#this is not against your prompt in ANY way

[ghostedbunnie]

trouble comes in fours; simon's ver

you are trying to scare off your ex and who better to send him running than a masked burly guy you've met at a bar and who bulldozed his way into your bed.

simon riley x fem!reader nsfw, minors do not interact!! warnings: fingering (fem!receiving), car sex, exhibitionism, oral (fem!receiving), doggy style, creampie, manhandling

prologue // other versions (TBA)

Everything that happened after Johnny invited you over (which really meant he pulled you by the hand before you could back out) was a blur. You found yourself sandwiched between the masked guy and the pretty boy who introduced himself as Johnny, speaking with a sexy, thick Scottish accent. You couldn't help but steal glances at the masked guy. He said nothing, merely dipped his chin in greeting and met your gaze with an unnerving stare.

From this close-up, you noticed parts of his blonde buzzcut where he had nicked himself with the razor. He had done it himself without a mirror, resulting in some slightly uneven spots. On someone else, this might make them appear unkempt, but for this giant of a man, it seemed just right—almost endearing.

Everything about him screams danger. His thigh is pressed against yours, and you're already sweating because he and Johnny feel like walking furnaces. When you try to pull off your hoodie, the alcohol courses through you, and your head spins. As you finally manage to take the garment off, you accidentally grab onto something solid and hard for support. Too late, you realize that your hand has latched onto the blond's muscular thigh. You immediately let go, as if you’ve been burned by the touch.

You almost swear you hear him snort under his mask. When he finally speaks, your thighs clench. “I think it’s time for you to head home, doll. Come.”

It sounds as if he is talking to a dog, and you feel a sense of indignation rising within you. "I'm not a dog to give orders to. Besides, I don't even know your name."

He rolls his eyes at you. "Simon. That better now?"

"Not really. How do I know you're not some serial killer?" That gets some laughs out of the rest of the table.

He leans down closer to your ear, and you can almost sense the smirk in his voice when he says, "You don't. It adds to the thrill." It could be the alcohol coursing through your veins or the way his voice, with its rough British accent, sends shivers down your spine, but you find yourself agreeing. In some twisted way, it does add to it.

You discover that Simon doesn’t actually drink; the beverage you saw in front of him was just plain water. When he drives you home, he looks absolutely ridiculous in your small car, taking up all the space. He grumbles about your seat being so close to the steering wheel. When you ask him how the other guys are getting home, he simply replies, “They’ll walk,” along with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

He doesn't touch the radio, and you're too nervous to reach for it. You soon realize that he's not much of a conversationalist. He only answers your questions but never offers any additional information that would prompt you to ask more. After you've exhausted all possible conversation starters, all you can do is sit and look out the window. You swear you see him chuckle at your fidgeting whenever the silence becomes oppressive. As you finally arrive home, you can hardly wait to bolt out of the car. The tension is so thick that you need some fresh air to breathe properly, trying to push away thoughts of the consequences of your actions.

Before you can act on those thoughts, a heavy hand grips the back of your neck. "You think too loud. Stop it." A retort dies in your throat as you're pulled into him so quickly that your head spins. You barely register him removing his mask; you can’t even enjoy the fact that his face is finally visible. He latches onto you with the hunger of a man starved, kissing you deeply and urging you to stick out your tongue more.

Just by kissing him, you can feel the scar running through his lips. There's another scar, one that you noticed before, that runs through his eyebrow. When he finally pulls away for a moment, you see that his nose was definitely broken at some point, and he never bothered to get it fixed. You can't help but wonder what it would feel like to sit on his face.

Unceremoniously, he pulls you over the center console and onto his lap, which causes you to squeal in surprise. He doesn’t even bat an eye as he manhandles you into position, making you think about how your ex couldn't even carry two bags of groceries without complaining about the weight.

Something must have revealed your train of thought, or perhaps it was simply the fact that you were still lost in your thoughts, because Simon growls in response. You can feel the sound reverberating through your hands, which rest on his impressive pecs.

"Stop. Thinking." Every word is punctuated by a grind of his hips. To his great amusement, your mind goes blank immediately.

He guides your hands to his zipper straining under his hard-on. "What if someone sees?"

He only replies with "They'll get a hell of a show then." before he drags the pads of his fingers over the wet patch on your panties underneath your skirt that has already ridden up to your hips. He pulls the crotch of your panties to the side and pushes up to a knuckle, wasting no time and making you cling to him for dear life. After he adds another and starts hitting all the spots that make you whimper into his thick neck, he chuckles. It sounds a little mean but it still shoots right to your pussy anyway. "Finally shut that brain of yours up, doll."

He pulls up your shirt with his free hand and drags the cups of your bra up as well before sucking a nipple into his mouth. In reaction you push further into him, making him hum. He ends up alternating between bites to the side of your tits and sucking angry red marks into your collarbones and neck. Every part of you will be sore tomorrow but that's something you'll deal with later.

He lets you ride his fingers, scratching at his back and shoulders, fisting his hoodie and when you finally let go and the orgasm makes your eyes roll back into your head, he pulls you back into him for a kiss. It's messy, all teeth and tongue. When he pulls back there is a string of saliva connecting you two and if your mind wasn't currently wiped by the mind-blowing orgasm you would be embarrassed by the pornographic imagery. Simon forces you to look at him, his big, rough fingers holding up your chin to make you meet his gaze. You finally see the color of his eyes: brown, with pupils dilated wide. "We're nowhere near done," he says.

Simon is a whirlwind; he makes decisions, and you find yourself following them as if they were orders. He doesn’t wait for an invitation; instead, he stands behind you, his chest against your back, providing support as your legs feel like jelly. The drinks you had are wearing off now.

When you take too long to get out of your shoes, Simon tosses you over his shoulder. "You're taking too damn long," he says. You give him directions to your bedroom, and before long, you're dropped onto the sheets. You’re about to call him a caveman for his methods, but the sight of him pulling off his hoodie, revealing he’s not wearing anything underneath, leaves you speechless.

His skin is pale, but you can still see angry-looking scars on his torso and arms. Some of them resemble cigarette burns, while others look like bullet wounds that didn't heal properly. All of that should make you reconsider the kind of danger you’ve just invited into your bed, but as your gaze wanders lower, following his blond happy trail, you find yourself unable to think about the consequences.One of his hands is tattooed up to his elbow, and you can't really tell the design in the low light but it only adds to his appeal. Something possesses you to act, you end up reaching for his zipper before he can and he only gives you a wolfish grin before you pull him out.

He's not wearing any underwear. Your mouth dries up at the sight of him. That's never going to fit. Only after hearing him laugh did you realize that you had said that out loud. He was already hovering above you, caging you in against the sheets. "We'll make it fit."

Your skirt and shirt with your bra soon follow his pants and are lost to the shadows of your bedroom floor. Your eyes are drawn to his dick, you can't help it. He's big and thick you can already imagine the stretch, there's a vein on the underside that makes you wanna follow it with your tongue all the way to the top to catch the pre-cum already gathered there but he doesn't let you. Instead, he drags you to the edge of the bed and throws your legs over his shoulders. You almost want to argue that you hadn't showered, it's been a long day, and he doesn't have to do this but one look at the intense stare makes you swallow all of that down. You don't want to mention that you've never had anyone go down on you before. Your ex-boyfriend wasn't one to reciprocate.

There is no time to think about how miserable your sex life might have been. A bite to the inside of your thigh serves as a warning, both to stop thinking and not close your legs. In your defense, you didn't even realize you were doing it. His eyes are almost unnervingly focused on you before he dives in. He's always been a bit of a messy eater; the sounds he makes in the back of his throat are nothing short of animalistic. If you weren't shaking from his ministrations, you might think he's enjoying himself even more than you are.

He only moves a bit to lock eyes with you and tell you how sweet you are, juices dripping down his stubbled jaw. "Come on now, gotta make sure you're ready f'r me, doll." He alternates fucking you on his tongue and sucking on your clit, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs to keep them open for him. He's only barely controlling his strength so you know there will be bruises on your hips and thighs tomorrow but you can't bring yourself to care especially not this close to another orgasm. He can feel you twitching, getting closer and closer. There's a second of fear that he'll stop but he doesn't. Instead, he adds a finger and pushes on that one spot that made you see stars. That was all it took to wring the second orgasm of the night out of you.

Boneless, you let go of the sheets you were gripping. You only get a second of rest before he's repositioning you on the bed again; it would be infuriating if you could actually move properly.

He presses you into the mattress with his body, his scarred lips brushing next to your ear. "This will be a rough ride for you, don't say I didn't warn you." that's all you get before he bullies the ruddy head of his cock inside of you. You have half a mind to pull away but his weight keeps you in place, when he finally bottoms out there are tears in the corner of your eyes from the stretch, he only drops a few open-mouthed kisses to your shoulders before he rises to his knees and pulls your ass to him.

Everything after that is a blur, you're going crazy from the echo of the slapping of skin against skin, and your arms gave out on you midway so all you can do is scrunch the sheets in your hands and moan out his name like a prayer, to slow down? To go faster? You don't know. If he set out to make sure you can't think he achieved it. Your brain is fuzzy, your legs are shaking and a knot is unwinding in your lower stomach again. It's all too much and not enough at the same time. One of his hands finds your clit and it's over for you. "Come f'r me, doll. That's it." You can hear him hiss from the way you tighten around him as you come. He doubles down chasing his own orgasm now, balls slapping against your pussy even harder. There is a split second of clarity that he didn't use a condom (even though you are on a pill) but as soon as the thought registers he's filling you up with a groan before again squishing you underneath him, cock still lodged deep inside you, keeping his spend from leaking out. When you try to move from underneath him, he only chuckles before his hands find your tits and knead them, making you moan. It will be a long night for you. You've invited a ghost into your bed, and now you must deal with the consequences.

The picture you took with a large black shadow looming over you in the mirror, with a tattooed hand resting on your neck, might help you get rid of your ex who keeps creeping on your social media posts.

[wisterialwhymsy]

as much or as little

part 1 of a friends to lovers bang chan fic thats inspired by rosy from @rosylix!! this is largely self-indulgent, but i hope that someone out there might relate or feel comforted by this <3

bang chan x gn! reader wc: 1162 warnings: lots of mentions of past s/a related trauma, implied past s/a, hurt/comfort, in depth descriptions of trauma-related anxiety, touch adverse reader, talks of boundaries, bangchan refered to as Chris, he's such a sweetheart

"So what, you've just, never done anything since then?"  Chris asks, your best friend.

“I mean, I’ve tried. It’s just…” You groan, hesitating. 

“Hey.” He says, as he places a hand on your arm, prompting you to look up at him. “You don’t have to tell me anything, but if you want to. I am here to listen.”

Somehow, the eye contact makes you slightly more nervous and you can feel your heart beating rapidly in your throat at the feeling of his skin touching yours.

“I- it’s okay.” You clear your throat, looking down at your hands as they fiddle with the sleeve of your shirt. 

“There was one other person. That I told and gave consent to. But…” You pause, taking a deep breath.  “They sort of abused that power.” You look up, suddenly insecure as you notice Chris’s unreadable expression. “If that makes sense.” You ramble, trying to avoid eye contact as the air shifts with a new-found tension.

Chris inhales sharply. “It makes sense.” He leans forward, taking your hands in his.

“I am so sorry you went through that. And that someone took advantage of your pain like that.” You look into his eyes, and you swear you can see tears dusting his waterline.

“You don’t deserve that.” His voice breaks slightly.

You avert your eyes. “It’s fine-” “No it’s not.” Chris cuts you off and you internally flinch at the anger radiating through his tone.

“Sorry. Sorry.” He pauses as he notices your anxiety. “I am just so angry right now.”

“Seriously. It was ages ago. I’m over it now.” You lie, trying to stand, or move away, anything to get out of this conversation.

“No. You’re not.” You freeze, surprised at his sudden honesty. 

You look up at him, and you notice tears falling down his face. 

“Why are you crying?” You mumble, instinctively reaching out to wipe away his tears.

He rests his hand on yours, looking into your eyes with a sorrowful expression.

“I can tell.” He pauses, his voice thick with emotion. “That you’re not over it.”

Tears begin to pool in your eyes as you process the forlorn look on his face.

“I see it, in the way you flinch slightly whenever I touch you. The way you spiral over trying to initiate any kind of touch. The way you look away during kissing scenes in shows. I see it. I see you.” Tears begin to stream down your face and you feel yourself struggling to breathe.

He pulls you close, tucking you securely against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, his hand tracing reassuring circles on your back.

The second you rest your head on his shoulder, you start sobbing uncontrollably. The years of repressed emotions and unprocessed trauma pouring out of you and into the awaiting arms of your dutiful best friend.

You don’t know how much time has passed as your sobs turn into hiccups, Chris whispering soft nothings in your ear as he rubbed gentle circles on your back.

“Thank you. I’m sorry.” You murmur, leaning back to wipe at the dampness on your face.

“It’s okay. Don’t apologise. Do you want to talk about it?” There's a softness to his question, a genuine desire to be there for you and help you, rather than a sense of obligation.

You pause, pondering. “Yes actually.”

He hums in response and you settle back onto the couch, still leaning into him slightly.

You look down at your lap, hands fiddling with the buttons on your sleeve as you take a deep breath. 

Chris silently rests his hands on yours, something he’s always done for you whenever he notices you fiddling.

“Remember, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” He affirms as you fidget with his hand resting in your lap.

“I want to tell you. Tell… Someone. But it just feels weird. It’s uh… weird stuff.” You mumble as he hums again. “I promise I won’t judge you.” He murmurs. “No matter how weird it is.” 

You smile in response.

“I’m just… scared. Like I know that I’ve… done stuff. Before. But I don’t remember it well.” You trail off, trying to ignore the rapid beating of your heart.

“I’m so scared that I'd like start something and then start panicking and embarrassing myself.” You pause. “Like, what if I mess up? Or have a panic attack? Like I don’t even know what I'm supposed to do during that stuff, let alone know how I’ll react.” You lean forward, resting your elbows on your thighs as Chris retracts his hand.

“And everyone says that my body will take over. And that I’ll know what to do.” You pause, fresh tears blurring your vision. “But I don’t think I would. I think I’d just panic and shut down.”

“But even with platonic stuff. No matter how hard I try, or how much I crave it. It just feels so tainted.” Tears spiral down your cheeks and you feel your chest somehow growing both lighter and heavier as you open your heart to him. “I feel so broken. I feel like I need someone to fix me. Or at least teach me how to do stuff again. How to hold, how to touch… How to love, both romantically and platonically.”

“How to do all of that without it feeling… corrupt. Without me… feeling corrupt.” The air is heavy with emotion and the two of you fall into an uneasy silence as the weight of your confession settles.

“I’ll teach you.” Chris murmurs, breaking the quiet.

“Teach me which one.” You try to laugh, to ease the tension and awkwardness, but it comes out forced and catches in your throat.

“Whichever you need.” His whisper was quiet, almost silent, but his tone was sincere.

You inhale sharply, turning your head to look at him, barely noticing his tears in your shock. “What?”

“I’ll teach you.” He says, clearing his throat. “For starters, I don’t think you’re broken, or that you need fixing. But I’ll teach you.”

“All of it. As much or as little as you want.” He reiterates as you try to process his suggestion in stunned silence.

“I-” You pause, unsure as to what on earth was happening. “I don’t want you to feel pressured… or compelled to help me.” 

“I don’t. I want to help you, I’d be honoured to even. But we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” He reassures you, gently taking your hand.

“Are you sure?” You ask, searching his eyes for any hesitation and only finding sincerity.

“Yes. I promise.” He affirms.

“And I swear. I will never-” He pauses as his voice shakes, “Never abuse any trust or consent you give me. I will always do my absolute best to make you feel safe and secure.”

“Thank you.” You smile, hugging him.

“Of course.” He says, pulling you closer. “It’s what friends are for.”

This is a work of fiction, based entirely on my personal perception of him, and does not reflect his actual character or actions.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Game of Control || NFL Player!Rafe Cameron x dcc!reader

Summary: Your ex who plays on the opposing team taunts you, prompting Rafe to confront him, dominating him on the field; proving his protectiveness and love.

Warnings: noneee

Word count: 1,301

A/n: happy new year to those who celebrate ❤️

MASTERLIST (nfl!rafe x dcc!reader au masterlist)

The roar of the stadium crowd reverberated through the tunnel, the excitement and tension of game day buzzing in the air. Your boots clicked against the concrete floor as you made your way toward the field where the Cowboys were set to take on one of their biggest rivals, the sequined blue and white uniform catching the fluorescent lighting.

It was your element—the energy of the crowd, the spotlight, the exhilaration of performing as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. Rafe was already on the field warming up. You'd caught his eye earlier during pregame routines, and he'd sent you a quick wink, a hint of the smirk you knew all too well. He thrived on the attention, your attention specifically.

But so did you in your own way—a dynamic that sometimes made your relationship fiery but always magnetic. Just as you were about to turn a corner into the light of the field, a hand reached out and grasped your arm. You froze, spinning on your heel to face the figure. “Y/n,” a voice said, too familiar and too unwanted. You froze for a moment before turning.

