling of the foreign finger inside of you for the first time. 

It feels so different compared to your own, thicker and rougher. The sensation is so strange but you can’t say you don’t like it – in fact, it feels amazing. You already want another, feeling like one just isn’t enough to give you that unknown feeling you’re chasing. It’s like you have an itch that needs to be scratched and only Simon can do it for you. 

As if sensing this, ever the reliable one, he carefully introduces a second finger. The stretch is unfamiliar, a burn around your entrance following as he reaches the last knuckle on that one too. His middle and ring finger stuffed snuggly inside your gooey little cunt as you whine and squirm from the feeling. 

Once you’ve adjusted, he slowly begins working them in and out of you. You slick up his fingers easily, streaks of creamy white coating his skin and making his mouth water. When he crooks his fingers up suddenly, prodding at that tender little spot inside of you, your entire body twitches and the most beautiful moan rips from your chest. 

He can’t resist leaning down and trapping your pulsing little clit under the flat of his tongue. He doesn’t slurp it into his mouth like before, instead, he just licks over it, pressing it down with the muscle. Your eyes are rolled up and your mouth hangs open as you moan and moan, tugging mindlessly at his hair as he works you towards your orgasm. 

It grows and grows, the unrelenting pleasure of his fingers fucking deeply into you and his tongue lapping sloppily at your clit like a mutt driving that knot in your belly to tighten. Drool spills out around his tongue, slipping down to meet his fingers where he easily fucks it into you – the added lubrication not needed but so very welcome with how much wetter and messier it makes you. 

“S-Simon…” you pant, gasping to catch your breath as the pleasure makes it hard for you to even think. 

He glances up at you through his lashes but doesn’t offer any other acknowledgement. There’s a knowing look in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s going to wring this orgasm out of your little cunt whether you like it or not. 

And fuck, do you love it. 

The orgasms you brought yourself in the deep of the night, little hands stuffed down your panties as you played with your clit and stuffed yourself with your own fingers was nothing like what you were experiencing now. Simon’s thick fingers and hot tongue were torturing your little clit until your entire body started to lock up.

You looked at him desperately, unsure what was even going through your mind besides him and how fucking good you felt right now. 

Just as you teetered on the edge of this orgasm, he suddenly changed up and swallowed your twitchy little clit into his mouth. He sucked, sending you flying over the edge with a shrill wail of his name. Your legs kicked and twitched, heels hitting him on the back as you trembled and shook through the orgasm that he eagerly fucked out of you onto his fingers. 

He suckled your clit, swirling his tongue around it until it was too sensitive and you were tearily pushing him away. When he finally released you, slipping his fingers from your cunt, you were boneless and twitching on the bed. You didn’t even try to close your legs when he pulled away, giving him the perfect view to watch your cute little pussy clench and messily drool cum in the aftermath of your orgasm. 

He popped his fingers in his mouth, eyes rolling and lashes fluttering at the taste of your cum tingling on his taste buds. As you came down, eyes closed and breathing heavy, he began pulling at his belt. 

You could hear the metal clinking as he dropped it to the floor, peeking your heavy lids open to see him pull the button of his jeans open. As he slowly pulled them down, his underwear went with and suddenly you were more aware than ever. 

His cock was something to behold. Thick and veiny, bobbing in the air where it hung – too heavy to actually stand upright. You’d seen dicks in porn before but none of them prepared you for Simon’s. Precum dribbled from the tip, creating a long, gooey string down towards the floor before it broke. 

He wrapped a big hand around himself, giving a few good strokes as he reached down to cup his own heavy balls. The hair wasn’t wild or offensive, but neatly trimmed short. 

“All good, lovie?” he asked, stepping out of the pool of his jeans and boxers so he could kneel on the bed again.

“All god-good!” you blushed as he laughed, leaning down over you to balance his weight on his elbows.

“You still want this?” he asks, hushed and sweet, 

You glance between your bodies to see that intimidating cock, drooling messily over your skin. You realize, quickly, that you’ve never wanted anything more in your life.

When you voice such, he looks relieved, like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. He sits back on his heels and spreads your legs, pushing your knees up to your chest.

“Hold them there,” he orders, which you follow immediately. 

Your elbows circle around your knees, holding yourself open for him as he asked. He whistles low in appreciation when your cum-slicked cunt was spread and exposed for him to prod his cockhead against. 

He swipes the tip up and down through your folds, humming appreciatively when your little hole tries to suck him in every time he grazes past it. He nudges your clit, the little bud still hard and sensitive from your orgasm but so eager for more. He couldn’t wait to grant your wish and make you cream on his cock. 

You watch him with wide eyes as he starts to push into you. Your jaw drops as you feel that burning stretch, an ache settling between your legs as he continues to sink himself into you. 

“F-Fuck, wait, Simon!” you squeal and he halts immediately. 

He’s only reached just past the head of his cock but he reaches down to pet your clit. The pleasure shoots through you, making your toes curl and your walls relax around him. He keeps his eyes on your face for any sign that you want him to stop as he moves his hips again. 

More and more of his cock sinks inside and his thumb keeps working little circles over your clit until his hips are flush with yours. Your voice breaks as you moan when you realize you’ve taken every single inch of him. 

He’s heavy and throbbing inside of you and you clench around him intentionally, forcing a moan from his chest. 

