#the author just fucking hates ash

[enobariasteeth]

said it a million times but “We’ll Never Have Sex” is THEE asheiji song.

[tea-cat-arts]

(Uh, hi. Currently doing my first 3 Hopes playthrough)

WHY IS EVERYONE IN SCARLET BLAZE BEING A DICK TO MY BOY ASHE! CHRIST, WHY'D NO ONE WARN ME THAT RECRUITING HIM JUST ENDS WITH HIM BEING EMOTIONALLY KICKED IN THE NUTS FOR 12 CHAPTERS STRAIGHT!!! WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS BLACK EAGLE FRIENDSHIPS!!!

Anyways, Shez, Mercedes, Raphael, and Rodrigue are the only characters that passed the vibe check on how they treated Ashe (so far at least). Everyone else should reconsider their life choices

[calypsocolada]

they think they lost you... ft. sanemi, rengoku, obanai, giyu, tengen, & hotaru

authors note: holy cow this was a lot of writing but i fear i may have done a good job. i hope you all enjoy this angst :)

cw: lots of mention of blood and gore, suggestive, angst, not proofread apologies

wc: 6.8k

click here for my masterlist

Sanemi isn’t able to speak. He'd never felt more anger in his life as he searched the charred remains of the mansion. A hopeless sort of desperation slowly nudging his anger to the back of his mind as he almost frantically tossed debris out of his way. His eyes searched everything they could, he left no stone unturned and only when all hope had been lost had he taken a step back.

You two paired up for this mission against Sanemi’s wishes of course. He’d been cold to you ever since you became a Hashira. Ignored you at every turn and when he couldn’t outright ignore you he was outwardly rude. Saying things about your position, how you weren’t strong enough to be fighting beside him, let alone any other hashira. Things that burnt you to your core. A part of you didn’t want to care about him. Didn’t want to linger on his vile words but you found yourself trying to prove him wrong at every turn. Trying to prove to him that you belonged. That you were strong enough to fight alongside him. It was stupid. It was idiotic. But you couldn’t help yourself. So when the chance to pair up with Sanemi arose you snatched it up with pleasure. 

He didn’t talk to you the entire train ride to your destination. You tried sparking some small conversation but… he just wasn’t having it. Not wanting to evoke his anger, you let him be, you lapsed into silence. You let him spend the rest of the ride alone in the suite as you explored the train, landing a seat in the little cafe until your platform was announced. Sanemi met you at the train door and gave you a withering look as he led the way off. For a moment you paused. You could let the door close right now, let the train carry you away. Let this week not be wasted on a man like him. 

But you stepped off the train.

The ashes of the mansion dusts up around Sanemi as he kicks the nearest pillar causing it to crack under his ire. You followed him off the train. He stayed spiteful to you. Why in the hell did you follow him? Sanemi felt the endless pit of anger in his stomach grow. You followed him into this mansion despite his warnings. You fought well. You fought violently and when Sanemi felt backed into a corner you helped him out of it at the cost of your life. This was the exact fucking reason he was so cold to you. The exact reason he kept his distance. The coldness inside of him was warmed just by your mere presence and he hated it. He hated that the mere thought of you and the mere sight of you weakened his deposition. You made him weak and you made him sloppy. You evicted his better judgment and filled his thoughts with only images and moments he’s shared with you. You’d never know this though because he never once let even the slightest amount of want slip through the cracks. He was a tight ship and he hated himself for it. Because all his work amounted to nothing. All his attempts to scare you into another avenue, another way of life and it all didn’t matter. You were dead and you’d never know just how much he cared. 

Sanemi felt the aching start in his chest. A deep bone rattling ache that made him physically reach up and place a hand over his heart. He was bereft. He was speechless and angry and couldn’t fathom that your last moments were wasted saving someone like him. He could hear the spiraling of his thoughts, their downturn. Honestly… he wasn’t quite sure if he could live with himself after this. 

“Shinazugawa!” A voice chirped, clipped and quick. Then again. He turned and the sight was something that almost took out his knees. The utter relief that flushed over him turned his stomach and healed the ache in his chest. You limped your way towards him, your hand still gripping your broken sword. There was a shit eating grin on your lips as you waved your sword at him. “I saved your life, you absolute asshole!” You yelled, coughing slightly as you slowed your pace. Sanemi didn’t answer your words. He almost said he could kill you for scaring him so deeply but with the possibility still real and tangible in his mind it was something he couldn’t speak aloud. He walked forwards without words, none of them would come out right no matter how it was spoken. You slowed down at his quick pace and something flashed across your face moments before he yanked your stubborn ass into a lip smashing kiss. You stumbled back at the force of it only for Sanemi’s ash covered hands to slide around your hips and yank you into him.

~

It was beyond Rengoku’s scope that you’d been taken from him. The indomitable spirit within him wasn’t allowing him to accept the very real fact that you could be dead. That no matter how hard he fought there were things beyond his control. Things that could be taken from him. Even when he held on with the utmost of his might. 

Rengoku had happily asked you to accompany him on his mission. You weren’t a demon slayer, just a nice girl he met in a village diner a few years back. 

He’d seen you in the kitchen, watched you from his diner booth. Watched you wipe sweat off your brow as you fixed food so effortlessly, tendrils of hair around your face like vines of ivy. He couldn’t look away, even when a nice waitress brought him his food and it sat slowly losing its warmth. He’d made a habit of coming to the diner as often as he could and it wasn’t for the food, obviously… 

The first speaking interaction you two shared was a quick moment as you passed by. He met your eyes and you paused. Your town was pretty normal, most people around her dressed in darker colors and lots of layers due to the colder climate, hair usually one of three or four colors so seeing a man with loud two toned hair and fiery garb had stopped you in your tracks, though this wasn’t the first time you’d seen him it still gave you some pause. That was until you remembered your father telling you about the hashira that had been stopping by a few times a week. You minded your manners and gave the man a soft smile.

“Enjoying your food?” You knew the answer, this man usually ate ten to fifteen bowls in one sitting. He was currently on his seventh bowl when you ventured out of your spot to take a little break outside. The man’s mouth was full so he gave an enthusiastic nod of his head as you breathed out a soft laugh through your nose. “Good to hear.”  You said demurly, walking your way towards the front door. 

Rengoku searched the depths of the forest, he called out your name relentlessly, He listened intently. He searched for hours.He’d search for days for years if needed. He’d run himself ragged, he’d tear through the leaves, he’d overturn mountains, he’d tear down the sky in search of you. He’d find you too. There was something about the determination in him that would fight off the improbability that you could really be gone. If there was even the slimmest, smallest chance he could find you, that he could save you he’d traverse the depths of hell and back. He’d do it all for you. 

Rengoku popped his head out into the cold to follow you outside. He hadn’t followed you after the first time you spoke to him but he decided a few days later he wanted to talk more with you. Not usually given the chance while you were hard at work You sat on a bench on the side of the diner, shielded by the overhang as snow flurried around you. Rengoku wasn’t used to the cold but just the sight of you brought warmth to his bones. You turned your head at the door being pushed open and offered him a polite smile. Rengoku returned your smile, wide and bright. 

“Morning.” You greeted.

“Good morning.” Rengoku returned eagerly. You moved over, sharing your space as Rengoku greedily took your offer and sat beside you. The first thing you noticed about this man was his warmth. You grew up in the cold with a colder family. Rengoku’s smiles and radiating kindness was something foreign to you. Foreign but wholly welcomed and intriguing. For a few days after he sat beside you it started to be a sort of regular occurrence, he’d find you, you’d offer him a seat you two would talk. The normality set in quite quickly and you began to look forward to the moments you two shared on your little breaks. You found yourself drawn to him like a freezing body drawn to a roaring fire. Before you knew it things were serious, he took you away from that cold town, away from uncaring parents into a stable environment. He filled you with love and soon enough the dregs of your past were slowly forgotten. And when you begged him to let you tag along on just one of his missions he was unable to turn you down. 

So as he searched for you now he didn’t have a moment to cry. To let out his emotions. He wouldn’t let himself grieve. He hadn’t lost you yet. 

“Kyojuro…” Your voice was small but there was no way in hell he’d let it go unheard. He called out to you again and waited. He heard his name once more and ran with ungodly speed towards the lips that had spoken it. When he found you it was like seeing you for the first time all over again. You parted your lips, most likely to apologize for letting the demon separate you two but Regoku swept you up in a hug, spinning the both of you around. His hands held you tightly as you smiled, breathing out in relief. For a moment, lost in the pines, you felt that cold creeping in. But once again this man fought it out and won.

~

You staggered, your wounds opening as you pushed out through the trees. You felt the warmth of oozing blood staining your uniform. Losing your footing you crashed into the forest flooring, the pain making you see white momentarily. You tried to push to your feet but you were unable.

Obanai was fast through the trees, he was quiet, precise. He killed the left over straggler demons without remorse, without a second thought. He sliced cleanly and kept moving. You two had been separated for too long and Obanai couldn’t help but assume the worst. Assume that he’d lost you and due to his negligence would never see you again. He found part of your haori in the hand of a slain demon. He ripped the scrap away from its hand and held it tightly between his fingers, his heart thrumming wildly in his chest.

You had managed to finally get to your knees, you sat there for a moment. Rain had started to pour, freezing rain that soaked you completely through. Against all odds you got to your feet, you trudged forwards towards a clearing, back the way you and Obanai had previously been separated. 

Obanai enjoyed nights like these. Cold and quiet. With rain pouring against the roof of Kagaya’s mansion. He’d stopped here to give a report but the rain poured so heavily he was asked to stay over for the night before taking a trek back to his own home. Likewise you were in the same position and out of all the hashira to be stuck with Obanai would be your last choice. You found him terribly scary. He was standoffish with mannerisms much like his white snake that always perched itself on his shoulders. You weren’t necessarily a fan of snakes, nor a fan of the man that had one as a pet. But the people pleaser in you kept what little conversations you two shared, well more of you talked and he possibly, possibly not listened. 

You found yourself in a similar situation tonight like many other nights. That damned snake always found its way to you, startling you into a choked scream. Embarrassed, you clapped a hand to your mouth, not wanting to wake Kagaya and his family. Pretty much every time you were forced to interact with Obanai it was after he’d come looking for his snake that, without fault, found its way to you everytime.

“H-hello Kaburamaru.” You greeted as the white slithering thing made its way closer to you. You felt your heart in your throat as the creature raised its head as though to greet you back. You swallowed as it lowered itself and slithered towards you again. You stepped back, softly blowing out a stressed breath as it wrapped around your leg and made its way up and up until it was around your own shoulders. A part of you hated this but another part felt sort of… excited, almost honored that this creature chose to climb on you. Kaburamaru’s head sort of nuzzles against your cheek as you hear the backdoor to Kagaya’s kitchen slide open. You’d been eating a late night snack when the snake found you. Your probably wide eyes met Obanai’s as he stepped inside. He takes in the scene, his hand paused on the handle of the door. “H-he always seems to find me doesn’t he?” You ask, attempting lighthearted banter with the dark spectral that was Obanai. His two toned eyes meet yours. His black hair was slightly damp from the rain and he wasn’t in his usual haori but instead some casual clothes. You cleared your throat after he didn’t answer, after realizing you were staring at him. “It’s like he likes me or something.” You say as Kaburamaru nuzzles you again and you swear the creature nods its small head. Obanai doesn’t answer, just walks forwards and holds out an arm. It takes a moment for you to realize he’s extending a branch for Kaburamaru and you feel slightly sad as the creature slithers off of your shoulders, leaving them bare. Obanai wordlessly makes his way back to his room. “G-goodnight.” You call after him. No response.

Obanai stopped in a clearing, slowing. He felt… disheartened. Kaburamaru hadn’t perked up since the moment he last saw you and the last time was… well it was bad to say the least. You were injured, far worse than you tried to let on. Obanai didn’t want to push, he just wanted to get you out of this damned forest in one piece. But he’d been searching for over an hour, he couldn’t sense you at all. He’d called out to you time and time again but only the sound of trees rustling responded. That’s when he spotted something, something unmoving and still at the edge of the clearing.  

You sat beside him the next morning. Kagaya and his family had left earlier, leaving only you two. You were an early riser. You fixed breakfast and just as you finished Obanai stirred awake. WIth messy hair he walked groggily into the kitchen, yawning. When you first looked at him you almost didn’t notice but then you did. Usually he had a white bandage around the entire bottom half of his face below his nose. Usually. But he must’ve been entirely exhausted because that bandage was nowhere to be found. You didn’t let your eyes linger, you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. 

“M-morning.” You greeted in the same sort of nervous cadence you always greeted him in. He didn’t respond as he gathered his things. “I made breakfast.” You said.

“I see that.” He answered, his voice clearer than you’d ever heard it. You swallowed, feeling silly. 

“I made enough for two.” You added and watched his hand pause. He then suddenly slaps a hand over his mouth and wordlessly leaves the room. He must’ve noticed in a reflection. You fixed two plates in his short absence and two cups of green tea. Obanai appeared a few moments later with his bandage in place, Kaburamaru on his shoulders and his bag packed. “Wait… you should eat something before you go.” You say and when he doesn’t respond you just stop. You stop talking, stop trying to be his friend. He wrenches open the front door of the mansion. 

“Obanai,” You called out one last time. He pauses and turns as you walk up to him. You packed the breakfast into a little container, you held it out to him. “At least take it to go.” You say. He stares at you, eyes scrutinizingly sharp and you felt like he could see right through your skin to your innards.

“You saw my scars.” He started coldly. Your lips part in surprise as your eyes rise up to his. You give a simple sort of solemn nod of the head to him. His snake eyes cut to the container in your hands, the stare lingered there for a moment before rising back up. “You shouldn’t be nice to me.” He says. You can’t help but furrow your brows slightly.

“Hm?”

“You should be disgusted.” He says as though your reaction to his scars is something strange. You suck in a quiet breath, thinking about the right words to say at this moment.

“I’m not.”

Rain pelted against Obanai as he ran to you. You were slumped against a tree, blood staining your uniform. He didn’t waste a single second, he scooped your limp cold body into his arms and set out at a breakneck pace towards the way you two had previously entered the forest. There was a village doctor and Obanai would get you to him in record time. He wouldn’t lose you. Not after figuring out just how important you were to him. Not after sharing moments and nights and stories. You knew of his past, he’d told you everything over the few months after you’d seen his scars. All that shit that weighed him down, that haunted him you had listened to and bore some of its weight, easing things up for him a bit. He felt lighter with you around. He felt seen, he felt heard. And most of all… he felt loved. Care for even. You deserved everything you’d given to him, tenfold. He took you to shelter, he held your hand through the worst of it and sat at your bedside until you woke up hours later.

“That was one tough bastard of a demon.” Were the first words you’d spoken the next morning. Obanai had a crick in his neck from sleeping uncomfortably in the chair next to your bed. With snake-like grace and ease he rose from his chair and was sitting on your bed in mere seconds. You gaped at him as his hands slid against your cheeks, cupping them as he pulled you to him and pressed his forehead against yours. A gentle and tender gesture. He didn’t even need to tell you how bad you’d scared him, you understood it in the slight tremble of his fingers as he held your face.

~

It was happening again, just before Giyu's eyes. That fresh pain of revelation sat familiar and heavy in the pit of his stomach. He’d watch someone he’d loved risk it all before and lose. He couldn’t watch that again.  

Not after all you two had been through. 

Through ups and downs. You were just as much of a pained soul as he was. You’d lost about the same as him. Where he resorted to quiet you resorted to anger. It was something to be worked on but Giyu had never known anyone stronger than you. The loneliness inside him had reached out greedily for the smallest bit of warmth you had to offer and vice versa. You two had found solace in one another. A quiet comprehension and understanding. He’d begun to rely on you. You’d begun to trust him. You two had formed something not many hashira could keep. A simple thing that had been ripped away from almost every single one of you. Love. Something so pure and simple. You lost your family and after a lot of hardships and shutting yourself off from the world Giyu had found his way through your walls. He wormed his way into your heart and although you were wholly reluctant at first in the end you realized that life was just entirely too short to keep behind shackled walls. 

It wasn’t easy. You were easily scared off to relationships let alone the absolute devotion Giyu showed you. It was hard to stick beside him when you were so damn scared you’d lose him one day. It was just a recurring curse that always struck you when you least expected it. It was as though loving and losing was just a prophecy to be fulfilled. Giyu stood strong. He never wavered in the face of your fear. He stayed by your side even when you screamed and yelled for him to leave. He never raised his voice, he stayed on the path. The path being you. Because everytime you’d leave, or storm away, or get scared to your core he showed restraint to his own fears. He was as afraid of losing you as you were of losing him. But he didn’t push you away, in fact that only made him pull you closer. 

“One of us will die, leaving the other. So what’s the point, Tomioka? This will only serve to hurt us.” You had said teary eyed one day in the beginning of your relationship. For a few weeks you two wrestled with your feelings and it resulted in Giyu kissing you. It changed everything because from that point on you craved more. You hated it too. To crave someone so deeply knowing one day you’d lose them. 

“That’s true.” He said softly then. He’d reached for you, taking your hand, gently kissing your knuckles. You bit your lip, your cheeks flushed. Giyu was always like this when you were alone, around others you could never figure what he was thinking but alone he let you know exactly the scope of his thoughts and feelings. “But I’d rather be with you than not.” He answered as if it was really just that simple. He started kissing his way up your hand to your wrist, past your wrist up your arm. You swallowed dryly and when you turned your face towards him he kissed your lips. That terrible flip in your stomach came and the fear that wracked your brain over things out of your control slowly washed away. 

You killed them demon. It was an upper rank that surprised you both. It had Giyu at one point, had him by the throat as its jaws opened to finish a thing that wasn’t a person to it. That was until you swooped in, you knocked Giyu out of the way to safety and took the battle alone on your shoulders. Giyu was gravely injured and the moment he hit the ground he lost consciousness. The last thing he'd seen was the flash of the moon glinting off your chipped sword then nothing at all. When he woke up all was quiet. He’d sat up achingly quick. Blood rushed to his head making him dizzy as he searched for you. The demon you had killed was slowly dusting away in front of you. Giyu pushed to his feet and limped his way over to you, only pausing for a moment to watch your sword fall from your grasp. His breath caught in his throat. All those nightmares of his dying in front of you were in vain because your fear ricocheted to him. About fifty yards from you Giyu watched as you crumpled to the ground, still and lifeless. Giyu tripped over himself to get to you and in his haste reopened the slowly healing wounds on his body. He didn’t care, no amount of pain could stop him from reaching you. The closer he got the better he could see your weakened state. There was so much blood, your hair was stained red from the color of it.

“Hey… hey---” His voice was strained and weak, choked up from the sight of you. His hands slide on either side of your face. You felt him touch you and immediately opened your eyes. Although you looked close to the grave it turned out that after your almost hour long fight to the death that really you weren’t as bad off as it looked. You were just fucking exhausted. You smiled up at him. 

“Hey.” You breathed out and the absolute relief on Giyu’s face brought fresh tears to your eyes. 

“You scared me.” He barked, not necessarily loud but you could tell with the way he slumped down against you, hugging you tightly that your dramatic fall to the ground had his heart in his throat.

“Sorry.” You apologized, gently sitting up and wrapping your arms around him. He kissed the side of your head and pulled back, kissing your lips.

“You saved me.” He spoke against your lips. You smiled.

“Uh huh.” You mumbled, missing the press of his lips already. “Let’s get out of this damned forest.”

~

Tengen wasn’t someone that hides his feelings. In fact to the effect where it was always known that he was in love with you. That this thing you said made him laugh or the way you trained made him proud or the way you killed demons made him flush. All those factors were something you weren’t new to but still caught you off guard every time. All these compliments, his kisses and time spent with you was something you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to but… slowly you were starting to look forward to it all. He’d first kissed you after begging you to choose going on a mission with him rather than Giyu and after that any moment you two were alone things dissolved into flicked off lights, warm exploring hands and heated kisses. This had been a recurring thing for weeks with no end in sight. But neither of you wanted it to end and although Tengen was the more outspoken of the two of you, your quiet confirmation was all he needed to push you against the backs of doors and kiss you senseless. 

But that’s all you let it be. Against Tengen’s multiple attempts to make it something serious you’d just shut it down. He’d ask you to accompany him on missions but you’d say no. He’d be gone for weeks and write to you but you wouldn’t write back but the moment he’d darken your doorstep again you’d grab a fistful of his shirt and yank him inside. He could tell you missed him through the way you touched him but that’s all he had to go on. You never slipped up when it came to revealing things you kept close to your heart. Revealing how you truly felt was a well kept secret behind locks and vaults and ciphers. You were a riddle that Tengen was driving himself mad to solve. But Tengen was shameless, he didn’t care if he had to beg and plead on your closed doors because just an ounce of your attention was flashy enough for him. 

