#this close to bleaching my hair instead

[benderclub]

i have to wear this fucking grey hairsprey and i dont even have a joke thats how much i hate that shit

[wallbeatjournal]

You okay? Haven't seen you around too much lately.

i've been very distracted by Posting over on main lately tbh! i'm in the middle of writing a zine lesbian-coding the filmography of my favorite b movie character actor and all-time scream king babygirl kyle gallner. INCLUDING all of his one-off appearances on terrible court/cop procedurals like law&order <3

i'm doing stupid data analysis. i'm outlining. i'm soliciting peer review. you're welcome to join me over there in Scholarship OR you're welcome to blocklist my kyle tag and avoid the whole mess <3

(btw if kyle gallner had been on riverdale as an adult he would've had a kerr smith principal honey/dawsons creek situation where they'd write him in playing a not-quite-exactly-continuous adult version of his queer mass-murderer character from veronica mars. he'd of course be a betty antagonist, since betty is veronica mars. maybe a friend of chicles. maybe a friend/victim-enabler of hal's. much to ponder)

[yukinyaminyato]

wow i spent 4 hours at the salon & the result is that i still hate my hair 🫠 not the hairdresser's fault & i did get a discount bc the hair didn't turn out like expected but. yeah.

[teamatsumu]

where we left off. (hinata shoyo x reader)

summary: “you confess because you think you will never see him again, so it doesn’t matter ” - for my valentine’s day event - theme: confessions

word count: 1981

tags: @nishayuro @kitas-tapioca @kakashineedstotouchgrass s @amisuh @avis-writeshq @samanthaa-leanne @akaashi-todorki @sp1ng @kur0obaby @bleach-your-panties

event masterlist

There is a light in Shoyo that just won’t dim. Not that you want it to. It’s your favorite thing about him.

There are ten million reasons to like Shoyo (though Tsukishima would disagree and say he can barely find one. He’s lying. No one can dislike Shoyo. It’s not possible). But you like him for the simple reason that he is the best person you have ever met. He is dedicated and kind, loyal and friendly. You have known him since your first year in high school, and you have seen him face every adversity that comes his way with full confidence and optimism.

It’s no wonder you’re hopelessly in love with him. How could you not be? Shoyo entered your life and made everything ten times brighter and easier to deal with. From day one, he was your confidant and your cheerleader. In all those three years, Shoyo stood by you like you stood by him. You had grown by leaps and bounds with him as your friend.

Friend.

The sun was low in the sky, spreading a warm orange light over the clouds as it set. The color reminds you of Shoyo’s hair, and you have to curse yourself. It seems you can never stop thinking about him, and the world is adamant on making sure you didn’t even try to. You sigh and lean back on the bench you were seated on, closing your eyes and mentally preparing yourself for what was coming.

High school graduation had come and gone. Tomorrow, Shoyo will leave for Brazil. For two years minimum. And who knows? He says he will return, but there is a very real chance he won’t. An up-and-coming volleyball player like him, he could be snatched up by a local club. Or he could fall in love with beach volleyball and continue living there so he could keep playing it.

Two years is a long time for a person to change. You can change. He can change. You can’t trust yourself to leave this until then. Now, before Shoyo leaves, you will confess to him all of your closely guarded feelings. Before he potentially leaves your life for good, he has to know that he is the reason you are where you have gotten.

Heavy footsteps slowly fade in, making you turn your head to follow the sound. You spot Shoyo barreling down the sidewalk towards you, skidding to an abrupt halt when he reaches your bench. He takes a few deep breaths before grinning wide, and just the sight of his million watt smile has your own lips tugging up to return the gesture.

“Ready for dinner?”

Homey, comforting ramen is Shoyo’s choice of last meal in Japan. You both trudge into his usual ramen place, one that he loved to frequent often after practice. He talks your ear off all the way there, telling you about his day. He had been getting his affairs in order, saying goodbye to all the important people and packing up some last minute stuff. You let him catch you up to every tiny detail, (He is like that. He doesn’t like leaving anything out) and you hum along to his stories.

When steaming bowls of ramen are set down before you is when Shoyo finally shuts up, instead choosing to immediately wolf it down. You watch him with blatant adoration in your eyes. You know you do, and you don’t bother to hide it. Sharing this one last moment with him, you don’t want to hold back. This might be the last time you can look at him in leisure. So you drink him in the best you can, trying to seal this moment in your memory forever.

“Are you excited for beach volleyball?”

He nods around a mouthful of noodles. “I have just two years to learn it, so I’m a bit nervous. But I can’t wait to start!”

You smile at his usual unending enthusiasm. “You’ll be great, Shoyo. I have never met someone as hardworking as you.”

And there is that smile again, so bright you almost have to squint to withstand it. He was so different from how he was in first year. He had come such a long way in just three years. Imagine how much he would change after two years in a completely foreign country, on the other side of the world.

You can feel your shoulders drop.

After dinner, Shoyo insists on dessert and you both end up getting ice pops. He finishes his before you can even take one bite of your own, and then ends up finishing half of yours as well when you tell him you are full and he can have it. No wonder he has unending stamina. He eats the food of three people. You smile at the thought.

As per routine, Shoyo walks you home afterward. The sun has fully set by this time, and the streetlights periodically illuminate the two of you as you walk along the sidewalk. Your figures cast long, moving shadows on the concrete, and you keep your eyes on them as you walk. Shoyo is humming something under his breath, occasionally breaking the silence to comment on something. You bask in the moment.

When you slow to a stop at your front door, you realise it is finally time to do what you had been psyching yourself up for all this time.

“I have something to say.” You comment. Shoyo blinks and nods, encouraging you to continue. You take a deep breath.

“For the last three years, you’ve been the best person in my life. By a long shot. I can’t believe I met someone like you. You’re always so supportive, Shoyo, and you’ve really helped me be the best version of myself.”

You cringe at your corny statements, but Shoyo’s face has softened. He stays silent. You muscle on.

“I like you. A lot. A lot. And before you leave, I just wanted you to know this.”

Because I may never see you again. You let the last sentence die in your throat.

Shoyo looks down at the ground, fiddling with his hands a bit. You realize you have made him nervous. And no wonder. You just dumped a huge revelation on him the day before he leaves the country.

“You don’t have to say anything!” You add on, as soon as Shoyo opens his mouth to speak, trying to soothe his nerves. “I don’t want you to reciprocate. I just wanted to tell you all this before you left.”

You step forward to wrap him into a hug, feeling him freeze at the gesture. You don’t let yourself linger, pulling away mere seconds later. Shoyo opens and closes his mouth like a fish. You giggle.

“Do your best in Brazil, Shoyo. I’m counting on you.”

And then you pull open the door, shutting it behind yourself with one last smile at his surprised face.

……………………

Tokyo is a big city, and you lose yourself in the hustle and bustle of it.

Miyagi was quiet, peaceful, and you knew more or less everyone there. In contrast, Tokyo is continuously moving, and you have to run to keep up with it. It’s a big change, going from Tokyo to Miyagi, but it is a welcome one. You can feel how you change and blossom along with the city.

Your apartment is small. One bedroom, open kitchen, tiny bathroom. It’s a starter apartment and you are still a student, so it doesn’t matter. Every night, you cook yourself a modest meal and plop yourself down in front of the television, continuing some show you have been watching for the last few days. Afterwards, you have a warm cup of tea and then begin your nightly routine, ready for classes the next day.

Today that routine is disrupted by loud knocking on the door.

You pause your chewing, reaching for the remote to mute the TV. You don’t hear any sound, not even shuffling, but ten seconds later you hear another, longer knock. Sighing, you set your bowl down on the coffee table and throw your blanket off, trudging to the door. When you look through the peephole, all you see is one shoulder. You roll your eyes at the person who chose to not stand in your view.

You undo the lock and pull the door open, immediately freezing on the spot.

He has grown so much taller, and broader. His skin holds a wonderful bronze tan, and his hair is shorter than the last time you saw him. But his smile is the same. Bright and blinding, endlessly welcoming. Your heart skips.

“Hi.” He breathes. His voice is deeper too. A little scratchier. You continue to stare, mouth agape. You cannot believe it, and your brain cannot process it.

“Shoyo…” Your grip on the doorframe tightens. A small silence extends between you two. Shoto shifts a bit.

“Can I come in?” He asks sheepishly.

You abruptly jerk back, nodding vigorously. “Of course! Sorry, sorry. Come in.”

You allow Shoyo to pass through the threshold, toeing his shoes off and stacking them next to your own before looking back at you expectantly. You lead him into the living room, mind racing with a thousand thoughts.

He was back. From Brazil. Taller and tanned and just as bright. And he’s back. You reel with the revelation.

“How have you been?” He asks, seating himself on the couch and looking up at you with a small smile. He seems…. calmer somehow. More present instead of how flighty he used to be. More grounded. You nod a bit.

“I’m- I’ve been good. You?”

“Me too.”

“Okay good.”

Awkward silence stretches between you two. You feel your face heat up.

“I’m going to make tea!” You announce, bustling towards the kitchen before Shoyo can protest, trying not to think about the last conversation you had with him right before he left, over two years ago.

Once you settle before him with two steaming hot cups, the awkward air disperses a bit. You aren’t surprised. It always did with Shoyo. He had a talent like this. You ask him about Brazil and he goes on a whole storytime for it, telling you about the vast beaches and the burning sun. How much he learned and how much he changed.

That part is true, you can tell. Shoyo has changed. But despite all that, you can feel the way your heart skips, the way your palms get clammy. All those old feelings are coming back, and you cannot stop them. As you watch the way Shoyo laughs and reminisces with you, you’re not sure you want to.

A lull hits after Shoyo stops talking, and you watch as he fiddles with his hands a bit before speaking again, his voice lower this time, more serious.

“Can we….. pick up where we left off?” He doesn’t glance up at you, playing with his hands.

You blink at his words, trying to process them. He gives you a crooked smile that lights your nerves on fire.

“You never let me reply that day. And…. I didn’t think I should either, because I was leaving. But now…”

He trails off, you feel your breath catch. Is he implying what you think he is? You try not to get your hopes up, but Shoyo’s next words seal the deal.

“I like you tons.”

You can’t help your breathless laugh at his choice of words. Your skin buzzes. Shoyo scoots closer to you. You let him. His leg brushes against yours and you can feel the way electricity zips through you at the feeling.

“I like you tons too.”

Ten minutes later, when Shoyo drags huge suitcases into your lobby from outside your front door, you realize he came here straight from the airport. And it only makes you love him more.

[br0kenangel]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐌𝐲 𝐝♡ve 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Unhinged Aegon x Therapist Reader part 1

Summary: You never thought Aegon be like this. You though that he's probably like all the other rich kids who are only upset because daddy didn't given them money. But you couldn't have been more wrong...

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

PART 2, PART 3, PART 4

He hadn't said a word since entering the room, only slouched low in his chair, his bloodshot eyes tracing patterns in the ceiling like he was watching something she couldn’t see. His bleach-blonde hair was messy, like he hadn't bothered to run a comb through it in days, and the bags under his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept in even longer.

The silence was unnerving, and she hated it. The ticking clock in the corner of the room sounded like gunfire in the stillness. She cleared her throat and tried to start professionally. "Aegon," she began, her voice soft but steady, "how are you feeling today?"

He chuckled—a low, grating sound that didn’t reach his eyes. "How am I feeling?" he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Isn't that a bit cliché? Isn’t that what all therapists ask? I’m not here for small talk, sweetheart."

The way he said sweetheart made her skin crawl. It wasn’t the word itself but the way it slithered off his tongue, sharp and mocking. She shifted in her seat, trying to maintain her calm. "I’m just trying to understand where you’re at. You don't have to say anything you don’t want to."

He smirked, a twisted, unsettling expression that seemed more like a grimace. "Oh, I bet you want to understand me. You think you're gonna fix me? Is that it? Make me better, turn me into a functioning little cog in this shitty world?"

There was an edge to his voice, something dangerous beneath the surface. His eyes were unfocused, distant, as though she wasn’t even there. Y/N felt a chill settle in her chest, but she pushed forward, reminding herself that this was just another patient. A deeply troubled one, yes, but still just a man. She was trained for this.

"I’m not here to fix you, Aegon," she replied carefully. "I’m here to listen and help if I can."

His head snapped toward her so quickly she flinched. He caught it, of course, and his grin widened, predatory now. "You’re scared of me, aren’t you?" he said softly, like he was sharing a secret. "Good. You should be."

Aegon leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, staring at her with intensity that made her skin prickle. "You ever felt like nothing matters, doc? Like every fucking thing is just… pointless? No matter how much you drink, snort, or fuck, it never fills that hole inside you. It just… eats at you, every second of every day, until you can't take it anymore."

His voice was a low growl now, rough around the edges, filled with bitterness. "That's what it’s like in here." He tapped the side of his head, his gaze boring into her, daring her to look away. "Rotten. Empty. Dead. I tried to end it once, you know. Got close, too. But they wouldn’t even let me do that right. My family sent me to you instead. So now here I am, playing the part. But let’s be real—you can't fix this."

There was a rawness to his words that cut through her usual defenses. Y/N felt herself teetering on the edge of something she didn’t want to fall into. His pain was palpable, but it wasn’t the pain of someone who wanted to be saved.

"You don't have to believe in this process," she finally said, her voice tight. "But it’s important that you give it a chance."

Aegon tilted his head, studying her like she was some puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. His eyes were glassy, unfocused again, and his smile faltered, giving way to something deeper, more sinister. "You’re not like the others," he muttered, almost to himself. "Most of them are easy to read. But you… I can't quite tell if you’re really here to help or if you just like playing the part."

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. There was something unnervingly perceptive about him. He wasn’t just a lost soul spiraling into self-destruction—he was calculating, watching her reactions, testing her boundaries. And it was working. She didn’t like how vulnerable she felt under his gaze.

Y/N straightened in her chair, trying to regain control of the conversation. "I’m here to help, Aegon. That’s my job."

He scoffed, leaning back again, dismissive. "Help," he repeated bitterly. "You wanna help? You can't even help yourself."

His words hit harder than she expected, striking at something deep inside her, and for a moment, she faltered. She wasn’t prepared for how sharp he was, how quickly he cut through her professional veneer. There was something primal in the way he spoke, in the way he moved, that felt less like therapy and more like a predator playing with his prey.

"You look tired," he continued, eyes narrowing. "Overworked. You got that hollow look in your eyes, too. Like me. How long before you break, huh? How long before you’re the one on the other side of this desk?"

Her breath hitched slightly, and Aegon’s smile grew wider, more triumphant. He leaned in close, his voice a low whisper that sent chills down her spine. "Maybe we’re not so different after all, doc. Maybe you’re just as fucked up as I am."

Y/N’s hand trembled, and she clenched it into a fist, trying to steady herself. She needed to end this session—now. But she couldn’t show weakness. Not to him. "Our time is almost up," she said, her voice firmer than she felt. "We’ll continue this next week."

She checked the clock. He was due in ten minutes.

Her hand brushed the edge of her desk, fingers drumming a quiet, nervous rhythm. She told herself it would be fine. She had control. This was her space, her field. But the knot in her stomach tightened with every second that passed.

A knock on the door broke the silence. Her heart leapt in her chest.

"Come in" she called, trying to keep her voice steady.

The door swung open, and there he was, leaning casually against the frame, eyes half-lidded like he couldn't be bothered to care about anything. Aegon strolled into the room with an easy arrogance, tossing himself into the chair like he owned the place. He wore the same leather jacket from last week, cigarette burns dotting its sleeve, his jeans ripped and filthy. His disheveled blonde hair caught the afternoon light, giving him an almost angelic glow, which was disturbingly ironic.

"Doc" he greeted, his voice slick and lazy. "Miss me?"

Y/N forced herself to meet his gaze. "Aegon," she said calmly, ignoring his provocations. "How are you feeling today?"

He chuckled, a low sound that rumbled through the room. "Oh, I'm fantastic. Just spent the last few hours getting plastered. Wanna guess how much vodka it takes before you stop feeling like your head is caving in?"

She hesitated. "Did you... did you drink before coming here?"

Aegon gave her a crooked smile, his eyes gleaming with something dark. "Nah, don't worry, sweetheart. I'm sober enough to remember your name. For now."

He leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving hers. "But seriously, let's cut the bullshit. You're not here to ask me how I'm doing. You're here to dissect me, right? Get inside my head. See what makes the fucked-up bitch tick."

Y/N's throat tightened at the way he said bitch-dripping with disdain, self-hatred. His family, the Targaryens, were a wealthy, powerful lineage, tied up politics and scandal. She'd heard the rumors: how Aegon was the black sheep, a public embarrassment, the one they all whispered about behind closed doors. It wasn't hard to see why.

"I'm here to help," she said, trying to regain control of the session. "But that only works if you're willing to engage with the process."

His smirk widened. "You think l'm not engaging? l'm sitting right here, aren't I?" He paused, his gaze growing more intense. "Unless what you really want is for me to spill my guts to you. You want to know what makes me tick, doc? Fine. Let me tell you."

There was something unsettling about the way he shifted in his chair, like a predator getting comfortable before striking. His smile faded, replaced with a cold, hollow expression that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I hate everything," he began, his voice flat, detached. "I hate waking up. I hate breathing. I hate the sound of my own fucking voice. I hate this-" He gestured around the room, his fingers trembling slightly."一all this therapy bullshit. I hate my family. I hate the way they look at me like l'm some broken toy they can't fix."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But you know what I really hate? The fact that no matter what I do, nothing makes me feel alive. Drugs? Alcohol? Sex? It's just noise. All of it. And I'm so fucking tired of feeling empty."

His words hung in the air like smoke, choking the room. Y/N felt the urge to recoil, to put some distance between them, but she couldn't. There was something magnetic about him, a dark pull that made it hard to look away.

"You think I want to be here?" he continued, his eyes burning with intensity. "My family dragged me to this fucking place because I tried to put a bullet in my brain last month. They thought therapy would 'fix' me. But they don't get it. They never did."

He leaned back, letting out a bitter laugh. "But you know what's funny? Sitting here, looking at you, I almost want to believe it. l almost want to see if you can figure me out, doc. Maybe you'll crack the code."

His eyes bored into hers, and for a split second, Y/N swore she saw something vulnerable flicker behind the mask- something raw and desperate. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual cold sneer.

"You think you can handle that?" he asked softly. "Think you can fix someone who doesn't want to be fixed?"

Y/N's grip on her pen tightened. Her throat felt dry, her palms clammy. There was no easy answer to his question, no textbook response to the way he twisted everything around him into chaos. But she knew one thing-Aegon wasn't just here to be saved. He was here to test her, to see how far he could push before she cracked.

"l'm not here to fix you, Aegon,' she said, repeating her earlier sentiment. "But I am here to listen. To understand."

He snorted, shaking his head. "Listen to what? My sob story? Poor little rich boy, drinking and fucking his way through life, all because he's sad? You really think there's anything left to understand?"

Y/N met his gaze head-on, refusing to flinch. "I think there's more to you than what you're showing me."

Aegon went still, his smirk vanishing as his eyes locked onto hers. For a moment, it felt like the room shrank, the walls closing in, leaving just the two of them in an uncomfortable silence. He stared at her, unblinking, and she could feel the weight of his scrutiny, like he was peeling back layers she didn't even know existed.

"You really believe that?" he asked quietly, his voice soft for the first time since he walked in. "That there's something worth saving?"

Her chest tightened, but she nodded. "I do."

Aegon let out a shaky breath, his fingers curling into fists. His eyes darted to the floor, and for a split second, he looked vulnerable, lost, like a boy drowning in a sea of emotions he couldn't control.

But then the mask was back. The smirk. The mocking tone. "Well, doc" he said, standing up suddenly, towering over her. "I guess we'll see, won't we?"

He turned on his heel and strode toward the door, his movements confident and careless, as though he hadn't just let her glimpse the broken pieces hidden beneath the surface.

Just before he stepped out, he paused, glancing back at her. "I'll be seeing you again, doc. And maybe next time, we'll get to the fun stuff."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Y/N alone in the room with the heavy silence that always followed him. She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, her heart pounding in her chest.

There was something deeply unsettling about Aegon一something that made her feel like she was in way over her head.

The third session was different. The air in Y/N’s office felt heavier, thicker. She could sense it the moment Aegon walked in. His eyes, normally sharp with that mocking edge, were duller today. His movements more erratic. The usual arrogant saunter was replaced by something twitchy, unstable. He slouched into his chair, tapping his leg rapidly, the rhythm almost frantic.

His fingers moved to his mouth, picking at his nails, tearing at the skin until she saw faint streaks of red. He didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

“Good morning, Aegon,” Y/N began cautiously, watching him closely. “How are you today?”

He snorted but didn’t look at her, his eyes darting around the room like he was searching for something he’d never find. “How do you think I’m feeling?” he muttered, biting down hard on the side of his nail until it cracked and blood welled up.

Y/N felt her stomach twist, but she kept her voice steady. “It seems like you’re on edge today. Do you want to talk about it?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His leg tapped faster, his jaw tight. “Does it even fucking matter?” he muttered under his breath. His hands trembled slightly as he dug his nails into his palms, leaving angry red marks. "None of this shit matters. Not you, not me. It’s all just... noise."

She stayed silent, giving him space to speak, watching his body language as the tension in the room escalated. He was unraveling, fraying at the edges, and it was becoming harder to predict where he might break.

“I keep thinking about that night,” he said suddenly, his voice hollow. “That night I almost did it.”

He didn’t need to explain further; she knew what he meant. The night he tried to take his own life.

“I was this close, you know?” he continued, holding his fingers up to show just how narrow the gap was between life and death. “But then my fucking family showed up and ruined it. Dragged me out of my misery and threw me into this shitshow. Therapy, rehab, whatever else they think will fix me. But nothing’s going to fix me. I’m not broken. I’m just done.”

Y/N swallowed, choosing her words carefully. “Aegon, I know you’re in pain. But there are other ways to cope. You don’t have to do this alone.”

He snapped his gaze to hers, a sudden wildness flashing in his eyes. “You don’t get it, do you? None of this is about pain. It’s about being fucking empty. Do you know what that feels like? To be so hollow inside that no amount of drugs, booze, or people can fill it?”

She blinked, caught off guard by the rawness in his voice. “I don’t,” she admitted, her voice softer than she intended. “But I’m here to understand. If you’ll let me.”

Aegon’s laughter was bitter, almost manic. “Understand? You think you can understand me? No one understands. Everyone thinks I’m some tragic fucking mess just because I have money and a pretty face, but that’s why they keep coming back, isn’t it? They don’t care if I’m broken. They care because I’m rich, because I’m still good-looking enough for them to pretend for a night that I’m something more.”

He paused, his leg still bouncing, eyes narrowed and locked on hers with unsettling intensity. “Even you. You sit there, all composed and professional, pretending to care. But deep down, I know you don’t. You’re just waiting for your paycheck like the rest of them.”

Y/N frowned. “That’s not true, Aegon. I’m here because I want to help.”

He leaned forward abruptly, his eyes wild and feverish. “You don’t get it, do you? None of this matters! You can’t help me, no one can, and I’m so fucking tired of everyone pretending that you can!”

The energy in the room shifted abruptly. His voice rose, turning sharp and angry, his breathing quickening. She could see him unraveling, could feel the way his entire demeanor was changing—darker, more dangerous.

“I’m not some fucking experiment!” he screamed, his voice cracking as he stood up from his chair so suddenly that it toppled over. “You think you’re better than me, don’t you? Sitting there with your calm face, acting like you’re not fucking scared of me. But I can see it, I can feel it—”

“Aegon, calm down,” Y/N said, her heart racing, hands instinctively tightening around the arms of her chair. “I’m not trying to control you.”

But her words seemed to push him further over the edge. His face twisted with rage, and before she could react, he lunged toward her, grabbing her by the shoulders, his grip almost painful.

“You think you know me?” he shouted, his face inches from hers, tears welling in his eyes. “You think you can fix me? You think you can save me from this hell?”

His grip tightened, shaking her, but before Y/N could register her own fear, something inside her snapped—an instinct she hadn’t known she had. Instead of pulling away, instead of screaming or trying to push him off, she reached out and pulled him into an embrace.

Aegon froze.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly despite the tremor in her own hands, despite the rapid pounding of her heart. “Aegon,” she whispered, her voice steady even though she felt anything but. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

For a moment, he stood there, tense and unresponsive. His body was rigid, his breathing erratic, and she could feel the anger vibrating through him, threatening to explode again. But then, slowly, something shifted. His hands, which had been gripping her shoulders so tightly, loosened. His body sagged against hers, like all the fight had drained out of him in one overwhelming rush.

