#through gritted teeth: know it's for the better

[cameronsprincess]

ᰔᩚ Day Three of Slutmas// Naughty or Nice— R.C

Rafe has to punish you after you act bratty at a Christmas party.

CW: smut! 18+ only! mean!rafe, brat taming, spanking, anal, mirror sex, rafe fishhooks his fingers in your mouth, ends with sweet!rafe.

slutmas masterlist

🎄❤️

“Rafe, ‘m sorry!” You cry out, fighting against the grip he has on your upper arm.

Rafe stops in his tracks, slowly turning to face you. You stop fighting, standing still, swallowing harshly as you meet his darkened over eyes.

“You’re… You’re sorry?! You just— Fuck! Babe, you just fucking embarrassed me! In front of all our friends! Why the fuck did you think it was okay to fucking act out like that? I mean… Jesus, I thought we were past that little bratty act you played when we first met, but I guess you still need to be taught a fucking lesson.”

You open your mouth to speak but Rafe throws his free hand up in the air, letting you know he didn’t want to hear anymore excuses from you. You knew you fucked up, you knew popping off at him and testing at his patience by disobeying him was a mistake, but you were sick of him treating you like a child he could control.

Rafe gets you out to his truck, opening the passenger door and tossing you inside before slamming it shut. The doors lock automatically, and you’re too afraid to attempt escaping. Rafe didn’t scare you, but you knew when he was angry like this, it was best not to push him any further.

The drive back to Tannyhill is uncomfortably silent, and the second you’re in the driveway, your hands grow clammy, shaking as you lace and unlace them together. Rafe throws the truck in park, shutting off the engine and letting out a deep breath. He places both hands on the steering wheel, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turn white as his head hangs between his arms.

“Out.” He demands, not once looking up.

You quickly obey, opening your door and hopping out of the truck. You silently stand outside the car, watching as he gathers himself before he too exits the truck. He rounds the vehicle, reaching you in seconds and gripping your upper arm again, making you cry out from the way his fingers dig into the underside of your arm.

“Rafe! Please… I promise I’ll be-”

Rafe stops at the front door, his keys fisted into his other hand. He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he rolls his neck. “Just… Stop fucking talking, alright? You’ve said and done enough.”

Quickly unlocking the door, he tosses you past the threshold, slamming it shut behind him. He turns to face you, his pretty eyes darkened over, his anger evident in the way his nostrils flare and his jaw ticks. He lets out a slow, calm breath. “Upstairs. Now.” He demands, and the tone of his voice leaves no room for arguing.

You slowly let your head fall, playing with your fingers as you silently make your way up the stairs. Rafe’s heavy breathing can be heard behind you, followed by the loud thump of his feet hitting the stairs with each step he takes. You reach your bedroom door, your sweaty palm reaching out and grasping the handle.

Swallowing the knot in your throat you push the door open, making your way into the dark bedroom and slowly stripping yourself of your dress— the least you could do is make this easier, the less Rafe has to ask of you, the better.

Rafe strolls in behind you, leaving the door wide open as he makes his way toward you. He wraps his arms around your waist, his ringed fingers splaying against your stomach, sending a chill through your body. He buries his face in your neck, inhaling your scent as he runs his nose up the length of your neck. “Such a good girl, already stripped f’me…” He runs his hands up your sides, reaching your chest and cupping at your breasts harshly, pulling a sharp breath from you. “Unfortunately for you, that’s not enough. You embarrassed me, baby… You showed your ass and acted like a fuckin’ brat tonight… So… You know what I have to do.”

You softly nod your head. “I know… ‘M sorry Ra- ahh!”

Your words die, a scream escaping you when he grips your upper arm, his grip bruising as he digs his fingers into your skin. He drags you across the room, forcing you to stop in front of the dresser that sits against the back wall of the room, a large mirror sat on top of it. He pushes you forward, forcing your body to bend over the cold wood. Your fingers grip at the sides, knuckles turning white from how hard you were holding on.

The sound of fabric ripping has you gasping, Rafe pulling your underwear clean off your body and tossing the shredded fabric onto the floor. Goosebumps line your arms and legs as the cool air in the room hits your soaked core and you press your thighs together. Rafe harshly slaps the backs of your thighs, making your head fall forward, a cry of pain and pleasure falling from your parted lips.

“Open your legs, baby, you know how this works.”

You slowly spread your legs, lowering your face down onto the dresser, the cool surface sending chills through your body. Rafe pushes off the dresser, putting some space between the two of you. You hear him open the closet door, the unmistakable sound of his belt being pulled from a hanger fills your ears. You lift your head, meeting Rafe’s eyes in the reflection. He smirks at you as he wraps the leather belt around his hands, slowly making his way toward you.

He steps behind you, slowly unwrapping the belt from his hand and bringing it down, dragging it across your ass. You suck in a sharp breath, body tensing as he continues to drag the leather belt across your skin. Goosebumps prickle across your arms, opening your mouth to speak but only a shrill scream escapes as Rafe lifts the belt, bringing it down to connect with your skin, a loud crack echoing through the room.

“That’s one. Gonna need you to count each one, baby. If you miss one, we start over.”

Tears fill your eyes and you swallow over the knot clogging your throat, mumbling a weak “Yes sir.”

“Good girl.” Rafe rasps, doubling the belt over and snapping it twice before he runs it over the red, sensitive spot on your ass.

Slap! The leather meets your skin again, on the left side this time, and you allow the tears to spill over. “T-Two..” you choke out.

Rafe continues his actions, slapping the leather belt against your ass before soothingly rubbing at the skin. By the time he’s done, your ass is red, raw and sore. Mascara stains your cheeks and your eyes burn, nostrils clogged from how hard you’d been crying.

Tossing the belt to the ground below, Rafe drops to his knees, his hands softly rubbing at your ass, making you hiss in a breath at the sting of his hands on your sore skin. His tongue darts out, licking at the deep red, welted marks left by his belt, his lips leaving soft kisses on the skin before he mumbles, “Look so perfect with your ass marked by my belt…” He places another soft kiss to your sore skin before he rises to his full height, towering behind you.

He wraps a hand in your hair, pulling your tear and mascara stained face off the dresser and forcing your bloodshot eyes on him through the mirror. “Do you think that was enough punishment, baby?”

You swallow thickly, knowing that he doesn’t believe it was. Rafe really believes in getting his point across, and ten slaps to your ass with his belt isn’t enough, so you slowly shake your head ‘no’.

He smiles widely, his eyes shining as he brings his bottom lip between his teeth. “Right answer, such a good girl, aren’t you baby?”

“Y-Yes… Your good girl, Rafe.” You stutter out, giving him your own weak smile.

Rafe releases your hair, letting your head fall forward. You loosen your hold on the dresser, allowing your muscles to relax for a moment as you listen to him remove his clothes behind you. You force your head up, meeting Rafe’s intense gaze through the reflection of the mirror once more, your eyes flitting down and staring at his long, thick cock.

Rafe smirks at you, spitting into the palm of his right hand before he tightly grips his cock, stroking himself as he slowly walks toward you again. The weight of his body presses into your backside, and you inhale sharply through your nose. Rafe continues to stroke his dick, coating his length with his spit before his left hand makes purchase on your hip.

“Relax, or this’ll hurt more than it needs to, baby.” Rafe rasps, pressing the swollen tip of his dick into your tight hole.

A whimper escapes you when his thick head disappears inside you, a low groan leaving Rafe as he places his right hand on your other hip, keeping you still as he slams his hips forward, burying himself inside you.

“Fuck! Rafe, s-so good! You’re so b-big… It hurts…” You whimper, tears spilling down your cheeks as Rafe keeps his hips flush against your ass. He lets out a low grunt, slowly pulling himself out and slamming forward again. Your hips slam against the dresser with each brutal thrust of Rafe’s hips, choked out sobs escaping you as he pounds himself into your ass.

“Takin’ my cock so good baby, my little slut loves when I fuck her ass doesn’t she? I think that’s why you misbehave…” He trails off, running his hands up your sides until he reaches your face. He hooks his index and middle fingers of both hands into the sides of your mouth, pulling tightly, forcing your mouth wide open and forcing your head up, putting your eyes on his through the mirror. “You misbehave because you love being punished… Don’t you, baby? You love when I shove my cock in this tight little ass, you love your ass being spanked raw.”

You try and choke out a response, but the way Rafe’s fingers were hooking into your mouth only had drool running down the sides of your lips. Rafe chuckled darkly, “Awww poor thing, can’t even fucking talk when I got you fish hooked like this. Turned you into a babbling, drooling mess.”

Rafe smirks, a low groan escaping him when he feels your tight ass squeezing at his dick. He pulls his right hand from your mouth, spitting down into his palm and landing a harsh slap against your sensitive skin before he begins pistoning his hips at a brutal pace, the lewd sounds of skin slapping skin bouncing off your bedroom walls.

“That’s it… That’s my girl, I feel your ass squeezing my cock… You gonna cum f’me? You gonna cum just from having your ass fucked, baby?”

More hot tears spill down your cheeks, your mind hazy as you slowly nod your head the best you can. You feel your pussy clenching around nothing while your ass tightens around Rafe’s cock. His thrusts become choppy, hips stuttering as his dick swells inside your ass. You cry out his name as a warm feeling takes over your body. You cum harder than you think you ever have before, and Rafe’s right behind you, dropping his left hand from your mouth and burying his face into the crook of your neck. His teeth sink into your shoulder as he cums inside your ass in long, slow spurts.

Once he comes down from his high, he’s kissing softly at your shoulder, kissing over the teeth marks he’d left in your smooth skin. He slowly pulls his cock from your ass, gently peeling your fingers off the sides of the dresser and lifting you into his arms. He carries you into the bathroom, placing a loving kiss on the top of your head as he whispers, “You know I love you, right? Please don’t make me have to do that again anytime soon… I hate hurting you.”

🎄❤️

tagging some moots: @nemesyaaa @rafeyscurtainbangs @starkeysbabygirl @rafesthroatbaby @starkeysprincess @oceandriveab @rafesbabygirlx @littlelamy @httpsdrewstarkey @drewsephrry @cameronwillow @bloodibambiidoll

[cherryblossomshadow]

@levymcgarden55

That first one is wild geese by Mary Oliver. The whole poem is definitely worth a read.

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University of New Mexico | Reddit

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting— over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

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Apparently, "the best way out is always through," is from Robert Frost's poem, "A Servant to Servants."

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Image descriptions below the cut:

[Image 1 ID: Excerpt from the poem, "wild geese" by Mary Oliver:

You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

/end ID]

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[Image 2 ID: Picture of barefeet barely submerged in a puddle/lakeshore with flowers floating on the water. Text reads:

The Best Way OuT iS Always Through iT No Matter How Hard iT is

/end ID]

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[Image 3 ID: A comment left by robin that reads:

it gets better, i think. maybe just for a day. maybe just for a song. but there's something there to hold on to.

/end ID]

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[Image 4 ID: Picture of worn brown shoes. Text reads:

fuck nihilism all my homies confront the meaninglessness of life as an opportunity for something wonderful and believe in the beauty of creating meaning yourself through relationships and sticking your hands in the dirt

/end ID]

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[Image 5 ID and source: Screenshot of tumblr post by @noonwalkdiary reading:

i was so fucking sad when i was 14 and now when i fold my laundry or see a pool of moonlight on the floor of my bedroom i know that miracles exist. i see love in everything. love sees everything in me too

/end ID]

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[Image 6 ID: Screenshot of a WhatsApp message. Someone texted the user a sunset photo of a coast. Beneath, text reads:

Did u get my vibes man? im thinking we are all going to be okay

/end ID]

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[Image 7 ID and source: Screenshot of a tumblr post from @wuntrum reading:

pioneering something called "gritted teeth optimism" where everything is gonna turn out okay even if i have to bite and claw and gnash my way through it

/end ID]

Did u get my vibes man?

[sarcasm-is-my-form-of-attack]

Impulsivity

Modern Viktor x Fem! Reader

Your chronic pain has you at the end of your rope as you hopelessly search for something to relieve your pain. Help comes from the most unexpected of places: a walgreens at 9:45 pm.

Reader is mentioned to be an art/theater kid and is also disabled like Viktor and suffers from chronic pain. No use of y/n. Also not proofread we die like redacted

Word count: 4.6K

High key inspired by @meownotgood and @gaybybirth because reading their writing made me want to write again. This is the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written and I'm terrified to post it. But I'm being brave! likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! I may make a part 2 depending on how this does. I hope you enjoy!

Pain makes it incredibly hard to think. Even though you're used to it and it's something you feel every day of your life, the burden is still quite heavy. But there is no pity for Atlas, and his shoulders will ache for the rest of time as he holds up the sky without the relief of Tylenol.

So now, you're standing in a Walgreens at 9:42 pm in the pain management aisle, shifting your weight from foot to foot to relieve the pain radiating from your hips to your ankles, trying to pick a topical pain relief gel that will actually work. You've tried most of them here; Bengay, Aspercreme, Biofreeze, Icy Hot, and nothing. Sure, they work for a few weeks but your fucking mutated joke of a body adapts and grows accustomed to whatever you use. The brace you wear on your left knee is itchy and pokes into you through your fleece-lined tights and it's not helping matters.

Giving up on reading the box of Voltaren you're holding, you crouch down to put it back and pick up something else. Your pain-addled brain is piss-poor at making decisions it seems, as the moment you bend, your knee cracks in such a way that a painful heat spreads through your entire body. It was loud too, you know it was. Eyes are staring at you, burning a hole in your head as you wince and grit your teeth against the waves of pain hell-bent on knocking you down.

You feel the urge to collapse, just sit on the floor, and read the labels and boxes there without having to stand, despite how utterly ridiculous you'd look.

"Are you alright?" Your right knee hits the floor as you shift into a kneeling position to look up at the person speaking to you. A long tweed overcoat, a thick red scarf, a cane, nice Oxford shoes, pale skin, worried amber eyes, and tousled brown hair meet your gaze. A man, a very beautiful man is standing a mere three feet from you, eyebrows pinched in concern. You blink a few times, willing yourself to remember how to act like a normal person and not a gobsmacked fool.

"Oh, yeah I uh…" You swallow and gesture wildly to the wall of products, and then visibly deflate "…no there's no way to make a joke out of this. " A laugh slips out, pitiful. You look back up at the man and the corners of his mouth are quirked up at the sides. Thank god, maybe he finds your misfortune endearing.

"They do tend to keep the best products just out of reach, don't they? Nothing at eye level ever seems to be worth your time. Just another cruel joke the health industry plays on the less abled." He looks between the wall of lotions and pills and you, his smile widening.

You smile too, less self-deprecative now and more understanding, "Ah, a fellow health industry hater, amazing. Damn straight, they bleed us dry and expect us to thank them. Greedy schmucks." With one hand on the metal shelf and the strength of your good (better?) knee, you manage to pull yourself into an upright position, even with every nerve in your body screaming at you and your left hip wanting to jump ship, leaving you alone in this sea of agony.

"Just trying to find something that doesn't stop working after a few weeks and also not develop an opioid addiction at the same time." Ah, maybe you could make a few cute jokes that this cuter man will appreciate.

"As one does." He leans both hands on his cane and nods his head conspiratorially. You giggle, you can't help it. Maybe it's the pain-induced delirium or maybe it's because you find the man in front of you incredibly attractive. But who's to say?

"Might I make a recommendation?" His accent is lilting and thick and it feels like every word out of his mouth is wrapped in a velvetine cloth. That metaphor makes no sense, your brain thinks. Shut up, chimes your heart.

"Please. I was about to start considering just chopping off my leg and being done with it." He laughs out loud at that.

"Ah, we've all been there." His attention is pulled back to the shelves and his fingers twitch as he looks for something. He's focused, insanely so, and it makes you feel important, seen. This random stranger, looking for something that will help you with such fervor.

God, it's been a while.

He bends at the waist to grab something off of the second shelf from the bottom and you definitely don't fixate on the way his long fingers curl around a box.

"This is Arnicare. The main ingredient was only legalized here a mere decade ago, it's never failed me thus far." He hands it over to you with a smile. You take it, a little awestruck and make a sincere effort to not freak out over the fact that your fingers brush his own. They're warm, good god.

"Thank you. This is invaluable insider information." You hold the box to your chest in gratitude.

"Of course. Tiger Balm is my favorite but they don't typically sell it in-store due to popular demand. I usually, unfortunately, turn to Amazon to buy it when it's in stock." he continues, putting one hand in his pocket and leaning onto his cane. You nod, making mental notes as you go.

"You are saving my life and my sanity right now. Truly." You pause, and then, with bravery that you didn't know you had-

"I'm (name)." You stick out your right hand, so that way if he chooses to take it, it won't be with the hand using his cane. He stalls for a moment and you fear you've made a horrible fool of yourself, but then he chuckles and shakes your hand gently. You can't get over how warm his hand is, skin soft save for the callouses on his palm and fingertips.

"Viktor. It is nice to meet you." His eyes crinkle as the gentle smile he wears widens.

There's a charged beat where your hands linger a moment longer than what is expected and you laugh it off before letting go. "Sorry, I uh…have been running on far less than the recommended amount of sleep and have been eating meals that do not classify as meals."

"I don't think I have ever gotten the recommended hours of sleep a day in my life."

Your eyebrows shoot up, "Really?"

"Really. I think my blood is 60% espresso at this point. Such is the life of academia." He shrugs as if to say, what can you do?

You look down at the product in your hands, and then back up to him, mind racing in a thousand different directions that all leave you terrified but at the same decision.

"You know, there's a really nice late-night coffee shop in this same shopping complex. Their coffee is the only coffee I confidently drink after 4 pm. Which, is arguably not healthy but, what can you do?" You blurt out, rather impulsively. He's a little shocked, it's clear on his face, but there is still a smile there.

"Are you asking me if I'd like to accompany you to grab coffee at…9:45 pm?" He tilts his head quizzically after checking his watch.