That’s why when you finally agreed to go on a mission he felt as though it was you finally giving him some ground to stand upon. And he accepted it greedily. You weren’t a Hashira like him, you were Gyomei’s tsuguko and although you wouldn’t tell Tengen this, Gyomei had asked you to accompany Tengen. Though you wouldn’t also tell anyone that you wanted to come every time he’d asked you before but wouldn’t allow yourself. It wasn’t that you were afraid of commitment because people could come and go in your life all they pleased. It was more of the fact that you already felt tenfold of what Tengen probably felt for you. You cared for him so much that it affected a lot of your training. So much so that Gyomei sent you away on this mission because of how frustrated he was hearing you mope around the house waiting for Tengen to stumble on the doorstep. You couldn’t travel together though for circumstances out of your control and when you finally made it to the entertainment district almost an all out war was being waged.

Tengen sat, unable to stand, his wives surrounding him as the poison in his blood had finally been cured thanks to Nezuko. He was one arm short and short of one girl that he’d make his wife one day. Hinata had taken the other two wives out to look for you in the rubble of the district after Inosuke had told them you had helped decapitate that female demon. But the aftershock had separated you into disappearing from the rest of the group. Tengen tried to push to his feet but held no strength in his limbs whatsoever. The pain of the fight was nothing compared to being stuck unable to look for you. Then it only got worse when he saw a flash of your hair and realized you were being carried. It was Obanai that found you, he’d got here late after all the destruction and stumbled upon you. Tengen sat up, his wounds screaming as Obanai carried you closer. You weren’t moving. He called out but his voice was strained as Obanai met with some of the medics, handing you off to them. You still didn’t move. Tengen was in absolute hell watching this. He pushed to his feet and fell back to his knees, the pain so striking it brought fresh tears to his eyes. But he persevered. He got to the medic who’d set you on a makeshift stretcher, carefully inspecting your wounds. He jumped at the sight of Tengen.

“M-Mr. Tengen!” He was startled. “Y-you should be sitting down.” Tengen dropped to his knees, he reached for your hand, it was cold in his grasp. Your face was pale, a large slashed cut stretching across your brow down the side of your face. Your uniform was stained in soot and blood. But the only thing that kept Tengen from losing his mind was the steady slow rise and fall of your chest. You were alive and you were breathing. The relief was like a punch to the stomach and it seemed the search for you was the only thing keeping him awake because the moment he realized you’d be okay Tengen fell unconscious beside you.

When he woke up he was in a room alone. He felt better, though his body still ached he pushed out of the bed. He traversed the halls of the butterfly mansion, outside he saw his wives eating, he smiled at the sight of them. He kept going, looking for one more person, one more thing he’d been craving. When he pushed open the door to the training room he felt weak in the knees. It was as though you weren’t even affected. You trained mercilessly, sword swinging expertly. You paused, turning at the sound of the door opening and met Tengen’s eyes.

“You’re awake.” You greeted, voice light. Tengen didn’t waste another damn second. He was across that room in the blink of an eye. Sweeping you up into his arms, hugging you tightly as he spun you around. “Careful!” You called out, amusement in your tone. “You’re still healing.” 

“Don’t care.” He breathed out, setting you down, arms sliding down against your waste as he and his giant body leaning into your space, lips meeting lips. 

“I care.” You mumble against his lips. He kisses you hard at that. It’s not often you expressed a liking for him outloud. 

“That’s good to hear.” He kissed past your mouth down to your neck as he hugged you tightly again, lips kissing at whatever they could find.

“Uzui.” You warned. “Lots of people walking around.”

“Don’t care.” 

“I care you big oaf.” You snap but your tone is light, still amused. Tengen raised his head.

“Come home with me and the wives.” He asks, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head.

“Hm,” You hum as he pulls back, so tall you have to crane your head to meet his eyes. “Feeling sentimental?”

“Most of the time, yes.” He answers simply. “I want you. I want to be with you, I want you home with me. Please… say yes this time.” He can tell you’re thinking about it so he lowers his head and presses another kiss to your forehead, sweet and tender.

~

Hotaru first kissed you a few months back. It was a startling and confusing moment. You’d traveled to his village for a new sword scared out of your mind because you’d broken a sword. You stupidly asked a competitor of his to fix it, hoping to save yourself from his wrath. But Hotaru caught you in the act and instead of being outwardly angry… he kissed you. And this simple act changed everything. It changed how you perceived all your interactions after that day. His competitor had referred to you as Hotaru’s favorite and you hadn’t been able to wipe that from your mind since. You hadn’t seen him since the kiss and you tossed and turned almost every night since just trying to make sense of the moment if there was any sense to be found. Maybe he’d kissed you to shut you up. Maybe he kissed you in a polite way? Like a thanks for keeping him in business kind of kiss? No… that kiss was anything but polite. It was hot. All consuming. It was everything you didn’t expect to come from the man who struck fear in all demon slayers. So despite your better judgment you used the little bit of time off that you had to trudge back to his village. You told everyone you were going there to relax before your new mission but in reality it was to solve the mystery of why he kissed you and why you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Hotaru lived on the outskirts of the village. A bit of a walk from everyone else’s house, It was like he was the town pariah or something. It was dark when you spotted the glow of his parted curtains, his chimney puffing out smoke. It was the dead of winter so you were chilled to the bone, not only at the fact you were about to speak to him after months of silence but also because of the damn snow storm you trekked through to get here. 

As you got to his door you blew out a breath and knocked. But just as you lowered your hand you heard something. A rustle, the movement of steps in the snow. You turned, surveying the area. Maybe a villager kid had followed you up here, interested in the girl that had come to talk to the town's scary ghost. Your eyes scanned the trees as the door opened. You didn’t turn back and that’s when you spotted it, lumbering through the trees, blood dripping into the snow. You turned back, hand flying to your sword. Hotaru stood in the doorway unaware of two things. Why you were here and why you pushed him back and closed the door in his face.

“Stay inside!” You called out to him, your sword in your hand at the ready as the demon busted through the trees towards you. 

The thing was viscous and obviously starving as its jaws opened and latched onto your shoulder. You screamed in pain, hitting it back and slashing violently across the length of its stomach. It was hard to maneuver in your layers of thick winter clothes but you mostly made it work. You fought the demon back away from Hotaru’s house, it’s bloodlust like that of a rabid animal. It snarled and growled and slashed at you, slashing up your clothes and your face. When you were finally able to get the upper hand you wasted no time slicing it’s head from its shoulders. It crumpled into dust and fire, blowing away with the wind. You blew out an exhausted breath, leaning heavily against a tree near you. So much for relaxing. You jolted at the sound of Hotaru’s voice as he called out for you near the treeline. You sighed, pushing off the tree, trudging towards his voice through the snow. 

“That was one tough bastard.” You said as you spotted him. You must’ve looked worse than you felt because Hotaru stumbled his way towards you rather ungracefully. “Careful,” You said as he approached, slamming against you in a tight hug. You gasped in surprise, winded by the force of his body slamming into yours. He hugged the life out of you. Hugged you so tightly you wondered if he was trying to kill you. “It’s okay-- I’m fine.” You breathed out and still he didn’t let up. 

“I heard you scream. I couldn’t find you.” He spoke into your hair, tightening his hold on you just barely. 

“Yeah, it bit me.” You answered nonchalantly. Hotaru pulled back, anger on his face. You sucked in a breath at the look on his face.

“What were you thinking!” He growls, turning and pulling you gently towards his house, despite the anger in his voice he handled you with care. 

“What?” You stuttered.

“You scared the hell outta me.” He says, throwing open his door and pulling you into the warmth of his house. He guides you to the kitchen. “Strip.” He commands and you do as told, kicking off your snow boots and peeling off your layers of clothes, careful around the stinging bite on your shoulder. Hotaru gathered some things, slamming things left and right. You were speechless, his reaction to you saving him was something you weren’t expecting. When he grabbed all he needed he dropped into the seat next to you and you turned to face him.

“Are you mad that I saved you?” You asked and watched his brows furrow. You sighed out heavily, almost exhaustedly. Both his hands slid against your cheeks and in another surprising twist he kissed you. He kissed you so softly and tenderly it had your stomach turning in knots. This man was loud, he was angry most of the time and every single slayer and villager was scared at the mere thought of him. But he was different when he kissed you, it had your entire body lightening on fire. You absentmindedly tried to wrap your arms around the back of his neck only for that bite on your shoulder to remind you with white hot pain. You gasped, sucking in a breath as Hotaru pulled back. He didn’t waste a second placing a rag over the wound, soaking up some of the blood. 

“I’m not angry you saved me.” He said after a moment. “Just mad you got hurt.” 

“I get hurt all the time.” You answer lightly, hoping for some humility but Hotaru doesn’t crack a smile. “It’s just part of being a Hashira.” His gentle hands are patching up your shoulder and he doesn’t say anything for a few long seconds. Once he’s finished he gets up, grabbing a blanket, wrapping it around you to warm you up. He sets back down and pulls your chair closer to his. Your nerves spike at the closeness. 

“You didn’t come all this way for a broken sword right?” He asks, your breath catches as you shake your head. 

“My sword’s fine.” 

“That’s good to hear.” He says, reaching a hand up to tuck your hair back out of your face. “Didn’t visit my competitor first this time?” It’s weird to see him joke but you find yourself relaxing.

“No. I came straight here.” You answer and his hand lingers on your cheek.

“Thanks for saving my life.” He says.

“You’re welco-” He cuts you off with a press of his lips against yours.

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

THE HISTORY BOOK ON THE SHELF. ( HOTD x READER ) [ Final Part ]

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: King Aegon Targaryen x Little Sis! Reader prompt: Aegon would do anything, if it meant killing every ratcatcher or gold cloak in the city, he'd so. word count: 1, 000+ words

You wept and wept. Aegon feared that you would never be able to stop. Helaena was no better, locking herself up and shutting down. The two of you spiraled into madness and tears. It only made him drink and rage more. He hated to see you cry. You were supposed to be the happy one out of all of your siblings.

Aegon was the drunken mess, needing to be put in line. Helaena was the odd one, in a dream-like state. You were the perfect little angel, his perfect little angel. Aemond was the brooding one, face pulled into a stupid brooding look. Daeron was the forgotten one.

Now you were the broken one. Rhaenyra has stolen your smile. Rhaenyra had stolen his perfect little angel from him. She took the good from you, leaving him with a broken mess. A mess he wasn't sure of how to repair. So, he was going to do what he did best. He was going to get even.

If Rhaenyra wanted to take the one good thing he had in his life from him. He was going to burn everything she cared about to ash. Even if it made him a monster in the eyes of his own Court. Because you were worth burning the world down.

Blood and Cheese. Blood was one of his men, or now a former man of the City Watch. Cheese was a rat-catcher. That's how they knew how to get into the Red Keep. They were paid to kill Aegon's son. The worst part of all it had to be the fact that your son was "just in the way". They had no reason to kill him. He wasn't the one they had been paid to kill. They just killed him because he was in the way of things.

Blinking back the tears in his eyes, Aegon stares at the club in his hand, the metal rusted and jagged. Blood's words confession ringing in his ears. They killed his son for a debt, but yours because they thought of him in the way. Collateral damage. That was your son was, fucking collateral damage. Nodding his head for a moment, he thought of not killing the man, just leaving him to rot. But, another part of him truly wanted to see him bleed.

"You killed my son. You killed my sister's whole world." Aegon states, his voice cold. "My sister's loved their son's. And you just killed them."

"The Seven will never forgive you for this." Blood blubber's out, "To kill me.."

"Ah, yes, but the Seven aren't here, now are they?" Aegon mocks, adjusting his grip on the club.

Motioning around the Black Cell's, there was nothing but the rats and darkness there. No one to hear Blood's screams. No one there to help. It was just Blood and Aegon. Alone. Looking at the jagged end of the club, Aegon brushes his thumb over it, seeing it was sharp enough to cut. Though it would not be smooth or painless.

"You can fuck with me all you want. You can beat me. You can mock me." Aegon states, "Do as you please to me and I can endure it."

Blood sobs, the chains around his arms and legs clanging and jiggling loudly. Mercy was below, Aegon now. Mercy was not shown to his son or yours. Why the fuck should he show it to Blood?

"See, my friend. The thing is, you made my sister's cry." Aegon's face goes deadly cold, "I don't like bastard's that make my sister's cry."

Bringing the metal club down onto the man's head, he doesn't stop, unable to stop thinking of you. The way you wept, sobs full of heartache. The way you clung onto him, the blood on your nightgown seeping into his own clothes. The way the bastard made you cry. The way the bastard made you feel so unsafe in your own home.

The way the bastard made you doubt him. The way the bastard made you think he was a liar. Feeling a hand grab onto his forearm, he's pulled out of his daze, now realizing the man was now dead. His head caved in a bloody mess. Dropping the club, he takes a step back, licking his lips. He can taste blood on it, though it was not his own.

A son for a son. A son for a son. A son for a son. They got there son. Now a debt was now owed, on behalf of your son. The cycle repeating over and over again. Lucerys died, Jaehaerys died in payment. Your son died, now Rhaenyra would die in payment.

"Your grace?" A kingsguard asks, "What shall we do with the body?"

"Feed him to the pig's. I have no desire for time or a hole to be wasted upon him." Aegon spits at the corpse for good measure.

Hearing the door to the chambers open, you couldn’t find the strength to get up from bed, clinging onto the blanket. You could still smell your son on it. He smelt of lemon cakes and mud. He always loved to steal the frosting off the lemon cakes, just like Aegon did. He was just a boy. He was innocent. Why him? Why? Feeling tears bubbling up, you did not wish to ponder on your son’s death. It forced you to think of the sounds of a head being sawed off.

Feeling the bed dip for a moment, you look over to see Aegon there, his doublet and breeches soaked in blood. Blood’s blood. Sniffling softly, Aegon leans over to you, tucking back a strand of hair from your face. It was comforting to be touched and tended to like this, like you were still a child and not a woman grown with responsibilities and duties. Like everything was still okay.

"It is done." He whispers, nodding his head.

You don’t say anything, not being able to find the right words. Even if you could, what would you say? “Oh, that is so amazing to hear from you, dear brother.” or some other bullshit. 

"You have my word, I swear it upon my life. I will burn everything down that Rhaenyra loves." Aegon pledges, "From her favorite tailor to her favorite child. I will avenge your son, sister."

"Aegon.." You croak out, trying to find your voice. 

"I will kill her myself. I’ll fucking feed her to my dragon.” He vows, “No one will remember the name Rhaenyra Targaryen, when I am done.”

“Aegon..” You try again, voice barely above a whisper. 

"She'd be a fucking myth. She'll be a fucking ghost of the Red Keep. No, no, not even that. I won't even let her haunt the Red Keep."

He doesn’t hear you, clearly swept up in his plots and plans for revenge on your behalf. His words left not a drop of comfort.

“I will do anything that you ask of me. Just tell me what it is that you wish and I shall do it. I’ll kill whoever you wish⎯" He rambles on and on. 

"Egg." You whisper, tears bubbling up.

The childhood nickname falling out of your lips naturally. You did not wish for grand words, for grand promises, or grand actions to be done in your name or favor. That was meaningless. Mayhaps when the grief dimmed, you would wish for revenge for your son. But, for now, at this moment. You just wanted your big brother to hug you. You wanted things to be back as they once were. Here you were just Y/n and he was just Aegon, your big brother. Not the King.

Feeling the tears bubble up more and more, you sniffle, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. You watch through teary eyes as he goes deadly still. You did not regret saying his old nickname. You just wanted to feel as safe and happy as you used to be in your childhood. You wanted to escape from the crushing reality that your son was dead and war was invincible now. Mayhaps it was childish. But, you wanted to be okay once more.

"Y/n.." He whispers, his face crumbling.

"Just hold me like you used to do." You whimper out, “Please.”

---

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@nightvers

@zaldritzosrose

@lexi-anastasia-astra-luna 

[sceletaflores]

working it out (on the remix)

pairing: art donaldson x patrick zweig x fem!reader summary: you sit in the angry silence, gears slowly turning in your head as you look between your boys. you should have known that this wasn't going to work, clearly just talking isn’t going to get the three of you anywhere.

—or: three tennis players walk into a hotel room.

word count: 5.5k contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, smoking, fighting as foreplay, mean!reader my beloved, the patrick and art gay agenda, threesome, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y'all!), not quite hate sex more like angry sex, double penetration, oral sex (m!receiving), choking, finger sucking, degradation, creampies, lowkey sub!patrick coded, switch!art ofc, porn with a plot, no use of y/n. author’s note: oh em gee part three is here!!! i literally always say this but i had so much fun writing this one lol thank you so much for showing this series so much love right off the bat! i've loved loved loved reading all the ideas you guys have sent me for future chapters and trust when i say that i'll definitely be featuring as many as i can. okay bye! hope you love it! xoxo mwah.

tftw series masterlist!

Art is fuming. You keep glancing over at him to check that smoke isn't starting to blow out of his ears. It doesn't, but he's just as mad every time. Standing in the doorway huffing and puffing, arms crossed over his chest as he stares Patrick down from across the room. 

Patrick is the complete opposite, all relaxed body language and easy half-smiles as he coolly stares back. You’d make a fire and ice joke if you didn’t think it would send Art over the edge.

He’s sitting in the room’s single chair, window cracked open so he can smoke. He’s practically naked, wearing an unbuttoned long sleeve and the tiniest boxers you’ve ever seen. His bare feet are propped up on the corner of the bed you’re sitting on. 

You’re perched cross legged on the mattress, basically stuck in the middle of them.

You’re still surprised you even got Art to show up at all. You thought he almost flipped the table when you brought up Patrick at lunch, casually mentioning that you’ve been texting him for the past couple of days and you think the three of you need to talk. He was quiet for a long time before he finally asked if that meant Patrick was, has been, in town. You just shook your head yes.

You didn’t tell him you and Patrick slept together, you didn’t need to.

He went quiet again, stood up from his chair with an excuse of being late to class and stomped out of the dining hall. You texted him the address to Patrick’s hotel an hour later.

Art never responded, but his jeep was still waiting for you outside the biology building after your last lecture got out. He would always drive you back to your dorm since you’d get out so late, but this time he turned out of the campus lot and silently drove until you realized he was going to the hotel.

Now you’re here, and it's been almost ten minutes since you knocked on the door to Patrick’s room. And no one has said anything the entire time. No one has even moved, only Patrick every so often when he needs to flick his ashes out the window. A thick blanket of tense silence falls heavy over the three of you. It makes the room’s temperature feel that much hotter. The shitty air conditioner hums faintly in the background.

“So,” you say slowly, voice finally piercing through the quiet, “Am I gonna have to be the first to talk again or–”

“God, I don’t know,” Art cuts in tersely, not looking away from Patrick as he does, ”I can’t believe I don’t have anything to say to the guy that fucked my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Both you and Patrick ask sharply, opposing tones of shock and amusement blending together.

Art's eyes narrow, a storm brewing in the blue of them. He’s still looking at Patrick, talking about you like you’re not sitting right in front of him. "Yeah, my girlfriend. Did I stutter?" His chest is puffed out just enough for you to notice, his mouth pulled down at the corners in a deep frown.

You blink, caught off guard. Art’s never asked you to go steady with him, you’ve never even been on a date. Unless you count fucking in the back of his jeep at a drive in theater a date, then sure, you’ve been on one date. Regardless, the possessive timbre of his voice has something warm simmering under your skin.

Patrick laughs, loud and abrasive. “Well, this is fucking news to me,” he says through a chuckle, eyes flicking between the two of you bemusedly, “I didn’t realize you guys were playing house, but that does makes a lot more sense now.” He gestures to your chest with his free hand, pointing out the dark blue sweatshirt you’re wearing.

‘Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy’ is stitched across the front in thin black thread; you'd stolen it from Art’s closet when you slept over at his dorm a few nights ago. He never asked for it back.

“It’s cute that you kept my shirt, Donaldson.” Patrick teases, lolling his head to the side lazily so he can look at Art through his lashes. A plume of smoke billows from between his lips, slipping through the open window slowly. “Even after you tried to turn my girlfriend against me and fucked her behind my back first–”

“Fuck you, Patrick–” Art starts, face twisted in a scowl. His hands ball into fists at his side, jaw ticking with anger.

Patrick doesn’t look deterred, leaning forward in his chair as he tries to talk over Art, “You’re such a fucking hypocrite–”

“I’m not anyone’s girlfriend,” you cut them both off, brows drawn together in frustration, “—and I’m not going to let this turn into some weird pissing contest between you two. We’re here to talk.”

