#the twist to the game is that it doesn’t end and there is no answer all i do is suffer

[literatureloverx]

Celebrating Valentine’s Day with BSD men

BSD men x reader, I did not use pronouns for the reader, but in some cases, it is subtly implied to be female, though not overtly so.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

He would gift you—very much in line with what Asagiri confirmed—an entire country. Be prepared to manage political affairs because you will be the president and owner of your favourite nation. Congratulations!

Expect a lavish candlelit dinner, accompanied by classical music and an exquisite orchestra.

You can also look forward to many other gifts—he is never one to hold back. Your shared bedroom will likely be filled with presents, each meticulously crafted and designed just for you. The sheer intricacy and depth of his knowledge about you will leave you breathless.

The night will conclude with a magnificent fireworks display.

You made the right choice by choosing to live in isolation with him, basking in the luxury he provides—not that your answer would have made a difference if you had said no.

Dazai Osamu

We all know that Dazai—the Dazai—is, unsurprisingly, utterly broke and survives off the money of his fellow ADA members, such as Atsushi and Kunikida. (We love a pest.🩵)

He isn’t the overtly romantic type, but that doesn’t mean his love is any less intense.

He will likely buy you a bouquet of roses with Kunikida’s money and give Atsushi his best puppy-dog eyes to help him get you a pair of matching rings.

But then comes the truly unexpected part—he takes you stargazing in the freezing cold, having put in all the effort to create a soft, cosy space for you both to lie on, complete with extra blankets and pillows.

And when it starts snowing? You are going home, of course—not that he didn’t account for this. He has another present waiting for you there—one he actually bought himself, which is precisely why he had no money left for anything else.

He is a pervert. That is all I am going to say.

Nakahara Chuuya

Another man with refined tastes and a big, considerate, loving heart for his darling. He would spend weeks—if not months—thinking about the perfect way to celebrate this day with you, determined to make it unforgettable.

Chuuya pays attention—he really does, because he cares that much. Though he is not the best with subtleties, he does his best to take mental notes on everything you like and dislike, everything you want and do not want.

So, expect gifts that are carefully chosen, each one making it clear just how much he notices about you.

The evening will likely begin with him presenting you with a luxuriously crafted dress from a high-end designer—one he specifically picked for you. He wants you to wear it because he is taking you somewhere special, and of course, you will, with the brightest smile on your face.

You will dine at an exclusive restaurant, sharing exquisite wine and food together.

And knowing Chuuya, he will not stop at just one gift. Throughout the night, he will keep surprising you, giving you something new every half hour—because spoiling you is just second nature to him.

Nikolai Gogol

Haha, you silly thing. You actually think Valentine’s Day is romantic? That ridiculous day where Homo sapiens willingly cage themselves—not even in their own perception of love, but in the artificial fantasy constructed by capitalism?

Just joking. If you find it romantic, then of course, he does too. Or at least, he pretends to. Watching your reactions to his “gifts” is far too entertaining. He might as well play along and turn this whole romance thing into one of his little games.

Expect the most outrageous surprises—perhaps he will take you on a helicopter ride, only to reveal that he has written I love you on the ground below… using meticulously arranged corpses. A heartfelt, handcrafted message just for you.

Or maybe he will gift you something else grotesque—something that reminds him of you or symbolises your love in his own twisted way.

Oh, and expect plenty of Valentine’s Day quizzes.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

Now, here is someone who has no idea what to do with himself on Valentine’s Day.

To him, it is pointless. Why should this day be any different from the others? And why are you looking at him like that? The expectation in your gaze makes him feel cornered.

But Akutagawa hates being behind on anything. So, despite thinking this whole thing is ridiculous (such a tsundere), he still makes an effort. He prepares something for you—a small but meaningful gift, something that proves he has thought about you, about this day, and has put effort into making you happy.

And once it is over, he lets out a relieved sigh.

Yet, later that night, when he recalls the joy on your face upon receiving his gift, he feels something warm and unfamiliar flicker inside him. He refuses to acknowledge it—but deep down, he knows.

[yuquinzel]

— nobody’s business.

feat. itoshi sae. a little sensual. 700+ wc. self indulgent :> publicizing your relationship with japan’s star player.

itoshi sae is holding onto your hand, a little more firmly than ever before. teal eyes out ahead on the field in front of you both searching for something you can’t name. you follow his gaze— it’s on the bleachers first, then hastily eyeing every player on the pitch. it’s on the spectators one second, then it’s on the cameras panning and zooming in from every direction.

sae grimaces when one such camera directs at the two of you, pulling you behind and away from the prying eyes of the media eager to catch just a glimpse of japan’s prized player and his partner who he keeps oh so hidden from the world.

he’s never denied being in a relationship. never tried to refute dating allegations with a non-celebrity, never once fazed to address the blurred pictures of him making out with someone in his car, never tried to hide the bruises on his neck that catch the eye of every fan leaving nobody wondering what it really is. he knows what they’ll do once they really know who you are— the paparazzi wouldn’t fucking leave you alone, following you everywhere. magazines would be willing to kill to get just one word from you and twist it to their likings. sae’s discreet with his words though, never gives them something to work with.

it was not until you addressed it to him yourself. just another article surfacing all around social media. something that had left a bitter taste on your tongue. ‘ itoshi sae and his supposed girlfriend ! ’ — it’s a picture of sae with a model you don’t know the name of, attending an event you weren’t invited to. he looks clearly unimpressed. but it helps little when every single comment under the article is how of well the two look together.

how well itoshi sae looks with someone who’s not you.

“you’ve already denied the rumours, so then why...” you’d said, avoiding his gaze for reasons you can’t pinpoint. “they always make up shit to write when their lukewarm ass doesn’t have real shit to sell.” he’d answered, “don’t think much about it. they’ll forget about it soon.”

when you didn’t say anything back, sae had known what he was to do. he’d known what it was you were asking of him with your silence. and for you, he was more than willing.

he’s sure a few cameras would’ve captured him with you by now, your face clear and beautiful for everyone to see and engrave on their papers and headlines. they’ll adorn you with pretty words and pretty adjectives, and he’ll have to share you with the eyes of the world now. something about it leaves a bitter flavor on his tongue, so he kisses you instead to taste the sweetness of your lips.

“don’t take your eyes off me,” he rasps between the kisses, one hand coming to cradle your jaw while the other hooks around your waist. “look at only me.”

“only you.” you say and sae breathes you in. he leans down closer, lips moving against yours more desperately than ever. he’s pleased with your answer. phantom touches of his hands slithering under your shirt and tracing the skin of your abdomen.

you forget about the match about to start in a mere minutes, about the cameras still desperate to get one glimpse of this very scene, and if you do remember that his teammates would march out any second now— sae makes you forget about everyone else when he tugs on your bottom lip lightly, “afraid? ” he challenges you with a long, languid glide of his tongue, “of what? I’m the only thing on your mind. ”

later when the game ends with the final pass from sae leading to a goal, the camera pans to you sitting in the vip section and cheering for sae and his team. another pans to sae when he notices you on the screen. sae ignores the roars of the crowd, ignores his teammates gathering around him, screaming for their win. he looks at you, waiting intently. you know what he’s asking of you — did you watch? he shifts forward ever so slightly — was i good?

you’re smiling as you mouth a clear I’m so proud of you — and only then does sae feels like he’s won.

© yuquinzel2023 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

why am I posting this it's a year old 🧘🏻‍♀️🧘🏻‍♀️

[realjoehours]

is it a crush or is it an inferiority complex is my favourite game to be playing at 1am

[deadsetobsessions]

Fae adjacent! Danny, pt. 3

Jason returns to consciousness with a scream trapped before it could come to life. He twisted his neck back and forth and back and forth.

It was the last thing he did before he died. When the Joker left and told him to say hello to the big guy, Jason could not muster up the energy to make a single sound.

But Bruce… Bruce was here this time, heavy head making the mattress by his leg dip.

The scars that ran over his face stretched as he blinked.

“…B?”

Bruce’s head shot up, eyes bloodshot and bags heavier than a Gotham socialite’s solid gold Dior purse.

“Jaylad.”

Jason- Jason was alive now. Bruce’s hug felt warm, the tear spot on his shoulder was damp as his dad cried while hugging him.

And Jason should be happy. He’s alive again. His dad loved him.

But all he could think about was the cold of the coffin, the squelch of mud and dirt, and the unerringly wrong feeling of knowing he came back but he came back wrong.

——

Tim had wandered Gotham in the weeks following Jason’s reawakening. He wasn’t avoiding Bruce Wayne. He wasn’t. But Tim knows he’ll have to answer questions soon. He just wasn’t ready.

Tim looked up at the den of pixies- pixies were real!- and squared his shoulders. He did his research. Tim Drake walks into the den with nothing but foolish hope and Gotham-brand audacity. He’ll get answers about Danny today. He will.

——

Soul-Plucker, they called him. Danny Fenton, the proprietor of Fenton Artifacts. The High King.

“I thought King Oberon was the High King?”

The pixies chittered at the little human that could have been kin. Their wings fluttered at their backs, muffled by cloth. It’s not often they find kindred. It really is too bad that Fenton had his mark on the child. How they would have loved to whisk him away. He would have made entertainment that would last a millennia! Or until the court decided to cut of his tongue, at least. How well he had tricked them!

“Of course! Of course! King Oberon is our king, see?” A younger pixie swirled her drink, a shining red and blue thing. “But he’s the High King of another court!”

“The High King of the Infinite Realms, encompassing far more than King Oberon and Queen Tatianna could ever reach.”

Another pixie chimed in, on their fourth glass of amber colored nectar. “The Soul-Plucker!”

“The Beginning of the End.”

“Afterlife IRS department!”

“He who wanders.”

“Death-Caller.” Another one said, grave and serious.

“The Arbiter.”

“So, he’s like, the boss of bosses?” Tim asked. What kind of entity did he make a deal with? Why was he kind to Tim? What motives did Danny have?

“Uh huh!”

“Then what’s he’s doing here?”

“Who knows? The whims of the most powerful are unknown to us.” The pixies clustered around Tim. “Won’t you play another game with us, Alvin? You’re so good at it! Oh, how about a drink?”

“Can’t. I gotta get home. Also, I’m a minor.” Tim slipped passed their fluttering wings and manic smiles. They move to let him past, waving drinks at him in a tantalizing manner.

“And where is that, sweet one?”

“Somewhere, Liltri. Somewhere.”

Tim Drake was a child of pure will, pure hard headed foolishness, a mind sharper than any blade, and luck more terrifying than the creatures he now dealt with. And so, he stepped out of the Pixie Bar with more questions than answers but he stepped out unharmed.

——

“Who are you?” The shadows shift as Lady Gotham unveiled her knight.

Danny felt his eyes cool, glinting green and blue. Lady Gotham forgets who her liege is.

“Haven’t you done your research? You who walks along the edge of shadows, my shop is not a place to dismiss decorum.”

“You brought… you brought him back. How. Why?”

“You want answers? Then give me something in return.”

Danny gestured to the circle his clients have come to know as the deal-maker. Danny doesn’t ask for much in return. Just… something equal to the request.

“Ah,” Danny pointed up at the sign. “I am legally able to deny you my service, so don’t get any ideas.”

Batman was studied up on myths. But he was not a believer, and that both hindered and helped him. What was a god, in front of the faithless? What was the faithless in front of power?

The vigilante stepped into the circle, unable to see the subtle shimmering of magic but remained unbound by the virtue of his disbelief.

“What do you want for answers?”

“You do not often deal with the occult, do you?” Danny tapped the counter. Batman remained silent.

“I have a soft spot for vigilantes,” Danny continued. “And so I won’t ask for much. Just… your cape.”

“Not my hair? A body part?”

“If you were dealing with the fae, you’d probably would lose something of that value, yes.”

“You aren’t fae.”

Danny merely smiled. “Do we have a deal?”

“My cape in exchange for honest answers to my questions.”

Danny huffed, approval glinting in his eyes.

“Your cape for honest answers to three questions,” Danny pointed at the sign, still hanging above them. “Three questions or nothing.”

Batman grimaced. “Deal.”

“Ask your questions, protector.”

“Why did you bring Jason back to life?”

“I didn’t.” Danny grinned. The Bat should have stipulated that he must answer elaborately. He looked like he realized that. Oh well. His mistake. Well, not like there was actual magic binding Danny, so technically, Danny could lie off his ass.

“…Will Jason stay alive?” Danny had a heart and this man was a much better father than Jack ever was.

“Yes. Barring unnatural causes, his soul is firmly attached to his body and will not shuffle off the mortal coil without warning.”

The lines of Batman’s shoulders slumped. Relief. He paused.

“What are your intentions in this city?”

“To run my shop… and to enjoy retirement.”

Danny laughed at Batman’s stoic face. “Disappointed I am not up to nefarious deeds, little knight?”

“No.”

Danny tapped the table. “My payment?”

Batman shucked off his cape and handed it to Danny.

“Why my cape?”

Danny smiled a fanged little thing. “Because your costume looks stupid without it and I could use a laugh.”

Batman grumbled and turned to leave. Ha paused, eyes catching on the glint of camera lenses.

“How much for that?”

“For the little sparrow’s camera?” Danny sighed, eyes fixed on the form of a vigilante who was more kind than angry for once. “Two thousand dollars.”

“That’s a huge markup.”

“That’s how much it means to me, compared to the rest.” Danny slid beyond the counter, a ghostly air about him. He pinned his newly earned cape up. “My shop, my prices, little knight.”

Batman silently handed him two thousand dollars and left with the little sparrow’s camera.

[girlokwhatever]

can i request a paige smut where like the reader had pissed her off BADDD (in whatever way you see fit) and so paige fucks her with the strap BUT the reader keeps like pushing at her abs and ahitbtryna het her to slow down which in return pisses her off more…pls :)

i love you 😭

₊⊹༉‧₊˚.˚ · .ׂׂૢ·˚ ༘ you can take it,,

paige bueckers x fem!reader

“i don’t wanna talk to you dude.”

paige was absolutely furious. you missed one of the biggest shots of her career— a score-tying buzzer beater that ended up saving her team and securing them a win in overtime— all because you were talking to a guy in the stands. she was so excited to talk to you about it, for the both of you to share that excitement. so you could imagine her disappointment in hearing that you didn’t see it.

“paige are you serious? i’m sorry alright? i got to see it on the replays, it was really good.”

you try to reach out for her but she shrugs you off again, and now you’re pissed too. the guy was your classmate that spotted you in the crowd and wanted to say hello. you had apologized about a trillion times for missing the shot, still affirming to her how awesome it probably was in the moment.

it only made her feel worse when the guy approached you again at the end of the game. hadn’t he taken enough of your attention already?

“just leave me alone. if you want to be entertained just go talk to that guy again anyway. let him stare down your shirt for all i care.” paige throws her shirt into a corner of your room, littering her sweaty garments around your room.

“is that was this is about? a guy?”

she rolls her eyes, flopping onto your shared bed. she scrolls through her phone to avoid your gaze because she doesn’t want to say something she regrets. her legs are spread, creating space that in any usual situation you’d gravitate towards.

you stupidly decided to tease paige after finding out the true root of her anger. half-naked, you crawl towards her legs on the bed and seat yourself right on her lap. your hand pushes her phone away for her undivided attention.

you were probably going to regret this later.

“you know what we were talking about?”

she knows she shouldn’t give in just by the look in your eyes, but she does anyway. she’s a sucker for you.

“well he kept asking if i wanted to leave with him. i told him i had a girlfriend but he wouldn’t take no for an answer,” you lean closer, lowering your voice, “you know what he told me paige?”

“what?” she’s near breathless, anger still lingering because this guy seems like a douche.

“he told me he’d fuck me so good if i left with him. said he’d fuck me better than you ever could.”

“fuck off. don’t fucking piss me off.”