“I’m not okay,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so fucked up, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

Y/N tightened her arms around him, feeling his hot, uneven breath against her neck. “You don’t have to stop it alone.”

He let out a choked sob, his body trembling against hers as he broke down, the tears he had been holding back spilling over. He clung to her like a lifeline, his face buried in her shoulder, his breath hitching with each quiet, painful sob.

“I don’t want to be like this,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. “I don’t want to feel this way anymore.”

Y/N held him, her own emotions swirling inside her, a mixture of fear, pity, and something else she couldn’t quite name. She stroked his back gently, trying to soothe the storm inside him. “I know,” she whispered. “I know you don’t.”

Aegon’s sobs quieted after a while, his grip on her softening but never letting go completely. He pressed his face into her shoulder, his breathing still uneven, but calmer now. The anger and violence had passed, leaving only the raw, vulnerable boy beneath.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours—Aegon clinging to her, and Y/N holding him as if her arms were the only thing tethering him to the world.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her. His eyes were red and swollen, his face streaked with tears, and for the first time since they met, she saw him without the mask.

Aegon was broken, but not in the way he pretended to be. Not just a reckless addict or a wealthy, self-destructive mess. He was something else, something much more fragile than she had imagined.

And that scared her more than anything.

He swallowed hard, his voice a quiet rasp. “W-why did you do that?”

Y/N met his gaze, unsure how to answer. She didn’t know why. It was instinct, something she hadn’t planned, something that felt both right and terribly dangerous at the same time.

“Because I wanted to,” she said softly.

Aegon stared at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers like he was trying to find something—some kind of answer, some kind of reassurance that she wouldn’t leave him like everyone else had.

Finally, he nodded, and without another word, he leaned back into her embrace, resting his head on her shoulder, his breathing evening out as they sat there, together in the quiet, broken pieces of their shared moment.

And for the first time, Y/N wasn’t sure if she was the one trying to save him—or if he was dragging her into the darkness with him.

The room was eerily silent when Aegon walked in this time. The familiar twitch in his leg was absent, the nervous energy that usually radiated off him replaced with something else—something that made Y/N’s skin prickle. His eyes were still as sharp as ever, but now they were focused. Too focused. He looked at her with an intensity that felt almost suffocating.

He sat down slowly, his movements no longer erratic but deliberate. He didn’t fidget, didn’t bite at his nails. Instead, he folded his hands neatly in his lap and leaned back in the chair, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Good morning, Aegon,” she greeted him cautiously, sensing the shift in his demeanor.

“Morning,” he replied, his voice smoother than she was used to. Calm, almost unnervingly so. He looked... composed. For the first time since they started these sessions, he didn’t seem like a bomb waiting to go off. But something about that felt even more dangerous.

“How are you feeling today?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze still locked on hers. “Better,” he said softly. “Much better, actually.”

Y/N hesitated. “That’s good to hear. Do you want to talk about what’s been helping?”

Aegon smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve found a new hobby,” he said, his voice almost too casual, like he was talking about something mundane. “Something to keep me... occupied.”

A ripple of unease washed over her. “What kind of hobby?”

Aegon nodded, his eyes gleaming with an odd sort of excitement. “I found this beautiful dove. Just… sitting there, all alone. She's perfect. White feathers, soft. You ever touch a dove before?”

“No,” Y/N said slowly, her stomach beginning to churn.

Aegon’s smile widened. “You should. They’re so fragile, you know? So delicate. It’s like… like holding something that could break if you squeeze too hard.” His fingers twitched, as if mimicking the act of squeezing. “I’ve been taking care of her. Watching her.”

Y/N nodded slowly, unsure where this was going but feeling an icy tendril of dread curl around her spine. “That sounds nice. Taking care of something can be a good way to—”

“I want to rip her wings off.”

Her breath caught in her throat, the casual cruelty in his tone sending a chill down her spine. Aegon’s expression hadn’t changed; he still wore that same unsettling smile.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

His eyes were bright now, shining with an eerie intensity. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. About how beautiful she is, but how much better it would be if she couldn’t fly away. If I could keep her with me, forever. If she couldn’t go anywhere else, just… mine.”

Y/N felt the bile rising in her throat, but she swallowed it down, keeping her voice steady. “Aegon, that’s—”

“Isn’t that what love is?” he interrupted, his eyes wide, his expression so sincere, so disturbingly genuine. “You love something so much that you can’t stand the thought of it leaving. So you do whatever you have to, to make sure it stays. Even if that means taking something away. Like wings.”

“Aegon, that’s not—”

“But it makes sense, doesn’t it?” he continued, his voice rising slightly with excitement, as if he had stumbled upon some great revelation. “Why should something so beautiful get to leave? Why should she get to fly away and leave me behind? She doesn’t need wings. She just needs me.”

Y/N felt the room closing in around her, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. She had dealt with disturbed patients before, but this… this was different. Aegon wasn’t just unstable. He was dangerous. She could feel it in the air, in the way his gaze bore into her, in the way his words seemed to twist around her, suffocating her.

It had been two weeks since that conversation in her office, and Aegon had come to every session since. Something had shifted after that day—something subtle but unnerving.

The way he looked at her now, the way he lingered on her every movement, made Y/N feel more vulnerable than ever before.

“Morning, Aegon,” Y/N said, her voice steady but her pulse quickening slightly. She had grown used to reading him in subtle ways—the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers would twitch against his leg, and that obsessive stare. But today, it felt heavier.

“Morning sweetheart,” he replied smoothly, his voice quiet but deliberate.

Y/N tried to proceed with the session as usual, asking him questions, probing his thoughts, but his answers were vague, almost detached, as if he wasn’t really interested in discussing himself anymore. He wasn’t playing the part of the tragic, self-destructive mess. He was... different.

“You seem a little more composed today,” Y/N commented, keeping her tone neutral. “How are you feeling about everything? Still feeling as empty as before?”

Aegon’s lips twitched into a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Empty? No, not so much anymore.” His gaze was fixed on her in a way that made the room feel smaller. “I’ve been... paying attention to other things lately. Other people.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “Other people? What do you mean?”

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes still glued to hers, but his body language more relaxed than usual. “You know, the people around me. The ones who matter. The ones who actually care.”

There was an implication in his words that sent a shiver down her spine. “And who do you think cares, Aegon?”

His smile widened, but it was the kind of smile that felt wrong, too intimate. “You do.”

Y/N blinked, trying to maintain her composure. She had to remind herself that she was the professional here, that this was her job, and she couldn’t let him get under her skin. But the way he was looking at her made it hard to breathe.

“I’m here to help you, yes,” she replied calmly. “That’s what therapy is about.”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as if he were studying her. “That’s not what I mean.” His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it was enough to make her pulse quicken again. “You care about me... in a different way.”

Y/N felt her skin prickle with unease. She forced herself to remain professional, to push through the growing discomfort. “Aegon, we’ve talked about this before. My role is to help you as your therapist. Nothing more.”

His smile didn’t falter. “You keep saying that, but we both know there’s more to it. I can see the way you look at me now. You’re not scared anymore. What you said. How you held me. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. You care.”

“I’m here to help,” she repeated firmly, though her voice wavered slightly.

Aegon didn’t say anything for a moment. He just watched her, his eyes tracking every movement, every flicker of emotion on her face. It was like he was dissecting her with his gaze, trying to pick her apart piece by piece.

Finally, he leaned forward slightly, his smile fading into something more serious. “You looked really good last night, by the way.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. “What?”

“In your pajamas,” he added, his voice casual, as if he were commenting on the weather. “The ones you wore when you made tea. Light blue, with the little lace trim. You really should wear those more often.”

For a moment, the world around her went silent. All she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. Aegon was staring at her, unblinking, his expression disturbingly calm, like he had just complimented her on her shoes or her hair.

Her mind raced. How did he know? There was no way he could have seen her last night. Her apartment was on the third floor, and she lived alone. She had made tea before bed, just like every night, but how could he possibly know that?

“Aegon,” she began, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to keep it steady. “What... what do you mean?”

He just smiled, that same disturbing smile that never quite reached his eyes. “I just think you looked nice, that’s all.”

The room felt like it was closing in on her, her skin crawling with the weight of his words. Her mind reeled, her heart hammering in her chest. How did he know what I was wearing last night?

Her breath came in shallow gasps, the panic rising in her throat as she tried to process the implications. Had he been watching her? Was he following her outside of their sessions? The thought sent a wave of nausea through her.

“Aegon,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “What are you talking about?”

But before he could answer, the soft chime of the clock signaled the end of their session. Aegon stood up slowly, his movements deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world. He stretched, glancing at her with that same unsettling smile, and then made his way to the door.

“I guess we’ll have to pick this up next time,” he said casually, as if they had been discussing nothing more than the weather.

He paused at the door, turning back to look at her one last time, his eyes lingering on her with that same unnerving intensity. “See you soon, Y/N.”

And then he was gone, leaving Y/N alone in the room, her heart racing, her mind spinning with fear and uncertainty.

The door clicked shut behind him, and for a long moment, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The air felt thick, suffocating, as the weight of his words sank in.

He was watching me.

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[uravitypng]

Shameless smut for atsumu with a chubby reader?👉🏼👈🏼

you ask and i deliver <333 (because i can't help myself when it comes to writing about tsumu asdfghjk.) there may be some mistakes in this, it's only something short i wrote so hopefully you like this short shameless smut everyone !! i love atsumu with a chubby reader, here's a full fic i did with atsumu and a chubby reader (x)

"tsumu we're going to be late! our reservations are at half seven, we're meeting all the others in less than an hour." you're meant to be celebrating a msby win with the team and their partners but instead you're laying in your shared bed with your fiancee with your dress bunched up.

"don't blame me. it's yer fault for looking so hot. you can't blame me when my wife looks so good."

"wife? not yet." you try and pull your dress back down but atsumu isn't having it and swats your hand away, not letting you.

"shut yer trap, ya know what i mean." while keeping your dress bunched up he runs his large hands over your thick thighs, enjoying your soft skin underneath his hands.

you giggle at his response but your laugh is cut off as he places a kiss over your clothed clit making you gasp. " 's not my fault when you look so hot in that dress, clinging to all your curves like that. you're making me go crazy." he pulls down your underwear and throws them somewhere behind them not taking any notice to where, "we can be a little late."

"a little?" you snort as you stare of in the direction of your discarded clothes. he smirks and kisses your hip, pulling down your dress too at the top so that your tits are on display and your dress is only covering the middle part of your body. atsumu pulls down your bra and gropes your breasts.

"this is stupid," he says suddenly before he starts pulling up your dress to take it off completely and moves up to face you so he can look at how pretty you are.

"i thought you said it looked hot?" you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to kiss him.

"you do! ya just look better with it off," he smirks and allows you to pull him down. kissing messily, all tongue and teeth, clashing , right in the moment, he just can't help himself when it comes down to you and you're not one to complain just as swept up around atsumu as he is with you.

his clothes come off just as rushed as yours did, hastily pulling down his jeans and boxers all at once. he quickly threw them behind him too, getting the same treatment as your clothes did.

atsumu lifted your thigh up, resting his palm at the bottom, where he's slung your thigh over his shoulder and he's folding your body as he plunges his fat cock into you. your wet heat envelops him and he groans, "jesus baby, i love you s'much."

he ruts into you hard and fast, causing your plush body to jiggle with each thrust and atsumu doesn't know where to look, you look like a goddess in his eyes and every inch of you is perfect he just doesn't know where to look. your tummy rolls that are squished together, your breasts that freely bounce without any bra, your cute face and chubby cheeks, your pretty pussy that keeps sucking him back in with every thrust, not wanting him to go, leaving a creamy ring at the base of his cock with every thrust. he can't decide where to look- you're perfect.

you admire how handsome your fiancee is above you, bleached dyed hair that's became messy after him jumping on you, a light sheen of sweat covers his forehead and his lips plump, looking slightly swollen from how much you've been kissing. you reach a hand up and tug his hair, pulling him down so he's close enough for you to kiss again and you do kiss.

one hand is still holding onto your thigh occasionally squeezing the softness making him harder. his other hand is holding onto one of your hands, fingers intertwined. "love you too 'tsumu!" you moan and you're gripping onto his hand even tighter.

you turn up to dinner late, very late.

[bunnykawa]

all mine (sakusa x f. reader)

summary: Big brother Sakusa has to deal with his flirty little sister. word count: 6k? warnings: 18+, sexual themes, incest, noncon/dubcon/rape, voyeurism kinda, some yandere themes, sakusa is delusional a/n: just a little thing i wrote out of nowhere to let out some steam and because battle of the garbage dump got released in japan and yeahh i just thought about my handsome man LMAOO. sorry if it's not that great since it's been like how long?? but enjoy!! also no this isn't a part 3 to my fic from 4 years ago lolol and excuse any of my typos 😵‍💫

Sakusa doesn’t know if he should be mad or not. The glow of his alarm clock is illuminating his dark room with the soft moonlight slightly peeking in through the blinds. He runs his hands through his curls before he sighs and puts his pillow over his face. 

He can hear you. The soft moans and suppressed whimpers coming from plump, swollen lips can be easily heard through your thin walls. If he closes his eyes and really focuses, he could hear how wet your pussy is as you get drilled right next door—right next to the wall, too, because he knows that you prefer your bed in the corner of the room and the sound of the bed creaking is getting unapologetically louder and louder. He was supposed to be asleep an hour ago for early volleyball practice the next morning, but instead he’s listening to you. Every little noise, every creak, every word that slips out of your clenched teeth as you try to be as quiet as you can—”Please,” you beg in a broken voice, “Y-you’re so big, ‘Tsumu.”

’Tsumu; the little nickname that makes his blood boil and all he can think about is how much of a fucking asshole he is. Yeah, he should be mad—he has every right to be angry, he thinks. Sakusa has to see Atsumu Miya’s cocky face and disgustingly bleached hair at volleyball practice every week and now he has to hear the fucker himself fucking his little sister into oblivion in the next room. 

And now it’s getting hot in his own room! He scratches the side of his neck in irritation. Why does it feel like his comforters are suffocating him? Sakusa throws his pillow across the room and rips the blankets off of himself. The tip of his hard cock is peeking out from one of the legs of his boxers, almost as if his body is mocking him for feeling this way—for getting hard at the sound of his little sister getting split open. He grimaces for a second, but the guilt and shame can hit him later. Right now it’s too fucking hot.

So, he’s angry because he hates Atsumu—hates how Atsumu has managed to infiltrate his professional life and personal life in such a gross way. Why is Sakusa bitterly pushing his boxers down around his thick thighs? His cock springs free and he grips the shaft harshly.

“Fuck,” Sakusa mutters. He starts slowly, gently pumping his hand around his cock. It’s warm in his hand and twitching at the small bursts of pleasure, enough to allow a pained moan out through gritted teeth. When was the last time he even had someone over to use their body how he pleased? He wishes he could ignore it—ignore you—but all he does is pick up his pace as he listens to the sound of your cunt getting destroyed and your sickeningly sweet begging for Atsumu to fuck you harder.

Oh, he’s mad—so mad that everything is throbbing from his head to the head of his dick. He hisses at the pain in his temples but it does little to stop him from continuing to fist his cock.

“‘Tsumu!” he hears you cry out. The sound of your headboard slamming against the wall is getting even louder, accompanied by the slick noises coming from between your legs and skin slapping against skin. The room feels like a sauna at this point, but nonetheless, Sakusa squeezes his eyes shut as he picks up speed and fucks into his own hand like a pervert at the sound of his little sister. 

Would you be scared of him if you knew how badly he wanted to be in Atsumu’s place? How he wants to rip Atsumu away from you and make you cum on his cock the way he wants to? His skin is getting sticky from his sweat—his arm is getting tired from how fast he’s pumping his cock, desperate to release his frustrations in a stream of hot white liquid and how he wishes he could paint your face with it. He imagines how your lips would feel wrapped around his cock—if you would beg for him through watery eyes and tear-stained puffy cheeks trying to put all of him in your mouth. Is his cock too big for you? Is your pussy as warm and sopping wet as he imagines it is? 

“I’m gonna cum!” you scream, “I’m cumming! I’m cumming!” Your voice cracks when you chant for Atsumu. Sakusa’s whole body tenses, every single nerve and muscle in his body on fire because damn it, he wants to be the reason why you're screaming and convulsing and crying from pleasure like a whore.

Then with a few more strokes of his cock, he releases his cum in heavy streams that land in a sticky mess on his sheets and lower abs. He groans as his cock twitches against his aching fingers. After a few seconds, he lets go of his shaft and lets it fall against his pelvis. It’s like the whole world has stopped—there’s no more erotic noise coming from your side of the wall. It would have been completely silent if it weren’t for the sound of labored breaths and giggling. He wonders if Atsumu is going to cuddle you to sleep and stay the night or if he’s going to run away and leave you yearning for more.

Embarrassment creeps onto his cheeks with how fast he came, but as fast as the embarrassment comes, the guilt suddenly settles deep into his stomach, into his joints, into every muscle of his being. Sakusa is disgusted with himself for letting his lust take over during a moment of weakness—lust for his imouto who doesn’t know any better, who is in the prime of her life to fuck around and find out without much of a care in the world, who doesn’t think about the consequences. Sakusa can’t do that like you do, it’s not built into him except for the few times where he did let loose—although he’s not as sloppy as you. Sometimes it feels like you were raised in different households. It shouldn’t be a surprise to him that you flirt and fuck with his volleyball teammates—or anyone that breathes in your direction for that matter. It shouldn’t—but for the first time in his life, he asks himself that if you undress for anyone…then why not for him?

He curses to himself. His expectations are too unrealistic. You’re siblings! And he knows that you both could and should never unless you wanted to ruin your relationship and test your morals. He reaches over to the towel hanging on his desk chair and quickly wipes away the mess he made. A nice, steamy shower pops into his mind, but he’s too tired to wash away his sins.

The room gets colder and his transgressions have nowhere to go, marinating into his skin, reminding him that he’s a shitty big brother for wanting to ravage you from the inside. As his mind goes hazy from how sleepy he is, he also hears a door open and shut followed by heavy footsteps and another door—your door and the front door. A small smirk finds its way across his lips. Sakusa may have a sick attraction to his little sister that he may have recently discovered, but at least he’s never lonely. You, however—

You can never make them stay long.

~

“Omi-nii~!” Sakusa hears you sing, bouncing through the hallways of your shared apartment until he feels you wrap your arms around his naked waist. He’s in the kitchen warming up the leftovers you cooked earlier in the day over the stove, looming over the counter and scrolling away at his phone. 

He scoffs and leans away from you in mock disgust, “Weren’t you sick last week? Get off me before you give me your disease.” 

“I don’t have one! I’m clean!” you whine with a pout, squeezing your arms around him tighter. You press the front of your body against his back, a gesture that makes Sakusa feel fuzzy, especially when you also press your nose against his bare back to inhale his scent. There’s something so intimate with the way you’re not even scared to hold him while he’s not wearing a shirt. His skin is fresh from the shower and his hair is slightly damp. He pulls away to look at you when he notices how nicely dressed you are. 

With a raised brow, he asks, “Where the hell are you going this late?” You pull away from him to adjust your dress. He turns to face you, his eyes going up and down your body with sick thoughts beginning to cloud his brain—sick, twisted thoughts that should have never crossed his mind.

“First of all—” you say, rolling your eyes at him, “—it’s not late. It’s literally only six-thirty, you weirdo.” Sakusa narrows his eyes as he begins to scowl. But despite his obvious look of you better not be going out like that, you happily ignore him. “Second of all, I’m going out on a date!” 

“A date with who?” he asks sharply, folding his arms against his chest and straightening his posture. He always does this to tower above you, to hopefully make you feel smaller than you are. It worked much better when you were both younger.

You bite your lip before giggling his name, “Atsumu.” You seem to get bubbly as his name rolls off of your tongue naturally with a smile playing at your lips and warm cheeks to accompany it. Maybe his heart aches a bit with jealousy when you say that stupid name, a feeling that makes the guilt settle heavily again. The last time he heard you say his name—moan his name—was a few nights ago when he did something no brother should ever do, separated by a few inches of thin walls. As quick as he is to question you, he is also quick to shake those damning thoughts out of his head before they manifest into something more and he ends up losing it in the kitchen you share. He’s scared that he might never forgive himself if he does.

“Since when the hell did you get so close?” Sakusa shoots you another question with furrowed brows. As monotonous as Sakusa usually is, the distaste is present in his tone and his stance.

“I don’t know,” you sigh so dreamily, “It just happened. I didn’t know he could be so sweet.” He could vomit if he had the chance. Out of all people—Atsumu? Really? Sweet?!

“Well, I guess you do have a disease then,” he retorts, sticking his nose up in disgust, “He’s sick in the head, (Y/N). I thought you had better taste in men but here you go fucking around with my teammate—”

“Omi-nii...” you pout.

“—like he’s the only guy you know. I expected better from you,” Sakusa continues with a puff of his chest. He turns away from you to turn the stove off. “He’s always sick, too. Always getting a cold and then going to practice like he’s not contagious.” 

It’s Atsumu taking his little sister away from him that angers him more than he could ever imagine—but it’s also knowing that he will never be the one between your thighs that makes him so disappointed. There’s a silence in the room that creeps up his back.

“You’ve been so out of character recently, Nii-san,” you ponder behind him, placing your finger on your chin to pretend that you’re thinking, “It’s not like you to lose your cool over a guy. Are you…

…jealous?”

No.

He’s just looking out for you—he’s your big brother after all! But he doesn’t know how to respond and stands still, holding his breath. Deny, deny, deny. He turns his head to look at you in his peripherals; you’re staring right at him with the same sweet eyes that he remembers from your childhood.  Maybe he has been out of character—did you really notice? As it feels like some kind of tension is suffocating him and the ground is going to swallow him, you crack a wide smile and start giggling uncontrollably, which instantly makes him frown. 

This is why you two are complete opposites—Sakusa; as serious as ever and always playing the voice of reason like a good older brother, and you; the first to laugh when it’s quiet and always being the fun little sister when things get too serious for your liking. You skip towards him and wrap your arms around him again with the biggest smile on your face, snuggling your nose into the skin of his back. 

“You’ll always be my favorite, Omi-nii. I love you more than any boy in the world,” you hum. He wonders if you can hear his heart beating louder with each syllable of your words.

Sakusa could laugh. Usually he would, before pushing you off and scolding you for getting too close to him. But his heart continues to thump and his voice gets stuck in his throat when your hand slides down his abs and brushes lightly over his twitching cock. It’s not like him to lose his composure like this. You place a saccharine kiss on the curve of his back before you hastily let go of him and walk away. 

You didn’t touch him enough for him to say anything—to reprimand you for touching your Onii-san like that—but just enough for your touch to linger where it shouldn't. 

~

A soft knocking at Sakusa’s bedroom door stirs him awake. He groggily twists and turns under his bed sheets, irritated that someone would wake him so late at night. He hears the ‘click’ of the door knob and the hinges creaking as the door opens.

“Omi-nii?” you whisper gently from your place at the door. Sakusa ignores you easily, choosing to keep his eyes shut in hopes that maybe you’ll leave him alone and let him have his peace. 

“Omi-nii,” you call his name louder and more firmly, “Onii-san, are you awake?” 

What a stupid question, he thinks to himself, but Sakusa figures that you’re not going to leave his room any sooner, so he finally opens one of his eyes slowly to see your head peeking into his room. It’s dark—you’re almost just a black silhouette in his blurry vision, but he can make out your soft and surprisingly tired features just enough. “What, (Y/N),” he groans, his voice gravelly with fatigue. 

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Your voice is timid when you ask—it brings Sakusa back to when you two were younger and you were just as shy to ask him the same question—and the same question is what prompts him to suddenly sit up, letting his bed sheets fall to expose his lean upper body. He rubs at his eye before looking up to gaze at you, clad in a shirt of his (that he begrudgingly noticed went missing months ago) engulfing your figure.

Omi-nii’s shirts are way more comfier than mine, you would whine. He would roll his eyes and snap at you, usually, but would still let you take his shirts anyway. The perverted part of him secretly loves how his clothes fit you.

Sakusa doesn’t ask and figures that it’s best that he doesn’t. He sees the way you’re twiddling with the bottom of his shirt between shaky fingers. He could tell you that he was right all along, laugh in your face, anything to rub it in—instead, he pulls the covers aside and scoots over, creating an empty space for you, just for you.