Art scoffs agitatedly, casting his eyes to the ceiling. “Looks like the two of you have done plenty of talking without me,” he says bitterly. “Do you get off on this shit or something? On sticking your dick where it doesn’t fucking belong?”

Patrick smirks, leaning back in his chair, arms draped lazily over the armrests. “God, you really do think you’re innocent in this,” he laughs incredulously, leaning back in his chair. “You’re acting like you’ve got some moral high ground, but you don’t. You’re just as guilty of playing the game as I am.”

Art’s face darkens further, anger threatening to boil over. “This isn’t a game to me, Patrick,” he spits, tone hard and low, “I’m so sick of you treating everything like a goddamn joke.”

Patrick’s smirk doesn’t falter. “I never said it was a joke,” he says with a shrug, tone easy and nonchalant. “I’m just saying, maybe you should take a good look in the mirror before you start pointing fucking fingers. I’m not the only one who’s played dirty here.”

“Patrick–” you warn, sitting up straighter. You can feel the way the air changes, the way the animosity gets turned up. The last thing you need is for them to start throwing punches.

Art cuts you off, shaking his head in contempt. “You’re so full of shit. You don’t fucking care about her. You never did. You just want to win, because you can’t stand the thought of losing to me.”

Patrick groans loudly, throwing his head back with it. “We’re really going back to this again? Jesus Christ, give it up man. It’s not like she was ever really yours to begin with.” He takes another slow drag from his cigarette, eyes never leaving Art.

The jab hits its mark, you can see it on Art’s face. In the way he physically recoils, the way he takes a ragged breath through his nose, the way the muscles of his jaw work furiously. For the first time since you fucked Patrick, you feel like a fucking bitch. The familiar feeling of guilt wraps its tendrils around you, weighing you down into the mattress like a physical force.

It gives you an idea, the guilt. It's a filthy idea, one that has heat stirring between your legs at just the thought. It’s a good way to make this whole situation up to Art, a good way to let him get under Patrick’s skin the same way he’s getting under his.

You sit in the angry silence, gears slowly turning in your head as you look between your boys. You should have known that this wasn't going to work, clearly just talking isn’t getting the three of you anywhere.

You sigh, overly dramatic and long suffering, scooting down until your legs are hanging over the edge of the mattress. Art and Patrick watch you the entire time, eyes finally leaving each other to watch your hands settle on the hem of Patrick’s sweatshirt.

“You guys are being so difficult. Why did I think that you could behave enough to talk this out like big boys?” You tug it off in one swift move, tossing it to the side carelessly. Two sharp gasps ring out, two sets of greedy eyes roam the bare expanse of your torso. You hadn’t worn a bra today.

You smirk, standing from the mattress and hooking your thumbs in the waistband of your sweats. You push them down your legs slowly, making a show of it until you're only in the pair of light purple panties you slipped on this morning. Patrick smirks, flicking his cigarette butt out the window and yanking it closed. He goes to stand, Art pointedly takes a single threatening step forward as he does but you stop both of them in their tracks. 

“No.” Your voice rings through the small room, loud and commanding. Patrick sits back down almost immediately, his brow raising in confusion. Art does the same, freezing with one foot in front of him. They’re both hard, cocks tenting the fabric of their bottoms. Their boners point towards each other, you bite your lip to hide your smile. 

“You’ve been so bad, Ricky.” you scold softly, voice syrupy sweet as you lean back on the bed. “Dressed up like an easy whore in here waiting for us, being so mean to Art, fucking his girl…” You trail off boredly, palms braced flat on the bed behind you so you can lean back as casually as you can muster. You let your legs fall open, spread enough to let Patrick and Art see the wet spot slowly seeping into the fabric.

You can hear Art’s sharp inhale from across the room at your words, his girl. You’re still careful not to say girlfriend, that’s a whole other talk. Patrick squirms in his chair, practically itching with the need to say something. You level him with a hard look, a firm shake of your head keeps him quiet. When you finally turn your attention to Art, he meets your gaze easily, eyes already blown out and glassy. Even from here you can see the way his pupils swallow the pretty blue color.

You smile, lips curling up in a wicked smile. “Art,” you coo softly, reaching your hand out in offering, “come here.” 

Art’s walking towards you without a second thought, crossing the room in just a few large steps. You smile at him, patting the spot next to you. The bed creaks as he sits down, the mattress dipping under his weight slides you closer to him. ”I think,” you say slowly, resting your hand high up on his thigh, so close to the hard line of his cock straining against the fabric, “that we need to teach Patrick a lesson on manners.”

“What! No fucking way, that’s bullshi–” Patrick fusses from the corner, sitting up straighter in seat, the armrest gripped tight in his left hand.

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, whipping your head to the side to glare at him. “This isn’t about you.”

He frowns, pushing out his bottom lip like an actual child. You just barely fight the urge to roll your eyes, an evil smile spreading across your face as you watch him honest-to-God pout.

“This is about Art,” you slide your hand up higher, cupping him through his loose shorts. You can hear his sharp intake of breath, a quiet ‘fuck’ falls from his lips as you apply more pressure to where your hand is steadily rubbing him up and down. “Plus, you’re already in the cuck chair,” you aren’t able to stop the small chuckle that falls from your lips, “you’ve got a perfect view.”

His pink lips part ever so slightly, eyes going wide and hungry at your words. You throw him one last devilish smile before you’re sinking to your knees in front of the bed. The scratchy carpet digs into your knees but you don’t care, not when Art is towering in front of you with the ceiling lights shining around him like he’s an angel.

You smile up at him, dragging the palms of your hands up and down his thighs. “Take your shirt off,” you encourage, slipping your hands up to toy with the hem of his shorts.

He complies beautifully, pulling his shirt up and over his head and tossing it aside, revealing the lean, toned muscles of his torso. You let your eyes linger on him for a moment, appreciating the sight before returning your attention to your task. Your fingers deftly undo the drawstring of his shorts, and start tugging them down. Art lifts his hips enough for you to drag them all the way down his legs, taking his boxers with them to free his hard cock.

Again, you slide your hands up the bare skin of his thighs, inches away from where he wants them. He’s so hard, cock standing straight up in an angry red line against his stomach. The tip drools pre-cum that leaks down the length of him slowly.

Art's breath hitches, his eyes locked onto you with a mix of anticipation and desperation. Your fingers brush lightly over his upper thighs, before you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, feeling the heat of his arousal pulse against your palm. His gasp is sharp, and you silently revel in the power you hold over him in this moment.

You glance over at Patrick, who is staring wide-eyed, his earlier irritation replaced with a raw, unfiltered hunger.

Your lips curl into a smug smile at the sight of his flushed cheeks and the way his chest rises and falls with each heavy breath. “See something you like, Patrick?” you taunt, giving Art a slow, deliberate stroke that has him groaning softly. Patrick’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching, but he stays silent, his gaze locked on the two of you.

Art's hands grip the sheets beneath him, his knuckles turning white. "Fuck," he breathes out, his voice strained, "you're killing me."

You laugh softly, a dark, melodic sound, and lean forward, letting your tongue flick out to taste the bead of precum at the tip of his cock. Art moans, the sound vibrating through you. You glance up at him through your lashes, seeing the way his head tilts back, his eyes half-lidded in pleasure.

You slide your lips up the length of his leaking cock, teasing and slow. Art stares down at you, not breaking eye contact as he breathes raggedly through his nose.

“Tell him how it feels,” you whisper against the pink tip of his cock, sliding it back and forth across your lips teasingly. Art swallows hard, skin flushing in embarrassment.

“So good…” he whispers, eyes still locked onto yours. His blush goes from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, spreading pink and warm across the strong muscle of his pecs.

You smile, shaking your head softly. “Don’t tell me, tell him.” You jerk your head in Patrick’s direction once before you sink down until your nose is nestled against the soft blonde hair at the base of his cock, working your throat around the length of him. 

Art moans loudly, his hands coming up to tangle into your hair. You keep going, fighting his grip on you as you start to bob your head over his cock in a steady rhythm, working your hand in time with your mouth.

He forces himself to look at Patrick, catching his eyes.

Patrick looks fucked, lips slick and dropped open as he stares back Art, hungry gaze not wavering. His cock is still hard, pressed against the seam of his boxers and leaking a steady patch of wetness around the head. 

A silent challenge seems to pass between the two of them.

We doing this or what?

Art refuses to back down, hardening his resolve. “Feels so fucking good,” he groans, not looking away from Patrick, “her throat’s so tight, so– God, it’s so good. Best I’ve ever had.”

He’s rambling, not even making any sense but you hum in approval all the same, your tongue curling around the crown. Patrick doesn’t look like he minds too much either, pink tongue coming out to swipe along his bottom lip. "Please," he whispers, almost too quiet to hear. "Let me..."

You pull off Art with a wet pop, turning your head as best you can with his hand still tangled in your hair to fix Patrick with a steely gaze. "You don't get to make requests," you say, your voice hard. "You get to watch and learn."

Patrick's eyes darken, his lips pressing into a thin line, but he doesn't protest. Art lets out a low growl, his hand tightening its grip on your hair and dragging your mouth back to his cock.

“Stop fucking talking to him,” he demands, hips thrusting to fuck back into your mouth. You choke on the sudden fullness, wetness floods your panties as you moan around him.

Yes, you think, eyes squeezing close as you force your throat to relax around his cock, this is what I wanted.

You were waiting to see how long it’d take Art to snap, he lasted longer than you thought he would. The head of his cock punches against the soft, spongy part at the back of your throat. You fight to not gag around him, hands scrambling for purchase on his thighs. His balls slap against your chin roughly, sticking wetly to the drool that's starting to fall from the corners of your lips.

Art meets Patrick’s eye again, a smug smirk on his face as he jerks his head in a clear invitation, “Come here.” He grunts simply, dragging you up and down the length of his cock by his tight grip on your hair.

Patrick practically sprints from the chair, ripping his shirt off while he tries to kick his boxers off before he reaches the bed. He sits next to Art, chest heaving as he stares down at where your lips stretched obscenely over his best friend's cock. 

Art pulls you off by your hair, holding your face a few inches away from his spit covered cock. He tuts at you sympathetically, tilting his head to the side with a tiny frown at the sight of you all teary eyed. “Bet you feel real empty, right?” he asks sadly, shaking your head back and forth like a dog. “That greedy pussy wants our cocks stretching her open, doesn't she?”

You whine loudly, nodding your head as best you can as the meaning of Art’s words sink over you. You feel far away, like you’ve already been fucked six ways to Sunday. You cunt clenches around nothing, aching for Art and Patrick’s cocks bullying their way inside you. You’ve never done anything like that before, taken two guys at once, but God do you need it.

Art nods back, brows pulled together in faux pity. “Pat and I will help baby,” he says sweetly, “You just gotta get nice and stretched out first, need to fuck yourself open on Patrick’s cock so you can take us.”

“Fuck yeah,” Patrick breathes, already moving up the bed to lay flat on his back agasint the pillows. His cock sticking straight out from his body, pointing to the ceiling desperately.

Art lets go of your hair, cupping the side of your face tenderly. His thumb rubs against the soft skin of your cheekbone a few times, you know it’s a question. 

Do you want this?

You smile, nuzzling his palm and giving his thumb a playful nip. The answer to his question written all over your face.

Fuck yes.

Art smiles back, nodding his head once. You take the hint, rising from your knees to climb onto the mattress. You slide your panties off, tossing them aside as you crawl up the length of Patrick’s body, straddling his hips and wasting no time in sinking down on his cock.

Art settles next to the two of you, hand loosely gripped around his cock as he starts to lazily stroke himself to the sight of you and Patrick.

“Fuck!” Patrick hisses, his hands coming up to grip your hips fiercely as you start to ride him, not giving either of you anytime to adjust. The stretch burns, the lack of prepping before hand makes it sting. You don’t mind, too worked up to care. 

“God, you’re such a fucking slut,” He tries, but you cut him off bringing your free hand to wrap around the column of his throat just like he did to you back in the shower.

“You’re the slut,” you growl, fingers digging into his skin roughly. His eyes widen, plush lips going slack. You speed your hips up, the loud smack each time you drop down onto him echoes through the room. “You’re the easy fucking whore that soaked your panties watching your best friend fuck my throat."

Art huffs out a breath, hand slipping over his cock faster as he watches you ride Patrick. His eyes are trained on the way your hand is wrapped against Patrick’s throat. He slips his free hand down, pressing two fingers against Patrick’s cock so you slide down onto them on the next bounce.

“Fuck!” You keen loudly, grip tightening on Patrick’s throat. Art’s fingers add to the sting of your cunt, but your hips don’t stop moving, even as he slips in a third just as fast.

You get lost in it, in the feeling of Patrick’s dick fucking into you so deeply you swear he’s hitting your cervix with every roll of your hips, Art’s fingers stretching you that much wider.

Suddenly, Art drops his cock so his free hand can latch onto your hips, his strong grip forcing you to stop your desperate bouncing. His fingers slip out of you, you immediately miss the stretch.

Patrick groans in displeasure, his hips buck up like he’s trying to slide back into the warmth of your fucked open cunt. His leaking head bumps against your sensitive clit a few times before Art’s dropping his hand down, gripping Patrick’s cock to line it up with his own.

Art slides up behind you, his sweaty chest pressing firmly against your back. “Should be stretched out enough,” He whispers into the nape of your neck, pressing both tips against your fluttering hole.

The shock of it has your hand slipping off Patrick’s throat to anchor onto his shoulders in a feeble attempt to brace yourself. He sucks in large gasps of air, chest heaving as he stares down to where his cock is pressed snug against Art’s, his hand big enough to almost wrap around them both. He throws his head back against the pillows, eyes screwed shut, “Fuck, I can’t watch,” he gasps, voice low and ragged. 

Art laughs smugly, but it’s breathy around the edges and you can feel the way his hand shakes on your hip. “Close already, Pat?” He asks condescendingly, as his fingers dig in a little tighter. “You’re not even doing any of the work.”  

You try to focus on the sensation of Art’s grip, but your mind is a haze of overstimulation and the throb of Patrick’s cock against you. Art’s mocking tone sends a shiver down your spine, making you acutely aware of how close you are to the edge yourself. Your greedy cunt clenches around them, trying to suck them in you.

Patrick’s breath stutters, his hips jerking up involuntarily, making a strangled noise that’s half-groan, half-whimper. “Fuck you, man,” he manages to grind out, but his voice is trembling and strained, the bite in his tone gets undercut by how wrecked he sounds. You can feel the barely there twitches of his hips, like he’s physically pained from having to wait any longer.

A sharp cry rips from your throat as they finally start to slide in, both heads popping into your tight hole all at once. Your eyes screw shut at the stretch, thighs shaking where they’re spread over Patrick’s hips.

“Someone kiss me,” you gasp desperately, chin lowering to your chest. Art’s moving before the words finish leaving your mouth, gripping a fistful of Patrick’s hair and dragging him up to your lips. You whine into his mouth, letting his tongue slide between your lips to claim your mouth.

The familiar feeling of his lips on yours relaxes you the tiniest bit, letting Art lower you down a few more inches. It feels like hours as you sink onto them, Art’s big hands gently massaging your hips while Patrick’s greedy fingers pull and paw at your thighs.

It’s the quietest you’ve ever heard Patrick. His lips going slack in awe against yours as Art’s cock slides up next to his, moaning into your mouth when your hips go flush with his.

They feel so huge inside you, so thick you swear you can feel them in your stomach. Bullying your insides into making more room for the both of them.

“Fuck," you gasp, nails digging little crescent moons into Patrick’s shoulders. Every inch of you is alive with sensation, a burning mix of pleasure and pain. Art’s breath is hot and ragged against your ear, whispering sweet encouragements, “It’s okay baby, you’re okay, taking us so fucking good–” 

You nod, slowly starting to grind your hips back and forth, gasping when they rub up against the soft spot inside of you that has you clenching in pleasure– practically choking them off at the base. A high moan falls from your lips, hips swirling the tiniest bit faster that have both Art and Patrick growl out matching groans of approval.

“Just like that,” Art whispers into your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “Gonna make him come first, or are you gonna beat him to it?” The challenge in his voice sends a jolt of heat through you, your thighs starting to shake with every pass of them over that spot.

“God, ah! Art– fuck, mh, Patrick–” You slur, head already starting to go fuzzy

“Fuck,” Art gasps out your name sharply, pushing you down onto Patrick’s chest so he can start fucking into your loose, sloppy cunt. “God, you’re so fucking tight,” his hand grips the back of your neck to pin you down, throwing all his strength behind the snap of his hips.

“Shit, look at you,” Patrick chuckles weakly pinching your hips hard, trying to seem less affected than he really is. “You’re so fucking gone. All that attitude needs is some dick to fix it, huh?”

You crack your eyes open, blearily searching until you zero in on his face. He’s smiling smugly, eyes blown out and hazy.

“Shut the fuck up,” you spit weakly, raising your hand to shove your index and middle finger between his parted lips. You push back far enough to feel his throat constricting against your fingers, letting him gag on you. Your eyes trace the side of his face, down the slope of his nose to where his cherry red lips are lewdly spread around your fingers. 

You can distantly hear Art groan behind you, his hips speeding up impossibly faster. His hand squeezes your neck, fingers digging into your sensitive skin meanly. You hook your fingers behind Patrick’s teeth, dragging his face to the side to meet your eye. Patrick moans around your fingers, gazing at you pleading through half lidded eyes. Drool leaks from the corners of his mouth and down his chin, drenching your wrist. His hot, wet tongue sliding along the pads of your fingers feels scalding.

Patrick's hands are everywhere, pulling, pinching, caressing, his touch a maddening mix of rough and tender. The feeling of him inside you, alongside Art, is almost too much to bear, making you gasp for breath. Your moans are a symphony of pleasure and desperation, each one a plea for more, more, more the closer you get the edge.

“Shit, ah, Art, ah!” Your feet scrabbled uselessly against the sheets, the fingers of your free hand twist Patrick’s hair roughly. “I’m gonna come— Mm, ah! I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” Art goads, the rhythm of his hips not faltering, “Come on baby– fuck yeah– fucking soak these dicks–”

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as you come, your vision whites out around you as the entire world shrinks down to the stretch of your gushing cunt around Art and Patrick. The slight burn of them, the fullness, the unrelenting pace of Art’s hips stinging the skin of your ass on each thrust. 

Patrick bites down on your fingers with a broken whine just as Art sinks his teeth into your neck, both of them groaning so loud it’s all you can hear. That and the faulty rhythm of Art’s hips snapping against the meat of your ass in loud ‘cracks’. 

They come together, and you can feel it.

You can feel every twitch and jerk of their cocks inside you as they spray the walls of your cunt with their releases. Spurt after spurt of hot come claiming you as theirs, filling you to the brim. Art doesn’t stop, working the three of you through your orgasms. Each thrust fucks more of their come out of you, the lewd squelch of it leaking from of your loose hole to gather around the base of their cocks in two matching creamy rings makes your ears burn.

Just as it gets to be too much, when the pleasure starts to give way into biting overstimulation, Art stops. You’re slumped against Patrick, shaking like a leaf when Art starts to pull out as gently as he can. You hiss when the head of his cock slips out, thighs clenching together.

“Sorry,” he whispers sweetly, giving your shoulder a gentle kiss. He practically man handles you off of Patrick’s cock, lifting your hips up and off of him.

Patrick groans, stomach twitching in oversensitivity as your slick walls slide against his spent dick. Finally he slips out, his drenched cock falling to slap onto his stomach. There come rushes out of you, dripping sticky and thick down your inner thighs. 

There’s sweat dripping down your temple when you fall onto the mattress, your back sticks to the sheets but you’re too out of it to care. Art collapses next to you, sandwiching you between him and Patrick. The three of you are quiet, chests heaving as you catch your breath. Patrick’s hairy thigh is pressed to yours, firm and toned. Art’s got an arm slung over your waist, his breath puffs hot against your neck.

“It doesn’t have to be one or the other,” you say breathlessly, voice raspy and hoarse. “It could work. We could make it work, the three of us.”

Art and Patrick are quiet, their silence heavy with contemplation. You keep your eyes trained on the ceiling, more nervous bringing this up than you thought you’d be. The room is filled with the sounds of your collective breaths, mingling with the lingering scent of sweat and sex.

Patrick chuckles, you can feel his curls brushing against your shoulder as he shakes his head in dry amusement. "Yeah, because everything about this screams 'healthy relationship,'" he quips, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Art lets out a soft, exasperated sigh, his grip on your waist tightening just a little. "We don't have to decide anything right now," he says, his voice low and steady. "Let's just...see where this goes."

You feel a rush of relief at his words, but Patrick’s hesitancy still gnaws at the edges of your mind. Patrick shifts beside you, his hand skirting lightly over your arm in a rare moment of tenderness.