“he was cute. maybe-”

“paige!”

she’s rutting into you relentlessly, the same way she has been for the past hour. you’ve been squeezing around her strap like a vice the entire time from one position to the next.

after you teased paige earlier all she saw was red. she knew it wasn’t true, but the fact that you even uttered the words had some insane affect on her. she instantly had you on your back, purple strap heavy between your thighs. ever since then she’d been thrusting into you, never stopping or letting up unless she was finding a new angle.

she’d effortlessly coaxed you through three orgasms already and you were definitely feeling the effects. your thighs shook as she held them flush to her body, eyes glued to your face that was twisted together with pleasure.

you were so fucked out you hardly realized your girlfriend’s hand trailed down to the heat between your legs. her thumb rubbed sloppily against your throbbing clit, your eyes shooting open with a pornographic moan. the feeling was overwhelming and made your body shake even worse because, how many times had she done this?

“oh fuck- paige i can’t..”

“yeah you can baby. want you to cum for me.”

your orgasm feels different this time, sensitivity heightened and you can’t control it. she’s so deep and she’s filling you so good, thrusting hard and with so much purpose.

“bet that guy couldn’t make you feel this way huh?”

you’re nodding at her words because she’s right. no one has ever or could ever make you feel better than she does. she knows it.

paige continues stimulating your already over-sensitive bud, pressing harder and faster to match the pace of her hips. you moan out a high-pitched screech and mumble incoherently as your back arches off the bed so much paige has to push you back down. the pressure on your stomach sends you over the edge, sheets tight in your grasp as you finish.

she soothes your sides by running her hands up and down your body, slowing her thrusts but never stopping. you’re attempting to push your body up the bed but her grasp on you is firm and bruising.

“one more baby.” you’re still delirious from the last orgasm and she’s already speeding up her pace.

fuck her and her cardio.

you finally let go of the sheets, reaching out to push at your girlfriend’s abs. “paige please, i can’t. s’too much p.”

she’s immediately pulling your hands away, pushing them above your head as she leans over to whisper in your ear, “you can take it.”

she’s offended that you even suggested you couldn’t. her large hands find your hips again, pulling your body further down the bed and onto her silicone dick. your mouth fell open with a moan and you didn’t know if it was from the feeling of her splitting you in half or her persistence. probably both.

“tryna push me away,” she groans, “don’t be stupid baby.”

she pulls your legs over her shoulders with urgency as she snaps her hips against your own. the burn is finally catching up with her but she doesn’t even care because all she can focus on is you and the way you’re moaning her name.

you gush around her, cum dripping and soaking your sheets. the shake of your body vibrates against paige and encourages her to thrust impossibly faster, a whine escaping past your lips. she’s too good.

the all-too-familiar feeling forms deep in your abdomen again. you shift your hips, chasing your release as your hips angle down. paige’s last thrust makes you cry out, the bubble of anticipation for your orgasm popping. even paige moans as she stills because she swears she can feel you throbbing around her.

a sigh escapes you when paige pulls out. you feel incredibly empty after being filled for so long, a quiet whimper sounding through the room at the new feeling.

paige slips the strap off quickly. once she does, she resumes her previous position between your legs. she’s being gentle as her hands glide over your skin to massage the ache away. it’s a large contrast to her harsh thrusts only minutes ago.

“you did so good, ready to go again?”

“again?” you’re in disbelief as her legs slot with your own, leaning back ever-so-slightly so her pussy meshes with your own. the feeling makes your legs twitch and you’re already moaning at the barely-there friction.

“you didn’t think that was it, did you?”

₊⊹༉‧₊˚.˚ · .ׂׂૢ·˚ ༘

i hope i did this request justice!!

actually partially spell-checked this time 🤗

[visionsofmagic]

❝screaming another man’s name while being fucked by him❞

including: zoro, luffy, sanji, shanks [opla versions]

―❛ nsfw, brat!reader, f!reader, possessive behaviour, chocking (kinda), licking, different positions, daddy kink, swearing, pet names, spanking, angry sex, humiliation, begging, fingering, oral > f receiving, marking, claiming, mentions of voyeurism, hair, ‘is all  I suppose. ✸ wc: 2.3k ✸ posted only zoro’s version but didn’t appear on tags, so, I repost that part with others’ parts too. tried to stay in characters. enjoy!

⭑ ZORO

“oohhh - sanji!”

you moaned, not aware of your own moans until he asked, voice deep, sending radiations of danger.

“what did you just say?”

hands on your waist freezing, the pressure still on there yet it doesn’t continue pulling and pushing your body, stopping fucking you - the sudden silence in the room fills up with heavy breathing.

he holds you by the neck, raising your body up, he makes your back touch his bare chest, back arching - his cock twists inside your walls.

“I asked,” he says, warm breaths hitting your ear as his voice reaches every part of your body as if it's a poison - and he is the only cure for it. “what did you fucking say.”

it wasn’t intentional - you didn’t mean to moan another man’s name in the middle of fucking, but, it came as an instinct.

“z-zoro - I - didn’t mean to - aggh -!”

“didn’t mean to what? moaning another man’s name?” he chuckled, far away from entertaining, just pure annoyance. “moaning sanji’s name while my dick inside you, breakin’ you into half, hm?”

you can’t answer, you can’t even comprehend what to do because you don’t understand why you moaned sanji’s name. however, zoro knows you more than you do, and owns every knowledge about the hidden meanings behind your actions, words, and looks - he isn’t dumb, he knows how you close your thigh around sanji whenever he cooks, watching him from the corner of your eyes as you bite your lips without even noticing it.

it is not that zoro doesn’t get jealous, he does and he will prove it right away yet he wants to satisfy you in every way he can - he can see the truth behind the whole thing; you want the full attention that you try to make him angry with all these acts, and you have no idea that you’re doing all that only for him - for zoro so that he can get possessed around you.

he’s a pleaser though, for you, and he will plan your little game, giving what you want.

“maybe I should call him,” he says, and whimpers when your pussy clenches around his length on its own - pure instinct, pure satisfaction. he smirks, pride runs in his veins, he really knows you - each hit point, each desire, everything. he leaves your body, bending it over again, ass getting higher.

he begins to fuck you so slow that you swear you will lose your mind anytime soon as his cock goes out of your horny clit until his tip touches your folds, only to shove it in again with a hard yet effective thrust.

weren’t his hands holding you by the hips, you would hit the wall in front of your face - moaning louder than before, afraid that the crew will hear you as you get fucked by furious zoro.

“ohh, I definitely should call him. wanna make him watch your pretty face as I fuck your hungry pussy for my cock,” he says, thrusting faster each passing time, making your hands grip the sleeves under you. “would you like that?” he asks, balls hitting every right spot of your ass cheeks, thrust begins to mixture of both pain and pleasure.

“ohhh - zoro - zoro -!”

“that’s right baby. roronoa zoro,” he kneels down, abdomen touching your back, dick reaches the end of your pussy, a hand grips your hair, pulling it harshly, “scream my fucking name louder, wanna hear it, wanna everyone hear it as well.”

“‘m sorry, zoro, ‘m so sorry -“

“oh please,” he mocks you, leaving your hair, only to hold you by the neck this time, pushing you onto the mattress lower, cries rush onto your face. soaking, you moan his name over and over again. “you’re not sorry at all. you’re just a slut, aren’t you?” his fingers play with your ass hole, sending a new sense of satisfaction into your body, “a slut only for my cock though,” he whispers into himself, slapping your ass, earning a scream out of your pretty parted lips.

then, he turns you around, and the cock swifts inside you - standing above you, he puts one of his hands beside your head, and the other one grips your neck completely, making you look up to his face - he finds the pace that he knows that will make you see starts.

eyes sparkling with lust as you look at him, half-closed, blurry already, dry tears on the cheeks, chest raising up and down rapidly while his cock fucks your abused clit harder, and deeper. “yes my slut,” he says, possessiveness can be heard through his voice, “look at who’s fucking you right now. not luffy, not that shitty waiter sanji either. just roronoa zoro. who’s fucking you? whose pussy is this? say it.”

“roro - ohhhh, shit - roronoa z-zoro!”

he nods with such pride that he smirks, still furious, but enjoying this so much that he decides to fuck you in every position he can until the whole crew knows you’re getting fucked by him in his damn room, crying only his name. “that’s it my pretty slut, you will never forget it. from now on, I will dig it into your dizzy head so that your legs will open on their own whenever you see me.”

“please, yes, yes, zoro!” going all mindless, you let him do what he wants - after all, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?

“pretty slut. gotta make you know who you belong to.”

⭑ LUFFY

“fuuuck - usopp!” the words - the moan comes out of you without your control, making his head higher up.

“huh? say somethin’ baby?” he asks, not stopping eating you from the back, fingers joined, brows raised, curiously looking at you.

“‘m so sorry, luffy - I - I wasn’t thinking straight- I - ohhh!” you try to say but your words are cut by his fingers scissoring inside you.

“oh,” he says, sounding not surprised but excited, chuckling even as he adds, “I didn’t hear it wrong then. you really moaned his name - while my tongue is deep inside you, fingering this beautiful pussy that I thought clenching because of how good I am fucking you.”

between your loud whimpers mixing with moans, you begin to say how sorry you are. you weren’t aware of it until the moment usopp’s name left your mouth. you knew it was luffy who was making you week on the knees, who’s have your legs wrapped around his bare shoulders, your pussy wide open, hands on his curly hair as you pull them whenever his tongue and fingers reach your g-spot - only he can fuck you like this, you know it! but why you moaned usopp’s name, why you pictured him in your mind beside luffy are the questions you have no answers to.

“I don’t know what happened to me - ohhh - luffy, ‘m so sorry - fuuck!”

both moaning with pleasure and crying with pure guilt, you try to hide your face from luffy, a hand positioned on your half of the face, not looking at him, afraid that you made him upset and disappointed yet luffy is there to prove you wrong when he leaves your pussy, gets up, holding you by the chin as he lowers down, making both of you hit the bed underneath you.

hovering over you, he makes you see his smiling face, lips shining because of your soaking, eyes sparkling.

“oh, pretty baby, look at me,” he says, caressing your chin, “I am not mad. not at all. if you want to bring another man into the bed -“

“no, no - I don’t - I really don’t!” you protest, so shy at the thought. you only want luffy, you know that, and you want to apologize to him for being such a greedy girl, “you’re my one and only luffy. I only want you.”

he chuckles softly, shaking his head, fingers finally finding your aching pussy again, playing with it as he says, “‘s okay. if I am the only one you want, then, let me fuck you that your whole body remember I am the one and only for it.”

he keeps his promises, fucking you until the only thing you have on your mind is him - nothing more, nothing less.

yet he doesn’t leave you without teasing you, giving you wet kisses, markings, and even slaps from here to there - enjoying seeing you all shy yet greedy for him.

⭑ SANJI

“oh yes, yes, yes, right there - so good so good - please more, zoro, please!”

“hm? what?” he asks in a surprised tone, hands stopping playing with your breasts, tongue staying on the hardened nipple without moving, eyes looking up to your confused face from where he stays on - your exposed chest.

he smirks, a bit of jealousy and entertainment at the same time, realizing you have no clue about what you said a second ago, legs push him closer - wanting his cock deep inside your warm walls to start moving again because you can’t understand why he has stopped fucking you.

“oh my beautiful madam,” he teases, “can’t even realize he moaned another man’s name while having my cock warm inside her pussy!”

your eyes widen after you comprehend the words he’s saying.

you swear lowly, hands touch his well-built chest, heat rushing all over your face, and you begin to feel guilt blooming inside your abdomen which has twisted.

“sanji - I am so sorry, I didn’t- I wasn’t -“ he cuts you off, right hand finds your neck as long fingers caress your face.

his face so close to yours as he chuckles, “oh, did my pretty lady remember who’s fucking her? not zoro, eh?”

he can’t decide whether he should feel humiliated or amused. yet he doesn’t go hard on you, moving his hips, he earns low moans from you - hands trembling on his chest, the dilemma rises up inside the mind, thoughts about zoro shuts down by sanji, he shoves his dick into you slowly and in one go as if he’s trying to remind you that you’re under him - not zoro’s or any other man’s.

“please, sanji - faster, please!” your please now is filled with his name comes as prays into his ears, the pride increases, giving sanji a chance to play with your cute little mind.

“that’s right baby, sanji - say that again.” his movements become faster, harder.

“sanji, sanji, sanji - aggh, so good -“ with the help of the last decent you have, you moan his name louder and louder, wanna make him prove that you’re mind full of him, giving him the apology he deserves in a way he would like to get; being so noisy that everyone will acknowledge what you’re doing behind the doors.

“would make a mess out of you. you will leave this room barely walking because of me,” his possession is perceivable, burning you alive with the desire for more. hands grip your inner thighs, opening them wider, a painful breath leaves your lungs as you shut your eyes, giving sanji what he wants; devouring you to tame you.

“pretty lady needs a lesson, and I am here to give it.”

⭑ SHANKS

he doesn’t say much, chuckling or laughing would suit him better but he knows you should have known that no one can fuck you like he does when another’s man comes from you - moaning with it instead of saying shank’s name.

holding you from the waist, he takes control of you, not letting you ride him no more, sweats flow from your body into his.

the moment you hear his voice, memories of the past seconds rush to your mind, and you find yourself putting your hands on his shoulders, afraid that he will push you.

contrary to what you expect, shanks moves your hips slowly, forth, and back - his balls feel heavy under you, hair on his lower abdomen makes the pleasure double.

you hold your tears; blurry vision, soaking clit, reddened face, agape mouth - pathetic yet beautiful, he thinks. “daddy’s cock isn’t enough for you, hm, is this the case why you moan another man’s name like that even when you’re,” he takes your chin, making you look down, seeing the mess you’re creating, “cumming onto my cock?”

“it’s not it, shanks!” earn a spank on your ass.

“then what is it princess?” he asks, brows raised, fingers traveling on your body, “am I not fucking you good that you fantasize about another man while bouncing on my lap?”

he lets you say countless sorry words, cries inside his arms, explaining how you didn’t mean to do that, how he’s the only one for you yet he doesn’t seem satisfied, taking a deep breath, raising your body then lowering it down - cock thrusting deep and hard.

throwing your head, you begin to beg for him to forgive you, to fuck you.

“in that case,” he says, putting himself a glass of wine from the small table beside you while still sitting on his favorite chair that he fucks you onto. leaning back, he moves his hand in the air, “fuck yourself on my cock, show me how much you can beg for my cock, then, I will forgive you and fuck your greedy pussy princess,”

he watches you going blank for a moment before beginning to bounce on him, moaning from the throat, hands traveling around your body to make a show only for his eyes.

he whimpers lowly, a smirk lightening his attractive face, eyes burning in fire, “give daddy a show. and when you’re done, I will call for him and make him watch as I fuck you good.”

❤💙

taglist • tagging: @snowprincesa1 ❦

[nereidprinc3ss]

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you. 

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better. 

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either. 

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.  

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.  

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring. 

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there. 

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?” 

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows. 

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?” 

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.” 

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside. 

“Nice, nice. What else?” 

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.” 

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening. 

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.” 

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself. 

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.” 

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.” 

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.” 

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice. 

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.” 

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better. 

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.” 

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry. 

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.” 

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless. 

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.” 

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart. 

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.” 

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again. 

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle. 

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life. 

“Then I’m on my way.” 

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.  

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime. 

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.  

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?” 

You shake your head and gasp a small sob. 

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders. 

His hand smooths over the back of your hair. 

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.  

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear. 

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.” 

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight. 

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?” 

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.” 

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.” 

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea. 

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave. 

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.  

At least, until he goes home. 

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up. 

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.  

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you. 

“That among other things.” 

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?” 

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does. 

“Okay.” 

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.  

“Thanks,” you murmur.  