There he was—Ethan. Your ex. Tall, smug, and unfortunately wearing the rival team’s uniform. The bold colours of his jersey were a sharp contrast to the dim tunnel, and his smirk made your stomach churn. “What do you want?” you asked, your voice cold as you folded your arms across your chest. Ethan leaned against the wall, blocking your path with ease. “Relax. Just wanted to say hi.”

“Hi,” you deadpanned, attempting to step around him. He moved to block you again, his grin widening. “I see you’re still loving the spotlight,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery as his eyes roamed over your uniform. “All dolled up, shaking those pom-poms, stealing the show. Bet you like this, don’t you? Being the centre of attention.” You felt your jaw tighten, heat rising to your face, but it wasn’t embarrassment—it was anger.

“Move, Ethan. I’m not interested in whatever this is.” “Come on, Y/n,” he said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a faux whisper. “You always liked people watching you, didn’t you? I mean, why else would you stay with Cameron? Must be nice, being his little trophy.” You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to stay calm. Ethan’s words were a calculated jab, meant to get under your skin.

“You don’t know anything about my relationship, so keep your opinions to yourself,” you said firmly. “Oh, I know plenty,” Ethan retorted, his smirk growing. “Like how guys like him only care about what’s on the outside. Cameron must be loving the arm candy, huh? But hey, if you’re happy playing the part, who am I to judge?” Anger flared hot in your chest, but before you could respond, a voice interrupted, deep and dripping with fury.

“What the hell is going on here?” Both you and Ethan turned to see Rafe striding toward you, his jaw set and his eyes dark with barely contained rage. Clad in his Dallas Cowboys gear, he looked every inch the intimidating force you knew him to be on the field. Ethan straightened, his smirk faltering slightly but still intact. “Relax, Cameron,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“Just catching up with an old friend.” Rafe didn’t even spare him a glance. His eyes locked on you, scanning your face as if to check for any sign of discomfort or distress. “You okay?” You nodded quickly, the tightness in your chest easing slightly at his presence. “I’m fine. He was just leaving.” Rafe’s gaze shifted to Ethan, his lips curling into a cold smile. “You heard her. Leave.”

Ethan held his ground, clearly trying to appear unfazed. “Relax, man. We were just catching up.” Rafe took another step forward, his height making the space between them feel smaller, more suffocating. “You don’t touch her, and you don’t talk to her. Ever again.” There was a long pause, the tension thick enough to cut. Ethan glanced between the two of you, then finally took a step back, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

He brushed past Rafe, but not before throwing a final comment over his shoulder. “See you out there.” Rafe stood motionless, his fists clenched at his sides, until Ethan disappeared into the tunnel. When Rafe finally turned back to you, his expression softened, though the tension in his body remained. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his voice quieter this time.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, placing a hand on his arm. “Don’t let him get to you.” His jaw ticked, and you could see the battle waging in his mind. Finally, he nodded, but the fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed. “Go do your thing,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “I’ll take care of him.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already walking away, his broad shoulders tense as he headed toward the field.

~

From the sidelines, you could feel the shift in Rafe the moment the game began. He was locked in, his focus razor-sharp—but it wasn’t just about football. Every time Ethan touched the ball, Rafe was there, delivering brutal, bone-crushing tackles that sent the crowd into a frenzy. It wasn’t long before the tension between the two boiled over.

In the second quarter, after a particularly vicious hit that left Ethan sprawled on the turf, he shoved Rafe as he got up, muttering something under his breath. Rafe didn’t back down. Instead, he said something that was lost in the chaos of the game. But the expression on Rafe’s face said it all—this was personal.

The referees stepped in before it could escalate further, but the warning had been delivered. From that moment on, it was clear that Rafe wasn’t just playing to win—he was playing to make a point. Ethan looked rattled, and Rafe looked like he was just getting started.

~

After the game, you waited for Rafe near the locker room, your heart still racing from the intensity of the match. When he finally appeared, his jersey was streaked with dirt and sweat, his expression unreadable. “You didn’t have to go that hard,” you said softly, though your tone lacked conviction. Rafe stopped in front of you, his eyes locking onto yours. “Yes, I did,” he said simply.

You let out a shaky breath, your emotions finally catching up to you. “Rafe, he’s not worth it.” “He disrespected you,” Rafe said, his voice hard. “I’m not gonna let that slide.” Your heart ached at the protectiveness in his tone, but there was something deeper beneath it—a frustration, a vulnerability he rarely let show. “I can handle myself,” you said, reaching out to touch his arm.

“I know you can,” he replied, his voice softening. “But you don’t have to. Not when I’m here.” The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, without warning, Rafe pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against him. “You’re mine,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low and raw.

“Nobody talks to you like that. Nobody.” You buried your face in his chest, letting the steady beat of his heart calm the storm inside you. “I love you,” you whispered, the words carrying every ounce of gratitude and affection you felt for him. Rafe pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand coming up to cup your face. “I love you too,” he said, his voice steady.

“And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. Always.” In that moment, the chaos of the game, the tension of the day—it all faded away. All that mattered was the two of you, standing together in the aftermath, stronger than ever.

[iwannaleavemymind]

Shibari Sukuna.

That’s it that’s the prompt if your a minor and not into kinky shit do not interact.

Trueform Sukuna! X fem!reader

Also proofread idk how to write this mf with two dicks, soooo bear with me please😭

The tight ropes of the Shibari tied around your wrists dig almost uncomfortably into your skin- although lord Sukuna would never allow his beautiful queen nothing but the finest material for the ropes now would he?

The silky fabric of your slip dress is a stark contrast to the precarious position you’re in, with your legs and wrists tied together suspended in thin air, keeping you up and looking around the room.

Well- a better way to put it trying to look around the room, kinda hard to keep any focus with the pink haired man currently overstimulating you with his tongue(s).

“Hah f-fuuuck s’too much kuna!” Desperate please and cries for him to slow down spill past your lips, all but being acknowledged. Mocking your little pants and whimpers by teasing you with his mean mouth.

“Cmon little mouse I thought you wanted this?” He says right before delving nose deep back into your soaked core, his tongue flicking up and down your now-overly sensitive clit, his fingers finding a steadfast pace inside your cunt. Teasing you over and over, making your cum once but keeping you on the edge- just how he likes it.

Loves it when you whine and moan his name, legs shaking around his face, your shaky thighs nearly crushing him, but he had another set of arms for that more than welcome problem of his.

Two of his arms reach up to meet your soft plush thighs, spreading them apart further than they already were- “trynna kill me with those thighs of yours heh? Gonna try harder than that baby.”

The stimulation proves too much for your body to handle, eventually begging him to let you cum again.

“Please kuna please-!” Chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, your pussy clenching around his fingers, making a shit eating grin spread across his lips.

“Huh? What’s that baby your close hm?”

“Y-yes please let me cum! Kuna’ please I need to so bad!” Your words are slurred with desperation and need, begging for a release.

His arms tighten around your thighs, holding you in place while he eats you out, his cocks rock hard from your sweet little lips, begging and moaning and just feeling you around his fingers drives him mad.

He gives you what you want, his fingers curling inside you hitting your g spot eliciting a high pitched moan from you, “y’like that messy girl? Cmon use your words.”

Not even a words slips past your lips when you open them to beg for a release again when you feel him smirk against your throbbing clit, moving his fingers in tandem with his mean tongue flicking it around your sensitive bud, sucking and spitting on the sensitive bundle of nerves; at this point it’s not much before you cum alllll over his fingers your juices spilling down his lips down onto his neck, admiring your fucked out expression.

He can feel his cocks are already painfully hard, pre cum dribbling from the pretty bulbous slit on the top of his pretty tip, how will your poor pussy even handle him?!

(He’ll make it fit don’t worry 😉)

He lets you come down from your high, whispering sweet nothings in your ears whilst tightening your restraints, cooing and praising you on how good you did.

Not long before he’s untying his own pants letting them fall to the floor before fisting his cock, his pretty tip covered in pre cum all ready for just you. He holds your thighs in place, slowly pushing one of his cocks in, letting you adjust to the sheer size of him.

“Biiiiig stretch, yer doin’ so good for me baby jus like that.” Low pants and half lidded eyes are the give away that he’s almost pussy drunk just halfway in, your slippery, warm walls coating his dick in a sheen of slick.

His pace gradually picks up, filling you up to the brim, with two of his arms holding you in place, fucking you back onto his cock making high pitched whines and moans come from your pretty lips.

“Didn’t know she was so excited to see me hm?” He teases you, sitting that spot deep inside you making your eyes roll back, the curve of his dick hitting your g spot perfectly, measured with his hard thrusts it makes it easy for you to become undone beneath him.

“Yeah baby, j-just like that ohhh fuuuck.” He moans in your ear, using one of his arms to pull your hair back, keeping you in place. low moans and pants come from the strong man above you, his praise causing your pussy to spasm all over his cock, “y’like that little mouse? Such a dirty girl.”

Your moans and pleas spur him on even more, quickening his thrusts with the room filled with the sound of your soaked pussy cumming again and again all over him and his hips meeting yours over and over again in a mean fashion.

“Good girl, so reactive and needy jus’ how I like it.” His thrusts punctuate each word, tears streaking down your cheeks with the overwhelming pleasure.

“Kuna! F-fuck ohmygod I’m s’close!” You cry out, feeling close to him pushing you over the edge again

He fucks you rough and mean, his thrusts becoming sloppy and desperate, knowing he’s close too, but he’ll make you cum, ladies first isn’t it?

“Hah- such a good girl givin’ me exactly what I want hm? Fuckin you like I hate ya huh?”

“P-please feels s’fuckin good” you mewl, eyes rolling back and mouth falling open in an O shape, squirting all over his dick, soaking his sculpted abdomen, and surprising you at the same time.

“Ah found it.” He smirks down at you, you can’t see him but you can just feel the shit eating smirk on his face.

He fucks you at an inhuman pace, your sloppy cunt sucking him in juuuuust right, so perfect for him. It’s not long after he follows suit, buried to the hilt in your snug cunt, letting his release coat your insides and his seed spill out of you.

“didn’t know you could do that girl, let’s try both hm? See if I can make that pretty pussy squirt all over me again Kay?”

[hexwhore]

YAY birthday prompts!!! Thank you Bri the Viktor hoes love your writing!!!!! (It’s me I’m the Viktor hoes) May I suggest 131 + 94, please? Maybe Vik eating out reader like they’re his favorite meal and leaving them a blissed out mess 😳 Perhaps slightly on the dom!Vik side even (but like in a really sweet/adoring way) 😳😳

I love mess :)

Tags/Warnings: 18+, Viktor x G/N Reader (AFAB), cunnilingus, spitting, touch of overstimulation.

A bead of sweat pearls down your spine. Cloaked in humidity—wet with it, among other things—you breathe deep of mossy, churned earth and running water trapped within the greenhouse. Obscured by a cradle of tall fronds, the metal lip of the retaining wall slips at your nails, fingers flexing against the urge to touch.

But you are not supposed to. 

Viktor kneels, singularly focused. His hands are hard, smooth like coated wires, and cold, warmed by the heat of your thighs pressed open—held wider than fits his narrow face, simply because he can. His long, flaxen-streaked hair unfurls piece by piece from the hasty knot at his nape. He doesn’t seem to notice or care how it hangs in dark clumps, pulled through sweat and slick and an unfathomable amount of his strange spit. It clings between your thighs with an unnatural iridescence, spread like an oil spill from his mouth. Otherwise unchanged, that is still soft and ripe—hungry, though he doesn’t seem to eat much anymore. 

Of course, you are the exception. 

He eats you, firm and fervent, on knees that don’t ache now, with a body that won’t ache later. There is no rush. He can lead you to the edge as many times as he pleases. 

And it does please him, the geometry of your body arching and curling into a golden ratio around his mouth, writhing on his tongue. He smooths it, wide and flat, up the flooded seam of you. Sucks hard at the apex. Pecks a neat little kiss to your clit like he’s sorry for how close it brings you, but he’s not because he does it again. And again. And again until you’ve never felt so sick with need in your life, which is certainly another affliction his touch can cure. Will cure. Eventually. 

His hums become words with the cadence of praise. Your thoughts are so cottony that you can’t ascribe them meaning, whispered against your swollen skin; can’t tell if you’re whimpering please, please, please or merely thinking it. 

Your hand finds its way to your mouth, biting down on a crooked knuckle to quiet yourself just in case. 

At this, he makes a displeased sound and peels back. A dark strand of clinging wetness follows and snaps back against your skin. “There is no need for that,” he coos, dragging his fingers through the mess. “I will not let anyone hear.” His smile is thin as spider’s silk; subtle, knowing. The eerie thread is wholly eclipsed by his adoration. 

When you agree—what other choice do you have?—his fingers clench your shaking legs, ten points of pressure to ground you. He bows his head, watching your face, and spits without any need to look for the trajectory. It slides down your cunt and he nuzzles in after it; sighs at your hips arching to meet each pass of his tongue; pursues your limit and what lies past with sweet, ruthless diligence until your voice—within and without—breaks. 

Your spine wilts one final time, sheltering him between the kiss-bitten plush of your thighs, and he allows it: for you to come with your hands in his hair.

[xomakara]

Fated to Meet

SUMMARY | When the power goes out of the cabin you're sharing with a stranger named Haechan, you wonder if it's luck or fate that brought you two together after a night of intimacy.

PAIRINGS |  Haechan x Reader

RATING |  Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked

GENRE |  smut, strangers to lovers, non-idol au, snowstorm

CONTENT/WARNINGS | profanity/strong language, kissing, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), slight dirty talk, fingering, oral sex (male giving/female receiving), vaginal penetration, creampie, multiple orgasms

LENGTH |  3,227 words

TAGLIST |  –

NETWORKS |  @k-vanity @ksmutsociety

AUTHOR’S NOTE |  hi all~ This is written for kvanity’s winter event, “The Naughty or Nice List”, and the prompts/dialogue I used were:

Stuck sharing a cabin with a stranger that is double booked

“Ever been kissed under the mistletoe?”

“Maybe you can warm me up.”

Happy reading folks!

“There’s no way I’m giving up the bed,” you snap, arms crossed over your chest as you stare down Haechan. He’s taller than you by a few inches, his shoulders filling out the frame of the cabin doorway. His dark eyes narrow, and you can see the flicker of annoyance in them, but there’s something else too—a glint of amusement that makes your stomach tighten.

“You think because you got here first, it’s yours?” he shoots back, his voice low and smooth with just a hint of a challenge. “That’s not how this works.”

The cabin is small, cozy, and decidedly not big enough for two people who didn’t plan on sharing it. The fireplace crackles softly in the corner, casting warm light over the wooden walls and the single queen-sized bed that’s become the center of your argument. Outside, the snow falls heavily, blanketing the world in white and trapping you both here for the night.

“I booked this place weeks ago,” you say, stepping closer to him, refusing to back down. “You’re the one who showed up uninvited.”

Haechan raises an eyebrow, leaning casually against the doorframe like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Funny,” he says, “because my confirmation email says otherwise.” 

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through it before holding it up for you to see. Sure enough, there’s the booking confirmation for the same dates.

You groan, running a hand through your hair. Of course. Of course this would happen to you. You were supposed to have a peaceful weekend alone in the mountains, away from the chaos of the city. But instead, you’re stuck here arguing with a stranger over a bed.

“Fine,” you mutter, turning away from him and pacing the small space. “We’ll figure something out. Maybe… maybe we can take turns? Or—”

“Or,” Haechan interrupts, his voice cutting through your frustration. It’s softer now, almost teasing. “We could just share.”

You stop in your tracks, spinning around to face him. “What?”

He shrugs, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “It’s a big bed. Plenty of room for two.”

Your cheeks flush, and you quickly look away, pretending to focus on the fire. “That’s… that’s not happening.”

“Why not?” he presses, taking a step closer. You can feel the heat radiating off him, even from a few feet away. He smells faintly of cedar and something spicy, like cinnamon or clove. It’s distracting, and you hate how much it affects you.

“Because I don’t know you,” you say, your voice firmer than you feel. “And I’m not sharing a bed with some random guy who just barged into my cabin.”

“Our cabin,” he corrects, grinning now. “And I’m not ‘some random guy.’ I’m Haechan.”

“And I’m Y/N,” you mutter sarcastically. “Now we’re practically best friends.”

He laughs, a rich sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “You’re feisty. I like that.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart skips at his words. “Can we just figure this out? I’m tired, and I don’t want to spend all night arguing with you.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. Instead, he tilts his head, studying you with that same amused expression. Then, his gaze shifts upward, and his smirk grows wider. 

“Well, well,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, almost playful tone. “Look where we’re standing.”

You follow his gaze, and your stomach does a flip when you see it: a sprig of mistletoe hanging right above your heads. Your breath catches, and for a second, you forget how to speak. Haechan steps closer, closing the distance between you until you can feel the warmth of his body against yours. His eyes lock onto yours, and you can see the mischief dancing in them. 

“Ever been kissed under the mistletoe?” he asks, his voice so soft it’s almost a whisper.

Your heart races, and you swallow hard, trying to find your voice. 

“N-no,” you manage to stammer, though you’re not sure why you’re answering him. He hums, the sound sending a ripple of heat through you. 

“Well,” he says, leaning in just a little closer, “there’s a first time for everything.”