“Come here,” he mutters, loud enough for you to hear. You move instantly, your feet delicately pitter pattering against his hardwood floors. The mattress dips lightly as you climb into his bed. You pull his blanket up to your chin instantly and Sakusa grabs whatever he can get. “Go to sleep, (Y/N).” Without another word, he turns away from you and settles into his sleeping position on his side.

After a few moments of silence, you mumble something Sakusa can’t quite make out. And when he chooses not to respond, you say it again, “Can you hold me, Onii-san?” Then his body completely stiffens in response. He always said yes when you two were kids—hell, even when you were teenagers and it was definitely considered inappropriate by then. Would it be weird if he said no now?

But he sighs, knowing that he can't just say no. He turns around and drags himself closer to you, lifting his arm so that you can move underneath it and press yourself into the front of his body. His breath hitches as you do, an all too familiar heat igniting in his stomach as the curves of your body fit perfectly against him.

When he wraps his arm around you, he suddenly feels so complete and so awful, almost having to hold back on how tightly he wants to really hold you. This time he can inhale the scent of your hair—a mixture of whatever shampoo and conditioner you keep in your rotation and your favorite leave-in conditioner. The skin on your arms is soft from your lotion, your legs are smooth and buttery against him, and fuck are you so warm. He could absolutely eat you up right here if you’d let him. Maybe in your vulnerable state of mind…you wouldn’t say no.

Sauksa doesn’t know what demon has decided to possess him. He’s been thinking too much for the past few weeks for sure. A little earworm is corrupting him, whispering in his ear and daring him to do something and destroy you.

His hands are moving on their own. They slip underneath your shirt—hot fingertips caressing your skin so carelessly and trailing up and down your hips. He wants to laugh because you’re only wearing panties. How obvious can you get? If you were thinking about him the same way he thought about you, you could have just said something.

You tense up at his unexpected touch, but don’t move away from him—you don’t even say a word, not when his hand slides up to cup one of your tits to pull you closer to him, not when he decides to press his hard cock against your ass, not a single word.

Sakusa thinks he���s been too hard on himself recently, especially with how his feelings about you have changed so drastically. You’re not ready for him like that, that much is obvious with how much you’re shivering, but he deserves this after all the mental anguish you put him through because of how stupid you are.

First, you fuck his dumb teammate in the apartment that Sakusa pays for. And out of all the teammates, you choose the one who used to have piss blond hair back in high school and still slurs his words. Second, you have the audacity to touch him and kiss him and tease him, knowing that he can never have you the way that he wants. Third, you wake him up in the middle of the night to sleep in his bed in one of the shirts he’s been looking for for months and just your thin panties that leave so little to the imagination—

“Omi?” you quavered, knocking him out of his thoughts. Oh, he didn’t realize how hard he was squeezing you or how rough his grip is on your perky tits. He also didn’t realize how he started grinding himself against your ass, wedging his covered cock between your covered asscheeks in an attempt to feel the warmth from your core. The guilt should have been settling in him again, yet to his surprise, he feels…nothing. All he wants is to hold you down against the bed and wreck your insides until you bleed and beg for him. 

“Omi-nii!” A panicked gasp escapes you and suddenly Sakusa is on top of you, holding you down by your wrists. You gaze up at him, lips parted in shock, eyes so wide, and the first thing that goes through his mind is beautiful. He leans down and presses his lips against yours, leaving you so shocked that your entire body freezes.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, and his words flip a switch in your brain. You’re already fighting against him, desperate to escape from his hold on your wrists and the sins he’s planting on your lips and for the first time in your life you’re actually scared of him. 

Sakusa grips your wrists even tighter and hisses as you squirm, “I said hold still.” 

Then you force yourself to relax with no choice but to let Sakusa explore your mouth. Your hesitation is obvious (of course, it is) and instead of pulling back and knocking sense into himself, he’s offended—out of all the guys you let violate your body, you won’t let your own brother do the same? 

He disconnects from you to grip both your wrists above your head, holding you down easily with one hand. Then his other hand quickly pushes the bottom of your shirt up to your stomach to display your bottom half and grabs the top of your panties. You’re horrified as Sakusa effortlessly rips your panties off of you and throws the shredded pieces off to the side, exposing you to the cold air and to your brother’s eyes. 

Your brother’s eyes. You can feel the bile coming up to your throat at the realization. Your brother is going to do something to you against your will and you can’t do anything to stop him because he’s bigger and stronger than you and you live alone together. As you make eye contact with him, it’s like you can’t even recognize him. You jerk your body away in a feeble attempt to free yourself, but it’s no use.

“Stop!” you cry, ashamed, scared, and so confused, “Nii-san, stop!” 

He splits your thighs apart with his own muscled thighs and you feel so weak trying to close them again, to hide that part of you that your big brother should never ever see. 

But to Sakusa, it’s a sight that he wishes he could see over and over again and he has no problem taking his chances if it means that he can have you—he’s already gone way too far, past the point of return, and he doesn’t want to care anymore about what consequences his actions might bring. A small smirk appears on his face as he looks down at you, so vulnerable and small underneath him. He doesn’t want to waste time—his boxers are already down his thighs and his cock is free. You’re looking down at his cock with pure fear on your face—fuck, he’s big, so big that you’re dumbfounded that he’s even real. But he’s also your brother. You literally grew up together and he still takes care of you and you see each other everyday.

You want to look away but you can’t. Although your vision is blurry due to your tears, you can still see him and only him. “This is why you asked to sleep with your nii-san tonight, right?” he breathes, looking down at you with a hunger in his eyes that you’ve never seen or noticed before. You’re shaking your head no. Never. You were just sad and needed your big brother to comfort you without asking any questions.

“Stop lying to me, (Y/N). You know what you’re doing,” he scoffs, “I’ll take care of you. Just like I always have.” Then, he grabs the back of your thigh with his free hand to hoist one of your knees up against your chest, exposing you even more than you already are. Before you can even process it, the head of his hard cock is pressing against your entrance so delicately and so carefully but it’s terrifying all the same.

A loud gasp escapes you and you attempt to yank yourself away from him again. Tears are fully streaming down your face now, dampening your hair and the sheets. Your chest is tightening— you’re so scared. You don’t even know what Sakusa is talking about so you're even more puzzled. As far as you know, you’ve been the same as you’ve always been. “Don’t d-do that,” you beg with a crack in your voice, “Omi-nii, please.”

But Sakusa is pleased to hear your broken voice—irritated that you don’t want him to continue, sure, but pleased nonetheless. He’s always wanted to see you like this underneath him and he finally has you. Your legs spread wide open for him to feast on is something that seemed so unobtainable yet you’re in his bed, exposed and ready.

Please.

He pushes through the tight rings of your pussy until he completely fills you up—the tip of his cock is fighting its way through plush walls to kiss your cervix and you swear that your world has shattered into a million tiny pieces. A sob breaks free from your throat.

The room is ice cold. There’s no more air in your lungs as you convulse around him. You can hear your heartbeat thumping in your ears but everything is so silent. Sakusa lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding and suddenly everything is okay now—he knows that there was no demon possessing him to think about you in such a dirty way because it was really him all along. All his sick fantasies and insatiable desires, dreams of devouring you, and all those sleepless nights imagining what you would look like with his cock so deep inside you that you couldn’t breathe—it was just him, so painfully in love with you even if he can’t have you. And now he’s inside of you. He’s actually inside of you.

“Fuck,” he curses in a strained voice, “You’re so fucking tight, fuck.” It feels as if your mind and body are attempting to recover from the shock of Sakusa forcing himself inside your cunt but there’s no time for recovery at all—hell, you’re both surprised that he even managed to slide into you as easily as he did.

Then he starts moving, slow and steady to open you up more. The sting of him stretching you is enough to make you let out a few wails between quivering lips. You can physically feel your walls shudder around his length and your nerves are practically screaming, ringing your inner alarms, knowing that this is so fucking wrong.

“Get the fuck off of me!” you sob, attempting to jerk your wrists away from his one-handed grip. You’re not even sure when you became so weak, even with adrenaline coursing through your veins. And you’re even more shocked when he lets go of your wrists for a split second only to hold you by the throat firmly.

“You need to shut the fuck up sometimes,” Sakusa breathes with a hint of annoyance. Your shaky hands find their way to wrap around his wrist, nails clawing at his skin, hopelessly trying to loosen his grip. His cock is still moving dangerously inside you, filling you up and then leaving you empty with just his tip, only to fill you up again. The slow rhythm of his hips pressing against yours is tormenting—your skin is crawling with every moment that your hips meet and you wonder if he moved more then would time go by faster? 

Labored breaths and wheezes are the only sounds that you’re able to let out with Sakusa’s hand on your throat. There’s fatigue creeping in your bones yet you feel the energy in your veins and it doesn’t make any sense. Nothing makes sense and everything hurts and just—why?

“C-Can’t…breathe,” you manage to gasp out. As much as you want to stay awake, afraid of what your older brother might do to you if you pass out, you can see your vision starting to blur and your brain beginning to turn into mush. Your hands are loosening their grip around his arm that’s holding you captive. He’s squeezing your throat tighter and tighter.

You just needed someone—needed your onii-san to help you during this fucked up time between you and Atsumu. Usually he’d be on top of you like this, fucking you until you cry for him and cum all over his cock. You’d moan and drool and beg—anything for him to claim you over and over again. Instead of seeing stupid bleached hair and flirty eyes, you see black curls and dispassionate voids gazing at you as you’re about to pass out and it’s like he doesn’t even fucking care! You just wanted to feel better and to feel your onii-san’s comfort again and he decides to touch you and—

He presses his forehead against yours all of a sudden, and you can barely hear him when his lips start moving. “...What?” you choke out through wheezes. 

“If you want me to let go, you have to let me fuck you as hard as I want,” he repeats himself firmly. You don’t realize that he’s stopped moving inside you, leaving you feeling oddly empty. All you know is that you need to breathe and maybe that desperation is what makes you attempt to nod your head in agreement. A smirk appears on Sakusa’s face and before you can even register what's going on, he’s straightening up to thrust his cock even deeper into your core and he finally lets go of your throat. 

You’re coughing and sputtering, oddly embarrassed at how much saliva you’re spitting out, and you’re hyper aware that you have him inside you again, deep inside you and painfully stretching you to the point where you’re afraid that he’s going to rip you in half. Sakusa grabs the backs of your thighs and presses both your knees against your chest again, leaving his hands there to hold you down once more and to expose your pussy to the cold air. You feel the warmth spread across your cheeks from how embarrassing it is to be on full display and how repulsive it is that it’s Sakusa between your legs to ogle at you as much as he pleases. You wonder what changed between you two—has he always felt this way? It makes you sick to your stomach to imagine that your brother that you love so dearly and looked up to your whole life wants you and it’s diabolical how this is what he wants from you.

And when he starts thrusting harder than before, slamming his cock into you with such a force that your body lurches with his movements, your brain is back to turning into mush and a part of you wishes that you did pass out—at least you wouldn’t have to be conscious to feel everything. You can’t help but let out quiet whimpers and gasps that don’t even sound like you. It hurts—the stretch of his thick cock is so unbearable and his hands on your thighs are sure to leave ugly bruises. 

“You feel so good,” he almost laughs, like he can’t believe this is happening. You are as soft as he imagined, maybe even more, and how easily your pussy starts creaming around him makes his heart skip a beat. When he presses his forehead against yours again, you want to recoil even though you physically can’t. You don’t want to look him in the eyes yet you can’t bring yourself to look away. You don’t even know if you can hate him after this and Sakusa knows that—how you love him so much, even if it’s not the way that he wants you to—

—because you need him. 

It’s nauseating how much you still need him. It’s horrifying how your legs are beginning to shake from how deep he is and how he’s shoving himself against your cervix unkindly. Most of all, it’s disgusting how you can feel—even hear—the puddle pooling from your cunt, forcing you to stretch to accommodate his size—and maybe in the midst of your hysterical state, maybe Sakusa feels good, too.

You can’t admit that—you definitely don’t want to—but for fuck’s sake, you know what your body likes and although it’s Sakusa punishing you in the worst way possible, you recognize that tightness in your stomach—the corrupt feeling that makes you scream and cry and beg, that makes your body writhe in desperation to have more. Fuck, it’s morally wrong but at the same time, your body loves to feel full and stretched to its limits. You’re so sad that Atsumu “broke up” with you (you weren’t really dating in the first place) because Atsumu knew your body so well and his dick was huge. You really shouldn’t be comparing since the thought is so sickening, yet the way Sakusa is splitting you open is different—so different from Atsumu with no gentleness, no delicacy, just pure lust and a desire to fuck you until you faint and it’s…better. It shouldn’t be better, shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but it's better.

When the realization hits you, the shame and embarrassment floods your stomach, too—how could you let your own brother fuck you like this and how could you enjoy it? And now you’re angry at yourself, for how Sakusa is making you feel, how your body is reacting, how raw and wet your pussy, how Atsumu blindsided you, how this whole situation is so fucking unfair.

“Omi-nii,” you whine with a dry throat, reaching up to grab his thick biceps, all tensed up and veiny from gripping your thighs and turning them purple. His muscles are so well-defined that you almost forget that he’s your brother and start melting into his skin. The base of his cock is hitting your clit every time your hips meet, sending shocks of pleasure all throughout your core. The walls of your cunt are convulsing around him. It shouldn’t feel good, it really shouldn’t, but the burning sensation on your thighs from having your knees pressed against your chest to expose your cunt and Sakusa carving the shape of his cock into your pussy is the best fucking thing you’ve ever felt in all your years of living. As guilty as you feel for wanting more, you start to beg for him, “Please make me cum, Omi-nii.”

A smug smile plays on his lips. Your pussy is dripping everywhere, making wet noises every time Sakusa moves, and he thinks he’s finally satisfied. Not completely though, because he wants you to squirt on his cock and he wants you to squirt on his cock every night from now on. He deserves it, deserves this, deserves to be the one inside of you and claiming you and pumping you full of cum.

He leans down and captures your lips with his once again, and this time you let him slip his tongue against yours in a messy passionate kiss. When he lets go of one of your thighs to rub at your clit with his thumb and your body tenses up harshly as a result, he sneers at you, “Cum all over my cock, you bitch.” 

Then your cunt tightens around him and you hate that he’s being so mean to you but you cry and scream and dig your nails into his muscles like you’ve never came before because you like how mean he is and the only thing you can pathetically moan is Onii-san~!

He doesn’t stop when you cum, chasing his own high to drown your pussy in his sticky seed and hopefully force another climax out of your body to feed his ego, so he wraps his hands around your throat again while you’re delirious and kisses you again and again. “You can fuck whoever you want,” he mutters against your plump lips, “Think that you know what love is when you have some other loser inside you—” 

 “—but this stupid cunt is all mine.”

[charliemwrites]

A reader x Simon commission piece I just recently finished for my sweet bean N.W. I had a lot of fun writing a little scenario I never would have thought up on my own!

(Reader is described with FAB anatomy, but no gendered pronouns are used. No sensitive content warnings, just spice.)

It’s a perfect day.

The sun is a bright golden marble in a perfect jewel sky, toasting the sand into a powdery bed. There are only wisps of flossy cloud to interrupt the light, a feathery salt-soaked breeze to soften the edge of heat. The water is nothing but lazy ripples, foamy waves crawling up the coastline before slithering back.

And your coworker is soaking wet.

When you first signed on as a lifeguard, you didn’t expect more than some extra pocket money. A little financial cushion while you finished working through your master’s program. A chance to get some sunshine instead of holing up in your room. Maybe the occasional bit of eye candy while you fished children out of the shallows and fussed at families for littering around the barbecue grills.

You didn’t expect Simon “Walking Wet Dream” Riley. (Okay, that’s not his actual nickname – apparently it’s “Ghost.” Because of course it is.) You didn’t expect his big, fuck-off muscles, or his perfect sun-bleached hair, or the dark ink of his tattoos, or…

Well.

You got more than just eye candy when Mister Price hired you. Simon is a whole damn feast. Especially when he’s fresh from a cool-down swim, red trunks weighed down by water and tides, revealing the tantalizing curves of his hips. Droplets skittering over the bulges and divots of his body, sparkling in the sun…

“Excuse me?”

You try not to jolt, head jerking to the guy that hopefully hasn’t been standing there too long. He looks about your age, maybe a bit older. Wavy, chin-length brown hair and eyes nearly as blue as the water. Pretty, in a young Instagram prince kind of way. Maybe your type in another time – the time Before Simon.

“Hi,” you say quickly, “did you need something?”

“Do you have any plasters?” he asks. “My little brother scraped his knee.”

You glance at the kid shuffling just behind him, his knees dirtied and one red with a bit of blood. Nothing serious, you determine, but could use some first aid.

“Oh, poor thing!” you say. “C’mon, we have some bandages in the shack.”

You wave to get Simon’s attention, make the quick hand-sign indicating you’ll be gone for a moment. He notices you, the two boys, then nods and makes his way back to his usual lookout spot.

The shack is a quiet, cool oasis away from the heat. You’ve dozed off next to the mist fan more times than you care to admit, only to be woken by Simon pressing a cold water bottle to your cheek. It used to annoy you, but now you appreciate the reminder to hydrate.

There’s a robust first aid kit in one of the cabinets, though you groan a bit when you see how high Simon’s stashed it this time. Damned tall man; you could swear he does it on purpose. You try to reach it on your toes, but when that doesn’t work, you jump a bit. Still no luck. You’re going to have to get the stepstool at this rate.

“Here, I’ve got it.”

You jump a bit as Insta-Prince comes up behind you, sliding in close before you can scoot out of the way. He stretches his arm over your head, tugging the kit down from the shelf. When you glance up – concerned about something falling on you – you find him smirking down at you.

“Thanks,” you say trying not to snatch it out of his hands.

“Seems like an… inconvenient place to put that,” he muses.

You sit the younger brother on a plastic chair near the door and kneel, kit open on the floor. “We usually keep it lower… I think Simon forgets I’m shorter than him.”

The kid winces a bit at the sting of wound wash but puts on a brave face when you smile at him.

“Seems pretty rude. Is he hard to work with?” Insta-Prince asks.

You hesitate, trying to think of how to respond. Simon was intimidating, at first. Dark eyes and stoic expression, he was difficult to read. Always within a stone’s throw, you used to feel like he was hovering. Like he didn’t think you could do your job right.

Over the months, though, that insecurity has bridged into a tentative friendship. Even if he’s not talkative himself, he lets you chat to your heart’s content. Keeps you hydrated, reminds you to eat snacks and apply sunscreen. Even handles the rowdier beachgoers when they break rules, his bigger stature and sharp glare enough to cow even the most entitled people.

“No, he’s—”

“What’s the hold up?”

You glance up at Simon’s broad form angled in the shack’s doorway. His eyes aren’t on you or the kid, though. They’re on Insta-Prince – standing a little close to you, now that you’re not focused on the younger brother.

“Just finishing up,” you answer, smoothing a waterproof bandage over the scrape. “You did great, buddy, high five!”

That earns you a little smile and the requested high-five as the kid hops out of the chair. When you stand, Simon’s eyes flick to you. Darker than deep water, something swimming within that you can discern from the surface. It makes you fidgety, like you’ve been caught out doing something you shouldn’t.

“Remember to log it,” he rumbles.

“On it!” You lean over the wooden counter to pluck the clipboard from the wall on the other side, relieved that someone put the pen back for once.

“So, you have to write down all the injuries people get?” Insta-Prince asks, trying for casual conversation. The air feels oddly stifling, and gets worse when he settles closer, peeking around to see the sheet.

“Just if we use medical supplies,” you answer, scribbling quickly.

“Lifeguards only in the shack, kid,” Simon interrupts. “Get moving.”

You try not to snort in amusement. While Simon might tolerate you, he’s got a general disdain for most beachgoers – ironic considering how adamant he is about safety. But he seems to find the average person a nuisance to be constantly monitored and herded away from trouble. Like a shepherd with a flock of particularly stupid sheep.

“My brother was hurt, man, give me a break,” Insta-Prince protests, annoyed.

“And now he’s not,” Simon replies. “You should catch up with him. Kids need to be watched, isn’t that right, sunshine?”

You hum absently in agreement, signing off on the injury log with your initials. There’s a beat of silence that itches at the back of your mind. When you look up, Simon’s arching an eyebrow at the guy, thick arms crossed across his barrel chest.

Sir, firearms are not allowed on the beach, you think, before wrenching your eyes from Simon’s biceps.

“Did you need anything else?” you ask Insta-Prince.

“Just what time you get off work,” he replies, giving you big, soft, hopeful eyes.

You blink, a bit shocked. Flirting happens rarely for you, except maybe platonically with Soap or Gaz. To be fair, you’re not exactly the female lifeguard idol that most people would fantasize about. Half the time you jog around in shorts and a rash-guard, more comfortable in unisex swimwear and keeping the worst of the sun off yourself. Helpful to avoid wardrobe malfunctions if a panicking swimmer grabs at you.

Besides, you’re not really looking to get hit on. Hard to keep an eye out for emergencies if someone’s chatting your ear off for a shag by the restrooms. (You didn’t think people really did that until Farah groaned about it at the bonfire when you first hired.) Still, now that it’s happening… you don’t hate it. This guy is objectively attractive, apparently cares about his younger sibling enough to get him first-aid, and is weathering Simon’s increasingly annoyed scowl.

You figure there’s no harm. Not like someone else is showing a similar interest.

“At sunset,” you answer. “So, uh…”

“6:30,” Simon offers.

You shoot him a grateful look as the kid begins scooting for the door, skirting around Simon’s wider, thicker frame. Christ, the difference is stark. You tug at the front of your rash-guard to relieve some of the sudden heat.

“Maybe I’ll see you then,” he says before disappearing around the corner.

You stare after him for a second. He didn’t even ask for your name. “Huh.”

“The hell was that, sunshine?” Simon grouses.

You turn to him and shrug. “No idea.”

“Really now?” he scoffs.

You shake your head, already agitated by the whole thing for no reason you can pinpoint. Lean over the counter again to hang up the clipboard. “Really.”

“This isn’t a place for your silly summer fantasies and little meet-cutes,” he growls. “This is a real job, with real lives on the line.”

You twist around, brows furrowed as your mouth drops open in offense. “I know that.”

“Do you? Then why the fuck were you in here flirting?”

“I was helping the kid,” you argue, “you saw him!”

“Real convenient, that. When the older one’s been eye-fucking you all damn day.”

Any snappy retorts drown in the shock of his crass language and the accusation. All day? That guy? And Simon noticed? Never mind all that – Simon would seriously think you’d use a kid’s injury as an excuse to… what? Get cozy with an attractive stranger while on duty?

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” you huff, “but I need to get back out there.”

As you pass, a big, rough hand snaps out and catches your elbow. You come up short, half-turning towards him, face hot. Equal parts angry and ashamed for some reason. Summer romance your ass.

“Get it together,” he orders.

You click your tongue at him. “Same to you.”

You wrench your arm back and storm out onto the sand, snatching your floatie from the shack railing along the way. Don’t know what jellyfish stung his ass, but you hope he figures it out. Don’t think your self-esteem can take another round of… whatever that was.

The rest of the day passes tense and slow. Without Simon to talk to, and the beach relatively peaceful, you’re left to fixate on the incident in the shack. What was that about? You thought for sure you’d grown on Simon a bit. Sure, you’re one of the younger lifeguards, which is why Price assigned you to Simon’s post, but you’ve worked hard. You thought you’d proven yourself.

Checking your watch, you find that it’s nearly 6:30. The sun doesn’t seem that low yet, but the beach got empty while you were idly keeping watch. Might as well pack it in, you figure.

Not even thinking of Insta-Prince when you hop up the little wooden steps to the shack. Simon isn’t back from wherever he’s monitoring yet, and you’d like to be clear before that changes. Just in case he’s still in a bad mood.

You shed your blue swim-shorts and rash-guard on the counter, leaving you in the more standard one-piece. Roll your shoulders a bit uncomfortably, itching to squeeze into your binder after a day with tits-out. You’ve gotten accustomed to the sensation of leaving it off for the job, but you’d still prefer to wear it when safe.

You flop onto the counter, reaching over the side to fish your bag out from its cubby. Of course, that’s the exact moment that you hear Simon’s heavy step on that creaky board by the doorway.

“Bloody hell,” you think you hear him mutter.

“I’m just about to head out,” you assure him.

“Meeting up with that knob?”