He leans down, arranging your knees over his shoulders, folding you up and pressing down on  you. He’s heavy and it makes it hard to breathe but that makes it even better – the pleasure of being speared on that fat cock and being utterly helpless underneath this man is better than any fantasy you could have made for yourself. 

“Fuck,” he snarls, rolling his hips back before rocking them forward again, heavy balls slapping against you as he does, “Can’t believe you were gonna give this little cunt away to some prick.”

“S-Si,” you whimper, biting your lip at the feeling of him slowly and carefully rocking his hips against yours, “‘M sorry, sh-shoulda been you all this time.”

“That’s fuckin’ right,” he hums, “No one else gets to love you but me, sweetheart.”

“O-Only you!” you agree, nails digging into his shoulders when he hits that spot just right. 

He can feel you soaking his cock, drippy cum lathering him up to make every glide of his cock wetter than the last. He sits back up on his knees, adjusting his grip so he can pin your legs wide open, giving him the best view of your greedy cunt swallowing his length up. 

He begins to fuck you in earnest, pulling out halfway before sliding home again - nothing like the little movements he gave you to prepare you. He was going to show you exactly why you should only think of giving him this precious pussy for the rest of your life. No one will ever be able to fuck you as good as he can, he’s going to learn your body like the back of your hand and you’re never going to be able to cum as hard as you can with him. You’ll never even want to use your own fingers again when he’s done with you. 

You can’t do anything but lay there and take it, take the pleasure and take his cock. He hits so deep, prodding at your cervix in a way that aches but it only feels that much better when it’s mixed with mind-numbing pleasure. 

Simon looms above you, panting and groaning as he fucks you like he was made to. He angles his hips just right, blunt nails biting into your thighs where he pins you open, neither of you caring if he happens to break skin while he does. You don’t even register the bite of pain underneath the way his cock prods you g-spot so perfectly. 

Your own fingers would have been tired by now, no longer able to work that little spot like you need. Simon’s cock, however, is unrelenting. The pleasure builds and mounts uninterrupted, every stroke of his length sending you higher. His body moves fluidly, rolling his hips tirelessly so he can give you every ounce of pleasure your sweet little cunt needs. 

You’re creaming around him, a frothy, milky ring forming around the base every time he sinks in and becoming visible when he pulls back. It’s filthy and messy and makes your cheeks burn but Simon seems to not mind in the slightest.

“So fuckin’ messy, love,” he coos, breathy and slurred, “Look at that, pretty cunt needed some cock, huh?”

“Y-Yours!” you manage to choke out.

“What’s that?” he asks, a crooked, teasing grin on his face. 

“Y-Your cock! Only needed your cock, Simon,” you pant, reaching up to grope your own tits, pinching and rolling your nipples meanly. It hurts so good, making you clench around his cock. He moans at the sight, his pretty little virgin tormenting your own nipples.

“That’s right,” he hums, reaching a shaky hand down to thumb at your clit, “Keep pinchin’ those pretty tits, sweetheart. Don’t stop.”

You nod your head, unable to form a vocal response from the new sensation of your clit being played with while he fucks you. It feels so damn good that you could go drunk from it all. Everything in your brain is slow, thoughts of only him and how good you feel are all that’s there. Your entire world, right at this moment, revolves around Simon Riley. 

He knows it too, a cocky grin on his face as he works you to your orgasm. You dangle, almost helplessly, staring unblinkingly at his handsome face as he works it out of you. 

After what feels like minutes, but is probably only seconds, you cum. Hard.

Your head slams back against the pillows, back arching as you cunt clasps tight around him. You cry out in pure, unadulterated pleasure as he fucks you through it. His thumb keeps working your clit as it twitches and pulses under the digit, cumming nice and pretty for him just like he wanted. Just like you deserved. 

You cream his cock messily, it drips down his balls and down your ass to the bedding below. So fucking sloppy and wet, a perfect little cunt made to take his cock. 

His brows furrow, mouth falling open as his own orgasm mounts and builds. Now that your well-earned orgasm is out of the way, he can finally let go and allow himself to experience it as well.

“Where do you want it?” he grits out, teeth clenched from the ache of holding back.

His balls draw up, heavy and full. He feels ready to positively explode when you gasp, “I-Inside!”

His head falls back, the loudest, most drawn out moan you’d never expected to come from a stoic man like Simon falling from his lips. It’s deep and primal, full of nothing but euphoria as he spills into you. His load is hot and thick, drooling out of the sides of his cock as he slows his thrusts to milk the least bits of pleasure from the orgasm. 

When he comes down, he collapses. Your legs lock around his waist and he draws you tightly into his arms, neither of you caring for the way his weight crushes you. All you care about is being wrapped up in his arms where you belong. 

He pulls his neck from your chest and kisses your forehead. Then he kisses your nose. Then your lips. 

“Pretty,” he breathes, still drunk on the endorphins of the sex so his lips are a little looser than they’d normally be, “Always thought you were pretty.”

“Really?” you prompt, cheeks heating at his confession. 

He hums, “Glad you’re finally mine.”

You beam, “No one deserved me as much as you.”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious statement in the world, rolling off of you with a sigh. His cock unplugs your cunt and a gush of your mixed cum comes out, making you whine. He laughs softly, drawing you back into your arms. 

You’ve never felt safer and warmer in your life, knowing in that moment that you should have come to Simon all along. There’s no one in the world who would be there for you, more willing and able than he. 

this work belongs to rowarn. do not repost to third party websites or use for character ai. reblogs welcome and appreciated!