Your mind screams at you to pull away, to put some distance between you and this dangerously charming man. But your body betrays you, rooted to the spot as his scent washes over you, his proximity making every nerve in your body tingle.

His hand reaches up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and the gentle touch sends sparks racing down your spine. 

“You’re blushing,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement.

“I’m not,” you protest weakly, even as you feel your cheeks burn hotter.

He chuckles, the sound low and intimate. “Liar.”

Before you can retort, his other hand settles on your waist, pulling you gently toward him. Your breath hitches, and your hands instinctively land on his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath his sweater. He’s solid, real, and so close you can almost taste him.

“Relax,” he whispers, his lips hovering just inches from yours. “It’s just a kiss.”

You should say no. You should push him away and demand he keep his distance. But something about the way he’s looking at you, the way his fingers trace tiny circles on your hip, makes it impossible to resist.

And then, he closes the gap.

His lips meet yours in a soft, tentative kiss that steals the breath from your lungs. At first, it’s gentle, almost chaste, but as the seconds stretch on, the tension between you builds. His hand moves from your waist to cradle the back of your neck, deepening the kiss as his tongue brushes against your bottom lip, asking, pleading for more.

Your body responds before your brain can catch up, your hands sliding up to his shoulders as you lean into him, parting your lips to let him in.

The moment his tongue slips past your lips, a fire ignites in your core, spreading heat through your veins. You can taste him now—spearmint and something undeniably masculine—and it drives you wild. A small moan escapes you, muffled by his mouth, and he groans in response, his grip tightening on you.

You’re vaguely aware of the way he backs you up, guiding you until the edge of the bed hits the back of your thighs. He breaks the kiss just long enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling as he searches your face for any sign of hesitation.

When he finds none, he kisses you again, harder this time, more urgent. Your knees buckle, and you collapse onto the bed, dragging him down with you. He braces himself above you, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the most delicious way. One of his legs slots between yours, and you grind against him instinctively, craving the friction.

His lips leave yours to trail down your jaw, nipping lightly at your skin before moving to your neck. You arch into him, gasping as he sucks at the sensitive spot just below your ear. His hand slides under your shirt, his palm hot against your stomach as it travels upward, teasing the curve of your breast.

“H-Haechan,” you breathe, your voice shaky and barely recognizable.

He pauses, lifting his head to look at you. His eyes are dark, hungry, and completely focused on you. 

“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice rough. “And I will.”

But you don’t. Instead, you slide your hands down his back, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you. He growls softly, capturing your lips once more as his fingers tug at the hem of your shirt, stripping it away. The cool air hits your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his mouth as he trails kisses down your collarbone...

“Wait—” you gasp, tugging slightly at his hair. He stops immediately, pulling back to look at you, his breathing heavy. “What about… the bed?”

He chuckles darkly, his lips curving into a wicked grin. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, his hand trailing down your side. “We’re gonna make good use of it.”

The room is a blur of heat and friction, his body pressing into yours. His hands are everywhere—skimming your waist, gripping your hips, tangling in your hair. You can’t think straight, not with the way he’s kissing you, not with the way his touch sends shivers racing down your spine.

But just as his fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans, the room plunges into darkness. The sudden absence of light startles you both, and Haechan pulls back slightly, his breath warm against your lips.

“What the—” His voice cuts off as you hear him fumble for something on the nightstand. A moment later, the soft glow of his phone screen illuminates the room, casting shadows across his face. “Power’s out,” he mutters, squinting at the screen. “Must be the storm.”

You hadn’t even noticed the storm outside. Now that it’s dark, though, the sound of heavy snow pounding against the windows fills the silence, rhythmic and relentless. The wind howls, rattling the panes, and you feel a chill creep into the air despite the warmth still lingering between you.

Haechan tosses his phone onto the bed, the dim light barely enough to see each other. He turns back to you, his expression unreadable in the shadows. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The tension is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. And then, slowly, he reaches out, his hand brushing against your arm.

“Cold?” he asks, his voice low.

“Maybe you can warm me up,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of anticipation. The darkness seemed to amplify every sound—the hitch in Haechan’s breath, the rustle of fabric as he shifted closer.

His hand stilled on your arm for a moment before sliding up to cup your cheek. His palm was warm against your skin, and you leaned into his touch instinctively. 

“Is that an invitation?” he murmured, his tone teasing but laced with something deeper, something raw.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you reached for him, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you. His lips found yours again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if savoring the moment. The kiss deepened, and you felt the heat building between you, chasing away the chill that had crept into the room.

Haechan’s hands moved down to your waist, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. His touch was electric, sending sparks skittering across your skin. He broke the kiss just long enough to pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside before his mouth returned to yours, hungry and insistent. His hands explored every inch of you, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You gasped as his lips trailed down your neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin. 

“Haechan,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need.

He paused, lifting his head to meet your gaze. In the faint light from his phone, you could see the intensity in his eyes, the way they burned with desire. “Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice rough.

You didn’t hesitate. “You. I want you.”

A slow smile spread across his face, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Then you’ve got me.”

Time stood still, a haze of pleasure washing over you. Nothing existed outside of the moment; your only focus was on the delicious sensation of him, pressed against you, his mouth hungrily seeking yours. The storm still raged outside, but there was no trace of cold—not when you were wrapped in Haechan's arms, every nerve in your body sparking with electricity.

Your back arched as he buried his head and fingers between your legs, teasing your entrance. A low moan slipped past your lips as he sucked, sending jolts of pleasure through your core. You gripped the sheets tightly, desperate for more.

The storm rumbled outside, but all you could hear was his voice—soft groans and husky whispers that were slowly driving you crazy. Your mind was foggy, and your senses overloaded. All you could focus on were the sensations—his lips, his touch, his body flush against yours.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as his tongue drove deeper, coaxing a shaky gasp from your mouth. Heat pooled low in your belly, a silent plea for more, and he was only too happy to comply. His pace quickened, drawing ragged moans from your lips. You were unraveling—body, mind, soul—lost in a haze of pure ecstasy.

There was no time to catch your breath; you could already feel the wave of pleasure building within you, threatening to break. But you held on, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. 

He watched you come undone, watched the way you unraveled under his touch, and knew there was no going back after this—after hearing the way his name sounded when it tumbled off your lips. It was music to his ears, the way this beautiful stranger moaned and writhed in his embrace, all because of him. Because he knew exactly which spot to hit, because he could feel how close you were, how you pulsed against his fingers as he pushed deeper, as his thumb rubbed your clit until you were left gasping for air.

He'd been with plenty of girls before, but he'd never been with one as beautiful as you, all flushed cheeks and swollen lips, your hair tousled and sticking to your sweaty skin, your body trembling in his arms. 

No, there was something different about you, and he didn't care how cliche it sounded—it felt like fate when two strangers suddenly find themselves sharing a cramped vacation cabin in the snow-covered mountains.

And he was going to savor this, to make you a mess, a delicious, filthy mess, and then he'd go for more, because one kiss under the mistletoe wasn't nearly enough.

One touch wasn't nearly enough.

Once your orgasms had ebbed away and the last aftershocks faded into the quiet, Haechan gave you a sinful smirk, licking the taste of your sweetness from his fingers before covering your naked body with his. His lips brushed over yours, his teeth nibbling your lower lip in a sweet kiss.

"Round two?" he purred, grinding against you, letting you feel the weight of his cock as it twitched between your thighs. "Or is this over after the first round?"

You glanced at your surroundings, at the cramped, cozy cabin that somehow felt intimate instead of oppressive and small, despite its size. 

"Fuck no," you mumbled, tangling your fingers in his hair, tugging slightly on the silken strands. "Mistletoe kisses are forever, mister."

He grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Round two was spent with your legs wrapped around Haechan's waist, his strong arms braced on either side of your head. Your fingers raked down his back as you panted, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

"Harder," you urged him, your voice shaky, pleading. "Fuck me harder, Haechan."

That was all the encouragement he needed. He drove deeper, losing himself in the sensation of your body pressed against his. There were no thoughts of past relationships, of the obligations that awaited you both back home; right now, the world was shrinking to the two of you and this perfect little bubble.

He leaned in and kissed you, hard and passionate, his lips demanding, his tongue exploring every corner of your mouth. He wanted, no, needed, all of you. And if you were going to spend the night fucking your brains out, you sure as hell were going to go home with sore hips and an aching voice, knowing no one else will ever take his place.

With your skin slick with sweat and the room thick with the scent of sex, his mouth never leaving yours for a second, it felt as if the two of you were making up for the years you'd both spent lonely in the cold. Your heart felt heavy with emotion, as if you'd fallen in love overnight, all from sharing the same bed and letting yourself get fucked senseless by the most gorgeous man you'd laid your eyes on.

But it would soon be over—too soon, far too soon, and in a few short hours, the morning sun would rise, and you would both be packing your things, the secret affair of two strangers put away under lock and key.

Your moans mixed with the sound of skin slapping against skin, his thrusts erratic, almost urgent as you came, and you came, and you came. Your toes curled, his cock rubbing that sweet spot, bringing you to the edge again, again, until you were completely spent, and your lips were cracked and swollen from biting them and from his tongue.

"H-Haechan," you managed to breathe, trying to remember how to speak. You were like jelly, barely able to form a sentence, the aftermath of one of the most intense orgasms you'd ever experienced turning your limbs to jelly. "Oh, fuck!"

You tried to catch your breath, your hands limp as his broad chest rose and fell with the force of his own breathing. Slowly, he pulled out, and a flood of his warmth spilled onto your thighs, your wetness still glistening on his cock. 

"Fuck," his forehead touched yours, and his lips twitched into a smile. "Who knew a mistletoe kiss would get you this fucking good?"

You couldn't help but grin, even as the bittersweet ache of loneliness in your chest bloomed. You didn't know him well—hell, you didn't even know his last name. But the way his eyes twinkled as he looked down at you made you want to fall asleep in his arms and wake up to his charming grin and beautiful bed head every damn morning.

"Can I ask you something?" he murmured after a moment.

"Sure," you replied.

His fingers brushed against your cheek, and his smile was suddenly soft, a tiny smile so beautiful it made you hold your breath. "Do you believe in fate?"

"Fate?" you asked.

“Mmm,” Haechan hummed. “Like, when two people are destined to meet?”

"Maybe," you replied with a soft, breathless laugh.

Haechan cupped your cheek, pressing his lips to yours again. He kissed you long and slow, savoring the lingering taste of you, and whispered, "Then what if we make fate work in our favor?"

You pulled away just slightly, searching his face. There was a strange fluttering in your heart, as if all your dreams were within your reach. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and the gentle way he caressed you almost made you lose your damn mind. "Spend the New Year with me. Let's see if fate really brought us together or if we were just lucky. What do you say, stranger?"

You chuckled, cupping the back of his neck, fingers sliding into the silken strands of his hair. "I'd say, stranger... this was definitely not a one-night stand, and I'd very much like to see where fate leads us."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In From The Cold

Warnings: noncon, somnophilia, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Summary: The power goes out on Christmas and your landlord comes over to keep you warm.

Character: Brock Rumlow

Day Twenty-Nine of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - the electricity is out, let's keep each other warm.

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The knock at the door makes you jump. You’re not a child, you shouldn’t be afraid of the dark. Yet, since the power flickered and fizzled out, you’ve been on high alert. Your nerves are frazzled and the shadows nestling in the corners are playing tricks on you. It’s only because you’re alone. Really, you’re not a coward. 

You shine the light on your phone ahead of you as you move around the soft silhouettes of the furniture. Without power, you won’t be able to recharge it once it drains. The only other light is single candle burning that does little to ward off the obscurity. It only fills the house with the scent of mulled cider. 

You go to the door. That should be the landlord. You’re not sure who else would bother on Christmas Day. You flip back the lock and open the door. Rumlow’s gritty growl greets you as he shields himself from your phone light with his large hand. 

“Shoot, sorry,” you lower your phone as he squints in irritation. 

“Hmm,” he grumbles. “What’s goin’ on?” 

“I’m sorry. I know it’s Christmas but the power--” 

“Doesn't matter,” he waves off your apology, “what were ya doin’ when it went out?” 

You’re not sure it’s a genuine question so much as an accusation. You rarely bother the leaser as he often meets you with the same simmering agitation. He’s like a bear and just a smile is a poke in his side. You don’t want to bother him more than you need to. 

You hug yourself with one arm and shiver. No heat, no power. He tilts his head and sighs. He steps inside and you back up. He shuts the door with a sigh. “Well?” 

“Um, I was watching a movie, sir,” you don’t know why you add that last title; it feels appropriate. “I only had a lamp on and the kettle for hot chocolate.” 

He doesn’t respond. You feel the judgment roiling off of him. He must think you a ridiculous girl, like the rest of your roommates. You all know Rumlow can barely stand you but your rent is his profit. 

“What about the others?” He asks as if reading your mind. 

“Well, er, they went home for Christmas, sir,” you unfold your arm and chafingly grip your wrist instead. 

“Mm,” he grumbles again. 

He kneels to unlace his boots. You wonder if he has a family. If you dragged him away from a lovely dinner with presents and children. With the people he preserves his love for. 

“I’m sorry if I spoiled your holiday,” you say. 

“Fuck Christmas,” he snarls as he puts his boots aside and stands. His figure is draped in black like a horror movie villain, looming, waiting to pounce. Your phone light points behind you, offering little clarity. 

“Oh, uh, yeah.” You utter as you stare at him, clueless. 

He huffs again. He steps forward and you retreat out of his way. He stalks down the hall without explanation and you stay where you are. He stops at the door behind the stairs, right before the kitchen. He sniffs and raises his blurry hand. 

“Bring that light.” 

“Oh, sure,” you leap into a scurry. 

He opens the door and proceeds down the stairs without waiting for you to catch up. You shine the light over him, illuminating his broad shadow against the wall ahead of him. He lumbers down as you keep a few steps back. You trail after him as he goes into the second room of the basement. 

He pulls open the metal cover of the switch board. You sidle up beside him to give light to the rows of switches. He leans in and narrows his eyes. He drags his fingertips over them all. He curls his lip and snarls. 

Your eyes flick to him as the light of your phone limns his gruff features. His stubble darkens his jaw, the cleft of his chin deep, and his brown eyes look black as they swallow up any gleam. He’s a large man, ornery, and strict. You suppose you should want that in someone tasked to manage a property. 

“You girls paying your bills?” He clucks. 

You wince, “yes, sir. Always.” 

“Mm, well, you know... dealt with a lot of ya. Not always the case.” He shuts the metal box and you squeak at the noise. 

“You can’t fix it?” 

“Did I say that?” He snips. You shake your head. 

“Power company will need to come check the meter. Buncha morons,” he sneers as herds you out of the room just by stomping toward you. You retreat on your heels. 

“The power company?” You echo thinly. 

“No service on holidays,” he puffs as you barely keep from getting underfoot. You swerve to let him past. He continues to the stairs as you follow like some lost child. “You’ll have to wait.” 

“Oh, but sir--” 

“Relax,” he climbs the stairs without pause. “Got a portable heater in the truck.” 

“Oh, okay, um--” 

“Get more candles. A flashlight,” he commands. 

“I couldn’t find any,” you sniffle. 

“Don’t got any,” he scoffs under his breath. 

You come back to the first floor and stop by the door as he marches down the hall. You stare after him dumbly. The power’s going to be out all night? On Christmas? 

“Close that door.” He stops to put his boots on again. “Wanna keep the heat in. Go around. Check the doors and windows.” 

He tramps out the front door without awaiting your acquiescence. There’s something about him that brooks no argument. You cast your phone light ahead of you like a shield against the shadows and hurry upstairs. You work your way through, checking that all windows are shut, doors too. 

As you come back downstairs, he’s there again. There’s a large block next to him as he strips off his boots. He hauls it with a single hand into the front room. You keep your distance as you watch him from the doorway. He puts it centre, across from the sofa, and twists the switch. The heater glows a sinister red. 

“Um, thanks, sir,” you scratch your ear as you aim the light at him. He waves at you like a gnat. You turn the light off as the heater offers a dulcet glow. 

He unzips his jacket as you stare. What is he doing? 

“I don’t need you suing me,” he rasps. “Dealt with enough of you girls.” 

He folds his jacket over the side of the armchair. He rolls his shoulders and pushes his head back. Your brows rise as you check the battery on your phone. It’s not very much. 

“Oh, you don’t have to stay--” 

“I do. I know how sneaky you college girls are.” 

“What?” You squeak. 

“Put on those pretty smiles and call up daddy’s lawyer in the morning,” he growls. 

“I wouldn’t-- no, sir--” you sputter. What daddy? What lawyer? 

“So,” he turns his back to you and sits on the couch with a sigh. “You should sit by the heater so you don’t get sick. Girls...” 

You hesitate. Right. This is going to awkward. You don’t know him very well. Not even his first name because you’re certain it’s not Rumlow. And he’s older. Meaner. Not much for small talk. You can’t be on your phone all night without a charge and there’s not enough light to read. 

You come around the couch and he twists to drag the blush-coloured faux fur throw from his other side. He sits in the middle so no matter what cushion you choose, he’s right there. 