"Guess we're in uncharted territory, huh?" he murmurs, his tone uncharacteristically serious. 

You laugh, finally daring to glance at both of them, a tentative smile forming on your lips. "Yeah, but maybe that's not such a bad thing."

Art and Patrick look back at you with matching grins wide enough to show their teeth, blonde and black hair fanning around their faces like halo’s under the room’s shitty fluorescent light. Your heart swells under the intense stare of two pairs of eyes, one blue and one green. You can feel the room start to fade away until it’s just the three of you and nothing else seems to matter.

Art leans down, giving your right shoulder a quick kiss. “If we’re doing this, we have to be honest with each other.” He looks between you and Patrick pointedly, but he’s still smiling. “No more bullshit games.”

Patrick snorts, letting his head fall back onto the pillows, “Yes sir.” 

You nod, not bothering to hide your smile. "No bullshit, no games," you agree, moving to squeeze Art's hand. He squeezes back in a silent promise.

The three of you lie there in a comfortable silence, the weight of your decision settling over you. It's definitely not going to be easy, but maybe, just maybe, it could work.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[strwbnnie]

‎✧ lovesick!chifuyu x hyperfem!bimbo reader : A jealous, pining Chifuyu finally gets the courage to approach you after watching you fraternize with Mitsuya ♡

black fem reader, chubby bimbo reader, reader is a fashion girlie! not really mentioned but chifu studies literature, semi-public sex (I think), kinda whiny reader, kind of a shift at the end. lovesick!chifuyu, reader is a maneater not a mean girl! (jk) Mitsuya & Takemichi make an appearance! There’s like one b*ji spoiler, standing doggy, slight choking, pussy eating, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), excuse any mistakes, MDNI

author’s note: for my bby @prtttycocobuttvr 🫶🏾chile this has been in the drafts for idk how long 🥲 extra long for literally no reason, the bulk of it isn’t even the smut…the ending is so abrupt 😭 but I really needed this out my drafts

wc: 3.7k

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Every now and then Chifuyu thinks back to the day the two of you met.

He fucking hated you at first, he’s ashamed to admit. Was it really hate though? Could’ve been annoyance, jealousy maybe? A lil bit of both is what he’ll chalk it up to. It was love at first sight for him, meanwhile you never gave a second glance in his direction.

He started seeing you more as the weeks passed, the two of you had no classes together, but he still saw you around far too often. You smelled just like marshmallows or vanilla, something sweet that demanded his attention every single fucking time you strutted past him. 

It became a routine—class, cafe and lastly the library where he’d find you doing anything but reading. 

Once a quiet safe haven for him to relax with a good book, now overtaken by the clicks and clacks of you touching up your makeup, or the rustle of a potato chip bag while you sit there with your pink Hello Kitty headphones watching some Netflix drama, even the constant sucking and the jumbling of ice as you slurp down every drop of your boba coffee while waiting for your newest minion to finish your homework.

That day was supposed to be no different. You and one of your minions were heading to that same table, around the same time you always arrived. You looked so damn good too. You always did. 

He was obsessed with your new hair color, black girl blonde is what he learned it’s called. Ash blonde with dark chocolate roots and it’s just so damn pretty he’s losing his fucking mind. Your face is fresh and bare, no makeup aside from a dark blackish-brown lip liner and gloss. Lashes full and fluffy, you must’ve gotten them filled over the weekend.

His eyes are trailing your every move, waiting for the glimpse of your backside that never came.

“Hiiiii Mitsu & friends!” You leaned down to drape yourself over the lavender’s shoulders. Chifuyu tries to keep his cool, brows furrowed and eyes almost as wide as saucers as he watched this strange display. 

And friends? How fucking pathetic is that. Granted, he didn’t know your name either, often referring to you as “that pretty girl” when he spoke about you to Baji’s grave but fuck, that made him feel like shit. 

It’s the first time he’s heard that cute voice of yours and it’s when you’re greeting Takashi fucking Mitsuya?? You guys seem well acquainted and it burns Chifuyu up inside, when the fuck did you two get all buddy-buddy? And what the fuck did Mitsuya have that he didn’t? 

He wonders who initiated the first contact, wouldn’t be surprised if it was Mitsuya, he’d always had the confidence a loser like him lacked. He was also very good with women, unlike Chifuyu. Then again, you seem very bubbly and outgoing so it very well could’ve been you who approached him.

“Here are those fabric swatches I was telling you about. If you decide to use any just let me know! I have tons of rolls and I can bring you some yards.” You hand him a couple of squares of fabric. At least ten 4x4 squares that you took the time to cut and string on a little o-ring like paint swatches. So cute. 

“Thank you, y/n!” He smiles. “I’ll surely let you know.”

Just like that, you’re heading over to your table, minion hot on your heels. 

It’s a quick exchange, and it should’ve been harmless, but boy does it boil his blood. God, did you speak to everyone but him?!

“Y/N,” Damn, he learned your name, heard your voice and watched you diss him all in one sitting. It was insane. “You know her?”

“Yeah, we’ve only spoken a few times but she’s super friendly. She’s an exchange student from the states, a fashion major too, we have classes together.” Mitsuya spoke as he sketched out a few designs for a project. 

“This would make a nice jacket.” He shows Takemichi the blush pink corduroy square for him to feel. “Maybe pants too if she has enough. It’d look nice on Koko, he’s my model.” “It would! It’s nice and soft, like velvet! Koko’s super pretty too, it’ll look great.”

He steals glances at you every now and then. 

“Just talk to her dude, she’s literally so sweet.”

He doesn’t raise his head, still sketching away, but it’s clear who his words are directed to. Mitsuya has known him for quite some time, of course he knew how to read his pragmatic friend. 

“Yeah! Unless you’re scared.” 

He cuts his eyes at the crybaby blonde. Of course he wasn’t scared, just a bit apprehensive is all. 

He looks your way one last time.

Your back is to him and you have your MacBook open in front of you watching a recap of celebrity metgala looks. You’re enamored by your fashion content, even taking notes in your cute notebook with your adorable pom-pom pen. You’re too oblivious—too much of an airhead in your own dumb little world to notice that simp eye fucking you. 

Dude’s practically drooling while staring at your tits. It’s disgusting, enraging even. It boiled his blood, so much that he’s scooting his chair back to approach the both of you. Takemichi and Mitsuya watched him with careful eyes, since he didn’t say a word before he made his move. Fuck it, his pride was already shot and he didn’t have shit else to lose. 

You didn’t even notice him at first, both airpods in, now staring into your hello kitty shaped compact mirror while reapplying that sticky beauty supply lipgloss all over your plump pout. 

Before he could even stop himself he’s snatching up your homework sheet, scanning his eyes over this chump’s work. Wrong. Wrong. Most were either fucking wrong or incomplete! Complete bullshit and he was gonna let you turn that in?!? 

“Get the fuck outta here.” He’s speaks so calmly, it’s all the more sinister. 

The four-eyed geek is snatching up his bag and calculator so damn fast you’d think Chifuyu had a gun to his head. 

It pissed him off so bad! But why did it piss him off so bad? 

Probably because you’ve approached everyone but him as if he’s not one of the smartest people on this fucking campus. Probably fucked them all too, so why were you being so damn stingy with him? And why the hell was he so worried about it?

Chifuyu motions to sit down next to you, thighs spread with his hands clasped between them. He run’s his sweaty palms along his pants every now and then, trying to build the courage to speak to you. 

You give your lips one last smack, capping your lipgloss and shutting your compact. “Hey, you’re Mitsu’s friend! Do you know where…nevermind. I don’t even remember his name.”

“He said he had something to do, I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.”

“Oh okay. What’s up?” You finally give him your undivided attention, dropping your stuff into your little designer baguette bag, turning in your chair until you’re facing him. You’re almost instantly entranced by those striking eyes, iris’ the color of sea glass. The dark locks of his undercut styled messy and wild. He’s cute. Real cute. 

“I like you.” Chifuyu has never been one to beat around the bush, even though his heart was nearly beating out of his chest right about now.

“You don’t know me to like me, so if you wanna fuck me, just say that.”

You say it like it’s nothing. Must be used to it by now, constant fetishizing instead of genuine attraction. But the way he’d been pining over you was much deeper than someone who just wanted a quick fuck. You plagued his mind—his thoughts, all you.

He runs his tongue over his lips, not in a creepy way, but because he’s nervous and they’re dry. Either way you still notice it, it’s kinda hot honestly. 

 “I do. I mean I would, but I don’t want to-I don’t have to,” He’s stumbling all over his words and it’s fucking embarrassing. Word vomit, is what Mitsuya calls it, it starts and there’s no telling when it stops. 

“Regardless, I wanna know you–I think you’re so pretty, I like your style, the way you dress and stuff. And I’ll do your homework, if you want. Or I can actually show you how to do it, cus’ if you turn this garbage in you’re sure to fail.” Chifuyu tosses out. He barely wanted to do his own, so why the fuck was he offering to do yours? Was he that desperate for your attention? 

You’re twirling your hair around your finger, head tilted. You’d never had one of them offer to teach you, just always offering to do it just to be in your space. 

“Hmmm..so you wanna be my tutor. I guess, but what’s in it for me?”

The blackette could feel his eye start to twitch, there’s no way you were serious. “I’m doing your homework and tutoring you for free, what the fuck else do you want from me?” He scoffs. 

Greedy bitch. 

“Boy please, I can have any of these other guys doing my homework. You obviously want something from me and I just wanna know what you’ll offer me in return.” 

“I don’t want anything from you, I’just want you.”

You stare at him and he stares back, that adorable face of his morphed into a slight pout. He holds eye contact the entire time, it’s almost intimidating, but his aura is so light and genuine. 

He’s a strange boy, you’ve concluded, but it’s intriguing. 

“Why?” 

“I don’t fuckin know,” He truly doesn’t know, you’re just a dumb girl he happened to see at school. Not the first and definitely not the last, but you’ve been on his mind since he first laid eyes on you. “But I like you, a lot. I’ll do whatever you want.”

He was infatuated and he didn’t know why. 

You divert your eyes, tapping your puffball of your pen against the wooden table. “What if I want you to fuck me?” 

There’s a pause, you look at him and he looks at you before he sucks his teeth. “You’re joking.” Even still, he feels the blood rushing from his cheeks to his cock.

“You said whatever I want.” He needs to make sure he heard that correctly. Was it a test? A prank? Because you’re obviously just fucking with him. “But if it’s too forward, we can just study I guess.”

He’s silent and so are you but the way he’s boring into your soul makes you wish you never brought it up at all. “You serious?”

You nod, batting your fluffy mink lashes at him and as lame as it sounds, that’s all it took. 

Next thing he knew, Chifuyu was eating his crush’s pussy in one of the private study rooms. He’s almost embarrassed at how quickly he fell to his knees, eager to slurp on your pretty, plump cunt. 

The library is old. One of the oldest buildings on campus, hasn’t been renovated since it was built. A private study room was the perfect place—just a windowless, concrete box where no one could see or hear you leaned on your back with your feet in the air while he sucked on your pussy. 

Your clit is juicy and suckable, the pink nub catches his attention the minute he slid your panties down and spread your thighs open. 

He’s used to keeping his face stuffed in a book back here, now he’d much rather have his face stuffed between your thighs every second of the day. 

You’re a sight to see right now, tits spilling out from under your top, panties looped around one of your ankles and your skirt is flipped up and out of the way, away from the mess he’s making between your thighs. 

He’s so messy with it, spitting on it and slurping it back up, licking stripes up your sweet pussy until your clit is peeking out of its hood.

“So good.” He breathes out, spreading you wider. From your hole, all the way up and back down again, his tongue leaves no part of your cunt untouched. He’s dragging up one last time before sucking your cute little clit between his lips, running his hands up and down your plush thighs and belly. 

After a while you lean up and your shaky hands manage to pry those supple pink lips away from your clit, his lips leaving your pussy with a loud, wet ‘pop’. “Waittt, I never got your name.” You whined. 

As if names, or lack there of, had ever stopped you. But you desperately wanted to know his and you wanted to scream it when you came—which would be very soon if he kept sucking on your clit like that. 

He’s gazing up at you with those dazzling seafoam green eyes, silvery strands of your slick still connected to his lips when he pulls away from your pussy. 

“Chif-fuck...” He’s huffing and puffing trying to catch his breath, resting his head on your thigh for a moment. Your hand is running through his hair, back and forth petting motions until his breathing slowed. “Chifuyu. Matsuno..Chifuyu.” 

He rarely gave his full name, at least not to people he held no respect for. But you were different, he just knew you were. He’d never been this intrigued by another person since middle school when he met the infamous Baji.

“Chi-fu-yu. Chif-uyu.”

You test it on your tongue, wanting to get every syllable right. It makes him fucking melt, the sound of his name flowing from your glossy lips is so pretty. Fuck, he needed to hear you moaning, screaming and babbling it like a little slut. His little slut.

He wastes no time pressing his lips back to your pussy, licking thick stripes up and down, fat tongue relentlessly teasing your entrance and dragging back up to your clit.

“F-fuck how are you so good at this..” It catches you off guard. His head is sloppy and nasty, but not too wet with just enough teasing to drive you insane. It’s almost as if he’d been acquainted with your pussy before this, but you know there’s no way. 

You barely notice how your body subconsciously rocks against him, rubbing your pussy up and down his face, your clit bumping his little button nose every single time. 

Your question falls on deaf ears. 

The once bright-eyed boy is now staring at you, his eyes alarmingly low and glossed over as he loses himself. 

He’s too far gone now, lost in absolute bliss between your thighs—the taste of your gooey, sticky cunt, your moans, the feel of your thighs trembling. Pussydrunk wasn’t even the word.

He lets you use him. Lets his tongue hang slack against his chin for you to grind your puffy clit against it. His face is wet and sticky and he’s covered up to his cheeks in your slick. He can barely breathe, you’re rocking far too fast for him to get a breath in, but even still Chifuyu would eat your pussy until he was blue in the face if it meant pleasing you. 

Every inhale is laced with your scent and it’s like an aphrodisiac. Everything about this was so perfect. He can feel the shivers running up and down your body—you’re close, he knows it and that’s when he gets relentless. 

“G-nna cum for you baby..can I cum?”

Christ, the way his dick jumped should’ve been a sin. Chifuyu hums against your clit, groans his approval so his lips don’t have to abandon your perfect pussy again. You can feel every single lick & suck and even the puffs of air he breathes out of his nose as he slurps on your cunt, teasing your sensitive clit with the tip of his tongue.

“Oh fuck, I’m cumming Chifuyu. Mmm, I’m cumming. Chifu-” 

Your climax hits you like a punch to the gut, knocks the wind out of you and has you doubling over with your hands tangled in his dark locks, your trembling thighs squeezing against his neck. 

Your moans and pants are so sexy, he loves you like this. You don’t even realize you’re running from him until he grips your hips tighter, pulling you forward and holding you taut.

He’s desperate to drink up all you’ll give him, thick tongue gliding over your hole before he’s shoving it inside. Not a drop of your lovely essence goes to waste as you let him get his fill. 

The chime of the desk phone startles you and forces him to part from your cunt. He looks at you and you look at him, you make no move to get it forcing him to. 

“Chifuyu!” The librarian calls, he frequents this place so often that the two of them have gotten quite familiar. “Sorry to bother you and your girlfriend, but the library closes soon-“ She’s checking her watch. “In about ten minutes hun.” 

“Ah, okay! Thank you Miss and she’s not-” When he catches the dial tone he places the phone back on the receiver. 

“She says we have ten minutes until the library closes.” 

Before he can even finish, you’re already on your knees shoving his joggers and underwear down in one swift move. His dick is gorgeous—thick with a pretty pink tip. You’re not sure about the size, seven maybe seven and a half inches. Either way, it fills your mouth perfectly, big and heavy on your tongue as you lick the precum dripping from the tip.

The minute he feels your mouth on him he nearly loses all control, knees threatening to give. Chifuyu grips your jaw, popping his cock out of your mouth with an audible ‘pop.’

He notices a dip in between your brows. A frown? 

A pouty frown on your pretty face accompanied by a roll of your eyes. So cute. 

“Chifuuu,” You whining his name is tearing him apart inside, staring up at him with those doe eyes. “We only have 10 minutes. I wanna make you cum.” 

He’s pulling you back up, spinning you until your ass is pressed against his crotch. 

“I know pretty…I’m gonna fuck you.” His voice is breathy, desperate. “That okay?”

It’s soft but he hears it. The soft ‘yeah’ tumbling from your lips, the small gasps of anticipation as  you raise up on your tip toes to meet his height. He’s sliding his length through the junction of your thighs, coating himself in your slick.

It’s so good, this little crevice between your thighs and cunt feels like heaven. Like the warmest hug embracing him with every push and pull of his hips.

He has to force himself to pull away. He wouldn’t be able to face you again if he came from fucking your thighs. 

Blunt fingertips melt into the plush flesh of your ass, spreading your cheeks to watch as he slides past the tight ring of your entrance, a loud squelch greeting him when he bottoms out. 

You’re the epitome of enticing, a pretty bitch with a perfect pussy, and honestly he feels undeserving. He feels his infatuation for you growing deeper, except this is something he wants, no, needs forever.

He’s so gentle, stroking slow and stretching you out just right cus it’s a tight fit. 

Despite the wetness dripping down your thighs, you feel every single inch of him. The burn of the stretch, the slight ache as he kisses your cervix with every clumsy thrust. Your pussy feels so good around him, like it was made for him. Made to take his dick. 

“I didn’t—I didn’t think you’d be so b-big.”

Snaking his hands around your neck, he’s pulling you up so your back meets his chest, rolling his hips so the thick head of his dick mushes against the gummy walls of your g-spot. Your legs are trembling but he holds you up. Heavy breaths against your ear as his chin rests on your shoulder.

“Mmm, yeah? You don’t think much of me at all, do you? Think you’re too good for me?” 

“Noooo! I don’t think that.” He’s not letting up, stroke after stroke, until you’re creaming all over him, and even then, he still doesn’t stop. “W-would never… think that.”

The thick white fluids settling at the base of his cock, the slick gush of your pussy every time he fucked into you. It was driving you mad. 

“I don’t exist in your world,” Thrust after thrust. “But you consume mine, I want you so bad.”

Your brain is fuzzy, just barely able to make out what he’s saying. “I-ah want you tooo…y’know just h-how to handle me baby.”  

“Yeah,” He breathes out. “Of course I do.”

You’re not sure if it’s the sureness in his voice or the sweet kiss he presses against the bare skin behind your ear that sends you over the edge but your climax hits you like a train carrying the sweetest bliss. You don’t utter a word, just deep breaths and pants, a quiet belt of his name towards the end as you melt into him with every buck of his hips. He feels it—the spasms, the trembling, the cozy warmth you coat him in, an impromptu reminder that he’s unprotected inside of you. Still, he fucks you through it, just until he’s close enough-

“F-f-fuuuck.” The groan rips through his throat as he reaches his end, the grip on your neck loosens as he pushes you down and spills his seed all over the cheeks of your ass. 

He’s so unprepared it’s a shame, forced to use the inside of his turtleneck to clean the mess he made, even going as far as to place you up on the table and wipe between your thighs.

“Oh you didn’t have to- I have wipes..” 

“No big deal, didn’t wanna dirty your skirt. You made this, right?” He rubs the hem of the frayed pink denim, recall’s seeing a square of this same fabric on the ring you gave Mitsuya. 

“I-I did. How did you know?” 

 “I remember seeing you sketching it out. Glad it turned out nice enough for you to wear. It’s cute..” He trails off when you avert your gaze.

“Thank you. I’m glad too…” You trail off and you avert your gaze.

“Don’t go acting shy on me, y/n.” It’s the first time you’ve seen it, something akin to a smile on his cute little face, his eyes are as bright as stars as he stares down at you. It’s odd, almost as if the roles had changed.

“I’m not!” You whine. “It’s just strange, you’re strange Chifuyu.” 

[sturnsmadl]

mute 2.

< previous

contains-no use of y/n, cursing, light fluff, unestablished friendship, mentions of tough time at school

pairing- grumpy!chris x mute!reader

please read the authors note at the bottom :)

its chris' second day and to your suprise he's not very liked so far, you managed to escape from him yesterday but today was different. it was like he was tracing your every step because when you turn around? he's there. it was lunch period and normally you go to the old makeout cupboard, where everyone would go make out with their boyfriends, seniors, ex's and even other people's girlfriends. that was until the teachers found out and another random closet started getting used. instead of constantly sitting in a bathroom stool and getting made fun of you starting using the closet to finally eat lunch in peace.

Flashback!!

after you left the classroom you head straight for the cupboard and sit down on the floor against one of the shelving units. you open ur beat up, pink lunchbox you've had for as long as you can remember and look over what you packed for yourself today. lunch ends just before u can finish and you pack up quickly, needing to leave the cupboard before the halls fill up and people realise where you disappear to at lunch.