You nod a few times, "Absolutely I am. And maybe it's the fact that my hip hurts so bad and it's prohibiting me from feeling fear but…yeah. Wanna get coffee at 9:45 pm?" He's staring at you incredulously, but it's sweet and amused.

He laughs again, and it's a low, rumbling sound, "I was already planning on getting some kind of caffeine. Sure. I would love to." He's looking at you so intensely, almost like he's studying you. Self-consciousness washes over you suddenly as you realize you've sort of completely derailed whatever he'd been doing.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your shopping or your night…"

He shakes his head as if it were impossible to interrupt, "Interrupt my night? My night full of no plans other than grading papers until my eyes bleed? Alone and without the company of a pretty girl? Ah yes, how dare you come between me and those plans." his tone is playful, sarcastic and the nervousness fades from you as quickly as it came. Your eyes narrow.

"Oh, so he thinks I'm pretty?" You grab your purse from off the ground and start to move backward toward the register, and he follows, adjusting his cane and bag sheepishly.

"He does."

"Good because she thinks he's pretty too." You venture quickly before your brain can catch up with your mouth. It only takes a second for him to catch up with you, strolling through the aisles of a near-desolate Walgreens.

"Lucky him."

The cashier at the counter looks as though they'll fall asleep as they bag your items: the Arnicare and a bottle of dark green nail polish. "I swear I'm not typically this impulsive." You call over your shoulder as the cashier hands you the receipt and you stuff your things into your purse. Viktor walks up and puts his items on the counter - allergy medication and a pack of multicolored pens, presumably for grading - and turns to you while fishing out his wallet.

"Somehow, I highly doubt that." He pauses, thinking over his next words, "Not that being impulsive is a bad thing. I could stand to be more impulsive." It's an apology where there doesn't need to be one.

You shrug, "No offense taken, because you're right. I was...just trying to save face."

"Why?"

"Well…" Why were you trying to save face? "I feel, maybe a professor wouldn't be so inclined to hang out with someone so uninhibited? Some people call me childish." As he takes the small bag from the cashier, you find his eyes again, and they are full of mirth.

"Firstly, not a professor. I'm a PhD student at the University not far from here. We, as TA's, usually get saddled with grading assignments and papers." He walks forward with you, letting you walk through the automated doors first, probably so you can lead the way to the coffee shop.

"Secondly, I disagree. Impulsivity does not automatically equate to childishness. Some people say impulsive, I say driven, or passionate. Spontaneity is life." You stare at him unabashedly as you walk. This man, Viktor, waxing poetic about the benefits of impulsivity on your behalf. He's smart, obviously, but not in a haughty I'm Better Than You way. It's refreshing. And while you may not be a traditional academic, you understand to some level.

The cold bites at your skin, and you regret your decision to forgo a jacket, so you shiver when you tell him, "You're incredibly good at making me feel better about myself. I bet your students love you." He laughs at that - you're noticing that you seem to be quite good at making him laugh - and shakes his head disapprovingly

Then, guilty, "Not when I'm assigning pop quizzes after returning from winter break and calling them out for using AI."

"Ok the AI thing I completely understand, but assigning a pop quiz after a break is just cold on so many levels." College wasn't that cruel to you, but there had been many a quiz that you bombed simply because you hadn't been prepared for them. One or two that immediately followed a break.

The coffee shop comes up quickly and you move to open the door, but he's faster, shifting his bag to his elbow and grabbing the door for you as he quips, "Ah, so I see you would've been one of the students who failed that quiz." He's teasing you, and it's working.

"I can neither confirm nor deny. Although don't look at my freshman year grades. They force the art kids to take two semesters of stats and…it was just a fucking torpedo into my GPA."

"Fair enough." His laugh is quickly starting to become one of your favorite sounds.

The warmth of the dimly lit shop is nice, especially after just being out in the cold. It seeps into your bones and mercifully leeches out some of the pain in your hip.

The shop is small, quaint, and its setup reminds you of a library. Secluded booths and tables with individual lamps on them, bookshelves lining the walls, and everything made out of dark wood. Viktor looks around in awe for a moment, then, "How have I never stumbled onto this place before?"

You mentally pat yourself on the back. It had been a few years ago that you'd found this place. After a bit of an insane night out cut short by a friend getting you kicked out of the bar, you frantically searched for food places open late. This place immediately popped up leading you and your friends to feast on pastries and sandwiches washed down by the most delicious coffee you'd ever had.

"I was just lucky. When you're drunk and hungry, you can find anything." You walk towards the back of the shop, picking out a booth in the corner, "Is this ok?"

Viktor nods, hanging his cane off the table and shrugging out of his jacket. There is a moment where you feel you might keel over right there, but it is through sheer power of will that you remain standing, because holy hell this man is attractive. He's wearing a three-quarter sleeve black turtleneck that clings to his body in a way that's not loose, nor is it skin-tight. You can see the barest hint of something underneath, perhaps a back brace to help with stability. Sitting down in the booth, you try to avert your eyes to no avail, as they roam over the dark brown slacks sitting high on his waist. It's a miracle you're not drooling. Staring down at the red, long sleeve sweater you'd paired with a deep brown skirt, you can't help but think we match.

He sits down slowly, and you recognize the strategy to minimize pain, then folds his hands in front of him. "So, freshman year statistics? I believe you called it a 'fucking torpedo'?"

"Of course you picked up on that."

"Well, you were rather emphatic about it." The smugness is radiating off of him in waves and it stokes the fire in your gut.

Huffing, "Not everyone can be a whiz at math and science. I mean, what are you getting your PhD in?"

It looks like he's biting back a shit eating grin, "Biomedical engineering."

"Oh fuck off."

He releases the hold over the grin he was hiding and you're blinded by it. It absolutely makes sense, in retrospect. His analytical gaze, as if taking things apart in his mind and putting them back together, even just the way he speaks, so sure and confident. Your mouth opens to say something but a waitress decides that moment is a prime opportunity to get your drink orders.

Viktor orders a Turkish coffee and you order a French vanilla iced latte with cinnamon. As the waitress leaves, he wrinkles his nose.

"You call that coffee? It is just sugar. And iced? It's freezing out."

"Oh so first you critique my grade in stats, and now you attack my coffee order? You hate me and want me dead." Your arms fold in front of your chest as you stare at him in mock challenge. His hands shift to rest on his biceps, fingers spreading over the evidently lean muscle there and you fight to keep your breathing steady.

"I retract my statement, I bare you no ill will."

"Yeah you better, me and my sugar coffee will beat the shit out of your boiled coffee grounds." Now it's his turn to raise his eyebrows.

"You mock my drink, a traditional drink from my home country? Now you hate me and want me dead."

A warmth pours over your cheeks and you feel it heat the tips of your ears, all the way down to your shoulders. Something flashes in his gaze that tells you he definitely noticed.

"Touche." It's only a minute more before the waitress returns with your orders, said minute filled with meaningful glances and sitting adjustments on your part, your hip still aches slightly, but it's easier to ignore at this point.

You're mid sip when he fixes you with a stare, hands wrapped around his own drink, and asks, "So I can rule out anything to do with statistics, but what do you do, miss (name)? I believe you referred to yourself as an 'art kid'?"

Ah, the tricky part of explaining what you do to an academic. Not to say you weren't an academic yourself, just…a very different flavor of it.

"Yeah. In college I dual majored in Psychology and Theatre Arts. So I feel like I play both sides of the field, despite how many of the other scientists refuse to recognize psychology as a science." You spit the word as if it were a dagger, still holding a vendetta against your 11th-grade physics teacher who called it a pseudo-science.

"But my real love is Theatre. Whether it be Musicals or Shakespeare, it's my passion. I dialect coach on the side to make extra money, but mostly I love performing." There it was, out in the open. Would he call you foolish? Tell you to get a real career? Get up and leave? Probably not, but anxiety can lead you to places you wouldn't dare venture with a gun.

Pensive, he sits, staring at you with renewed interest, "Your impulsivity must suit you well in that career path, always having to think on ones feet and remain immersed in the moment." You instantly smile again.

"Exactly! There have been so many times when people have forgotten their lines and I've had to come up with something on the fly. It's…exhilarating." There's a certain sparkle that lights up your face whenever you talk about theatre, it's your passion, you can't help it. You only hope it translates.

"I know it must seem silly, pursuing the arts. Hell you're probably going to go on to change the world in a field like 'biomedical engineering'." You muse, leaning your cheek into your hand as you meet his eyes. It flatters him, you can tell, as he shifts in his seat, puffing his chest out slightly in pride.

"While I thank you for your vote of enthusiasm, I do not find it silly to pursue the arts at all."

"You don't?"

"No. I find it inspiring that you are pursuing your dream. I am pursuing mine. We should all chase after what we want." His eyes are thoughtful, kind, and you want to swim in them forever.

A beat, then, "A lot of people have called me stupid. But I can't see myself doing anything else. I know it's cheesy to say, but it feels fated. Like, I'm supposed to be doing this. It's what my atoms traveled billions of years to do." Staring into your cup, you're hit with the intensity of this confession. It's not something you tell to most people.

"And…" he clears his throat, "I think it is the most admirable thing one can do, to follow what you believe your destiny to be." Good god you like this man, you like Viktor. Not just as an infatuation or a crush, you want to get to know him.

"Thank you, Viktor." Another sip of your drink and the sugar spurs you onward, "Do you happen to like theatre? I'm sure an English lit class somewhere forced you to read at least one Shakespeare play. They did always seem to make the STEM kids suffer through classic literature as some sort of revenge for putting us art kids through math." His gaze fixes you to your spot and you find that even if you wanted to, you wouldn't be able to pull away from it. It's hypnotizing and has you pinned with the sheer force of it. You were learning that above all else, Viktor had a quiet intensity to him.

"I have read my fair share of Shakespeare as well as a few greek plays, but I admit, I read them mostly from an analytical standpoint, and not for mere enjoyment or to marvel in the artistry. My favorite would probably have to be Macbeth, though." He takes another sip of his coffee that still has steam curling off the top of it.

You nod approvingly, "A splendid choice. Your aesthetic certainly fits the more tragic, macabre, dramatic plays. Though I could see you enjoying Much Ado About Nothing."

"I…thank you?" Eyebrows pinched in confusion, he laughs.

"No, no it's a compliment! You just have a very…dark acedmia, gothic vibe to you. it…it tracks."

He leans back in his seat, "Gothic?"

"Yeah. it's incredibly attractive don't worry."

…

Wait-

"Incredibly attractive you say?" And he's sipping on his coffee again, watching as that all too familiar flush spreads over your skin again. Damn your mouth.

"You…I…hell-" You sip your coffee in an effort to keep yourself quiet. He's making you bolder, making you feel comfortable, loosening your tongue, beckoning you into the sea like a siren and you're not sure if you'll be able to tread water.

"Hey," his voice is soft, coaxing, "for what it is worth, I too find you incredibly attractive. I'm sorry, I did not mean to make you so flustered." The sincerity in his voice has you reeling. Placing your coffee down, you rubs at your cheeks with your hands.

"Somehow, I find it hard to believe you're that sorry when you seem so pleased with yourself watching me flush." You accuse, somewhat parroting what he said about you denying your impulsivity. Now it's his turn to flush, his pale cheeks turning rosey at having being caught.

A comfortable silence washes over the both of you momentarily as you sit with the confessions that have just been made. Well…it's nice to know that the attraction is mutual. Both of your coffee's were near finished by this point, and there was a part of you that regretted how fast you drank it.

"How is your leg?" He breaks the silence after the waitress returns to take away your empty glasses. You roll your hips slightly, testing the tension and how far the pain radiates.

"Mm, better. Could be worse, it's starting to ebb finally, but I'm still planning on slathering that Arnicare you recommended all over my leg and laying in my bed until the pain finally goes away." You conclude, hoping to God that the Arnicare works as well as he's hyping it up. "Maybe go crazy and light a lavender candle."

He's digging something out of his bag as he responds, "I'm glad it is feeling slightly better. I fully endorse the Arnicare, it has helped me immensely over the years and I trust it will help you too." The waitress returns to drop off the check and it's too late that you realize Viktor had been looking for his wallet as he places money in the little booklet and hands it back to her with a soft, "Keep the change."

You stare at him in mock offense.

"What?"

"Don't what me, you didn't even let me attempt-"

"There was no universe in which I was going to let you pay, so why even entertain it?"

"Let me pay? You are evil." But you're smiling as you slide out of the booth.

"Maybe so." Is all he says as he stands up, readjusting his shirt and grabbing for his coat. Checking your watch, you realize it's 10:45 and you've spent nearly an hour with this man, and yet it feels as though it's only been minutes. Bidding goodnight to the workers, you bothexit the shop and are hit with a blast of cold air.

"Why are you…you did not bring a jacket?" Viktor stares at you as if you've grown another head. "Are you…it is below freezing out!"

You pause, and breathe in the crisp cold air, "I like the cold, it's not so bad, I promise I'm ok." But he's already moving to grab the scarf from around his neck and balance his cane on his arm.

"Viktor-"

"Shush." Your mouth shuts and you let him wind the red scarf around your neck. It smells like him, woody and warm and you know you'll be breathing it in later.

"Bláznivá žena." He murmurs in what you can only assume is his mother tongue.

"Well, that didn't sound very nice." You chide. His hands still as he finishes securing the scarf. Whatever he was about to say dies on his lips as he stares down at you. Despite the freezing air swirling around you, everything suddenly feels warm. And you know how cliche it sounds, but truly, it feels as though the world melts away and you are stuck in this little circle of warmth.

He looks from your eyes to your lips, "Can I-"

"Absolutely." You answer far too quickly. He laughs again, and its lighter than the others, as if a weight has been taken off of his chest and the laugh had been filled with air, just waiting to escape.

He wastes no time in bringing his hands up to your wind bitten cheeks and pulling your lips to his. They're slightly chapped, but warm and sure and soft as he kisses you. Your breath is gone and you realize every cheesy thing you've ever read about kisses is true. It is all encompassing and earth-shattering. If you knew anything about physics you would say that it feels like atoms colliding.

Seconds, minutes, hours, you don't know how long it is before you finally detach. You leave your eyes closed for a few seconds more, basking in the feeling.

"Wow." It's barely a whisper when you finally speak, opening your eyes to find him staring down at you, smiling unabashedly.

"My thoughts, exactly." His hands slips down your shoulders before one of them finds your hand, the other taking his cane as he leads you back to the parking lot. It's nice, just walking hand in hand with him to your cars.

"This is me." You murmur sadly as you come upon your car, parked in the handicapped parking spot. He stops and looks at you in disbelief, and you furrow your brows in confusion. His hand detaches from yours, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his car keys, clicking the unlock button. The car parked directly next to your beeps and unlocks. You'd parked right next to one another and you absolutely lose it, doubling over in laughter.

"Oh my god that is crazy."

"Well, given the fact that we both have handicapped stickers-"

"Nope, shush, let me have this." You turn back to him after catching your breath and hold out your hand, "Let me see your phone."

He obliges, even unlocking it for you before dropping it into your waiting hand. With half numb fingers, you input your phone number and contact info before returning it to him.

"To let you know how well your recommendation works." You smile as you head toward your drivers side door, unlocking it and sliding into the seat so quickly, you leave Viktor stunned. He shakes his head in mock annoyance and walks over to your window, tapping on it until you roll it down.

"Yes?" But he's leaning in and kissing you again, stealing the breath right out of your lungs. When he pulls away, you're left just as stunned as he was.

"Nothing, just wanted to say Goodnight." He walks off, gets into his own car, right next to you, and drives off, all while you're sitting in your car, window still down, and processing what just happened as the cold blasts you.

Wordlessly, you roll up your window and smile uncontrollably.

For the first time in your life, you are thankful for your chronic pain.

[fluffymiyaa]

: ̗̀➛Rude Boy(s) ft. LADS Men

TW : Degradation, rough sex, face fucking, choke, hair pulling, tie up, spanking, brat taming, belly bulge, cockwarming, recording, toxic, dom/sub, brush painting play, gun play, biting, possessiveness, slight exhibition

Synopsis : In which, you having hate sex with them

➤ Neighbour!Xavier x reader

You step out of your apartment, dressed casually in just a T-shirt and shorts, clutching plastic bags full of trash. The air is cool, and the hallway is quiet—except for the sound of someone’s heavy footsteps.

It’s Xavier, your neighbor, stomping towards his door with a stormy expression. His face is marred by fresh bruises, and his hands are bandaged, blood seeping faintly through the wrappings. It’s obvious he’s fresh from a mission—one that didn’t go as planned.

A smirk creeps onto your face as you lean casually against the doorframe.

“My, my… someone looks like they had a rough night.” you say, voice laced with mockery.

Xavier’s dark eyes narrow, his jaw tightening as he stops briefly in his tracks. “I’m not in the mood for this.” he mutters through gritted teeth and continues walking past you.

But you’re not about to let him off that easily. You drop the trash bags to the floor with a loud thud and stride after him, your grin widening.

“Aw, come on. What happened? Did you mess up? Failed the big mission?” you taunt, your voice sing-songy.

He halts abruptly, turning on his heel to face you. His sharp gaze feels like it could cut through steel.

“Say another word,” he growls, his voice low and threatening, “and you’ll regret it.”

The tension in the air is electric, but you’re far too entertained to back down. You cock your head, your smirk unfaltering. “Oh? Really? Then make me.”

In a flash, Xavier closes the gap between you two, slamming you against the wall with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs. His large hand grips your jaw, squeezing your cheeks together just hard enough to make you wince. His face is inches from yours, his voice a deadly whisper.

“You wanna know what a rough night really feels like?” he hisses, his lips curling into a dangerous grin. “Fine. I’ll make it so rough, you won’t even remember your own name.”