Your temper flares. You abandon your bag and land on your feet, spinning around. Come up (very) short when Simon’s right there, not enough room to breathe without your chests brushing. But you don’t allow yourself to be deterred.

“So, what if I am?” you challenge.

His eyes darken, then narrow. “This isn’t a game you want to play, sunshine.”

“Maybe I do,” you insist, planting your hands on your hips.

He exhales slow and heavy, boxes you in against the counter with hands on either side of you. Your stupid, traitorous heart skips a beat, then trips into double time. Normally he wears a rash-guard too, but not today. No, today it’s swathes of tanned, scarred skin. And it’s so, so close to yours.

“You won’t win,” he warns.

Your tongue feels heavy and clumsy, maybe because your thoughts feel the same way. Now, you’re not always the most aware of “signals,” but there aren’t many other ways to interpret someone near-pinning you to a counter with smoldering eyes.

You scramble to review the earlier confrontation through a new lens. The way Simon glared at Insta-Prince, not you – until you seemed open to his interest. Oh. Ohhhh.

You wet your lips; the way his eyes lock onto the movement bolsters your courage.

“What if… I don’t want to win?” you ask.

His eyes dart up to yours, something a little sharper than longing when he whispers, “I’d make you a sore loser.”

An unexpected laugh bursts out of you; his teeth flash in a crooked smile as he scoops you up so easily. He sits you on edge of the counter and steps between your thighs, pelvis bumping against yours. You gasp, head dropping to stare wide-eyed at the frankly monstrous bulge in his trunks.

“W-wow,” you mumble faintly, thighs squeezing around his hips.

“C’mere, sunshine,” he growls, cupping your jaw.

You tilt your face up, sigh softly as his mouth slots over yours. He tastes like blue powerade and sea salt, tongue curling against yours when you grant him enthusiastic access.

Your hands make scattered, eager work of exploring him, unsure where you want to touch first, just that you have to. He’s as solid as you always expected, densely packed muscle under healthy, hydrated layers of fat. Sun-warm beneath your palms, shudders as your skim them dangerously close low on his twitching abdomen.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, tugging gently at the shoulder strap of your swimsuit.

“Yeah,” you mumble, wriggling closer.

He huffs in amusement, peeling the elastic material over your arms and down your chest while you scatter kisses over his jaw and neck. You gasp into his peck when his calloused thumbs brush your hard nipples. Just a small touch, yet electricity is racing up and down your spine.

“This alright?” he checks.

You hum the affirmative, pressing into his touch as he pinches and rolls the sensitive peaks, slow searching. Reclaims your mouth to swallow each and every little mewl and moan that spills off your tongue. You can’t help rocking against him, hot and hard through the thin layers of swimwear.

“Simon,” you whine against his mouth, “c’mon.”

“Impatient,” he teases, nipping your bottom lip.

“You’ve kept me waiting long enough,” you complain, tugging at his trunks.

“I know, sunshine,” he coos, “just wait a bit longer.”

He takes the tiniest step back, fingers hooking in your swimsuit again to roll it the rest of the way off. You lift your hips to help, nearly squirming as strings of slick web between the fabric and your pussy. But Simon seems hypnotized, snapping the strands with his fingers and following them back to your swollen cunt.

“Fuck, all this for me, baby?” he rasps.

You make an embarrassed noise – which quickly graduates into an alarmed squeal when he drops to his knees.

“Simon, wait, I’ve been working all day and—”

“Don’ give a fuck,” he growls, “I’ve been dying to taste you for weeks.”

He yanks your thighs over his big, strong shoulders and dives in. It’s messy and obscenely loud, filling up the tiny shack and all the empty space in your head. Would be embarrassing if you had any room for something so frivolous. Instead, you’re gone on the way he sucks your clit and laps thirstily at your entrance. Utterly obsessed with the deep, throaty groans that leave you throbbing.

It's been a while, true, but you know he’d have you on edge so fast regardless. And he does, rushing up on it like a building, rolling wave. The devastating kind that’ll drown you in unyielding currents.

“Wait, wait,” you squeak, tugging at his coarse hair.

To his credit, he stops instantly, though he sounds absolutely gutted about it. Pulls back licking his lips like a cat with cream, chin practically dripping.

“Alright?” he asks, voice shredded to ribbons.

“I just,” you pant, “I just w-wasn’t ready to – to… I wanna cum on your cock. Please, Si?”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He surges up, pressing you down flat to kiss you stupid(er) and senseless. The taste of you isn’t as offensive as you expected, not coming from his tongue. “You’ll get anything you want if you keep talking like that.”

“Just want you.”

He helps you off the counter, drags you by the wrist to the plastic chair by the doorway. You’re about to protest – no way can that chair support someone his size, never mind both of you. But then he’s spinning you around, crushing you to his chest, and yanking you down into his lap. Any such nonsense as good sense dissolves like a sandcastle.

You can feel the length of him pressing hot and a little wet against your spine. (So, so high up your spine, good god). When he freed himself from his swim-trunks, you’re not sure, nor do you care at this moment. Your priorities narrow down to one absolute necessity: getting him inside you now, now, now.

“Easy now, baby, don’t hurt yourself,” he purrs in your ear. “Let me help.”

He curls big hands around your hips, tight enough that you relish the bruises that may bloom there later. Supports your weight as if it’s nothing to him, propping you over his lap as you line up his cock, dragging the flushed head through your pooling wetness. He curses low and rough, sinking you down until the tip catches on your entrance.

“There we are,” he grits, hands flexing in your soft flesh. “Nice and slow now, sunshine.”

If you had your way, he’d already be balls deep in your aching pussy. But his grip is firm and unrelenting, lowering you inch by thick inch down his shaft. You back and squeeze around him, encouraging him deeper, faster, helpless little noises escaping from your gaping mouth.

“That’s it, halfway there,” he breathes. “Doing so well.”

You choke. Halfway?! You already feel stuffed, walls gripping every contour of his cock like you were made for him.

He twitches inside you, bulbous, leaking head grinding deliciously, and your resolve cracks right down the middle. You dig your nails into his thighs and slam your hips down, crying out as he buries deep inside. Can feel him nudging your cervix, stretching your silky walls, all the way down to where your opening is sealed tight around the base of him.

“Fuck,” he snarls.

“F-feels so good,” you whimper, head falling forward as you clench around him.

Oh, you are definitely going to be so perfectly sore after this. You can’t fucking wait.

“If you’re that impatient to be ruined,” he chuckles breathlessly, “best brace yourself, lovie.”

You barely manage to get your feet planted before he’s fucking up into you, hard and mean. Just what you want, what you need. Your head falls back to cry your pleasure to the shack roof as you bounce. Rocking your hips each time he bottoms out, grinding him against that spongy bundle of nerves inside you. It’s mind-numbing; you’re leaking around him, know it must be dripping onto the floor at this point.

He snakes a hand around to your front. Brushes where the two of you are connected, the strange and dangerous sensation making tears prick at your eyes. Then his fingers skip up to your needy, oversensitive clit. You almost want to stop him, already so overwhelmed with pleasure. But again, anything like coherent thought is ripped away on a tide of ecstasy when he begins rubbing quick, tight circles.

Your rhythm faulters at the new stimulation, but Simon just widens his stance. It changes the angle, drags the head so perfectly against your g-spot. With the hand still on your hip, he starts jerking you down to meet each thrust. It’s slightly slower, but so much sweeter, combined with the rhythm he’s strumming on your clit.

Your orgasm rises like a tsunami, higher and higher, a devastating force building up inside.

“Simon,” you keen, “Simon, I’m gonna – right there…”

“That’s it, sunshine. Get me nice and wet with your cum.”

That voice, saying such filth in your ear, sends you over the edge. You nearly convulse, eyes rolling back in your head as you scream. Back arching, writhing and gripping crescents into his thighs. And you can feel yourself gushing all over him, onto the floor.

“Yes, yes, fuck, just like that.”

You’re near limp as he keeps hammering into you, practically using you like a toy to get himself off. The thought alone makes you squeeze around him again, a powerful aftershock bringing another flood of wetness. Your head lolls back against his shoulder, crying into his ear, begging him to cum inside you, fill you up…

He crashes his mouth into yours as he cums, groaning into your lax mouth, jerking violently into your overstimulated pussy. You swear you can feel him spurting inside you, thick and white-hot. It feels… it feels…

You break the kiss to suck in a deep breath, lightheaded and still squeaky with pleasure. Simon trails soothing kisses over your shoulder, grip easing up to caress over the forming finger marks. You hum softly, voice husky. Flutter your eyes open and blink at the pink sky out the window.

“Is it… is it just now sunset?” you ask.

Simon chuckles against your ear. “Looks like I was about thirty minutes off. Whoops.”

[kurthummeldeservesbetter]

So if a Mel and Caitlyn pair up defeats a dictator and wins a war (at least the first part), a Vi and Jayce team up only ever kills kids or fucks up a mission, and l then what does a Jinx and Viktor pair do? What do the other options make?

Here are my ideas, ranking from best outcome to worst or what actually gets done.

Genuinely think a Viktor Mel pair (depending on if they both have some sort of magic) save the world. Both incredibly intelligent. Both caring but can’t be manipulated by emotions easily (influenced is a different story but damn when you’ve got a terminal illness or a dictator mom it’s hard being normal). However I think the arcane writers knew the team up would be too powerful. Also incredibly sexy. If they just had tea together once I think there would be no arcane story to tell.

Cait and Viktor. Not a lot getting done but if we’re thinking season 1 then it’s gonna be so nice and calm. They’re having tea. They’re planning our improvements for Zaun. A harp sings in the distance. They talk about Jayce. Caitlyn asks questions and listens to the answers and vice versa. World peace maybe not achieved but close.

Technically Jayce helped Cait free Vi and helped cover it up, as well as help her when Caitlyn tried explaining what was going on with Silco. Very even results. Nothing major changing here but typical for people who literally just bring out nothing in each other besides…friendship? Siblings? Idk.

Vi and Viktor would probably get along in the sense of they knew an older Zaun. (At least in comparison to Jinx.) Vi can be pretty gentle and Viktor definitely cares. Battle wise he ain’t gonna do much (the only time he really fought was when it wasn’t a good thing for anyone) but he’s bring the smarts to Vi’s streets. They’re gonna win the battle but it will be tough. Some lives may be lost but it ain’t theirs.

Mel and Vi….Vi does not like politicians. Vi does not like people from Piltover beyond Caitlyn (and maybe Jayce?) They argue the whole time. Nothing bad happens but nothing gets done. It’s mostly Vi’s fault but Mel can’t let it go. It’s been three days and they haven’t left the council room. It ends with the mutual agreement to never meet again.

Technically a Cait/Jinx pair saved Vi (after the commune) and also the conversation they had in the jail was actually civil. Don’t think a whole lot is getting done but a good battle buddies I think. There’s gonna be tension though. Lots of arguing and glares. Caitlyn’s hair is now orange and Jinx lost another finger. Lots more damage than necessary.

Mel and Jinx. Someone is dying. It might not be one of them but it’s definitely someone who shouldn’t be dead. Mel’s level-headedness barely works on Vi and it definitely won’t work on Jinx. She’s never had a younger sister. Jinx knows what buttons to push. The building is on fire.

Jayce and Jinx. Mostly everyone is dead except for Vi and Viktor somehow, or the exact reverse. They haven’t stopped arguing since they met. They just keep slapping each other like cats. Jayce keeps trying to hit her with the hammer but she’s elusive and it’s like a game of wack-a-mole. He kills a kid each time instead. Jinx won’t stop making fun of him. Someone lost a limb at some point.

Jinx and Viktor. Everyone is dead. I would say they are too but no, they’re stuck at the end of the universe with each other. It’s equally both their faults. Viktor deadnames her every time she insults him. She never stops and neither does he. They each have a shrine to their respective loved one and it’s the only places they don’t bother each other. She bleached half his hair. He poured out her nail polish. They fight till the end of time itself. Sometimes they have movie nights where their respective hallucinations (Silco, Sky) join.

[seungrem]

Seonghwa (Ateez) x male!reader

Burying the Hatchet

request ~*+ - masterlist ~*+ - part 1 of ??

summary: Though rival mob bosses separating their territories by north and south, m!reader and Seonghwa frequently bump into each other at socialite events. With tension building up in m!reader’s half of the city, he needs decide whether or not to confide in his connections for support.

( overview: mafiaboss!seonghwa, mafiaboss!reader, both socialites and well known, reader controls the south, seonghwa controls north, associates/goons = mob members, Ricky (zb1) feature because he’s very mob coded, reader is lowkey tsundere, established non-romantic relationship w/ eachother, reader inherits wealth, the park family = seonghwa’s mob group )

( warnings: mentions of plausible violence (guns/fighting), blood, injuries (scrapes/bruises/cuts), hostile personalities, mentions of psychotic/psychopathic behavior, threats, cursing )

emoji code:

🌿 ( long story/series )

-🧸 ( very light fluff )

🫧 ( pieces of angst here and there )

🪐 ( mafia / mob AU )

☁️ ( stands for y/n )

likes, comments, & reblogs r appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Chatter echoed through a ballroom bustling of attires fit for only the most affluent. If it were up to him, ☁️ would be perched on the mezzanine, people watching until the gala had concluded. Instead, he walked into room preparing a flashy smile to anyone who would have the misfortune of catching his gaze.

“Can I take your jacket for you, sir?”

As ☁️ awaited the host of the gala’s presence, a teenage boy wearing a tuxedo approached him. The boy flinched slightly as ☁️ turned in his direction, ☁️ assuming he was just someone who worked there.

“No- I’ll keep it, thank you. Could you tell me where Ricky is, though?” ☁️ asked, turning his attention back to the crowd of people in the distance.

Though the two were the same age (early 20s), Ricky had made a name for himself apart from his parents- unlike ☁️. The man had the city’s media in a chokehold, with news of his whereabouts and appearances circling weekly. In contrast, ☁️ had inherited his parent’s wealth and “business” after their passing. The public also kept a close eye on him, but for reasons less alluring.

“Last I’ve seen he was on the other side of the room beside the DJ. Here’s your pamphlet.”

“Thank you.” ☁️ replied, him then taking the paper and watching the boy scurry away. He sighed as he flipped through the pages, reading carefully over the guest list and seating arrangements.

‘What the hell is Seonghwa doing here?’ ☁️ muttered to himself before taking a few steps toward the crowd. Recognizing a familiar face slip out of the mass and approach him with a smile, he quickly placed the pamphlet into his suit jacket as he walked.

“☁️, how have you been?” Ricky called out, waving to the man as the two closed the distance in between them. It was then that the two embraced, holding each other for a moment more. ☁️ noticed Ricky’s navy blue suit had a velvet look to it, him feeling the texture as he held onto the man’s forearms.

“I’ve been great, how about you? And what happened to the blonde?” ☁️ responded, smiling and then pointing to Ricky’s hair. The last time that he had seen Ricky, the man had bleached his hair a platinum silver. Now, his raven-black hair was slicked back, with a few strands falling onto his forehead.

“I’ve been better, and my roots grew out so I just dyed it back to a natural color. But listen, before you leave tonight, I’d like to speak to you. In the meantime, you need to do your rounds.”

☁️ huffed, knowing that this meant he had to greet everyone.

“We’ll be fast.” Ricky assured, once again grabbing the man’s arm and escorting him through the crowd.

☁️ smiled, introduced himself, shook hands, and kissed cheeks more times than he remembered that night. Following a conversation with a couple, Ricky led ☁️ out of the crowd, the two now standing for a moment.

“We done?” ☁️ asked, exhaling.

“One more. You aren’t going to like it, but please be respectful. I don’t want my gala to become a war-zone.”

“Is it Seonghwa?”

“Yes. But-“

“Why the hell did you invite him?”

“I do business with him just as I do with you. I’m prompting neutrality.”

“Understandable. But why do I gotta go over to him?”

“Because you two aren’t going to mean-mug each other all night like you did last year. That caused problems, did it not?” Ricky led ☁️ to his table, the two sitting beside one another.

“I don’t even have my guys with me tonight.” ☁️ argued, though he knew was simply delaying the inevitable.

“Neither does he. It’s invitation only this time.” Ricky’s tone was calm and fresh, though firm. ☁️ didn’t want to push his buttons, ultimately deciding to get it over with.

“Alright, let’s go.” ☁️ straightened his tie and stood up, Ricky following.

“Last I saw him he was standing beside the DJ’s stage. Let’s walk behind it.” Ricky said, motioning ☁️ to follow him.

The two tiptoed around the DJ’s elevated setup, emerging on the other side of the room after carefully stepping over wires and boxes.

“There he is. Behave, please.” Ricky whispered after leaning into ☁️.

“Always.” ☁️ muttered back before noticing that Seonghwa had three of his goons around him. The man leaned his back against a column and looked around the ballroom. He wore a bold outfit- a shiny gold top (that exposed some of his cleavage) with a brown fur coat and grey dress pants. His hair was in an up-do with strands hanging in front of his eyes, and silver chains dangled from his neck. ☁️ thought that Seonghwa was insanely hot, especially in this outfit, but would never vocally admit it.

“You said invitation only, Ricky.” ☁️ muttered through his teeth.

“It was... Let’s just make this quick.”

As the two approached Seonghwa, two of his goons noticed and walked over to his side.

“Seonghwa. I’m sure you remember ☁️.” Ricky chirped, hiding his nervousness very well. ☁️ and Seonghwa stared at each other for a few seconds before ☁️ forced a smile and held out his hand.

“I’m sure you’re well.” ☁️ remarked dully, watching as Seonghwa took his hand and squeezed. It took everything in ☁️ not to call him an asshole, but Ricky was luckily there to mediate.

“I am. It seems like you’re here alone tonight.. what a shame.” Seonghwa replied in his usual deep voice, ☁️ watching the man look him up and down.

“I’m here to donate to a charity, not intimidate socialites with my goons.” ☁️ kept a straight face, but wanted to laugh in Seonghwa’s face. “And you look rediculous.” ☁️ whispered after leaning into Seonghwa, only taking a step back when Ricky grabbed his arm and muttered a ‘Jeez.’ Seonghwa sneered and looked around in response, licking his teeth as he nodded in amusement. ☁️ could tell he was already ticked off.

“I’ll see you later tonight, yeah?” Seonghwa nodded his up as he spoke, patting ☁️ on the arm and nodding to Ricking before departing to his table with his goons.

“You couldn’t have made that any worse.” Ricky whined, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked at ☁️.

“Somebody has to humble him.”

“I don’t want any bad blood here, ☁️.”

“I said that I understood. If he can’t take criticism then maybe he shouldn’t be The North’s premier mob boss.”

“Well Southside’s premier mob boss seems to not know how to behave.”

“I was-“ ☁️ paused. “Well… He’ll be fine.”

“Right.. I’ve been meaning to talk to him so I’m going to do that now. The service should begin in the next few minutes. Make some friends while you’re here, you need them.” Ricky said before he began walking away. ☁️ gasped teasingly, the two smiling to each other as the distance in-between them grew.

—

His footsteps tapping up the staircase’s crimson-colored carpet, ☁️ was on the hunt for someone specific. He stepped onto the mezzanine and walked over to the beige railing, him then leaning against it. Scouring over the many faces on the dance floor and sitting at tables, ☁️ found that Seonghwa was nowhere in sight despite having seen him before the service had begun. Assuming that the man had left early, ☁️ frowned and turn around.

“Whatcha doin’?” Seonghwa asked, leaning against the wall a few feet in front of ☁️. The man’s goons weren’t next to him, but ☁️ could see them on the other ends of the mezzanine through the corner of his eye.

“I was looking for you. Have a minute?”

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow and walked over to ☁️, standing beside him.

“Make it quick.” He muttered, looking down at the people below.

“I received this letter a few days ago. I wanted to ask if you knew anything about it.” ☁️ pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Seonghwa.

“People still write letters?” Seonghwa said with a scowl, pulling a piece of paper out of the envelope.

“So is it safe to assume that you weren’t the one to send it?”

Seonghwa took another minute to analyze the letter.

“No.. not my style... Whoever did hates you, though.” Seonghwa whispered, handing the piece of paper and envelope back to ☁️. “What’s the red stuff at the bottom? Don’t tell me it’s blood.”

“It is. Instead of signing a name, the blood is suppose to be the signature. That’s what I think, anyway.”

“Wow.. you really pissed someone off. Did you figure out whose blood it is?”

“Mine.”

Seonghwa laughed and turned to ☁️.

“So someone wrote a letter threatening you, somehow got ahold of your blood and smeared it onto the paper, and then mailed it to you?” Seonghwa shook his head with a smile. “Good luck, really. You need it.”

“I thought that you’d be more helpful. That’s all I needed, though. Have a good night.” ☁️ said, turning to walk away. Seonghwa quickly gripped his shoulder and stopped the man in his tracks. ☁️ to looked over his shoulder somewhat menacingly.

“Do you need help? Seriously.” Seonghwa’s unserious smile quickly turned into an expressionless display of concern, as he slightly leaned into ☁️.

“Never will I need your help. Stay on your side and I’ll be fine.” ☁️ quipped, brushing Seonghwa’s hand off of his shoulder and stepping away. He stopped upon hearing Seonghwa continue.

“I hate you.. but don’t die, please.”

“The hell are you talking about?” ☁️ snapped, looking over his shoulder again.

“That’s psychotic behavior, ☁️. You can’t just have one of your guys find and take care of ‘em.”

“Why not?”

“This isn’t just some guy on the street.”

“No shit.” ☁️ rolled his eyes. “I have to go, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa remained silent, watching as ☁️ strolled back down the staircase.

“How the hell did they know it was there?” ☁️ walked up the stone walkway to his home, with two of his associates following beside him. The mansion had been broken into, with a suitcase full of hard drives having been taken from ☁️’s chambers.

“Respectfully sir, we suspect a mole in the group. After the passing of your parents, the associates haven’t necessarily been well-monitored.” The older man beside ☁️ replied, opening a door for him as the three arrived to the entrance.

“Please get in touch with the gentleman who set the security systems up.” ☁️ paused as he stepped inside. “Actually, I’ll just do it. You two should go home for the night.”

“But sir, we really think someone should stay with you until everything’s resolved.” The second associate replied, following ☁️ as he unbuttoned his suit jacket in the spacious living room. The room glowed in orange and yellow hues from the lit fireplace. ☁️ sighed and turned to his two henchmen, a sense of nervousness trickling down his spine. He wondered if he could trust them, but also wondered if there truly was an outsider out to get him as Seonghwa suggested.

“I’ll take care of myself and this.. situation. Please, go home.”

“At least let me contact the programmer. I’ll get him here as soon as I can.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

1 week later

“Two events in a row? This must be a record.”

☁️ felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around. Seonghwa smirked, looking ☁️ up and down. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Wasn’t sure why you invited me.” ☁️ replied, crossing your arms.

“Oh, here I thought that you wanted to support charities..”

“You held a gala one week after Ricky and invited me on short notice.”

“Seems that I did. So?”

☁️ exhaled. “Thanks but I should go.”

“Wait.” Seonghwa held his hand out to stop the man. “I heard things weren’t going well on your side of the city. You sure you don’t need help?”

☁️ looked around the crowd of people surrounding him. This ballroom was smaller than the previous gala’s, but just as loud. ☁️ leaned into Seonghwa, who reacted by leaning forward as well.

“If I find out that you’re playing me again, it won’t end up for you.” ☁️ murmured into Seonghwa’s ear. Seonghwa leaned back up, with a seemingly offended expression.

“Are you accusing me of what’s going on?”

“No, simply warning you- just in case. I need to go.”

“☁️.”

☁️ turned around and slid past people to get out of the crowd.

“☁️!!”

☁️ froze as the room went silent. Everyone turned to Seonghwa as ☁️ slowly turned around to glance back at the man. An awkward silence filled the air for a few seconds, with Seonghwa not taking his eyes off of ☁️. After the chatter picked back up, ☁️ continued out of the room, leaving an abandoned Seonghwa alone on the dance floor.

☁️ walked through the hallways and toward the glass double doors, waving down a bellman as he did so.

-

A few photographers stood behind red ropes, clicking their cameras immediately after ☁️ began descending quickly down the white staircase. A few began shouting out to him.

“Hey, ☁️! What’re you doing in The North?”

“Have you and the Park family finally made amends?”

“You look great tonight, ☁️!”

☁️ smiled and waved as a bellman pulled to the curb with his grey sports car, getting out as soon as ☁️ reached the sidewalk. The bellman handed the keys to the man as the two walked past each other, ☁️ then jumping into the drivers seat.