His lips pull into a melancholy smile. 

“Anytime.” 

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.  

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close. 

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist. 

“I can’t do that, honey.” 

“Why not?” 

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently. 

“Because we’re not together anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is. 

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down. 

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.” 

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.” 

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke. 

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.” 

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again. 

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.” 

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales. 

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.” 

When he kisses you, it feels like home. 

[hoshifighting]

oiiiii

hey, 👋 a big fan of your parents work (which is you)

and also a great fan of your works too!!

you're so sassy and lovely, a real role model btw.

I got a good fic idea and you are the only one I think can do proper justice to it.

rough sex from a nonsensical fight between the reader and seungcheol. the man ends up taking her from behind on the couch, but ends up having the reader's back to his chest, one hand down the other holding her throat kinda, and he accidentally says something so dumb, they both stop and start laughing. same position everything, they just are laughing and that sex turns to soft one. yeahh sorry about that.

😭

sex after a fight with seungcheol

WARNINGS: smut, silly fight, choking, dirty talk, mentions of body fluids (cum), clit stimulation, afab reader, seungcheol saying smth cringey bc hehehe a/n: def telling them about this compliment HASHAHAUHAUHA, and thank you sm 😭😭 on my sassy era I think? heehheeh

“why the fuck are you so bossy, cheol?” your voice cuts through the living room, breathless, already hoarse from the way he’s been handling you like a doll for some time already.he doesn’t answer—he’s too busy burying himself inside your drenched cunt from behind, his hand splayed across the small of your back, pushing you into the couch cushions like you’re meant to stay there forever. the smack of his hips against you echoes in the room, like he’s trying to fuck his frustration right into you.

“you’re the one who—fuck—” you gasp, fingers clawing at the couch. “—started this. you put the stupid picture on the wrong wall.”he lets out a low, guttural laugh, breathless and mocking, like you’re the one being ridiculous. “wrong wall?” his voice trickles with sarcasm, like you’re talking about world peace instead of home decor. “it’s my fucking apartment too.” “it’s not just yours—”he pulls you up without warning, your back flush against his chest, his arm wrapping tight around your waist to keep you steady. “you really wanna fight about this now?” your head tilts back on his shoulder, and his other hand comes up to your throat, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. his fingers don’t tighten—just rest there, like a warning—like, he still can choke you.

“you’re so fucking stubborn,” he growls, his lips brushing your ear, making your skin prickle. his hips don’t stop, not even for a second. “every damn thing’s a fight with you.”

“maybe if you weren’t such a—shit!—control freak—” your sentence shatters into a moan as his free hand slips between your thighs, fingers working your clit over until you’re gasping, your chest heaving.

“what was that?” he mocks, “didn’t catch that, baby.”

your nails dig into his forearm as you throw your head back. “i said—you’re a—bossy prick—”

his grip tightens just enough on your throat to shut you up.

his hand tightens just the right amount, that perfect sweet spot where your head spins a little, but it’s the way his fingers don’t even falter on your clit that gets you. he feels it—of course he feels it—the way your clit pulses under his fingers at the same time your walls clamp down around him, like your body’s completely giving you away.

cheol’s known you for years. too many nights fucking you, too many fights that ended like this—he knows you too well. knows how you get all sensitive when you’re this close.

so, of course, the fucker pulls out.

“ah-ah, nooo! cheol—what the fuck!?” your voice breaks into this desperate whine, your thighs trembling as you claw at his arm.

he just smirks, like this is a game to him. “shhh,” he hushes, pressing a quick kiss to your shoulder before lifting his hand and landing a sharp slap to your ass.

“cheol—!” you snap, twisting your neck to glare at him, but he’s just laughing. the kind of cocky laugh that makes you want to slap him back—except he looks too fucking good, his flushed face and that messy, sweaty hair making you forget your anger for a second.

“that ass sounds like a drum babe” he chuckles.

you freeze. he freezes.

and then you’re laughing, full-on cracking up, hystericaly “what the fuck did you just say?!”

cheol’s face goes bright red, and he buries it in the curve of your neck, trying to hide. “sorry i—oh my god,” he groans, muffled against your skin, though he’s laughing, too—embarrassed and shaking with it. “just shut up, i don’t know why i said that.”

you’re wheezing at this point, your stomach hurting. “a drum, cheol? seriously?”

he huffs, still trying to hide his face, but his hand sneaks up to squeeze one of your tits, like it’s his way of punishing you for laughing too hard, trying to distract you while rolling your nipple with his thumb. you break a moan, but cant stop laughing.

“quit it,” he mutters. “you’re gonna kill the mood.”

“the mood’s dead, babe,” you gasp, wiping at your eyes as you keep giggling. “you killed it. murdered it.”

“shut uuuup!” he whines, but he’s still laughing, his body shaking against yours.

somehow—somehow—he slides back inside you, still chuckling, the both of you grinning like idiots. every time he thrusts, the moans stutters for a second because one of you bursts into another fit of laughter.

“okay, okay, seriously—stop laughing,” cheol says, exasperated, amused as you’re still choking on giggles. his hand smacks your thigh this time, not too hard. but it only makes you laugh harder, your whole body shaking against his.

“i can’t!” you gasp, turning your head to catch his flushed face out of the corner of your eye. “you called my ass a drum, cheol. you banged your way into that one.”

he groans like he’s suffering, but his smirk gives him away. “you’re gonna regret that.”

you scoff, not buying it. “what are you gonna do? write a—fuck!”

you barely get the word out before his arms snake around you, pulling you flush against his chest like you’re a doll he can just position however he wants. his lips brush your ear, and his voice drops into that low, syrupy tone that’s made you weak since day one. “told you I know how to shut you up.”

his hand dips between your legs again, fingers finding your clit like it’s second nature, you forget how to breathe for a second. the other hand stays firm on your chest and arms, holding you pressed tight against him so there’s nowhere for you to go. his hips move deep so you feel his wet tip hitting your cervix, he makes you feel every inch of him.

“oh my god,” you whimper, your head falling back onto his shoulder.

“there she is,” he murmurs. “what happened to all that laughing, huh? gone now?” you try to bite back a moan, but it comes out anyway, and he chuckles, smug as hell. “yeah, that’s what I thought.”

you lean your cheek against his, feeling the scratch of his little facial hair. “cheol—ngh.. baby!”

“mm?” his voice is too relaxed, like he’s not busy fucking you into next week. “what’s up, baby?”

“don’t—don’t stop, gonna cum.” you gasp.

“wasn’t planning on it,” he says, and you can feel the smirk pressed against your jaw. his fingers move faster, matching the pace of his hips, and you’re melting, just like he knew you would. “but... say it hm..” he says, . his fingers press harder against your clit, and your body jolts at the same timr. “say you’re mine, baby. let me hear it.”

“i’m yours,” you breathe, and the way his breath hitches makes your chest tighten.

“that’s right,” he mutters, his lips finding your jaw, kissing along the line of it, like he can’t get close enough. “mine. all fucking mine.”

you twist in his arms, turning just enough to catch his lips with yours, and the kiss is messy, desperate, tongue and need. his rhythm falters for a second, but then he’s right back at it, fucking into you so deep it’s all you can think about, his hand still working between your legs until you’re right on the edge again.

his name spills out of you, you crash over the edge, your body shaking in his arms. he holds you through it, his own movements growing rougher, until he’s groaning into your neck, his grip on you tightening as he fills your swollen cunt, the slick starting to drip from your folds.

“told you i’d shut you up.” he mumbles, his lips quirking up against your skin.

“shut up, cheol!” you mutter back, but there’s no heat in it. just warmth, just laughter, just him.

[vxnuslogy]

— empty souls do not breathe, they wait.

pairing: kinich x gn!reader

premise: ajaw has always thought that after kinich's death, all will eventually bow to him as their new king. what he didn't expect was to grapple with his host's loneliness and find the reason why he sought your presence during nights that grow too cold.

— warnings: slight angst if you squint

— author's note: ajaw holds a very special place in my heart so deserves to be the main character of this fic. and after almost 24 hours of having no electricity, it'll finally leave the basement. this is heavily inspired by this comic on twt so please go give it a read! art credits to @.n249 on twt. | 2.5k words.

— tags: @ryescapades @moineauz @mikashisus @https-sourlimes ; if you'd like to be tagged, please fill out the forms in my pinned!!

there was something wrong with kinich. mavuika’s eyes scanned over the wounds on the poor boy’s body and the blood dripping from his forehead. long gone was his usual bandana and golden rimmed eyes were now tainted with a strange red. 

this man is not kinich.

“so kinich has fallen, too,” her voice sullen, eyes barely able to look at the husk of one of her heroes. though her stance is not tense, it certainly wasn’t relaxed either. “kinich” followed her movements carefully—the way her hands twitched towards her claymore, her eyes he could not read, and the unmistakable tone of her voice. the pyro archon was disappointed.

“i, too, would be disappointed if you didn’t notice, archon.” kinich dipped his head low and let out a bone chilling laugh that scratched his throat the wrong way. blood stained glove came to push his hair back as mavuika stares at the eyes that did not belong to the dendro user of the scions of canopy. 

“it was a shame for that brat to die, but oh well,” a twisted grin tugged at his lips as mavuika’s face remained passive. “it is i! the almighty dragon lord, k’uhul ajaw!”

he takes a deep breath before letting his host’s arms fall to his side. “per our agreement, i will stand in and make kinich the greatest hero for all of natlan to see!”

“and would you be satisfied with that?”

ajaw’s gaze hardened as his lips tugged into a deep frown. the pyro archon’s eyes now held a fervor brighter than any hope this entity of chaos has ever seen. was she still hoping that kinich would miraculously survive?

“are you implying that not even celestia is celebrating my return? their gift is now mi–”

“the gift you claim for yourself does not respond to you,” ajaw flinches back, eyes zeroing into the vision of his person as his fists shook in rage. “dreams will die if their master has fallen. there’s more to the contract between the two of you than you think.”

ajaw sees red. teeth snarling into a disgusting scowl as he readied kinich’s weapon—ignoring the way this too did not answer his call for blood. “are you mocking me, archon?”

much to the dragon’s surprise, the woman laughs. she laughs. at him? he’ll never know because he’s already zipping away from the scene. 

“this is merely a trial, a simple waiting game.” 

“why the hell am i using that servant’s party tricks!” ajaw screams as he lands in the far distance. he’s been using kinich’s grapple hook to come to and fro natlan these days as his mind flies back to this boy’s archon and her infuriating claims. “bwah! forget it, i have other things to deal with like–”

“kinich?”

like you.

the person from kinich’s life that he’s persistently pined over for years on end—ajaw even thinks kinich does it unintentionally, the boy was missing a few screws in the emotional department after all.

ajaw doesn’t answer back. he just blankly stares how your face is drained of its color. the way your fist grips at your chest like you're about to rip your heart out and the shaky–afraid–smile you flash him as you come to sit beside him.

you kept your distance—normally you’d sit so close your fingers would slightly entangle with kinich’s. ajaw observes you from the corner of his eyes before looking at natlan in the distance. back in his pixelated prison form, he could barely see natlan as a whole, just bits and pieces as he focused his energy to disturb and plan kinich’s untimely death.

“what are you doing here?” 

how strange, ajaw didn’t mean to voice that question out in the open. especially with the way you look at him as if your world had crumbled to dust, leaving no trace of your home to pick up. something tugs at ajaw after your blank answer. the great almighty dragon lords do not feel, they wreak havoc, instill control, so why? why was this heart beating in such a melancholic rhythm?

“let’s go,” he says as he slowly comes to a stand, trying to mimic kinich’s attitude and actions towards you to the best of his abilities. you look at him, tears threatening to spill, yet you still smile and take his outstretched arm. ajaw doesn’t voice how you immediately drop his hand when you stand—you always hold kinich like your final lifeline, so why are you letting go?

ajaw understands, he simply won’t accept this fact.

you loved kinich, not ajaw.

you wanted kinich, but you still treated ajaw with the same treatment.

you treat his wounds with care, apologizing whenever he winces and flinches, pressing soft kisses to the calluses of his hands and his forehead. you let him listen to your beating heart that drummed the same melancholic melody and wipe away at the tears he never acknowledges whenever the figure of kinich’s dismantled body haunts him at night. 

you acted as if you loved him and ajaw can’t live with this anymore.

so he runs away—punishes himself into confinement until you won’t be able to follow him. and then he thinks. sitting silently on a patch of grass as the sun slowly fades into another dreadful night. now that he’s left alone to grapple with all the uncontained emotions kinich himself couldn’t answer, ajaw finds himself at a loss.

“hey kinich,” he whispers to the wind, a bare hand filled with scars and scratches—free from the gloves that didn’t fit him—tug at the fabric of his shirt, right above his heart. “have you always been this lonely?”

ajaw hugs his knees, hand grabbing at his hair harshly–this body did not belong to him, he does not deserve your kindness or love. he won’t admit it, but now under the scrutiny or judgment of no one, ajaw comes to finally admit of his stretched jealousy for you and kinich. how come this insolent servant of him had someone who deeply cared about him despite his attitude? someone who was born to accompany him through thick and thin, to infuriate and fret over but still share whatever he or you could share with one another. neither of you left each other, and ajaw wanted that.

will ajaw have to live his life like this? chasing after the shadows of your relationship with kinich until his legs finally gave out? 

“ugh! i hate you kinich!” he screams into the wind as they howl back.

“don’t say that, ajaw,” his world stills and the already chilly breeze turned colder. there you were, under the light of a fading sun with a small smile on your lips. “you’ll hurt kinch’s feelings.”

he scoffs. grip tightening as he buries his head on his arms. “then he can stay dead if he can’t handle some words from me! my servant,” his voice quivers slightly. his breathing shakes and turns shallow as you step towards him. “don’t come near me!”

you take one step, then two, then you’re sprinting to ajaw before he could run away for a second time. you cradle his head to your chest as you let his iron grip bruise your arms and silent tears be soaked in your heart. 

“my kinich would not be offended by me!”

“i know he won’t,” you say in a whisper, hand rubbing circles to his back and ajaw finally comes to understand why kinich always sought you out each night when his past comes to haunt him. you kept his fears at bay with your overwhelming love for him. ajaw wonders if there’s also some love from you reserved for him. 

the following nights, ajaw spends his time in your arms as you tell him stories from your childhood. how kinich had saved you from a safety malfunction when you went bungee jumping, the kinds of flowers you press into your journal, and the many photos from your family in different nations.

“do you not miss them, human?” ajaw asks, another photo from your mother as she stands in front of a quaint flower shop in fontaine. you only smile and tuck away another album under your bed. the sight of ajaw curiously sifting through your photos—from family, friends, and kinich��makes something swell in your chest. it bloats and bloats until you’re sure it can hold all of natlan with ease.

“i do,” you reply, sitting by the edge of your bed and looking at the dates written behind each photo. “but at least they send me things so i know they’re doing well.”

ajaw frowns in contemplation. “will they come home?”

will kinich come home?

you don’t voice out the question that’s floating in ajaw’s mind and just smile. watching the flame from the small lamp on your bedside table flicker, your reflection staring right back at you as you meet ajaw’s gaze. 

“they will, we just wait.” 

ajaw frowns. “waiting means to waste your efforts to hope for a miracle.”

despite his harshness and pessimism, you chuckle. gathering all the stray photos, you put them back neatly in the album. as you make your way to the window to close the window, you turn back to ajaw. “an empty soul does not breathe, it waits. you’re waiting, too, ajaw.”