That’s how you end up on your knees in his bedroom. Xavier's grip on your hair tightens as he forces your head down, his cock sliding deeper into your throat. The salty taste of his skin mingles with the coppery tang of blood from your split lip. Tears stream down your face, blurring your vision, but you can still see the cruel satisfaction in his eyes.

"Hmm..finally put that mouth in a good use," he growls, his voice thick with sadistic pleasure. "I knew you'd look so pretty choking on my cock."

“Mmphngh!”

You gag and sputter around his thick length, your throat convulsing as you struggle to breathe.

Xavier's hips snap forward, driving himself deeper still. The head of his cock hits the back of your throat, cutting off your air completely. Spots dance in your vision as you claw at his thighs, desperate for relief.

Xavier's fingers tighten in your hair as he groans, his hips stuttering and jerking as he nears his peak. He looks down on your messy face, god you look so hot it makes him wanna cum. His cock throbs against your tongue, the veins pulsing with need.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he pants, his voice ragged. "You better take it all, but don't swallow yet."

His command sends a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and anticipation. You brace yourself, knowing what's coming.

With a guttural moan, Xavier buries himself to the hilt in your throat. His cock pulses as he spills himself inside you, hot and thick. You can feel each spurt hitting the back of your throat, coating your tongue with his essence.

He holds you in place, his grip unyielding, as he rides out his orgasm. Finally, he pulls out, his softening cock slipping from your lips.

"Open up," he demands, his voice low and rough.

You obey, parting your lips to reveal the creamy load pooled on your tongue. His eyes darken with lust as he watches you,

Xavier's eyes darken with lust as he watches you, his spent cock twitching at the sight of his cum glistening on your tongue. He reaches out, his thumb brushing over your swollen lower lip, smearing the pearly drops.

"Such a good girl, taking my cum so well," he praises, his voice a low rumble. "Now, swallow it all down like a good little slut."

You obey, tilting your head back and letting the thick, salty fluid slide down your throat. Xavier's thumb presses against your chin, forcing your mouth closed as you swallow every last drop.

"Good girl." he praised, his other hand tapping your cheek.

Xavier's eyes blaze with a fierce, primal hunger as he hoists you up and tosses you onto the bed. The mattress dips under your weight, the sheets cool against your heated skin.

"We're not done." he growls, his voice a low, dangerous purr.

Before you can even catch your breath, he's on you, his hands ripping at your flimsy t-shirt. Buttons fly everywhere as he bares your chest to his greedy gaze.

"Xavier!" you gasp, arching into his touch. But he doesn't slow down, doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath.

He grabs the torn remnants of your shirt, using the fabric to bind your wrists together. The rough material bites into your skin, the sting only heightening your arousal.

Your shorts are next, yanked down your legs in one swift motion. You try to protest, to tell him to slow down.

“Wait! Slow-!”

He silences you with your own panties, shoving the damp fabric into your mouth.

"What? You said you wanted it rough, didn’t you?”

Xavier's eyes rake over your naked form, his gaze hot and possessive. He spreads your legs wide, exposing your glistening folds to his hungry stare.

"Fuck, look at you," he groans, his fingers delving between your thighs. "So wet already, so ready for me.”

He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, the touch light and teasing. You arch into his hand, desperate for more, craving the pressure and friction that will send you over the edge.

"Stop teasing." you plead, your voice breathy and needy.

But Xavier just shakes his head, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "No."

You whine in frustration, your hips bucking against his hand. But he denies you, his movements maddeningly slow and deliberate.

Suddenly, his palm connects with your clit in a sharp, stinging slap. You yelp, your body jerking at the unexpected sensation.

He pull out your panties from your mouth. Give you a chance to speak.

"Beg for it," he demands, his voice low and commanding. "Say that I'm the best hunter, that I'm better than you."

You furrow your brows, hesitating. The words feel foreign on your tongue, a admission of defeat that you're not ready to make.

Xavier's eyes narrow, a dangerous glint flashing in their blue depths. "Don't want to? Okay, I'll just leave you here all spread out and unsatisfied."

He starts to pull away, but you stop him. “No! Please! W-wait! P-please xavier.. t-touch me.. want you to make me cum.. you're so good.. such a skilled hunter.. you're the best a-and way so much better than me..please…” your voice cracks, desperation and need coloring every word.

The words pour out of you in a rush, a desperate plea for his touch, his attention. You've never felt so vulnerable, so exposed.

He smirks, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. "See? That wasn't so hard."

He shoving you panties back into your mouth.

His fingers find your clit once more, circling the sensitive nub with deliberate, teasing strokes. You moan, your hips rocking against his hand, seeking more friction, more

"That’s it," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with desire. "Let me hear you. Let me feel you.”

He increases the pressure, rubbing your clit in firm, steady circles. At the same time, he slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groans, his fingers pumping in and out of your tight heat. "So hot and ready for me."

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. "I'm going to make you come so hard," he promises, his breath hot against your skin. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk, until all you can think about is my cock inside you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a thrill of anticipation and desire. You've never been talked to like this before, never been so thoroughly claimed and possessed.

Without warning, he’s inside you, his hard length stretching you, filling you in one brutal thrust. You cry out around the gag, your back arching off the bed.

“Ah!”

He sets a punishing pace, pounding into you with reckless abandon. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful thrust.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he pants, his voice rough with need. "So tight, so perfect."

He pulls back, his eyes locking with yours. The intensity in his gaze steals your breath, makes your heart race.

"I'm going to ruin you," he growls, his thrusts growing harder, faster. "Ruin this sweet little cunt until you can't walk straight."

You whimper around the gag, your nails raking down the sheets.

Xavier's fingers dig into the soft flesh of your breasts, kneading and squeezing roughly. He pinches your nipples between his fingers, twisting and tugging until you're gasping and writhing beneath him.

"You said you wanted to know how rough my night was, right?" he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "Let's find out."

He leans down, his teeth closing around one sensitive peak. He bites down, hard enough to make you cry out, before soothing the sting with his tongue.

"Maybe next time I’ll take you there," he murmurs against your skin, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "I’ll fuck you there as we hide from the Wanderers. Let’s see how long you can keep your mouth shut.”

➤ Brat taming!Zayne x brat!reader

Your heels clicked loudly against the polished floor as you walked down the hall, head held high. Every step echoed with confidence, and you could feel the eyes on you—admiring, envious, curious. Flashing a dazzling smile, you tossed a playful wave toward a group of students, then blew a kiss toward a few boys who immediately scrambled to look cool. You chuckled to yourself. Being the most popular girl on campus had its perks.

When you reached the teacher's office, you smoothed your skirt, knocked lightly, and walked in. Mr. Ryo was at his desk, looking up from a pile of papers.

"You called for me, sir?" you asked with a practiced, polite tone.

He sighed, already looking exasperated as he handed you a stack of tests—your tests.

"Explain this." he said sharply.

Your stomach sank as you flipped through them. Red marks dominated every page. "Uh, well, you see... I haven’t been sleeping well because my house is under renov—"

"Save it," he cut you off, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You’re barely scraping by, and if this keeps up, you’ll fail my class."

Your eyes widened in panic. "What? No, I can’t fail! Please, sir, I’ll—"

"That’s why I’ve arranged a tutor for you," he said flatly, cutting off your plea.

You groaned. "A tutor? Come on, I don’t need—"

"He’s already here." Mr. Ruki interrupted, nodding toward the door as it opened.

You turned to see who it was, and your heart dropped. There, leaning casually against the doorframe, was Zayne.

Of all people.

Zayne, your eternal nemesis. You hated him since high school, where he lorded over everyone as the president of the student council. He had a talent for finding flaws in you specifically—your tardiness, your outfits, your general existence. And now, standing there with his arms crossed, he looked just as insufferable as ever.

His sharp eyes flicked over you, unimpressed, before he straightened. "I’m only doing this because Mr. Ryo asked me to," he said, his voice cool and detached. "We’ll start after class. Your place."

"Wait, my place?" you blurted, already bristling.

He raised an eyebrow, ignoring your tone. "Don’t waste my time." he said simply, then turned and walked away as if the conversation was over.

You stood frozen, jaw dropped. How was this your life right now?

"Dismissed." Mr. Ryo said, waving you off.

You left the office in a daze, gripping the stack of papers tightly. Of all the tutors in the world, it had to be Zayne.

"Oh, he's still an asshole." you muttered under your breath.

You spot him standing near the front gate of the campus, waiting with his usual stiff posture. He’s dressed in a crisp white shirt tucked neatly into his plain slacks, his glasses perched perfectly on his nose. Seriously, who even dresses like that these days? Zayne was still the same nerdy, old-fashioned perfectionist he’d always been.

“You’re late." he said as you approached, his tone as cold as ever.

You rolled your eyes, folding your arms. "Sorry." you muttered, not meaning it in the slightest.

He sighed heavily, the disappointment practically radiating off him. "You never change."

"And neither do you," you snapped back. "Look, let’s just cut this short, okay? We both hate this, and we both hate each other. I’ll tell Mr. Ryo that you were useless and told me to screw off. Problem solved. Bye."

You turned on your heel and walked away. He looked at you from behind, adjusting his glasses as his sharp gaze followed you.

"She needs to be disciplined."

Once you step in your room, Somehow, impossibly, you’ve ended up straddling Zayne’s lap, his thick length nestled snugly between your thighs. Skirt up, panties aside.

His fingers dig into your hips as he holds you steady, his hard length throbbing deep inside you. The books lay open on the desk before you.

He grip your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh. His hazel eyes are dark with desire as they take over your form. "I'll give you five minutes to finish your quiz," he growls, voice low and commanding. "Start now."

You shiver at the authority in his tone, a thrill running down your spine. With trembling hands, you reach for your pen, but it's a struggle to focus. The heat of Zayne's cock deep inside you is a constant distraction, making it hard to.

You try to focus, pen hovering over the paper, but it's impossible to think with him filling you so completely. Your walls clench around him, desperate for more, for the friction that will send you spiraling into bliss. But he remains still, a cruel master determined to make you earn your pleasure.

"Three minutes," he growls, his breath hot against your neck. His hips twitch, a teasing promise of what's to come. "Don't make me wait."

You whimper, the sound lost in the rustle of turning pages. The first question swims into view, but the words blur together, meaningless in the face of the exquisite ache building within you. Your hand trembles as you scribble down an answer, praying it's correct.

“Times up.”

The exam paper lies crumpled on the desk, your pen clattering to the floor as you whimper loudly. Zayne moves closer, his hazel eyes scanning the answers you've scribbled down. As he reads, his cock twitches inside you, eliciting a moan from your lips.

"Look at your paper," he clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "Did you really finish high school? How did you even go to college? God, you're still as dumb as ever. What have you been doing all these years?"

You bite your lip, trying to stifle another moan as he pinches your clit. Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more friction against his thick length buried deep within you.

"D-don't be mean, Zayne." you plead, humping against him desperately.

“D-don’t b-be mean, Z-zayne.” He mocked.

He scoffs, grips on your neck tightens, forcing you to meet his piercing gaze. His eyes are dark with lust and frustration, a dangerous combination that sends shivers down your spine.

"This won't do at all," he growls, his voice low and menacing. "You just want to get fucked stupid, don't you? To have your mind completely emptied by my cock until you can't think of anything but the pleasure I give you."

You whimper pathetically, your body trembling under his dominant touch. The degrading words only serve to heighten your arousal, your pussy clenching greedily around his thick shaft.

"Answer me," Zayne demands, his fingers digging into your skin. "Tell me what you want”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but they're not from pain. It's the overwhelming mix of shame and desire that threatens to consume you.

"Y-yes.. please want you to fuck me stupid, zayne.. been waiting for long." You beg.

The cool air hits your exposed skin as Zayne pulls his thick cock out of your dripping pussy, making you whine in protest. He grabs your hips and maneuvers you to the edge of the bed, your ass presented to him like an offering.

SLAP!

His palm connects with your cheek, the sting radiating through your body. You yelp and bury your face in the sheets, your fingers clutching at the fabric.

"And what makes you deserve it?" Zayne asks, his voice cold and demanding.

You can't response, your mind clouded with arousal and the throbbing pain in your ass. He rubs your reddening cheeks, soothing the sting before delivering another sharp spank.

"Ah! Zayne, it hurts!" you cry out, your voice muffled by the sheets.

"You want me to stop?" he asks, his fingers digging into your tender flesh.

"N-no," you whimper, shaking your head frantically. "Please don't stop.."

Zayne's dark chuckle rumbles through his chest as he delivers another stinging spank to your reddened ass. "I knew it," he growls, his fingers digging into your tender flesh. "You're just a pathetic little masochist, aren't you? You crave the pain, the degradation. It's the only way you can get off."

He leans over you, his body pressing against your back as he whispers in your ear. "Now, you better count for me. Maybe if you're being a good little slut, I'll fuck you senseless. But if you miss a number or hesitate, I'll keep spanking you until you can't sit for a week."

His hand hovers over your ass, the threat of another spank hanging in the air. "Start counting.”

You take a shaky breath, your mind racing with anticipation and fear. "O-one." you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper.

SLAP!

His palm connects with your cheek, the pain searing through your body.

"Louder," he commands, his voice cold and demanding. "I want the whole neighborhood to hear what a pathetic slut you are."

You bite your lip, trying to stifle a whimper as you force out the next number. "T-two."

SLAP!

Another spank lands on your reddened flesh, the sting radiating through your body.

Zayne's hand cracks against your ass again and again, the sharp sting of each spank sending jolts of pain and pleasure through your body. You lose track of how many times his palm connects with your reddened flesh, your mind hazing over with the intensity of it all.

"Twenty." you cry out, your voice hoarse and broken.

Zayne pauses, taking a deep breath as he admires his handiwork. His fingers trace over the raised welts on your skin, the heat radiating from your ass. He spreads your cheeks apart, exposing your dripping pussy to his hungry gaze.

"Fuck, look at you," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "So wet for me, even after all that. Aren't you ashamed? Didn't you say you hated me since high school? Now look at you, bent over and taking your punishment like a good little slut.

"I-I hate you!" you whimper, even as your hips push back against his touch.

Zayne chuckles darkly, his fingers rubbing your labia teasingly. His fingers slip easily into your soaked entrance, your body betraying your true desires despite your feeble protests. He pumps them in and out, curling them just right to hit that sensitive spot deep inside you.

"Don't worry, the feeling is mutual." he murmurs, his lips brushing against your back as he presses a tender kiss to your skin.

His fingers move faster, harder, the obscene sound of your arousal filling the room. Your walls clench around him, desperate for more, even as your mind reels from the degrading words falling from his lips.

Just as you about to cum, his fingers slip out of your dripping pussy, replaced by the thick, hard length of his cock. You arch your back with a loud moan, your body stretching to accommodate him.

"Oh! Zayne!" you cry out, your voice echoing off the walls.

He starts fucking you hard and fast, his grip on your hair tightening as he pulls your head back. His other hand presses down on your back, keeping you arched and exposed to his relentless thrusts.

The skin slapping sounds fill the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure. His palm connects with your ass, the sting only heightening your arousal.

"Ahhngh s-so good please please don't stop..!" you beg, your words dissolving into incoherent pleas.

Zayne chuckles darkly, his pace never faltering. "Yeah? Cock drunk already? I barely started, darling.”

He fucks you harder, faster, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. His hand runs to your belly, pressing down on the bulge as he pounds into you. The added pressure makes you scream, your pussy clenching around his cock like a vice.

"Fuck," he groans, his hips snapping forward with brutal force. "I fucking hate you. Fucking hate that short skirt, fucking hate that skimpy outfit, fucking hate your makeup, your attitude. Argh... so fucking hot. Makes me want to fuck you in front of everyone. God, this pussy feels so good."

His words are like a drug, your body responding to the degradation even as your mind reels. You can only moan in response, lost in the haze of pleasure and pain.

"Z-zayne... k-kiss me... please." you manage to gasp out, your voice broken and needy.

Zayne throws his glasses aside, grabbing your face and crushing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, claiming you, owning you.

"Fuck me like you hate me."

➤ Rival!Rafayel x reader

Your footsteps echo through the art exhibition, your eyes scanning the frames on the walls. Each piece is scrutinized in silence, the weight of your judgment unmistakable. You shake your head, disappointment flickering across your face. Sliding your hands into the pockets of your coat, you turn on your heels, ready to leave.

And then you see him.

Rafayel, the owner of the exhibition, stands a few feet away, his sharp gaze cutting through the distance. Anger burns in his eyes.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demands, his voice tight.

You scoff, taking a deliberate step toward him.

"Rafayel," you say, your tone laced with mockery, "have you learned nothing?"

His hands clench into fists at his sides, his body tense as he closes the gap between you.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he growls, his face mere inches from yours.

A smirk tugs at your lips, and you laugh softly, cocky and infuriating. Tilting your head, you deliver the blow.

"Your paintings," you say, gesturing toward the walls with a flick of your hand. "Still as dull as ever."

His jaw tightens, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. You can see him fighting the urge to lash out.

"You don’t know a damn thing." he hisses.

Turning back to the nearest painting, you feign a thoughtful gaze, letting the silence stretch just long enough to unnerve him. Then, almost casually, you speak.

"Have you heard the news? About the plagiarism accusations?"

You don’t need to look at him to feel the storm brewing in his chest.

"I didn’t plagiarize anything," he snaps, his voice low and trembling with restrained fury. "I don’t copy, and I don’t steal."

You let out a low laugh, shaking your head as if pitying him.

"Are you sure about that?" you ask, your smug expression cutting deeper than words.

His teeth grind together audibly.

"I don’t need to prove anything to you."

You shrug, your indifference only stoking the fire in his eyes. Slowly, you start toward the exit, your footsteps deliberate.

"Well," you call over your shoulder, "you’d better get a good lawyer, then."

Before you can leave, he grabs your arm, spinning you back toward him. His grip is desperate, his voice shaking.

"I didn’t do it!" he insists, his eyes pleading for you to believe him—or at least stop.