“Hey, Mr. ☁️. The programmer was able to stop in today.”

“That’s great, has everything been recovered?” ☁️ responded as he walked into his home, an associate beside him.

“He said he needed a password.”

“To the computer? Why didn’t you call or text me? Is he available tomorrow?”

“He’s still here, just using the bathroom. I’ll tell him you’ve arrived after you put your password in.”

☁️ looked over to the associate after hanging his suit jacket up.

“It’s midnight.”

“It’s the only time he could come this week.”

☁️ raised an eyebrow and walked to his chambers past the living quarters and down the hall. After his shoes tapped echoed through the hallway, he leaned into the double doors, pushing them open. The lamp on his desk was already turned on at the other end of the room. ☁️ also noticed that the associate was still behind him, him turning to the man before walking inside of the room. He was suspicious at this point, hearing more voices in the living quarters.

“Why don’t you go let the programmer know that I’m back. Please tell the other associates that they’re good to go, as well. I don’t need anybody here right now.”

“You want us to leave you alone with the programmer? What if he tries to-“

“That’s an order. I’ll see you tomorrow.” ☁️ narrowed his eyes, allowing his voice to become slightly belligerent.

The associate sneered and nodded, turning around and walking toward the living quarters. ☁️ sighed and closed the chamber doors behind him, walking toward the desk in front of the large stain-glass window. Bookshelves covered the left and right walls, and though the room wasn’t huge, the ceiling was very high up.

☁️ walked around the other side of the desk, sitting down and tapping the computer’s keyboard to turn the device on. He didn’t put his password in, choosing to wait for the programmer to arrive. Another thirty seconds passed before the oldest associate opened the room’s doors, walking in.

“☁️. Do you have a moment?”

“Where’s the programmer?”

“I think he’s still talking to the other associates. I think we should speak in the meantime.” The associate called out, standing at the door.

“Come.”

The associate strolled slowly over to the side of ☁️’s desk.

“What did you want to talk about.” ☁️ asked, giving the man his attention.

“You know, your father and I were extremely close. He entrusted me to do everything beside him.”

“Yes, I remember.” ☁️ nodded, tilting his head to the side.

“He also hated the Park family with every fiber of his being. And I know that you’ve been going out of your way to attend Seonghwa’s galas.”

“To support his charity and rebuild my family’s reputation. Yes.”

“Do you think that your father would’ve wanted this? To knock down the legacy that he has built?”

“Excuse me?” ☁️ snickered. He felt his body become tense, and his tone dull.

“I just think that with you as the head of this.. well, what used to be a mob group, you’ve dug our reputation into ground.”

☁️ felt his body heat up, making him stand up and grab the associate by the collar. The associate responded by pulling a gun out from his back pocket and pointing it at ☁️’s head. ☁️ exhaled and let go of the man’s collar, putting his hands to his sides.

“You need to give this up, ☁️. It’s in your best interest. Your father wouldn’t want this.”

“And his inability to be harmonious with other people is what got him killed.”

“Put your password into the computer so I can put this gun down.” The associate muttered, tapping the gun against ☁️’s head.

“No.”

“Please don’t make me do this.”

☁️ laughed.

“You’re not gonna have the password if you do ‘this.’”

“Don’t mock me.”

“Don’t be an idiot, then.” ☁️ laughed again, pausing before quickly shuffling to the side and knocking the gun out of the man’s hand. The gun landed on the desk and slid across it, falling off on the other side. ☁️ leaped over the desk and grabbed the gun before the man could snatch it, ☁️ then kicking his knee out while still on the ground. The associate quickly stood up and ran toward ☁️ as he got on one a knee. With a loud bang, ☁️ shot the pistol, hitting the associate in the leg. The man fell to the ground and clutched his knee.

“Fuck.” ☁️ muttered under his breath, putting the gun on safety mode and into his pocket. He grabbed his computer from the desk and threw it through the stained-glass window, shattering it. The door then slammed open, with a bunch of ☁️’s members running in. After seeing the older associate on the ground, the group whipped their guns out and pointed them at ☁️. The man was already halfway out of the window at this point, him having jumped through the hole and falling into the bushes below. With scrapes and bruises along his body, ☁️ rolled out of the bush and secured the laptop beside him- though he presumed it broken. He shot up and ran alongside the mansion’s side, hopping over the iron fencing as soon as he reached the front of the building. ☁️ considered taking one of his cars, but quickly realized that the keys were still inside.

Continuing to run through the forest, he eventually emerged into the city after a few minutes. ☁️ noticed a university campus in front of him as he wandered, him power walking through it and waving a taxi down. He ran to its side and jumped in, him recognizing the driver as he did so. The two stared at each other through the rear view mirror before the driver smiled.

“Oh, right- you’re ☁️. I worked a lot with your father.”

☁️ froze with his hand on the car’s handle, preparing to run out.

“Your family has helped mine out a lot. But anyway, where to?”

“Can you just drive, please?” ☁️ asked nervously, his hand still on the handle.

“Sure thing.”

The two drove in silence for a minute before the driver pulled up to a red light.

“You alright? You look pretty disheveled there, chief.”

“Yes, just some work issues.”

The driver chuckled. “Your dad had the same problem. I’d always wait a block or two away after he handled business, and he’d come running over with ripped clothing and red fists.” He paused. “I’m a bit relieved that the whole mob business thing is dying, though. I hope you don’t mind me saying that.”

☁️ pondered his words, repeating them in his head before responding. “..Yeah, I’m relieved as well. Can I bother you to drop me off in The North?”

“Oh, sure. I heard that you buried the hatchet with the Park family. That true?”

“I think that’s what I’m going to do now.”

“I see. Is there somewhere specific in the North?”

“Do you know where that gala was held today?”

“Oh yeah, I’ll have you there in a few.”

“Thanks.”

-

“Well, it’s an honor to help you through this last hurrah. I hope it goes well.”

“Thank you sir. How much do I owe you?”

“You don’t look like you have anything on you, respectfully. Just get me back next time you see me.”

☁️ nodded and slowly turned around toward the large building in front of him. There were no photographers, no red ropes, and no people wandering around at this point. With his computer under his arm, he began up the steps.

Upon walking through the glass doors, a receptionist was packing her belongings in a large purse.

“Oh, Mr. ☁️. Are you looking for the gala’s after party?” She asked as the man approached her desk.

“Ah- yes, I am. Can you tell me where it is?”

“It’s down the hallway to your left, the last door down. Also.. you’re bleeding a bit..”

☁️ looked down to where she pointed, seeing small patches of red stain through his white button-up shirt.

“Oh.. yeah, it’s just part of the outfit. Thank you though.”

“Oh, ok.. Have a goodnight.”

“You as well.”

☁️ continued down the dark hallway, stopping in front of a frosted glass door with loud music playing behind it. Streaks of blue, pink, and white flashed across the glass as he pushed the door open. The room was pretty big, with confetti and balloons spread across the floor. A group of around a hundred people danced in front of a smaller DJ booth, with a few wallflowers conversing amongst each other with glasses in their hands. ☁️ walked over to a table full of champagne glasses, grabbing one and sitting in the nearest seat against the wall. He plopped down, leaning his head against the wall and chugging the glass. He looked around, though couldn’t see Seonghwa from where he was. It didn’t help that the room was somewhat dim, with pink lights illuminating half of the room from behind the DJ. Spotlights also casted quick flashes on the dance floor, them occasionally dancing across ☁️’s body as he sat.

Choosing to calm down before searching for Seonghwa, he opened his computer and tapped the keyboard. Surprisingly, it survived the seven foot fall and still worked- the only flaw being a few cracks in the top corner of the screen and a few missing buttons on the keyboard. ☁️ sighed and placed the computer on his lap, him then closing his eyes. 

-

“Psst. Hey, sleepy head.”

☁️ heard someone whisper from beside him, making him jump. He opened his eyes and looked to his left, seeing Seonghwa sitting beside him. He clutched his computer and looked around, seeing that everyone was preparing to leave the party. The music had stopped, and a few workers were vacuuming the carpet. Seonghwa’s face was barely visible in the dim, pink lighting, though his voice was softer than ☁️ had recalled. “So, you came back..?”

“…I think I need your help.” ☁️ hummed.

Seonghwa smirked. “I won’t rub it in your face even though I wanna. Do you need a place to stay?”

☁️ nodded, standing up as Seonghwa did. Seonghwa placed a hand on ☁️’s back, guiding him to the exit. The flashing lights turned into white spotlights that illuminated the exit at this point.

The two followed the crowd out of the room and down the hallway. As they walked out of the glass doors, ☁️ recognized the cars lined up on the sidewalk, with multiple bellman awaiting the guests at the bottom of the stairs.

“We’re all the way in the front.” Seonghwa stated, walking down the staircase with ☁️ and turning right down the sidewalk. A bellman approached the two, handing Seonghwa a pair of keys. He unlocked the red sports car and removed his hand off of ☁️’s back, hurrying in front of the man to open the vehicle door for him. ☁️ rolled his eyes and attempted to hide a smile as Seonghwa gestured him inside. As he sat down, ☁️ covered the patches of red along his top with his arms and hands. Seonghwa shut the door and ran to the other side, him hopping in and hurrying to start the car. After a few seconds, the two were speeding through empty city streets.

“Have you ever been to this part of The North?” Seonghwa asked with a tender tone, turning to ☁️ as he pulled into a lofty condo complex’s garage.

“This is my city. Of course I have.”

“Our city.” Seonghwa retorted.

☁️ smiled at the answer, opening his door after Seonghwa had parked on the highest level.

“We’ll have to take the elevator to the lobby, and then we’ll take a different one to my place.” Seonghwa stated from the other side of the car. ☁️ waited for Seonghwa to lead the way, but upon standing beside ☁️, the man froze.

“What the hell happened?! You’re bleeding.”

“I know.” ☁️ sighed, him having forgotten to cover the red stains.

“You’re explaining everything once we get inside.”

“Ok.”

Seonghwa linked his arm with ☁️’s, ☁️ speculating that Seonghwa thought he was too badly injured to walk by himself, which elicited the act.

The two quickly reached the elevator and stepped inside. With mirrors along the walls, a gold accent lined the corners of the elevator. Seonghwa leaned forward to press a button, and the two were soon moving up.

“Are you tired?”

“Extremely.” ☁️ replied monotonously.

“I could tell by your tone. You can take my bed and I’ll sleep in my guest room.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll take the guest room.”

“No. You can take the bigger bed.”

☁️ was too tired to argue back, instead choosing to lean against the mirror as the elevator continued. After a few more seconds, the door buzzed and the two walked through. The lobby’s lights were dim and the spacious room was empty. The men walked across the marble floor to another elevator, Seonghwa pressing the button again though the elevator doors opened immediately. The two walked through, and Seonghwa pressed the button of the highest number- 16.

“You’re on the highest floor?”

“Yes. It’s a penthouse with lots of windows , you’ll like it.”

The two stood silent for a few minutes until the elevator buzzed again, the men stepping out into a small walkway. Taking a few steps forward, Seonghwa flipped a switch, which turned on a small lamp above the two of them. He then pulled out his keychain, picking out a key and twisting it into the black door.

“After you.” Seonghwa said, gesturing ☁️ forward. Seonghwa’s penthouse was full of monotonous colors and exotic furniture- definitely a reflection of his personality. Small lamps lit the space as the two walked into the living room area. Large windows sat on each side of the walls, with the moon peering down from the large skylight above.

“I do like it.” ☁️ murmured as he moved his arm away from Seonghwa’s. Seonghwa simply smiled in response.

“Let me show you to the room.”

“Show me the guest room.”

“No.”

☁️ rolled his eyes, following Seonghwa down the end of the hallway. He switched his lamp light on, it illuminating the large bedroom. The walls, bedsheets, and furniture were all visually-pleasing shades of grey. The windows on the right side of the room touched both the floor and ceiling, stretching across most of the wall to reveal a beautiful view of the city. To the left, a door led into another room.

“Just sit on the bed. I’ll get you some new clothes and medical stuff.” Seonghwa instructed, walking into the bathroom. ☁️ walked to the bed and sat, him waiting for the man to come back out. After a minute, Seonghwa walked toward ☁️ with a small bottle, cotton balls, along with a roll of bandages and placed it beside ☁️. He then trudged over to the wardrobe across from his bed, opening it and throwing a pair of green and blue pajama pants with a white tee onto the bed.

“Those are old so they should fit you. Do you want me to get out while you change?”

“I don’t care, just turn around.” ☁️ replied taking off his pants and unbuttoning his top as Seonghwa faced his wardrobe. He threw the man’s pants on but put the tee around his neck, exposing some of his stomach and arms.

“Okay.”

Seonghwa turned around and sat on the bed. ☁️ pushed the shirt away from his arm for Seonghwa to clean.

“So, you gonna tell me what happened?”

“My associates tried to overthrow me and take over my company’s accounts. They said I wasn’t being a mob boss.”

“Is that where the letter was from?”

“I think they’ve been planning this for a few months now. They probably got ahold of my blood after your guys tried to take over my company’s building. Your goons show no mercy.” ☁️ chuckled, but Seonghwa frowned.

“I didn’t initiate that, by the way. That was my father, and we’ve.. talked about it.”

“It hasn’t happened again, so I don’t care.”

After a few seconds of silence, Seonghwa continued disinfecting, and then wrapping ☁️’s arm.

“So what specifically happened?” Seonghwa asked.

“Well, I got home from the gala. I was told someone was coming in to help me retrieve missing data from drives that were stolen after Ricky’s gala last week. I’m pretty sure they lied, and one of my guys cocked a gun at me and told me to unlock my computer so they could use the drives they stole. I didn’t do it obviously, and I ended up shooting him. The gun probably fell out of my pants when I jumped out of the window and ran into the city.”

“You jumped out of a window?” Seonghwa furrowed his eyebrows, seemingly worried. He wrapped the bandage around ☁️’s arm and clipped it so that it stood in place. ☁️ lifted his pant leg up to expose another cut, him then scooting back on the bed to put the cut beside where Seonghwa sat.

“Do you mind?” ☁️ asked, looking over to Seonghwa.

“Not at all.” He replied, preparing another cotton ball to use.

“And.. yeah, I kinda did. It was only six or seven feet and I landed in a bush. So it was fine. I used this to smash the glass.” ☁️ said, pointing to the computer that he placed beside him. “That’s why it’s fucked up.”

“I have another that you can use.” Seonghwa said as he applied alcohol to the cuts.

“I have important filled on there. I don’t know what I’m going to do just yet.”

The two remained quiet again until Seonghwa finished wrapping the wounds.

“Alright, you should be good.” He stated, grabbing the used cotton swabs and walking into the bathroom with them. ☁️ grabbed the alcohol bottle and roll of bandages, carrying them back into the bathroom for Seonghwa.

“It’s 2:30 in the morning. You should rest.” Seonghwa said, watching ☁️ sit back down on the bed, Seonghwa then walking to the lamp.

“Before you go-“ ☁️ blurted out, stopping Seonghwa.

“Hm?”

“Why’re you helping me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Why’re you doing this for me?”

“Because I like you, despite the “conversations” we’ve had in the past. And we’re not like our parents.”

☁️ nodded.

“Sleep well.” Seonghwa called out, turning the light off.

“Wait-“

Seonghwa turned the light back on, exhaling. “Yes?”

“Sleep in your bed.”

“I already told you I’m sleeping in the guest room.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Then move over.”

☁️ scooted back toward the wall with the windows so that Seonghwa could sit in front of him. Seonghwa leaned over to turn the lamp off before pulling the covers over the two of them.

“I’m glad you’re okay. I worried about you a lot.” Seonghwa muttered, him then turning his body to face ☁️.

“Shouldn’t have.” ☁️ murmured in response.

“Well, I did.”

☁️ smiled. “Well, thanks for worrying.”

Seonghwa smiled back, grabbing ☁️’s hand from under the blanket. “Do you mind?”

“No.” ☁️ hummed before turning his body around. He scooted his body back to lie against Seonghwa’s. Grabbing the man’s hand and pulling it over his waist, then two now laid together a spooning position.

“Goodnight, ☁️.” Seonghwa whispered.

“Goodnight.”

a/n: genuinely can’t tell if my stories are good anymore 😄 hope u enjoyed tho! alsoooo gonna be a part 2- just to follow up and see how the reader and seonghwa build a relationship together while the reader is still under the other mob’s protection. def gonna be more fluff and character development in that one!! there can be ❄️ if u guys want it bad enough lol

likes, comments, & reblogs r appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[daenysthedreamersblog]

SUN BLEACHED FLIES- A STRANGERS STORY (IV)

God loves you, but not enough to save you

So, baby girl, good luck taking care of yourself

But I always knew that in the end no one was coming to save me

So I just prayed and I keep praying and praying and praying

summary: life was good, well as good as it could be always living on the end of president snow's leash dreaming of the freedom you don't even want

pairings: president!coriolanus snow x district6!reader

warnings: MDNI!! BLOOD! violence, power imbalance, coercion, slapping, choking, murder, death, suicide, gore, smut!!, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, dub-con, knives!!

notes: omgg i love these two and i hope i did them justice in this probable final piece of theirs, could have been rougher but sometimes u got to let the story write u ya know anyways!! enjoy my little psychopaths

His head moves over yours in beautiful slow motion, blond strands brushing against your forehead, sweat sliding down his nose to drip onto your parted lips. You drink it like holy water, like his sweat is the only thing that you can keep down as he thrust into you. Blue eyes bore into your own, burrowing down deep into you decrepit soul, or where it used to be, you had traded it over to him long ago for this, for him. You run your hands down wet naked skin as his movement slowed, as he spills inside of you with a teeth grinding groan.

The world comes back into focus as you stare up at his face watching him push curling blond hair off of his forehead. He brings his mouth down to let his teeth graze your jaw. You close your eyes as he pulls out of you, that ever gnawing emptiness replacing him, and slides next to your body, arms remaining locked around your waist. "Have dinner with me tonight." He trails his mouth up your neck. You open your mouth to remind him you had dinner with him every night in your pretty cage of a bedroom, "Downstairs." You turn to take in his face. "I have a surprise for you."

You answer by rolling over on top of him.

Later in the evening he sends his team of stylist to your room to get you ready. They put your hair into a delicate messy up-do and a layer of makeup before slipping on the champagne satin gown. You only were allowed to get dressed up for every Hunger Games when he paraded you around for everyone to see, then whisked you away to fuck you against the bathroom wall for everyone to hear. They leave you in a gentle silence letting you stare at your reflection for far longer than you should. You never recognized yourself, like that girl who's name had been reaped didn't exist anymore, had never existed at all. Your reflection was simply a ghost, a reminder of what he had turned you into, this hallow needy pliant shell, so you stand up and leave the room heels softly clicking against his wooden floor not believing much in ghost.

He's sitting at the head of the table drinking brown liquor out of a glass cup as he watches you walk into the room.

You take the seat on his right.

"You look nice." You watch as he leans forward to fill your glass up with white wine. You avoid grabbing it too quickly, forcing yourself to drink it slow instead of chugging it back. He liked to limit your alcohol intake, only letting you have it on special occasions which apparently was tonight.

This was the dance you always had been in with him since you won. It had been years since he locked you away here, years since you decided to not even bother trying to run away, maybe didn't even want to. You weren't even sure if you had ever wanted anything besides him. He had gotten married, he had children, the games continued, the world moved on, but the two of you were stuck in this suspended moment of time with each other.

"I'm having Livia and the children moved." He said cutting into his food. You sipped on your wine. "It's for the best they're not here."

"Won't you miss them?" You didn't see them often, especially Livia. At first she would come to dinner with the two of you, but once the children came you all had decided it best if they did not see you. You knew she still sometimes listened outside your door when her husband fucked you, but usually on nights she had too much to drink.

He sneered, "Not her." He didn't like her, but he did find enjoyment with his children. He wasn't overly affectionate with them, nor a very present parent but he did put an effort into making sure they were raised properly. They had once stumbled upon you in the greenhouse, and for a moment the world seemed to make pretend the four of you were one big happy family as he let you show them the few bluebells you had planted in the corner where no one could see. You saw him in their little faces, their bright blue eyes, and you wanted to please them just as much, make them proud of you.

But they weren't him, and you didn't care for anything that wasn't.

You pretended you needed to leave, and he went along with it as you dismissed yourself and vowed to never see them again. You didn't want to scare them, scare yourself with too many wrong feelings.

"Is that the surprise?" It would be nice to move more freely within his home without running into their little faces, running into Livia who despised you.

He put more food onto your plate shaking his head. "No. I have news of your parents." You sat up straighter. You hadn't been back to District 6 since he put you on that train and you knew he would never let you go back even if you asked, even if you wanted to. You weren't sure if you missed them, you know you should but it was hard to feel anything besides your hunger for him. It did puzzle you they never came asking for you, never tried to find you to bring you home, never tried to save you. You assumed they had been paid off or-!

"They're dead."

Your heart drops, it was a strange feeling. "What?"

He waved his hand like it was nothing, like they were nothing. "Morphling overdose." You furrowed your brows shaking your own head. No, they weren't addicts, they hated that you had drank so much after the Games. You're spiraling, so lost in trying to figure out how it happened you almost miss his confession, "They wouldn't stop asking about you."

Your vision tunneled in on his face. "You-you did it?"

You catch your slip right as his hand makes contact with your face snapping your head to the side. Don't stutter. But now your cheek was stinging with the consequences of your insubordination. Gentle fingers cup under your chin to turn your reddened face towards him, "They would have taken you from me." He spoke it so softly that you figured it had come from kindness.

What had he said to you all those nights ago within a thrown away plea, the sentence you had unwillingly agreed to that sealed your fate. 'Did you mean?' He whispered, 'That you don't want anyone to take you away from me.'

He runs his finger along your arm so gently tracing the blue veins like he too was thinking on the fond memory, "I only gave them the morphling; it isn't my fault they took so much of it." You close your eyes; he had gotten them hooked on morphling to the point they had overdosed and died all because they asked about you.

They had asked about you.

The hand gripping your wine glass squeezes too hard and the glass shatters around the table. Had they missed you? Did they love you? They had to have to ask him about you, but it's so hard to remember it, so hard to make your brain picture what that felt like. You know he's looking at you, can feel his eyes burning into your skull as you stare at the broken pieces, your blood dripping onto the edges. You grab the biggest piece and jump across the table at him. He roars as you jam it down into his shoulder reeling back with his own cup and smashing it across your head.

"I did it for you!" Your body flies to the side, cool marble meeting your skin, as he straddles your leg, hands coming around your neck too quickly, strangling you.

"Sir?" You hear his guards asking if they need to shoot you, they were always ready to.

He glances over his shoulder at them while you clawed at his wrist, legs flailing out trying to breath, "It's fine!" He looks back at you letting go of your throat admiring the color returning to your face, "It's fine." He grinds his teeth contemplating his next move, then he's clicking his tongue at you as you heave breaths. "I thought you'd be happy." He's sliding his hand up your thigh, "Aren't you happy?" Fingers meet your bare, soaked cunt, "Come on tell me what I want to hear." He pushes two fingers inside of you and you bite down on your bottom lip holding in the trained response, holding in the war raging inside of your cursed bleeding heart. You felt so alone in the world, but you weren't, you had him in every tortured version of this, you had him. His hand shifts, thumb pressing down on your clit and your mouth parts in a weak whimper. You glanced up at him expecting satisfaction, but cool anger greets you, "I thought you had let that pathetic life go."

"Th-!"

He pulls his hand out yanking you upward by your arm and throws you into the table bending your body around the wood, dishes clattering under you. "Maybe you need a reminder of how good you have it here." He rips your dress up around your hips baring your nakedness to him. You barely have time to register it before he slams into you. You gasp out against shattered silverware, glass poking into you as he starts to brutally thrust into you. "You don't have anyone else now." Your hands grasp for purchase on the table runner tears prickling your eyes, you're not sure what you're crying for, "You don't need anyone else." You try to pick up your head confusion and confirmation melding in your bones, but he slams it back down abusing your cervix with every deep thrust into you. "They were nothing!" His hips snap against yours, "I saved you! I am all you need." His hand snakes around your body pressing into your clit and you moan in agreement. He's right; he was all you needed. Not that life you had grieved, not the rumble of trains leaving the district, not the oil coating your father's hands or the tea your mother served. Your eyes squeeze shut as your body relaxes around him letting strange memories fade away like strange mechanical smoke. You arch your back for him. "There's my darling bluebell." You hear the smile in his voice and you melt into his skin knowing this was truly everything. You don't even listen to your broken heart weeping that they had asked for you as soon as the orgasm washes over you. He pounds into you harder, fingers marking your skin until his cum is coating every wicked part of inside of you.