Flashback ends!!

unfortunately chris had a feeling, and a strong one too. chris could sense something was off about your silence and even if you were hated for it he would figure out what it was, he'd made the effort to follow you around like a spy for the whole day and at lunch he finally saw where you disappeared into yesterday. he has no clue why your hiding in there all the time but he knows he's going to find out either way. he follows you and waits a few minutes before opening the door and going in, closing it behind him. you look up from the floor and see him, your heart immediately stops and you, as usual stay completely silent.

"what the fuck..."

he stares at you then you see his expression slightly soften which suprises you as its completely different from the whole mean, tough demeanor he gives off. he sits down opposite you and sighs to himself as he looks around where youve been sitting at lunch for god knows how long.

"what are you doing? there's empty tables out there.."

you shrug softly obviously not going to speak and tell him your hiding so no one can see you eating alone, he looks at your beat lunchbox, your old backpack and your clothes and he can already tell your not the luckiest of people but he still thinks your insanely beautiful and just simply misunderstood.

weeks later

its been around 2 weeks since chris found your spot and everyday without fail he's came in and sat on the cold floor with you to eat his lunch just so ur not completely alone. he's always rambling about his day or how another teacher has become one of his worst for simply asking him to do his work, of course you dont say anything but you listen to him and you nod to show him your listening. you've weirdly became kind of comfortable around chris which isnt a feeling youve felt in a while and your honestly thinking about speaking to him while he rants on about how shit his old school was and how he's glad he was finally kicked out so he could start again. your so tempted to speak and while he's mid sentence you crack.

he groans " and the gym teacher? actually the biggest dick ive ev-"

"chris." you whisper just loud enough for his head to shoot up in shock.

a/n- ok i know this is also very boring :/ but i swear now that shes talking its gonna be a lottt better and more entertaining!

edit- wait i hate this dm omg. i promise promise promise that next part will be juicyyy

tags! @bellaonthelow @muchloveforhacker @moonk1ss3d @sturnclouds @christophersgf @ellizzyy @fratbrochrisgf @phoenix062 @pixxiies @conspiracy-ash @blahbel668 @monroesturnns @gwennybenny @sturnobsessedwh0re @pixie-sticks-are-good @wurlibydominicfike @anitahunt @ilusa @watchu-mean-baby-keem @babyalliah-777 @imtheprett @sturniolo-fann @coochiedestroyer1 @scarlettbitches

[pricegouge]

I got thinking of all the other fun ways you could sensually burn someone that doesn't involve the possibility of giving your partner a third degree burn, so here's John refusing to put his cigar out on you.

John Price x gn!reader. Could be a soldier or a civilian, doesn't really matter

cw for drinking. burning, obviously. including 'light' branding. mouth as ashtray. unsafe + under negotiated kink practices. use of 'sir'. spit kink (why am I writing this so much lately?) brief mentions of sex, but nothing explicit here. mostly just weird ass fun. super abrupt ending/no aftercare because i had chores to do and wanted to wrap this up. not edited either, sorry. 

The first time you'd asked, John had looked considerate for all of two seconds before hitting you with the 'not tonight, love,' and distracting any follow up requests you might have had by fucking you so good and deep you were fairly certain you'd been bruised with the shape of him. He never brings it up again, so you do, weeks later, when he has you on your knees between his own, head tilted onto his thick thigh while he simply enjoys the taste of his cigar. He doesn't even bother touching you, one hand cradling a glass of scotch on the arm of his chair, the other rotating the smoking object of your attention.

"I want to try something," you mumble, voice low. Embarrassed. You hate asking for things twice, afraid to seem needy. But John had never given you a reason as to why he wouldn't do it last time, so you bite back your shame and hide yourself away amongst the folds of his thick cargos when he looks down at you. They've been softened over the years by wear and sweat, the weave buffed so thin it pills in the places his holster would rub against it. You rub your lips over them. Distracting yourself, maybe. Desperate for his softness, more like. Still, that's not what you ask for when he prompts you to continue. 

"Want you to put that out on me."

You don't bother clarifying what you're referring to. John knows. 

He places it in the ashtray now, leaning forward to run his hand over your scalp, calluses catching. There's still some smoke stuck between his teeth. It spills out across your face when he speaks, cedar and tea. "Not sure that's a good idea, pet."

You want to tell him of course it isn't, that you want his indifference. To bear the brunt of his recklessness. But John has always kept that side of himself carefully sequestered away from you, and admitting what you want in this case will only draw it further away. So when he looks down at you, eyes kind but confused, you can only whisper a soft, "Please."

John sighs, chest swelling and falling as he slumps back into his seat. He's not unsympathetic as his thick knuckles brush your temple, stroke the crest of your ear. "We can find something else for you," he hedges.

"But I want -."

"Is it the cigar itself? The smoking?" He sounds doubtful, knows the only time you smoke is when he breathes it into your lungs himself. Knows you don't plan on changing that any time soon.

But he's wrong because it is the cigar, and the smoking, and it's John most importantly. His scent, the authority he carries so effortlessly, so intricately tied to the hyper macho habit that shouldn't work but does because he can't help being himself. You don't know how to articulate that though, let alone explain why you want it seared into your flesh. Instead, you simply say, "Yes."

"Right," John grunts. "I thought about it, after you asked." He pulls a face, distasteful, continues, "Don't relish the idea of giving you such a nasty scar, pet."

"I'd take care of it," you gripe, pouty. John gives you a look that dares you to interrupt him again.

"I know you would. Always do such a good job taking care of me," he winks. "But there are tars and such in cigars that hinder the healing. Not to mention the ash that winds up in the wound," he grimaces.

For a moment, you allow yourself to fantasize; imagine that the oils would be trapped in your skin forever, that the burn would be left smelling earthy and dense instead of barbeque and antiseptic. But you know he's right, and acquiesce with a nod.

Thoughtful, John's hand leaves your face to take another drag. "C'mere," smoke leaks from his lips like a faucet as he says it and you know he'll offer you a drink in consolation for the request he's denied you. You're not disappointed when he guides you closer to him with a heavy palm on the nape of your neck, the warm butt of the cigar just slightly damp where it presses into your skin there. You take John's offering happily enough, take his cock even more enthusiastically after that.

No, the disappointment doesn't set in until the weeks that follow come and go, and the only indication you receive that John's even thought about your request comes in the form of a box of strike anywhere matches on his office desk one morning, a bic the next.

***

He waits until he returns from leave, ensuring you've been good in his absence before giving you your reward.

"Kneel, pet." He nods at the pillow set to the right of his office sofa, minimal and threadbare, cozy enough to pad your achy joints just fine. He uses it to soften his desk chair when you're not using it, you know. He would never make you use something he hadn't properly vetted first, after all.

You pout, having expected to be sat on his lap for your reward like you always are, but John just tuts, eyes warm.

"You'll like it, I promise."

He waits until you've settled to start setting up. He brings a decanter of scotch over with two glasses, pours you both one. He places his own on the side board and yours upon the coffee table. You don't reach for it, too busy watching his movements. Choosing a cigar is a long, drawn out affair involving much sniffing. Occasionally, he'll offer one to you to sample, taking into consideration whether the leathery notes make you crinkle your nose, or if the floral scents make you tilt in consideration. Whatever he settles on, he does not offer you a chance to veto.

You expect him to sit down after that, but he pats his pockets down theatrically, moving to his desk one last time when he finds them empty of whatever it is he's looking for. You don't bother hiding your interest as he shuffles through his drawers, but before you can catch a glimpse of whatever he's after, he turns his mischievous eyes on you.

"Eyes forward. Keep your mouth open and your teeth bared."

A gag? Some reward. It's a struggle not to roll your eyes, but you know John hates a brat, and you don't want to ruin whatever fun he's got planned for you tonight, so you do as you're told, staring up at the collection of framed medals hanging above the couch while he rumages about for a moment longer. When he comes into your peripheral, you hear him carefully lining some objects along the coffee table, but you don't dare look.

John notices, humming appreciatively as he finally takes a seat at the end of the sofa. "Being so good for me already, pet." His knuckles are heavy and rough where he strokes your temple, down to your jaw. You watch his eyes, note the way they cloud darker as his fingertips find your teeth. Along your bottom incisors, up to push against a canine. He calls you a good pet when the pads of his fingers stick to your dry enamel, and you cock your head in confusion. 

Smiling, John pinches your front teeth between thumb and forefinger, rubbing back and forth as is memorizing all the dips and edges. A small sound escapes your throat, unsure if you should be worried he's going to try pulling one. But John's eyes are far from cruel when his fingers abandon your teeth in favor of bringing his free hand to your face. You feel something coarse brush your bottom lip briefly, and then gasp and reel back in surprise when a soft pop is the only warning you get before a match ignites in your face.

John pays you no mind, twirling the end of his cigar over the match while you struggle to figure out why you taste sulfur. Your fingers find your teeth as if checking they are still there, relief flooding into understanding as you feel a foreign, chalky powder on the tip of your dry tongue. He'd struck the match off your teeth, the cocky bastard.

When the match goes out, John's cigar is only half lit. Reaching for another match, he tuts at you until you get your hands out of his way, offer up your fucking teeth for his use again. This time, you're expecting the strike and you don't flinch away when it ignites, heat spilling across your cheeks while he lets it burn for a moment just inches away. 

This time, when he lights his cigar, he puffs on it like one would light a cigarette, thick clouds of smoke building around him. "Close your mouth, pet. Get it nice and wet," he mumbles between deep drags.

It would be embarrassing, the speed at which you obey, if not for how sure you are that you will like your reward. Sure enough, by the time John's cigar is lit, the match has burnt down to his fingers, and he leans over you expectantly, spitting on your tongue when you open your mouth for his inspection. His eyes lock on your when he lowers the burning match stick to your tongue, but if he expected to find protest, he doesn't get any. 

The match tastes like ash, but it doesn't feel like anything as it sizzles against the wad of spit on your tongue.

"Good?" John asks as he tosses the used match to the side. It's perhaps a bit late, but appreciated all the same. You nod, emphatic, and John smiles down at you, perhaps a touch regretfully. Still, he's calm and confident when he pries your mouth open again, dangling another thick line of spit into your mouth. Honestly, it tastes worse than the match did, tar-soaked and heavy with nicotine.

That doesn't stop you from vibrating in excitement when he holds his cigar over your mouth carefully. There's a moment of intense eye contact, John trying to ascertain for certain that you can handle this. You don't dare move your mouth, but you pour every ounce of acceptance and eagerness into your gaze. John accepts with a soft huff through his nose. "Your reward," he informs you, tapping the shaft of his cigar heavily.

The shower of ash is minimal, but enough to make you flinch when one tiny fleck lands on your sensitive lips. John notices, holds his cigar off to the side in favor of leaning close and licking across your mouth. You meet him for as long as he allows, reveling in the oaky taste that coats his tongue. 

When he sits back, he's donned that serious expression he adopts whenever he's indulging you. You want to ask if he's sure he's good, but the words stick in your throat - congealed. John rolls up his left sleeve, displaying a series of four pink, inflamed marks on the inside of his forearm for your inspection. Ranging from the size of a pencil eraser up to half dollar, the smallest of the marks look the angriest: red and nobby in some places, they look like they will heel badly; whereas the largest of the lot looks hardly noticeable, a flat dark spot at worst. 

John takes another deep drag from his cigar, lets the rich smoke fall across your face as he talks through his exhale. "Are there any of these you don't think you can handle?"

You shake your head excitedly and John brushes his free hand over your throat, calming. Grounding. "'Course you can handle them, eh? Always so good for me." He squeezes your throat once, just because he knows you'll follow as he pulls away. You do, and he spreads his knees wider to accommodate you. 

"It's important you remember this is a reward, yeah? So you don't need to push yourself, or anything like that. If at any point you want to stop, you just need to say. Got ice packs in the freezer for you already," John nods at the minifridge in the corner. 

When he asks if you understand, you just nod, correcting yourself when he gives you an expectant look. "Yes, sir."

"Good pet. If you sit well for me - that means no flinching, no crying, and no whining if I take too long, you'll be rewarded after each one," he flicks his cigar illustratively, sending a small storm of ash falling into the tray on the table next to you. "Now, we're going to start with this one," John points at the second largest mark on his arm, a dense patch of three distinct burns no more than a half inch across. "This one shouldn't scar, but it is fairly recognizable if one knew what they were looking for. Where do you want this one?"

He's not wrong about it being recognizable. It takes you a minute but you remember being a pesky teen, pushing the tops of heated bic lighters against the faux leather of school bus seats, the distinctive pattern in which they'd melt. You know what it'll look like, to be spotted sporting something like that. 

"My thigh," you declare without really thinking, but you grow more confident when you think of the tender flesh, the way the relatively minor mark will feel there as compared to the angrier ones.

"Pants off then, pet."

You scramble to obey while John flicks the lighter. He tilts it so the open flame coats the metal, keeping his thumb safe on the butane pedal. He's still heating it when you come to stand between his knees. Distractedly, he asks where you'd like it, and then peers up at you from under dense brows when you point to a spot high on your thigh.

"Alright, sweetheart." John lets the lighter gutter out, then blows on it a moment. He presses it lightly against the pad of his other hand, testing. He doesn't even flinch, and part of you wants to tell him not to take it easy on you. But then he's asking if you're ready, and you're nodding, biting back a squeal as the hot metal is pressed into the meat of your thigh.

You don't flinch, but it's hard fought. It's more shocking than painful, but easy enough to ease into when John's right there, solid and warm. He coos at you, soft words you barely bother to discern. You lean against him because he didn't say you couldn't, and the movement presses the lighter into you more. It's cooling, technically, though it still feels hot as sin against the sensitive flesh.

John waits until your breaths come in huffs to relent, still murmuring sweetly. He tells you how good you are, how pretty you're gonna look covered in his marks. 

"I hope they scare," you admit, stupidly. John doesn't respond, but his eyes are intense when he guides you back down to your knees.

"Get your mouth good and wet, pet. Open when you're ready."

You watch him puff away at his cigar while you work to coat your mouth in saliva. You can tell he knows he looks good by the way he settles into the couch, legs spread like a whore. You want to be in his lap for this, consider asking for it before your next reward. For now, you settle for opening your mouth, preening when he inspects your tongue and finds it properly coated. 

"Ready?" he asks, and you nod, opening wider in excitement just to drink down the burnt taste when he drops it into your mouth, whining at the dissatisfaction of having no real substance to swallow around. 

"Fuck," John groans, "you love this, don't you, pet?"

You nod, hands coming up to his thighs. You walk yourself closer, unsure what you want but knowing you need to be closer. 

He obliges, tucking his cigar between his teeth so he can cup your face with both hands. "So good for me. Knew you'd like it." He grabs one of your wrists, mustache tickling the sensitive skin there as he licks a hot stripe over you. "Ready?" he asks, and you barely have time to register what he means before he's dropping more ash onto you.

There's not enough spit - not enough time has passed for ash to properly build up. You can't help the yelp you emit when a tiny ember smolders against your flesh. John shushes you, the little thing having already burned itself out. "You're okay," he says, and you are - just a pin prick pink mark left. "You need a minute?"

You take a moment to consider, but shake your head. 

"Use your words, pet," he warns.

"I'm ready to continue."

He hums. "Good job." Turning his forearm so you can see the marks there again, John points to the second smallest. Taller than the last, but thinner, the skin here looks blistered and angry, but the shape is indiscernible to you - just a thin, ovular line. 

"This next. Might scar, but pretty unidentifiable. Where we putting this one?"

Holding out the palm of your non-dominant hand, you point at the pad of your palm, wanting something highly visible and fleshy. 

"You sure," he asks, already reaching across you to pick something up off the coffee table. For the first time it occurs to you that you can look, and you go to follow his movements but John stops you with a hand on your jaw. "Eyes on me," he growls. It's the closest thing you've had to a real order all evening.

It's a zippo lighter this time, the click of it low and satisfying as he lights it. You don't have anything to occupy yourself with this time, so you're forced to sit patiently while he heats the lip of the cage around the flame. When he'd said earlier that you wouldn't get your reward if you were too impatient, you hadn't thought much of it. But now, twiddling your thumbs as you watch him concentrate, counting silently to a set number you do not know, the whine you promised not to make builds silently in your throat. 

You can tell by the set of his mouth that he doesn't stop counting, but his eyes find yours, challenging. You settle yourself more firmly on your cushion, determined.

The zippo is less pleasant. You groan when the thin, hot knife of it presses into your skin, but you don't look away from John, and you certainly don't flinch. He doesn't hold it in place as long this time, throwing it back onto the table behind you after only a few seconds as he presses kisses against your palm. 

"Sorry, sweetheart," he says as he eventually pulls away. "We can be done."

"No!" you cry, pain in your palm already forgotten. "No, sir, please, wanna finish."

"Next one's going to hurt worse," he warns, but you shake your head. 

"I don't mind. This one wasn't even that bad, it just -. It was different. Surprised me."

He frowns down at you suspiciously, but you're not lying and you let him look. John nods his acceptance after a moment, perhaps a bit too relieved. "You want your reward still, pet?"

"Yes," you enthuse, "only -." John cocks his head expectantly and you bite your lip. "Can I sit in your lap this time?"

"Oh, sweetheart," he grins, "of course." It takes him a moment to re-settle everything, bringing his supplies up to the side table which he turns you away from. But then you're comfortably tucked against his chest, mouth open expectantly for the reward which shouldn't be a reward, but very much is. Especially when he holds you tight after, licks into your mouth to share the dry remnants. 

"This next one's the worst one. Do you want to skip it? The last one is the easiest."

You hesitate. "Can I ask what it is?"

"You may ask what the next one is, but not the last one."

"What's the next one?"

John reaches behind you, produces a singular match. "This one smarts, I won't lie. And it will definitely scar."

Part of you wants to rise to the challenge - wants to prove to him you can weather anything he can. You're about to accept it when he reminds you, voice low, "This is supposed to be a reward, pet."

You deflate before you even realize you'd gotten all worked up. "Can we skip it?"

"Of course we can, sweetheart. Thank you for asking." He presses whiskery kisses to your temple, keeps his lips pressed there when he asks if you still want to do the last one.

"That's the big, pink mark, eh?" you hold his forearm up for your inspection, studying the only remaining mark it could be.

"Yes," he confirms.

"And you said it didn't hurt?"

"Barely even felt it."

You know you can be done, that John will fuck you just as well tonight as he always does on his first night back after a mission. You can say you've had enough, probably even ask for one last reward because you'd done so well explaining what you wanted.

But it would be a lie, if you did, because you know John's saved the best for last, and you do want it.

When you tell him as much, John grins happily and kisses you deeply. 

"This one won't hurt. Won't scar, either, but it'll be pretty obvious what's done it to the boys around base while it heals."

You know what he means when you hear the jangle of his dog tags behind you. "Here," you breathe, pointing to your chest before he can even ask where you want it.

"You sure, pet? The boys'll know what it was if -."

"Don't care," you insist, already taking your top off. You point to the flat of your sternum, drum your fingers there excitedly. "Here, please, sir."

"Alright," he chuckles, placing his cigar back in the ashtray. "Give me a minute."

As it turns out, you do have to give him a full minute while he heats the metal over the open flame of the zippo. You nearly break your promise to yourself not to whine, especially when your eager rocking has you pressing up against his hard cock. John only spares you a dark look when you discover his state, rocking his hips up only once - and there more as a threat to dislodge you than to actually provide either of you friction. 

But then he's deemed the tag hot enough, and he's urging you to lay back over the arm of the sofa. He doesn't ask if you're ready this time, simply presses the metal against you with his own bare palm. You writhe under him, jittery and unmoored. He doesn't help when he takes a nipple into his mouth, breaths heavy and hot against your skin.

John doesn't pull the tag away until it's gone skin-warm, heat transferred to both of you fairly quickly. He brushes his whiskers over the inflamed skin after, just to watch you twitch and hiss, and then presses one last kiss there before sitting up. 

"One last reward, pet?" 

You nod, sliding to your knees between his unthinkingly. He doesn't ask why, just guides your head back by the grip he gets on the cradle of your skull. You know the drill by now, but you open your mouth far too soon, groan happily when he tuts and coats your mouth with his own spit. 

"Should withhold this just for that," he growls, but he's far too eager when he pulls deeply from his cigar, inspects the end to be sure there's adequate ash. "Ready?" he asks, and you simply stick your tongue out further in answer.