Your smirk widens as you raise a hand, your fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. He flinches but doesn’t pull away.

"Then you’d better give me a reason not to report you," you say, your voice silky, every word a trap. "What can you do for me, Rafayel? Hmm?"

His breath catches.

"I..." His voice falters, his resolve crumbling under the weight of your gaze. "I’ll do anything."

–

You smirk down at him, your shadow falling over his helpless form as he lies on the bed. His face is flushed, a deep crimson that spreads from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He averts his gaze, his breath shallow and uneven, clearly wrestling with the embarrassment of the situation.

"You look pathetic like this." you say, your tone a mixture of mockery and amusement.

His lips part as if to respond, but no words come. Instead, he turns his head to the side, his fists gripping the sheets beneath him, as though anchoring himself against the storm of emotions threatening to consume him.

"Don’t look away." you command, your voice sharp enough to make him flinch. Slowly, hesitantly, his eyes meet yours, wide and vulnerable.

The sight only fuels your satisfaction. Leaning in, you lower your face closer to his, your smirk widening as you watch him squirm.

"Embarrassed, are we?" you whisper, your words laced with cruel delight.

"I…" he stammers, his voice barely audible.

You chuckle softly, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Reaching out, you trail a finger along his jawline, savoring the way he shivers under your touch.

"Good," you murmur. "Stay just like this. Helpless. Humble."

His breath hitches, and for a moment, it feels as though the world has narrowed to just the two of you—the tension between dominance and submission hanging heavy in the air.

"Do you understand?" you ask, your voice low but firm.

He nods, barely, his pride crumbling under the weight of your gaze.

You slowly take one of the brush paint. Rafayel's eyes widen as he watches you approach, the brush in your hand, a wicked gleam in your eyes. He squirms on the bed, his face flushed with embarrassment and arousal, his hard cock standing proudly against his stomach.

“Mhm.. you’re so sensitive.”

"S-stop teasing.” he whimpers, his hips twitching as you tease the sensitive tip with the soft bristles.

You enjoying the power you hold over him, the way he's at your mercy. "And who said you get to decide?" you purr, your voice low and seductive. "I'm in charge now, and I'm going to take my time with you."

You trail the brush down his length, watching as he shudders and moans, his cock twitching under your touch. "Look at you," you murmur, your eyes roaming over his body, taking in every inch of him. "So hard for me already, so desperate for my touch.”

The brush go lower, teasing his balls, watching as he squirms and moans, his cock twitching and leaking pre-cum.

You trail the pre-cum coated brush over his sensitive skin, his body arching into your touch. He watches, transfixed, as you paint his abs, his nipples, his neck, his face, leaving a glistening trail of his own essence in your wake.

"Fuck," he groans, his voice rough with need. "You're driving me crazy."

He licks his lips as you rub the brush over them, tasting himself, the flavor heady and intoxicating. His eyes meet yours, dark with lust and adoration, his gaze never leaving your face as you admire your handiwork.

"Such a work of art," you murmur, your voice filled with reverence. "My own personal masterpiece.”

You throw away the paintbrush, your hands sliding over his cum-slicked skin. He gasps as you grip his neck, forcing him to meet your piercing gaze, your words hitting him like a punch to the gut.

"I never liked you," you hiss, your voice dripping with venom. "Back in art college, you were so arrogant, so childish. And yet, you always won every competition."

Your other hand flicks and pinches his nipple, making him moan and arch into your touch. "I wonder what people would think if they saw you like this," you mused, your eyes glinting with malice. "So helpless, so desperate under me. Should we show them? Should I record how pathetic you look right now?"

Rafayel's cock twitches at the thought, his body betraying his desire even as he shakes his head, pleading with you. "Please, don't." he begs, his voice hoarse with need.

His breath hitches as your hand drifts lower, your fingers wrapping around his throbbing cock, stroking him slowly, teasingly. "Look at you," you purr, your voice low and seductive. "So hard for me, even as I threaten to expose you."

You squeeze him tighter, your thumb swirling around the sensitive head, smearing the pre-cum that leaks from the tip. "I could ruin you, you know," you whisper, your lips brushing against his ear. "One video, one scandal, and your reputation would be in tatters."

Rafayel whimpers, his hips bucking into your hand, seeking more of your touch. "Please," he begs, his voice breaking. "Don't do this. I'll do anything, be anything you want."

You smirk, your eyes gleaming with triumph. "Anything, huh?" you ask, your hand stilling on his cock. "Even if I want to use you like my own personal toy?”

His eyes widen at the suggestion, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through him. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing as he tries to find his voice.

"Y-yes," he stammers, his cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red. "I'll do anything you want. Use me however you see fit."

He looks up at you, his gaze pleading and desperate, silently begging you to take control, to dominate him completely. "Please," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "I'm yours."

You smirk, your eyes gleaming with triumph and lust. You release his cock, your hand trailing up his body, your nails dragging lightly over his skin.

"Good boy," you purr, your voice low and seductive. "Such a good obedient little toy.”

You take off your bra and panties, crawl on top of him teasingly.

Rafayel's eyes widen as you straddle his face, your bare pussy hovering just inches from his eager mouth. He licks his lips, his tongue darting out to taste you, to savor your essence.

"Make me cum first." you demand, your voice husky with desire. You grip his hair, your nails digging into his scalp as you lower yourself onto his face, your wet heat pressing against his lips.

He moans into you, the vibrations sending shivers through your body. He grips your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you closer, his tongue delving deep into your folds, lapping at your clit, sucking and nibbling until you're writhing above him, your juices coating his face.

You ride him hard, grinding your pussy against his mouth, using his face for your pleasure. "Fuck, yes," you moan, your head thrown back in ecstasy. "Just like that.”

Rafayel's tongue delves deep, lapping at your clit, sucking and nibbling, his lips and teeth and chin all covered in your juices as he devours you. He grips your hips tighter, holding you in place as you grind against his face, using him for your pleasure.

Your hand wanders to look for your phone. Flashing coming up to his face. His eyes widen in shock as the flash of your phone goes off, momentarily blinding him. He squirms beneath you, instinctively trying to pull away from the sudden bright light.

But you press him down harder, your grip on his hair tightening, your thighs clamping around his head. "Stay still," you command, your voice firm. "Keep going, baby. Don't you want to make me cum?"

Rafayel whimpers, his body trembling with a mix of fear and arousal. He knows he's helpless, completely at your mercy, and yet the thought of being recorded, of being exposed, only serves to heighten his desire.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and then dives back in, his tongue lapping at your clit, his lips sealing around it and sucking hard. He can feel you tensing above him, your moans growing louder, more desperate, as he works you closer and closer to the edge.

Rafayel's tongue works feverishly, his lips and teeth and chin all covered in your juices as he devours you, determined to bring you to the edge. He can feel you tensing above him, your thighs quivering, your juices flowing freely as he pushes you closer and closer to the release you so desperately crave.

He doubles his efforts, his tongue flicking rapidly over your clit, his lips sealing around it and sucking hard, his nose pressing against your sensitive bundle of nerves as he breathes in your scent, intoxicated by your taste, your smell, the feel of you against his mouth.

Your moans grow louder, more desperate, your hips bucking wildly against his face as you ride him harder, chasing your release. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, I'm gonna cum," you cry out, your voice raw with need.

You came all over his face. Rafayel's face is drenched in your juices as you pull away, your release coating his lips and chin, dripping down onto his chest. He looks up at you, his eyes glazed with a mix of arousal and embarrassment, his cheeks flushed a deep red.

You smirk down at him, your phone still in hand, the camera trained on his cock as you pump it a few times, making him wince at the sensitivity. "Oh? Did you just cum? Only from me sitting on your face?" you mock, your voice dripping with amusement.

He grunts, his face burning with shame at the realization that he came just from pleasuring you, from the taste and feel of you against his mouth. He looks away, unable to meet your gaze, his cock twitching in your hand.

But then you cup his face, your fingers gentle against his skin as you pull him towards you, your lips meeting in a deep, passionate kiss. Rafayel melts into it, his embarrassment forgotten as he loses himself in the taste of you, in the feel of your lips against his.

When you pull away from the kiss, your lips leaving his with a soft smack. He watches, breathless and aching, as you place your phone on the desk, angling it to capture both of you.

"Just because I'm feeling nice, I'm gonna ride tonight," you purr, your hand still wrapped around his throbbing cock, stroking it slowly, teasingly.

"T-thank you," Rafayel stammers, his voice husky with need. He bucks into your touch, desperate for more, for the feel of you around him.

You position yourself over him, your wet heat hovering just above his tip. Then, with a slow, torturous descent, you sink down onto him, taking him inch by inch into your tight, slick heat.

Rafayel groans, his head falling back against the pillow as you envelop him, your walls clenching around his length. "Fuck, you feel so good," he gasps, his hands flying to your hips, gripping them tightly.

You start to move, rising up until just the tip remains inside you, then sinking back down, taking him deep. Rafayel's hips buck up to meet you, his rhythm matching yours as you ride him hard and fast.

"That's it, baby," he pants, his eyes locked on where you're joined, watching as his cock disappears into your heat over and over again. "Fuck, you're so tight, so perfect."

His hands slide up your body, cupping your breasts, thumbing your nipples as you bounce on his lap. You moan, your head falling back, your hair cascading down your back as you lose yourself in the pleasure.

He leans forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and nipping at the sensitive bud as you ride him.

You grin down at him, your confidence radiating as you lean closer, lowering your head until your lips hover near his ear.

"I’m actually the one who’s been copying you.”

➤ Sylus x thief!reader

You slide your gun back into your pocket, your eyes darting around the sprawling, opulent house. The silence here is unnerving, as if the place has been abandoned, yet something about it feels... wrong. You tiptoe cautiously, the soles of your boots making the faintest of sounds against the polished floor.

Your boss had told you to rob this house, promising a hefty payoff. But now, separated from your partners, the task feels like a trap. The eerie quiet, the pristine state of everything—it’s like no one’s lived here in years.

Still, the sheer luxury of it all tempts you. Your gaze lingers on ornate paintings, golden vases, and intricately crafted furniture. You can't wait to make off with some of it. Before you realize it, your wandering feet lead you to the kitchen.

The darkness here is almost tangible, swallowing everything whole. You fumble forward, your fingers brushing against cold countertops. Suddenly, your hand knocks over something small and glass.

A spice jar tumbles to the floor with a sharp clink.

"Shit, shit!" you whisper, your hands scrambling to pick it up.

Then, without warning, the overhead light flicks on.

"Well, well," a low, amused voice drawls. "What do we have here? A curious little kitten prowling where it shouldn’t be?"

Your heart jumps to your throat as you whirl around. Standing in the doorway is a tall man with stark white hair and piercing eyes. He’s immaculate, like he stepped out of some glossy magazine, but there’s something deeply unnerving about the smirk playing on his lips.

You gulp, your hands trembling as you reach for your gun. "W-who are you?"

He steps closer, the smirk widening. "Me? I’m Sylus, the owner of this house. Just got back from... cleaning up a mess. Some little rats who tried to steal from me."

Your stomach drops. Your partners. They’re gone.

Fear overtakes you, but you steady your grip, pulling the gun free and aiming it square at his chest. "Don’t come any closer."

His expression doesn’t falter. If anything, his smirk grows darker, more mocking. "Oh, kitten," he murmurs, "you don’t want to do that."

"Sorry." you breathe, steeling yourself as you pull the trigger.

Bang!

You flinch, your eyes squeezed shut. When you finally force them open, he’s still standing there. Unharmed.

The bullet didn’t touch him.

"What the hell—" you stammer, panic rising as you pull the trigger again. And again.

Nothing works. He doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he laughs—a cold, menacing sound that echoes through the room.

In a flash, he’s on you, gripping your wrist with an iron strength. Pain shoots through you, forcing the gun to clatter to the floor. He lifts your chin with his free hand, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"I told you," he says, his voice soft but laced with menace. "You didn’t want to do that."

"F-fuck you!" you snap, struggling against his grip. "Let me go!"

He tilts his head, his gaze dragging over your pretty face. There’s an unsettling glint in his eyes, like a predator toying with its prey.

"Hm," he murmurs, his grip tightening. "No. I’ll keep this one.”

—

You're sprawled out on the cold kitchen table, tears streaming down your face as his tongue laps hungrily at your most intimate places. Your wrists are bound with his evol, holding your legs wide open for his feasting. The obscene sounds of his slurping and your desperate moans echo through the house.

"P-please, ahh! No more... too much...!" you beg, voice hoarse from crying out. But he just chuckles darkly, the vibrations sending shivers through your core.

"Mhm... not my fault this is my kitchen. I eat whatever I want. Let me enjoy my meal." he growls, diving back lap at your dripping folds. You arch off the floor, a loud moan tearing from your throat. Gods, if anyone hears...

"Ngghh... fuck you... I hate rich people like you... people like me barely have any meals..." you whimper, even as your hips buck into his face. It's your own fault for trying to rob this place, but what choice did you have? You need to survive.

Sylus pulls back, admiring your glistening body splayed out before him. Your thighs are trembling, your chest heaving with each ragged breath. He licks his lips, savoring your taste.

"People like me, huh? Tell me more, kitten. What do you think about me?" His voice is a low purr, dripping with dark amusement. He trails a clawed finger along your inner thigh, teasing.

You try to think of anything, but your mind is hazy with pleasure. All you can focus on is the heat of his gaze, the promise in his touch. Your body is betraying you, aching for more even as you struggle against the bonds.

"Uh... you... you're annoyingly rich... but ahh... you're so hot... mhh..." The words slip out between moans as you rub your thighs together, seeking friction. It's clear he's getting to you, driving you crazy with need.

He chuckles darkly, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Is that so? And yet here you are, spread out like a feast just for me. I wonder... do you really hate me? Or do you crave the forbidden thrill of being at the mercy of someone like me?"

Sylus’ clawed hands trails up your thigh, sharp nails lightly scraping your sensitive skin. He can feel you trembling, feel the heat radiating off your body. Your arousal is intoxicating, a heady scent that fills his senses.

"I could give you everything you've ever wanted, kitten. All you have to do is ask nicely." He nips at your earlobe, soothing the sting with his tongue. "Or maybe you'd prefer I take it? I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”

His hand slides up your body, cupping your breast and squeezing roughly. He pinches your nipple between his fingers, rolling and tugging until you're arching into his touch with a desperate whine. Your body is so responsive, so eager for his touch even as you try to resist.

"Mhm..i could eat you whole up y’know.." he purrs, his voice a dark promise. He leans down, capturing your nipple between his lips and sucking hard. The sensation sends sparks of pleasure-pain shooting through you, making you gasp and writhe beneath him.

His free hand continues its teasing exploration of your body, dipping between your thighs to circle your clit. You're so wet, so ready for him. He can feel it in the way your hips buck against his touch, seeking more.

"Look at you, so desperate for my cock." he growls, releasing your nipple with a wet pop. He sits back on his heels, admiring the wanton picture you make - bound and spread out, flushed and panting with need.

Sylus smirks, an idea forming in his twisted mind. He pulls away from you, his gaze roaming the kitchen floor as if searching for something. Then he spots it - your gun, lying forgotten on the floor. He picks it up, turning it over in his hands with a wicked gleam in his eye.

"You remember this?" he asks, holding it up for you to see. Your eyes widen in fear and you gulp, shaking your head frantically.

"No, no, please don't kill me-" you beg, your voice trembling. But he just laughs, a dark, cruel sound that sends shivers down your spine.

"Shh... I won't kill you, kitten. I've decided to keep you instead. But let's make this more interesting, shall we?" He slides the gun up your body, making you flinch and squirm. He stops when the barrel is pressed against your lips.

"Open up." he commands, his voice brooking no argument. You have no choice but to comply, parting your lips.

He pushes the gun deeper into your mouth, watching with sadistic glee as you gag and choke around it. Tears stream down your face as you struggle to breathe, your body writhing in panic. But he just smirks, enjoying your distress.

"That's it, kitten. Take it all." he purrs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. He holds the gun in place for a long moment before finally pulling it out. Strings of saliva connect your lips to the barrel, a degrading reminder of what he's just made you do.

He trails the gun down your body, over your heaving breasts and quivering stomach, until he reaches the apex of your thighs. Your pussy is dripping with arousal, a fact that doesn't escape his notice.

"Look at you, so wet and ready," he taunts, rubbing the gun against your clit. You cry out, your hips bucking involuntarily into the touch. The sensation is strange but not entirely unpleasant, the cold metal a stark contrast to your heated flesh.

He continues to tease your clit with the gun. Your hips writhe and buck, seeking more of the strange sensation even as your mind rebels at the degradation of it all.

"You're such a filthy slut, getting off on having a gun shoved in your mouth and rubbed on your cunt, knowing it could kill you anytime." he growls, his voice thick with lust. He slides the barrel lower, pressing it against your entrance. Your eyes widen in fear and anticipation, your body tensing as he begins to push it inside.

"Oh god!" you cry out as the cold metal breaches your hot, slick flesh. The sensation is intense, bordering on painful, but there's an undeniable thrill to it as well. He works the gun in and out, fucking you with it in shallow thrusts that have you seeing stars.

He continues to fuck you with the gun, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain through your body. Your pussy clenches around the cold metal, trying to draw it deeper even as your mind screams at the wrongness of it all. He leans over you, his body caging you in as he drives the gun in harder, faster.

"That's it, kitten. Take it all. Take every fucking inch." he growls, his voice a dark promise. His free hand releases your nipple to trail down your body, fingers dancing over your skin like a promise of more to come. He reaches your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight, fast circles that have you keening and thrashing beneath him.

The dual stimulation is too much, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. Your body tenses, your muscles coiling tight as the pressure builds to an unbearable crescendo. You're so close, teetering on the brink of something huge and terrifying and utterly inevitable.

"Fuck, I can feel you tightening up.”