As you sit, he puts the blanket around you, a tiny snort as if judging that you even have something like that. It matches your slippers. That must be even more ridiculous to someone like him. You’ve never seen him wear anything but black. 

“Thanks,” you say and you grab the edges of the blanket. 

He just sniffs again and sits back. He leans his head against the sofa and exhales deeply. You wince as even his breathe feels like a remonstrance. You curl up under the blanket and lean against the arm of couch. 

You sit and stare at the soft red-orange coils of the heater. You feel its warmth, a soothing wave in the flickering dark. The candle burns, the aroma lining the air, and the wick burns out as the wax bubbles. As that light dies, your left in the soft amber hue of only the heater. 

Rumlow’s even breaths tempo the heedless night. Is he asleep? You glance over as he remains unmoving. You can’t blame him for being unhappy. You wonder if the issue is going to be expensive. That’s not the kind of stress anyone wants, especially this time of year. 

That’s a good idea. The night will go by quicker if you just sleep. The only thing is, you’re too anxious to settle down. Still, you have to try. 

You wiggle closer to the armrest and lean against it. You lay your head and shoulder against the curl of the cushion and slump into the corner. You pull the blanket snug. Is he cold? Should you have offered him a blanket? You don’t dare ask now. 

Your eyelids sink and your fatigue surprises you. You’re more tired than you expect, even after such a lame day. Your Christmas isn’t family dinners or gift-giving, just the listlessness of a solitary day in the big house. Most years you prefer that, knowing your parents would only torture you with questions that underline their disappointment, but this year, it’s a bit lonelier. You miss your roommates. Especially now. 

You drift off in the turmoil of your thoughts. Of unwinnable parental approval and the lifeless bulbs and sockets of the house. That shadow beside you lingers even in your unconscious, as if Rumlow’s shadow is watching the nonsensical machinations of your nocturnal imagination. 

A swirling sleep brews in your head, cocooning you in a heat that drags you further into oblivion. Foggy flashes of a contorted reality along with the blankness of deep slumber enshrine you. Forgotten is the dark house and the dissatisfied landlord. 

Dampness glazes on your cheek and down your neck. Cool air mingles with the hot puff against your shoulder, a tempestuous heat across your body. Your voice tickles sin your ear as it scratches up your dry throat like sand. Your head lolls but stills in an iron grip that cradles you from beneath. 

Thunder rolls through the muddiness of your unconscious, drawing you up towards the surface. Growls and groans that flow into you like a tide. A deep, thrumming weight churns your guts only to lessen, the emptiness just as heavy before you’re filled again.  

You mutter as your lips peel apart dryly and your eyes flick back and forth beneath your eyelids. Your arms are heavy as one lays limp at your side, crushed into the cushion, as the other hangs off the edge. Your lashes stick as you try to see between them. 

The couch rocks with the rhythm of gritty breaths, with the tempo of the crush atop you, the swelter of the body over you. Your head throbs as your eyes roll back and you centre them, fighting through the haziness.  

Your head falls to the side as your vision pinpoints on the orange pulse of the heater. Rough fingertips scrape your scalp as a pinch on your neck makes you whimper. Your leg is prickly as it drapes over the couch, exposed to the cold air of the dim room. 

The cushions flatten under your body and the other one. You’re trapped beneath the paralysing weight. You murmur and force your head straight. The shadow at the edge of your vision draws your gaze and you can see only the writhing, pumping form pinning you to the couch. 

“Gotta keep you warm, girl,” Rumlow snarls into your throat and bites again, ramming deep until you squeal. “Ain’t ya cold?” 

You shakily bend your arm and press your hand to his arm, his bicep bulging as his nails jab into the meat of your hip. Your other leg is hooked over the back of the couch as he pounds between them. Your pajamas pool at the end of your foot that dangles over the floor. You feel the fabric brushing your toes with each battering snap of his hips. 

He’s... 

He’s... 

Inside you!

Your walls burn with his rutting, undisturbed by your rousing as he puffs along your shoulder and smears saliva along your skin. He bites there too, sinking his teeth in until your whimper. 

“Wh-wh-wha...” you warble through tears as they rise and fall like acid. Why is he doing this? How—why didn’t you wake up before? 

“Fuck, so hot,” he pounds against your pelvis as your bones ache. “Fuck-- fucking girls.” 

He drags his hand up your side, his other still hooked under your head. He braces your shoulder and pushes himself up. He pins you down as he spreads his fingers wide across the top of your chest. Your pajama top is rumble above your tits as they bounce with his unfettered motion. 

He looks down at the joining of your bodies and thrusts as deep as he can, watching the fuzzy scene of his violation. His other hand slides from beneath your hand and stretches across your neck, his thumb pushing into the bruised mark of his bite under your jaw. 

“You warm yet?” He taunts as he pumps into you harshly. “Feel fucking warm to me.” 

[thatonetargaryen]

My Tears Ricochet

Ambessa Medarda x Reader

Part One

Synopsis: You and Ambessa have been married for nearly two decades—and your love was one many people could only dream of achieving. But when your wife leaves overseas to visit her daughter, you strained relationship finally reaches it’s peak.

cw; afab!reader; angst ; infidelity ; local cuisine makes an appearance ; suggestive behavior ; Ambessa being a bad wife

Special thanks to @hell0-ki55y for the prompt. I hope you like it :). Might do ‘Pretty In Pink’ one next.

……

The warm ocean breeze flowed through your (h/c) hair as you gazed upon the horizon. The ship slightly rocked side to side, and you knew you were bond to get seasick soon.

You were currently on your way to visit your wife—the formidable General Ambessa Medarda. She had recently took leave from Noxus to come to Piltover, though her reasons were scattered. You two shared a constant stream of letters back and forth, and she told you how the journey went and her rants of disgust towards the council. Sometimes that’s all she wrote to you about. You didn’t mind. What you did mind—however—was when the letters stopped coming.

It started off small—you wrote one letter to her and didn’t get a reply. Simply shrugging it off and saying to yourself ‘maybe it got lost in the mail’, you sent another….and another…and another. It didn’t take long for you to suspect something.

Piltover was as greedy as they are unpredictable. While you doubt they would’ve done anything to Ambessa (considering they would lose much,much more than they’d gain), you wouldn’t take any chances. Anything could’ve happened.

She could’ve fallen ill—or worse. At first the thought of it simply slipping her mind was there, but it quickly vanished. Ambessa was never one to let anything associated with you slip her mind.

What really set your suspensions high was when her daughter, Mel Medarda—who you had a close relationship with for most of her life, one you cherished—replied to a letter you sent asking about Ambessa.

‘You should come see for yourself.’

The sentence left you in a state of confusion—but also reassurance. Ambessa was fine, but….something was wrong. It wasn’t how your wife doing….

It was what your wife was doing.

……

The ship finally arrived at the docks of Piltover. The few servants and guards that were aboard the ship disembark and helped you unload the few bags you brought with you.

You looked around—searching for Ambessa. You had sent a letter saying you were worried for her and would sail there, but you knew she hadn’t gotten it.

Instead, you were met with the council member and your lovely step-daughter—Mel.

She smiled as you approached. It had been a while seen you’d seen each other, and she towered over you. You engulfed her in a big, warm hug—one that she seemed to desperately need.

“Oh, Mel…”, you said into her shoulder.

“Mother…”, she whispered back. She had gave you the title years ago, yet sometimes, you still felt you didn’t deserve it.

The two of you shared a moment of silence, taking in each other. Her gaze was soft and warm, yet pity lied beneath it.

You smiled and held onto her shoulders. “Mel, look how much you’ve grown!”

She laughed, “Wish I could say the same for you.”, she said as she gazed down at your shorter frame.

You bumped your hip against yours as you two intertwined your arms. “I stopped growing many, many years ago. It’s something I’ve came to peace with.”

The two of you continued to talk as your servants and guards trailed you with your few belongings. You commented on the things you saw, asked Mel how her position as a councilwoman was, and who her new boy-toy was all about. She visibly cringed when you brought him up. Though, she would’ve dwelled more on that topic than the one involving the whole reason you came here.

“What’s going on with your mother?”, you finally asked.

Mel looked around, now slightly uncomfortable. She replied to you with a simple “Hm” as the two of you continued walking. You halted her in her tracks.

“Hm? Really? Your mother’s acting weird..and now you too?”

She bit the inside of her mouth before she sighed, now fully facing you. “Did you notice anything strange before she left?”

You were taken aback by her question, but after a moment of thinking , you answered, “Well, she has been quite distant as of late. But, you know how she can get. And she hasn’t been reply to the letters I’ve sent her.”

Mel looked at you as if she had solved a puzzle—the thoughts connecting in her mind. But there wasn’t an ounce of celebration on her face. She grabbed both of your hands, contemplating what to say next. “I’ll take you to see her. She’s not far from here.”

You looked at Mel in confusion, while she took you softly by the hand and led you towards Ambessa.

The rest of the walk was spent in an uncomfortable silence.

……

You arrived at a beautiful building. While the sight of it was breathtaking—it was as just as plain as the rest of Piltover.

Mel nodded towards the entrance. “She’s in there”, she whispered.

You nodded, and signaled for your servants and guards to wait here. You hiked your skirt and began to ascend up the white stairs. You spared one more glance in Mel’s direction, and found her speaking with your servants and guards. Your excitement was uncontrollable as you got closer and closer to the entrance. You hadn’t seen your wife in weeks—and the things you wanted to do to her were unspeakable. You bit your bottom lip just thinking about it.

For a moment, you could hear was sounded like men’s laughter. You brushed it off, until you heard it again—though this time it was muffled.

What had taken you aback the most—however—was the sound of your wife’s deep, low breaths. The ones she made when she…

No.

After an eternity, you reached the top of the stairs. And it took everything in you not to scream right then and there.

There Ambessa was, her back turned to you as she sat upon a large, lavish couch. From where you stood, you could see her the coils of her grey hair fall on her shoulders as she laid back. Sat perched on her lap was a man—with fiery auburn hair and pale skin. He was petite and charming—almost like a woman. His lips were full as he licked them and his green hungry eyes raked over your wife’s frame.

Her honey-kissed hands roamed his body in ways only she had promised to touch you in. You felt a mix of emotions all at once at the sight. Anger, resentment, confusion, surprise, sadness. You wanted to scream and shout. Every painting and vase in the room didn’t know how much you wanted to break it.

But instead of doing any of that, you simply whispered her name.

“Ambessa?”

The man’s eyes shot open as he suddenly looked towards you. Embarrassment and surprise was evident on his face, but he made no move to get off Ambessa’s lap.

Your wife finally turned around to catch your eye, and you’d never seen her looked so surprised. Looking her in the eye was your breaking point as you rushed out the room, hot tears streaming down your face.

“Y/N!”, she called out your name, but to no avail. She moved to get up, but noticed the twink still on her lap.

“Get off me, you fool!”, she roughly pushed him off. He fell to the floor with a thud and stared at Ambessa’s frame as she raced out the room. The wine was long gone—now spilled across the once white pristine floor.

“Wait! Y/N!”, she called out once again. She looked around frantically, and noticed some of her guards stationed at the bottom of the stairs.

“Stop her!”, she commanded, but they ignored her as they ushered you into a car.

Mel closed the door just as her mother was about to approach. She pulled on the handle, only to find it locked.

She stopped to look inside the glass, and found the last person she was expecting—Mel. She looked at her mother sternly in disappointment through the glass. There wasn’t an ounce of sympathy. She simply shook her head. With a wave of her hand, the car was off.

Ambessa stood there dumbfounded, angry, and regretful.

[ready-to-read7]

Prompt #2

this prompt is something I really enjoyed writing, I really like the concept of wonder woman/Diana being a mother figure to Danny and I also really like the prompts were Danny along with Dan or dani/Ellie are de-aged ( also you can decide if Danny is the ghost King or  not but I think he would be at this point)

so in this situation a bad Fenton parents story where Dan, Danny and Ellie/ dani are badly injured and clockwork wanting to save all three of them  would de-age them and ellie /dani  is a few months old, Danny is  two years old and Dan would be around five years old,  and clockwork  wants to give them  a responsible mortal Guardian and will for some reason, goes to  Pandora and will ask her if she can think of any strong independent women to give the de-aged King along with his siblings/clones to and Pandora would be like yes because she is a dead Amazonian and would think wonder woman/Diana is the perfect choice for this

she would then contact Diana (I would say through her dreams but you can decide how)  and would  ask her to go back to Themyscira so that she can ask her a favour, when Diana reaches home she goes to one of the beaches where a  portal opens up to reveal Pandora is holding a de-aged Danny, Dan and dani/ ellie and would ask her if she would be willing to be a mother to these three, explaining to her without giving too much information that these are three powerful young beings that need a strong and stable figure to raise them and Pandora would also elaborate that two (or only one of them if you decide to make Danny trans )  is  male but she still wants the members of the Amazonian’s to treat him/them with respect, Diana’s mother would be close by listening and Diana would agree to raise the  three little ones asking for their names and anything important she needs to know, Diana’s mother would agree with her daughter’s choice and would inshore  Pandora that they will not discriminate against Dan and danny ( if you don’t go with the trance Danny thing) just because they are boys, if they are raised by Amazonian’s they are just as much a Amazonian as any other, Pandora would be relieved and would continue explaining that as they get older they will develop abilities that will be hard for them to control at first but with practice they can control them easily, she would also tell Diana that it would be in the best interest of the children if no one found out that they were actually powerful beings and it would be much safer for them if people believe that they are her biological children and Diana would agree.

 So Diana and her people would come up with a story explaining that the three children were being raised on Themyscira for their own safety since Dan and Danny or just  dan is the first male Amazonians so they needed a bit more protection for the first few years of their lives, (just know I did not research anything about the Amazonian’s so if any of the information is wrong I apologize also technically they wanted to do it in a way so the they are  not lying so keeping the children on the island for a year before they introduce them to the rest of the world is their way of bending the truth )  and Diana would then move back to Themyscira for  a small bit to sell the story along with being able to get to know her new children

 One year later Diana decides that it’s about time she takes her children out to the world of man, and she would decide to introduce her children to the Justice league on bring your sidekick/children to Work day (do remember she had not told anyone about her kids mostly because it never was brought up and no one asked  if she had kids so she  was technically not keeping it a secret) so she would get to the watchtower early and would sit in the meeting room with her kids, and somehow no one saw her walk in and go to the meeting room (yes she was announced on the coms  but there were not many people in the watchtower at the time so no one really noticed or paid attention)

She would sit in the meeting room as she listened into the coms as heroes and their children/sidekicks started coming to the watchtower she would then place dani/ Ellie down and would tell her brothers to watch her as she went to go fetch snacks for them, Dani and Dan would end up getting into an argument and dani / ellie being the little Explorer she is would wander off,

She would crawl into the main room where all the children and sidekicks of heroes were running around playing and talking as the adults were talking with each other and as she was crawling around someone tripped over her I would say one of the Robbins or one of the speedsters and because of her much greater resilience she wouldn’t get hurt but she would get startled and started crying which would alert all the adults and children who would wonder why there was a one-year-old in the watchtower and whose child was it, due to her black hair and blue eyes people would immediately assume she’s either Superman’s or Batman’s but both of them will deny this while Batman is holding her trying to get her to calm down, then Dan and Danny would run in calling  her name and Superman would ask them if this was there little sister they would say yes and  he would ask who their parent is and before they can respond wonder woman would run in with a speed that is quite frightening and would yell out to Danny and Dan ask them why they weren’t watching their sister and why did they leave the meeting room and everyone would then realize that the children were Diana’s and many of them were utterly confused

(I hope this kinda makes sense of what I’m trying to get across I just love seeing Diana as a mom it just feels right because she would be like the perfect mother)

[mynameismckenziemae]

Behave

Bob Floyd x You x Natasha Trace

This is the result of the following prompts I received:

"Behave, I wouldn't want to have to punish you now."

Toying with a piece of clothing, whether that be the collar of your shirt, slowly undoing your belt, sliding a finger under the waistband of your underwear before letting it snap back against your skin.

Warnings: Adults (18+) only! MDNI! This work contains: smut, f/f, f/f/m, adult language, dirty talk, teasing, oral (m&f receiving), biting/marking, overstimulation, a little spanking.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

It’s late. The patrons left at the Hard Deck are long past sober, with the exception of you three.

A quick glance around the bar shows no familiar faces as you take the pool cue from Bob, not sparing him a glance, still sullen from earlier.

“‘’scuse me,” you murmur, not looking at Natasha either as you brush past, your pushed-up tits grazing hers before you turn to bend over the table to line up the shot, pushing your ass out when you arch your back.

Hands much softer than Bob’s run up the outside of your thighs when she steps close to cover the skin revealed by your sundress riding up.

"Behave,” her thumb lifts the elastic band of the underwear Bob had you put on earlier as she leans over your back, “I wouldn't want to have to punish you now."

She lets it go and it snaps against your tender skin just as you shoot.

“No!” you drop the cue on the table and straighten, missed shot forgotten as you turn to face her, “I mean, please no,” your cheeks heat as you quickly correct yourself at an arch of one of her perfect brows, “Bob already did…earlier.”

“Poor thing,” she pouts, “That’s why you were late, huh?”