Sequel >>

[vigilskeep]

It's my birthday & I want all your thoughts/your ultimate dreams for a possible Fereldan chantry secession pls & thank u 💖

the topics at hand are:

orlais’ stranglehold on the sunburst throne. fereldan-orlesian tensions would blow up as soon as any divine attempted to hold authority over the fereldan crown. which with a divine who attempts to restore the circles would happen almost immediately, due to:

ferelden’s support for the mage rebellion. in dragon age origins it has an active, fairly brazen community of apostates across the nation. in dragon age 2 the fereldan crown is sheltering fleeing apostates from kirkwall and, under certain circumstances, attempting to defy the chantry by freeing its circle prior to any rebellion. in dragon age inquisition, the fereldan crown harbours the entire mage rebellion until the alexius debacle. it is the most mage-friendly power in the south and it resisting the restoration of the circles—which would require the orlesian divine to march in new forces to do so—is not hard to believe

broader/more historically, ferelden has a better claim to andraste’s legacy than orlais does. ferelden is the birthplace of andraste and where her ashes returned, whereas orlais is merely the birthplace of the fallible chantry made in her name. you can get a lot of religious mileage out of that and there are probably scholars and clerics who have been thinking about this for ages and would kill to be writing the 1500s style religious pamphlets involved in making it a movement

personally i find a cassandra / leliana split the most logical here. on the one hand, you have a brash, militaristic divine with the title hero of orlais and a more traditional viewpoint, and lacking in the political acumen to make concessions and prevent the secession. on the other, you have an idealistic woman willing to make bold, drastic sacrifices for second chances at history, someone who considers herself fereldan and is sensitive to the mages’ plight, and who is ultimately desperate to believe the maker gave her a grand purpose.

it’s a great loss to sacrifice divine vivienne, who is so interesting, but i just find unconvincing as a rallying point for traditionalists in the event of a schism? because no matter what she does she’ll never not be a mage. idk i could be convinced. however, vivienne would still be absolutely central to the conflict as the grand enchanter of the circle, playing a very dangerous game probably operating as cassandra’s right hand while vying for power with the anti-mage extremists likely flocking to back orlais who naturally see her as an internal threat

eventually an exalted march would be called or some kind of religious war would take place. you can’t declare yourself divine without expecting that kind of backlash. what would really have to happen for ferelden to survive is for somewhere else to also break from the orlesian chantry. your best bet is nevarra and the free marches, who are already often at odds with orlais historically and likely have also long resented getting excommunicated every five seconds whenever they have to defend their borders. one imagines the mortalitasi also prefer leliana’s way of thinking. you wouldn’t get all the free marches at the same time, largely because they’re all cripplingly individual and probably would just pick the other side to the neighbout they most hate. but nevarra is the big deal because orlais’ chronic problem historically is that they can’t afford a war in the north and in the east at the same time, so nevarra always fucks up their fereldan expansions and vice versa

the problem here is that cassandra is a pentaghast. however, she’s a pentaghast who wants nothing to do with nevarra, would absolutely not have given them any rewards or privileges for being family, and whose parents were executed rebels. i think they’d already be mad and could easily cut their losses. (i don’t think nevarra would answer to leliana and the hypothetical chantry of ferelden, to be clear, which i would imagine to be quite localised. i think they’d start doing something independently. idk if they’d declare their own divine or answer to no divine or idk do something nevarran and delightful like say the legitimate divine is whichever one they have buried in the necropolis and she says fuck orlais.)

as a note i think it’s really funny if both cass and leli go by divine victoria, both claiming to stand on the shoulders of the inquisition’s victory. likely nonsense to happen. that or something deeply on the nose like divine victoria and divine liberata or whatever. i’d expect leliana to be labelled the red divine in common terms (against the orlesian white divine and tevinter black divine)

[oxygen537art]

istg I luv ur art style so much and also can I get mha smut recommendations (idrc wat ship but mainly bakudeku and dabihawks is wat I'm looking for. shiggydabi is cool too)

Thank you so much for your nice words, I'm glad you enjoy my art! ❤️

I've listed the authors and titles of their works that I once saved in my favorites. I hardly follow updates now, it's been a while since I reread the works listed here, so I rely purely on notes and bookmarks left by past me. Just a reminder that everyone's tastes are different, please read the tags. And check out the authors' other works!

18+, Minors Do Not Interact!

Aphra_After_Dark

The Desk Job

Fight for You, Fighting for Me

how to 69 when both of you have fangs

In For A Penny

Mommy Milkers

Of Corset Is

A Slow Descent

Something New

bluebelle

can I kiss you?

full rack

hard boiled

cozzzynook

“Closer”

"Come on baby bird, show me whose submissive”

“Lace and Feathers”

“Mated” series

“I got you a present birdie”

“I’ll Love you even when you don’t love you”

Self-care is the best care, but with you it’s just better

The sun that stole the moon

“Touya’s Fun Night In”

Cateil

drowning in you

heart and soul

messy

palpable

cellostiel

Maraschino Cherry Juice

Relaxation

The Real Deal

Songbird

So Fucking Electric

DeadBoysWalking

Hyperfixation

Shut Up And Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is

Good Boy

If Only

Eyes On Me

The Other Way

Wait A Minute, Baby, Stay With Me A While

Turn you inside-out by dorothycanfly

drunkenCharm

As Above So Below

Before I Ever Met You

Begging for Thread

Days of Bloom

Drowning Gods

Good Vibrations

i hold you to my heart's desire

Waiting Game

FeatheredFvck

Bad Behavior

Bet

Breathe

Dickstracted

Euphoria

I'll Do You Two Better

It's A Spring Thing

The One Percent

Unexpected

From flames to ashes by NekoRika (This is a collection of oneshots, but I save the chapters 3, 23, 36, 41, 43)

Neurotoxin

Arrangements

Change Of Pace

Learn To Breathe

Punk Gecko Boi watches Smexy Gaymer and his Goth bf fuck on webcam.mp4

Pixie_Virus

4's a Party

Couch Troubles

Meet-Cute

After Dicking Cuddles by the_pursuit_of_happiness

I'll Make It Fit and Milk Me by paleserendipity

SaltyTomato

Good boy

I hope they have your eyes

Pretty Fingers on Slick Thighs

satan_copilots_my_tardis (I recommend all of their works. Some are only available on Tumblr (18+) @satancopilotsmytardis)

SoenNoAme (TsukkiNoNeko)

Blue Flames, Blue Passion

Captivated By Your Resonating Light

Close To You

Dancing Flames

Diplomatic Approach

Edge of Glory

Glimmer

Heated

Kiss Me Like It's Do Or Die

Play A Little Game

Satisfy the Undisclosed Desires in your Heart

sometimes I wonder which one will be your last lie.

Stuck in Repeat

Tears That Drip Sore

until you learn to love yourself

White Camelia

Your Innocence Is Mine

Wind Down by frozenCinders

Primal Instincts and Pretty Things by truthinadvertising

fuck around and find out and End Racism in the OTW- All Dolled Up by unbalancedcentrifuge

VampyrSutton

Be Good For Me

The Cave

Eyes on Me

Good Little Whore

Hate Fuck

How Are You Alive?

How Do You Live Like This?

How the Mighty Fall

Spring Heat

SSD Day 3~Werebeasts~Claiming Bite/Knotting

SSD Day 6~Anthro~Collar

Werewolfnightwalker

All Of Me

The Consequences of Nesting

Down By the Wexford Border

Save a Horse, Ride a Birdboy

Soft

Take Me Apart So Gently

Turn Off The Lights (We Don't Need Them To Dance)

[bxnnywrites]

hiya!! im the anon that told you abt requests being closed, im glad i could help you out!!

i saw you headcanon danny as demiromantic and im very curious, what would it be like if danny had romantic feelings for a survivor reader? how would those feelings develop? i’m not demi myself so i’m rlly curious about the process of it!!

oh anon you have no idea how excited i am to answer this

*clears throat*

🫀 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 🫀

TW :: Obsessive behavior, stalking, violence, general Danny Warnings

Authors Notes :: This uh...kinda turned into a ficlet. Oops!!! I've just thought of this scenario a LOT so I had a lot to say-

Anyways!! Hope you enjoy <3 (also this isn't proof read, we die like men)

It took a really long time for him to realize it, or maybe just for the emotions to develop. He wasn't sure.

You had appeared months ago, or whatever the equivalent was in the realms. Time wasn't exactly an easy concept to pin down here.

For a long time you were just another survivor, someone his knife sliced through with delicate ease. Someone to hunt and kill, that was his job, and entity if he didn't love every fucking second of it.

He liked to stalk his victims, both in and out of trials. Especially the new ones, he loved to see what made them tick. What really fucking scared them.

So he was keeping an eye on you, taking his usual notes, keeping an ear out for anything to use against you later.

But it started to develop into something a bit...more than that.

Suddenly he noticed his notes becoming less about what you feared and more about what you liked.

The way you smiled, how you laughed at Ash's jokes, the way you bit your knuckles when you were worried. The way your eyes lit up when seeing your friends and fuck he wanted to see your eyes light up for him like that.

He shook it off, had to shake it off. It got in the way of what he did. What even was this feeling?

Sure he had flings before he was taken, but he never really had feelings for them. It was part of the game, part of his job. Something to keep him low on the radar. That's all.

Was that what this was then? What it felt like to properly fall in love?

He hated it.

He hated every feeling, he hated the way your smile made his chest light up. He hated how distracted he was, so fucking distracted.

He hated you.

He couldn't stop thinking of you.

Quit laughing at Ash's stupid fucking jokes they aren't even that fucking funny.

More scribbling, more anger, why did you have to appear here? Was it some sort of taunt by the entity? Some kind of damn punishment? Fuck you and fuck whatever feelings you gave him.

For a long time it was like that, if you were in a trial with him you were the first hooked. You were too much of a distraction to his work.

And maybe he loved the feeling of holding you like this but fuck he wouldn't admit that.

------

Eventually you got fucking tired of it.

Every damn trial he would tunnel in on you and only you. Wouldn't focus on anyone else while you were around.

You realized quickly killers couldn't truly kill you. You felt it, every last agonizing slice into your flesh, every bruise, every broken bone, but you would just wake up at the fire at the end.

And you needed to figure out what the fuck his issue was.

Your fellow survivors tried very hard to convince you out of it, but they understood being pissed about it. So in the end, no one stopped you.

So there you were, in front of Autohaven Wreckers. A few survivors tipped you off that Ghostface liked to hang out around this area. Beats you as to why, the place stank of burning rubber and old oil. It made your stomach turn, but you entered nonetheless.

As you walked through the old junkyard, it dawned on you, you didn't really have a plan. You had done this mainly on a whim, annoyed at constantly being targeted and harassed by the white faced freak. Where were you even supposed to look? What if the Wraith saw you? This was fucking stup-

Before you could react a leather gloved hand covered your mouth, pulling you back as the cold steel of a sharp blade touched your throat.

"You scream and this is going into your fucking back, got it?" The voice was husky in your ear, unfamiliar. It made you realize you had never heard Ghostface speak before. So you nod, and he make an approving noise before releasing you. You run a hand over your throat where his knife had bit into it, leaving a light red line against it.

"So," He spoke again, letting you turn to him finally to confirm your suspicions. There he was, the Ghostface in the flesh, mask and all. "What do I owe the pleasure, Doll?"

"Well," You started, feeling your anger bubble up in you again. "For fucking starters, I have some damn questions for you, asshole."

Oh he loved when you spoke like that, some real final girl trope shit.

"Ooo, questions for the killer?" He cooed, leaning against a nearby car and watching you intently. "Brave of ya, Doll. I like it."

"Oh fucking can it, you damned halloween drop out!" You spat, and though you couldn't see it under his mask, your words had him grinning ear to ear. He loved when you were angry like this. "Why the fuck do you keep tunneling me, huh?! Every fucking trial we have you steamroll me and kill me as quick as possible. It's fucking bullshit, dude!"

He laughs a bit, removing his leather glove and using his knife to pick the dirt from under his nails.

"I dunno what you're talkin bout, babe." He says nonchalantly. "You're mad because what, I'm killing you during trials? Come on, that's my job-"

"Bullshit, this is more than that and you know it!" You seethe, god if you knew you wouldn't die you'd punch him. "What's your fucking damage? Hell, I've heard stories about other trials, you're even fucking friendly with some of the survivors sometimes! What the fuck did I ever do to you?!"

His eye twitches.

"Like I said, I'm just doing my fucking job. Now if you would just-"

"NO YOU AREN'T!" You shout at him and he's on you in an instant, hand over your mouth and you can see his eyes through his mask. A deep red brown and angry.

"Listen here you stupid bitch, one more outburst like that and I'm gutting you like a fucking fish, understand?" He snaps, his grip on your face almost bruising. Fear grips you again and you nod. He sighs, letting you go again with an unspoken warning that he would follow through if you got loud like that again.

"Look, it's fucking...it's complicated." He mumbled, looking almost shy as he played with one of the ghostly strips of fabric attached to his outfit. "You're just...you're a fucking distraction. Every trial I'm in with you it's hard to fucking focus, and I have a fucking job to do god damn it." He grumbles. You almost feel bad for him, almost.

"What, and that's my problem?" You snap in return.

"Yeah, it fucking is." He snaps in return, starting to pace back and forth. "I have work to do, people to kill, fear to harvest, the whole nine fucking yards. But you," He points, "You get in the fucking way, you make me lose track, you make me...you...fuck, you make me feel something, OK?"

You blink dumbly at him, finally speechless, and he continues.

"I get this stupid fucking feeling in my stomach and it makes me fucking twitchy. It makes my damn mind race and I can't tell if it's because I want to fucking dissect you or..." He trails off.

"...Or?" You question.

"I don't know!" He snaps, growling a bit as he continues pacing. "I haven't fucking felt like this before, I didn't think I fucking could. I just..." He takes a breath, looking back at you. "I need you to stop."

Your mouth hangs open, shocked by his...confession? If you could call it that.

"What?" You question again.

"Stop! Stop making me feel...whatever the fuck this is!" He snaps again, and even though you can't see his eyes anymore, you can feel the frustration wafting off him.

"How the fuck am I supposed to do that?!" You snap in return, annoyance rising in you as well. "It's not my fault you have a...a fucking crush on me or something!"

"Yes it is, it's absolutely your fault!" He throws his arms up, almost like an annoyed toddler. "It's your fault because you have this soft fucking face and this pretty laugh and that stupid fucking smile! You have these fucking eyes that light up whenever you get to talking about what you love, and fuck I just wish for once that was ME and-" He cuts himself off with a growl, kicking a nearby stack of tired and knocking them down. "It's bullshit, you're bullshit, it's all fucking bullshit!"

You're left speechless until he finally looks at you again.

"There, you happy? Now could you fucking make it stop?!" He breathes out, his eyes just barely visible through the black mesh of his mask.

"I...Well...fuck uh..." You mumble, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "I...don't think I can do that? I mean..."

"Fuck, yeah, course you can't." He grumbles, fidgeting with the fabric strips of his costume again. "I just...this is a stupid, distracting fucking feeling and I hate it."

"Well...I mean..." You take a breath, not really sure how to approach the situation. "Maybe we could like...I dunno...start over?"

He looks at you, and you swear he thinks you're insane.

"Start over?" He questions, "The fuck you mean start over?"

"Like, I dunno. Figure shit out from the beginning, like...get to know each other or something?" You say awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck.

"...Are you fucking crazy?" He questions, and yeah, you expected that. "Like, hello, earth to Dollface, I've killed you dozens of times now. I have murdered your friends in front of you." He snaps his fingers, impressive considering he's still wearing his gloves. "Like sure, sounds nice and all, but how the fuck do you expect to just start over? Hi, what's up, the names Ghostface. Wanna get stabbed?"

"Don't be a fucking dickhead." You snap in response and huff, "Look, I don't know what you want me to do about...whatever this shit is," You motion to him vaguely. "Like I dunno dude, you need a good therapist or something?"

"Fuck you." He growls.

"Yeah, whatever." You breath out. "Look, I don't care what you do, but I'm sick of you pulling bullshit during trials because of...whatever your feelings are. So you either talk to me about it and we get it sorted, or I start making offerings to the entity to make your job even harder than I apparently already am." You cross your arms and look him up and down before sighing. "I'm heading back to camp, if you want to fucking talk-"

"Wait," He grabs your arm and you stop, looking back at him before he sighs. "OK maybe...maybe you're right. Maybe we can like, try that? I dunno."

You smile at him, sighing in relief.

"Good, I prefer that." You turn to him, extending a hand and telling him your name proper, even though he already knows it. "Nice to meet you, Ghostface."

He stares at your hand for a second, but slowly, he takes it.

"...Ghostface is fine for now." He mumbles, shaking it awkwardly. "So...uh...how do we do this?"

"Well...what kinds of movies did you like? Before you got taken."

His eyes light up, and suddenly he's on a kick. Rambling happily about his favorite horror movies while you listen.

Things get better after that.

Rather than being targeted, you're more often than not spared during trials.

Of course people get suspicious though, so you have to cut a small deal with him to either spare all of you during trials or kill everyone including you.

He's not personally a fan of the second option, so he ends up sparing your little party whenever you're involved.

You two get closer and you start to have your own feelings for him in return.

Eventually he tells you his real name. Danny, it rolls off your tongue nicely.

He's nervous at first, but eventually his smooth charm comes back and it's rare for him to not leave you flustered and blushing when you two talk.

When you finally get the courage to tell him your feelings, you swear he's on cloud nine. immediately talking about how happy he's going to make you and how he'll make sure no one in this fucking realm ever touches you.

You have to talk him down from that, knowing that your other survivors would hate you if you were the only exception during trials. And while he says "fuck em" you know you can't have him as your only friend in the realm, as much as part of him would love that.

But it's nice, he treats you like royalty. Like you're his entire world.

It might not be a real happy ending, but it's probably the closest you'll get in this hellhole.

And that's good enough for the both of you.

[thefanboyhub]

Random ass head cannons I have for SBG gang yuh let's go:

Note/Update: Disregard the eye color thing for Aiden cuz the author has confirmed that his eyes are contacts ✨

Tyler will call people he likes (platonic or romantic) princess regardless of gender, mostly uses it when he's teasing them or in like idk a passive aggressive way. Like "No shit, princess." Or "Okay princes, calm down." Always paired with an eye roll tho.

Taylor hates Taylor Swift because of the annoying jokes people do with her name.

Adding to the last one, Aiden found that out when he made a joke once and she looked like she was about to throw him out the window lol.

Logan has helped everyone get their zodiac charts and read them. He fucking memorized them too. Little nerdy boy <3

Ashlyn doesn't initiate physical touch(hugs, hand holding, cuddling, ect) with people often (cannon btw), but when she does it always makes whoever was chosen feel special.

Ben listens to literally everything. All music. He's polyjamours.

Tyler is actually pretty good at guitar and was something he's liked since a kid, he loves music with heavy guitar in it. He also named his guitar Mel, like Melody. Only people to touch it was Taylor and Ben.

I see some people say Tyler has Logan tutor him but like. No? Tyler is hella smart and doesn't need to be tutored? Like c'mon. BUT Logan does have Tyler help him work out (Logan's body before and after phantom realm goes crazy man) after the whole almost died to phantom thing.

Aiden use to experiment with hair dye before he fell in love with blond. Also his eyes are red, it's not contacts. It's just his eye color lightening s he aged or smt. Fight me.

Ashlyn hates sour food and loves the more bitter stuff. Aiden loves sour food and hates bitter stuff. They trade food sometimes so they don't have to suffer.

Ben and Aiden know ASL, Taylor is learning to talk to Ben better.

Logan can draw but he doesn't do it often but he loves to watch Ben draw. It makes him want to draw too.

Taylor draws on her friends arms, Tyler will pretend to hate it same with Ash but they always ask her to redraw things when they fade. Aiden once had Taylor do an detailed tattoo like design on his arm in class. It didn't wash of for almost three weeks.

Aiden actually has sensitive skin, the wrong fabric gives him rashes. No one but him knows what fabric won't, it's all based on touch.

Tyler can cook really well, and even enjoys it sometimes. Can't bake for shit though.

Aiden knows ballroom dancing. Rich families or old fashioned one tend to know how to ballroom dance (I use to know)

That's all for now

[loaksky]

— 𝒊 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒕 | 𝒆. 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔

collegefwb!ellie x fem college!reader, angst, hurt / minimal comfort, wc: 3.5k

synopsis: you and ellie were a disaster waiting to happen.

content warnings: language, unforgivably mean!ellie (like atrociously mean, this is a REAL warning), toxic situationships / past relationships, brief mentions of sex, side comment about slipandslide, reader experiences loss, internalized grief and mentions of drunk driving / car accidents. please let me know if i miss anything, this one might be a lot !

author’s note: re-posted this after noticing it wasn’t showing in tags! also noticed some of the tlou community requesting some angst gigglegiggle. perhaps this will lead to a second-chance romance expansion in the future…leave your thoughts heh <3 as always, not proofread well!

tagging @vigskrt, don’t hate me for no happy ending this time around </3 i have plans to build this into a full fic ;)

YOUR FRIENDS HAD WARNED YOU.