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, "Come for me, kitten. Let me feel you come undone on your gun." His fingers work your clit with ruthless precision, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your body tenses, your muscles coiling tight as the pressure builds to an unbearable crescendo. You're so close, teetering on the brink of something huge and terrifying and utterly inevitable.

With a final, brutal thrust of the gun, he sends you careening over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your pussy clenching and fluttering around the cold metal as wave after wave of ecstasy washes through you.

“Ahhhh!!”

You scream, your voice raw and ragged, as the intensity of your climax overwhelms you.

He brings the gun to his lips, licking your essence from the barrel with a wicked grin. The taste of your arousal mingles with the metallic tang of the gun, a heady combination that makes his cock throb with need.

"Delicious." he purrs, his eyes glinting with dark satisfaction. He sets the gun aside, his attention now fully focused on your quivering, spent form. He trails his fingers up your thighs, his touch feather-light and teasing.

"But we're far from done, kitten. I'm going to fuck you now, hard and deep, until you can't even remember your own name. Until the only thing you know is the feel of my cock splitting you open and the sound of my voice commanding you to come."

He positions himself between your legs, the thick head of his cock nudging against your sensitive, swollen flesh. You whimper, your body already tensing in anticipation of the intrusion. He chuckles darkly, enjoying your reaction.

"Shh, just relax and take it like a good little slut. This is what you're made for, after all. To be used and filled and fucked until you can't take anymore."

With those words, he thrusts forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. You cry out, your back arching off the table as he stretches you wide around his thick length. The burn of the intrusion is intense, your body struggling to accommodate his size.

"Fuck, you're so tight." he groans, his hips grinding against yours. He gives you a moment to adjust before he starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in. He sets a punishing pace, his cock pistoning in and out of your dripping cunt with ruthless efficiency.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room as he pounds into you with wild abandon. His cock stretches you wide, the thick length hitting depths you didn't know you had. Each thrust sends jolts of pleasure-pain through your body, your nerves singing with the intensity of it all.

“Ahhh Sy-sylus! P-please ahh..! S-so good!”

Sylus pounds into you relentlessly, each thrust driving you harder against the table. His claws dig into your hips, leaving crescent-shaped marks in their wake. You can feel every ridge and vein of his thick cock as he stretches you, claiming you as his own.

He leans over you, his body caging you in as he drives into you harder, faster. His teeth find your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin until you're sure you'll be marked for days. The thought sends a thrill through you, the idea of bearing his claim for all to see.

"Yeah... you're mine now. All mine," he said, his voice low and possessive. His eyes burned into yours, unrelenting. "No matter how much you hate it, I'm going to keep you here. Forever."

Before you could respond, he grabbed the back of your neck and crashed his lips onto yours. The kiss was rough, messy, and unapologetic, leaving you breathless and furious all at once.

When he pulled back, his smirk returned.

"That means I'll take care of you. Feed you. Buy you whatever you want. Take you anywhere you dream of going." he murmured, his tone deceptively sweet.

His grip tightened slightly, holding you in place. "I'll spoil you, treat you better than anyone ever could. But you're not leaving. Not now, not ever.”

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[zhongrin]

cw. gn!reader, hurt/comfort, self-indulgent, not proofread, vent drabble (550+ words)

“why were you crying?”

the smooth voice starkly painted with vivid worry, followed by a pair of scarred arms wrapping around your shoulders, pulls you out of your thoughts. throughout the bleak, weak ray of the morning sun partly hidden behind clouds outside the window of your shared home, lighter stands as your anchor and pillar, his presence as comforting as the gentle embrace of a crackling hearth.

your eyes are streaked with the color he can’t see, the adjacent skin visibly puffy — but he will never be blind to the way your gaze radiates a withering tiredness.

lighter is used to bleeding out, gritting his teeth amidst excruciating pain, standing back up bruised and beaten. he has experienced far too much mental anguishes and crushed psyche. yet seeing your crystalline tears hurt just as ��� if not more — bitterly.

“i miss home,” your voice croaks and breaks.

home. the word brings both pain and comfort to him, and now he realizes it seems that you, too, share this sentiment.

his heart drops at the fervent yet solemn longing in your voice. hearing those words falling from your lips felt like he was utterly failing you, that he was doing something wrong. was the home you both created not enough? have you finally realized how you could have done better? have you gotten tired of him— he quickly pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind. this is no time for self-deprecation, and he knows his head could go into the extremes when it comes to people he loved.

right now, you were the one who needed reassurance and comfort.

“hey...,” he sighs, soothingly rubbing your arms as he hugs you tighter, mimicking the way you would do the same whenever he allowed himself to be vulnerable and seek your solace, “everything’s gonna be alright, sweetheart.”

your beloved lets you turn around and wordlessly cradles your form close, momentarily thankful that he wasn’t wearing his usual fit. you’re doing a really fine job of silently crying in his arms, but the dampening stain on his night shirt tells him all he needs to know, and he opts to pat your back empathetically. he’d hold you for hours if he has to. so he waits — at least until you finished pouring out your emotions.

“let’s go back inside so i can make you a cup of hot chocolate, okay? and if you feel like talking it out, i’ll listen to everything as we cuddle. how’s that sound?” he whispers as you started sniffling and wiping your tear tracks. his touch is reverent as he pulls your hands away to gently wipe your flushed cheeks, a total contrast to the hands of a fighter.

the moment you nod, he wastes no time to lace his fingers through yours, the hold loose enough for you to withdraw should you wish to, but tight enough to silently tell you that he’s not going to leave unless you ask him to. the same hand begins to pull you towards your humble shared house. house, only because he’s holding the one who gave meaning to the word home in his hand right now.

some wounds may never fully heal, but that’s alright; because this time, you have each other’s scars to kiss and appreciate.

[5-puthyyy]

The Apprentice (Agatha x Rio x Reader) - Chapter 7

AO3 LINK

Word Count: 7.7k

Summary:

Life has been about survival for you ever since your coven banished you for the simplest thing: desire. Since then, you've travelled from Inn to Inn, making ends meet, until you sense a powerful Magick presence coming from two mysterious women. They take you in as their apprentice and you end up learning far more than what you came for...

CHAPTER WARNINGS! -- (18+ ONLY) SEXUAL CONTENT + STRAPON + CHOKING + SQUIRTING? + MAMA KINK

A/N -- this chapter is 7778 words of pure smut and filth, and this entire series is my ted talk on why p/w/plot is better xoxo

Ch.1 ~ Ch.2 ~ Ch.3 ~ Ch.4 ~ Ch.5 ~ Ch.6 ~ Ch.7

Before your lips even touch, Agatha’s throat lets the softest of sighs escape and you absolutely melt at the sound; melt into her lips, her body, her arms. The moment it happens, you realise how royally screwed you are because kissing Agatha is addictive. It’s narcotic, ridiculously hot, and invading in a way that makes you want to surrender every atom of yourself to her. So you do.

It’s soft at first, Agatha letting you take, test the waters, experiment however you’d like. You kiss her gently, brushing your lips against hers as you switch between her lower and upper lips trying to get a taste of everything you can. Her lip moves with yours, sucking every second or so to pull you in. It’s sensual the way you dance with each other, Agatha letting you in the instant your tongue experimentally swipes over her bottom lip.

You lost track of time getting lost in her this way, mouths in a slow dance, sucking on her tongue a few times after memorising the whiney moan it elicits from her throat. When you finally pull back with hooded eyes darkened with desire, you see it reflected in Agatha’s eyes too. It’s wet when you pull apart, a string connecting your lips together still. The thrill shining in Agatha’s eyes shines in yours when you realise how much this affected her too.

A throat clears to your side and your head snaps to the sound. “Excuse me?” Rio scoffs, feigning her anger. A ball forms in your throat as dread sinks down to your stomach. You forgot to ask. You didn’t ask at all, asking would have been ridiculous in your head. Who asks if they could kindly kiss a person’s partner?

“I–I’m so sorry, Gosh, I don’t–”

Rio interrupts your rambling with a chuckle, her gaze darkening from anger to…to lust. “Oh, sweetheart. Don’t you know it’s rude not to share?” Rio teases with an easy smirk, poofing that fear in your stomach away. Agatha feels the relief in your body as she reaches a hand around your waist, her face slithering between your neck. But she doesn’t get a chance to kiss it yet because Rio’s snapping her fingers and you’re suddenly wrapped in a green rope and dragged off the chair.

“Oh, jealousy is not a good look on you, my love,” Agatha says through gritted teeth, clearly frustrated at you being taken from her. But you’re suddenly too occupied being in Rio’s space. You stumble to stability with a gasp, standing right in front of her with your knees pressed to hers.

Rio smirks up at you, her brown eyes filled with mischief. “Well?” she lifts a brow expectantly, glancing down to her lap. She’s sat on a smaller chair and there’s clearly no room for you to sit other than directly on her. 

But this time, you turn back to look at Agatha, just to make sure this is okay. Before she can nod her head, a rough hand grips your jaw and forces your face back harshly.

You gasp and Rio grins wickedly, all teeth. “Eyes on me.”

While Agatha is all soft and sensual, Rio is pure chaos, pulling you onto her lap with urgency not caring if you stumble a little. Your hands fall to her shoulders, gripping tightly for stability and Rio, the maniac, moans at your rough touch. She closes the gap, attacking your lips with her own. You gasp and she takes that opportunity to slip her tongue in, not asking for dominance but simply taking. 

She kisses you as if she owns you, doing what she wants to do with no questions asked, and she knows you like it. You’re sure Agatha knows you like it too by the needy whimpers you can’t help but let out. Rio’s hand roams and grips around your waist while the other leaves your jaw just to hold the back of your neck. It keeps you close to her, wrapped up in her, wanting to smell, taste, feel nothing but her. And Agatha.

At the realisation, you pull back quickly. “Wait, stop,” you call out, stumbling as you slip off her lap. They both watch you for a moment, observing as you open your mouth and close it, unsure of what you even want to say. What are we doing? What does this mean? Is this not wrong? “I’m confused,” is what you end up settling on.

Agatha sighs as she stands up. She gently guides you to take her place and you sit back, tense and anxious and filled with so much desire you can’t help but feel wrong when that’s what you’ve been told your entire life. Rio comes up behind you, her fingertips glazing over your shoulders before digging in gently. You moan instantly at the relief and she takes that as a sign to continue, using her fingers in ways you’ve never felt before to ease the tension out of your body.

“What are you confused about?” Agatha asks, settling in front of you. You try to move your legs up and press your knees to your chest just to give her space, but she holds onto your ankles. She places your legs over her lap, her fingers now doing the same as Rio but to the muscles in your calves.

“God,” you groan out at the feeling of both their hands on you. Rio lets you close your eyes a moment to relish it, but within seconds she snaps her fingers, forcing them back open. 

Rio’s finger traces your jawline for a moment before gripping, forcing your head down to meet Agatha’s intense gaze. “Agatha asked you a question, sweetheart.”

A stutter slips out of your lips for a moment before you collect yourself. But your collected words end up being rambles anyway. “I don’t understand what is happening. Do you not think I’m ruining your relationship? Why do you want me? Is this not…wrong?” you ask, your mind going back to the argument and Agatha yelling at you for not being able to control your desire. 

Agatha’s expression scrunches into something between frustration and sympathy, her hands stilling for a moment against your skin. She seems torn, unsure of what to say, or how to answer your questions. She hadn’t expected it, rather thought you’d give in the moment your lips touched. She nods her head towards Rio who begins massaging your shoulders again to ease your nerves.

“We were not upset with you because of your desires,” Agatha begins, carefully choosing her words, “We were…frustrated because you seemed to want her, more than you wanted us.”

Your brows pinch together in realisation. They were jealous. They’ve wanted you all this time and you were just too blind and insecure to see it. But instead of telling you in the moment, they decided to build your confidence up and make you see it for yourself, make you want it enough to push your insecurities away. A soft, grateful look passes in your eyes as Agatha looks at you with tenderness and hope in hers. Leaning down to tug at her hand, you give your permission for her to climb on top of you, her arms falling over your shoulders. Her gaze is hot, soft, filled with want, and a mischief similar to Rio’s. She leans down for a moment, her breath hot against your lips, but instead of kissing you she pulls back, leans up and meets Rio’s lips in a hot, rough, and messy kiss. 

You can only manage to watch them for a moment before your hips start grinding up seeking friction. A desperate whine escapes your lips, wanting the attention, wanting their lips on you, anywhere, everywhere.

Blue eyes come back into your vision once they break apart, and Agatha comes down to give you a wet kiss and you moan into her mouth as you taste Rio on her lips. It’s almost too much, you think, to have Agatha kissing you with passion and fire, while Rio’s lips have found their way to the side of your neck. But you realise it’s not too much, it’s simply your excitement. In fact, it’s not enough; you need more.

“More,” you pant as you pull back, your teeth biting Agatha’s bottom lip in a demanding manner, “Need more, please,” you moan, desire clouding your mind as Agatha’s roaming hands tugging on your night clothes drives you crazy.

Rio chuckles into your ear, her hand slithering to lightly press against your neck. You gasp into her touch, arching, nails digging into Agatha’s back as she kisses across your collarbone. They’ve both mastered that balance between tender and rough, keeping you on the edge waiting for you to beg for it. And you’re more than willing to do so.

“Please,” you breathe out.

Agatha groans in response, forcefully moving Rio’s hand from your throat just so she can roughly bite, suck, lick at your neck, successfully staking her claim. Rio smirks at Agatha’s possessiveness, deciding to retaliate by fisting your hair and tugging your head back; she leans down and kisses you aggressively, tongue forcing its way past your lips and claiming every inch of your mouth. It’s rough, messy, dirty, a clash of teeth, tongue, lips; you can’t control the moans leaving your throat and Rio happily swallows them down.

When Agatha decides to give your neck some mercy, she smirks down at her work. Your neck is painted in all shades of red, purple, blue; she trails her fingertips along the patterns, slithering her hand down until she reaches low on your stomach. You gasp into Rio’s kiss, your hand gripping Agatha’s waist, silently begging for her to touch you there, to cross over that line, to let you give in to your pleasures. But her hand stays right there, slipping under your shirt to lightly circle your skin.

A groan slips out your lips as you pull back from Rio for a moment. “Agatha,” you complain, as she slides her hand further up instead of down to where you need it most. Her wicked eyes tease as they look up at you but you look down with a pout, brows furrowed and eyes almost tear-filled. The desire is too much, overwhelming you with a need that can only be filled by them. It’s all too soft, too slow; you need more.

Agatha sees the primal hunger in your eyes, and paired with that pout she could never resist, Agatha gives in. “Bedroom.”

It’s a single command, not for you but for Rio who nods and lets go of your hair. She slides by the side of the chair as Agatha slips off of you, and Rio pulls you into her arms. You yelp at the quick movement, gripping onto her bicep as she lifts you with ease, manhandling you until your legs are wrapped around her waist, arms around her neck.

“Hold tight,” she teases, pecking your lips before you all disappear in a green smoke. Your hands stay gripping the back of her neck as you all reappear in their bedroom. 

“We could have walked,” you roll your eyes jokingly. Rio lifts a brow at the brattiness in your tone, clenching her jaw before slamming her lips to yours. Her teeth bite at your bottom lip hard enough for you to whimper and dig your nails into her neck. Unsurprisingly, she groans at the pain mixed with pleasure, gently laying you on the bed without breaking the kiss.

Grinding up against her like this feels heavenly, your thighs keeping her in place as hers rests between your legs. The pressure is perfect, hard and solid against your core letting you seek that friction. Rio pulls back from the kiss just to rip your thin nightshirt off. You gasp at the strength, instinctively wanting to cover your naked chest but Rio’s hands grip your wrists, pinning them to the side. She looks down at you with wide, hungry eyes, her gaze dark and possessive as she gives in to temptation by diving down and sucking a peaked nipple into her mouth.

“Oh, fuck, Rio, yes,” you hiss, moan, whimper at her relentless roughness, arching your chest into her mouth. Suddenly there’s a hot tongue against your other nipple that has you gasping, whining, and finally snapping your eyes open to look down. Agatha has taken your other breast, both of them now looking up at you with devastatingly beautiful eyes darkened by desire. The sight paired with the pressure between your legs is almost too much already.

The contrast of their touches – Rio rough and Agatha tender – has your mind spinning, hands coming down to press against both their heads. You’re unsure what you want more, which touch drives you crazier, but eventually you realise you don’t care at all; you just want them, in whatever form they’ll let you have them. Agatha kisses up your body to your lips, smiling against them as you moan immediately at the first touch of her mouth against yours.

“Eager?” she whispers as she pulls back, then in, and back, her soft, wet kisses driving you to insanity. You nod like a lust-driven maniac, slamming your lips to hers, falling into her as Rio replaces Agatha’s mouth with a hand to your other breast. Her tongue stays at your nipple, circling, flicking, pressing hard against it until you’re arching and writhing against her touch.

“Ugh, God, I need…” you stop yourself, suddenly shy, averting your gaze from Agatha’s knowing one. 

The blue-eyed witch tilts your head back to her with her finger. “What do you need from us, little dove?” she whispers, demanding your honesty. Not just with them, but with yourself. 

You gather up that last bit of courage. “I need you to touch me.”

Agatha chuckles, low and dark, her tongue swiping your bottom lip before sucking it into her mouth to coax another moan out of you. “We are touching you.”

Rio moans in agreement from her position, elaborating with a rough squeeze of your chest. But it’s not enough. The heat and fire between your legs need to be put out. They try to search for that friction from Rio’s thigh but it’s not enough, not now that you’ve tasted them, now that you’ve felt the pleasure you can get from their mouths, their hands, from those intense gazes. A flash of Rio’s head between your thighs takes over your mind for a moment, Agatha’s hips grinding against your stomach before climbing up to your face. The image has you squirming, writhing, the wetness now uncomfortable. 

“Please, I need you to take me,” you finally whine out and see the immediate effect on the women on top of you. Agatha’s breath hitches as Rio’s rough ministrations freeze for a split second. You take that as a sign and spill the rest out with ease, “Claim me, use me, fuck me.”