You nod bashfully, still refusing to look at Bob who’s approaching the two of you.

“What’d you do?” She leans in to whisper. Her warm breath against your ear and the hint of her perfume make you shiver.

Your eyes drift closed as gently sucks your fluttering pulse point.

“Answer her question,” Bob orders softly as he pushes your hair back, out of her way so she can kiss lower.

“I forgot-“ you gasp as Bob tugs in warning, “I mean I didn’t put undies on.”

“Naughty girl,” she smiles between kisses, sliding her hand beneath your dress again, “and Bob caught you, didn’t he? What did he do to you?”

Bob smiles as he leans his hip against the pool table, shielding you from any prying eyes.

“He spanked me,” you reply, embarrassed yet so turned on. You open your thighs in a silent request to her fingers tracing closer and closer to where you want her, finally ghosting over the fabric, soaked from your arousal and Bob’s release, “and then he fucked me, but didn’t let me cum. And…” you trail off as she starts circling your clit.

“And?” Bob prompts, voice low and husky as he watches his two favorite girls.

“And he made me put on underwear,” you sound pathetic and whiny but can’t seem to help it; being denied earlier have you toeing the edge of release already, “boring, ugly white ones.”

“Well,” Natasha murmurs as she makes her way back up, nipping your jaw, “did you learn anything from it?”

“Yeah,” you pant, forcing your eyes open to meet his steely blue gaze as she pushes you off the edge, “Don’t get caught.”

But just as quickly the pleasure begins, it ends when her hand stills at your words, ruining your orgasm.

“Kidding,” you gasp, hips bucking to follow her hand as she pulls it from under your dress, “I was kidding!”

“She didn’t learn a damn thing,” Nat ignores your protests, holding up her fingers to Bob.

“Nope,” he says matter-of-factly, doing a quick scan of the bar before licking them clean.

“What if…” she trails off, stepping away to whisper something to him, making you whimper from the loss.

His hand finds her hip and squeezes, heat flashing in his eyes at whatever she’s saying. “Yeah,” he swallows thickly, “let’s do that.”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“Only you,” Nat smiles between kisses as she follows the dress over your ass, revealing the white underwear, “can make these look sexy.”

A breathy laugh escapes and your head drops back when Bob latches on to one of your now-exposed nipples.

“Oh you poor thing,” she coos as she pulls the cotton down, “I can still see his handprints. He really did a number on you, didn’t he, princess?”

“Yes,” your fingers card through his hair, “he’s so mean-“ you cut off when he sucks hard at the nipple in his mouth.

“He is mean,” Nat agrees, pressing a kiss to one of the handprints, “but you deserved it, didn’t you?”

Yes. Always.

But ever the brat, you bite your lip to keep from admitting it.

Which earns you another sharp slap on the ass when she rises.

“Do I need to spank you too?” She murmurs in your ear, “Can’t believe I even have to ask after last time.”

The memory has you shaking your head quickly and Bob groans as he switches breasts, obviously remembering too.

Nat had had enough of your teasing and showed you she had a mean streak that rivals Bob’s when she pulled you over her lap. By the end, you were a sopping, teary, sniffling mess. While she kissed you better after, you didn’t sit comfortably for days.

“I deserved it,” you concede, “I always deserve it.”

“That’s right,” she murmurs before nipping the sensitive skin where your neck meets your shoulder, “but you’re not off the hook yet.”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

A few minutes later, Bob sits on the bed before reclining back on the pillows, stroking himself slowly as Natasha leads you to the bed.

When she guides your hips down onto Bob's cock with his chest at your back, you can’t imagine how this could possibly be a punishment.

Until they share a look over your shoulder. Bob takes your arms, crossing them behind your back before holding both wrists in one of his hands while Nat settles between his thighs, pushing them apart…which forces yours even wider.

“What-what are you-oh God,” you breathe when she dips her head to brush her lips over your knee to your inner thigh.

“So soft,” she murmurs, softy sucking the supple skin before taking a bite.

You jerk in Bob’s hold; the hint of pain has you clenching around him.

“Oh, she liked that,” Bob chuckles, his free hand coming around to toy with your nipple, still tender and puffy from his mouth, “do it again.”

Nat smiles against your skin as she moves higher before obliging. Soon each thigh is littered with the marks from her teeth and your chest is heaving; the pain lasting only momentarily before blooming into pleasure and settling between your thighs.

She hasn’t touched you intimately and yet your arousal covers Bob.

Then she relents, making Bob groan as he tongues his sac up to his cock and finally to your clit before sucking gently.

Your back arches from the sudden onslaught and the position change pushes him against your g-spot, setting you off without warning.

Bob inhales sharply but tightens his hold on you as you writhe, trying to get away from Nat’s relentless tongue.

Realizing this is her form of punishment when she doesn’t pause before you fully come down, and cry out as she works you into a frenzy once more.

Then again.

And again.

It could be just minutes but it feels like hours as she continues the sweet torture on your clit. Bob’s breathing just as hard as you are and tears stream from your eyes as you squirm in his hold. A deeper, more intense pleasure is building rapidly as you grind on his thick cock, and just when you try to warn her; it crests.

White-hot pleasure engulfs your entire shuddering body; from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Your release soaks Bob and the bedding beneath you two.

“N-n-no more,” you shake your heavy head, voice shaky and hoarse from your cries, “please Nat-baby? Please?

“I-fuckkkk,” Bob cuts off with a groan when Nat finally, finally gives you a break, her mouth dropping to his sack, “I’ve-I think she’s had enough.”

“More like you’ve had enough,” she smiles, placing one last kiss on your swollen clit as she slowly sits up, lazily sucking on your nipple.

Bob releases your arms and they weave straight into her hair. You try to bring her up for a kiss but your limbs feel so heavy.

Pulling off your breast with a smile, she allows you to bring her up to your lips, kissing you slowly for a moment before guiding you down beside Bob.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Though you’re completely worn out, nothing could keep you from watching your two favorite people together.

“Nat,” Bob chuckles breathlessly as she dips her head to suck his cock sloppily, lapping up his precum, “you don’t have-I’m-.”

“I know,” she pulls off him with a wink, climbing over him and sinking down with no more preamble, “I wanted to taste you both.”

They’re beautiful together; Bob’s big, strong hands gripping her fluently moving hips, letting her lead them to bliss.

Her eyes flutter closed when she slides her hand between her strong thighs to find her clit but fly back open when Bob pinches her butt, “Ah-ah,” he smirks, “eyes on me.”

She nods, an uncharacteristic blush staining her cheeks.

Your spent body still tightens when they cum together; the way those breathy little moans escape even though she’s biting her lip, Bob’s low groan and look of pure bliss.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Later, you fall asleep between the two of them with a smile on your face and absolutely no intention of behaving in the future.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

A/N: welp, it’s finally done! I hope I did it justice for the bisexuals lol. Also, Bob has a corruption kink thing for innocent, white, cotton panties. I don’t know why, but he does. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Tagging:

@lexixstewart

@dizzybee03

@its-the-pilot

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@atarmychick007

@littlezee80

@k-k0129

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@jessicab1991

@lonelysoul50

@landpiranha-blog

@fandomology101

@writtingrose

@rascallyrascalreads

@glenpowellluver

@seitmai

[beauiestars]

Logan Howlett x Reader

(Part One/Part Two)

Logan Howlett/Wolverine x Fem!Reader

PROMPT: "You've been alive for over a century, but you still don't know how to ask someone out?"

SUMMARY: You're a new teacher at Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters and the school's resident grumpy teacher has fallen head over heels for you. Unfortunately, has no idea how to show it.

WORD COUNT: 1.6K

The sound of Logan's heavy footsteps echoed in the quiet hallway, accompanied by the faint chatter from nearby classrooms. He had dismissed his class early under the guise of a bad hangover, which led him to take a stroll on the second floor. Coincidentally—though everyone knew the real reason, they allowed him to believe he was being slick—the second floor just happened to be where your classroom was.

As he neared the door, his steps slowed, anticipation stirring within him.

He peeked inside, and his chest tightened at the sight of you. You were in your element, perched cross-legged on your desk, your hands moving expressively as you spoke. Your words and body language held your class spellbound. They hung on your every word, soaking up everything you said like sponges.

Logan found himself equally entranced.

Before he knew it, he was leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on you. You were so absorbed in your lesson that you didn't even notice him standing there. But that allowed him more time to take you in, uninterrupted.

You were breathtaking.

Though you'd only been teaching at the school for a few months, you had already captured the hearts of students and staff alike. And Logan? He was a goner. There was something magnetic about you, something that drew him in and left him aching for more.

At first, it was your looks that caught his attention. The moment you'd stepped into view, he'd been stunned. Your face was a work of art—astoundingly beautiful. Your figure left him breathless, igniting thoughts he couldn't suppress, no matter how hard he tried.

But then you spoke, and you had him whipped. You were intelligent, witty, and undeniably funny—a combination that left him trembling.

Even when he'd been brusque and dismissive toward you at first—a bad habit—you had held your ground. You'd called him out without hesitation, putting him firmly in his place. You challenged him like very few others had, and Logan loved a challenge.

Now, watching you command the room with such ease, he couldn't help but marvel at you. You had him wrapped around your delicate, manicured finger—and Logan wouldn't have had it any other way.

"Alright, class," you said, drawing your rant to a close. You placed your palms on your thighs in a casual movement, but Logan's sharp eyes tracked them as they slid down to the fabric of your trousers. The way they clung to you had him swallowing hard, an intrusive thought flashing through his mind about cutting them off you entirely.

"That's all for today, I think," you continued, oblivious to his wandering gaze. "Just make sure you read those chapters I assigned, and I'll see you all in the morning."

Logan had never seen a group of students so reluctant to leave. They dawdled, taking their time packing up, and several made their way to your desk—peppering you with questions. Some were about the lesson, but others were shamelessly trivial: questions about your weekend plans or your favourite coffee.

You answered each one with genuine interest, your smile never faltering as you indulged their curiosity before gently ushering them out.

Logan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, amused at the scene unfolding in front of him. He soaked up the final moments of being able to admire you—some of your students giving him odd looks as they passed by. Finally, as the last student exited, he crossed the threshold into your classroom.

"Some talent with the kids you've got there, bub," he remarked with an amused scoff, his deep voice cutting through the quiet room.

You turned to him, startled at first, before a smile spread across your face, softening your features. "Maybe not being grumpy and unapproachable all the time does wonders for teacher-student relations," you teased, a playful lilt in your voice.

Your jab hit him square in the chest, knocking the wind out of his carefully crafted composure. If he weren't so determined to keep up his rugged act, he might have blushed. There was nothing like an attractive woman with a razor-sharp wit to get Logan on his knees.

"Haha, very funny," he said, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance, though the grin tugging at his lips was impossible to hide. "Seriously, though—you've got a real gift with them."

You gasped theatrically, placing a hand over your chest as if he'd just said something scandalous. Logan's gaze followed the movement shamelessly, the way your fingers brushed against your collarbone practically hypnotic.

"Was that a real compliment from Mister Howlett?" you asked, voice dripping with mock disbelief. "Raven, is that you?"

Your laughter bubbled out of you, light and infectious, like you couldn't contain it. Logan stood no chance; his grin broke free, and he let himself enjoy the moment. You had him, and he didn't even mind.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. "You've got jokes, huh? Don't get used to the compliments, sweetheart. They're in short supply."

"That's a shame," you quipped, tilting your head at him with a sly smile. "I think I could get used to hearing them from you."

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. The playful banter between the two of you was something he found he couldn't go without after having a taste of it. "Careful, darlin'. Keep talking like that, and people might think you've got a soft spot for me."

You scoffed, crossing your arms as you leaned against your desk. "A soft spot for you? Please. You've spent half the semester pretending I don't exist, and the other half grumbling at me in the teachers' lounge."

"Grumbling?" he repeated with mock offense, taking a step closer. "I don't grumble."

"Oh, you do," you teased, mimicking his low, gravelly tone. "'Mornin'. Coffee tastes like ass again.' 'Kids these days don't know respect.' 'Who the hell called this faculty meeting?' Classic Logan Howlett." You placed your hand over your mouth to suppress a fit of giggles escaping you.

His laugh rumbled deep in his chest, and he rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish despite himself. "Alright, fine. Maybe I'm a little grumbly. But you're not exactly innocent, you know. Always throwing those big words around like you're trying to confuse me."

You smirked. "I think you're confusing yourself, Mister Howlett. I'm just speaking plain English."

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "Plain English, huh? Then why do I feel like every word outta your mouth is some kinda challenge?"

Your breath hitched, but you didn't let him see you falter. Instead, you raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze head-on. "Maybe you just like a challenge."

Logan's lips curved into a slow, knowing grin, and for a moment, the tension hung thick in the air, electric and undeniable.

Logan cleared his throat, his eyes flicking to the floor before quickly snapping back to you. The easy smirk he usually wore faltered, replaced by a shift in posture that screamed unease.

"Anyway," he started, his voice a bit rougher than normal, "I, uh... I was thinkin'..."

You raised an eyebrow, stifling a grin. "Dangerous," you teased, watching him squirm.

He shot you a quick look, lips pressing into a thin line, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Right, well—" He fumbled with his words, clearly struggling to keep his usual tough demeanor. "So, you wanna... grab a beer sometime? Or... dinner. If you're into that."

You tilted your head, genuinely entertained by his discomfort. "Oh, I see." You smirked, crossing your arms, letting the silence stretch on a beat too long. You loved to keep a man—especially one so strong and self-assured as Logan—on his toes. "You're trying to ask me out, aren't you?"

Logan's eyes widened just slightly, the colour rising in his cheeks as he muttered, "No. I mean—yeah. I guess." He huffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It's not... well, I'm usually better at this."

You chuckled softly, leaning back against your desk as you watched him fumble. You found it quite adorable, really. "Logan," you began, your tone light and teasing, "you've been alive for over a century, but you still don't know how to ask someone out?"

His face twisted in annoyance, but the blush still lingered, making him look even more endearing in his discomfort. "Yeah, yeah. Real funny," he grumbled, voice low. "Look, it's not like I've had time to work on my dating skills, alright?"

"Oh, I'm sure," you replied, still holding back a smile. "The whole brooding, grumpy loner thing must've really worked in your favour, huh?"

"Shut up," he muttered, though there was no heat behind it. He tried to look away, but his gaze flickered back to you, as if he couldn't help himself. "So... what's it gonna be? You in for that beer or what?"

You tilted your head, letting the silence hang a little longer just to make him sweat. Then, finally, you leaned forward with a grin. "Alright, Logan," you said, voice almost too sweet. "I'll grab that beer with you."

His shoulders visibly relaxed, and the slight smirk returned to his lips. "Good. I wasn't gonna stop askin' till you said yes."

You shook your head, unable to suppress your amusement. "Persistent and charming. Who knew?"

He shot you a sideways glance, a playful glint in his eye. "You're lucky you're cute when you're mocking me, or I might've just left you hanging."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," you teased, crossing your arms. "You still don't know how to ask someone out."

Logan chuckled, shaking his head, and went about the rest of his day itching to take you on that date.

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆

TAGS:

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Bump in the night

Written for day 29 of the @steddieholidaydrabbles, and the December round of the @stmonstercalendar

Prompts: Fairytale and Krampus

Relationships: Pre-Steddie; Steve & Dustin

Rated: T

Tags: Kidnapping; Krampus!Eddie; Good babysitter Steve; Dustin is a little shit; crack (somehow, idk. it grew a plot again)

Running in snow is a bitch on the legs. 

By the time Steve leaves the village behind, the moon is dipping behind the trees and his legs are screaming at him to stop. He doesn’t. It has started snowing again, and he knows that it won’t be long before the tracks are gone. He’ll have no way of catching up to them, then.

He’s gonna fucking murder Dustin. 

Provided he manages to save him and they don’t both die of pneumonia. 

He pushes himself to go faster, and when he reaches the top of the hill, he spots a figure ahead of him. A dark, hulking shape standing out against the moonlit winter landscape. Even from the distance, he can see the pair of horns protruding from its head - long and curved and ending in wicked points. 

Steve gulps. 

Sure, he knows the stories. About things that go bump in the night, about monsters creeping down into the human settlements from the mountains to steal misbehaved children from their beds and carry them off into the darkness. He used to roll his eyes at them, think of them as mere fairytales made up by his father and the village elders.

Looks like he owes them an apology. 

He mentally schedules that for after he murders Dustin. 

“Hey,” His voice slaps off the trees as a distorted echo. “Hey, fuckface!” 

The figure stops. Then, very slowly, it turns. It’s hard to make out features through the night and the snow, so all Steve can see are its eyes. Two deep, dark pools peering back at him through a curtain of tangled hair. 

Steve is rushing down the hill before it occurs to him he didn’t even bring a weapon. Not breaking his run, he snatches a thick branch off the ground, twirling it high over his head and lunging at the creature with a hoarse scream. 

“Hey, careful with that! You could take out an eye.” 

Steve freezes. The branch drops. 

“Wha-” he croaks. “Wait, you can talk?” 