They’d told you that Ellie Williams wasn’t shit. She was damaged goods and you were willing to pay the price even if it meant a shattered heart broken into a million unmendable pieces.

You’d given her the benefit of the doubt, had held out hope for the first little while of whatever it was between the two of you. You liked to believe that Ellie was tamping down unprocessed emotions, but she’d been adamant that it was all just good fun.

And you were willing to let it go, willing to take it all in stride if it meant having her in any way she’d give herself to you, but you were splintering glass waiting to give any second.

You’ll never forget the night you crumble.

She says it so casually, like she’s making observations about the weather or the swathes of setting skies. You’re sitting on her couch, basking in whatever remnants of the afterglow remains. Because, frankly, if there’s one thing Ellie Williams is good at, it’s pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you.

She’s across the living room, finishing off the blunt you’d politely declined, watching the slow glide of her goldfish in the tank on her console.

“M’bored,” she says simply.

You shift on your side of the couch, watching as she flicks ash in the nearby ashtray.

“You wanna go out?” you offer, glancing at the sunset outside of her window. “We could—”

She huffs out a humorless laugh, takes an extra long pull before stubbing the roach out and turns to face you. Her black tank top is riding up and you blanche when you see the fresh hickey a little south of her belly button.

You definitely hadn’t given it to her, but you aren’t in the mood to argue at the moment.

“I’m bored,” she repeats. “Of this. Whatever this is.”

You breathe out at nervous laugh.

“Oh c’mon, Els.” You stand from the couch, try to close in on her, but she’s shrugging you off as your hands come out to reach for her.

“I’m serious,” she says, tone bland and gaze glazed, equal parts from disinterest and the high kicking in. “It was fun at first, but this is starting to feel like a chore.”

Your chest tightens, tongue drying as you search her face for any tell.

“I don’t understand,” you murmur. “Where’s this coming from?”

Ellie shrugs.

“I’m just bored and this isn’t doing it for me.”

You’ve been wondering why it seemed like she was anywhere else but present the last dozen moments you’ve spent with her. It was always her half-assed agreements of seeing you when you called. Or less than enthusiastic spans of time where she’d seemed annoyed when you weren’t sated after the first comedown and quietly begged for more.

“Is there… Is there someone else?” you swallow. “If there’s someone else, it’s okay. I’ll—”

Ellie barks a mean laugh.

“You’re naive if you think you’re the only one,” she says, and it’s a nasty confirmation of the suspicions you’d had the entirety of your situationship with the girl.

“Why are you doing this?” you whimper, fingers reaching to tangle with hers.

“Fuck, I’m not high enough for this,” Ellie grumbles to herself as she watches your threads unravel.

“You wanna stop seeing me because you’re bored?” you heave. “You wanna stop this ‘cause you’re bored? Ellie, what the fuck?”

“I said it twice already,” she bites, snatching her fingers from your grasp. “And honestly, I’m over all of this. I’m over the clinginess, the neediness, the hope.”

Your breath catches hard in your throat and Ellie’s eyes meet yours for the first time since her declaration.

“Your friends talk, you know?” she says simply. “They beg me to put you out of your misery, say that you’re a great girl for me.”

And you like to think you are. You like to think that Ellie’d learned to love you the way you loved her; unconditionally, passionately, and in her own fucked up way. But you’d obviously been grossly mistaken.

“Am I not?” you whisper. “You mean the world to me, Ellie. I’d do anything for you. I–I lo—”

“Don’t.” She cuts you off sharply. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

“Ellie, I love you.”

And the silence is palpable. Tag-teams the tears that choke you as you wear your heart on your sleeve.

She sighs deep, scrubs her palms down her face as she screws her eyes shut.

“God, why do you have to make things so fucking difficult?” she groans.

“Me?” you choke incredulously. “We’ve been dancing around these feelings for a year, Ellie! You turn a blind eye, act like we won’t work when all it’d take is just a leap of faith. Why can’t you have faith in me, Els?”

She rolls her eyes, crosses the living room into her bedroom to collect your clothes off her floor.

“This is why we wouldn’t work,” she’d grunts as she stuffs everything into your backpack. “Because you think you know me, think you know how I feel, what I think, what I want. You don’t know me. You know what I let you and we fuck. That’s it.”

Your body shakes hard with emotion, bones vibrating with unshed tears.

“You’re lying,” you accuse. “You’re fucking lying because you’re scared.”

“Oh, fuck off with the shit, ________, please,” Ellie scoffs, shoving your backpack in your arms.

“It’s okay to be scared,” you argue desperately, reaching for her again. “I get it, this is new for you and it’s a lot to process and—”

“We agreed that this was just a good time,” Ellie says, nudging your arm away. “And right now, this isn’t really feeling like a good time. This feels like you trying to fix me, but I’m not going to change. Not for anyone and especially not for you.”

It’s a brutal stab at your feelings and it makes you sick. Because Ellie’s always known. She’d entertained this whole endeavor knowing you were head over heels and there wasn’t a chance in hell she would reciprocate.

“We don’t have to stop seeing each other, Els,” you try, taking in a shuddering breath. “Just— Just give us a shot. We can work through it and—”

“What’s not fucking clicking?” Ellie cuts you off with a pinched expression. “You’re not my fuckin’ therapist, not my girlfriend, and definitely won’t be anything more than a decent lay. I’m not doing this shit with you anymore. Seriously. Have some self-respect.”

The look of annoyance that crosses her face makes you feel like your feelings are the ultimate burden. And the sob that wracks your body rattles you so hard you cough till you feel like your lungs will dissolve.

It’s absolutely fucking humiliating, the way that Ellie grimaces like this is the most inconveniencing thing in her life as of late.

“Dude, just go,” she says sharply, steering you towards the front door. “Block me, I don’t care, just please let this shit go.”

“You’re actually the biggest piece of shit I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing in my life.”

Ellie barely catches the statement, bulky headphones fitted over her auburn hair, but Dina’s brisk movements towards her catches her attention.

It’d be been a week since she’d last seen you, and quite frankly she’d been relatively surprised that you’d heeded her word about leaving her alone. She’d almost been home free. Almost.

“If this is about your friend—”

“Like hell it is,” Dina scoffs. “Are you serious? I can believe you said all that shit to her.”

“I mean, you warned her, didn’t you?” Ellie shrugs her shoulders, hooking her thumbs through her backpack straps. “Sounds like you should be bitching at her for not listening instead of me for keeping it pushing.”

And Ellie almost lets the irritation bubble over, but the look on Dina’s face has shifted, has her swallowing down whatever residual snark is concocting in the back of her brain.

“She’s devastated, Ellie.”

And it’s the same song and dance, Ellie knows it all too well, the bouts of sadness followed by the niggling feeling of numbness. She’s usually nonchalant, doesn’t feel any moral obligation to tie up any loose ends, but she feels the closest thing to guilt when she sees the genuine concern in your friend’s expression.

“Look, I’m sorry she got her feelings hurt, okay?” Ellie sighs defensively. “But everyone knew what this was going in and I can’t be the only asshole here for keeping it real.”

And of course she can’t take accountability, can’t admit that maybe she’d been too harsh on someone as sweet as you.

“Honestly, fuck you. I don’t know why I’m still fucking friends with you,” Dina whispers.

Ellie rolls her eyes.

“C’mon, D, you serious right now?”

“You hurt her so bad she won’t even eat,” Dina says quietly. “All she ever wanted was to make you happy, Ellie. The least you could’ve done was let her down easy.”

“This is fuckin’ bullshit,” she grunts to herself.

“No, Ellie, your attitude is fucking bullshit, your whole fucking outlook on life,” Dina says stonily, shrugging her shoulders and taking a step away. “But I guess you get hurt once, you hurt a hundred times, right?”

“D, don’t—”

“Whatever.” Dina waves her off. “Apologize, don’t apologize, I don’t fucking care.”

After nearly two weeks of trying to mend the wounds Ellie had left, you get the call. It’s during midterms and you feel like the world is splintering.

Your younger sister had been driving home on the way from her shift when she was struck. She’d been pronounced at the scene and you take the first flight back home.

And you don’t know how to feel. Don’t know how to sort through the nasty mix of emotions that threaten to peel you from the inside out and disintegrate you. Losing Ellie was one thing, losing your youngest sister is like cruel fate.

It doesn’t hit you until after the service. When you’re sitting in her bedroom, combing through her admittance letters and thumbing through old family albums. You land on a particularly devastating photograph. One where she’d finally surpassed you in height and she’d leaned down to kiss your cheek.

The tears are spilling as you turn the page and you see collages of holidays, birthdays, and vacations. The one that sends you over the edge is the most recent.

It’d been spring break and your family had gone tubing. The two of you had drifted off and your mother was able to capture the perfect photo of the two of you with your heads thrown back in laughter.

If you recall correctly, you’d confided in her about your troubles with Ellie and, in an attempt to make you feel better, she’d cracked a joke so funny it made you laugh like things could be okay.

In the first moment that every emotion hits you full force and your sister isn’t there to be your rock, she’s there to catch your falling pieces.

Abby Anderson’s a childhood friend, grew up in the same cul-de-sac and moved the opposite way for university. News of your sister’s death had her making the five hour drive and offering you some semblance of comfort in a familiar face.

The two of you sit in silence as you hold the photo album to your chest and cry until your throat is raw and your eyes are nearly swollen shut. Her palm is warm between your shoulder blades, a gentle anchor in the roiling storm.

Ellie’s stoned out of her mind when she pays your dorm a visit a couple of weeks later. The apology’s long overdue, but she’d been too busy sparking up and getting lost in other people to shake the claws you’ve seemingly sunk into her brain.

It’s half past midnight on a Tuesday when she delivers three hard raps against room 202. Another three when no one answers the first time around.

She finally hears shuffling after the third set and the door swings forcefully before the fourth. And it’s definitely not you.

“Y’know it’s almost one AM and a majority of this building has class in the morning, right?”

Ellie’s posture straightens.

“Hello?”

Ellie doesn’t recognize this girl at all, does a double take to make sure she’s got the right room.

“________,” she says. “She around?”

The girl’s face screws up.

“Who?”

Ellie repeats your name.

“Oh, her,” the girl mutters groggily. “She pulled out of school a couple of weeks ago. Whole floor was scrambling to get reassigned to her room.”

“She what?” Ellie balks.

“She dropped out, I guess, I dunno,” the girl shrugs. “All I know was that the school psych handed us pamphlets about mental health and shit after she left.”

If anyone has any information on you, they won’t budge. And Ellie realizes it’s equal parts for your protection and her punishment. She’d been a nervous fucking wreck the remainder of the semester, couldn’t stop searching every corner of the internet for you, but it seems like maybe that night really does click because she’s blocked on every single platform imaginable.

She’d started smoking more, started fucking less, actually showed up to class. Her brain was practically numb a majority of the time, anxiety eating away during her short bouts of sobriety.

And god, if she had to admit that she’d learned her fucking lesson, had to admit that losing you was agonizing, she would if it meant seeing you again. Even from a distance.

Because she’ll be honest for once in admitting that she fucking misses you. Misses you so much it’s disgusting. And she doesn’t miss the way you make her feel, or the sex, or any of the things you offer her, she misses you.

Craves to see your sunny smile, yearns to feel the way your body nestles perfectly against hers. And your laugh, god your laugh, boisterous and consuming. She’d always told you it was obnoxious, but nothing could crack a smile faster than you throwing your entire body away from her and cackling till you wheeze.

And this is more traumatizing than any previous relationship that made her swear off love altogether. Your disappearance and your absence makes her feel like she’s going insane, like she’s grasping at straws to keep it together.

Mercifully, the semester ends, but summer oozes like viscous torture. And when fall sem of senior year rolls around, she holds out on hope, just needs to tell you that she knows she fucked up and she’s sorry.

But fall is quiet. Winter is quieter and the holidays feel mundane even surrounded by her loved ones.

“Everything okay at school, kiddo?” Joel’s never been one to poke around, just a silent supporter in the midst of Ellie’s growing pains.

Ellie nods, leaning over the railing.

“S’alright,” she shrugs. “It’s school.”

Joel ponders for a moment, looks like he doesn’t want to pry, but his youngest is his soft spot.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” he drawls softly. “I know you better than you think. Know that something’s botherin’ you.”

Ellie hesitates, but decides to bite back her fears. It’s the least she could do for you.

“You ever hurt someone so bad you don’t know how to fix it?” she swallows.

Joel takes in a deep breath, then takes Ellie in.

“You want an honest answer?”

“Please,” she breathes.

“Sometimes you just have to deal with the repercussions of hurting somebody,” Joel says. “Closure is always nice but never guaranteed and the lack thereof is your punishment.”

It does feel an awful lot like punishment, Ellie thinks.

And Ellie learns that the universe can be unforgivable.

Learns as much when she catches a glimpse of you at the campus bookstore when all the students return from winter break.

She nearly drops her stack of books, scurries across the store in half as many strides before her fingers are wrapping around your bicep.

“Holy shit,” she whispers. “It’s actually you.”

You’d been caught so off guard, you barely process the emotions that begin to filter through you, especially when she engulfs you in a bone-crushing hug and rocks you like she’ll never let you go.

“I can’t breathe,” you squeak, hands snaking between your bodies to give her a gentle push.

“Sorry, fuck, I’m sorry,” Ellie blabbers. “For that, for everything, for—”

“It’s, uh, it’s fine,” you say cooly and Ellie’s staring like you’ve sprouted two heads.

Because it’s absolutely not fine. You’d left school for a year and returned looking like a whole new person. Your cheeks are hollow, eyebags prominent, lips chapped. It’s like the past eight months has sucked the life out of you.

“Christ, are you serious right now?” Ellie asks incredulously.

She doesn’t realize how many emotions she’d kept pent up until her vision is clouding and your expression is falling.

“I broke your fucking heart and you scared the shit out of me when you disappeared and I— I thought— I…”

Ellie’s chest is tightening and she feels like she’s gonna throw up when you let out a short breath.

“What, you thought I offed myself?” you ask with a hollow laugh.

“I don’t know what I fucking thought,” Ellie’s voice cracks, and it’s the most emotion you’ve seen from her in the time you’ve known her. “All I knew was that one minute I was seeing you almost everyday and then suddenly, you fell off the face of the Earth and I’d never missed someone so much in my life and I fucking hated every single moment—”

“My little sister passed,” you say simply.

And fuck, she doesn’t expect that.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You definitely fucked me up but there was a lot more to me leaving.”

“Jesus, I’m so sorry, I—”

“Everything okay?” A tall, buff blonde interjects.

It’s subtle, the way the girl’s palm slides to gently fit between your shoulder blades and Ellie’s going rigid.

“Yeah,” you respond, smile soft and familiar.

Ellie’d been on the receiving end once upon a time, and she nearly retches when you shift closer to the girl.

“This is Ellie,” you introduce. “An old classmate.”

The girl gives Ellie a once over, then a pensive smile.

“You ready to check out?” she asks you.

Ellie watches as you give her the upper level philosophy textbook and thinks that it’s fitting, your area of study.

“I’ll be up in a second, just gonna say bye,” you assure her.

She’s gazing down at you for a moment too long, lips curling into a wider smile as she nods in understanding and Ellie has to stop herself from recoiling.

Old habits die hard because she’s picking a fight despite her better judgment.

“So, I’ve been worried fucking sick over you for the past year but you were with someone else this entire—”

“Don’t do that, Ellie,” you say softly. “We’re friends. She helped me a lot through losing Dev.”

“If you called—”

“If I called, what, Ellie?” you ask seriously, but not unkindly.

You’re fed up, frankly.

“I would’ve been there,” Ellie says firmly, then whispers, “I would’ve fucking been there.”

“Would you have really?” you breathe a short laugh through your nose. “Last time we spoke I told you I loved you and you told me to have some self-respect.”

Ellie winces.

“I’ve thought about it,” she swallows.

You only blink up at her.

“It’s all I could think about since last spring, but…” she trails off, searches your face for courage because she’s so fucking scared. “What you said, the last time we spoke.”

“I said a lot of things,” you reply candidly.

“That we could work through it if I gave us a shot,” Ellie murmurs, running her fingers through her overgrown hair. “And I know I’m late—”

“Yeah, no shit,” you say flatly and Ellie flinches.

“But I want us to work and—”

“No.”

And the wind’s knocked from her lungs, makes her stomach wrench.

“And it’s not because I don’t love you anymore,” you say gently. “But because losing Dev taught me to love myself more.”

Ellie’s throat bobs.

“I can’t keep cutting myself down to accept what you feel like giving me,” you say. “Because I won’t take you having me one hundred percent and deciding to give me 10 on the days when the going gets tough. And don’t say you won’t because we’ve already done that shit with no labels.”

Being absolutely read makes Ellie feel infinitely more like shit because she’s never heard such a sound declaration of your unbridled feelings.

“I’m not losing you again,” Ellie whispers vehemently.

“You don’t have to,” you say softly, visibly withdrawing from the conversation. “I’ll always be in your corner rooting for you. But I can’t give you anymore than that. I won’t.”

“Wait, please, I—”

“I gotta go,” you say, peeling away. “Abby’s waiting.”

“Babe, c’mon.”

“I’ll see you around, Ellie,” you bid her, sparing her one final glance. “Take care of yourself.”

neng©️2023

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

do you think you could write something where ben/soldier boy is jealous of how butcher looks at reader and maybe add some smut so he makes her understand that she’s only his

Jealous

masterlist

pairing: soldier boy x female supe!reader (pyrokinesis - ability to control fire)

rating: R for language, smut

word count: 1.4k

warnings: language, horror movie discussion/spoilers (chucky/child’s play, halloween, it), ends with smut so 18+ only please (not like heavy smut only 231 words), the boys spoilers

timeline: set in an au after season 3

author’s note: thank you for the request, anon! i usually don’t write smut mainly cause i’m bad at it but i hope you like this fic <3

music: all i could think about was jealous by nick jonas while writing this so…

gif source

“Horror movies aren’t really scary! You’re just a fuckin’ wimp!” Butcher shook his head.

“Obviously not all horror movies are scary, but Annabelle is fucking terrifying!” You exclaimed.

“Annabelle scares you?” Ben laughed. “C’mon, sweetheart demonic dolls aren’t real! Demons aren’t even real!”

“Why can’t we just watch something else?” You asked. “If it’s killer dolls you want, let’s watch Child’s Play!”

“Yeah, I’m with Y/n on this one,” Hughie chipped in. “I vote we watch Chucky.”

“Thank you!” You smiled. “Either we watch Chucky or I won’t tell you guys where I keep the Jiffy Pop.”

“Fine, you win,” Butcher rolled his eyes. “Nice to know your weakness is possessed dolls though, now I know how to scare the shit outta you next Halloween.”

“If you bring an Annabelle doll anywhere near me I will burn it to ash before it touches me,” You laughed.

You stood up and made your way over to the kitchen. Butcher watched as you reached to grab the popcorn from an upper cabinet. He watched as your shirt rode up and he could see your lower back. He watched as you bent down to get something from a lower cabinet, and as you placed a large bowl on the table.

“Where’s the remote?” Hughie asked, seeing Ben eyeing Butcher like he wanted to strangle him.

“Should be in the top left drawer by the TV,” You called out from the kitchen. “Ben, could you show him?”

“It’s in there,” Ben grumbled, pointing to the drawer.

“Thanks,” Hughie replied quietly.

Butcher watched as you continued in the kitchen; biting your bottom lip a little as you pressed the buttons on the microwave after tossing in a bag of popcorn. Ben was slowly getting more and more angry.

He suddenly stood up and made his way over to you.

“Every-” Before you could finish he crashed his lips onto yours. You continued when he pulled away, “-thing okay?”

He didn’t say anything, just kissed you again. He brought one hand to cup your cheek and the other to slide down your back and rest on your butt. You pulled away when the popcorn sounded done.

“Could you put another one in while I pour this in the bowl, please?” You asked as you shook the bag to distribute the butter evenly.

“Sure thing,” He said, grabbing another bag out of the box. “How long?”

“Uh, four minutes, but you have to listen for when the popping stops.”

He nodded a little before doing as you instructed.

“Hey, so uh…you and Butcher…is there anything I should worry about?” He asked quietly.

“What?” You laughed a little, but then realized he was serious. “Ben you know I only have eyes for you?”

“Well now you do, what about all that time everyone thought I was dead? You’ve worked with Butcher for years, right?”

“Well that’s not fair!” You scoffed. “You slept with a ton of people before you met me!” He furrowed his brows a little.