“i am not waiting for that vermin!” he protests with a huff. you laugh as he falls back on your bed, both hands behind his head as he stares at your bedroom ceilings. a contemplative expression falls on his face as the furrow of his brows from embarrassment finally eases. “is he even still alive?”

you hum as you lay beside him. your eyes gaze at the still blazing vision on his pants and close your eyes. “a person’s vision is their ambition. they die out when it's been fulfilled or when its master passes,” ajaw looks at you with storm clouds in his eyes but you shift in your position and gently close them with your hands. “so long as kinich dreams, he’ll still live. he’s not the type to leave business unfinished.”

tonight ajaw dreams—he hopes that your belief turns out to be true. in the blanket of night he’s grown to be afraid of, he sees you and kinich. but strangely enough, he sees himself in between you two—not as an obstacle, but as a part of your happiness. ajaw finds himself really liking this dream. 

the night kingdom, like its name suggests, is a perpetually cold and dark landscape with only the wayob in front of him casting a faint light. small engravings of his ancient name glows in a light purple as he gazes at his hazy body. surprisingly enough, his bandana still stayed securely on his head. 

“seems like i’m still under the wayob’s protection,” he says to no one in particular as echoes about a flame burning bright eases his worries. “if i’m still here then surely we must have won.”

kinich was about to turn and walk away—to where? he’s not quite sure. as he takes a step after another, the wayob—the original bearer of his ancient name—speaks to him in a voice he can only describe as all knowing; omniscient like his archon.

“you seem troubled, “malipo” kinich,” it said and this makes kinich stop in his tracks. “do you not trust your little companion to bring you victory?”

kinich doesn’t answer immediately. he takes his time to weigh out the answers he could reply with. “trust is a strong word. we’re only bound by a contract after all. i’m simply weighing the chances of my gamble.”

the wayob chuckles, deep and fatherly. kinich felt his shoulders start to relax a little more as the wayob continued to speak to him. “bearers of the “malipo” name are often accompanied by saurian companions through thick and thin. some, if not all, of them had an unbreakable bond between them.”

“so i’ve heard,” kinich says, arms crossing over his chest as he questions, “but a lot of people have questioned your judgment because of it.”

kinich hears a chuckle again as he hears something akin to glass breaking in the distance. 

“i’m well aware, “malipo” kinich. which is why i’m glad,” when kinich looks up to the dark sky, hundreds of shattered fragments rain down on him but he doesn’t shield himself. he feels his heart beat a little faster when he catches sight of his body—lacking his bandana and gloves—land a few feet away from him.

“my judgment was proven right, once again.”

“wait–” but the wayob had lost its glow. kinich doesn’t get the chance to dwell on it further as his own body possessed by a small dragon is grabbing him by the shoulders and screaming at his face.

“consider yourself lucky that i see some value in you “malipo” kinich!” the dragon shouts as he raises his hand, the same hand he always uses to summon ajaw’s power before being blinded by a green glow. “consider this an investment! so you better bring in some profit or i’m taking your beloved as hostage!”

a persistent series of knocks on your front door rudely awakens you from your slumber. grumpily leaving your bed, you try to rub the sleep out of your eyes as you prepare yourself to berate whoever is at your door at this ungodly hour.

“what is it—”

“you win this time, human!” a small dragon screams at you. you blink a few times as you hold out both your hands for ajaw to land on as he huffs and obliges. “i’ve fulfilled my end of the deal, so you better keep yours!”

“please don’t tell me you actually made a deal with him…” when you look up, you feel tears threaten to spill from your eyes again. kinich stands there, a sheepish hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you in distress. you let ajaw go and let your hands drift to kinich’s face, dragging them under his eyes and tracing over his lips as a ghost of a smile starts to form.

you chuckle in disbelief. “yeah, maybe i have.”

“i hope you know the consequences of your decision,” you sneak a peek at ajaw who has his little pixel arms crossed over his chest. you turn back to kinich, a smile on your lips as you tug him inside your not so empty home. “you’ll just have to wait and see.”

ajaw quietly watches as you make kinich some food, a homely ambience blankets the house as you and kinich catch up. he’ll never openly admit it, but he’s glad you agreed to his deal. he feels kinich’s eyes follow him like a hawk as he sits himself down on your shoulder. you offer him a spoon of food but he only huffs in decline. 

you’re waiting has paid off, though ajaw will never verbally admit. the other half of both your souls has come home and your statement was proven right: ajaw’s soul—as well as yours—will always wait for kinich to come home.

and kinich smiles, because like ajaw, he’ll never verbally admit how he’s been waiting for him to save him from the night kingdom all this time.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[bellbery]

— [P1] The Heart That Remained (Vander x f!Reader)

Summary: A monster, once a beloved protector, now haunts the tunnels of Zaun. The creature is revealed to be Vander, twisted by pain and rage, leaving his daughters Vi and Jinx to grapple with the truth. As a battle unfolds, past memories and present dangers clash, forcing a choice between saving Vander’s humanity or ending his torment. Love, guilt, and hope intertwine in this intense, emotional confrontation.

Word Count: 5.2k (im a jerk for angst)

Content/Warning: Angst to Fluff, less mention y/n until the ending, a bit bloody?, AND VERY ANGSTY

🖋️ Author’s Note: AS I PROMISED I WOULD MAKE A ANGSTY FIC ABOUT VANDER, and i promise you its worth the while i did my best to put into detail of the character’s personality and the places. It took me 3 days and i’m very happy how it turned out! Before yall read this maybe someone you haven’t watched S2, there will be spoilers obv— and i recommend yall listen to Dead Island Trailer Theme song while reading this cause personally it juST MATCHED THE SCENE IT- i hope yall enjoy my writing this is my 2nd fic! Please comment your feedback and simply support me by like and reblogs! Thank you very much yall!<3

After the chaos of the Piltover Council meeting, guilt gnawed at you like a relentless, suffocating force. Deep down, you knew Jinx—Vander’s daughter—was the cause of the devastation that had torn through the heart of the city. You couldn’t escape the weight of the promises you’d made long ago: to protect Vi and Powder when they were still just children. Those vows now felt like shattered glass, each piece embedded in your soul. You had failed them. And now, hidden behind the mask of an investigator, you carried your shame like a cloak. It was the only armor that allowed you to survive, to push down the searing ache that never seemed to go away. Months passed, and you thought you had found your rhythm in the cold, distant monotony of your work. Then Ambessa hired you. The aftermath of the beast’s rampage in the prison—the blood, the carnage—shattered that fragile peace. It was the most grotesque thing you’d ever seen. The nightmare still burned in your memory, its horrors etched into your mind like permanent scars. The beast, its monstrous presence a cruel reminder of the violence lurking in every shadow, had torn through the fragile walls of your life, dredging up the dangerous ties to the past you couldn’t outrun.

“How could this beast come out of nowhere?” You whispered, the question hanging in the air like a death sentence. Ambessa’s gaze locked onto you, icy and unyielding. The weight of her authority pressed down on you, suffocating. She leaned forward, her voice low, controlled—laced with quiet menace. “You’re asking the wrong question,” she said, her words like a blade. “It doesn’t matter how it got here. What matters is that it’s here now. And we don’t have the luxury of waiting for answers. We deal with it. We don’t waste time wondering why or how—it’s already cost us too much.” She paused, her eyes narrowing, a flicker of impatience cutting through her otherwise steady demeanor. “If you want to stay in this game, you’ll find out who—or what—created this monster. And you’ll do it fast. Before it costs us more.” You nod, the weight of Ambessa’s words settling heavily in your chest. Without a second thought, you move past the cells, your gaze flicking over them with practiced detachment. You push down the swirling thoughts threatening to overwhelm you, focusing on the task at hand. But as you walk, something pulls your attention—a cell, its door locked with an unnerving sense of finality. Something about it doesn’t sit right, a tension building in your gut.

Before you can step closer to investigate, the soft, rhythmic chime of the elevator cuts through the silence. The doors slide open, and out steps Commander Caitlyn Kiramman, her posture rigid, her face set in the same steely expression you’ve come to recognize. She doesn’t glance at you immediately, but when she does, her eyes flicker with a mixture of curiosity and caution. “Commander,” you murmur, your voice steady but carrying the weight of the unspoken. You can’t help but wonder if she’s here to speak of the very thing that’s been gnawing at your thoughts—the beast, the violence, the past that refuses to stay buried. “How is your investigation?” Caitlyn’s voice was steady, her usual sternness masking the exhaustion you knew she carried. Her sharp blue eyes flicked over you, searching for any hint of progress. You hesitated, your gaze drifting back to the closed cell. “It’s… ongoing,” you replied, the words clipped, as your unease bubbled beneath the surface. She followed your line of sight, noticing your fixation. Without waiting for an invitation, Caitlyn strode past you, her footsteps purposeful, echoing in the silence as she approached the cell. “What is it about this one?” she asked, her tone even, though her curiosity was evident. You didn’t answer immediately, the heaviness in your chest growing. “It’s locked,” you said finally, the words feeling too small for the weight of your unease. “But it’s too quiet. Too… deliberate.” Caitlyn reached out, resting her hand lightly on the cold metal bars. “Let’s open it,” she said decisively, her command leaving no room for argument. The tension in her voice betrayed her own unease, though her face remained calm and unreadable.

As the cell door creaked open, the air grew heavy with an acrid, chemical tang. There, sitting upright in the dim light, was a figure that made your breath hitch—Dr. Reveck. His sunken, hollow eyes locked onto yours, recognition flashing briefly across his face. Then came the cold, calculating glare of someone who had already weighed and dismissed your worth. “You’re persistent,” he murmured, his voice low and rasping, as though it hadn’t been used in days. “But persistence doesn’t make you immune to mistakes.” His lips twitched, a ghost of a smile that never reached his eyes. “What are you here for? To make another mistake?” Before you could respond, Caitlyn’s sharp footsteps echoed through the corridor, her tone cutting the tension. “Dr. Reveck,” she began, her words laced with authority, “you’re going to answer for what you’ve done. Whatever experiments you’ve been running—whatever monsters you’ve unleashed—it ends now.” Reveck’s expression didn’t waver, though his gaze shifted to Caitlyn with a disconcerting calm. “Answers,” he said, almost mockingly. “The only people who demand them are those too weak to seek the truth themselves.” The sudden clang of metal doors opening at the end of the hall signaled Ambessa’s arrival. Her towering figure filled the space, the weight of her presence silencing any retort Caitlyn might have had. Her eyes swept the scene before resting on Reveck. “This is the man responsible?” she asked, her voice an authoritative rumble. Reveck tilted his head slightly, observing Ambessa with a detached curiosity. “And you are?” he asked, his tone clinical, as though dissecting her existence. Ambessa took a step closer, her imposing frame making the cramped cell feel even smaller. “I’m the one deciding whether you’re worth keeping alive,” she said, her voice unwavering. “And right now, you’re not making a good case.”

The tension in the room was palpable, your pulse pounding in your ears as you stood frozen, caught between these forces of will. Caitlyn glanced at you, her expression tight, as if silently willing you to act or speak. Dr. Reveck finally turned back to you, his gaze sharper now, as though seeing past your mask of authority to the pain you’d been carrying. “Tell me,” he said softly, almost conversationally, “are you here to find answers, or are you just running from your own failures?” Before you could answer Dr. Reveck’s cutting remark, the sharp clink of handcuffs broke the silence. Caitlyn had stepped forward, her features stern as she clasped the restraints over Reveck’s thin wrists. “You’ll answer for your crimes,” she said coldly. “But your cooperation might still buy you a sliver of mercy.” Reveck barely flinched, his pale eyes darting between Caitlyn and Ambessa as if calculating the odds of survival. He let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Mercy,” he echoed, his voice dripping with disdain. “A curious word coming from Piltover’s enforcers. Tell me, Commander Kiramman—how does mercy reconcile with the blood already on your hands?” Caitlyn’s jaw tightened, but before she could reply, Ambessa’s voice rumbled from behind her. “Enough.” Her tone brooked no argument as she stepped into the cell, her towering figure filling the cramped space. “Your investigation isn’t finished here,” she said, her eyes locking onto yours with a commanding weight. “You’ve uncovered the man, but not the monster.”

Reveck’s lips curled faintly, a reaction as subtle as it was unsettling. “The beast,” he murmured, as though savoring the word. “You think you’re hunting it, but it’s already closer than you realize. Closer than any of you would dare admit.” Ambessa ignored him, her gaze still fixed on you. “Find it,” she said firmly. “Before this trail goes cold and more lives are lost.”

Reveck’s smile widened slightly, his voice taking on a cryptic edge. “And when you find it,” he said, his tone almost taunting, “you might not like what you uncover.” The weight of his words hung heavy in the air as you exchanged a brief, tense glance with Caitlyn. Without another word, Ambessa turned and walked toward the cell door, her presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. Caitlyn followed, her hand lingering on her holstered weapon as if still on edge. You stayed behind for a moment longer, your gaze locked with Reveck’s, searching for something in his unflinching expression—a hint of truth, or maybe just an answer you weren’t ready to face.

You stepped out of the cell, the cold air biting against your skin. The echo of Ambessa’s commanding words and Reveck’s cryptic warnings swirled in your head, mixing with Caitlyn’s sharp presence. Every step away from the cell felt heavier, the pressure of what you’d just witnessed settling into the pit of your stomach. Reveck’s words wouldn’t leave you. “You think you’re hunting it, but it’s already closer than you realize.” They repeated in your mind like a haunting refrain, twisting your thoughts into knots. What did he mean? And why did it feel like there was more truth in his taunts than anyone cared to admit? The sterile prison corridor seemed darker now, its shadows crawling up the walls like something alive. A prickle of unease traced up your spine. For a moment, you paused, glancing back at the dim outline of the cell. It felt as though something—or someone—was watching. The air was too quiet, heavy with an unsaid warning. You shook your head and looked down, trying to steady your breaths, but your heart stopped cold. There, lying on the cold, stone floor just ahead of you, was a strand of blue hair. It glimmered faintly in the pale light, its color unmistakable. Powder. Your knees threatened to buckle, but you forced yourself to stay upright. A rush of memories flooded back—her laughter, her wide, curious eyes, the promises you made to her and Vi. And then the explosion, the chaos, and everything that came after. Your breathing quickened as you knelt down and gingerly picked up the strand, its texture soft but alien, almost too delicate for something so steeped in blood and tragedy. How did it get here? And why now?

The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly before you, the walls pressing in tighter. Your pulse thundered in your ears as a hundred questions screamed in your mind, all vying for answers. But one thought rose above them all, clear and sharp as a knife:

She was here.

And if she was here, then what had you missed? What was waiting just beyond the next shadow? You clutched the strand tighter, a knot of fear and determination tightening in your chest. You couldn’t let this go. Not now. Not after everything. With trembling hands and racing thoughts, you turned and walked toward the exit, but every step away from that cell felt like stepping deeper into the unknown.

You pulled your coat tighter around you, the cool night air biting at your skin. Your feet moved again, this time carrying you toward Zaun. If there was even the faintest chance she was there, you had to follow it. Whether you were ready or not, the path ahead was clear. You had to find her. And this time, you couldn’t fail. You had been at it for hours—no, days—piecing together fragments of evidence that felt more like whispers in the dark. Each lead took you deeper into Zaun’s underbelly: a blood trail smeared across cracked pavement, scorch marks that didn’t belong, and the eerie testimonies of those too afraid to say much at all. The closer you got, the more everything started pointing to one place. You’d seen the tunnel marked on old maps of Zaun—a forgotten artery deep within the district, barely mentioned anymore except in hushed tones. Something had happened there, something people were afraid to talk about. Standing at its mouth now, you could feel the weight of the place pressing on you like a physical force. The green chemfog swirled thickly, the heavy air carrying a stench of rust, decay, and something faintly metallic. It was quiet, unnervingly so, the usual hum of Zaun’s machinery conspicuously absent. You stepped forward cautiously, every instinct screaming at you to turn back. But the faintest trace of blood along the ground caught your attention, leading you further in. Whatever had been here—or was still here—wasn’t human. And yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just a hunt for a monster. This was something personal, a shadow from your past reaching out to drag you back. As you stood at the edge of the tunnel, Dr. Reveck’s voice echoed in your mind, his words heavy with warning.