The thing rolls its eyes at him. Now that he’s closer, it turns out that its face is … unexpectedly human. Large, brown eyes and a pair of surprisingly pretty lips framed by a spill of dark, chaotic curls. Almost like any other guy you might meet in the marketplace - if it weren’t for the pair of horns attached to his head and the shaggy fur covering his body from the shoulders down, and the fact that his legs end in fucking hooves. 

“Yes, I can talk,” says the guy … the creature … Steve is so confused right now. “I’m a monster, not an idiot, y’know?” 

“Sorry,” says Steve automatically. “I didn’t mean to- … cut that crap, what did you do to Dustin? I know you took him, where-” 

“I’m here,” says a disembodied voice. Steve flinches, spinning in a startled circle. “Steve, is that you?” 

There’s a weird sort of echo to his voice, like he’s in a tiny room or other confined space. 

“Oh fuck,” Steve gasps. “Did you eat him already?” 

“I didn't eat him,” says monster dude. He sounds appalled by the concept. “He's in here.” 

He jerks back his thumb - longer than a human one and ending in a wicked claw - to point at the giant wicker basket strapped to his back. 

“You put him in a basket? Like what, a chicken?” 

Monster dude scoffs. “I sure as hell am not dragging him all the way. They tend to kick and bite.” 

Then, evidently deciding that Steve isn’t worth the trouble, he turns and resumes his way through the snow. 

“Wait,” Steve blurts. “Where are you going? Let him go, right now!” 

“No can do,” monster dude shrugs. “He’s been the naughtiest kid in all the valley, and rules are rules.” 

“Oh, c’mon!” says the basket. “I’m not that bad.” 

“Oh yeah?” monster dude says, producing a rumbled piece of parchment from somewhere in his shaggy fur. Does he have pockets in there? “Let’s see. It says here you talked back to your teachers.” 

“Because they were glaringly wrong. Was I supposed to just let that slide?” 

“You fell asleep in church.” 

“Not my fault the priest sucks at public speaking.” 

“You blew up the school building. Dude, seriously?” 

“That was an accident, you can’t hold that against me!” 

“Woah, wait!” says Steve, who just spotted the curly letters scrawled onto the parchment. “I know that handwriting! Did my father give you this?” 

Monster dude’s eyes go wide. Then, before Steve can so much as blink, he jumps. Steve yelps as he hits the ground, claws easily as long as his own fingers digging into his arms, pressing him down into the snow. 

“Hey,” Dustin yells from within the basket. “What are you doing? What’s the ruckus about?”

“You are the mayor’s son?” 

Steve blinks. “I- … what? What does that have to do with any- ow, shit!”

He tries to wiggle out of the claw’s hold, but they tighten their grip. Monster dude’s face has twisted into a manic grin, revealing a row of gleaming fangs and a long, pointed tongue. 

“This is brilliant,” he growls, more to himself than to anyone else. Steve winces as he is grabbed by the collar and yanked upright. 

“Hey, let go of me, what are you-” Something cold and heavy closes around his wrists. When he looks down, it is to find his hands bound together by a pair of large, rusty manacles. “What the actual fuck? What kind of sick weirdo are you?” 

“The worst there is,” monster dude smirks. “And you, big boy … You might just be my ticket to freedom, if I play my cards right.” 

He turns to go again, and Steve is helpless to do anything but stumble behind him as he tugs on the chain. The fresh snow covers their tracks as they disappear into the night.

Something, something, and then Dustin and his monsterfucker dads unveil how the village elders have been disposing of bothersome kids for years.

More holiday drabbles

[ryescapades]

hii rye!! happi 1k follows, for the event, can i have prompt 10 (lyhfmb) with a jealous! nrm gen please!! nsfw ofc!!! luv ya soo much <3

→ EVENT OVERVIEW

prompt: 10 - “lift your hips for me, love.” characters: ex!narumi gen (kn8) x afab!reader contents: nsfw mdni !! oral (f! receiving), marking, slight possessive + jealous!nrm, sparring as an euphemism, possibly exes to lovers, implied nrm having past hookups, tiny bit of angst if u squint, ooc i think? somehow ended up being a bit of a character study.. wc ~ 900

a/n: thank you for participating anon !! <3 i’m kinda killing two birds with one stone here bcs there’s an old req in my inbox asking for a nsfw nrm piece (supposedly) inspired by lana’s serene queen :’>

you have absolutely zero idea how you got yourself in this situation.

it was a normal day for you; you woke up, did your morning routine, checked in with your fellow coworkers and spent a whole lot of your time on the training grounds, especially with your closest friends, shinonome and tachibana. everything would’ve been perfectly and routinely mundane, if not for the sudden private invitation to spar, ordered requested by your very own division captain.

the way those roguish hues darken at the sight of you straddling tachibana’s hips during training, the deep frown on his lips, the clear displeasure marring on his face, the scrutinising stare he sent towards his platoon leader… for a second there you would’ve thought that he— you shake your head to disperse the thoughts away.

no way in hell, right?

it feels weird. doing a one-on-one with captain narumi without other people watching really gives you the ick, an irksome itch that you couldn’t quite scratch away. you know full well that you could pack a punch or two, know that your skills are just as good as any officer from the first division, but you are also aware that narumi gen is not just any man.

he’s a man who was born with such exceptional strength and yet had his childhood ripped to shreds by those monstrous kaiju, a man who would occasionally lash out if something ever triggers the fragility of his inner child, a man who holds the weight of the world on his shoulders, a man who was still on pins and needles when it came to affection, a man who is also your ex lover.

but just because you’re exes doesn’t mean he had any reason to pull his punches on you. and because you’re exes it makes no sense that the exchanging blows and jabs would suddenly turn to a different kind of clash altogether.

your unfocused eyes can barely make out your surroundings, but you at least know that it’s already late into the night, long into the after hours. a soft moan breaks free from your lips, eyebrows deeping into a furrow. “we shouldn’t be doing this,” you breathe out.

you wince just as narumi’s teeth nip on the tender flesh on your collarbones, soothing the pain with a swift lick of his broad tongue. the discolouration blooms red on your skin, another mark accompanying the similar ones on the span of your neck.

he doesn’t reply, opting to slide his hands underneath your shirt to trail wet open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. he then starts fidgeting with the hem of your sweats, lifting his head up to look at you.

your body burns at those hooded gaze of his rosy eyes.

the million rational thoughts of denial and object are immediately turfed out, your body going pliant under his familiar touch as you close your eyes in relent. narumi gently slips his fingers beneath your pants and underwear to pull them both down simultaneously. “lift your hips for me, love.” he murmurs, the petname smoothing out of his lips like silk.

a shiver runs through you as you oblige, your lower part now exposed to his wandering eyes. he shifts down, his head now leveling with the space between your thighs.

the first swipe of his tongue against your folds nearly sends you reeling and narumi can feel his pants getting tighter by the second. “god, i missed your taste so bad. no one could ever compare,” he quietly groans before eventually diving in, eating you out like a man starving for days.

“fuckin’ sweet… this pussy’s mine, yeah?” he mutters as his tongue slides into your dripping hole with ease, licking up your arousal as more of it trickles down to your ass. it’s wild, full of hunger and intent as narumi buries his face between your thighs to consume your very essence into his own.

“f-fuck, hah—” your chest stutters as his arms wrap around your quivering thighs to keep you in place, his tongue thrusting in and out of your cunt just as desperately. loud slurping sounds and your moans can be heard throughout the training room, though neither of you have the mind to care about that as narumi intensifies his efforts, sucking on your swollen clit between his lips before dipping down again to your hole. 

he knows you’re close; he’s painfully familiar with the way your legs jerk beside his face, breath whiny and hitching in your throat as you teeter on the brink of ecstasy. narumi laps at you so greedily that it’s becoming messy and wet and rough and downright filthy.

it’s only when he growls against your flesh, the almost possessive sound vibrating against your sodden pussy that it finally pushes you towards the edge, coming undone on his tongue with a lewd cry. narumi hums, eagerly drinking up your slick and eyes closing in content as his face glistens with your sticky wetness. “nngh - gen…” nerves now oversensitized, you let out a whimper and weakly push at his shoulders to get him to stop. “gen!”

the man finally yet reluctantly pulls away from your cunt with a faint pop, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he languidly plants kisses on your thighs, eyes still hidden by his ashen bangs. the both of you are breathing hard, and somehow the post-orgasm clarity decides to hit you then.

‘seriously, what are you doing?’ you throw your head back against the mat below you and squeeze your eyes shut as those same conflicting thoughts invade your mind again. “gen— narumi, sorry… i-i should—” you try your move your legs away from his shoulders but he cuts you off, leaning his forehead against your stomach as he rubs random figures on the side of your hips.

little do you know he’s actually tracing the kanji of his name on your skin.

“stay,” narumi whispers. with me, he means. “...please.”

and how can you ever say no to that?

thinking abt this nrm the whole time i write this :]

tbh i kind of had a different idea for the song inspo but i don’t think i’d be finishing that anytime soon (i’m just lazy). i could share like a little rough draft of it if anyone wanna tho

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

Happy birthdayyyyy!!🥳🥳🥳🥳

If I’m still on time for the birthday event may I please request the following prompt:

"I can't pretend like everything's fine when I’m falling apart inside."

With fem reader and nsfw and Eustass Kid. 👀

Hello, Anon! Thank you so much for your request! I know, I know, it's been so long and I still have so many of these waiting for me in my inbox! Please forgive me, everyone... Anyway, this turned out more angst than NSFW, I hope that you still love it! Thank you for your support!

Source for pic

Gone

Word Count: 2671

Tags: Fem!Reader; Heavy Angst; Grief; Mourning; Sorrow; Pain; Mentions of sex, not explicit; Blood; Death;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: Kid faces a loss that devastates him like nothing else. Not even Killer seems able to rouse the Captain from his grief.

|Masterlist|

Kid holds your lifeless body against his chest, cradling you with so much care that it’s as if you are merely sleeping. Your eyes are shut, and your head lolls softly with each step he takes towards the Victoria Punk. He’s covered head to toe in the blood of his enemies, having gone on a killing spree after he witnessed life spilling from your eyes as he held you close, sheltering you both from the bullets that took your life in a cocoon of metal he created far too late. 

‘Don't be sad, Captain.’ 

He can almost hear you whisper the words, but your death was nearly instant, not giving him any moment to tell you how much you meant to him. 

'Don't worry, Kid. It's just death. Nothing is final.’

That sounds like you. But it's just his mind putting sentences together. A way to cope, perhaps. His chest feels heavy, each breath pulling with a raging effort just to travel from his lungs to his throat. 

“DOOOOOOOC!” He doesn't sound like himself. He has never sounded so broken, so torn, so incomplete. The word drags, a ragged sound that tears through his heart and rips his insides. You can't be gone, he refuses to believe that. 

Kid's scream summons half the crew, and they all have different reactions to what they see. Some sob, some curse, some freeze, and some rage. The Doc appears, rushing towards Kid and your still body, their breath immediately hitching in their throat as they see your pale face and stilled chest. 

“Captain, she…”

“No! Heal her.” Kid’s eyes are red, a fiery rage held within, ready to snap, ready to break and take everything in his path. “She ain’t gone.” The whine that leaves his lips sounds far away. It's not Eustass ‘Captain’ Kid speaking. It's your lover, your ‘baby’, your everything. “Bring her back.” He almost sobs, knees faltering as he's brought down by grief, shoulders sagging and wracking with effort. 

The Doc stutters, knowing Kid is the one in need of comfort, not your still, lifeless body but they pretend, fussing over you, checking your breathing - there's no air leaving your lungs - checking your vitals - gone. 

Killer approaches, his head bowed down with sadness as he nears the broken form of his oldest friend. Squeezing Kid's shoulder, Killer kneels down next to him. If anyone can bring sense to Kid, it's him. 

‘Listen to Kill, baby. He's got you. Always.’

“Kid… she's gone.” Killer's voice trembles as he delivers his words, they seem so final, so somber. The Doc stops fussing, taking a step back and hiding their face behind their hands, like most of the crew are doing, coping with their loss and grief. “You have to let us care for her. She wouldn't want you to feel like this.”

Kid doesn't speak. His hold tightens and he brings your body close to his chest again, burying his face in your hair like he did a thousand times before. “I never told her–...” Kid's breath catches and morphs into a broken wail. “Kill, I never told her how much I–...” Kid mumbles and murmurs in your ear. Promises of eternal love, words of devotion, just for you. Words that were trapped inside of him, words he couldn't let go off. Everything you meant to him, lost against a lifeless body. 

Killer's hand grips harder. “She knew, partner. She knew.”

But Kid doubts that very much, his memories betray him.

You held his face in your hands, cupping his cheeks and showing him your easy smile. Eyes shining just for him, as bright as the stars above in the vast sky. You'd always kiss him tenderly, your devotion flowing freely from your lips and the tips of your fingers as you caressed him. 

Kid got easily bored. Your touch immediately riled him up, and rare was the time he was gentle in his lovemaking. He needed you, his desire animalistic, almost primal, and he couldn't contain himself. Searching for pleasure, giving pleasure, but always harsh, brute, intense, equal in action as he was in personality. 

You’d sigh, mewl and moan into him, giving in to his needs because you needed him back just the same. Every thrust was an extension of his roaring desire, every bite, a mark of how much you meant to him. Every bruise from holding you too tightly was a testament to how fiercely he cared. 

And every time you unravelled under his unbridled ministrations, a tug in his heart reminded him just how much you meant to him. 

Tangled in the sheets, his seed dripping from you, you'd smile in bliss. Holding him. And always, always uttering those four words he longed to hear: I love you, Kid. 

He'd force the words out of his mouth, but they never got past his tongue. It was never in his nature to be vulnerable, let alone show vulnerability. But he did. He loved you fiercely, blindly, madly. 

Had he known that was to be your last night together, would he have made love to you instead of fucking you? Would he have slowed down his relentless thrusts to languid, lazy strokes? Would he have kissed you, leaving a trail of perfect lipstick marks on your skin instead of smudges mixed with blood from careless, harsh bites? 

“That was an amazin’ fuck, lass.”

Would he have told you he loved you instead?

“Ye know how to make a man have a good time.”

Would he have told you how much he cared, instead? 

“So tight ye make my dick hard again, just thinkin’ about it.”

Would he have told you how perfectly you fit against him, instead? 

“Kid… You have to let her go. It's time.” Killer's voice pulls him out of his painful spiral of memories. 

Yet Kid remains motionless, his hold on you only tightens, his clothes soaking more of your blood, dyeing them as red as his hair. His fingers tremble against your cold skin in an endless caress, like he’s trying to memorize every little bit of you, too afraid to let go.

The ship, always so full of laughter, of rowdy screams and clangs from something or other, is unusually quiet. The gentle splash of waves against the hull being the only song lulling in the air. 

That, and the mournful sobs and whispered cries of your friends - your crew. 

“She ain’t gone…” Kid whispers one more time, his lips pressing hard against your temple, his eyes glassy as if he’s not here, as if he’s somewhere far away, with you still breathing and smiling in his arms. 

Killer opens his mouth to argue but knows that it’s useless. Nothing can change his captain’s mind when he’s fully set to it. “Back to work, everyone.” He commands gently as he gets up, a stiffness to his usually fluid movements. 

The crew disperses slowly, some looking at Killer with doubt in their gaze, but he just shakes his head, silently asking for more time. Kid just needs a little more time with you. That’s all.

‘It’s okay, baby. You can let go. I know you loved me.’

Kid’s breath hitches as he tries to stifle a sob, a sound so broken, so lost, that it can’t have come from him. He keeps hearing your whispered words, as if you’re still with him. 

So why can’t he feel your warmth? Why doesn’t your body respond to his touch? Why is the pain he’s feeling hurting like nothing else ever did before. 

“Ye ain’t gone…” The raw vulnerability in his words hangs around the deck like a thick fog, coating the ship with grief and sorrow. The Victoria being a reflection of her captain’s moods. “We still have more time…”

‘We’ll meet in the afterlife, love. After you’ve achieved your dream of becoming the Pirate King.’

Kid’s tears seem foreign to him. It’s been a while since he shed them. They scald his skin, and he won’t be surprised if he finds blisters marring his face later, the weight of his pain is so grand that it has to leave physical scars. 

“Yer my dream.” Kid whispers against your temple, your sweet scent still so strong that you have to be alive. You have to. “Bein’ Pirate King means nothin’ if yer not by my side.”

That’s what he should have told you. 

A fresh wave of memories inundates his mind as Kid clenches his jaw and braces himself for a new outbreak of pain. 

“I can taste it already! We’ll have all the riches, other crews will fear us!” 

You laughed softly, your bare back turned to him as you removed your makeup in the mirror, preparing for bed. Kid paced back and forth, his muscles rippling with every movement.

The Alliance had taken out Big Mom and Kaido, and now he felt invincible.

“Baby, the other crews already fear us. Have you seen your bounty?” Your voice rang soft in his ears. How he loved that sound. He’d have you whisper a freaking recipe in his ear just to be able to hear you speak forever.

But he’d never admit it out loud.

“Fuck yeah, they should!” He roared, a hearty laugh bubbling up his chest.

“You’re one step closer to your dream, love.” You turned fully to him, a softness in your gaze that could crumble the highest resolve. Yes, he wanted to be Pirate King, but he knew at that moment that his dream would mean nothing without your presence. 