You watch the blood drying on your hand.

He kisses your shoulder his cock still buried deep inside of you, "I did it for you bluebell." He pulls out of you, gently straightening your dress down before helping you stand up properly.

You turn to face him. He picks strands of glass out of your hair before pushing it off of your face, some pieces sticking to the blood on the side of your head. "Thank you Mr. President, sir."

He had ruined you, and you thanked him for it.

"Such a good girl." He cups your face and kisses your forehead. He glances to the back of the room where servants and guards no doubt stood watching. "Clean this up." He wraps his hand around your waist to lead you out of the room.

The months pass normally, without much change, which brings a sense of calm as you watch the seasons filter through the bars of your pretty cage. You watch the leaves change from green to orange to brown until they finally died on the ground below. You watched snow blanket the grounds of his mansion, watch it fall silently at night when the full moon was high and he lay naked in the bed behind you. How easy it would be to turn around and stab him in his frozen heart over and over again letting his blood pelt down on you like the rain hitting your window. Instead you watch snow melt on the wilted mushy grass below, watch the bugs fly across your window, watch them land and you wonder how freeing it felt to escape the little landing they had made within the hole of your inclosure.

But that freedom isn't worth it and dead flies stare back at you in their windowsill graves.

You make your way down to the greenhouse set on planting your spring flowers before summer took its complete hold over the world. You feel peace as you close the door behind you plunging the area in serene silence.

It's the only time you truly ever smile as your hand sinks into dirt, as you dig out a home for his white roses. He didn't let you plant them at first knowing your history of killing them on accident, but you had proved yourself, as you had with everything.

This is as far as he let you go within his property. You knew he was still watching, knew there were cameras, knew he had guards somewhere keeping an eye on you. It didn't matter, you told yourself with a gentle grin on your lips covering up the plant. No, not truly, as you watered it. This was your life now, it had been for years and you were content with the security, the seclusion, the insanity of it all, and besides you were nothing without him.

You glance in the far back corner of the room where empty pots sat that had once held your small number of blooming bluebells. They had withered and died long ago, you had let them, and never planted them again.

You liked his roses more.

Most of the day is gone when you head back into his home, and the minute the door closes something feels off, the hair on your neck standing up. You tuck your head down and make your way for the stairs to go back to your room not feeling up to figuring out why the house felt strange.

You didn't need to go searching for it since she was standing in your room.

"Mrs. Snow."

She sneers, "Oh yes I forgot you were so proper."

Don't stutter. "Can I help you with something?" You have your hands clasp in front of you standing up too straight as you watch her.

"Where is he?" She ask peering at her freshly manicured nails like this conversation bored her. You swallow unsure what to tell her. You didn't know where he was, he usually left in the morning for work and returned in the evening without this much fuss. "He wasn't at work, and I know he usually doesn't let you go too far off your leash." She stands up as you continue to not answer, but her eyes dart behind you. "Right again."

"Livia." You nearly collapse in relief at his voice behind you, at the wetness slipping out of you, at his hands coming onto your shoulders. "You shouldn't be here."

She glares, "See that's where you're wrong." Livia points at you, "That thing shouldn't be here. This is my home, I am your wife." You feel his fingers dig into your skin. "Why should I be holed up in that stupid apartment while it gets to play house in my mansion."

"It's my mansion Livia." He corrects her fingers toying with the skin on your neck. "And it's a very big apartment."

"You married me, you had children with me, you should live with me." Her cheeks flush in anger. "I don't care that you have a mistress, I don't care that you two are sick fucking people." She came forward too close, finger pointed at him, "I want what you promised me Coriolanus."

Your hand flies out as you slap her across the face. The room stills, you grab your hand back like it was a separate entity. You knew why it happened. Besides the way you moaned it, he didn't like when people used his real name and not his titled one, you didn't like that she had gotten too close to him. You had attacked others for far less offenses. She reels back her own hand, but he stops her midair with a hand around her wrist, "I gave you what I promised you Livia." He sighed, "You are the president's wife, you have financial and social standing, you are well provided for, what the fuck else could you possibly want."

"I want that thing gone, out of my home, my sight, my life." She hissed.

"Careful Livia," He laughed menacingly at her, "You're starting to sound jealous." He let go of her hand and motioned to the chair off to the side of the room, "Do I need to remind you of where your place is in all of this?"

You feel the wetness slide further down your leg at the mention of what he meant, the mention of making her watch as he took you over and over again like he had on their wedding night. She cringed, "You disgust me."

He pushed hair off of your neck kissing the sensitive skin there, "Then leave, go back to where I put you." She pushed past the two of you and stormed off down the hallway. He didn't even close the door as he turned you around and cupped your face, "She's a nuisance." He backed you up until the back of your knees hit the bed.

"She's your wife."

"I don't care." He mumbled onto your skin kissing across your collarbones as he laid you back onto the bed. "I liked watching you slap her." You knew he did from the feel of his hard cock pressing into your back when you had done it. He travels down your body until he's between your legs, and then he plants a soft kiss to your bare cunt. "You did too, didn't you bluebell?"

Only a small whine leaves your throat as his tongue swirls around your clit and everything seems to vanish in your head, all you can focus on is his mouth on your pussy. Your fingers are in his hair as you tilt your hips up for him more, his tongue pressing rough circles into the sensitive bud. You craved his pleasure, you craved his violence and nothing ever chased that feeling of need away besides him. His mouth wraps around your clit and sucks making you see stars behind your eyes back arching for it, body aching for it, for him. You push back with your hips with every stroke of his tongue before looking down at him staring into his hungry dark eyes as you cum against his face. He keeps licking at you, letting you ride it out on his tongue hands slowly releasing his hair.

He pushes up onto his knees your pleasure glistening on his chin. "Are you jealous?" You furrow your brows, but you know what he's asking. Were you jealous of Livia? That she got to marry him, have his children and go out in public with him. You and him had grown closer to each other throughout the years of twining your decaying souls together, it was something wretched and inhumane, your hatred had settled into something more docile.

But it always remained.

"No," You didn't want to marry him, or have his children, or go out with him at all besides that once-a-year Hunger Games party. "Mr. President, sir." You only truly ever liked him when he was inside of you, and you knew he shared the sentiment.

The corners of his mouth begin to straighten out of his joking smirk and suddenly you're unsure if you gave him the right answer. He stares at you, and you stare at him. Then he sighs and slides in next to your body, "How long has it been?"

"I never kept track Mr. President, sir." It could have been two years or seven or fifteen you could never be sure, you lost time like you had lost yourself. He never let you have a clock anyways and why did it matter, it's not like he was ever going to let you leave at a certain point in time, nor did you want to. He had told you forever, so forever you stayed within.

You had nothing but him.

You tuck yourself into his chest.

It's dark when he comes for you. He slithers in behind you, hard cock digging into your backside and you're snaking your hand around his head to pull him closer.

His teeth graze your neck, "Not now." But he bites your shoulder and you mewl for him pushing your ass back into him. "We don't have time." He hikes up your nightgown anyways, fingers dipping into your drenched cunt and you shift your self forward to give him more room to curl his hand up inside of you. "You can't help it can you." You shake your head into the sheets as he moves his hand faster only making you whine louder when he pulls it out, "Want me to fuck you that badly?" He doesn't even wait for the response he already knew before sliding down into you. It fills you too heavenly as you fist the blankets, biting down on the corner of your pillow as he slowly thrust into you. You'll never be full of him as you arch back, pushing yourself into him more, feeling every delicious stroke of his cock.

He pulls up slightly pounding down into you, twisting his hand in your hair to arch your back for him more until bones are groaning along with you. You squeeze your eyes feeling your body clenching around him, the heat of it pooling in your stomach, toes curling into the mattress. And then you're coming around him moaning out into the pitch black room as he lets your head drop back down so he can grip your hips wildly thrusting into you until he cums deep inside of you.

He runs a finger down your spine.

He leans down pushing it all into you with a kiss on you head. "Come with me." He pulls out too quickly and you turn to look at him confused while artificial light suddenly pours in through the window. He tucks himself away before holding his hand out for you. You look between his hand and his face with a small shake in your head the sense of unease filling you tamed blood. His eyes narrow on you so you glance down at your nightgown, "It doesn't matter, now come." His tone bites at the end so you climb to your feet to take his hand, letting him drag you from the room, down the stairs, and out into the foyer.

Your unease had been correct.

Livia is there, disheveled, hands tied behind her back and a gag around her mouth. She starts yelling frightfully into it when she sees you coming down the stairs. Two peacekeepers are standing on either side of the door, fingers on their triggers as they watch her. You still on the last step.

He motions to her; but your forehead is creased in confusion. He sighs coming back towards you, hands coming around your face, "It's been eight years, four months, and twenty-three days." You still didn't understand what that had to do with his wife, "You've been so good to me all these years." He comes closer pressing his mouth to your ear, "I need you to do one more thing for me."

You look past him at Livia who's eyes were widening with settled fear, understanding what this all meant. He wanted you to hunt her down and kill her. He wanted to watch you in the Games one more time.

He pulls back slightly to glance down at your face. His body presses in close to yours, a hand grasping onto your waist, "Will you do this for me?"

Something churns inside of you as you blink up at him, noses touching each other. There was no version of this where you got to say no to anything he said, it has always been that way, he had taken everything from you and still wanted to take more like the starving man he was, always grasping insatiably at you. So you tap into that rabid part of you he had always adored more, "Yes Mr. President, sir."

"My good girl," He smiles gently kissing your mouth. He waves his hand and you hear rope being sliced. Livia's shoes dig into the ground as they drag her outside no doubt giving her a head start from you. He caresses your face, "Now... tell me your mine."

His cum slides down your legs, "I am your creature. I am yours."

He let's go moving to the side as you fly out of the door after her like a hound on her scent. The moon offer its little light as you run into the night onto the property. His bright big floodlights make up the rest, beaming down upon you not allowing her any advantage in the natural darkness, you figured he might have wanted to give her some fighting chance since she truly stood no chance at all.

She had been his wife after all, and you simply, were his district mutt.

You still, the grass wet under your feet, a soft drizzle falling down on your skin as you look for her, listen for her, thunder rumbling in the distance. In your Games you had hid, you had survived until it was only you and that district two boy left, but now you were the predator hunting down the weaker tribute. Lightning cracked, illuminating her figure slipping into the trees.

You sprinted for her your moist nightgown flapping against skin. She clambered off into the woods loud footsteps stomping into the ground whimpering sobs echoing around her. It wasn't a large area of trees, something he had had planted around his home for privacy reasons, and it had offered her the cover she needed to evade you for longer. You slowed, listening to her stumble around in the dark forest letting the broken moonlight guide you on a path. The rain was coming down harder, leaves shaking with the pressure and wind while you searched for her with water dripping down your back.

Then it's quiet.

Your bare foot sinks into mud peering into the darkness.

She shouts as she runs for you stabbing you in back before taking off again. You groan as you reach back for it, struggling to wrap your fingers around the handle to yank it out, blood now pooling down your back. They had given her a weapon, a chance, and now she had squandered it.

You look down. It was the same knife you had killed that district boy with.

Your eye twitches.

You run after her, jumping over fallen logs, skimming past loose branches as thunder shakes the arena, rain pelting you. It was kill or be killed just like it had been when you had won the first time, you would win again. You take her to the ground as she claws at you slashing across your cheek.

"Stop!" She screams but you sink the knife into her arm watching her cry out in pain. You yank it back and plunge it down again but she keeps moving, keeps fighting and it slams into the ground. "People will ask about me, wonder where the president's wife went!" And you knew you'd kill them too if he asked. She knows it too as the knife slashes her wrist. "Kill him! He ruined your life!" Her fingers find fallen parts of trees and rocks and shes hitting you with them to get you off. "He killed your parents!"

You stop, eyes quivering down at her as lightning shoots across the sky behind you. You didn't have parents. You didn't. You only had him. You squeeze your eyes, but no-no that didn't seem true either. You can smell oil. You can smell vanilla tea in a small kitchen. You can feel the trains rumbling your house. My darling bluebell. You open your eyes, no that was just the storm crashing down onto you, that's just what he called you, no one else. There was no one else, only him. She uses your distraction to shove you off and climb on-top of you a large rock in her hands to break your skull open.

But it doesn't even matter if they were alive or not, if they were real or not, no one was coming to save you.

He had saved you

She's crying, or maybe it's rain. "Do you love him?" Her voice broke with her own heart.

"No."

You shove upward with the knife hearing the sick wet noise of stabbing her organs. Blood splashes down onto you as you rip the knife out. Her body slinks off of you into the dirt and she's grabbing at the growing wound staring upward at the sky.

White moonlight blankets her face in the break of trees as she coughs up blood. "I-I'm his wife." Don't stutter, you want to tell her, but all you can do is stare at her while she dies. "I used to wonder how after all these years you two can still fuck each other like animals." She swallows blood, "But then I realized you two are animals." You straddle her hemorrhaging body, "What will you be when I'm gone."

"His victor." You stab the knife down into her chest listening to the sick crunch of her sternum bone. Once, twice, three times you bring it down into her, blood splattering across skin, dripping down your body. You didn't hate her, you didn't think much of her, but then again you hadn't hated that boy from two and you had butchered him just the same.

She chokes on more blood then goes still beneath you. You wait for the canon, but only the storm answers you. You raise your face towards the onyx oblivion letting the rain splatter onto you washing her blood off of your skin, but the slick coating it left would remain, just like that boy from two. You take three deep breaths before standing up staring out into the dark distance wondering if he was watching. You could run. You could hold onto this knife and take off into the night and maybe make it out. He kept a tight leash on you, but he had let you off of it for this, would he expect you not to come back to him. A red light of a camera blinked within the bark of a tree; what was out there for you anyways? Something tugged behind your naval, a string pulling you backwards, and you figured you quite liked your cage, it was all you ever had. You sigh, wrapping your hand around her ankle, and dragging her body back towards the house.

The floodlights shine down on you as you break through the trees, peacekeepers all back to their post surrounding him standing in the middle of the lawn like your lighthouse on treacherous waters.

Like the God you had always prayed would save you.

You dropped her leg and walked towards him. "My darling bluebell." He cups his hand around your neck tilting your face up to his.

The tip of the knife presses into his stomach as your eyes bare into his. "You kept track." You push inward more the blade barely even cutting through clothing. He doesn't even try to stop you from stabbing him if you chose, and you wanted to. You wanted to shove it in deep, wanted to rip his intestines out to strangle him with.

"My sweet creature." His thumb caresses your filthy cheek, and then he presses your lips to his. Your mouths meld together, his tongue slipping inside tasting the dirt, your blood, her blood, all of it in a depraved kiss. Slowly, long fingers wrap around your wrist tugging your hand, the knife, upward until the sharp bloody blade is pressed to the soft flesh of your neck. You want him to slide it across, slash your throat wide open so you could finally escape him. He pressed in harder, the warm trickle of your own blood leaking down cool skin. That's as much as he pushes and you gaze up at him the question written on your every feature.

He tucks filthy hair behind your ear, "I've bent you so much, and you never break." He smiles at nothing, sadness his response. "My darling bluebell, my beautiful savage." His hand comes off of your wrist giving you the final choice in your death. His thumb traces your ear, "Would you do it if I asked you to?" Rain drips off of your nose onto your upper lip as it quivers out the gentle plea, your hand shakes, the blade cutting in a little deeper. The corner of his mouth ticks up, "You would, wouldn't you my good girl." It's pathetic because he had always been right about you, but maybe that was because he had made you. He softly tugged on your thumb holding the handle of the blade, "I find I am not quite fond of the idea of losing you."

He's all you know, and all you want to know, the sin you can never seem to cleanse yourself of. For some reason, you're not quite fond of losing him either.

The knife falls to the ground below

His hands travel down your body, cupping under you ass, and wrapping your legs around his body to walk you back inside his house. The doors slam shut behind you as his mouth never leaves yours, he slams you back into the wall paintings clattering to the floor as he keeps kissing you savagely. It all teeth and spit and tongues as your fingers rip open his shirt buttons flying in every direction dragging your dirty nails down his pristine chest.

It consumes you, he consumes you with an insatiable need that is never enough to fill a void he had scooped out of you. His hand slithers down your body to shove inside of you, to curl against that sweet spot that has your panting into his open mouth. "Am I all you need?" His hand thrust into you as his mouth trails across your jaw. "All you want?"

"Yes Mr. President, sir." You moan.

He growls shoving his body against yours, teeth digging into your skin. "My good fucking girl."

His palm presses down onto your clit as you move your hips with him fucking his hand until you can't keep your eyes open, gripping the wall behind you with chipped blood stained nails. You feel your skin split open from his canines and your clamping down around him, gushing around his knuckles until your body stops moving. He slams you down onto the stairs and pushes himself inside of you in one quick stroke.

You're covered in blood, covered in him and all you can do is claw at his back as he fucks you roughly against wooden steps. You wrap you legs around him to keep him close feeling his cock slide against a delicious spot that has you whimpering for more, always for more. Your mind feels empty but thoughts of him, your brain wired to his every whim. You didn't love him, you hated him viciously, but you worshipped him obsessively like he was the sick god who had stolen you away to his underworld. It would be you and him until the end of time tied together with bloody strings and pomegranate seeds. His fist kneads into your breast, his head following the same pattern to wrap around your nipple, licking and biting and sucking making you tilt your pelvis up for him to thrust into you deeper. Your teeth sink into his shoulder, blood filling your mouth as he growls into your skin thrusting even harder and faster. Heat pools inside of you, you feel yourself clenching around him with every powerful stroke of his cock.

"Cum for me baby girl."

It twist a knife inside your hallow chest as you clamp down around him screaming out his name into his mansion, the echo of it hitting off every wall. His fingers dig into your bones as he spills inside of you coating everything that belongs to him. You lose track of time as you lay there, stairs pressing into your back, his cock still twitching inside of you. You're both covered in sweat and blood and rain and each other, no one dares to move.

He pulls back to stare down at you brushing wet hair away from your face, his dried blood splattered down your chin and neck. There's something too soft in his blue eyes and it forces your brows to softly furrow at the unnamed emotion crossing over his features.

He whispers your name, something he never said.

You lean away from him.

"Tell me you hate me." The back of his nail slides across your collarbones and you want him to plunge it into you chest to pluck out your rotting heart to eat.

"I hate you." You whisper. "Mr. President, sir."

He kisses you like he was air you needed to breath and pulls out of you, slowly standing up. He walks around you disappearing up the stairs without a backwards glance. You lay there for a moment before standing up as well to walk back to your glorious cage to wait for him.

The world is so much quieter now, smaller as you walk down the Avenue of the Tributes alone. You had sat in the stands watching everything happen, watched that girl fire her arrow, watched them attack, watched them all slowly leave.

You stayed.

You watched with you hands folded over your lap as they killed him. You never looked away. And once everyone was gone you climbed down and walked so slowly along that long avenue towards his body.

He was still tied up, but most of him was gone, mangled blood and clothing on the ground around him. You stopped in front of him, his blood under your shoes, feeling the tears involuntarily sliding down your face. After so many years he was finally dead, you were finally free. You searched internally to name the emotion you were feeling, but there wasn't anything left of you anymore. It had all stopped when his heart did. It had all stopped when your name was pulled.

Through the gore and torn flesh you could still see pieces of wrinkled skin, hair white as snow, blue eyes buried under it all, but he would always remain that young man you had grown to loathe. You thought of his children, the same beautiful blue eyed children you had helped him raise, helped him train like show dogs, stepping in like some wet nurse after you brutally murdered their mother. You wonder what would become of them now that the whole world had collapsed with their father.

Your whole world.

You take another step forward your foot rolling over something. You bend down and pick up the small pill rolling it between two fingers, glancing up at his dead body. You thought of your pretty cage, thought of that bed you always seemed to be in.

You were always in that house, in that room. You could never get out, and now you could never go back home. You were always meant to bleed together. You had nothing, but you had him.

You slip the nightlock pill between your lips and swallow it down.

He was like a temple, left here for only you to worship at one last time. You go onto your knees in front of him taking in your last breath before collapsing in the pool of his blood at his feet, where you had always belonged.

If it's meant to be then it will be

So I met him there and told him I believe

Singing if it's meant to be then it'll be

I forgive it all as it comes back to me

endnotes: i was driving home from work and sun bleached flies by ethel cain came on and the minute i parked i wrote down the idea from this so its her fault i kept writing for these two psychos :) hope u all enjoyed!!

tags: @wearemadeofstardust0 , @astarborntowrite, @genderfluid-anime-goth , @merlieve , @darktrashsoulbear , @euphemiaamillais , @dousyskid , @bunny24sstuff , @bloobewy , @tmblrsexyw0man , @italiekim , @anthgoldenhrry , @becauseseaotters bold is tumblr wouldn't let me tag

[wileys-russo]

any chance you could write a blurb about lessi and her new short hair? like she comes home from the hairdresser and is a bit unhappy bc her hair was so damaged so she didn’t get to have it bleached and had to cute quite a bit off? but reader literally goes feral at the sight

new style II a.russo

“is that you less?” you called out from the living room, eyes glued to the tv as you heard the front door open and close with a gentle thud. “no it’s an intruder with keys.” your girlfriend chuckled, dumping her bag on the counter and making her way over.

you mocked her and pulled a face before the taller girl collapsed beside you on the lounge, kissing your cheek hello and sighing heavily.

“that was a big one baby, what’s the matter with you then?” you turned your body to face her, the girl kitted out in a matching grey nike tracksuit, hood pulled firmly over her head casting shadows across her defined features.

“long day, im over it.” alessia groaned, laying down more and draping her arms over her face. you moved to climb on top of her and grabbed her hands, wrenching them away from her face as the striker looked up at you with a pout.

“whats happened love?” you smiled softly, her arms moving to wrap around your back as you lent down and pecked her lips a few times. “kiss me properly and maybe i’ll tell you.” the girl perked up, puckering her lips expectantly.

you playfully rolled your eyes but none the less gave into her wishes, dipping down and pressing your mouth back to hers. you couldn’t help but to smile into the kiss, forever relishing in the ever comforting feeling of such close intimacy with your blonde lover.

though as your hands flew to her cheeks, intending to tangle them in her hair as you always did, things became a little out of sorts.

your girlfriend grabbed at your wrists, gently tugging your hands away and placing them on her hips instead, her own then wrapping around the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, her tongue teasingly tracing your bottom lip.

things heating up you withheld a moan and out of instinct your hands flew back up to tangle in her hair but once again alessia grabbed them before they could, placing them once more on her hips.

“okay. what’s up with you?” you pulled away with a slight pop and sat back up, legs straddling either side of the taller girls torso as you frowned down at her with concern.

“nothing, c’mere.” the blonde ordered needily, fists balling at your hoodie and trying to pull your mouth to meet hers again as you shook your head.

“you’re being weird.” you accused, eyes narrowed at her out of character behavior until the penny dropped. “you had your hair appointment today.” you remembered and all it took was the split second of panic that flashed across your girlfriends face for you to know you’d guessed correctly.

“what happened? show me.” you tried to reach down and tug off her hood but she swatted away your hands. “alessia! show me your hair.” you ordered again with an amused smile as the older girl shook her head, grabbing your hands and firmly holding them by your sides.

"what did you do shave it all off? babe i won't care what it looks like. show me!" you laughed, wriggling on top of her as the blonde groaned. "fine!" she huffed and you squealed as she pushed you off of her, sinking back into the lounge as she sat up.

"they couldn't bleach it because it's apparently too damaged. so then they said they'd give it a trim and maybe they could do just some foils for my roots so i agreed." alessia started to explain as you nodded along, resting your head against the back of the lounge.

"but then i didn't realise how much they would trim off, and then they still said it was too damaged so i should just let the roots keep coming out so it strengthens my natural hair." you hummed to show you were listening, eyes attentively following along as her hand grabbed at her hood.

"so then once i saw how short it was i sort of freaked out, paid and bolted." alessia admitted, biting down on her bottom lip and slipping her hood down, your eyes widening as she did.

"so much for a trim! she cut like five inches off i'm definitely not going back there." the blonde huffed, crossing her arms over her chest as you took her in.

her now much shorter hair was still damp and hung to her shoulders, her brunette roots prominent against the fading bleached tips and as she ran her hand through it, pushing it to one side of her hair you felt your chest heave.