“You think you’re hunting it, but it’s already closer than you realize.”

The memory of his cold, detached tone sent a shiver down your spine. You tried to brush it off, focus on the task at hand. But it wasn’t easy. There was something about the way he’d looked at you, almost pitying, that gnawed at your resolve.

“You might not like what you uncover.”

The blood trail led further into the shadows, growing thicker, fresher. Each step you took seemed to confirm the truth of his cryptic warning. This wasn’t just a trail—it was a trap, a path carved by something that knew you’d follow. Despite yourself, fear clawed at the edges of your mind. You gripped your weapon tightly, the sound of your own breathing loud in the suffocating silence. If Dr. Reveck was right, if it was closer than you realized, then maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t the beast you were hunting anymore. Your heart pounded in your chest as you ventured deeper into the tunnel, every nerve on edge. The oppressive darkness seemed alive, pressing down on you as if the walls themselves wanted to swallow you whole. Then, breaking through the suffocating silence, you heard it—a voice. A familiar cry echoed through the hollow passage, carrying a name you hadn’t heard in years.

“Powder.”

Your breath hitched, and without thinking, your feet carried you toward the sound. The cry was raw, desperate, and unmistakable. It clawed at the memories you’d buried deep—days spent in the smog-filled streets of Zaun, promises whispered in the dead of night. You turned a corner, and there they were. The sight stopped you cold. Vi was locked in a brutal struggle, her movements sharp and relentless as she fought the towering monstrosity before her. Jinx—no, Powder—was nearby, her chaotic energy radiating even in the chaos, her laughter twisted with something between joy and pain. The beast, its hulking form both animal and something far worse, loomed over them. You stood frozen for a moment, unable to reconcile the scene before you. The two sisters you had sworn to protect were here, together again, fighting a nightmare brought to life. This wasn’t just a fight—it was their fight. But as the beast’s roar shook the walls of the tunnel, you knew you couldn’t just stand there. Not this time. You swung your electro-baton again, sending a crack of electricity through the beast’s thick hide. It staggered back, growling low, but you were ready to strike again. Then, a voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like ages cut through the chaos, sharp and frantic.

“Y/N?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned, breath catching. There, standing in front of you with wide, shocked eyes, was Jinx. But it wasn’t just her surprise that caught your attention—it was the frantic energy radiating from her as her gaze flickered between you and the monster. Before you could even process the situation, Vi’s voice rang out, filled with desperation. “Get out of the way!” she yelled, her eyes locking onto the beast just as it made a move in your direction. The words barely registered before you heard the guttural growl of the creature, its monstrous form lunging toward you, faster than you could react. Your instincts kicked in just in time as you dove to the side, pushing Jinx out of the way and out of the path of the beast. In the chaos of the moment, you felt a sharp pang in your chest—Jinx’s face, twisted with a mixture of fear and resolve, flashed in your mind for just a second. She wasn’t ready to lose him again. But the situation was slipping further from control, and you couldn’t afford to wait any longer. Before you could strike, a hand shot out, gripping your arm with surprising strength. You whirled around, heart pounding, only to find Powder standing there. Her eyes were wide, frantic, pleading. “Stop!” she cried, her voice desperate, barely above a whisper. But it was enough to freeze you in place, your pulse hammering in your ears. The world seemed to slow as Powder’s frantic cry echoed in your mind.

“It’s Vander.”

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. The name hung in the air, shattering everything you thought you knew. Your heart pounded against your ribs, memories of Vander flooding your mind—his hands, strong yet tender, holding you close during the darkest times. His laugh, the warmth he exuded when the world around you seemed so cold. He had been your everything. You had loved him with every fiber of your being. But this thing, this beast, it was not the man you had known. This creature, with its bloodshot eyes and twisted form, was not Vander. It couldn’t be. Your hands shook as you tightened your grip on the electro-baton, but it felt wrong—so wrong. The memories of him, so vivid and painful, clashed with the grotesque beast standing before you. You felt sick to your stomach, a wave of guilt crashing over you. You had failed him. Failed to save him. And now, you couldn’t even bring yourself to end the nightmare he had become. Your breath hitched as Powder stepped forward, desperation in her voice. “Please, Y/N, stop. I know it’s him. I can feel him in there. I won’t let you hurt him again.” Her words were a plea, a fragile hope in the storm. But your heart twisted with doubt. You could still hear the screams, the way the beast had ravaged everything in its path. And yet… something in Powder’s eyes, something in her raw desperation, made you falter.

The beast—Vander—lurched forward, its eyes locking onto you with an intensity that nearly paralyzed you. Every memory you had ever shared with him felt like it was being ripped from your chest.“Vander,” you whispered, the word slipping from your lips before you could stop it. The weight of it crushed you. You had spent so many years believing that Vander was lost, that the man you loved was gone. But here he was, in some twisted form, and it was as if everything you had been through had led you to this moment. Powder’s voice trembled as she pleaded once more. “Please, Y/N. Trust me. It’s him. Don’t hurt him. He’s still in there.” The battle inside you was unbearable. Every part of you screamed to fight, to destroy the beast before it could hurt anyone else. But Powder’s face—the vulnerability, the fear—held you in place. Your heart ached for her, for the girl who had once been Powder, the girl who had believed so deeply in the man who had been Vander. And for a long moment, you did nothing. Your body, your mind, were paralyzed by the weight of it all.

You wanted to believe her, wanted to believe that Vander was still there somewhere beneath that monstrous exterior. You swallowed hard, the tears threatening to break free. Slowly, shakily, you lowered the electro-baton, letting it fall to your side. It felt like an eternity, the weight of the decision heavier than any battle you had ever fought. The beast—Vander—let out a low growl, and for a split second, it seemed to hesitate, its glowing eyes softening. And then, before you could process what was happening, it lunged. In a split-second, you shoved Vi out of the way, your body reacting faster than your mind could follow. You felt the beast’s claws rake across your shoulder, pain searing through your skin. The world blurred for a moment, your vision flickering as you stumbled backward, feeling weaker by the second. And then, amidst the chaos, the word tore from your chest.

“Vander…”

The sound of his name was a raw, guttural cry, one that echoed through the tunnels, through your soul. The pain hit you harder than any wound could. Vander, that name, those memories—they tore you apart. You had vowed to protect Vi and Powder, to keep them safe from the horrors of the world, yet here you stood, helpless. The love you had for him, for both of them, never faded. But now? Now you wondered if you'd failed them all. Could you ever undo the damage, or was it too late to save any of them? This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be this. But here he was, and you couldn’t turn away. Not now. Not after everything.

As the beast—the twisted, monstrous form of Vander—pins you to the ground, his massive claw digs into your shoulder, a searing pain that nearly overwhelms you. Your body is trembling, pinned beneath his weight, but you find the strength to cry out. “Vander!” The word escapes your lips like a prayer, a cry full of pain, longing, and grief. For a fleeting moment, the ferocity in his bloodshot eyes falters. There’s a flicker of something, a split-second recognition that makes your heart ache with hope, even as your breath hitches in terror. The claws dig deeper, and for a second, you wonder if it’s all over. The beast’s heavy breaths rattle through your chest, but you can’t stop. This has to be the moment. This has to reach him. With what strength you have left, you lift your free hand and place it gently on his massive claw, the very one that could end your life. You speak the words that have haunted your thoughts, words full of both love and desperate sorrow, knowing they might be the last you ever speak to him.

“It’s me... your sunshine.”

The words hang in the air, fragile and raw, and for a heartbeat, time seems to stop. The beast’s gaze flickers—just for a moment—as if the sound of your voice stirs something deep within him. There’s a trembling hesitation in his claw, as if he’s hearing something buried beneath the rage and the pain, something that reminds him of who he was. In the chaos of your heart, you realize your words are more than a plea. They’re a lifeline thrown into a sea of darkness, hoping that some part of Vander will catch it. For a heartbeat, you feel the world shift, the crushing weight of the beast’s form loosening as something human flickers in the depths of his eyes. His growls soften, his body stills, as if struggling against the flood of memories. Then, as if through a fog, his voice—gravelly, strained, broken—rumbles from the depths of his throat, just a whisper but heavy with a history that neither of you could erase.

“Y/N…?”

The name feels like a weight lifted off your chest, like the first breath after drowning. His voice is there, faint, but real. Vander is still in there. You can feel it—the man you loved, the one who had promised to always protect you, the one who had once held you close during the darkest nights, is right here in front of you. Tears blur your vision, and your body trembles, caught between the raw pain, the disbelief, and a flood of emotions you never thought you’d face again. With a trembling breath, you whisper, “It’s me, Vander… it’s your Y/N…” In that moment, his once ferocious red eyes flicker. A slow shift begins, and your heart seizes in your chest as you see something break through the fog—a glimmer of blue and green cutting through the fire. For a single, fleeting second, you see Vander there, in his eyes. The man you loved. The protector who had once carried you through the worst storms. It’s real. He’s still in there. The grip around you tightens, not with violence, but with a deep, consuming desperation. His body trembles with something far greater than rage—something more human. His chest releases a low, guttural breath, the growl that once shook the air now softened, trembling with the weight of all that he has become, all he’s lost.

He’s no longer the man you remember, not entirely. But he’s not the beast either. No longer fully consumed by it. It’s somewhere in between, and in that space, you cling to him like you’ve never clung to anything before. You feel his hands, so monstrous and terrifying in their size, holding you close— holding you. He pulls you in with a desperation that makes your chest ache, his form trembling as if he’s afraid you might slip away again, as if this might all vanish in an instant. The sheer weight of him, the warmth of his touch, releases everything you’ve buried deep inside—the fear, the questions, the pain, the grief. Every memory of him, of what you lost, surfaces and consumes you. Your sobs come, raw and uncontrollable. The sound fills the air between you, as you let go of everything you’ve carried alone all this time. And in the grip of this agony, in the midst of your sobbing breaths, you feel Vander—the man who once loved you—is still fighting to hold onto you, still fighting to be the protector he once was. His arms, still massive, still deadly, are now filled with tenderness. He doesn’t need to speak, not yet. His embrace says everything. He’s still here, he’s still fighting, and he hasn’t forgotten you. In that moment, you realize that the beast, the rage, the monstrous form—none of it can take away who he was, who he still is to you. Tears blur your vision even more, but you no longer try to stop them. You let them fall freely, because in the midst of the devastation, the pain, and the years you spent wondering if this day would ever come, you know— he’s here. Not just in body, but in soul. And you’ll hold on to him, no matter what form he takes. You’ll fight for him, just as he fought for you.

As Vander’s gaze shifts toward Powder and Vi, his monstrous form trembles slightly, and the flicker of recognition in his eyes softens further. Despite the beast he has become, there's a tenderness in the way he moves, his massive arm opening wide, offering a place for them to find solace in his embrace. The look in their eyes is a mix of agony and hope, the weight of everything they've endured written across their faces. It’s clear they’re torn between fear of what he’s become and the desire to believe that the father they once knew is still inside.

Without a word, you reach out, your voice quiet but full of emotion.

“Go to him. He’s still your father. He’s still here with us.”

The words are simple, but they carry the weight of years of grief, the ache of a lost family and the hope of its fragile restoration. Powder’s eyes fill with tears, and Vi, standing beside her, slowly steps forward. The two of them move together, drawn toward Vander’s open arms, like a long-buried longing finally being met. They collapse into his embrace, and the world around you seems to pause. Vander, in his monstrous form, holds them close, his massive arms gentle yet desperate, as though he’s afraid they might disappear if he holds them too loosely. The pain, the fear, all of it melts away in this moment, replaced by something simple—love. He’s still their father, still the protector who had raised them. Even now, with all the darkness and the destruction surrounding them, Vander is here, alive, and for this moment, whole.

And you stand back, watching them hold each other. The tears in your own eyes sting as you witness the reunion, knowing that, despite everything, the heart of the man you loved is still present. He is their father— your Vander—and for that, you are thankful.

[azsazz]

Sprinkles of Luck & Doubt

Hockey!Azriel x Ice Skater!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Do you think hockey!Azriel would sneak into the girls locker room/showers just to see figure skating reader? 👀

Warnings: Light sexual themes, angst

Word Count: 1752

Other Fics in the Hockey!Az AU: Penance, Shut Out, Out of Order, All's Well That Ends Well, Brr-eakdown Shots & Spins

_________________________________________

“What the—”

Your shriek is abruptly cut off when a palm lies flat across your mouth. Your heart hammers into your chest as you react, hands clamping down on the thick forearm that feels nothing like a woman’s, which is concerning considering you’re standing in the middle of the shower, soaking wet, in the women’s locker room.

“Easy, sweetheart,” a voice you know all too well purrs in your ear. You go lax against the body behind you, shutting your eyes and trying to regain some semblance of a normal heart rate when his hand slips away from your mouth. He plants it on your hip, and his touch alone only sets your heart into a stampede again.

“What are you doing here?” you whisper, mustering up the strength to scold Azriel when you turn to face him instead of sidling right up into his side and giving into every ounce of pleasure that him sneaking into the women’s showers with you brings.

“I needed to say goodbye to you before we leave for Briarwood,” he answers, and the way that he said he needs to say goodbye is not lost on you. It makes your stomach twist and your heart beat happily in your chest, your cunt perking up at the words.

“And that couldn’t have waited until I got out of the shower?”

His hazel eyes peruse your body in a slow trail, drinking you in like you’re his prey. His pupils dilate with arousal, and Azriel shifts on his feet as his cock begins to fill. If he doesn’t stop looking, he’s going to have the worst case of blue balls on the bus, and his teammates might not pick up on why he’s being so stiff since he’s normally a silent, brooding guy before big games, but he knows that Cassian and Rhys will clock him the second he steps foot onto the bus.

“Couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see you in my favorite outfit of yours,” he smirks, trailing the tips of his fingers up your sides. You shiver, near violently, clenching your thighs together when his thumbs brush over your nipples.

Your eyes flutter shut at the sensations zipping up your spine. You lean into Azriel, fingers fisting into his black t-shirt, uncaring that you’re getting his clothes all wet. He doesn’t care either, especially when he bends down into the onslaught of water to capture your lips against his own.

“You’re all wet,” you protest when you finally part, blushing red hot when he winks at you.

“Can’t be as wet as you, sweetheart,” Azriel jokes, but his cock is rock fucking hard. This was a terrible idea, in theory, to sneak into the women’s locker room and even more so to slip into the shower with you when he has only minutes before the bus leaves. But he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t not see you one more time before the tournament this weekend. He needed a kiss from his good luck charm. Needs much more than that, if he’s being honest with himself, but he doesn’t have the time.

“Ha ha,” you laugh drily, flicking water at him. “Just remember that while I’m here under the warm water with it’s perfect pressure,” you tease, fluttering your lashes at him when his eyes grow dark. To frustrate Azriel further, you slide your hands down your body, following the water cascading across your skin, right between your thighs. Azriel follows the movement with a wild look in his eyes that makes you want to back away, make you want him to chase you, touch you until you can’t stand, can’t see straight. The muscles of your legs twitch in agreement. “And you’re sitting on the bus with your hands in your lap, wishing you were between my legs instead of in your hand.”

Azriel growls softly and it goes straight to your core. It takes all your effort to turn away from him and plant yourself fully under the spray, slicking your hair back and shimmying your hips for affect.

“You are so getting punished when I get back, sweetheart.”

“What?” You whirl around, completely unprepared for him to be only inches away. You gasp and lose your footing, but Azriel’s already wrapping an arm around your waist and hauling you into his body. His cock strains against his pants, and the jeans he’s wearing only increase the sensations of his body against yours, rubbing across your sensitive, flushed skin. “You’re the one that started this mess, I should be punishing you!”