The tension in the room reaches its peak, silence following your desperately honest words. The pants Agatha’s letting out near your ear are warm, doing nothing to calm the heat between your squirming legs. There’s barely any movement at your chest, Rio’s mouth long gone as she looks up at you with a clenched jaw, clearly trying to control herself. But she can’t. 

A sound akin to an animal growling escapes Rio’s throat, croaky and dark, and she rests a hand by your hip to push herself up. Agatha doesn’t want to get in the way of a predator, so she slides off and instead settles behind you, watching over with a smirk as you gulp, wide-eyed and terrifyingly wanting more. Agatha’s hands hold yours back, keeping you locked in your place for Rio to do as she pleases.

“Is this what you wanted?” Rio’s tone is dripping with control, power, and hunger. Her eyes darker, the warm brown a deeper shade mixed with black, but still wide and as honest as ever. Something you’ve learnt about Rio is she never lies, never hides; it’s almost as if she doesn’t have the ability to do so because her eyes are so expressive. And right now, they’re screaming for you.

“Yes, please,” you whimper as she growls again, this time pairing it with eager hands tugging at your pants until nothing is left but your naked skin. It’s vulnerable, raw and you, and, again, part of you wishes to hide it all away but the way Rio’s eyes widen slightly, tongue peaking out to lick at her lower lip in hunger has your thighs opening up wider for her. It’s almost subconscious how your body reacts to her.

Agatha hums a soft, “Good girl,” behind you, nipping at your ear as she says so. Her hand creeps around to your chest, fingers pressing gently, experimentally, seeing what you like best.

A firm but warm touch on your inner thighs draws your attention back to Rio whose fingers are trailing higher and higher. You’re breathing faster by the second, practically a panting, waiting mess by the time Rio’s fingers finally slide through your folds. It’s a touch, a brush, really, but it still has you moaning, throwing your head back to rest against Agatha’s shoulder. The witch takes the opportunity to kiss your neck, happily marking whatever clear skin you have left.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Rio mutters almost mockingly, pouting up at you, “Have we been neglecting you that long?” she teases, “You’re soaked, baby,” she observes in awe before sliding through your slit again, gathering your wetness on her fingers. But before she gets a taste, she reaches up. Your mouth opens up instinctively and Rio grins wickedly at your obedience, but she passes by you and instead offers her glistening fingertips to Agatha.

The blue-eyed witch hums in appreciation, flicking her tongue out for a taste. The moan she lets out permanently imprints itself into your head; you’re seemingly addictive enough for her to wrap her lips around Rio’s fingers, eagerly sucking and licking every drop she can. The act itself is enough to have you whimpering and grinding your hips upwards, trying to bring Rio’s attention back to your aching, swollen cunt. That’s all it took, which doesn’t surprise you given the way she’s been looking at you.

“Fuck,” you groan, drawn out and guttural as Rio’s tongue suddenly invades your warm, swiping up your slit to your clit, circling it teasingly, “Please,” you easily beg, trying to pull your hands down to tug at her hair but Agatha’s hands come back to hold your wrists in place.

You can feel the smirk on Rio’s lips against your lower ones, but she doesn’t seem in a teasing mood after getting a taste. No, she looks like she’ll do anything to absolutely devour you and nothing will stand in her way. She circles around your clit once, twice, and then finally presses her tongue flat against it, giving you the perfect surface to roll your hips against.

The pleasure takes over and you grind your hips without a hint of shame, chasing your high. Her tongue is firm and warm against you; Agatha’s fingers suddenly flicking at your nipples only adds to your pleasure. They’re eerily silent as you use Rio’s tongue, wanting to memorise every sound that comes out of your mouth; a high-pitched moan as Agatha pinches your nipples curiously, a whimper as you grind fast enough for the tip of Rio’s tongue to probe at your entrance, a groan as Rio’s hands find their way to your ass to dig her fingers into.

Agatha’s shaky breath behind you makes you wonder if this is also too much for them, if they’re just as affected by you in all of this, if they’re struggling to come to terms with the fact that they can finally have you like this. Just as Rio’s tongue takes back control and slides right past your leaking walls, Agatha attaches her lips back to yours, eagerly swallowing your surprised moan, which only grows louder when you realise you can taste yourself on Agatha’s tongue.

“Look at you, my little dove,” Agatha whispers against your lips, her eyes lidded and voice so incredibly raspy it sends shivers down your arched spine, “Look at you,” she says again, this time breaking your gaze with a hand at your neck, forcing your face down to Rio’s eyes.

Your breath hitches at the intensity in them, the hunger and possessiveness as she looks up at you. When your eyes meet, she growls into your cunt, holding your legs further apart so she can dive her tongue in even deeper. It expertly slithers, twists and turns and curls with precision, as if Rio knows exactly how to drive you to insanity.

It won’t take much longer, you know it, they know it. But it definitely doesn’t matter because they will be nowhere near done with you after you reach your first climax. Rio’s tongue continues thrusting in and out, your wetness clearly coating her nose, her chin, your own thighs. This is what Agatha meant. Look at your mess. It’s beautiful.

You sigh deeply, body relaxing into Agatha’s as you throw your head back again, seeking her lips. She gives them to you with a soft, tender smile, letting you kiss her gently. It’s all surprisingly soft and intimate, the way you exchange quick pecks, your tongues coming out to shyly meet. The way Agatha’s hand strays, coming up to rest tenderly against your cheek. Before you know it, her other hand sneaks down your body and suddenly presses against your throbbing clit. You gasp into her, arching your back as you run up that cliff faster and faster. 

The tension in you coils, your hands finally coming down to grip Rio’s wild locks. Her eyes encourage it, flashing with approval and you tug and tug until she’s moaning between your throbbing walls, the vibrations sending a shiver through you. It doesn’t take a moment longer as Agatha’s fingers rub firmly, her teeth biting down hard into your neck with a growl, a silent statement screaming mine echoing in your head. With a final arch, you freeze, tense and overcome with pleasure. It rushes through you, Rio’s tongue and Agatha’s fingertips not stopping for a single moment to allow you to breathe. A strangled cry escapes as you finally fall off that cliff and all you hear is white noise, all you see is darkness as your eyes shut tight, and all you can feel is them. All over you, all inside you, taking over who you are until they are all you know.

When Rio’s tongue finally slides out, you sigh a strange sound of both happiness and disappointment. You wish for her to stay but you’re also so content with them this way, still in disbelief of what just happened. You wish for it to never end, you think, smiling softly as you lazily blink up at the ceiling.

Agatha hums behind you, laying a soft kiss just below your ear. “How do you feel, sweetheart?” she husks, genuinely checking in, but there’s a hint of impatience beneath the surface as if she’s struggling to wait her turn.

“Amazing,” you sigh, twisting your head around to feel Agatha’s addictive lips against yours again. 

Getting lost in the kiss, you twist around until you’re lying on top of her, deepening the kiss with a passion that wraps around your insides. Agatha kisses you like it’s all she’s ever wanted, but with such tender restraint too. Gentle fingertips trace your jaw, tuck your loose hair behind your ears, and wrap around the back of your neck to keep you close and secure. 

Feeling braver and braver by the second, you risk a wandering hand down the beautiful curve of Agatha’s hip, wrapping around to pull her closer to you. Adjusting yourself, you press a thigh between her legs and she instantly breaks away to gasp; a similar sound escapes your own throat at the heat and wetness you can feel against your skin, even through her nightdress.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper against her lips, unable to resist the urge to kiss them again, and again, until Agatha whines into your mouth, tongue swirling against yours in a beautifully tender dance.

A chuckle from behind interrupts your kiss. “Oh, did you think I was done with you?” Rio rasps, asserting her dominance with a slap to your behind, soothing the wound with a gentle squeeze.

“Oh, God,” you moan at the pain, rolling your hips down against Agatha’s. You can feel Rio’s intense gaze as she watches for a moment, indulging the two of you as you seek pleasure with your grinding hips but find that it’s not enough. Before you can turn over to glimpse the brown-eyed witch, she’s settling in behind you, forcing you back down with a hand to your back. Your breasts press up against Agatha’s through her nightdress, the thin material doing nothing to hide how hard her nipples are.

Rio growls behind you and flicks her fingers, green tendrils coming out to magically remove Agatha’s clothing. A croaky groan echoes in the space as your naked body is finally flush with Agatha’s warmth, the wetness between her legs unmissable now. Rio’s strong hands move you and Agatha as they please, positioning the two of you until you’re straddling her waist.

A strangled, desperate moan suddenly comes from Agatha’s lips, her neck strained as she throws her head back. You frown, wanting to turn back and see what Rio’s doing but her hand remains strong against your back. Whining in frustration, you grind down, whimpering as your clit brushes against Agatha’s wet core. You’re sure you’ve absolutely soaked her trimmed curls by now but she pays no mind to you, completely wrapped up in the pleasure Rio is giving her. 

Then you hear it. A squelching sound as something thrusts in and out of Agatha’s tight heat. It’s as if Rio senses the moment you realise, chuckling low and dark, leaning down to leave teeth marks at the junction of your shoulder.

“She usually likes it when it hurts,” Rio murmurs into your ear, “Hence my wooden creation you saw that night,” she reveals, surprising you, but she continues before you can react, “But this one is leather…Agatha’s just getting it nice and wet for you.”

Agatha groans aloud at the words, her nails finding their way to your back as if you’re Rio atop of her, fucking a leather cock into her. Those nails dig into your shoulders painfully, causing you to hiss, but it quickly mixes with pleasure as Rio’s fingers slide into your slick entrance with unsurprising ease. 

Both you and Agatha moan filthily in unison, Rio groaning at the power she holds as she pistons her hips and fingers into the two of you with precision. There’s barely a moment to breathe, the overstimulation getting to you already. Agatha’s hard nipples brushing against yours, her intoxicating moans and hot breath directly in your ear, Rio’s fingers curling to perfectly brush against the spot inside your walls to drive you to insanity, the way every thrust has your clit rubbing against Agatha’s.

You’re just a few thrusts away from reaching another climax but before you can, Rio’s fingers suddenly disappear. Whining at the loss and pushing your hips back does nothing to temp Rio; she remains firm as she tuts at you, swiping her wet fingers along your skin.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she chuckles again, “So greedy,” she punctuates with a bite to your shoulder again, her eyes gleaming as they meet Agatha’s over your shoulder, “You don’t get to come again, not until Mama does.”

Primal desire takes over you at the phrase, your eyes wide and wanting as they meet Agatha’s as hers flutter open. It’s soft and tender, but also dominant and powerful, especially as her hand creeps up behind your back to pull you down into a rough kiss. All you want to do is make her feel good, you realise, rolling your hips now not to seek your pleasure but to push Agatha over the edge.

“Oh, just like that, little dove,” Agatha whimpers into your lips, sighing deep and low, pressing her forehead to yours, “You’re doing so good,” her nose brushes against yours as you lean down to kiss her quickly. Just a peck, you tell yourself but groan as you push into her again, sliding your tongue across her bottom lip until she lets you in. She hums, playing with your hair, tugging and twisting, gasping and moaning as Rio thrusts harder, faster, angling her hips to push deeper.

“She’s close,” Rio says. You can practically hear the smirk on her lips as she casually swipes her thumb through your slit just to see you jump in pleasure, “Careful, don’t come before Mama,” Rio warns again, this time pushing her thumb in, pressing inside as if she knows exactly what buttons to push. Agatha’s mouth drowns your moans, her tongue curling inside your mouth to taste all of you. Rio doesn’t stop her thrusting, replacing her thumb with two fingers and a third within a minute, filling you until you’re gasping and writhing on top of Agatha.

But you remember Rio’s words, and see how close Agatha is. Her kisses are sloppier, messy and wet, her moans now high-pitched as they escape from those bruised, pouty lips. She sounds just like she did that night, you realise, and the reality of the situation sinks in, sending a thrill through you. Determined to get her to make those sounds and reach her climax, you sit up slightly, the angle putting more pressure against her clit. She groans, her hands sliding to tightly grip your waist.

You moan seductively on top of her, grinding your hips bouncing against her clit and on Rio’s fingers as your own hands wander, tracing meaningless patterns across her stomach. It’s your next action of curiously flicking and pinching her sensitive nipples, paired with your words that send her brutally over the edge. “Wanna make you feel good, Mama,” you whine, throwing your head back as you seek your own pleasure. The grind feels too good. With your slick mixed with Agatha’s, there’s barely any friction but she looks so good, sounds so unbelievably filthy; you could have come just by looking at her unravelling as she does now.

Her body arches beautifully, and you swear if she were a sculpture frozen in time you would believe in no other religion but her. The veins across her neck and on the side of her temple throb as she tenses. You can hear the wet sounds of Rio’s hips refusing to stop her fast pace, thrusting into Agatha’s throbbing hole. The squelching is louder, as if Agatha’s tightening as she comes, and you can’t help but wish it were around your fingers. You wish to feel her, taste her, know it were you that pushed her over the edge. But she finally flutters her eyes back open and they let you know that it was you.

That’s enough for you to shudder, bouncing up and down as you arch your back. Rio’s fingers remain trapped between you and Agatha’s bodies as you use her hand to reach your own climax. It only takes another few seconds before you’re panting and moaning obscenely, grinding against Agatha’s clit to prolong her pleasure. Rio eventually forces your hips to slow, giving you a reassuring kiss on your back as she gently guides you off to lay on the bed by Agatha’s side.

You lay on your stomach, sighing deeply, smiling contentedly as Agatha softly brushes your hair out of your eyes. She grins at you, leaning over to leave a lingering kiss across your temple.

They let you rest for a moment, your eyes fluttering shut in peace, but then you hear a ragged breath followed by a wet sound and have to open your eyes in curiosity. Agatha’s now sat up, back resting against the headboard with Rio on her lap. She’s still wearing the leather cock which you finally get a glimpse of; it’s black, glistening in the candlelight and still somehow dripping with Agatha’s slick. 

The movement beneath it catches your attention and you inhale sharply when you realise Agatha’s hand has slipped beneath the straps holding it in place. She’s rubbing at Rio expertly, her years of experience mapping out Rio’s body making it easy for her to know exactly what the brown-eyed witch needs. Their eyes are locked together in a deep, intense intimacy that has you breathing heavily, a simple observer to the love they hold for each other.

But then you remember what they said that night you saw them in their bedroom. How badly they wanted you, and it seems as if now you’re looking in at a private moment between them, a silent conversation of ‘Finally. Doesn’t it feel amazing? To finally have her?’ It takes less than a minute for Rio’s panting to turn into grunts and guttural moans, her limbs freezing as Agatha’s arm moves faster, the pads of her fingers rubbing circles to push Rio over the edge.

By the time her eyes flutter back open, a soothing satisfaction in them, your legs are pressed against each other in desperate want. You hadn’t realised you’ve been practically humping the bed until their heads turn to you with matching smirks.

“Turn over,” Rio commands and you follow with quick ease, your eyes drawn back down to the intimidating leather piece hanging between her legs. It’s thick, long enough to reach deeper than anyone, any woman’s fingers from your past.

Once you’re on your back, Rio steps off the bed and stands at the foot of it. She grips your ankles and pulls you towards her with ease, smirking in amusement as you squeal and giggle. 

“Oh, this is funny, huh?” she says playfully, spanking the inside of your thigh to earn another squeal, “Are you going to behave for me?” the glare on her face has a layer of intimacy and adoration beneath it, and you cannot miss it, not with her expressive eyes shining brightly at you.

A wide grin spreads across your lips and you bite your lower lip seductively, urging her in. Your legs spread for her, the wetness and slick coating your thighs all over. Rio can barely control herself, clenching her jaw as her hands ball into fists. She wants to tease you, to draw this out, but you’re so inviting, so wet for her, and you’re here, wanting this, and she can finally have you after waiting so long.

“I can’t–I, uh,” Rio stutters for a moment, gulping as her eyes flicker from the mess between your legs to your marked chest and neck, and then your eyes, wild and wide and so free compared to how they were when she first saw you. She did this; they did this. A sense of pride swells in her chest.

You’re shocked seeing her so uncomposed for the first time, so much so that you close your legs and sit up slowly, urging her to come towards you. She does after hesitating for a moment, and she’s suddenly descending to her knees to meet your eyes. Your hand slides up her neck, thumb circling over her jaw as your eyes flicker with affection. Pulling her in, she sighs immediately into the kiss, letting you show her that you want her. It’s soft until it deepens, Rio growling with newfound hunger to devour.

She stands and shoves you back on the bed, tugging your legs again until the leather cock presses against your wet slit. A strangled cry croaks out of you at the simple touch, a warning of what is to come. It’s far more intimidating when you feel it, the head probing at your entrance as it soaks itself in your glistening heat.

“Wait, wait,” you begin to panic, pushing against her chest lightly, “You’re big, I–I don’t know–”

Rio shuts you down with a laugh, leaning down to kiss you reassuringly. “You can take it, sweetheart. I know you can,” she says simply, pressing the head against your entrance again. You moan as you leak around it, “And Mama’s right here to distract you from the pain.”

Your head snaps to the side, remembering Agatha who’s now crawling over to you after catching her breath. Agatha was content watching the two of you, but Rio involving her certainly is a plus for her. She lays by your side, playing with your hair with a reassuring look in her eyes.

“You can take her, little dove,” she whispers, kissing down your jaw to your neck.

Rio uses the opportunity to push the head past your entrance. You immediately hiss at the stretch, arching your back at the invasion but Agatha’s there to soothe the pain with a gentle kiss to your lips, swallowing your sounds. Her hand comes up to grip your chest, squeezing to give you a mix of pleasure, while Rio’s fingertips rub tight circles over your clit.

“Fuck, oh, fuck, please,” you cry out, not sure if you’re begging for her to have mercy on you or push in deeper. But the mix of pleasure quickly takes over, leaving you panting, the stretch now maddening.