"is it bad? you're literally never this quiet so it must be bad." alessia moaned, moving to try and yank her hood back up as you scrambled to stop her, practically tackling her back down onto the sofa. "not bad, definitely not bad." you promised, gently carting your hands through her shorter locks with wide eyes.

"you like it." alessia realized, lips curling into a smile at the look in your eyes which she recognized instantly. "i really do." you exhaled, alessias smile turning into a smirk as she pushed herself up to rest on her elbows.

"oh don't get cocky about it babe that's a turn off." you shook your head with a grimace, lying through your teeth. "please, you love it." your girlfriend scoffed knowingly and you faked a sigh, rolling your eyes. quickly flipping your positions alessia now hovered over you, her mouth teasingly brushing against your own.

"baby if i knew you'd like it this much i'd have cut it myself."

[brittscafe]

Hi! I hope you’re doing alright! :) I wanted to request the prompt, “Gentle wipe of your spilled tears after heavy arguments, a simple gesture that shows you how sorry they are for making you shed sad tears instead of happy ones.” with bleach men? Or something close to it! I really just want some heart breaking angst and a happy ending. Thank you in advance, I love your blog!!

ahhh yesss! I love this prompt! <3 <3 I can include the quinces and arrancars in my next post, if you would like!

Ichigo Kurosaki: You rush inside Ichigo's room and slam the door open. Ichigo turns around and you throw your arms around the man.

"What's wrong?" Ichigo asks, running his fingers through your hair as you squeeze him tightly.

"I thought you were hurt," you breath out, pulling away from his embrace. Ichigo's eyebrows furrows and he shakes his head.

"I can take care of myself, you know? I am a substitute soul reaper," Ichigo reassures you with a confident tone.

"I know," you chew on your quivering bottom lip. Your eyes rake over his bruised face, dry blood on his lips. His body shaking slightly and the pain written all over his face.

His breath shudders seeing the hot tears spill down your face. Ichigo stifles a tiny gasp and his heart breaks into a million pieces.

"Y/N," he calls out gently, taking a stride towards you and reaching out. His hand cups the back of your head and he lets out a heavy sigh.

Ichigo brushes his thumb over your face, picking up your tears.

"I just wish I was there to help you. Maybe you wouldn't have gotten hurt if I was there," you sob out, your chest crushing. Ichigo smiles warmly at you and his eyes soften.

"You were there," he speaks carefully, grabbing your hand and putting it on his chest. His heart thumps against your hand and you smile weakly.

Uryu Ishida: Your breath shudders as you walk up to Uryu, standing alone in the soul society, watching as the war between the soul reapers and quincies break out.

His white cape flows in the wind and you gulp.

"Uryu, what are you doing?" you call out, furrowing your eyebrows. When Ichigo had told you that your boyfriend was on the other side of the war, you couldn't believe it.

"What are you doing here?" Uryu asks, his eyes widening at the sight of you as he faces you.

"No, you don't get to question me, not right now! What the hell are you doing?" you raise your voice, speaking through gritted teeth.

Uryu stands there, staring at you in shock. He never expected you to come into the soul society or even find out about this.

"I'm a Quincy. This is my blood," Uryu replies dryly and you scoff quietly.

"You're betraying everyone you know! Are you sure this is the path you want to go down?" you ask, stepping forward.

Uryu reaches out with his hand and he touches your soft skin. His hand cups your cheek and tilts up your face, eyes meeting his.

"Hey..." Uryu calls out and you meet his eyes. The tears race down your face and a frown rests on your face.

"You're breaking my heart," you comment, your voice breaking. Uryu lowers his head with shame and lets out a heavy sigh.

"I know and I'm so sorry, y/n. You'll see why I chose this, soon. I promise, but you need to go back home," Uryu sighs out, wiping away your tears.

"Just...don't break your promise," you demand, stepping back from his embrace.

Renji Abarai: "What the hell was that?!" Renji's voice booms out as he marches over towards you. You wipe the sweat off your forehead and squeeze your sword in your hand.

"What? Me saving your ass?" you scoff quietly, glancing down at the dead hollow on the ground. Renji rolls his eyes with annoyance and scowls.

"I didn't need you to save me!" Renji raises his voice and your taken back by his tone. You take a step back and let out a tiny breath, pondering.

You didn't understand why Renji was being so cold and mean. You just wanted to help your significant other.

"I don't get it, Renji. I was just helping you," you shake your head in denial. Renji's eyes darken and he stomps over to you, towering over you.

"Yeah? Well, I don't need you.”

His words strike you like a knife to the heart and your eyes widen.

"I'm so confused. Don't you appreciate my help? I was just trying to help you!" you raise your voice, your mind rattled with pure confusion.

"You don't get it, y/n! I was trying to prove myself to Captain Kuchiki. I was sent on a mission and I wanted to prove myself. You ruin everything!" Renji shouts out with pure rage.

Your mouth gapes open and your body freezes with shock. You snap your jaw shut and nod your head, tears filling your eyes.

"Okay. I get it," you retort harshly, clenching your jaw.

You went home after that, spent a few hours crying in your shared bed. You were filled with rage, but mostly sadness. How could Renji say something like that?

Your eardrums fill with the sound of the front doors swinging open and your heart skips a beat. Renji's footsteps come closer and closer to your bedroom.

You don't even bother to lift up your head when he enters the room. Renji frowns widely at the sight of you and he lets out a heavy sigh.

He knows what he did was wrong, very wrong. Renji sinks down into the bed and places his hand over your back.

"Baby, I'm sorry," Renji coos out with a soft, comforting voice.

"No, you're not," your voice comes out as muffled.

"I am," he replies.

"I get it, Renji. I get that you were sent on a mission and you wanted to prove yourself to your captain. You didn't have to yell at me," you huff out, lifting up your head.

Renji's eyes widen at your swollen, red face. You glare at him and Renji frowns widely.

"I didn't mean to yell at you. I was mad and I took my anger out on you. I shouldn't have,"

"Yeah, you shouldn't have," you sniffle out and Renji cracks a grin.

"What? Why are you smiling?" you ask, chewing on your bottom lip. Renji places a hand on your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek, wiping away a tear.

"I'm sorry, but you're so pretty," Renji beams and your eyes widen. You were certain you weren't pretty in this moment. Tears running down your swollen face.

"Whatever," you sigh out, pouting.

"I'm sorry, my pretty girl," Renji speaks softly and you roll your eyes, but you can't help, but crack a tiny smile.

Shinji Hirako: Heated arguments were you and Shinji's thing for sure, but this was too much.

You decided to hide yourself in the bathroom, which was probably not the best place to hide from your boyfriend.

"Y/N, let me in," Shinji sighs in defeat from the outside, leaning his head against the door. You're curled up into a ball, arms wrapped around your knees that are tucked into your chest.

"No," you state firmly, your quivering voice giving yourself away.

"Damn it. Let me in!" Shinji raises his voice, running his hands over his face in frustration.

"Why should I?" you ask, clenching your fists.

"Because...I hate that I hurt you. I hate that I'm stupid and decided to hurt the person that I love the most. I hate that you're in here all alone, crying and I can't comfort you. I know that I don't deserve to, but please, y/n, let me in," Shinji explains with a raspy voice.

His words send a chill down your spine and you gulp. You sit in silence for a moment, before deciding to stand up and unlock the door.

Shinji swings open the door and his heart stops beating for a moment. Your red puffy face along with your tear stained cheeks is enough for even Shinji's heart to break.

He throws his arms around you and holds you tightly.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispers repeatedly, peppering kisses all along your face.

It felt so good to be in his arms, in his comfort.

"Shinji, I know," you mumble out in his chest. Shinji's body fills with relief. You didn't need to forgive him, he just needed you to know how sorry he is.

Jushiro Ukitake: I find it very hard to believe that this man made you cry. Anyways...

Emotions were running high as you and Jushiro argued back and forth. Both of your roaring voices fill the room and you end up with tears streaming down your face.

Jushiro wastes no time in rushing up to you as he feels horrible for making you cry. You bite down on your quivering lip and Jushiro gingerly places his hand on your cheek.

"I'm sorry," you hiccup out between sobs and Jushiro's eyes widen.

"Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault," Jushiro furrows his eyebrows with confusion and you shake your head.

"But it is, I started the argument. Now, I'm the one crying just because of what you said," you stutter out, your body slightly trembling.

Jushiro shakes his head. He cam't believe what he's hearing right now.

"No, don't you dare be sorry. What I said was not okay and I'm sorry that I said that," Jushiro speaks gently and you sniffle, wiping your wet face.

"I feel like such a baby," you sigh out, lowering your head in defeat.

"I never want to make you cry, y/n. Please, forgive me, sweetheart," Jushiro begs you, tears in his eyes. He leans his head down and presses his warm lips to your forehead.

You clutch onto his forearms and relish in the moment.

"I will always forgive you, Jushiro," you whisper, smiling up at him.

Shunsui Kyoraku: Your body trembles as your sob tears through your body, unable to muffle your sounds of sadness. You clench your fists and Shunsui's stomach twists into uneasy knots at the sound of your crying.

He glances at you over his shoulder and his mouth gapes open. You glare at him with tears burning your eyes and he leaps towards you.

Shunsui grabs onto your shoulders and your body jolts.

"No. Get away from me," you demand, pressing your hands into his chest and shoving him back. Shunsui's eyes widen and he lowers his head with shame.

He had hurt you and he dreaded it.

You turn around, burying your face in the palm of your hands. Your face burns and Shunsui clears his throat, collecting himself and his emotions.

"Shunsui," you call out as he wraps his arms around your waist from behind.

"I'm sorry. I am so sorry," he whispers with a hoarse voice, dipping his head down into the curve of your neck.

"I'm sure you are," you retort harshly, feeling your walls start to break down. You lower your gaze to the ground and Shunsui lets out a heavy sigh.

"Y/N, let me comfort you. Let me take away the pain and hurt that I caused you. Please," Shunsui pleads with you in a ginger, soft voice.

You slowly turn around, facing him and you chew on your lip, pondering. You meet Shunsui's soft, loving gaze and you frown widely.

You step forward and throw your arms around his torso, burying yourself into his chest. Shunsui rests his chin on top of your head and grips you tightly.

Kenpachi Zaraki: You were silent. Deadly. Deadly silent. So, deadly silent as a tear runs down your cheek.

He easily catches your wrist and pulls you closer to him. Kenpachi towers over you and you gulp. Kenny wears a blank expression on his face, but his eyes are soften, so is his touch.

"Were my words too harsh, y/n?" Kenpachi asks with a deep, rough voice. Your lips tremble as you slowly glance up at him, trying to hold yourself together.

"Um, I guess. I don't like when we yell at each other like that, especially when we we're arguing over something so...so stupid," you explain yourself, your voice trembling.

Kenpachi steps closer to you as the tears stream down your cheeks. He leans down towards you and slowly raises his hand. You close your eyes at his soft touch, wiping away your tears.

"I am sorry for raising my voice," Kenpachi speaks truthfully and you nod your head.

"I'm also sorry, Kenny," you sigh out with shame, grabbing onto his large hand and squeezing it. You both share a kind smile, knowing that you will always forgive each other.

Byakuya Kuchiki: Although, he hides his emotions well, he could not help the frown tugging on his face. A single tear drags down your face and drips off of your chin onto the ground.

Byakuya's eyes watch as the tear falls onto the ground and his eyes widen. His heart pulse beats in his ears, blocking out all other sound.

His words were too harsh, cruel, and unruly for him.

Byakuya's muscles tense, but he dare not make a move towards you.

"I take it back. I take all this words that I said back," he speaks up and you slowly lift up your head, meeting his steady, unwavering gaze.

"You can't take them, Byakuya. That's not how this works," you mumble out and his mouth slightly gapes open. His mouth runs dry and he nods his head.

"I know. If I could, I would turn those words into blossom for you, my love. I don't know what I would do without you. My words were hurtful, even I, myself, was taken aback by them. I cannot express how sorry I am," Byakuya speaks gingerly, crouching down onto his knees.

You furrow your eyebrows as Byakuya tenderly grabs onto your hands, pressing them against his forehead. Your stomach twists into uneasy knots as you realize what he's doing.

Byakuya has never really bowed down to anyone in his life, but here he is. Right in front of you, on his knees for you.

"Please, forgive me," he begs you, a trembling voice. His thumbs brush over your hands and you let out a deep sigh. You bring yourself down to your knees and Byakuya slowly lifts his head up.

"You need not bow down to me, Byakuya. We are on the same level as equals, right? That's what you said to me when we first met," you explain, cupping his cheek.

"Yes, I remember," he bobs his head.

"Good. Then, I forgive you as long as can forgive me," you speak gingerly and his eyes widen.

"Of course," he speaks eagerly as you pull his face closer to yours. You smile warmly and press a soft kiss to his lips.

Mayuri Kurotsuchi: The shower starts running in your bedroom and you furrow your eyebrows. You leap up from your bed and rush into the bathroom.

The steam fills the room and you lean against the wall. You grab the shower curtain and slowly peel it back. Mayuri stands in the hot water, letting it drip down his body and soak his hair.

"I didn't know you were home," you comment, a slight smile on your face.

"I'm tired," Mayuri shrugs his shoulders, running his fingers through his electric blue hair.

"I'm tired of the nights when you aren't beside in bed. I miss you," you sigh out, a frown tugging on his face.

"You know how it is. The experiments take a very long time and it has to be precise," he rambles on and you nod your head.

"Yes, I'm aware," you reply dryly.

"I can't spend every waking moment with you! You can't be attached to my hip," Mayuri raises his voice and your jaw drops open.

"I get it," you sigh out.

"Do you really? Because it seems like you don't. You're my girlfriend, not my goddamn dog!" Mayuri shouts out and your lips tremble.

"I feel like an object to you, Mayuri. Like one of your experiments," you sigh out and Mayuri rips open the shower curtain. He glares at you with anger and his fingers wrap around your jaw, tightly.

The tears escape from your eyes and Mayuri shakes his head, inhaling sharply with anger.

"You're wrong. My experiments are nothing like you. They are not fragile, delicate, and full of love. I do not love my experiments the way I love you, y/n. Do you understand me?" he speaks harshly and you nod your head.

"Y-yeah," your voice stutters our, your expression dropping. Mayuri's eyes soften and he pulls you closer.

"Hey, come here," Mayuri beckons with a soft, raspy voice. He wraps his arms around you and your head rests on his shoulder.

"I've missed you, too. More than you know," Mayuri comforts you, rubbing circles on your back.

Tōshirō Hitsugaya: "What?" you mumble out, furrowing your eyebrows at your boyfriend.

"You heard me," Toshiro snaps at you and your breath shudders. Your stomach twists into uneasy knots as Toshiro starts to turn his back on you.

"You cannot be serious. You can't actually agree with that," you shake your head in disbelief.

"I do!" he turns back, facing you. His nostrils flare with anger and smoke practically hisses out his ears.

"This is someone's life we are talking about. It's a serious matter," you speak harshly, clenching your fists.

"I know that and I stand by my decision," Toshiro scoffs out, shaking his head. You chew on your bottom lip, tears welling up in your eyes.

"God, you are ice cold!" you raise your voice, echoing in the room. He scoffs quietly and rolls his eyes with annoyance.

"Whatever," he replies dryly. You clench your fists, your bottom lip start to bleed from how hard you're biting it. The hot tears sting your cheeks and Toshiro's gasps quietly.

"Stop. Stop it right now," Toshiro demands, marching up to you and grabbing onto your face.

"Stop, Toshiro!" you cry out, pressing your hands to his chest and pushing him away. He stumbles back slightly and he inhales sharply.

"I can't handle it when you cry, y/n. So, please, stop," he begs you with despair straining his voice. You glance over at him through your eyelashes and sniffle, wiping away at your wet face.

He steps forward and grabs onto your hand, interlacing your fingers. He pulls you closer to him and his free hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing over it.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbles out, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

Kensei Muguruma: "So, you think I'm weak?" you scoff out, shaking your head with disbelief. Kensei glares over at you from his stance a few feet away from the bed that you're sitting on.

"I just can't believe that you got put away with such a move from your opponent. You weren't strong enough, y/n," Kensei comments with a careless tone.

"Are you serious? Is that actually how you feel about me?" you ask, your mouth gaping open.

You couldn't believe the words that were coming out of your boyfriend's mouth. They were hurtful and harsh.

"You know exactly how I feel," he retorts harshly and you chew on your bottom lip.

"You're right, I do now," you gulp, standing up from the bed. You rush over to the door and grab onto the handle.

"Where are you going?" Kensei sighs out, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't know, just away from you. You obviously don't want to associate yourself with your weak girlfriend, right?" your voice wobbles as you glance over your shoulder at him, tears filled up to the brim of your eyes.

Kensei's expression slightly softens and he clears his throat. "That's not what I meant," he speaks with a careful tone and you roll your eyes with annoyance.

"No, it is and that's fine. I want you to be honest with me and you were. I'm not good enough for you, Kensei. You've made that clear," you demand and Kensei's eyes soften.

"What?" he scoffs out, shifting his weight. You blink and the tears start to roll down your cheeks. You sniffle and quickly wipe them away, but the tears keep coming.

Kensei rushes up to your side and grabs onto your shoulders, steadying you in front of him.

"No, y/n, that's not what I meant. I'm scared. I'm scared of losing you. I don't think you're weak, y/n. I think you are a very strong soul reaper, but I cannot lose you," Kensei explains with a soft voice and your eyes widen.

"Why didn't you just say that?" you sniffle out, your body rattling.

"You know me. I'm not good with expressing my feelings and emotions. I don't like to be vulnerable, but I try to be because of you."

You step forward and cup Kensei's cheeks. The hues of cheeks turn a bright pink and he gulps.

"I understand it now, Kensei. All you had to do was explain," you comment, smiling warmly.

"You make me a better person, y/n. Thank you," Kensei whispers, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his head into the crook of your head.

Rojuro Otoribashi: Rojuro is always very careful with his words, but not this time. His words were mean and harsh. His eyes lock onto the tears dripping down your face and his eyes widen.

A frown tugs on his face and he walks over to you. His large hands cup your face and you sniffle, your body jolting.

"Y/N, are you okay? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that," Rojuro shakes his head, thumb brushing your skin gently. You glance up at him, vision blurred because of the tears.

His thumb starts to brush away your wet tears and his eyes become soft. His blonde hair falls down into his face and your lips tremble.

"No, it's okay. I shouldn't be such a baby," you shake your head, trying to tug away from him, but his grip is too strong.

"Hey, no, it's okay. You're not a baby. I am so sorry for my choice of words and not being gentle with you. I promise to be more gentle with you," he speaks gingerly, fingers carefully pressing into your cheeks.

You gulp and nod your head as he leans his forehead against yours, smiling warmly.

Kisuke Urahara: After a big argument, Kisuke left the shop to be by himself for awhile. He enters the shop again and his eardrums fill with quiet sobbing.

His eyes widen and his breath hitches in his throat. He makes his way to the back of the shop where your room is. You're sitting on the ground, back pressed up against the wall and knees brought up to your chest.

He rushes over to your side and kneels down, arms wrapping around you and bringing you to his chest.

"Where did you go?" you mumble out between hiccups and sobs. A frown tugs on Kisuke's face and he clenches his jaw.

He's mad at himself. He shouldn't have left you after the argument, it was a horrible idea.

"I shouldn't have left the store. I just needed space, but I wasn't thinking about what you needed. I won't ever leave again, I promise," he reassures you, fingers brushing through your hair.

Izuru Kira: Your fists are clenched as your throat tightens up, tears welling up to the brims of your eyelids. Izuru lets out a heavy sigh, running his hands over his face with frustration.

He lifts his head up and his eyes lock onto you from across the room. You chew on your bottom lip, blood starting to spill out as you try not to cry.

"Whoa, hey, hey," he calls out, fear flooding his body as he rushes over to you. He grabs onto your shoulders and carefully pulls you closer to him.

He pulls you into your chest and you wrap your arms around his lower torso, tears staining his soul reaper uniform. His hand runs over your hair, brushing it down.

"There's no need to cry, y/n. I like you better when you're smiling and laughing," he comments and you let out a tiny chuckle.

"Me too," you mumble out, squeezing him.

Ikkaku Madarame: A gut wrenching sob leave your lips and Ikkaku gasps quietly. He leaps over to you and his arms wrap around your waist.

The two of you stumble around, falling back onto the bed.

"Oh, god. I'm sorry," his voice is filled with panic and worry. You gaze into his soft eyes and you let out a loud giggle, filling the room.

Ikkaku furrows his eyebrows and he stares at you in confusion. You bring up your hands and cup his cheeks, throwing your legs over his.

"I'm sorry for laughing. I just didn't expect to fall on the bed," you shrug your shoulders as his hands gently wipe away your wet tears.

"I love the sound of your laughter," he nuzzles his head into your chest, arms securely wrapping around your waist and squeezing you tightly.

The both of you forgot what you were even arguing about as you laugh and chat about the accidental fall.

Shuhei Hisagi: His blood runs cold as the tears drip down off your jawline and onto the ground.

"Y/N?" Shuhei calls out and your bottom lips quivers. You slowly shift your eyes up and meet his. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment and you gulp.

"I'm sorry," you mumble out, turning around and burying your face into the palms of your hands. He slowly walks over to you and wraps his arms around your waist from behind.

He rests his chin on your shoulder and presses a kiss to your earlobe.

"Don't ever be sorry. I should be the one apologizing. I shouldn't have said those things, I'm sorry," he speaks tenderly as you lean back into his body.

You glance down at his hands, resting on your stomach and you place yours on his, letting out a shaky breath.

"I'm sorry, too. It was stupid to argue over something like that," you shake your head and Shuhei nods his head.

"I hate arguing with you," he admits and a smile tugs on your face. You turn around and wrap your arms around his neck, bringing your lips to his.

"Then let's stop arguing," you smile, kissing him softly.

[mangostarjam]

summertime madness — kaiju no. 8, narumi gen x f!reader, "babe" as a petname, sorta rivals to lovers, smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, written for @tetzoro's summer olympics collab, 3.7k words

"Fucking bite me, Narumi."

"I'm trying, dummy!"

You stop your hasty escape abruptly, but luckily Narumi Gen's reflexes are good enough that he catches you around the waist as he stumbles into you, one palm slamming flat on the stucco wall of the alleyway to keep both of you from bouncing into it. His chest heaves against your back as he huffs. He doesn't let go of your waist.

"What did you—? Narumi, you just called the Japanese men's volleyball team ugly. You're the one walking around with shitty dyed hair!"

"My hair's natural, babe, unlike that bleached blonde sitting way too close to you," Gen grumbles. You can feel the summer Parisian air getting stickier with humidity by the second, not at all helped by Gen's body heat so close to your own. "Besides, I can prove it."

You don't even want to think about how he could try proving something like that. You dig your elbow into his side instead. "Get off me, dummy."

His grip loosens, but he doesn't move. You manage to spin around and his hand settles on the dip of your waist, his nose brushing yours as he grins cheekily at your averted gaze. "This is the longest conversation we've had since we got here, y'know."

"It's your own damn fault you're so obnoxious," you mumble, turning your head slightly so his breaths just puff against your cheek. The sticky heat feels hushed. Charged. Your gaze snags on the flex of his arm bracing against the wall behind you.

A distraction. You need a distraction.

"Your mouth is what got you into trouble with the Japanese men's football team yesterday, too. They were going to offer us free tickets to their next home games."

"That sleepy white haired guy was looking at you too much," Gen says flatly. You finally meet his red eyes squarely as the corner of his lips tugs up. "I can get you one of those chocolate muffins you were asking him for. Besides, I was just looking out for you — as your captain." Your cheeks feel hot. "Now why don't you tell me more about what you think of my mouth?"

"I think you need to shut up."

"You can make me?"

Your nose wrinkles before you can stop yourself and Gen laughs. He finally backs off but grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together and tugging you down the alleyway. "Save your shitty pickup lines for all your new social media followers," you bite out, but you let him pull you along anyway.

"Hey," Gen says, glancing at you from beneath his bangs as you catch up to his pace. "How come you never like my thirst traps? I post those for you, y'know?"

You digest this for a moment, torn between wanting to poke fun at him for lying through his teeth (how could they be for you when you're just you? it's gotta be for the thousands of new followers he gets every day now that he's an Olympian) and speaking aloud the admission that could change your relationship forever (but only if he's serious — though it feels rude, to question him, when his hand squeezes yours).