His hazel eyes glow at the prospect, a challenge. He dips his chin, his words fanning across your lips as he speaks. “Do you want to punish me, sweetheart?”

No, you want to drop to the tiles and suck him down your throat, no matter how much your knee might protest. You want to see his cock, touch it, taste it, feel it, but you know he won’t let you. Not right now.

It’s going to be a long and lonely weekend without Azriel here. And now that you’ve seen his cock, had the immense pleasure of having it inside of you, you know that the sad vibrator in your bedside table back at the dorms will in no way compare to the man with his arms wrapped around you.

On the other hand, you could see yourself stripping him bare, climbing over his lap and teasing his cock with your soaked cunt in punishment for the teasing. With him gone all weekend, there will be ample time for thinking up ways to tease him until he’s begging for you. You think you’d like to see that, Azriel whimpering and pleading for you to ride his cock. It would be a nice change from you always being the one worked up until there are tears in your eyes.

“Earth to sweetheart,” Azriel’s gruff voice draws you back to the present. You didn’t even realize you were grinding up against him, your breaths sharp and quick until you remember where you are, who you’re with, and what you’re doing.

You blink, feeling your chest flush when you meet Azriel’s gaze. His eyes are heady with lust, mouth set in a firm line because he’s trying to hold back the grunts and groans that threaten to slip form his throat. He doesn’t want to get caught, no matter how much he likes how you’re dry humping him.

Maybe he can sneak you with. Surely, coach won’t notice an extra body on the bus. Of course, that’s a lie. Nothing gets passed him. But maybe Azriel can convince you to drive down, and he can sneak you into his room for a little pre-game good luck romp in his bed. Yes, that might work. If he can get Rhys and Cass to leave him alone in the room for more than thirty minutes.

“Sorry,” you respond softly, trying to pry yourself away from him. You’re embarrassed that you lost yourself in a daydream right in front of Azriel and wanted more, but his hands are gripping you tighter, squeezing you closely to his chest.

“Look at me,” Azriel demands when you refuse to meet his gaze. You’re hot with embarrassment, and the water pouring down your back isn’t helping. Your name is a soft-spoken warning on his tongue, like if you don’t look up, you’ll be the one that’s getting punished instead.

You can get on board with that, but realization strikes as loud as the giggling of girls on the other side of the curtain does. You’re in the women’s locker room with a boy who’s not supposed to be in here, and he’s supposed to be on a bus leaving for the beach town on the coast to defend their undefeated season against the Sparrows.

You peek up at Azriel, melting under his tender gaze. Your heart pounds hard in your chest, so much to the point that it hurts. How he’s so easily able to calm you, to make you feel better with a single glance, probably means that you’re in way too deep with him. You should’ve been more cautious.

“Don’t be sorry,” he continues, his thumb stroking a soothing pattern across your hip. It lights you on fire, that touch, leaves you craving more. Azriel’s grin is crooked. “I like it when you want me.”

“I want you all the time,” you breathe like some panting girl. Why can’t you stop admitting things like this around him? You’re going to scare him off.

His eyes glitter, and at least you can take relief in the fact that he wants you back, might just want you like you want him.

“I want you all of the time too,” he says against your mouth, because he’s barely grasping onto his self-control by a thread. He kissed you like you’re the missing piece of him, and you allow yourself to fall into it too, brushing your tongue against his. Everything goes out the window when he’s with you; schooling, hockey, everything. There’s a twist in his stomach at the thought of that, that he shouldn’t be putting all his eggs in one basket with you, shouldn’t be letting you distract him like this when there’s so much pressure on his shoulders this year…

You feel it in the way his body locks. It’s quick, but it’s there, and the clapping of flip-flops on the wet tile stomping into the shower beside yours is the perfect excuse for him to pull away.

You don’t know why, but the way he avoids your gaze has you shrinking back under the spray and covering your body with your hands. You don’t know what just happened, to make Azriel go from doting and attentive to closed off and dare you say shy within a nanosecond. It couldn’t have been your admission, because he responded just the same.

You don’t get the chance to find out because he’s peering at you from under his thick, dark lashes, offering you a soft, sad smile, and parting with a quiet goodbye that feels more like a breakup than a see you next week.

“I’ll be seeing you, sweetheart…” He trails off, and it feels like a lie, even more so when he slips past the curtain of your shower without a look back.

It’s funny, that you can trick yourself into thinking you’re not crying when your tears mix with the water from the shower head that’s long gone cold.

_________________________________________

Azriel Hockey!AU Tags:

@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks @bloodicka @whyshouldihaveanam3 @elle4404 @cherry-cin @quinzzelx @i-am-infinite @feeriqueivre @blightyblinders @kennedy-brooke @nyxbranwenn @dee-writes-smut @konaanaria13

[omega-e123]

Warning: Suggestive (nsfw)

Based by: “I wanna be your slave” by Måneskin

I love you since this morning, not just for aesthetic. I wanna touch your body, so fucking electric. I know you're scared of me, you say that I'm too eccentric I'm crying all my tears and that's fucking pathetic

Every time you and Shadow get heated up, he backs off. It never gets past a make out session. Once it feels like he’s gone too far, he pulls apart and apologizes. Opting to distract himself from you.

You thought that maybe there was something wrong with you. That’s not right. The theory was easily written off seeing as Shadow has chosen to stay with you all this time. He’s blunt. Most of the time, you don’t need to ask what’s wrong because he’ll straight up tell you. It’s what you love about him. No need to walk on eggshells or play the guessing game.

So why… is it when it comes to this, he’s dodging the situation like he’s in the matrix?

It came up again. You two were on the couch, supposed to be watching a show. One thing led to another and now here you are, straddling his lap. Bare hands graze along your spine. Lips connected in an intimate tango.

He wants to pull you closer. Tighter. Shadow needs to feel more of you. An animalistic growl escapes him. Your touch is a drug he’s horrendously addicted to. You are his lifeline. Separated, he’s nothing. Yet..

Shadows fingers twitch, feeling the need to claw up your back. To mark you so everyone knows you’re his. Fuck, he wants to sink his nails and fangs into you so bad.

Abruptly he stops. Eyes snap open and his hands rest on either of your shoulders, pushing you away. Breathing synchronized, panting, slowing down into a steady rhythm.

Your dumbfounded expression twists into a worried face. It’s your chance to ask what’s wrong. This time you will get an answer. Shadow is not allowed to leave until he spills.

His gaze goes everywhere but you. He can’t bear to look at you. It’s almost as if he’s.. ashamed? No. Under careful observation, the look on his face appears more afraid.

Once confident hands now tremble. Shadow’s head hanging low as his forehead rests on your chest.

Quiet as a mouse, he whispers, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Clarify. Please. Those words sound awful all on their own. There are a million different things that sentence could mean.

'Cause I'm the devil who's searching for redemption. And I'm a lawyer who's searching for redemption. And I'm a killer who's searching for redemption. A motherfucking monster who's searching for redemption

“I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I hurt you. Physically,” Shadow adds, finally making eye contact. A stray tear or two has found its way down his cheek.

“Trust me, I do want you..” Fangs sink into his bottom lip, drawing blood. He sighs, admitting, “I’ve never— done.. with anyone.”

You couldn’t find it in yourself to chuckle. Not when he’s in this state. Cupping his face, you wipe the tears with your thumbs, giving Shadow a reassuring smile. There's no need to rush things. Take it slow, take it easy. You're perfectly content with waiting however long. Silence follows after pecking his forehead.

Chaos, he doesn’t deserve you. Every fiber of his body screams at him, ‘he doesn’t.’ After all he’s done in the past, what he’s been through. Shadow is so lucky to have you. It’s a wonder how you could love a ‘monster’..

That’s not who or what he is. Not to you.

Shadow the hedgehog.

The ultimate life form.

For you he’s… your partner. Your lover.

A friend. A rock.

The one who has been by your side no matter what.

To him, you are a beacon of light. One he should protect. Another reason for him to keep existing. He’d follow you to the ends of the earth.. Like a.. Well a shadow, of course.

I wanna be your sex toy, I wanna be your teacher

I wanna be your slave, I wanna be your master. I wanna make your heartbeat run like rollercoasters

“Teach me,” Shadow speaks up.

Tilting his head, he leans in towards so that it rests on your shoulder, breath hitting your neck. The urge to bite and suck on your neck is overwhelming.

Shadow tentatively licks your throat before placing a kiss.

“Teach me how to make you feel good.”

[deadhands69]

Laundry Detergent

MDNI

loser!Shigaraki x reader

One last fic for the year! Happy New Years!! Contains: gn reader/maybe afab if you squint, cussing, pacifying loser/sub!shigaraki by sitting on his lap/teasing him, light choking, male orgasm. [quick read; wc: 1k]

Shigaraki has been in a mood lately, which means the whole league is miserable. After the last failed mission, he’s been taking it out on everyone and everything for a week now. Between his snide comments and sulking, you’ve all had enough of it.

It was all your fault, really. Or so he decided. If you hadn’t worn that scent he liked, it would have been fine. You know, the one he would kill for. The one that makes him want to drop down on his knees for you and beg you to touch him. 

‘My laundry detergent?’ you once asked. 

Yeah, that. Or whatever. In any case, it drives him crazy and it’s definitely your fault the mission wasn't going as planned.

The idea was easy, or it should have been if he didn’t have a massive erection stealing the blood from his brain the entire time. All he had to do was decay four city blocks. He only made it through two before running off and ducking away somewhere private to deal with something. Leaving the rest of you to handle his task and your own.

He wouldn’t admit that part in front of everyone else (or to you) but the passive aggression continued to linger through the week.

After the last meeting abruptly ends with him rage quitting, you’re left in a room of your coworkers (if you could call them that.) They all stare at you.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do,” you assert, “he’s the one who blew the mission now he’s pissed at all of us.”

“I don’t know, fix it,” Dabi snaps before walking out.

Everyone shuffles back to their own spaces, in varying levels of anger. On top of this, no one has been sleeping well lately because Tomura keeps you up all night barking at his video game and slamming the controller on his desk every time he dies. Which is often. 

It really has been getting to you all.

Later that evening, you’re walking past his room. The muffled sound of him grumbling at his most recent death radiates through the wall. And, like clockwork you hear the controller crack as he quits for the next five minutes to pace around his room in anger.

This has gone on for too long, you need to fix this.

“Shigaraki?” you try knocking.

No answer. Of course.

“Tomura,” you shove the door open, slamming it behind you. 

“What the fuck, [y/n] get out of my room.”

“Not until you calm down, you’re making everyone miserable.”

It’s true and he knows it. He doesn’t have anything to say in defense so he settles for dropping back onto his chair, crossing his arms, and glaring at you. 

Even when he’s like this, you get the feeling he would do anything you say.

“Do you want to tell me why you’re still in such a shit mood?” you ask, bridging the gap between the two of you to where your knees nearly touch his as you stand above him.

“No,” he grumbles, eyes shifted down. He adjusts his sweatpants in a way he thinks is inconspicuous, but of course you notice it. 

In response, you slide your hoodie off. Lightly grabbing the hem with both hands while you slowly tease it over your head and throw it on his bed. The fresh laundered scent drifting towards his face. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking increasingly flustered.

Leaning forward, you whisper in his ear, “keep your hands on the armrests.” 

“Huh?” He stares up at you, eyes filled with confusion and nerves.

The same eyes widen immediately when you sit on his lap. Twisting your torso to press his face into your chest. 

You feel the drool of his lips as he gasps into the skin above your low-cut tank top. His chin nestled lower while he takes huge breaths. Inhaling the scent of you. His erection pressing into your ass as he tries desperately to hold his hips still. He’s not even trying to hide it anymore.

He could probably cum right now, but you have ulterior motives. You pull back and watch as his pretty lips quiver at the loss.

“Are you going to be a good boy and calm down?” you ask, index finger and thumb pinching his chin to force his face up towards you.

“Uhnhuuh,” he moans.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” he chokes out, “yeah. Anything.”

“Good,” you reply. “I’m not fucking you,” you say, then more quietly whisper, “at least not today.”

“Wait, you w- aahhhh”, he moans as you slide your hips back into the painfully hard bulge he tucked into his waistband. 

Your hand slides down his chin to the soft skin on his neck. Grabbing tighter than polite, but you know he loves it by the way he squirms under you. His hips jutting up into your ass involuntarily. 

Licking your lips, you twist your face to his. Mouth only millimeters from his and there’s nothing he can do but whimper.

Shifting your weight, you rub against him again. This time he gasps and grips his chair so tight you worry he might decay it. While he catches his breath under you, you watch the wet stain creep through his thin t-shirt. 

That was fast.

Smoothly, you climb off his lap and head for the door with one last glance over your shoulder to admire the mess you made. Shigaraki is so fucked out his eyes struggle to stay open. Hands still dangling over the edge of the armrest. You did good, you think as you head back to your room to lay in bed. The whole place is quiet. Everyone in the league really owes you for that one.

Ten minutes later, your eyes shoot open.

Fuck, you forgot your favorite hoodie.

m.list

[vigilxntesht]

𝙠𝙖𝙣𝙜 𝙣𝙤-𝙚𝙪𝙡 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 — “let me take care of you.”

ִ𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 — kang no-eul (guard) x female reader (player)

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 — this is my first fanfic ever and english isn’t my first language so please forgive me if isn’t perfect

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 — 2k

𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚

she’s been watching you—observing you. she’s intrigued by you, drawn to you. and now, she’s ready to make you hers.

you sit on your bunk bed silently. the soft, warm glow of the lights only makes the harsh reality of what you just witnessed feel more surreal. the deadly game of ‘red light, green light’ still echoes through your mind—the brutal violence of each person caught moving, shot right on the spot. you are alive only because a man called gi-hun had guided you, giving you instructions that helped you stay still. apparently, he has played these games before. despite the help, you’re deeply shocked. you have no idea what to do. how on earth had you ended up here?

you stare at the dry, hard sandwich in front of you, the nausea twisting your stomach so tightly that taking a bite feels impossible. your tracksuit was covered in a few spatters of blood here and there, each drop a cruel reminder of everything that just happened.

you close your eyes, hoping for a moment of peace, but instead, the faces of countless innocent lives lost only hours ago invade your mind. after a while, you give up, settling on the edge of the bed, the silence heavy and suffocating. you wait for the night to crawl by and for the next brutal game to begin.

the other players around you begin to quiet down, drifting into an uneasy sleep. some, like you, remain awake. your gaze catches the man from earlier. what was his name again? oh, right—gi-hun. he meets your eyes and offers a smile, but the smile is hollow, full of terror. you give a slight smile in return, then quickly redirect your attention, focusing on the cold, hard floor instead. you can’t afford to get attached in here. not with the dangers lurking around you.

two hours of heavy silence strike by. most of the others, including gi-hun, have drifted off into a restless sleep, but not you. you’re exhausted, sure, but sleep refuses to come. that’s when you suddenly feel it—someone’s watching you. you turn around instinctively, but there’s no one there. a cold shiver runs down your spine, an eerie feeling begins to settle in your chest. what if someone’s sizing you up, thinking you’re an easy target? you frown and shake off the thought. it’s nothing. probably.

still, that feeling lingers, creeping under your skin. it’s as if someone’s eyes are boring into you, watching your every move. you turn around, but—again—there’s no one in sight. just as you’re about to brush it off, a deep, cold voice cuts through the silence.

“eat. you need the strength.”

your heart stops. the words hang in the air, making your breath catch in your throat.

immediately, you turn around, scrambling to the far side of the bed when you spot the pink guard standing at the foot of it. what the hell?

“who the fuck are you?” you snap, voice thick with defiance. “what do you want from me?”

the guard seems unbothered. she doesn’t even flinch. doesn’t react at all, actually. she just stands there, cold and silent. her silence feels heavier than any threat you’ve felt in here.

you frown, frustration bubbling up, before you remember the question she asked before.