Rio pushes in deeper as your eyes lock, a darker look in yours now as the pleasure takes over. “Agatha,” Rio calls out, her lips parted as she stares at you. The blue-eyed witch turns her gaze back to you, her breath hitching at the change in your expression.

“More,” you pant out, demanding it, needing it, craving it. Rio slowly pushes in deeper, panting with you as if she can feel how tight you are against her. You groan deeply at the invasion, at how full you feel and then the realisation that she’s nowhere near done, “God, I need more.”

“I’ll give you everything,” Rio promises, whining as she thrusts deeper, her eyes locked to yours in a hypnotic gaze.

Agatha’s kisses trail down from your neck to your chest, her tongue pressing firmly against your peaked bud; you arch into her mouth with a gasp, your hand coming up to press against her head as your fingers tighten in her wild curls. Agatha’s hand slithers down and slaps Rio’s away, replacing Rio’s fingers with her own. Tight circles around your clit to tease you until you’re writhing, only giving in when you let out that obscene whine that is beginning to become her favourite sound.

Agatha gathers some of your wetness before bringing her fingers back up, brushing them against your lower lips. You open up obediently, breaking your gaze with Rio to look into those darkened blues as you suck Agatha’s fingers into your mouth. You twirl your tongue expertly around them, licking every inch of your slick off of them. Agatha pants at the feeling, suddenly pushing her two fingers deeper until you unexpectedly gag. She smirks at the sound, pulling out to slide them back down for another round but you hold her wrist in place.

“No,” you protest, shaking your head, gasping as Rio thrusts deeper, a reminder of the pleasure waiting for you.

Agatha tilts her head at the slight sign of disobedience. “No?”

“N–” you groan at another push of Rio’s hips, deeper, stretching you more than you’ve ever been stretched before, “No, please, I–I want to taste you.”

Rio pants softly as a silence falls between you and Agatha, the latter’s eyes switching to something territorial, primal, and wicked. Agatha leans forward and you ready yourself for a kiss, but instead her hand rests against the sides of your neck and squeezes until you’re gasping, and she sucks those sounds in as if taking your power. Within seconds, Agatha climbed on top of you, now grinding high up your stomach. She’s leaving her slick behind on your skin, groaning at the pressure against her clit.

“My love,” Rio calls out between her groans, Agatha looking over her shoulder sensually to meet her partner’s eyes, “Face me,” Rio commands, sending a shiver down Agatha’s spine. The blue-eyed beauty gracefully turns over, sliding up slowly until her dripping lips are just over your face. The heady scent immediately makes your head spin with pure hunger, tongue already coming up to try to catch a taste but Agatha pulls up teasingly. Her eyes are locked to Rio’s as she does so, and the brown-eyed witch is fuelled by the action, thrusting her hips forward fast until she’s completely buried deep inside you.

“Fuck, Rio,” you moan her name out, the sound immodest at best. Agatha shuts your moans out quickly by dropping down, finally giving you what you want. The vibrations of your pleasure go straight to her clit and she reaches down to stabilise herself with strong hands to your chest.

“Y/N, darling, yes,” Agatha moans deliciously, rolling her hips against your firm, eager tongue. 

Rio groans at the sight, pulling back just to slam back in, suddenly starting up a rhythm. Your moans get louder by the second, thighs already shaking from the stretch and brutal pace as your walls cling to her cock. She keeps you in place with a strong hold on your hips, pressing down which somehow makes it feel as if she’s thrusting even deeper inside you.

“Let her use you,” Rio pants, and through your narcotic haze of everything Agatha, you realise she’s talking to you, “Until she gets close, and then take control again. She likes to be teased,” Rio guides you through it and you think this is probably the best lesson you’ve ever had with them.

You do as told, keeping your tongue firm for her to grind against, the mix of sweet, salty, and something distinctly Agatha coating your tongue. You swallow eagerly, refusing to let a drop of her sweet nectar go to waste.

“Good, so good, little dove, my good girl,” Agatha pants above you, already losing control as she squeezes your chest in her hands, only adding to your pleasure. Rio pulls your thighs apart, pushing them back as she puts a knee on the bed. You immediately whine at the change of angle, your mind too foggy to think any coherent thought but Agatha and Rio, but you feel it in your stomach, poking, prodding, finding that spot that will push you over the edge over and over again.

Agatha’s thighs tighten around your head and you immediately slide your tongue into her hole for the first time, pleased with the reaction of a drawn-out gasp that catches in her throat. Rio lets out a gasp of her own as she thrusts down into you harder, deep inside to start grinding her hips seeking that pressure of the toy against her clit. Agatha bounces on your tongue, her claws coming out to play as she leaves red streaks on your stomach. You’re not sure where you haven’t been marked yet; if you didn’t think they were possessive after their reaction to the Innkeeper’s daughter, you definitely know it to be a fact now.

“You’re still so tight, baby,” Rio groans, eyes locked to your cunt, “Taking me so well, so pretty, so wet, fuck, tell me it’s for me.”

The sound is muffled by Agatha’s cunt covering your mouth, so she answers for you, gasping as you curl your tongue inside her. “It’s for you,” Agatha pants, Rio’s eyes snapping up to meet hers, “For us,” she says again, desperately clawing her hands forward until they pull at Rio’s hair, tugging so hard the brown-eyed witch moans lewdly at the show of power.

“For you,” Rio pants back, “Us,” she moans, brushing her nose against Agatha’s as she thrusts harder and harder, deeper and deeper until she hits that spongy spot inside you that has you seeing stars, and she stays there as you scream into Agatha’s wet lips, tongue pulling just for her to grind her clit against again, “She’s ours.”

It all snapped for you at the same moment. Rio’s words and her thrusting up against that spot inside you sends sparks through you, her thumb coming down to rub quick circles over your clit despite the fact that she’s grinding her own hips down to chase her own high. Agatha and Rio are locked in a kiss as they come with you, Agatha’s movements slippery and manic, desperate and raw. Your entire face must be covered in her slick by now. You’re writhing under them both, clawing at whatever your hands find, hips twisting as the pleasure becomes too much, but Rio doesn’t stop. Her thrusts only curl deeper, her thumb circles faster until you’re falling again, this time able to breathe in a gasp as Agatha sits up.

“That’s it, that’s our good girl,” Agatha pants out, still catching her breath after coming down from her climax. Her hand creeps around your neck, pulling your head up so you can see the maddening look in Rio’s eyes, “Look at what you do to her,” she whispers to you as you both watch Rio’s wide, almost black eyes fixated on your red, swollen cunt. The vulgar sounds of your hips meeting, of your cunt meeting her cock has you whimpering, and it seems your sounds of pleasure fuels her even more. She thrusts harder and faster, fingers bruising your hips, and the pressure builds impossibly fast, “Let go, little dove, you can fly now,” Agatha whispers again, holding onto you tight as you fall.

Your thighs immediately start shaking as the dam breaks. An orange glow emits from you, your Magick coming out uncontrollably. It heightens everything, all your pleasures, Agatha and Rio’s eyes turning orange too, influenced by your power. They gasp as Magick connects all of you together, as if they can feel it as you build and build, finally gushing out against Rio’s cock. The pressure is too much for her to keep thrusting. She has to pull out, her gaze burned into your skin as she looks down, mesmerised at the wetness flowing out of you. She pulls back in again, and out, in, and out, watching in awe until you collapse with a raw moan coming from the deepest depths of your soul.

Your eyes flutter shut in exhaustion, and the last thing you feel is Agatha and Rio all around you, pulling you into a deep embrace.

masterlist + guidelines

VOTE RN IS P*RN W/ PLOT BETTER YES OR NO

[listofwhyyouloveher]

Can you do a fic where Dallas or Sodapop argues with reader's dad (reader has daddy issues)

Summary: Dallas gets into an argument with your dad Warnings: bad parent, reader has daddy issues, confrontation, smoking, Author's Note: i wrote this for dally cuz this is a more dally thing to do yk. this is lowkey a little bad because i have to get back in the groove of writing.

As the toughest in the gang, Dallas makes it his personal job to stick up for the stragglers in the group. Johnny owes a lot of his life to Dallas, who's fished him out of many sticky situations, but thats just who Dally was. His kindness came in layers, peeling back over time and care. He would never lord over the fact that he can swing a meaner punch than you, but instead helped you cultivate a skill that could up your survival. Often, Dallas grit his teeth together in frustration, watching you hold back tears from another rough day with your father, but he held back out of respect for you and your family. Today was no different, almost. You plopped down on the curb beside him, eyeing him and his cancer stick over. He passed it to you before turning his eyes back to the horizon. You inhaled, the earthy and cheap cigarette smoke corroding against your throat. You ashed it against the cement before handing it back. "What's on your mind, doll?" He asked, after a fermata of silence. You shook your head. "Nothin'" "Don't lie to me," He said, no malicious intent in his voice. "Just the usual" You mumble against the thick fabric of your winter sweater. "What'd he do this time" He asked, putting out the tired cigarette and turning his attention to you fully. The smoke curled around him in long and thin loops and made him look more heavenly than a greaser. You smiled at the thought and felt the tears fall because of your squinting eyes. "Just blew up on me again, for no reason," You sobbed a bit, wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes. "No reason?" He asked and you nodded. "Oh well," You sighed, "Can't do much about it," You said, voice breaking, dropping your head into your lap. "Oh, bullshit. C'mon," He got up quickly and grabbed your arm. You stumbled behind him. "What are you doing?!" You asked, eyes wide. "I'm gonna chew him out, 'cuz apparently his mother never did," He said, exasperated. You decided to not point out the irony and followed along in silence. Dallas knocked against the worn door aggressively. There was no answer at first but you rolled your eyes and knocked again. Your dad opened the door, an annoyed expression etched on him and deep on the wrinkles of his expression. "What?" He asked, deadpan and blunt. "The fuck is wrong with you?" Dallas spat, his New York accent poking through. "What!?" He repeated, shocked. "What the HELL is wrong with you?" He shouted, pushing your dad against the shoulders, squaring him up. "Young man, listen here-" He scrambled backwards, utterly caught off guard. "No, YOU listen here you little shit," Dallas started, "I don't got the goddamn time to deal with everyone's problems here. So you better shut your damn mouth around Y/n, cuz if I get one more damn WORD about what you're doing again, I'm going to knock your fucking block off." Without another word, he stormed out while dragging you behind and slammed the door. "Jesus Christ, Dallas!" You gasped. "Yeah, yeah," He said, before turning to you. "Look, doll, I know that doesn't make 100% sure he won't do it again, but tell me if he makes you cry again and I'll follow through, promise" He said, patting you on your shoulder before taking off. "Thanks Dal," You called after him and he sent you a lopside grin as he walked away.

[n0vazsq]

Long enough | JMM21 x Reader

pairing . . . pepe marti x campos!intern!reader

summary . . . Pepe had always had a crush on you, but never wanted to confess. That is until 'someone else' swoops in, and he realises he might lose you to him

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 1.1k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . not my best work but yeah!! hope you guys enjoy!!

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @hwalllllllelujah ,, @parkerloves (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . The Campos garage was alive with its usual chaos. Mechanics tuning the cars, engineers debating strategy calls, and the constant hum of anticipation as the race day unfolded.

Amidst it all, you scurried between the various departments, clipboard in hand, multitasking as an intern for the team.

You loved your job; the adrenaline, the camaraderie, and the shared passion for motorsport. What you didn’t notice, however, was the way Pepe's gaze followed you everywhere.

Pepe had it bad. Everyone on the team knew it. From the way he always found excuses to talk to you, "Do you know where they moved the telemetry sheets?", to the way he straightened up whenever you entered the room, his crush was glaringly obvious.

Everyone, that is, except you. You treated him with the same friendly professionalism you offered everyone else, which only drove Pepe further into his internal spiral.

"He’s hopeless," one of his engineers muttered as Pepe sat in the lounge, pretending not to watch you as you chatted on the phone across the paddock. "Why doesn’t he just tell her?"

"He’s scared she’ll say no," another replied. "But if he doesn’t do something soon, someone else is going to swoop in."

That ‘someone else’ turned out to be Jared McCain. The basketball player had flown in to watch the race and, more importantly, to catch up with you. Jared had been your friend since high school, and while your careers had taken you in different directions, you’d stayed close.

Seeing him again was a treat, and it showed in the way you hugged him as soon as he arrived at the paddock.

Pepe noticed. Oh, did he notice. He had just stepped out of the Campos motorhome when he spotted you laughing with Jared, the two of you leaning close as you exchanged stories.

The way Jared casually draped an arm over your shoulders made Pepe’s stomach twist in a way he didn’t understand. Was it jealousy? Oh, definitely.

"Who’s that?" Pepe asked one of the mechanics, trying his best to not sound too obvious.

"Jared McCain," the mechanic replied, clearly amused. "Plays basketball. He’s a big deal, you know."

Pepe gritted his teeth. "Right. And he’s….close with her?"

"Looks that way," the engineer said, then smirked. "Better shoot your shot, Pepe, or someone else might."

Pepe groaned, running a hand through his hair. "This is torture."

As the day went on, Jared stuck by your side, and Pepe’s mood grew worse. Every laugh you shared with Jared felt like a dagger to his chest. His usual charm and energy were replaced with quiet brooding, and everyone around him noticed.

"You okay, man?" Isack asked during the debrief.

Pepe shook his head. "No. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t just….watch her with him."

"So tell her how you feel," Sebastian, who had been there to watch them race, said. "Seriously, Pepe, it’s not that hard. She likes you, too."

Pepe looked at him skeptically. "How do you know that?"

"She doesn’t treat anyone else the way she treats you," he said. "She lights up when you’re around. Trust me."

Pepe’s heart soared at the thought, but doubt quickly crept back in. "What if I ruin things?"

"You won’t," Isack said firmly. "But if you wait any longer, you might lose her to McCain."

That was all it took. Pepe stood up, his resolve finally solidifying. He wasn’t about to let Jared, or anyone else, take you away from him.

He found you near the Campos garage, chatting with Jared as the post race celebrations wound down. Jared noticed Pepe first, giving him a knowing smirk before stepping aside.

"I’ll catch up with you later," Jared said to you, clapping Pepe on the shoulder as he walked away.

You turned to Pepe, surprised. "Hey! Congrats on the race. You were incredible out there."

Pepe barely heard your words. His heart was pounding, and for a moment, he thought about backing out. But then he saw the way you looked at him; genuine, kind, and completely oblivious to how much he adored you, and he knew he couldn’t stay silent any longer.

"Can we talk?" he blurted out, his voice more serious than usual.

Your brows knitted in concern. "Of course. What’s wrong?"

Pepe took a deep breath, his hands fidgeting nervously. "I’ve been wanting to tell you something for a while, but I didn’t know how. And then today, seeing you with Jared…" He trailed off, his frustration rising to the surface. "I can’t stand the thought of losing you to someone else."

You blinked, completely caught off guard. "Losing me? Pepe, what are you talking about?"

He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "I like you. A lot. More than I’ve ever liked anyone. And I’ve been too scared to tell you because I didn’t think you felt the same. But I can’t keep it to myself anymore. You mean too much to me."

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in. You stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said. "Pepe, I…"

"I get it if you don’t feel the same," he said quickly, his voice trembling slightly. "But I had to tell you. I couldn’t keep it in any longer."

You took a step closer, your hand brushing against his. “Pepe, I had no idea. I thought… I thought you just saw me as a friend.”

"A friend?" Pepe scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re so much more than that. You’re… everything."

A soft smile spread across your face, and you reached up to cup his cheek. "You’re an idiot for thinking I wouldn’t feel the same."

Pepe’s eyes widened. "Wait… you mean-"

"I like you, too," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I have for a while. I just didn’t think you noticed me like that."

Pepe let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a relieved laugh escaping him. "Noticed you? I’ve been obsessed with you."

You laughed, and the sound made Pepe’s chest swell with joy. He didn’t waste another second. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a tight hug.

From a few feet away, Jared leaned against the wall, smirking as he watched the two of you. "Took him long enough," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

The rest of the paddock watched with quiet satisfaction as Pepe finally got the courage to confess. And as you pulled back from the hug to smile up at him, it was clear to everyone; Pepe Marti wasn’t letting go of you anytime soon.

[levi-4uckerman]

satoru gojo x reader // like ghosts in the snow // chapter three

Words: 4.7k ♥ the one where u kiss a lil bit ♥ no TWs, just cute Satoru n some light angst/comfort action Previous chapter :33

╰┈➤This is a Flashback Chapter, but i promise i kept it relevant! no world building or unnecessary characters, just good old fashioned bonding :))

✎ reminder that reader has been given the default name 'shiori myoji'!. you have a clairvoyance technique and a two-year old gojo >;3 enjoy!!

...

Tokyo, Japan / January 2015 (see timeline here)

You saw more of Satoru after the ceremony. He’d find you when you were visiting campus grounds, sometimes bump into you on your way into meetings with the Jujutsu council. It made you a little nervous, knowing that he likely wasn’t finding you by accident, but it wasn’t until he’d somehow gotten ahold of your phone number that you started getting really annoyed.

“You’d better be dying,” you rasped, your voice heavy with sleep. It was nearly midnight, and Satoru had called you three times. You only picked up on the third because you were certain it was an emergency— which it was not. 

“Nah,” he replied coolly. “Just lonely. Whatcha doin’?”

“Gojo, it’s nearly midnight. I’m sleeping.” 

“It’s Satoru off-the-clock, babe,” you could practically hear the smirk in his voice, cringing as you listened to him go on. “Besides, it’s Friday night. Why are you going to bed at old man hours?”

“I have a migraine,” you grumbled. “Don’t you know about those?”

“Of course, I know about migraines,” he replied, his tone shifting slightly as if offended. “I just don’t let them stop me from living my life.”

You groaned, rubbing your temple. “Living your life? You’re calling me at midnight to bother me. How’s that for living?”