“So you slept with Butcher?” He exclaimed.

“Shh!” Your eyes widened, glancing over your shoulder to be sure Hughie and Butcher weren’t listening. “I- I may have had a one night thing with Butcher like four years ago.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me this before we invited him over to our fucking home?” He gritted his teeth a little.

“Please don’t be mad,” You sighed. “It really didn’t mean anything, Ben. He hates Supe’s and I’m pretty sure he regretted it instantly afterwards.” You took his hand in yours and looked up at him. “I only have eyes for you, Ben. I love you!”

“I don’t think he regrets it, he’s been mentally undressing you non-stop.”

“He can mentally undress me all he wants, you’re the one that gets to undress me for real,” You smirked a little.

“Yeah, I still wanna tear his spine out,” He mumbled and started walking away.

“Ben,” You gripped his upper arm and stopped him. He turned to look at you and you pulled him down into a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you,” He smiled.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Butcher before, does it really bother you?”

“Not really, what’s bothering me is how he’s looking at you,” He sighed a little. “They’re sleeping here tonight, right?”

“Yeah,” You nodded.

“Who’s sleeping where?”

“Hughie in the guest room, Butcher on the upstairs couch.”

“The pullout couch?” He smirked. “In the room next to ours?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Nothin’, nothin’ at all,” He replied and kissed you again.

**

You didn’t notice, but throughout the movie Butcher was eyeing you incrementally. When you’d reach over Ben to grab some popcorn and he could see your cleavage nicely his eyes were glued. It happened quite a few times until Ben moved the popcorn closer to you so you wouldn’t have to reach for it.

Every scary scene you’d reach for Ben’s hand and snuggle into his side for a sense of security. (Not that you were really scared, but you wanted an excuse to be even closer to Ben.) He’d respond by holding you tighter and whispering sweet nothings into your ear about how he’ll never let a killer doll hurt you.

Dinner was a little awkward between Ben and Butcher; Solder Boy caught him eyeing you over and over. You and Hughie, however, were having a lovely conversation about horror movies.

“Pennywise and Micheal Myers aren’t even comparable, Hughie! What kind of question is that?” You scoffed, laughing.

“Okay but overall, Micheal Myers is better,” He replied.

“No! Micheal Myers is just a run-of-the-mill serial killer, Pennywise is a supernatural shape shifting killer clown!” You exclaimed. “Ben, back me up here.” You turned to look at him and gained his attention by tapping his upper arm.

“What was the question sweetheart?” He asked.

“Micheal Myers from the Halloween movies, or Pennywise from Stephen King’s It?”

“Oh Myers definitely,” He nodded.

“No, you’re supposed to say Pennywise,” You whispered.

“I love you but Pennywise is fuckin’ horrific!” He whispered back, smiling.

“I win,” Hughie grinned widely.

“Wait so Annabelle doesn’t scare you but Pennywise does?” You asked Ben, purposefully annoying Hughie by ignoring him.

“All they had to do to stop Annabelle is set her on fire, Pennywise basically can’t die,” He shrugged.

“Okay one, burning the doll would just free the demon, and two, Pennywise dies at the end of the second movie.”

“Does he though, Y/n? Does he?” Ben teased, you rolled your eyes.

“Butcher, you agree with me, right?” You said.

“Pennywise is creepier but is much easier to beat in a fight,” Butcher replied. “All you gotta do is close your eyes, tell yourself he ain’t real, and the cunt disappears. Myers on the other hand has died several times but it never seems to stick. Myers is better.”

“I hate you all so much right now!” You groaned.

“Ooh how about what horror movie villain could you beat in a fight?” Hughie offered, understanding the Myers vs Pennywise topic had been settled.

“All of them,” Ben stated seriously.

**

You stepped out of the bathroom after your shower, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Ben’s.

“On the bed, now.” He said sternly. You smiled widely, you loved when he got all authoritative in the bedroom. You hurried to the bed and he quickly followed, freeing himself of his own clothes.

He knelt down between your bent legs, spreading them wider with his hands. With almost no preparation, he slid himself all the way in, making you cry out with pleasure and pain.

“Oh, god, Ben!” You exclaimed, squeezing your eyes shut. He stayed there and watched you writhe under him. “B-Ben, move,” You squeaked, urging him to create some friction.

“Nuh uh,” He held your hips down when you tried to thrust upward. “Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You, Ben, I’m all yours,” You breathed.

“Louder, I want Butcher to fuckin’ hear you. I want him to know who fuckin’ owns you.”

“Ben! I’m all yours oh god!” You exclaimed. “Please- Just-”

He bent down and kissed you.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you can’t even walk tomorrow,” He whispered. “You’re all mine, Y/n.”

“I’m all yours Ben, fuck!” You screamed.

That was enough for him to pull almost all the way out and thrust back in, repeating over and over. With every thrust he had you screaming his name and proving you truly were all his.

[denaliwrites]

f i c m a s t e r l i s t

p o l i c i e s (please read before making requests!)

b a d s a m a r i t a n The Best of You, Honey, Belongs to Me Blackthorn Cover Myself in the Ashes of You Dumb Ways To Die Enough of You to Dull the Pain (18+) Hellbent Looking For A Godsend Hit Me With Your Best Shot I Got This Feeling On A Summer Day (18+) I'm Gooey in the Middle Baby Let Me Bake In His Eyes A Flaming Glow Intrigued and Afraid Keep You Like An Oath (18+) Killing Me Softly My Baby Shot Me Down (18+) Not Much Between Despair and Ecstasy (18+) Only Touch That Gets Me Melting (18+) Run Rabbit Run (18+) Say My Name Send a Thousand Kings Away Shia Surprise Something Good to Celebrate Stop, Look and Listen, It's Halloween! Taste of a Poison Paradise Trust in Me, Just in Me With Your Scars and Your Lonely Heart Your Body's a Secret Girl and You're About to Spill It (18+)

t h e b o y s Watch That Butcher Burn

b r o a d c h u r c h Always Leave Me With a Hungry Heart Am I Doing This Right? An Art to Life's Distractions Beating Like A Kick Drum Girls Like Girls Like Boys Do It's Been a Long, Long Time Love's Perfect Ache Now and Again We Try to Just Stay Alive Regale You With A Gourd-geous Tale Say You'll Remember Me Say You'll Remember Me (Denali's Version) Tell Me It's A Nightmare What My Heart Was Worth

d o c t o r w h o Cuddle, Meet Puddle Cute Things Don't Blink (Part 1) Don't Turn Your Back (Part 2) Don't Look Away (Part 3) Dreams See Us Through (Part 4) Hate the Feeling of Falling Have a Holly Jolly Christmas Horrible Things Isn't That Wizard It's How I'm Made Let Me Come Home Little Creepy House Love Letters On the Brave Shit The Origin of (Love Bug) Species What Beautiful Things I'll Wear When the Crypt Doors Creak You Know That I Would Jump Too

d u c k t a l e s Tales of Daring

g o o d o m e n s All I Want For Christmas Aziraphale's Favorite Author Dance on a Tightrope of Weird Free as My Hair His Love is All in Me How the Wine Plays Tricks on My Tongue Lockdown Blues Making Biscuits My Heart's a Stereo Naked in That Garden (18+) Out There Making DuckTales Pickin' Up the Pieces of the Mess You Made Road to Hell Something Meaty For The Main Course Step Too Far Tongue Tied Your Love is Holy (18+)

f a l l o f t h e h o u s e o f u s h e r Tomorrow I Shall Be Fetterless (18+)

f r i g h t n i g h t Emptiness to Melody Everybody Scream in Our Town of Halloween Fixed Up to the Nines Howl Like an Animal in the Darkness I'm So Hot I'd Fuck Myself (18+) I'm Starvin', Darlin', Let Me Put My Lips to Somethin' Late Night Devil Put Your Hands On Me (18+) Make Me Glow Night of Long Fangs (18+) Parade of Dancing Skeletons Talk So Pretty (18+) Who Are You Supposed To Be, Criss Angel? (18+)

h a u n t i n g o f b l y m a n o r ???

j u r a s s i c p a r k / w o r l d Best Behavior The Future Ex Mrs. Malcolm

p r o d i g a l s o n But Then My Stupid Phone Beeps Never Fallen From Quite This High Office Supplies Rude Boy They are the Hunters, We are the Foxes Trigger Happy With a Sense of Poise (18+)

s l o w h o r s e s Imposing Figure Inappropriate

[sissyisawitch]

It'll Be Okay

Relationship: Sebastian Sallow x You

Summary: After the macabre events that occurred in the Feldcroft Catacomb, Sebastian is devastated. All he can think about is running away and pushing you away from him… but you don't plan to give up on him so easily.

Word Count: ~2.7k

Author's Note: This story is based on the song "It'll Be Okay" by Shawn Mendes. I hope you'll enjoy reading it!💙

Warnings: Major spoilers for the "In the Shadow of the Relic" quest + Angst

“I won’t let her suffer! Avada Kedavra!”

A flash of green light struck Solomon Sallow’s body, before it fell limp on the ground. Sebastian had done it. He had killed his uncle.

Oh, the future we dreamed of is fading to black…

He dropped his wand which clattered on the ground.

And just like that, you and Sebastian's future plans vanished, completely ruined. They used to seem so simple... you were supposed to cure Anne with the relic, make her return to Hogwarts, and then be happy all together with your little quartet of friends.

But as fate would have it, that was never going to happen.

A high-pitched, distraught voice brought you out of your thoughts, “Depulso!”

Anne had appeared in the Catacomb and apparently witnessed the whole tragic scene that had just unfolded, whereupon she herself attacked her twin brother, propelling him with all her might against one of the stone walls to stop him.

Driven by her fiery anger, she used what little strength she had left to cast a couple more spells to defeat the remaining Inferi and reduce Salazar Slytherin's Spellbook to ashes.

“NO!” Sebastian howled. He could do nothing but watch his sister destroy the book that was supposed to contain all the solutions to save her life.

“You’ve made your choice.” She said simply, before disapparating with the inert corpse of their uncle.

“Oh, Anne… What have you done?”

Oh, there's nothing more painful. Nothing more painful…

You were paralysed, unable to move even a finger after witnessing such a heartbreaking scene where a family was completely shattered, with no means or hope of ever repairing their ties. Poor Sebastian was left entirely alone, tears in his eyes, his face contorted by his crushing grief and regret. Merlin, you hated that sight with all your heart.

“I-I must get out of here.” He mumbled as he stood up and quickly looked at his surroundings, as if he were completely disorientated.

“Seb, wait!” You tried to hold him back, but Sebastian would not listen.

Instead, he fled. He ran like mad towards the exit of the Catacomb, desperate for fresh air.

“SEBASTIAN!” You shouted at the top of your lungs as you sped after him, hoping that it would be enough for him to hear you despite his head start.

It was only when you had made your way up the labyrinth of tunnels, once you were back in the Feldcroft countryside and away from the heavy atmosphere of the dusty Catacomb, that you managed to catch up with Sebastian.

Now that he was close at hand, you reached out to grab his arm, “Sebastian, stop!”

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!” He roared, sending your hand flying with more force than he would have used if he were in his normal state of mind.

You flinched out of reflex, but you were in no case scared of the boy. You never had been, and you knew you never would be. You understood that he was simply on edge and needed reassurance, so you kept your soft tone, “Seb–”

“STOP SAYING MY NAME!” He continued to shout in anger, but the way he was now gripping his hair and pulling at the roots showed that annoyance was being added to the palette of overwhelming emotions he was feeling at the moment. “For fuck’s sake I should’ve known better than to become friends with you in the first place.”

This. This last sentence. Maybe he could not scare you, but you too often forgot that he was still capable of hurting you, even if he did not mean any of it and it was his amalgam of panic and agitation that got the better of his words.

You tried your best to remain unfazed, “So what? You'd rather our paths had never crossed?”

“Yes!” He exclaimed without thinking twice.

I start to imagine a world where we don't collide…

For a moment, you lost yourself in your own thoughts. You imagined a parallel universe where you had never defeated Sebastian in Defence Against the Dark Arts, where he had never accompanied you to Hogsmeade on your first day at Hogwarts, and therefore a universe where you two had never become friends or exchanged a single word.

It also meant a world where you never fought trolls, goblins, and poachers together, where you never spent long nights in the Undercroft doing nothing but talking, where he never held you in his arms and comforted you whenever you were not at your best, resulting in your feelings for Sebastian blossoming into something much stronger and more genuine than friendship.

“Well, I don’t.” You finally answer.

“Well, you should.” He imitated your intonation with irritating impertinence.

You paid no attention to it, knowing better than to take any of his irrational actions into account, “Why?”

“BECAUSE I FUCKING RUINED YOUR LIFE!”

The screaming was back. Taking you by surprise once again. However this time, you were unable to react. The rawness and vulnerability of his words had hit you right in the heart, knocking the wind out of you.

“I have to go.” He muttered after your lack of reaction. He turned his back on you before setting off again, this time clearly determined to leave.

This was the moment that snapped you out of your stunned confusion, “Oh no, don’t you dare run away from me, Sallow!”

Your feet reacted even faster than your brain. You rushed towards him, but knew you would not have enough strength to hold him back, so you did the only best thing you could think of... You lunged at him and tackled him to the ground. Your body crashed into his with full force, causing his back to slam against the hard, cold, snow-covered ground.

“LET ME GO!” He fought back, kicking in all directions to try and push you off him.

“NEVER!” You pinned him down with all your strength. You were pressed on top of him while holding his hands on either side of his head, and keeping his thighs flat with your own legs. “Because you didn’t ruin my life, Sebastian.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now? I spent months teaching you dark magic. I just killed my uncle in front of you. You're a witness to a murder because of me! You could be sent to Azkaban BECAUSE OF ME! What more do you need to hate me? Tell me, because I'll do it right away if it means you'll stay away from me and be out of danger!”

And it's making me sick, but we'll heal and the sun will rise…

Sebastian's words made your blood run cold. Not because they made you reflect on everything he had put you through, but rather because you wondered how you were going to make him understand that you were not blaming him for anything, that the idea had never even crossed your mind.

“We can get past this. We can make things better together.” You said softly, unable to muster a better response.

He only scoffed bitterly.

“Sebastian, I don’t want to hate you, I want to be here for you!”

Judging that he seemed slightly calmer, you allowed yourself to release one of his hands to cup his cheek instead. With your thumb, you caressed his tanned skin, tracing the freckles splattered across his cheekbones. You did your best to convey your honesty and all your love for him through your delicate touch.

“No.” He replied firmly, leaving no room for negotiation, and then took advantage of your lowered guard to push you away again, this time with his hand which was now free. “Now leave me alone!”

If you tell me you're leaving, I'll make it easy…

You gave up being gentle and tackled him firmly to the floor again. You just needed him to listen to you for a few more minutes, “Okay. I won’t force you to stay if you don’t want to… But you need someone, Sebastian. Please, let me help you.”

“I don’t want your help!” He spat with a fury that was rarely seen in him. You had only seen it once... when he called you ignorant.

“Maybe you don’t want it, but you need it.” Now that everything had been said, you got out of his way to let him go if he so wished.

It'll be okay…

Sebastian sat up again, but stayed there, against all your expectations. You knew that all he needed was one last little push before he surrendered, so you insisted, “Don’t shut me out. Let me be here for you.”

“I–” His voice broke, giving way before he could even begin his sentence. His bottom lip quivered. “I didn’t mean to kill him. He attacked us… attacked you. I had to use the Killing Curse. You know I did!”

“I know. You did your best to protect me.” You reassured him by taking his hands in yours and giving them a little squeeze.

“I never meant for all of this to happen. I just wanted to help Anne.” It was not long before tears started to stream down his cheeks. “I want this hell to be over. Please make it stop.”

“I wish I could… but–” Now it was your voice's turn to fail you.

“I just want my little sister back.”

“I know you do… I know.” You swallowed hard to fight the tears that started to blur your vision. You could not allow yourself to cry. You had to stay strong for him. You had to be the pillar on which he could rest, because right now, he needed your help. If he saw you crying, it would only make things worse. This was not about you.

So you cuddled him against your chest, firstly to comfort him, and secondly so that he would not see the look of total dismay on your face.

“Ominis hates me too, and I can’t even blame him, because I hate myself too.” He was now full on breaking down, his head buried against your chest, and his tears streaming down your uniform jumper.

“I’ll love you enough for the two of us, then… until you learn to love yourself again, and even after.”

“I want the pain to stop. It’s been there for too long. I can’t stand it anymore.” The more time passed, the more erratic his breathing became.

“I know, baby. You’ve been so strong.” You kept spouting all the soothing words you could think of, in the hope that they would work on him.

“Please, make it stop. Please.”

“I’d take it all for you if I could. But I can’t, and I’m so sorry. I’ll do everything in my power to make you feel better.” You slowly ran your fingers through his silky brown locks, over and over again. Then you felt yourself losing your grip on your emotions, and soon your tears were flowing alongside Sebastian's.

Sebastian Sallow – the boy who was never afraid of anything and always had a trick up his sleeve – was on his knees in front of you, crying his eyes out, rendering him nothing more than the very image of misery and helplessness.

It was agonising to see the boy you loved in such a state, and not be able to do anything to make him feel better. How were you supposed to remain impassive in the face of that?

“Please fix everything. Fix me.”

“I can’t…”

And if we can't stop the bleeding… We don't have to fix it, we don't have to stay…

Sebastian's sobs continued unabated, “I’m scared to stay with you. I know I’ll end up doing something stupid and lose you too. Because that’s what I do… I do everything in my power to make the people I care about leave.”

This time, it was all too much. You could not let him belittle himself so cruelly. You grabbed his face between your hands and forced him to look straight into your eyes, not caring if they were red and swollen from all the crying, “Don’t say that. I know you made mistakes, but you’re one of the most brilliant wizards before anything else. You’re the only one who was great enough to steal my heart.”

“You’re everything I have left… I can’t lose you. Not you.” He clutched your shirt in his fists, as if he was afraid you would suddenly vanish before his eyes.

“Baby–”

Everything you were going to say died on the tip of your tongue... because Sebastian smashed his lips against yours.

You did not know exactly how it happened. You did not realise it right away because it occurred in less than a split second. And yet it was well and truly real.

There was nothing tender or romantic about that kiss. No, it was just rough, brutal and messy, reflecting all the despair they contained deep inside. It was a kiss full of passion, but not the kind that made you feel light and gave you butterflies in your stomach. Not at all, it was a toxic passion that burnt the wings off these butterflies and everything around them.

Sebastian was clutching you by the shoulders as if you were his lifeline, the only thing keeping him from tipping completely over into the darkness. And you, you kissed him back fervently, fighting the little voice in your head that was whispering to you that what you were doing was wrong, that you never should have discovered how salty his tears tasted as you kissed him for the first time.

You had to call a spade a spade, you should not be taking advantage of his vulnerability to get what you had always dreamt of... but you could not help yourself. Sebastian was hypnotic, and you could not bring yourself to pull away from him.

It was he who retreated first, and you instantly hated how his big chocolate eyes were filled with nothing but sheer panic, “I feel like I’m going to die without you… What if I die without you?”

Your heart pounded so hard to the point where it felt like you had a lump in your throat. You let out an overwhelmed and broken sob, “You’ll never find out because I’ll never leave you. You hear me? Never. I’m here for better or for worse.”

I will love you either way…

Sebastian let himself fall against your chest, and you welcomed him into your arms without the slightest hint of reluctance. You let him rest there, let him cry, tremble against you, while you caressed his untameable hair and whispered sweet nothings in his ear, doing your best to stop your own tears from flowing. You had no idea how long you stayed like that, but it felt like an eternity. You were probably freezing and soaking wet from sitting in the snow for so long, but thankfully you were unable to feel it thanks to the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“Shh… It'll be okay…”

It might be so sweet… It might be so bitter…

In the months you had known Sebastian, you had imagined an infinity of different scenarios of the two of you kissing for the first time. None of those fit with the reality of Sebastian breaking down in your arms after committing murder. The situation had nothing in common with what you had wished for the two of you. You had finally got what you wanted, but you hated it. You just wanted to scream. Fate was even more cruel than you believed.

"Make the pain go away, please." Sebastian begged desperately, echoing your own inner thoughts.

"I'll do everything I can. I’ll do everything to give you the future you wanted." You cried uncontrollably.

Oh, if the future we've dreamed of is fading to black…

Minutes, hours passed, and your tears eventually dried. You spoke again, very quietly, as if afraid to frighten the peace that was slowly beginning to return, “We’ll get through this together, alright?”

“…I’m a monster.” He declared with resignation. He too had run out of tears to cry.

“You’re not.” You replied with just as much conviction.

“What if I get even worse? What if I end up hurting you?” He asked quietly.

“I will love you either way.”