“….im not hungry.” you mutter, your voice tight.

“too bad,” she replies, her tone sharp and demanding. “i wasn’t asking.”

you don’t know why she came up to you, but given the fact she’s the one holding a gun, you reluctantly take a bite of the sandwich and swallow it. you look at the guard, your lips twitching slightly as you feel your stomach already starting to reject the food.

“happy now?”

she doesn’t answer, walking away without a word, returning to her position by the door. but your impulsive thoughts take over, and you call out, stopping her.

“hey, wait!”

her fast pace slows to a stop, but she doesn’t turn to face you.

“the guards are not allowed to talk to the players.” she says flatly.

you frown, the words sparking up more curiousity in you.

“then why did you come up to me?”

there’s a flicker— a barely noticeable flinch— and for a moment, she’s silent, the weight of her hesitation hanging in the air. finally, she speaks, her voice cool and neutral.

“…because you seemed lost.”

the words catch you off guard. she doesn’t say anything else as she turns away and walks back to her position, leaving you with a knot in your chest and a dozen questions you’re not sure you want the answers to. you’re left in the silence, trying to make sense of it, but she doesn’t seem like she’s about to come back and explain.

with a sigh, you follow her advice and finish the sandwich. you finally manage to close your eyes, drifting into an anxious, uneasy sleep.

the next morning, as soon as you wake up, you’re eyes dart around the room, searching for the mysterious guard from last night—but she’s nowhere to be found. before you can dwell on it, a sudden need to pee takes over. you head to the women’s bathroom, knowing the guards don’t let anyone in outside of bathroom hours. so when your knocks go unanswered, you’re not surprised.

just as turn your head back to your bunk, a soft click breaks the silence. the door behind you unlocks.

“player 241. come in.”

as you turn around, the strange sensation from last night washes over you again. you can’t see her face, but somehow, you just know—it’s her. the guard.

without a word, you step inside the bathroom, offering a subtle nod as a thanks. she says nothing. the silence affects you more than it should.

after finishing your business, you walk over to the sink to wash your hands, but the moment the door clicks shut and locks, your body freezes. slowly, you glance to the side. she’s standing by the door, watching you.

your pulse quickens. a lump forms in your throat.

“what do you want from me?” your voice wavers. “please… don’t kill me.”

she scoffs, a quiet, almost amused sound, before taking a step closer.

“kill you?” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “now, why would i want to do that?”

confusion swirls you. who is she? why won’t she leave you alone?

the woman steps closer, backing you into a corner. you search for an escape, but there’s nowhere to go—and nothing to say. she extends her hand, offering yet another dry, unappetizing sandwich. you sigh out in frustration.

“i don’t want this! i’m not hungry and they’re disgusting—”

“there’s a clue for the next game inside.” she interrupts dryly.

you fall silent and your breath catches.

“eat it,” she continues, unwavering. “you’ll find a slip of paper hidden inside. you can thank me later.”

you stare at the sandwich, your mind racing. a clue? the guard turns to leave again, but this time, you’re faster. you step in front of her, blocking her way.

“no, wait! you don’t just get to walk away. i want answers.”

your voice is firm, but there’s a tremble beneath it—partly from irritation, partly from the submachine gun slung across her chest.

she stops, tilting her head slightly. “answers, about what?” her tone is flat, unreadable.

“about… this. about why you’re helping me. about who you are.”

silence stretches between you. for a moment, you think she won’t answer. then, without warning, her hand moves to her mask.

she pulls it off.

deep brown eyes meet yours—sharp, intense. pale skin, dusted with freckles, is flawed by a fresh cut along her cheek. her lips are cracked and swollen, as if she’s been biting them too much. despite everything, she’s… beautiful. breathtaking, even. she exhales, running a hand through her damp, sweat-matted hair. then, locking eyes with you, she speaks.

“kang no-eul.” she says boldly.

“what?” you’re still struggling to process everything happening right now.

she sighs in slight irritation. “my name. you asked for my name. it’s kang no-eul.”

to your embarrassment, the sound of her low, steady voice sends a warm blush creeping up your cheeks.

“oh. um, my name is—”

“i know.” she cuts you off smoothly, a small smirk playing on her lips. “i know who you are. i’ve been observing you.”

you take a hesitant step back. “…observing me?”

her expression doesn’t change. “the way you shut yourself off from others. the way you always seem to be lost in thoughts. the way you‘re constantly one step ahead of the other players. you’re intelligent, aren’t you?”

there’s something unnerving about her tone—half admiration, half something else. something colder.

“but.. you’re a guard.”

you meet her gaze, and instantly regret it when you feel your cheeks flaming up again. god, get it together!

a barely-there chuckle escapes her lips. “good observation.” she doesn’t look away. her eyes, dark and mysterious, shimmer with something you can’t quite place.

you lean against the cold bathroom wall, burying your face in your hands.

“what the hell is going on..” you whisper to yourself.

the guard—kang no-eul—takes a step closer, resting a hand on your shoulder. her expression remains neutral, but there’s something in her eyes. a glimmer of something almost… affectionate?

“hey. don’t be like that. you’re underestimating yourself.”

you lift your head, shooting her a glare. “you don’t even know me.”

she laughs. it’s not the reaction you expect, and the sound sends a chill down your spine. it’s confident. unbothered. she’s not intimidated by you in the slightest.

“maybe,” she says, smirking. “but i do know this—you should stop whining and get it together. because no matter how smart you are, crying won’t get you anywhere.” her words sting more than they should. you slap her hand off your shoulder, your anger taking over.

“leave me alone.”

within seconds, she grabs your wrists again, tighter this time. not just firmly, but demanding.

“listen to me,” she hisses, her voice sharp and low. “i’m risking my life to help you. so you better do as i say before i end up scraping your corpse off the game room floor.”

you freeze. her grip is solid, her words slicing through the air like a blade. for the first time, real fear creeps in.

she notices. the tension in her hands shifts, and just as suddenly as she grabbed you, she releases your wrists. slowly, her fingers trail up to your face, brushing against your cheek. it’s a stark contrast—gentle, almost.. tender.

you don’t understand what’s happening. you don’t understand her. but the second her touch meets your skin, something stirs deep inside your stomach. butterflies.

your gaze flickers to hers. your eyes linger on the fresh cut along her cheek. how did she get that?

“do you think you can do that?” she asks, voice softer now. “listen to me?”

you hesitate, unsure. her hand moves again, this time gripping your chin, tilting your head until your eyes lock onto hers. her hold is firm.

“i’m talking to you.”

you swallow hard and nod.

“use your words.”

you don’t know why you’re listening to her, why you’re obeying so easily— but you do. something about her presence, her voice, leaves no room for resistance.

after a brief pause, you whisper: “yes. i’ll listen to you, kang no-eul.”

she smiles, slow and satisfied. “good girl.”

you shiver as she speaks those words. you barely know her, yet something about her pulls you in, an invisible force you can’t resist. it’s dangerous. it’s intoxicating.

but she doesn’t give you time to process it.

before you can react, she leans in, pressing her lips to yours— soft at first, almost teasing. but then the kiss deepens, growing more urgent, more possessive with each passing second. at first, you’re too stunned to move, frozen under her touch. but then, instinct takes over. you melt into her, kissing her back passionately, your hands finding their way to her arms, her shoulders.

she hums softly against your lips, her slim fingers threading through your hair as if she’s known you forever. as if you already belong to her.

“just like that, darling.” she murmurs, her voice a breathy promise.

“let me take care of you.”

[meadowfics]

movie setting

thanos x f!exactress!reader

you run into your ex boyfriend during the squid games

warnings: death (not thanos, its his bestie instead sorry), some changes in the original plot, angst, reader is a blacklisted actress, one use of "bro" towards reader, even though reader is intended to be female.

you were once one of the most promising actresses in korea, starring in a hit drama that still lingers in people's hearts.

your career was supposed to skyrocket, but a scandal ruined everything.

the scandal wasn’t even your fault. the media twisted the story, painting you as the villain.

companies cut ties, contracts were ripped apart, and soon, you found yourself blacklisted from the industry.

millions of won in debt piled up before you could recover.

with no way to earn money, since you did not need to go to college because of your acting career..your world crumbled around you.

to make things worse, you and your longtime boyfriend, thanos, broke up right before everything went to hell.

you loved him.

maybe you still do.

however, you couldn’t drag him down with you, not when his rap career was still holding on by a thread.

he wanted to fight for you, but you wouldn’t let him.

“i’m not going to be the reason you sink too.”

after that, you disappeared from his life.

thano's drug addiction got worse when you left, but that is something that you did not know about until later.

just three months after suffering, you sat at the subway station after missing the last train of the night.

someone finds you..

the salesman.

he offers you the game. an escape. a chance at redemption.

you hesitate, but when you see the money, you know you don’t have a choice.

that’s how you end up on the colorful, dystopian stairs, walking toward your first game just five days later...

you don’t see thanos first. he sees you.

his breath catches when he spots you a few steps below, dressed in the same green tracksuit, looking just as lost and desperate as the rest.

he almost doesn’t believe it.

his ex, the woman he once held at night, the woman he let go of but never truly moved on from, is here.

“no fucking way,” he mutters under his breath, eyes burning into your back.

you feel it...

the weight of someone staring

when you finally turn, your stomach drops.

thanos.

your ex-boyfriend, the man you broke your own heart over, is right there running up the stairs towards you.

for a second, you do not move, holding up the line.

when he comes closer, you turn away, gripping the railing tightly as you climb the stairs faster.

he’s not stupid. he knows you’re avoiding him.

outside on the field..people notice you.

“wait… is that—?”

“holy shit, it’s her! from (drama series)!”

players start murmuring, pointing, whispering excitedly.

some of them grew up watching you on tv, still nostalgic over your most famous role.

“i can’t believe it! i had the biggest crush on her when i was younger!”

you try to ignore the attention, but it’s hard when people are outright gawking at you.

some are obsessed, borderline unsettling.

“you’re even prettier in person…”

you feel their stares, their fascination.

it makes your skin crawl.

thanos notices too.

his jaw clenches as people circle around you like vultures, bombarding you with questions.

usually, this is outside of his personality quirks.

however, he does not like people messing with his girl.

“so, is the scandal real?”

“did you really do it?”

you keep your head down.

you don’t owe them an answer.

thanos watches, expression unreadable as he stands next to namgyu.

he doesn’t step in. not yet.

when the first gunshot goes off, everything changes.

you’re frozen in place, watching blood splatter as bodies drop like flies.

people scream, run, beg for help, but it’s useless.

panic surges inside you, but you force yourself to keep it together.

“green light.”

you move.

you don’t think, don’t breathe,

just follow the rules and survive.

somewhere behind you, thanos does the same.

he sees you up ahead, your body tense, hands trembling at your sides.

he wants to call your name. tell you to focus.

he doesn’t.

he keeps jumping around like a joke..

its the drugs.

he kind of has a feeling that you will be fine.

thanos watches you as he jumps around in joy, pushing people down as if their lives wouldn't be taken too.

“red light.”

after surviving the massacre, you’re still shaken.

everyone is.

you sit in a corner of the room, trying to calm your breathing, when a shadow falls over you.

you don’t need to look up to know who it is.

“señorita,” thanos says, voice lower than you remember.

“you’re really here.”

you keep your eyes on the ground.

“leave me alone.”

he scoffs.

“yeah? and how’s that been working out for you?”

you don’t answer.

“you should’ve told me,”

he mutters after a beat.

“it’s not like that,” you whisper.

he tilts his head.

“really? really bro? ‘cause it sure seems like you wanna be near me again.”

he’s smug. a little too smug.

his ego inflates when you don’t deny it.

you glare at him.

“i’d rather be near you than anyone else in this fucking place, su-bong.”

thano's smirk fades slightly.

nam gyu watches the whole thing unfold.

he sees the way you and thanos look at each other..

the tension, the unfinished business.

it makes him sick.

“you two have history,” nam gyu states one night, arms crossed.

you shrug.

“so?”

“so,” he huffs,

“it’s fucking annoying.”

you raise a brow.

“why do you care?”

he doesn’t answer.

thanos, overhearing, just smirks.

“someone jealous?”

nam gyu scowls.

“shut up.”

despite your best efforts, you start gravitating toward your ex again.

you tell yourself it’s survival.

safety.

being where you are most familiar with..

deep down, you know it’s more than that.

every time you look at him, you remember what it felt like to love him.

you also remember why you left.

he notices the way you linger near him, even if you don’t say much.

“you’re not good at pretending for an actress señorita,” he says one night.

you glance at him.

“pretending what?”

“that you don’t want me back.”

your throat tightens.

you shake your head.

“it’s not like that.”

“sure,” he mutters. but he doesn’t look convinced.

the games are brutal. relentless.

you don’t know if you’ll make it out alive.

one thing is clear:

no matter how much you try to fight it, thanos is a part of you.

and in a place like this, maybe he’s the only thing keeping you sane.

when all of the men went to the bathroom, the dorms were eerily quiet. until the sound of chaos started coming from outside the doors. sounds of metal banding, fists colliding with flesh, grunts of pain, bodies slamming against the walls.

it was impossible to ignore. every player still in the dorm room heard it, heads turning toward the source of the violence, but no one dared to move.

you sat on your bed, your hands clenched into fists against your lap. your whole body was tense, your mind racing.

thanos was in there. so was nam-gyu. you didn’t know what the fights were about, but you knew it wasn’t good.

honestly, you would not have been surprised if your out-of-pocket ex started it all with his bestfriend.

se-mi sat beside you, watching the entrance anxiously. the minutes stretched on like hours, and with every second that passed, the pit in your stomach grew deeper.

one by one, men began filtering back into the dorms, beaten and bloodied. some limped, some had swollen faces, and some had fresh bruises forming under their eyes.

you scanned every face, searching for him.

no thanos.

you exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around the fabric of your pants. se-mi shifted beside you, glancing over with hesitation before asking,

"do you still love thanos?"

the question caught you off guard. your head snapped toward her, eyes wide in panic.

"do i love thanos?" you repeated, almost scoffing. then, without thinking, you blurted out, "no shit, se-mi!"

se-mi flinched at your sharp tone, and the realization hit you instantly. your expression softened as guilt settled in your chest.

"i'm sorry," you muttered, shaking your head.

"that was mean, you're one of my friends here and I shouldn't have spoken to you that way. I'm just stressed."

se-mi shrugged, offering a small, dismissive smile.

"it's fine." she glanced toward the entrance again before sighing.

"i wouldn’t care if something happened to nam-gyu though."

you huffed a quiet, amused breath.

despite the tension, you silently agreed.

then, finally, movement at the entrance.

your breath caught when you saw him...thanos, limping back into the dorms, looking bruised but very much alive.

"su-bong," you breathed, already on your feet before you could process it.

you didn’t care who was watching. didn’t care about the whispers, the eyes on you.

you ran straight to him, wrapping your arms tightly around his body, holding onto him like he might disappear if you let go.

the rapper's arms came around you just as fast, his grip firm, as if reassuring himself that you were real.

somewhere in the distance, you heard someone murmur, "that actress and the rapper are dating?" but it didn’t matter.

you buried your face against his shoulder, inhaling his scent, letting yourself feel the relief washing over you.

he is okay.

thanos pulled back slightly, just enough to press a lingering, warm kiss to your forehead.

you closed your eyes, savoring it.

"see," he mumbled against your forehead, his voice teasing but laced with something deeper, something more tender.

"i know you wanted me back, baby."

you giggled, shaking your head.