The two of you pause at a crosswalk and he tugs you close as the crowd presses in. Paris is teeming with pedestrians and cars and it's nice, being together in your own little bubble as incomprehensible chatter fills the space around you. Gen's better at navigating the street signs and the many twisting turning side streets, so you let him lead the way and he lets you stick close.

"Where did you even learn about thirst traps, captain?" It's the middle ground, a safe route.

Gen shrugs and you stare as his broad shoulders shift beneath his stupid "Sincere" t-shirt. "I saw some of the other athletes doing it to promote their sports."

"And you think locker room photos where you flash your abs will suddenly make everyone want to join their nearest swim team?"

Red eyes cut to yours and you blink. Gen's smile is lopsided, curled like a kitty cat. You want to smack it off his face. "So you have seen them."

Of course you've seen them. Not that you needed to — a shirtless Narumi Gen is not a rare sight for you, not when you've been training under the same coach for half your lives — but the thirst traps are… different. Whoever taught him to pose so effortlessly needs to get pushed into the Seine.

"What're you talking about?"

"You know I took those pics in the locker rooms," Gen says. He sounds so smug it makes your blood boil.

"It was a lucky guess," you lie through your teeth, "locker rooms are a classic backdrop."

Gen frowns. "How do you know so much about other peoples' thirst traps?"

You're nearing your dorms in the Olympic Village, and your ear catches other languages besides French and English swimming through the air. Athletes of all shapes and sizes and nationalities begin to converge along the path. Gen tucks you closer into his side.

"Uh, I don't live under a rock," you say, only to forget the rest of your thought when someone walking in front of you glances back to meet your eyes.

He's tall, with wavy brown hair and a pretty face. Something about his build reminds you of the volleyball team you just left earlier. "Are you two Japanese?" he asks, in perfect Japanese. He's also wearing a jacket with the Argentina flag on it.

"Yes," you respond automatically.

The guy's polite smile breaks out into a wide grin. "Perfect! What sport are you here for?"

"Swimming," Gen says shortly. "Excuse me, she's having a meeting with her team captain."

"Oho? And who's that?"

"Me," Gen says. The Argentinian Japanese guy gives you a sly grin and an eyebrow wiggle. It kind of makes you want to hit him.

Gen steers you away before either of you can say anything else. Goosebumps erupt along your skin as the blast of air conditioning washes over you upon entry into the dorms and you valiantly try to suppress a shiver. The lobby is practically empty compared to outside, but a few athletes look up and eye the two of you with blatant interest.

"There are too many goddamn hot people here," Gen complains. He leads you down a hallway and flashes you a smirk. "Good thing I'm the hottest one around."

You stifle the urge to roll your eyes, well used to Gen's bursts of ego. He is hot — you won't deny that, not now — but the thing you've always been drawn to the most is how he cares. It isn't obvious, like with any of your previous relationships. Gen just works extra hard out of sight — long practices late at night when he says he stayed up gaming, not knowing that you spotted him hoisting himself out of the pool under the moonlight, droplets glistening along every dip and plane of his muscled back.

Gen also doesn't interact much with the rest of Team Japan, but they all rally around him as their captain. Everyone is aware that they can depend on him to anchor their relays or direct them to the right venues because he's seemingly picked up a lot of useful phrases in those international video game lobbies (and in the quick study language books you've spotted hidden beneath the mess of his rooms).

You don't think he knows that you know any of this about him.

You don't know if it matters.

Gen ushers you into a room as you ruminate, shutting the door behind you and quickly shoving the mess on the floor aside so there's a clear path to his bed. You stare at him.

"Narumi… how is your dorm so messy," you ask helplessly. "We've only been here for three days."

"I have a gift," he shrugs. You can't help the laugh that bubbles up, but Gen watches you, pleased.

You shiver a little as another blast of cold air fills the room. "So what did we need to talk about, captain?"

Gen picks up a hoodie and offers it to you, watching wordlessly as you accept it and pull it on. It's oversized on you, dropping heavily to your thighs and covering your hands completely, so you shove up the sleeves as best as you can. "Thanks."

Gen turns around and crouches on the floor. "I can't do this. Fuck."

Uh, oh. Is the stress of competing at the Olympics getting to him?

"Um…" you crouch next to him and hesitate a second before resting your palm on his back. He's warm through his t-shirt, the shift and bunch of his muscles annoyingly attractive even as worry bubbles up in your chest. "Are you… good?"

"You'resofuckingcuteIwannadie."

You rub his back a little harder. "Narumi-kun?"

"I wanna eat you out."

Your hand freezes. Gen shoves his hands roughly through his hair and peeks over at you, a tiny frown on his lips. Red eyes skip over your face — pausing on your softly parted lips, your eyes wide with shock, the way your cheeks puff with a stuttered breath. You don't know if you should bolt or play it off as a joke. Years of a (mostly) friendly rivalry stack up in the back of your mind like weights.

You've always been rivals and teammates. Never competing directly against each other in the pool, but always there, ready to egg each other on to faster and better times. Supporting each other through muscle cramps and plateaus and practices beginning before sunrise.

But you haven't talked to him in the three days since coming to Paris.

"I want you," he says clearly, twisting his body to catch your hands in his own, "to cum all over my face wearing nothing but my hoodie."

"Narumi…"

"Just one chance," Gen says. He brings your hands to his chest and flattens your palms against his heart, so that you can feel the rabbit fast beat thundering away. "Give me one shot, and if you don't fall for me or my dick, I'll leave you alone and you can flirt with all the other Japanese athletes."

"You're lying," you mutter. You can't quite look him in the eye, so you focus on the pout of his lips instead. "There's no way you'd leave me alone. And I wasn't flirting, I was trying to get as many freebies and tickets as possible."

Gen keeps both of your hands pressed to his chest as he reaches up to tilt your face towards him. You squeeze your eyes shut. "I wouldn't leave you alone because there's no way you'd leave me after I'm done with you."

You can feel his thumb brush lightly along the soft skin beneath your eye. This conversation feels incomprehensible. You can barely hear yourself over the thundering of your own heartbeat. "You'd be done with me?"

He cups your face with his hand and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter. "Never."

The first time Gen kisses you, it's soft and hesitant, like he still expects you to pull away even after all this time. His lips are careful against yours, his tongue gentle as he swipes along the seam of your lips. You part them with a quiet gasp, an unspoken agreement, and his next kiss is a little hungrier, a little harsher. Heat bubbles up in your ribcage as he brings you into his lap, manhandling you in a way that makes your head rush, his hands heavy on your hips.

You clutch at his shoulders and sink your hand into his hair when he nips at your lip, drawing out a startled little sound and jerking in his lap. The movement brings you right up against the thick, hot bulge of him in his gray sweatpants. Gen pants into your mouth as he carefully, slowly rolls his hips up into yours, watching with hooded eyes when your head falls back at the feeling.

"You're so fucking hot," he mumbles, leaning up to suck a bruise into the sensitive skin of your neck. You feel the sharp nip of teeth and flinch, but he soothes the spot with his tongue before you can protest. "You've got a qualifying swim tomorrow, yeah? Hold on, let me loosen you up for it."

Gen reaches up and snags the blanket off his bed, spreading it out behind you before laying you down on it like something precious. He stays close, pressing his body along yours as he kisses his way along your neck, drinking in your stuttered breaths and quiet little gasps like he's been waiting his whole life to hear them. "N-Narumi —"

"Here, babe, let me —" Gen's ears are bright red, but he drags your pants and undies off in one movement, tugging when they snag at your knees and ankles and tossing them aside impatiently. "Fuck, is all this for me?"

Rough hands shove your thighs apart and you squirm, hot beneath the thick plush of his hoodie. Gen kisses along your bare legs, his touch feather soft at the bend of your knee and the curve of your thigh, so you get no warning when his tongue swipes broadly up your center.

You choke.

"Ha — oh, fuck — Narumi —"

"Quit calling me that," Gen huffs, diving back in like a man starved. He moans right into your pussy and you squirm, eyes clenching shut as every nerve ending lights up and dances like sparks to your core. His tongue is relentless, dipping and digging into every fold, circling your clit and tugging it into his lips so he can suck on it lightly, sending all of your thoughts spiraling into a crash of pleasure. Gen yanks your hips closer to his face as you begin to ride his tongue, chasing the overwhelming ache between your legs and throwing your arm over your face as you sob.

"Oh, please, please Narumi fuck," you yelp as he sucks particularly harshly at your clit. You peer shakily down and meet his eyes — darkened with lust — as he raises one eyebrow at you in wordless command.

Gen slides one finger into your clenching walls and crooks it, massaging a spot that makes you gush around him until you feel tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. You're so — so close —

"Gen, please," you moan.

He hums and resumes the lightning fast flick of his tongue against your clit, the pattern and pressure somehow exactly right to send you diving over the edge of your orgasm with a cry. Oh — wow. Pleasure whites out your vision for a moment and dances at the edges as you blink helplessly at the ceiling afterwards.

"You've gotta be naked when we fuck, come on, babe," Gen mutters roughly, his hands haphazard as he pulls the hoodie off and takes the rest of your clothes with it. There's a brief moment of closeness as he reaches around you to fumble at your bra, his chin glistening with your essence as he scrunches his nose in concentration.

Gen notices your look. He wipes off his chin clumsily with the back of his arm and finally tosses your bra aside, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he eyes your tits. "You have no idea," he says, gaze flicking to yours and softening. "You've got no fucking idea how much you've haunted me."

"Your clothes," you remind him petulantly, reaching for the edge of his shirt. Gen gets the hint and immediately starts stripping, cursing under his breath when his foot gets caught in his briefs and grinning when you giggle at him. Miles of smooth, strong muscle are revealed inch by inch. You reach up to brush your hands along the divots of his abs. "I think your thirst traps are going to get flagged, by the way."

Gen covers you with his body again, interrupting your blatant ogling. The heat and weight of him is welcome. You whine at the brush of his cock against your thighs. "You totally saw them."

"They're practically nudes, Gen," you complain, nose wrinkling at the taste of yourself on his tongue when he dips down to kiss you. "You can't share your v-line on social media."

He's so warm and solid and strong against you, his hand cupping your tit and squeezing as he watches you twitch in his hold. "I need you to cum on my cock," he says, his tone low and desperate. "I've wanted this for so long —"

You reach between your bodies and slide your hand along his dick, smearing precum along the shaft and shivering at the silky length of him. "Get inside me, then."

Gen groans as the head of his cock prods against your entrance, his face falling into your neck as he pushes just the tip inside. You can't help but clench at the feeling, fingers digging into his shoulders at the sudden stretch. It's a little bit painful, but in a good way, a pleasant, aching sort of way.

He pulls back just enough to push in a little further, short, aborted little thrusts that only serve to wind the coil in your gut tighter with every sharp grunt from his lips. Gen's cock is thick, stretching you just right and prodding against your insides until he's finally sheathed fully in your welcoming heat.

"Quit that," he mumbles, his breaths hot at your ear. "Are you trying to make me spill early?"

"Gen," you say suddenly, the thought piercing through the pleasure filled haze of your mind like an arrow, "what about a condom?"

"I'll pull out," he promises. Gen lifts his head enough to meet your eyes. "I'm clean. I got tested before we flew out."

"I did, too," you remind him. "We all did."

"Well, I've only wanted you, and you were ignoring me for three days…"

You stare up at him. "Are you seriously pouting about that with your dick inside me?"

Gen snorts and takes that moment to roll his hips, the muscles in his jaw jumping as he bites down a groan. You shiver, heat flaring hot up your spine at the messy, wet noises coming from where the two of you are joined. He gives you an expectant look.

"I'm clean, Gen, I've been too busy trying not to get run over by a car to sleep with anybody and besides, why would I want to when I couldn't stop thinking about you — oh you bastard," your voice trails off with a moan as he begins fucking you in earnest, his hips rolling perfectly to hit every soft spot inside you.

Your hands slide from his shoulders to his arms as he fucks you into the thick blanket and the floor, grabbing on for dear life as the shivering coil tightens and aches inside you. Gen huffs when you wrap your legs around his trim waist, grabbing at your ankle after a few thrusts and propping it up on his shoulder. The new angle makes you sob breathlessly, clenching around him desperately, and when he props your other ankle up you snap.

"Gen, Gen, Gen, fuck —"

The strong, relentless slap of his hips against the backs of your thighs fill your ears, the bounce and jiggle of your tits a mere afterthought of discomfort as he throws you over the edge with every perfect nudge of his cock against your inner walls. Gen curses under his breath but watches every expression flash across your face, bullying his cock through your orgasm as your pussy tries to suck him in for good.

"You're so fucking hot, babe, so fucking good for me I'm gonna — gonna cum, fuck."

You feel his cock throb inside you an instant before he pulls out, head hanging low as he spills all over your stomach up to your chest. Warm, wet seed smears along your skin as he leans against your propped up legs to breathe, a stretch you'd normally complain about except you can't quite feel your legs, anyway.

You glance down and squint at the hair between his legs. "Gen…"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Did you dye your pubes?"

Gen laughs and carefully removes your ankles from his shoulders, snagging a towel from the floor to wipe your body clean. "I told you I could prove it."

"I can't believe you," you laugh. You feel boneless. Satiated. Warm. "And you did bite me, you dummy. I'll still have marks during my race tomorrow."

"Good," Gen says smugly, pulling you up to drag his hoodie back over your body. You snuggle into the warmth willingly, yanking him down with you until his head rests against your chest and his legs tangle with yours. "I'm not done with you, anyway. How are your legs? And your back?"

"Will you massage them for me?" you ask sleepily. It's nice, combing your fingers through his hair with his arms wrapped around you. Gen folds into you like he fits, even though he's bigger than you. It makes your chest ache. "I'm not stiff right now, but maybe later."

"I'll give you a chocolate muffin, too," he mumbles. "The filling would taste pretty good on your skin."

"That's a waste of a perfectly good muffin," you frown. "Gen, promise you won't waste the muffin like that."

Gen leans into your hands as you scratch gently at his scalp and the soft, fluffy strands. "I promise the muffins are safe. No promises on ever letting you go, though."

You can't keep the silly smile from spreading across your face. Thank goodness he can't see you grinning like a fool. "That works for me."

Bonus:

"Babe! Babe," the anguished yell makes you flinch, but you'd recognize that voice anywhere. The area around the pool is crowded with swimmers getting ready for the next event, though neither of you are competing in this round.

"What the hell, Gen?" you yank him aside, hiding behind a few obnoxiously tall swimmers in case any cameras are trained your way. "We're supposed to be supporting our kouhai! What's wrong?"

"My account got banned," Gen says. You want to kiss the pout off his lips. Red eyes flick up to meet yours and his pout curls into a smarmy grin. "Lookin' good in the suit, babe."

"Shut up," you shove his face away and he laughs, catching your hand and lacing your fingers together. You turn away to hide your grin but he kisses your temple and you know he sees the curve of your lips.

"What? Can't a guy compliment his girl?"

"I reported your account for indecent exposure."

"HAH?!"

[ch0k3herwithaseaview]

@jegulus-microfic | april 18 sock | words: 585

tw: slight nfsw, walking in on someone, swearing

“Stop leaving your socks all over the place!” Sirius heard from the first floor.

“Stop being a dick; they’re on my side of the room!”

“Oh, trust me, I can be worse!” And then there was a loud thud, probably Regulus throwing something at James to prove that he could indeed be worse.

Sirius sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. It had been like that since the beginning of the holidays, because everyone forgot to rent a place with six rooms instead of five, so that James and Regulus could sleep separately. When the two of them found out, they reacted in two different ways: James didn’t mind (It’s not like we’ll be spending a lot of time here); Regulus, on the other hand, threw a tantrum like a five-year-old (I can’t share a bed with this asshole for the next six weeks). Unfortunately, there was no other way, since neither of them would sacrifice a comfortable bed to sleep on a couch in the living room. So for the past two weeks, all ten of them were doomed to listen to the senseless arguments the two others provided.

They were all getting tired of it—they came to Italy to rest, not to feel like children while their parents were getting divorced.

“I swear to god, if they don’t stop until tomorrow, at least one of them won’t come back to London,” Barty grumbled, handing a cup of orange juice to each one of his boyfriends. The girls hummed in agreement.

They sat at the big table in the kitchen, having breakfast. Dorcas and Marlene listed all the places they could go to today, while Lily and Pandora were serving more pancakes and scrambled eggs.

“I think the gallery and chapel sound the best,” commented Mary, throwing a grape at Peter, which he caught with his teeth.

After that, they sat in a comfortable silence, chewing on their respective meals.

The silence was almost… too comfortable.

“Do you think they killed each other?” Sirius asked, breaking the moment of peace.

“Who cares? At least they’re quiet,” Evan replied, shoving another forkful of eggs into his mouth.

Sirius turned to Remus, starting a silent conversation. After a few seconds, his boyfriend nodded and stood up, with Sirius following suit. They went upstairs, stopping in front of blue door. From behind them came quiet gasps and muffled words neither of them could understand.

The black-haired man knocked at the door gently. “Reggie? Prongs? Are you guys okay?” When, after nearly a minute, there was still no answer, he decided to enter the room.

“Guys, are you—what the fuck?” He was expecting everything: blood all over the place, black eyes, broken bones, shattered windows—everything except James holding one hand on Regulus’ throat, the other on his dick, his own probably inside Sirius' little brother.

All four of them froze, staring at each other with wide eyes, until the youngest finally grabbed the blanket laid in front of him, covering himself and James.

“Why the fuck would you come in without being allowed?” Regulus hissed.

“We thought you were dead,” Sirius answered, unnaturally calm. “I just wanted to check if you were alright.”

“Well, you know now, so get out,” the younger Black replied, making a dismissive gesture with his free hand. Sirius didn’t need much convincing to do so.

When Remus closed the door behind them, the shorter man turned to him.

“You know Moony,” he said, staring blankly. “I think I need to bleach my brain.”

[verstappentime]

here's a bit of random divorce verse scene for everyone during this hard week. max is taking care of dan, don't worry ❤️ we find our boys at the suzuka. max is there with charles and daniel didn't know he was coming.

⇢ ⇢ “Daniel.” Max’s voice behind him should be startling, but maybe he’s been expecting him to show up all night. “It’s late.”

Daniel kicks his feet in the pool water, watching the fluorescent blue ripples. He doesn’t look up. “What are you doing here?” he asks, no bite to it.

“Of course I am looking for you.” Max winces as he lowers himself to sit beside Daniel. “If I zoom in really far I can see your dot is near the pool.”

“Can’t sleep,” Daniel says. “Why were you looking for me?”

Max doesn’t answer. “Charles can never sleep here either. I’ve always slept in his room.”

“It’s weird,” Daniel says, swallowing. He looks at the sky instead of at Max. It’s still surreal that he’s here.

“Ghosts,” Max says. He moves closer, deliberately, so their thighs touch. “He’s worse this year. It’s why I came. I think probably it’s my fault.”

“Makes sense.” He can’t think about Max being compared to Jules or he’ll go fucking insane.

Max wraps his hand around Daniel’s wrist, like he knows Daniel needs to know he’s alive. “Let me take you to your room,” Max says, all soft. Daniel lets himself look; he’s in his sleep shorts and a ratty t-shirt, black with a huge bleach stain. He looks soft, too. “I will help you sleep.”

“Okay,” Daniel says, because he’s tired and heavy and Max is here. He lets Max tug him to his feet. He’s getting stronger.

He half-expects Max to lead him to the elevator, but he lets go. No, he wants to say. Be connected to me again, please.

God. Max had shown up here, halfway across the world, and he hadn’t even warned him.

They don’t talk in the elevator, Daniel leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. He can feel Max watching him up close, the way he stops and starts. He must be doing something on his phone.

The elevator dings. “Uh, it’s this way,” Daniel tells him. He feels itchy. He hadn’t even let himself think about— this.

Another time, he would’ve been stealing Max off Charles for something else. Something good.

Max shuts the door behind him. “Your room is smaller than ours,” he says.

He doesn’t like that word. Max shouldn’t share things with people that aren’t him. “It’s nice,” he says, sitting on the end of the bed.

“I will take care of you now, okay?” Max says, quiet. Daniel just blinks at him.

He wants to laugh. You’ve fucking cored me like an apple, Max, I can’t love anyone else and I’m fucked, and I messed this up, and I won’t be better until you come home. But he just says, “okay,” because that’s what Max prompted. Because he wants to let him try.

“Okay,” Max says again, and he fucking— kneels down and starts untying Daniel’s shoe.

His movements are so much easier than a couple months ago. It’s taking him concentration — it’s a dextrous task — but he pulls the knot free. “You can’t wear these to bed,” he says, like that makes it make sense.

“You don’t have to,” Daniel blurts.

“I know,” Max says. He kisses the inside of Daniel’s knee, unties his other shoe, pulls it off. Sets them gently to the side.

Something about it is making Daniel desperately homesick. He’s not sure for where. He can’t help stroking Max’s hair, thumbing behind his ear. His throat is too thick for talking.

Max soothes a hand under his shorts, over the top of his thigh. “Do you want these off?” he asks.

God. Daniel can’t believe he’s sad enough to not be getting hard at this. “It’s okay,” he says, because that might not last forever. “Come up here.” He offers Max a hand, which he takes, letting Daniel hoist him up.

“Let me,” Max says, tugging at the hem of Daniel’s shirt.

“Okay,” he says, again, and lets Max pull it up over his head. He reaches out, grabbing Max’s wrist. He doesn’t mean to. He just— he feels unmoored and he needs to be anchored back to him.

He knows Max is here for Charles. He said. But his heart just keeps asking whywhywhywhy. You flew halfway around the world. You knew I would be here. You knew.

Max looks down at Daniel’s hand and he must get it a little bit because he says, “I’m right here, Daniel.” But he’s been gone and Daniel isn’t alright, and he didn’t know if Max would touch him like that again. “Do you– do you want me to get you a different shirt?”

“I— Yeah.” Daniel clears his throat. “I can get one.”

“No,” Max says, stubborn. “I want to. You’re tired.” He rifles through Daniel’s bag, probably messing everything up. He comes back with the most generic, plain red T-shirt money can buy. It’s his own, and there’s no way he doesn’t know it. Daniel doesn’t buy things in packs of three.

Max hands the shirt over. Daniel thanks him again as he pulls it over his head. He wishes Max would dress him. He’s never wanted anything like that before.

“Can I stay here?” It’s so weird, Max asking him for stuff like this. Back before everything, back when he was young and nervous and telling himself he wasn’t, he would always insist, push himself into Daniel’s space, root himself to a place there.

“I thought you needed to be with Charles.”

“He’s okay. He was sleeping when I left.” Max takes his phone out of his pocket, ticks the volume on. “I texted him to call if he needs me.”

Daniel imagines him waiting for Charles to sleep so he could slip away and find him. Max, Max, Max, why are you here.

“Okay. Yeah. Stay then.”

Max smiles. He looks shy. I fucking love you, Daniel thinks. “Let’s lay down, okay? And I will help you sleep.”

“Hold on.” Daniel carefully tugs the duvet off the bed, leaving just a thin blanket, because Max runs hot and is like a fucking furnace at night. He had to start asking hotels for extra blankets since Silverstone.

Daniel lays down; Max gets the lights and slips in beside him, half-sitting up against the pillows. “I want to hold you,” Max says. So Daniel rests his head against Max’s chest, next to where his heart is thumping. It’s an uncomfortable way to sleep, for Max, but he offered. Maybe he’ll wait for Daniel to fall asleep and leave, like he did with Charles.

Max wraps his arms around Daniel’s chest, squeezing, pressing his nose into Daniel’s hair. I miss you, he’d said, a month ago now. He’d said it hurt.

“You did this for me,” Max says. “When we got home from the hospital. You took off my shoes and you dressed me and put me in bed. You said to wake you up if it hurt and you slept with me, and held me, and–” He swallows, and Daniel feels it ripple. “It was so nice, Daniel. It was so nice. At the hospital I felt so awful and I didn’t like everyone helping but it was okay because it was you.”

“Baby–”

Max keeps talking. “You did it a lot of times and you brought me my medicine and helped me sit up to brush my teeth and helped me shower. I was sad and everything hurt and sometimes I was angry and I never said thank you and I never did it for you, Daniel. I never took care of you.”

“I didn’t need–” He doesn’t know what he was going to say. You to thank me or to be taken care of.

“You looked so sad today,” Max says, forging on, stubborn. “You are skinny and you look tired. And I am trying to remember if you looked like that when I saw you last but my memory is shit. So I want– I want to take care of you now.”