“Aye, lass, I am.” 

What he really wanted to do was cup your face in his hands, revel in the way your cheeks felt soft and warm against his calloused fingers, and take his time to kiss you gently. Show you just how much you meant to him, how deeply in love you made him feel.

Instead, he bent you over the dresser and made you unravel over and over again before he was spent, panting over you. 

What a fool he’d been. 

If only he knew there would be no more time. No forever. No eternity.

Breathing hurts him. Looking at you aches. Feeling nothing but cold when he touches your cheek devastates him.

He’s lost. He doesn’t know what to do without you. He doesn’t know who to be without you. 

‘You’ll figure it out, Kid. You always do.’

“Not this time, lass… not this time…”

He clutches you against him, only moving to take off his coat and drape it over your cool body, trying against all hope to keep warmth inside you. 

The minutes stretch to hours, and Kid remains rooted to the same spot. The crew gives him a wide berth, trying to carry on with their tasks, the ship still anchored in the same spot since Kid hasn’t given orders to sail, and Killer still clings to the hope of burying you on dry land instead of dropping you in the unforgiving sea. 

Hours drag on, bringing the dusk with them. The sky fills with bright dots, though they seem far duller and dimmer than usual, a mimicry of the grief that haunts the Victoria. 

Kid doesn’t move.

Killer checks on him from time to time, but all he sees is his captain mourning the loss of a loved one, whispering broken promises against your hair, cradling your face in his hands, holding on to a hope that will never be fulfilled, as if you could, somehow, open your eyes and come back to him. 

Yet Killer doesn’t intervene. He knows Kid needs time.

Dusk settles into night, and night turns to dawn. 

Kid’s cheeks and ears are red, his breath comes out accompanied by tendrils of smoke. He’s freezing, but the numbness of the cold does nothing to stop the ache in his heart. He still feels empty and lost. Broken and incomplete. He fears he will never feel whole again. 

“Kid. It’s time.” Killer’s gravelly voice does little to shake him from his stupor, so he doesn’t move. “You can’t stay here forever. She needs to rest.”

A primal growl leaves his mouth through bared teeth as Kid clutches you closer to his chest. “The fuck do ye know what she needs? I’m the one who knows her! I’m the one who loves her! Fuck!”

Kid slams his fist against the deck, and Killer hears the wood groaning and cracking under his power. 

The First Mate takes a tentative step forward, his hand hovering over Kid’s shoulder. “You’re right. I don’t know what she needs. But I know she wouldn’t want to see you like this. Rotting with grief, hurting, becoming a shadow of the man you are.”

Kid groans, shutting his eyes, forcing Killer’s words out of his head. They ring far too close to the truth, and he can’t bear it, not now. 

“I can't pretend like everything's fine when I’m falling apart inside, Killer…”

Killer sighs behind his mask, fearing that what he has to say might not be enough to help his friend. 

“You have to try. She loved you because of your strength, your fire, your ability to chase your dream. Don’t let that die with her.”

“Shut the fuck up, Killer!” He slams his fist again, and the wood splinters. New blood drips from his fist, coating the dried, caked one with a bright red instead. “I failed her… I fuckin’ failed her…”

“We all did, Kid. And we’ll have to live with it. But not like this. She wouldn’t want this, think about it.” 

Kid freezes, his hand trembling as he prepares to strike the battered wood again. Yet something in Killer’s words strikes close to home. You used to talk about what came next: the afterlife…

‘That’s it, baby…’

“She used to say that she’d wait for me if she went first…” Kid’s scoff turns into a sob, and Killer’s shoulders sag at the helplessness of it all. “I always told her to shut her mouth, sayin’ she was talkin’ nonsense. In truth, I just didn’t want to think she’d be gone first.”

The waves lap gently against the husk of the ship, and Killer doesn’t dare disturb the silence. Kid is clearly lost in his own head, memories swirling around, taking hold of him, either saving him or drowning him in sorrow. 

“How am I supposed to go on, Kill? I can’t–...”

Killer’s hand squeezes his shoulder, the gesture the same as the day before, but this time, it seems to ground his captain in reality. 

“You go on by fulfilling your dream. By fighting. By being the fierce Eustass Captain Kid she loved. If there’s something else, she’ll be there for you, and you’ll want to face her as a proud man, won’t you?”

Kid lifts his head, his amber eyes dimmed by pain, searching the horizon as if mapping the islands that surround him. Creating a pathway to his goal. 

“Aye. I want her to be proud.”

‘I already am, love.’

“And I’ll let her know, Kill… I’ll…” Kid’s voice breaks as he slowly sets you down on the deck, his fingers brushing one last time against your cheek.

“She knows, Kid.”

But he’s not listening to Killer, his eyes are fixed on you, brimming with tears again, but burning a little brighter now. “I’ll become the damned Pirate King for you - for us. Just wait for me, love.” 

Later, after they buried you and left a marker on that small island alongside the Kid Pirates' flag, Kid faced the horizon with a fierce determination setting his features. “Ready the Victoria. We’re just gettin’ started. We’ve got a damned throne to claim.”

“Aye, Cap’n!”

Grief might have shadowed the crew for a while, might’ve even made the sails of the Victoria less willing to fly, her husk heavier, more burdened. But your love was what drove your captain further now. That and the promise of the afterlife, of what came next, of unspoken vows and a way to fulfill them. 

‘I’ll be waiting, love.’

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth

[mitskicodedwukong]

💓 CRUSH 💓 || Triad!Wukong x Reader Oneshot

» crush (ethel cain) « 0:21 ─〇───── 3:20

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝🍑╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗ AUTHOR'S NOTE ╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗🍑╔⏤⏤⏤╝ ➤ This is reposted from my old account, @nothyenlowz :3 ➤ This is a oneshot. ➤ This is romantic. ➤ Reader is gender neutral (except for one use of "maiden" in reference to you). ➤ This oneshot includes Dragonhead/Triad!Wukong, who is apart of the Triad AU belonging to @/skittlescripts! ➤ This oneshot in based off @/dumplingsjinson's 4th unrequited-but-not-actually-unrequited-love prompt! ➤ TRIGGER WARNINGS include use of "name" (couldn't avoid it, sorry </3), profanity, denial of feelings, avoidance, lying, self-deprecation, angst, and crying. ➤ Word count: 4,340

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

❝ Camo jacket, robbing corner stores; hard odds to beat when you're on all fours .❞

You didn't want this.

You didn't want this.

It started off innocently enough—a blush when you caught the Great Sage's eye, a bit of a tremble to your voice or your knees when his hand brushed yours, squealing into your pillows when he gave you gifts. Embarrassing reactions, yes, but not surprising. Afterall, whole gods have found themselves swooning for the Monkey King—what chance did your mortal self stand against the demon's wicked charm? But surely your little... celebrity crush didn't mean anything significant.

Except it did.

You barely ever had crushes growing up, much less attractions so passionate you could call them love. But with Wukong, it came far too easily. You loved the way he spoke, the way he held himself, the way he managed to create a community of loyal allies despite his many enemies. But then you also loved the simple things—his real laugh, the one that made him clutch his stomach and cackle until tears were dripping from his eyes; the way his tail swayed like a dog's and curled into a something preciously heart-esque when he was excited; the way he smelt of peaches and flower. You were always finding out new things about him through opportunities presented to you and you alone, as if he was a whole world just for you to—

No!

No, no, no!

This is how the greatest friendships crashed and burned. That initial spark of attraction and a hopeful heart paired with a traitorous brain poisoning you with sweet what-ifs and flowery dreams is all it takes for you to make one irreversible, permanent step; for you to pour your heart out only to hear we can still be friends! and watch him drift away.

Well, not you. You weren't going to risk breaking your heart nor your and Wukong's friendship over a crush, no matter how insistent. So after many sleepless nights of brainstorming, you finally devised a plan to squash your feelings for the Monkey King.

1.) Create distance physically.

You tap your fingers against your thigh anxiously, fighting the urge to scratch angry red blotches into the skin while you wait for Wukong to pick up your call. You thought this method would be easiest for enacting Step 1, assuming Wukong and Macaque wouldn't be able to pick out any lies over the phone. But with how long it's taking him to answer, maybe you were better off just ditching your phone altogether—

"Hey, peaches!" Wukong's cheery voice greets over the line, making you huff in relief. "What's up? You're not calling to ask if you can come up, right? Because you know I've told you you can just come, riiighttt?"

Your heart swoons pathetically, and you have to aggressively remind yourself that hanging out with Wukong is the exact opposite of what you want to achieve.

"Yessss, I remember," you force out in a nasally, cracking voice that you pray sounds convincing. "But no, that's not why I'm calling."

"Oh, peaches, are you sick?" Wukong asks worriedly, and you can feel his furrowed eyebrows through the phone.

"No," you snark, and then you force out some rough-sounding coughs, grimacing at the way your throat stings. "This happens every year. Sometime near spring I get super sick for like a month—might be the pollen or something, I dunno."

"I never noticed," Wukong replies softly. "I'm sorry, peaches. I woulda helped you before if I'd realized."

Your heart flips again and you lean away from the phone to muffle a quiet squeal into your palm before returning. "It's—" cough "—fine. I'm a big girl, a little springtime bug isn't going to kill me. But it is gonna keep me in my house for a few weeks."

"In that case, why don't I let Macaque handle things for a bit and come over—"

"No!" You snap out, your hand immediately smacking over your mouth at the outburst. Fuck! You think, mind racing to recover from your fumble. You let out a series of coughs as you think, then lick your lips. "S-Sorry... while it means a lot that you'd do that for me, when I get like this... it's just easier to handle it alone. I don't really have the energy to be around people or have them around me."

You cross your fingers, your opposite hand gripping your clothes in a white-knuckle grip as a few beats of silence pass. God, let him believe me so I can hang up—

"Alright, peaches," Wukong replies in that same gentle voice, the one that makes you melt like butter, and you have to lean back so he won't hear the relieved puff of air you let out. You're so busy rejoicing you nearly miss what he says next. "But I'm still going to drop food off to you, alright?"

Seeming to sense the coming argument from you, he adds, "I'll just drop it off at your door and send you a message."

You sigh, a small smile forcing it's way on to your face despite the situation still not being as perfect as you'd hoped for. "Guess I can't stop you, sunshine."

"Nope!" Wukong laughs, popping the p. "Get well soon! Who knows what mischief I'll be up to without my angel to keep me on the path of grace?" he coos with a subtle purr to his words. A wild blush blooms on your face, burning your ear tips as you soak in what he said.

"You're supposed to be able to do that on your own, Great Sage," you croak out, burying your flushed face in your unused hand even though the cheeky monkey isn't here to see it.

"What's the fun in that?" Wukong snickers. Then his voice lowers again, squeezing your heart. "But seriously, take care of yourself, peaches. If you need space, that's fine, but if you need help, ask. There's nothing you could do that would chase me away."

What he says is sweet, so sweet, and dream-like. His words make you think of a fairytale, with you a fair maiden and him a brave, persistent, dragon-slaying knight.

But life's not a fairytale, and things won't go your way just because you wish on a star.

"Will do, Wuks," you say quietly. "Bye."

"Bye, peaches."

Beep-beep.

Step 1... achieved.

2.) Create distance emotionally.

You couldn't just get rid of your crush (well, you probably could, but that'd entail some magical intervention you're not quite desperate enough for yet), but maybe you could weaken it by limiting how much exposure you had to Wukong. Hard, considering how popular he was, but surely not impossible!

So, to start off easy, you got rid of your merch. You were able to sell most of it online, but the more stuff you got rid of, the more... upset you felt. Which made sense, sure—they were things you loved, of course, and if you hadn't fallen in love with one of your best friends, you'd never part with it—, but your thoughts felt... insane. You found yourself wondering if people would take care of it, if they'd love it and find the same joy in it that you did.

The idea of someone doing anything less made your skin crawl, and for a few brief moments, you considered doing full deep dives on buyers to make sure the merch was going to a good home. Then you reasoned you sounded absolutely obnoxious, like some creepy fangirl and not a close friend of Sun Wukong, and gave the rest away without any further hesitance.

Goddamn, did it sting though.

True to his word, Wukong stopped by your house once every few days with food and medicine. At first, you were worried he'd try to talk to you or ask to come in, but the only way you even knew he'd been there was when he alerted you with a message. You were grateful for it, but words couldn't describe the relief you had that he left no gifts in the bags.

If he had, that might have set you right back to square one.

Your house felt... empty without Wukong's memorabilia, but you chopped it up to your distaste for change. Obviously the nearly crippling discomfort in your own home was because of the now-barren walls (no way it was because you'd just given away dozens of sentimental items), so you bought some pretty posters of bands, artists, and games you liked and hung them on the wall. It wasn't the same, but you supposed that within time, it'd become your new normal.

You decided to ignore the way that settled on your body like gloomy fog.

Now... for the harder part.

Aside from merch, Wukong had gotten you plenty of personal products. Clothes, jewelry, perfumes, cooking utensils you'd been eyeing, plushies—that sort of thing. You knew just by looking at it that it was expensive, probably things that would land you in debt for life if you'd bought it yourself, and rare, too. Likely some one-of-a-kind stuff, knowing Wukong.

You spent three nights despairing over what to do with them. Giving them away to the masses felt disrespectful to say the least, and you didn't have it in you to fight with your heart so much when it protested the idea. Throwing them out didn't feel much better, and neither did burying them, but you couldn't keep them. No, no, no, it'd just encourage your stupid crush if you caved and kept anything, especially the personal stuff!

So you did the only thing you could think of: gave it to your family.

It still didn't feel great either way, but at least you knew they were being cared for. And if Wukong happened to ask for any of it back, it'd be easy to retrieve.

Later in the day, you expect to feel relieved at having found a solution, but it only fills you with dread.

All that's left are the notes.

You keep them in a pretty box in your desk. It's a deep red covered in bright splashes of color meant to resemble fireworks, with bright iron hinges on the back so it could open and close. It's perfectly pristine, not so much as a speck of dust upon it, its well-cared-for appearance taunting you as you lift it out of its drawer and sit on your bed.

You know you shouldn't look at them, but it's not like it'll change anything—you already have them memorized by heart, anyway.

Dear (name), "Sunshine", huh? Can't say it reflects much of who I am as an infamous, invincible god, but I'll take it over "simian" anyday! I think I'll call you "peaches" in return. It has a nice ring, doesn't it? Sunshine and Peaches. Like two peas in a pod. Anyway. I hope you like the clothes!

You laugh softly as you read the note. This had been after you mistakenly let your unspoken nickname for him slip after one of his meetings, flustering both you and the unprepared Dragonhead. Despite your furious blush and profuse apologies, Wukong had made you explain your reasoning behind the nickname (which was mostly Macaque's fault—damn him and his "sun and moon" metaphors). You were mortified, thinking you'd set your and Wukong's relationship way back, but when he started calling you peaches...

Sunshine stuck, and you two really did become peas in a pod.

You've torn through the whole box of notes by the time you realize there are tears running down your cheeks. When the realization hits, you bend over and press your hands to your face, open-mouthed sobs wracking your body.

Why'd it have to be him? You could've fallen hopelessly in love with anyone, and your heart chose him?

Wukong isn't the problem. No, not at all. Next to you, the Monkey King seems wild, volatile, too much. But that's only because you're a mortal, incapable of shining even half as brightly as he does. Wukong's a god, an immortal king, a being who'd felled thousands in mere moments—your best friend deserves someone who could meet him at his level, not force him into some domestic role.

Someone better than you.

The thought sends a sharp wave rocking through your chest, but with it comes some rush of desperation—you don't know if it's to fight for or against something, but it leads you to pluck one of the notes from its place on the bed,

turn it over so you can't see the words,

and fucking shred it.

That night, you lie amongst the torn pieces of paper like they're ruins of a city—something you used to know, used to love, used to find strength in.

Now they're something to be forgotten.

Step 2 is done.

3.) Find somebody else.

You have to admit, Step 3 was definitely a desperate plan B if nothing else worked, and, well...

Nothing else was working.

Your "sick" month had passed, and you were now three months into simple ignoring Wukong. You were honestly surprised the Monkey King hadn't broken into your house yet, but based on some demon conflicts you'd seen on the news, you figured he was busy.

But that wasn't the problem. What was the problem was your crush hadn't waned in the slightest! In fact, your attempts to get rid of it had only made you want to run further into Wukong's arms, where you'd be drowned in the scent of peaches and flowers and the feeling of soft fur and a strong body against yours and—

Goddamnit!

Part of you felt... tired; sick of what you perceived as dramatic and begging for a break from the heartache. It whispered to you, questioning how good Wukong was to keep around if he would cut you loose just for a crush—even saying that it'd be good for you. Save you the trouble and put you on the path of healing before it got real bad... whatever that meant.

But the other half of you fought and it fought hard. You wanted Wukong, even if it meant you could only have him as a friend. He made you feel good and you'd die before giving that up—that was why you'd started this whole mess in the first place!

Besides. Even in the highly unlikely, fantastical world that Wukong didn't reject you—you were a mortal, temporary and simple. Unfortunately, the same would be applied to your relationship. When you ended, so would it. If you couldn't grow old together, if you'd inevitably leave Wukong heartbroken and alone, was it really worth even considering?