"shut up and go sit down."

you slipped an arm under his to help him walk back to the beds, your focus entirely on him...so much so that you didn’t process the absence of a certain someone.

not until the speakers crackled to life, and the robotic voice echoed through the dorms:

"player 124, eliminated."

silence fell over the room.

your body stiffened.

nam-gyu never came back with thanos.

masterlist

[partoffantasy]

Playing Dirty - Liam Mairi

⸻ image credits to mybookishdoodles ⸻

summary: when their latest round of flirtation turns into something more, reader finds herself on the losing end for the first time. Because Liam isn’t just playing anymore. And when he finally makes his move, she realizes—maybe she never stood a chance to begin with.

pairing: liam mairi x fem!reader warnings: MDNI!, smut, swearing, unprotected p in v, oral (f & m) word count: 3.1k

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

–Liam’s POV–

I am going to die. Not from battle. Not from a wyvern attack. Not even from the war. No. I am going to die because of her. Because Y/N just peeled off her shirt like it was nothing, revealing a tight black sports bra and an equally tight pair of shorts that should be illegal. I feel my brain short-circuit.

Every thought evaporates from my head, leaving only one very obvious fact: She is wearing that on purpose. And she knows exactly what she’s doing. I catch the way her lips quirk when she stretches, rolling out her shoulders, pretending she doesn’t notice the way half the damn training grounds are watching her.

I definitely notice. And so does everyone else.

Sawyer whistles under his breath. “Oh, she’s playing dirty today.” Ridoc snickers. “Wonder who she’s trying to kill.” “Me,” I say immediately. “The answer is me.” Violet, standing beside me, hums knowingly. “Well, it’s about time someone made a move.” I shoot her a look, but my attention snaps back to the mat as Y/N steps up to her opponent—another first-year I don’t recognize.

And then she smirks. Oh, fuck me. Because I know that smirk. That smirk means trouble. That smirk means she’s about to put on a show. And I should look away. I should not let myself get sucked into this game she’s playing. But then she moves. Quick, sharp, precise—like she’s dancing, like she was born for this.

She dodges her opponent’s first hit with ease, twisting gracefully, using her smaller size to her advantage. And then she strikes—landing a hit so fast the first-year doesn’t even see it coming. He stumbles back. She smiles sweetly. And gods help me, I am not okay. Sawyer nudges me. “You’re staring.” I don’t even deny it. “She’s doing this on purpose.” Rhi grins. “Of course she is.”

“She’s trying to get in my head,” I mutter, watching as Y/N dodges another attack, her body twisting in a way that is absolutely illegal. “She thinks she’s winning.” Ridoc snorts. “Well… she kinda is.” I shoot him a glare. “Not for long.”

Because two can play this game. And the second Instructor Emet calls my name, I don’t hesitate. I grab the back of my shirt and tug it over my head, dropping it to the mat before stepping forward, letting my shoulders roll loose, letting my muscles flex just enough.

I hear the sharp intake of breath behind me. And when I turn to face Y/N, her eyes are locked on my chest. I smirk. Got her. Her throat bobs. I raise a brow. “Something wrong, Y/N?” She blinks fast, clearing her throat, forcing her gaze up. “Not at all.” But her voice wobbles. 

–Y/N’s POV–

Oh, he thinks he’s so smart. Thinks he can one-up me. Thinks that just because he took his damn shirt off—and yes, okay, it’s annoyingly distracting—he has the upper hand. But what Liam doesn’t realize? I like a challenge.

Instructor Emet doesn’t waste time. “Cadets,” he calls, stepping back. “Begin.” And I don’t hesitate. I lunge first, aiming for his left side. He dodges. I spin, barely missing his grip, and twist—using the momentum to aim a sharp kick at his ribs.

He blocks me with his forearm, but his smile widens. “You’re fast,” he murmurs. I smirk. “You hesitated.” And then I strike again. We move like clockwork—fluid, sharp, precise. Attack. Block. Counter. Strike. It’s a deadly, dangerous dance, and neither of us are willing to give in. But the thing about Liam? He’s stronger.

And the second he catches my wrist, I know I’m in trouble. Because I might be fast, but he’s got sheer, unfair brute force on his side. He yanks me forward, using my own momentum against me, spinning me midair before pinning me flat against the mat.

And suddenly—He’s everywhere. His chest pressing into mine, his breath warm against my cheek, his fingers tight around my wrists. I freeze. Because fuck. Because he’s really close. Because his pupils are blown wide and his golden-retriever face is looking far too pleased with himself.

“Pinned you,” he murmurs, way too smug. I swallow hard. “You think you’ve won.” His grip tightens. “Haven’t I?” Oh, hell no. He’s playing dirty. So I do, too. I shift beneath him—arching just enough, pressing against the solid weight of him, letting my breath hitch just slightly. His whole body tenses. His jaw locks.

And I see it—the brief flicker of panic in his eyes, the moment he realizes that he might have just played himself. I smirk. “Not quite,” I whisper. And then I flip him.

He grunts as his back hits the mat, and before he can react, I’m on top of him, straddling his waist, pinning his wrists to the ground. His eyes go wild. “Oh,” he breathes. Just that. Just oh.

Like he finally understands.

Like he finally sees me.

Like he finally realizes that this game we’re playing? Neither of us are winning.

Because we’re both already gone.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The second classes end, I don’t hesitate. Liam is still talking to Ridoc about something utterly irrelevant—something about lunch, maybe? I don’t care. Because I have one goal.

I grab his wrist, fingers wrapping tight, and yank. “Whoa—Y/N?” His voice is confused, but his feet follow without hesitation. I don’t stop until we’re behind the massive stone statue near the edge of the courtyard—tucked away from prying eyes, away from everyone.

Alone.

The moment we’re in the shadows, I turn, my back hitting the cold stone, Liam right there in front of me, confused but very interested. “What are you—” “I’m tired of this game,” I cut him off, my voice low, breath coming fast.

His expression shifts—just slightly. His head tilts, watching me closely. He’s amused. That should infuriate me. Instead, it makes my stomach tighten. “Oh?” His voice is soft, teasing. “What game, exactly?”

Infuriating.

I step closer, closing the space between us, looking up at him through my lashes. He’s so tall, so broad, his shoulders blocking out the light. “The one we’ve been playing all day,” I whisper-shout at him, getting angry.

I see it—the flicker in his eyes, the moment my words hit. But then he does something I don’t expect. He laughs. Soft. Low. And then, in one slow movement, he steps closer. And closer.

Until I’m fully pinned against the statue, his hands braced on either side of me, caging me in.

Until I have nowhere to go.

Until his mouth is just at my ear, his breath warm against my skin.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice lower, rougher than I’ve ever heard it. “Stop calling this a game, you know it isn’t.” My breath catches. Oh, fuck. My heartbeat slams against my ribs. I refuse to break eye contact, but my fingers betray me—curling slightly, gripping his bicep just a little too tight.

He notices. And he smiles. A slow, knowing, dangerous smile. “Here’s the thing, baby,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing just barely over my hip. “I see you. I see right through you. You act like you’re in control. Like you’re the one calling the shots.” His fingers tighten slightly. “But that’s not what you really want, is it?”

I don’t react. I can’t. Because he’s right. He knows he’s right. And fuck, that should scare me. But all it does is set me on fire. I open my mouth, but he’s already there—tilting my chin just slightly with his fingers, making me look at him.

“You need someone who isn’t afraid to take control,” he continues, his voice like gravel and heat. “Someone who doesn’t let you push them around. Someone who knows exactly what you need and isn’t afraid to give it to you.”

I suck in a sharp breath. His thumb brushes my lower lip, just barely. And then he pulls back. Just enough to make me feel the distance. Just enough to make me ache. Then he smirks. “Are you going to finally give in, Y/N?” I stop myself to think. Because if we start—We won’t stop.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Liam pulls me into his room, the door falling softly behind us, the sound of the lock clicking in place. The air between us crackles with anticipation. Before I can even process it, he presses me against the wall with a force that leaves me breathless, his lips crashing onto mine in a searing kiss. His hands grip my sides, pulling me closer, and I can feel the heat radiating off him. I tangle my fingers in his soft blonde hair, tugging at the strands as if grounding myself in the sensation of him.

His lips move from my mouth to my neck, trailing hot, wet kisses along my sensitive skin. My head falls back, instinctively giving him more access, and I shiver, feeling his warmth spread through me. His breath is ragged against my throat, and when he sucks gently on the skin there, a quiet moan escapes my lips. His grin is audible as he murmurs, “Fuck, I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

The sound of his voice makes my pulse spike, and the desire that has been simmering between us finally erupts into something urgent. I pull back slightly to look at him, my eyes locking onto his as I tug his shirt off. The moment his chest is exposed, the dim moonlight catches on the sculpted lines of his body, the muscles flexing under his smooth skin. My hands trace the ridges of his abs, traveling lower, grazing the waistband of his pants, and then finally dipping to the v-line that dips below. My breath catches in my throat as I look up at him, and his eyes are burning with something almost dangerous.

“You’re perfect,” I breathe out, my voice low and full of need.

Liam’s hands travel down my body, undoing the buttons of my shirt with an ease that speaks to how well he knows me. As the fabric slides off my shoulders, I stand before him in nothing but a delicate lace bra, my skin flushed and my heart pounding in anticipation. His eyes drop to my chest, his gaze dark and hungry, and I can’t stop the flush that blooms in my cheeks.

“You’re fucking stunning,” he mutters before his lips crash back onto mine in a kiss that leaves me breathless. I respond, hungry for more, my hands slipping to his belt, undoing it slowly, teasingly, my fingers brushing against the hardness I can feel through his pants. He groans into my mouth, and I smile against his lips as I slide down to my knees before him, feeling the heat of his body against mine.

I look up at him, his body towering above me, and my hands work swiftly to undo his pants. I hear the rustle of fabric, and then he’s free, his cock already thick and hard. I bite my lip, unable to suppress the smirk that tugs at the corner of my mouth.

“Someone’s eager,” I tease, my voice breathy with desire.

Liam’s breath hitches, his hands threading through my hair, pulling me closer. I look up at him one last time before I lean forward, brushing my lips over the tip of his cock. The taste of him is divine, and I slide my tongue along the length of him, savoring the salty, intoxicating flavor.

His hands tighten in my hair, guiding me slowly, and I take him deeper, inch by inch, until I can feel him at the back of my throat. My mouth moves with precision, hollowing my cheeks as I take him in completely, every inch of him filling me. Liam’s breathing becomes ragged as he watches me, his eyes dark and stormy.

“Gods, Y/N,” he groans, his hips thrusting slightly, urging me to take more. I hum in approval, the vibration causing him to shudder beneath my touch. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good.”

I hollow my cheeks, sucking him in deeper, my hand gripping his thick thighs as I let myself fall into the rhythm, sucking and licking in time with his movements. I can feel the tension building between us, the heat intensifying as I take him deeper, pushing him to the back of my throat.

“Fuck,” he curses, and the sound of his voice is raw with need. “I can’t hold back much longer.”

He pulls me off him, and I gasp for air, my lips swollen from the intensity. Without missing a beat, he pulls me up, capturing my lips in a kiss that tastes like fire. He moves with purpose, his hands guiding me onto the bed. His lips travel down my neck, his breath warm against my skin. He’s moving with a controlled urgency, as if he’s trying to savor every moment of this.

He pauses, his eyes darkening as he looks at me with that intense, commanding gaze. “You’re perfect,” he breathes, his hands slipping to the waistband of my panties. In one swift motion, he pulls them off, throwing them aside. He looks down at me, his eyes hungry, and I feel a thrill of anticipation rush through me.

“Gods, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss the swell of my breasts. His lips tease along the lace of my bra, and I arch into him, desperate for more. My hands slide into his hair, tugging him closer, urging him on.

Without warning, his lips trail lower, and he places a soft kiss on my stomach before continuing downward. My breath catches as he reaches my inner thighs, his breath warm against my skin. I squirm beneath him, and he chuckles darkly, the sound making me ache with need.

Then, finally, he’s there, his tongue sweeping over my most sensitive part. A gasp escapes my lips, and I feel my body tremble at the sheer sensation of his mouth on me. He’s slow at first, his tongue exploring, teasing, before he presses harder, his lips suckling gently. I can feel the tension building inside me, a knot coiling tight as his fingers slip inside, stretching me as he works me open.

“Liam, please,” I whisper, my body arching into his touch.

He responds with a low groan, his fingers moving faster, harder, as his tongue works in rhythm with his hands. I can feel myself unraveling, the pleasure building to an unbearable height. “Cum for me, baby,” he urges, his voice a breathless command.

That’s all it takes. My body shudders as I reach the peak, and I scream his name, the force of my orgasm taking me completely. Liam doesn’t stop, continuing to stroke me through my release, his fingers pumping slowly, drawing out every last tremor.

When I finally collapse back onto the bed, panting and spent, he moves up beside me, kissing my forehead before trailing his lips down to my neck. His breath is ragged, and I can feel his heart racing as his hands roam over my body, grounding me back in the moment.

“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing me softly as he brushes his thumb over my lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come apart for me.”

I smile up at him, hazy with pleasure, my body still tingling from the aftershocks of my release. I run my finger along his jawline, tracing the lines of his face as I catch my breath.

But there’s no time to recover. He’s not done yet, and as he pulls me closer, I feel his cock pressing against my thigh, hard and ready once more. “You good?”, he asks, looking at me with those big blue eyes. My body responds to him instinctively, nodding and craving more of him.

He pushes my legs apart, settling between them as his tongue tangles with mine in a deep, hungry kiss. I feel the heat of him at my entrance, the weight of him pressing against me before he enters with a single, powerful thrust.

"Oh, fuck!" I cry out, my nails digging into his back, leaving crimson marks that I can’t bring myself to care about. He grins at me, eyes dark with desire.

"I couldn’t hold back," he murmurs, his breath ragged as he pulls out slowly before pushing back in, inch by inch.

I moan in response, my body aching for more. "Faster, please."

He obliges, his thrusts becoming relentless, the sound of our bodies colliding filling the room. The rhythm of it—raw, urgent—has me gasping for air, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper. My hands rake over his back, leaving trails of fire in their wake as he kisses my neck.

But I push him away, a spark of something wild igniting within me. I twist, flipping us so that I’m on top. He smirks up at me, his hands settling on my waist, gripping hard. I move my hair from my face, letting it fall over my back as I use my hands to steady myself, planting them on his abs.

This position drives him deeper, and I’m sensitive, every inch of him sending waves of pleasure through me. "Fuck, you look like a goddess, Y/N," Liam moans, his voice strained, and he helps guide my movements with his hands.

I move faster, hips circling, driving him wild. His moans, raw and primal, spur me on. "That’s so good," he groans.

After a few minutes of blissful, unrelenting rhythm, he flips us again.

"Get on your knees, head down," he orders, voice thick with need. I bite my lip and obey, shivering with anticipation.

His thrusts come from behind, a new angle that has us both gasping. The intensity of it makes me push back, meeting each thrust with frantic urgency. His hands find my arms, guiding them to my back, holding me still as he presses my face into the pillow.

The scent of him—warm, familiar, intoxicating—fills my senses, and then his hand lands on my ass, a sharp slap that has me gasping, a strangled moan escaping my throat. It’s so damn sexy, I can’t help but cry out louder.

He drives into me, relentless, and the pressure builds—faster, stronger—until I’m teetering on the edge.

"Can you come for me, baby?" Liam groans, his hips faltering for just a moment.

"Yes, gods, Liam!" I moan, feeling the waves crash over me as my orgasm hits, intense and overwhelming. Moments later, he follows, his hips stuttering as he spills into me, the weight of his release pushing me over the edge again.

For a moment, we both lie still, breathless, before he gently pulls out and falls back onto the cushions beside me. He takes a deep breath, his body still trembling with aftershocks. I move toward him, resting my head on his chest as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer, his bare skin warm against mine.

“That was fucking incredible,” he mutters, his lips brushing my temple.

I smile against him, my eyes fluttering closed. “It was. So, so good.”