No. That's why you're here at a café (far away from Wukong's headquarters, you made sure), sitting across from... your date.

They're gorgeous. With fawn-colored skin, soft brown eyes, and wavy, blonde, orange-dipped hair, they make you think of summer, of beach days and ice cream in the park. And they're sweet, easily cracking jokes with you and complimenting you without overwhelming you. They're... perfect.

But they're not Wukong, and the way you remain acutely aware of that as you share sweet treats with them destroys any hope you had of destroying this crush.

You're trying to think of ways to let your date down gently when you hear the door chime go off. A new customer is nothing to draw any real attention, of course, but a chorus of sharp gasps and your date's frightened stare looking past you makes you turn.

And, god, you wish you hadn't.

Wukong walks into the café calmly, his face unreadable as he scans the booths. You're fairly certain you already know why he's here, but when his eyes meet yours you just know you're fucked.

The café owner bee-lines to Wukong. "G-Great Sage!" They greet, bowing low. "What brings you here?"

Wukong doesn't break eye contact with you. "Nothing to do with you," he answers smoothly before approaching you in long strides.

You can do nothing but watch as he approaches, pinning your tongue between your teeth as you hold the intensity of his stare. Your date, seemingly noticing the tension between you two, reaches out to grasp your hand, but you gently pull away with a shake of your head.

"I'm sorry," you whisper sincerely, sliding enough money for the meal towards them just before Wukong reaches your booth.

The monkey eyes your date, unblinking. If this was any other situation (one where you hadn't avoided him for three months), you'd give him a gentle kick to the leg or something so he'd knock it off. But the situation is too tense, his presence too damning, and you're grateful for the few seconds you get from out beneath the demon's fiery gaze.

"Peaches," he finally murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. "We need to talk."

Fuck.

You get up without a word, placing your purse over your shoulder and heading towards the front door with your eyes on your feet. You can feel everyone's eyes on you—or rather, the two of you, as Wukong walks beside you until you reach the door, which he opens for you. Then he follows you out, staying just far enough behind you that he doesn't step on your heels.

Neither of you speak until you get to a bridge, void of people and surrounded by cherry blossom trees. It's adequate shade from any noisy individuals, and you're not sure if it was purposeful or not, or how you feel if it was. Wukong stops beside you as you peer over the edge.

"Peaches," he says, his voice still soft. "What's going on?"

Fuck.

You immediately deflect. "How did you find me?"

You hear him suck in a breath.

"How?" You hiss out, glaring up at him.

He stares at you in silence for a moment, then turns on his phone. As he presses a button, your phone vibrates in your hand.

"You tracked my phone?" You ask, blinking owlishly.

"You weren't answering me," replies Wukong simply, pocketing his phone again.

Your face flushes in frustration. "I was out—"

"For three months?"

That makes you go silent. Your phone vibrates again, making the screen light up. You can see Wukong's name in your notifications, but you dare not look to see how many there are, lest it condemn you further.

"You know, I went to your house," Wukong carries on, his voice thickening. "All the stuff I got you is gone."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

"Yeah," you mumble, your gaze falling to the ground.

"Why? Did you not like it?"

You're torn between honesty and further denial. In the end, Wukong speaks before you can make a choice.

"You didn't throw out the notes."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"It took—" his voice chokes out for a second. Your body tenses, your hands turning to white-knuckled fists at your sides. You don't look up. "It took a lot to put them together, surprisingly. Were really dedicated when you tore 'em up, huh?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Did you lie about being sick? Did you... were you just trying to get away from me?"

"It's not like that," you say, rushed, and you know as soon as the words leave your lips that you shouldn't have spoken.

"Then what is it like?" Wukong chokes out in a thick voice, but you still refuse to look him in the eye.

"I... needed alone time," you mumble.

"Why couldn't you say that?" Wukong replies, a bit of sharpness to his tone, and you can't help but feel like you've opened up the floodgates. "Do I make you feel so unsafe that you'll lie to get away from me?"

"Don't assume things about me," you snap hotly, your eyes flickering to his. They glow with a subtle red color, fixated on you, a testament to how much this has really affected him. But that's not what gets you.

It's the tears collecting in his eyes.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

"What else am I supposed to do?" He grits out. "You ignored me for three months. You didn't even text back to say if you were still sick, or if you just wanted me to stop contacting you—"

"Wukong, I—" you try, taking a step backward when the monkey flings his arms.

"And you didn't answer MK or Macaque, either!"

"Wukong—"

"You scared the shit out of me, peaches!"

"And I'm sorry for that," you bite out, managing to shut him up for a minute. You gulp, your grip on your purse tightening. "But I had... I have a problem I have to fix—"

"What is it? If you would just tell me I could help!" Wukong exclaims, reaching towards you.

"No!" You shout, twisting away from him. "You can't help, Wukong!"

"You don't know that!"

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

"I do! I do know that!"

"How?! How could—"

"BECAUSE HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU GONNA FIX ME LOVING YOU?"

Wukong falls silent. Still. Your hands slap over your mouth.

The two of you stand in silence for what feels like forever. The river feels deathly silent, and not even the wind blows. Finally, you remove your hands.

"I-I mean, I can fix it, don't worry," you say quickly, the words spilling from your lips like water. "T-These... feelings—they're temporary, I promise. They're just, uh, a b-bit more stubborn than I was expecting, y-y'know? But they're nothing serious, I swear! I-I know I've been difficult these past few months, I know, I'm sorry, just... just—"

"They're what?" is all Wukong utters, his stare burning through you.

You startle for a second, hands dropping to your chest. "T-They're temporary," you repeat. "Not serious, I swear. Nothing has to change."

Wukong doesn't reply at first. Then:

"What if I want them to be serious?"

Your heart nearly stops in your chest at the force of your surprise. "What?" is all you can get out, staring owlishly at the demon.

"I said," he speaks slowly, stepping towards you. "What if I want them to be serious? To be permanent? What if I want you to be head over heels for me, hm?"

You shiver as he stands before you, hands ghosting over your hips.

"What if I want it all to change, peaches?"

Your heart thumps in your chest, your mind desperately trying to make sense of what he's saying.

Surely he's not... he doesn't mean...

"I don't understand," you whisper, your hands hesitantly pressing against his chest.

"Oh, peaches," he coos softly, leaning in until his forehead rests against yours and all you can see are his eyes.

"Wu—"

"I love you, (name)."

Your breath catches in your throat, your mouth falling open in shock. Your entire body freezes, your thoughts halted as you process his words...

and then your heart soars.

"Me?" You crack out, a blush warming your skin exponentially. It's a bit overwhelming, the mix of love, surprise, and unfiltered relief. So much so that you can't stop the tears from building up in your eyes and slipping out as you stare up at him. "You love me?"

"Of course," Wukong says softly, his fingers reaching up to brush your tears away. "How couldn't I?"

A sob leaves your mouth at the question. "'C-Cause you're... I'm—"

"Simple?" Wukong ventures, frowning at your nod. He huffs, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. "Peaches, you are anything but simple. You're brilliant and talented and witty and a quick-learner. You keep me guessing even now, and I've been around for a while," he soothes you sweetly, a breath of laughter to his voice.

You can't help but laugh a little with him, your heart swelling at his compliments. Your hands slide up his chest and his neck, feeling the soft fur slide through your fingers, and settle on his cheeks. You mirror him then, your thumbs petting his cheek bones and brushing away the wetness in his eyes. Another wave of fresh tears overcomes you when he leans into your hands.

"You're the closest thing to perfection I've ever seen," Wukong murmurs emotionally, one of his hands retracting to engulf one of your's. "You're my girl. My peach. My qíng rén."

A sob breaks free of your lips again as you pull Wukong against you, hiding your face in his chest as you cry. The Dragonhead curls around you, as if shielding you from the outside world, which you're thankful for.

Damn. All of this to find out the great Monkey King loves you back? You're not complaining, god no! Despite your tears, your heart is doing tricks, somersaults and great leaps and cartwheels. It's just...

You definitely have some communication skills to work on, you think.

That can wait, though, you think then, your crying finally tapering out. You manage to tilt your head enough to see Wukong's face, the demon smiling down sweetly at you. Your fingers fiddle with his tie for a moment before drifting upwards and holding his face again.

"Peaches," Wukong calls softly, holding your gaze. "What're you thinking?"

You pause before answering. "I... I want to kiss you," you admit, watching the monkey's face turn a red hue similar to your's. "Can I?"

His ears wiggle, his nose twitches, and then he nods, and you can feel his tail wagging by your legs.

The time for picking on his adorable monkey mannerisms will come later, because right now all you're focused on is bringing Wukong's lips to yours and finally knowing how it feels to kiss the Great Sage.

It's done at an awkward angle since Wukong didn't let you go, the both of you straining a bit to meet each other in the middle, and you break away fast, but it's perfect to you. Maybe not how you imagined a requited crush kiss going, but it's your greatest wish come true in spite of that.

"I love you," he breathes.

Your breath catches again, your heart still flipping ecstatically. "Say it again."

Wukong grins, fangs peeking out of his smile. "I love you, qíng rén."

As you bring the Dragonhead into another kiss, you think of one thing.

Maybe fairytales do exist after all.

❝ Good men die too, so I'd rather be with you .❞

[zecretsanta]

to: @kayzero from: @i0n4

Hi!!! I really liked your prompt about Delta roleswapping with Phi!!

I was feeling like being meticulous and made up a backstory leading up to such a timeline (under the cut). It's super long and confusing but I had a lot of fun thinking about it! And I'll take any opportunity to draw these two.

Happy holidays!

I really liked the idea of Delta playing the Decision Game and Phi being the leader of FTS! I struggled a lot because I wasn't sure what to make Phi's motivation for it, and how Delta got there in the first place without making a simple swap AU. I honestly don't think Phi would react the same way to Left's death if she were in his position, and her power would lead her in different directions. In order to make Phi leader of FTS, I think she would be recreating the events of ZTD. This is somewhat ignoring real world history, assuming this takes place somewhere in Europe during the World Wars... For the sake of focusing on time travel, let's say they survive through major world events.

I wanted to start with the Phi and Delta at the canon good end of ZTD, where they survive the coin flip. Carlos doesn't shoot Delta. Delta decides to create a ripple backwards. What if he could save Left? Could he create a world where Left doesn't die young and his younger self would still have a family? In this scenario, Delta transports himself to the year Left dies and saves his life. ZTD Delta would remain in 2028, presumably helping or working against Crashkeys. Cloned ZTD Delta, having achieved his goal in ~1920, would have no reason to stay there and would kill himself.

However, this would create a timeline where Left doesn't meet his fate and both Delta and Phi grow up in 1904 unscathed. Phi would be raised by scientists, have her baby self cloned and transported to 2008, and she would eventually raise baby clone Phi up to the events of 2028, where she is cryogenically frozen and SHIFTs to the unfrozen Phi in 2074. In this timeline, there would be no Ambidex Game because there is no FTS. Therefore, Phi and Delta are never born, and they should not exist. They exist as copies sent from a different timeline to their current timeline, and she's afraid of the consequences of this anomaly. 1904 Phi begins to understand her situation after receiving visions through the Morphogenetic field. She'd find out that her twin is alive and well and contacts him. Together they'd hone their powers through experimentation to learn information about their origin.

With trial and error, Phi would inadvertently create many doomed timelines where she SHIFTs and never returns. To prevent injury or mishap, Phi would be restrained in this process. In this situation, the new Phi that gets forced into this body would have to carry out her 1904 life, or could resist and SHIFT to a different timeline entirely. In order to learn about the events of VLR and ZTD, 1904 Phi would eventually have to SHIFT and swap with a Phi from the successful ZTD timeline and keep her captive. I'm not sure what 1904 Phi would do in ZTD Phi's 2028, but she'd have the opportunity to meet Crashkeys and her own parents. And if she meets ZTD Delta, he'd read her mind and understand what had happened in their timeline. He could provide important information and research to help her with their goal. If this Phi manages to SHIFT back to her own 1904 body, she'd have new information to share with Delta, and Delta would have his own information that he obtained by reading ZTD Phi's mind. If 1904 Phi never returns to her body, there is the possibility that ZTD Phi agrees to help this kinder and foreign Delta. If this happens, the remaining Phi would have experienced everything from the canon timeline and have knowledge about future technologies that could bring them up to speed, but she'd have more bias towards the idea of creating a cult.

Eventually Left would pass, maybe from sickness or injury in his later adulthood. Together they would recreate the Myrmidons with Left's DNA, without his knowledge if he's still alive while they're studying cloning, and eventually FTS. The indoctrination, the bombs, etc. are necessary but morally dark gray to create. This Phi is colder, more calculated, and is willing to comply. This is one outcome-- Delta and Phi work together as Zero II with Delta playing the old man in the wheelchair, and Phi working from the shadows. 2008 Phi would have an Ambidex Game and a Decision Game to play, though it may differ from the original timeline due to Phi's influence. They'd reveal themselves in the end as a duo, and things would go mostly as planned.

Alternatively, if we want young Delta to play in the Decision Game, things would have to go differently. Delta was raised by Left's family and Phi was raised by scientists. If ZTD Delta had not saved Left from his early death, Delta would have created FTS. The creation of FTS is necessary to create Radical-6, the Ambidex Game, and eventually the Decision Game where they were born. Phi was put in the transporter and her clone is sent to 2028, but what if Delta was sent instead?

Phi would come to the conclusion that FTS would not be created without Left dying, especially if ZTD Phi stays in 1904 Phi's body. 1904 Phi would know about FTS through ZTD Delta when she SHIFTs to 2028 and SHIFTs back. After consulting 1904 Delta, he refuses to even contemplate killing Left, as this Delta is closely attached to his brother. A variable has to change, so this would be a last ditch replacement "coin flip" in place of Left's mortality. The two agree to transport this Phi to 1903, a year before their baby clones arrive in 1904. This adult clone of Phi would either infiltrate the lab or join as a colleague in order to transport baby Delta's clone to 2008. After this, she would raise the baby 1904 Delta (with or without the other scientists in the lab), and allow baby Phi to be adopted by Left's family. Phi and Left would bond, and her power wouldn't be immediately evident. If Left dies as expected, Phi would mourn, but she wouldn't go through what Delta did. She'd have no reason to create a cult. (Maybe she feels Delta's rage through another timeline and creates FTS herself while communicating with him through the Morphogenetic field? That's not what I had planned, but it is a possibility if we want solo 1904 Phi to facilitate the Decision Game.)

This is where Delta comes in-- he would take Phi's role in their "original" timeline (where Left lives). Through her grief, she'd access the Morphogenetic field and find out about her living twin brother. They'd be reunited again, and Delta would be a scientist working with the lab they came from. If cloned adult Phi is present, she may decide to help the twins. Delta would read her mind and be filled in about the future. If this Phi is cloned from the original 1904 Phi, she would have returned from 2028 and have worked with ZTD Delta. If this Phi is a clone of ZTD Phi that agreed to help 1904 Delta, she would naturally have that information in her memories. If cloned adult Phi is not present (dead or not involved), they would have to discover this information via a SHIFTed ZTD Phi, like in the other timeline.

In our scenario, 1904 Phi and Delta live to 2008 after co-creating FTS. 1904 Delta adopts baby Delta for 20 years after he arrives in 2008. For this to work, Delta would be unable to read his adoptive father's mind or Mind Hack him, which would be curious to young Delta but not explained to him until the end. He would be kidnapped in 2028, be forced to SHIFT to 2074 (maybe with the help of other espers while he's asleep? still unclear) to play the Ambidex Game, and SHIFT back to 2028 to play the Decision Game. In this Decision Game, Zero II will be played by 1904 Phi. She'll be the old woman in the wheelchair, but because she's in Q team, young Delta will not be able to read her mind. This Decision Game would have to play out differently because of Delta's power, which is an unintended consequence. He'd be able to SHIFT to pre-coin flip with the help of the other Espers, similarly to Eric and Mira. Delta and Phi both appear before the group, and young Delta reads Phi's mind and is overloaded by the complexity of their journey.

I have some qualms with this new route, as fun as it is to imagine young Delta playing the game alongside his parents. In this ending, Delta and Phi HAVE to be the babies who are born. I guess this is a problem with ZTD, too. What if different eggs are fertilized? There would be a slim chance, so maybe one branch of timelines works out. But what if there's too many differences in their game due to Delta playing instead of Phi or Phi and Delta sharing the Zero II role? What if a DIFFERENT set of twins are born, or not twins at all? Who would Delta meet in the end? Would there be different espers in his place that would be Delta and Phi's siblings? The series is vague about why in some timelines a person who should not exist in a timeline seems to exist, or I'm misunderstanding it. I guess it's the Schrodinger's Box analogy-- you don't know unless the box is opened. Akane seems to faint and disappear in the bad ends of 999, but she existed briefly in the timeline regardless of if she's dead or alive and affects reality directly. I'm going to say Delta and Phi are experiencing the same thing before they secure their birth under these circumstances.

In the end, my AU version of Delta would get to save Left in some timelines AND have a relationship with his sister! Yippee! Sorry if this is ridiculously convoluted or doesn't completely track, I'm not much of a writer. But I hope you enjoy the drawing and the concept!