“Aw, come on, Shi-chan,” he teased, and you could almost see him leaning back with that stupid grin on his face. “You can’t tell me you don’t secretly look forward to my calls.”

“Gojo—”

“Satoru,” he corrected smoothly.

“Satoru,” you seethed through gritted teeth, “if you don’t give me a real reason for why you’re calling, I’m hanging up.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, just long enough for you to wonder if he took you seriously, but then he exhaled dramatically.

“Alright, alright,” he relented. “You caught me. I wanted to see if you’d come out for food.”

You stared at the ceiling, dumbfounded. “You called me three times in the middle of the night for food?”

“Well, yeah,” he said, as if it were obvious. “You’ve barely eaten today! Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Your silence must have given you away because he chuckled softly. “You’re predictable, Shi-chan. Always working yourself to death, skipping meals like they’re optional. I’m just doing my civic duty as a fellow sorcerer to keep you alive.”

You rolled your eyes, even though you knew he couldn’t see the gesture. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably thoughtful,” he corrected. “So? What do you say? Midnight ramen? My treat.”

“It had better be,” you shot back. “You’re loaded.”

“Okay, fine,” he replied casually. “I’ll throw in dessert. Come on, it’ll help with the headache. Trust me.”

You sighed, debating whether you had the energy to argue. Honestly, the thought of food was tempting, especially since you had skipped dinner.

“Fine,” you relented, tossing your blanket aside. “But only if you promise not to talk the entire time.”

“No can do,” he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice. “But I’ll promise to be entertaining.”

“Debatable,” you muttered.

Thirty minutes later, you found yourself sitting across from Satoru in a nearly empty ramen shop, wondering how you had allowed yourself to be dragged out of bed for this.

“So,” he grinned at you, twirling his chopsticks expertly. “How’s the migraine?”

You shot him a flat look. “Still there. You’re not helping.”

He laughed, leaning forward on his elbows. “You’ll thank me later when you’re full of delicious ramen and no longer grumpy.”

You huffed but took a sip of broth anyway, the warmth soothing your headache more than you wanted to admit. “This doesn’t mean I’m going to make a habit of this, you know.”

“Of course not,” he asserted, though the mischievous glint in his eyes told you he didn’t believe you. “But you’ll answer my calls next time, right?”

“Only if you’re dying,” you replied, slurping your noodles.

He smirked. “Guess I’ll have to get creative.”

You groaned, but deep down, you knew that you would answer.

And so it began. Your evening outings with Satoru became more frequent, to the point that he’d started to skip the courtesy call. Satoru would knock, and you’d already be dressed, ready to partake in whatever late-night cravings he had in mind. You told yourself it was just for the free meal, a convenient distraction, but that excuse felt thinner every time you walked out the door with him.

You found yourself lingering on the way he leaned back in his seat, one arm slung casually over the backrest as he told an outrageous story about his students. Or the way his face lit up whenever he convinced you to try something new, his grin infectious enough to make you laugh even when you weren’t planning to.

You liked him. Just a little. Enough that you didn’t mind his teasing quite so much anymore, or the way he always made it a point to walk you back home, even when you insisted that you didn’t need an escort.

One evening, Satoru had something different in mind when he showed up unannounced. His bandages were pushed up into his hair, leaving his eyes bare, and he looked… excited. More so than usual.

“What is it?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Put your shoes on, Shi-chan,” he instructed, waving a hand like he was summoning you. “We’re going out.”

You groaned, crossing your arms. “What are you dragging me into now?”

“Dessert,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

“Dessert?”

“Not just any dessert,” he clarified, his grin widening. “The best parfaits in the city. Trust me, you’re gonna love it.”

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Is this just an excuse to feed your sugar addiction?”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug. “But I’m not going alone, so get moving.”

With a sigh, you grabbed your coat and followed him out the door, trying to ignore the way your stomach turned when he held the door open for you, smiling expectantly.

The parfait shop was small and tucked away into a quiet alley, lit by warm, glowing lanterns. The moment you stepped inside, the air was filled with the sweet aroma of fresh fruit, whipped cream, and caramel. You couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped you.

Satoru led the way to a booth in the corner, practically bouncing in his seat as he opened the menu. “Look at this,” he enthused, pointing to an elaborate parfait topped with layers of strawberries, matcha ice cream, and tiny macarons. “This one’s calling out to me.”

“That’s enough sugar for three of you,” you muttered, scanning the menu.

“What are you getting?” he asked, leaning over the table. “Ooh, you should try the mango one. Or the chocolate banana. Or the—”

“I can read, Satoru,” you said, cutting him off with a small, reluctant smile. “And I can decide for myself.”

When the parfaits arrived, they were too pretty to eat— almost. Satoru wasted no time digging into his strawberry concoction, humming in satisfaction after the first bite.

“This is the one,” he outright moaned, pointing his spoon at you. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny how good the sweetness in front of you looked. You took a tentative bite of the chocolate banana parfait, and the immediate burst of flavor was enough to make you pause.

“See?” Satoru smirked as he watched your reaction. “Told you.”

On the walk back to your apartment, Satoru insisted on a detour to a nearby taiyaki stand—because, as he so eloquently put it, his daily sugar quota hadn’t been met, parfait notwithstanding. He carried the box of warm, fish-shaped pastries under his arm as you strolled through the quiet streets of suburban Tokyo. His voice filled the air, rambling about something inconsequential, his excitement infectious in the way that only Satoru Gojo could manage.

The gears in your mind turned over as you listened. This felt so familiar, like something you’d watched from a distance long ago. Him, lighting up at the simplest joys. The image of Satoru as a budding adult, walking alongside Suguru Geto, slipped into your mind unbidden. You’d seen him like this before—his shoulders relaxed, his grin easy, his words tumbling out with the same unguarded enthusiasm. Back then, it had been Suguru who tempered his boundless energy, who grounded him just enough to remind him that he was human.

The thought sent an ache through your chest. This wasn’t just nostalgia; it was Satoru searching for something, someone, to make him feel anchored again. Someone to remind him that he wasn’t untouchable. That he wasn’t just the Six Eyes, the strongest sorcerer, but Satoru—flawed, messy, and still yearning for the companionship that had once made him whole. But could that really be you?

And did you want it to be?

When you looked up again, your building was quickly approaching.

“Thanks for coming out,” he said casually, glancing over at you.

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” you replied, but your tone lacked its usual bite.

He smirked. “You say that, but I think you’ve been enjoying our little outings.”

You didn’t respond right away, your eyes focused on the ground again. The truth was, he wasn’t really wrong. You were starting to look forward to these moments—more than you wanted to admit.

“Maybe,” you said softly, and your honesty caught even you by surprise.

Satoru’s smirk faltered for a split second, replaced by something warmer. “I knew it,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

When you reached your door, he handed you the box of taiyaki. “Here,” he said. “In case you get hungry later.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, taking the box from him. He opened his mouth, and you just knew he was going to say goodbye, so you beat him to it.

“Satoru,” you declared suddenly, a sour feeling gnawing at you from inside. There was something… something you needed to ask. Something you needed clarity on.

He closed his mouth for once, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes were uncovered. Expectant. Like he was waiting on something, too.

“What are we doing?” You spit out, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “I’m not… do you want something from me?”

“What do you mean, Shi-chan?” He asked, his words light but careful. His eyes were scrutinizing. “I wanted dessert. You came with me. Easy enough, right?”

Not convinced, you shook your head. You stepped closer to him, the sour feeling inside you intensifying. “No, it’s not just that. It’s the phone calls, the showing up unannounced, the--,” you gestured around vaguely with your hand. “This. All of this. What is it?”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. For once, he didn’t seem to have a quip ready. His silence was as unnerving as it was unexpected, but you pressed on.

“I’m not dumb, Satoru,” You continued. “You don’t just... call people for no reason. You don’t go out of your way--,” you shook the taiyaki box for emphasis, “--for just anyone. So, what is it? Why me?”

Satoru’s jaw ticked almost imperceptibly. The weight of your words hung heavy in the air between you. Satoru ran a hand through is hair, letting out a breath that sounded far too serious for someone like him.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. His voice was uncharacteristically soft. “I think I just... like being around you. Reminds me of simpler times.”

Those words stuck out to you. Simpler times. Because nothing was ever simple with Satoru Gojo.

And yet, as much as you wanted to laugh, to not believe him, you couldn’t. Your breath hitched, and you didn’t respond. Your thoughts flashed back to high school, seeing him and Suguru slinking around campus late at night. How sometimes they’d pass by your dorms, voices hushed but still loud enough to wake you from sleep. Laughing, like they’d just come back from a party and not a first-grade mission.

“I guess that’s allowed,” you finally muttered after a beat, averting your gaze to the ground. You were blushing fiercely, embarrassed with the assumptions you’d made about an old friend. Maybe he really is just... lonely.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and looked up to see him a few paces closer than he was before. His lazy grin was back, but there was still sincerity written across his features. “Goodnight, Shi-chan. I’ll see you around?”

“Night, Satoru,” You replied with a nod, hating the disappointment you felt when he withdrew. You watched him turn and walk away.

When the door closed behind him, you stood in place. Staring at the polished wood. Chewing your bottom lip.

“What the fuck?” you breathed, wondering if this was becoming something dangerous. For both of you.

You saw less of your six-eyed friend after that conversation. In a cruel twist of fate, the steady rhythm of a budding friendship started to falter as work piled up, missions became more frequent, life happened. The late-night knocks at your door stopped, his texts became sporadic, and a familiar hollowness began to take the place of Satoru’s easygoing, persistent presence.

You told yourself that it didn’t matter, that it was for the best. Sorcerers shouldn’t have distractions, right? Especially ones of your respective statures. Alas, it was hard to ignore the ache of his absence… like a thread constantly pulling at the edges of your thoughts. As much as you wanted to banish it from your mind, it always felt like… something was missing. Something with white hair and blue eyes.

Council meetings kept you busy, the higher ups’ usage of your technique was at an all-time high. Your headaches were constant, the need for a break starting to get desperate. One afternoon after one such meeting, you were merely passing through the Tokyo campus when you started hearing things.

The rumors started small, whispered between both staff and students. Murmured in passing, not even bothering to lower their voices when you approached—because why would they? No one knew about your friendship with Gojo, and the way it fizzled out into nothing. All the same, your chest ached to hear that he wasn’t just busy with work, he was… dating someone. Courting with the intention to marry, even, according to several sources on campus.

Not that you had asked them directly.

You knew that the clan was always pushing him to marry, to find a powerful sorceress from a prestigious line of her own, to produce an heir. The idea of him bending to their will—especially when it came to something as archaic as choosing a wife—was laughable. At first.

Eventually, the whispers changed.

You heard about a woman that he was seeing. A young, beautiful sorceress who had been sighted spending time with him. Casual strolls in the city, dinners at fancy restaurants—all of the things you’d expect of a young clan-head seeking out a potential spouse. You heard that she was from a respected lineage, someone that the greater Gojo clan approved of. Someone they saw as worthy of his name.

You heard that she kind of looked like you.

And again, you told yourself that it didn’t matter. You didn’t care.

But it wouldn’t hurt so bad if that were the truth, would it?

Their words lingered in your mind long after you overheard them.

The image of a woman who looked a little too much like you, walking beside him, laughing at his jokes. A part of you wondered if it was intentional, or if it was some cruel trick of the universe.

So when you heard the knock on your door one unassuming evening, your stomach twisted into a knot. You weren’t expecting anyone, but somehow you already knew by the way goosebumps sprouted against your flesh, and the beating of your heart sped up.

And when you opened the door, there he was.

Satoru Gojo stood on your doorstep, a lopsided grin on his face, his white hair falling messily over his forehead. He leaned casually against the doorframe, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

You felt a little naked before him, standing there in your cozy pajama top and bottoms, clearly not expecting visitors. Satoru’s eyes raked over your body shamelessly, but he didn’t comment on your attire. Thankfully.

“Hey,” he said easily, as if he’d just seen you yesterday. “Thought I’d stop by. You know, see if you missed me.”

Your chest tightened, and you fought to keep your voice steady. “What are you doing here?”

He blinked, tilting his head like your question didn’t make sense. “What? I can’t visit anymore?” He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, his hands shoved casually into his pockets. “Besides, you’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you? What’s up with that?”

You stared blankly at him, stunned by the accusation. “Avoiding you?”

“Yeah.” He gave you a pointed look, still grinning. “No texts, no calls. You ghosted me, Shi-chan. Should I be hurt?”

Your frustration boiled over. How could he stand there, acting so normal, like he hadn’t done anything wrong? Like he didn’t even realize—

“I thought you were avoiding me,” you snapped, crossing your arms.

That made him pause, his grin faltering for just a second. “Huh? Why would I do that?”

You shook your head, your emotions threatening to spill over. “Forget it.”

“No, no, wait.” He frowned now, stepping closer. “Seriously, what’s going on? Did I miss something?”

You swallowed hard, refusing to meet his gaze. “I heard things, Satoru.”

He raised an eyebrow, confused. “Things?”

“About you.” Your voice cracked despite your best effort to keep it steady. You turned your face away from them as you added, “And her.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his confusion plain on his face. Then, he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“Oh, that?” he said, still chuckling. “That’s what this is about?”

Your stomach dropped at how easily he dismissed it. “What do you mean, ‘that?’”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You seriously thought I was avoiding you because of her? Come on, Shi-chan. Don’t be ridiculous.”

You clenched your fists at your sides. “Maybe it’s not ridiculous to me.”

“Shi-chan,” he insisted, his tone laced with exasperation. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s not even someone I’d consider dating.”

“Then what—”

“She’s a pawn,” he interrupted in a serious voice. “A face to keep the clan off my back. They’ve been hounding me about marriage again, and she’s just… convenient.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. “Convenient,” you repeated, your voice hollow.

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly, taking another step closer. “She knows the deal. And trust me, she is being well compensated for her time.”

“Then why didn’t you just tell me that?” you asked, your frustration bubbling over.

“Because I didn’t think it mattered,” he replied with a frown. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t care,” you scowled, though the ache in your chest betrayed you. “But you can’t just show up here like this, expecting me to—”

“Clearly you do,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so pissed off right now.”

You snapped your gaze upwards, glaring at him. “I’m not pissed off!”

“Oh, you definitely are,” he mused, a hint of his usual teasing slipping through.

“Satoru,” you hissed, your fists clenched at your sides. “Do you know how humiliating it is to hear something like that secondhand? To have people whispering about you and some perfect sorceress, and I—”

You stopped yourself, biting your tongue before you could say too much.

“And you what?” he questioned, his voice quieter now and his expression unreadable. “Go on, Shi-chan. Say it.”

You shook your head, looking away. “Forget it.”

“Not a chance,” he declared, inching into your space, his voice dropping even lower. “You’ve got something to say? Say it.”

Your chest heaved, the words clawing at your throat, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say them. Instead, you looked up at him, your anger dissolving into something more vulnerable, rawer.

“Why are you here, Satoru?” you asked finally, barely above a whisper

His gaze softened, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m here because I wanted to see you,” he said simply. “And I’m not dating anyone. If I was, you’d be the first to know.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his words. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, almost hesitant smile, “that if there’s anyone I’d want to spend time with, it’s you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the weight of his words hung heavy in the air.

Satoru shifted, scratching the back of his neck. “So, are you going to invite me in, or do I have to keep defending my non-existent girlfriend on your doorstep?”

But your mind was stuck on those words. If there’s anyone I’d want to spend time with, it’s you.

“Satoru,” you said, wishing you could wash the taste of his name out of your mouth. “You can’t say things like that to a woman. It’s… dangerous.”

Satoru blinked at you, clearly caught off guard by your response. Then, in true Gojo fashion, he tilted his head and smirked, his expression equal parts teasing and curious.

“Dangerous?” he repeated, his tone lighter now but edged with something more serious. “Why’s that?”

You swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. “Because,” you muttered, your voice just above a whisper, “they might start thinking you mean it.”

“And what if I do?”

Your head snapped up, your eyes meeting his, wide with disbelief. “You’re not serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he shot back. His gaze was steady and searching.

You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head as you stepped back. “Because you’re Satoru Gojo. You flirt with everyone. You don’t mean half the things you say.”

He frowned, his hands sliding into his pockets as he tilted his head again. “You really think that?”

You crossed your arms, trying to hold onto the wall you were so desperately trying to keep between you. “It’s not like you’ve ever given me a reason to think otherwise.”

He sighed, the weight of your words settling between you like a stone.

“Why does it bother you?” He said quietly, a pointed look on his face. “Whether I’m dating someone or not?”

You froze, the question throwing you off guard.

 “I… It doesn’t,” you stammered, your heart racing. “I just don’t think it’s appropriate for you to—”

“To what?” he pressed, stepping closer. “Spend time with you? Talk to you? Care about you?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you took a step back, your legs hitting the edge of the couch. “Satoru, don’t.” You said, your voice low. Quiet. Nervous.

“Don’t what?” he asked, his gaze fixed on you. “Don’t ask why you’ve been avoiding me? Don’t ask why it bothers you so much that someone said I might be with someone else?”

“I’m not avoiding you." Your voice was weak, your hands gripping the back of the couch for support.

He laughed then, but it was humorless, sharp. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying!” you snapped, your frustration bubbling over. “I just—”

“Just what?” he interrupted. “Just don’t care? Just don’t want to admit that maybe you feel something for me?”

Your cheeks burned, your chest heaving as you struggled to find the words to refute him.

“That’s what I thought,” he retorted, his voice almost gentle now.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, looking away.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice softening further. “But I’m not wrong.”

You felt his presence closer now, his warmth radiating in the small space between you. When you finally looked up, his blue eyes were piercing, unguarded in a way you’d rarely seen. His face had changed since high school. Still full of boyish charm, but… older now. Handsome. Matured. Not the teenage heartthrob of the Gojo clan that girls were clabbering over each other to flirt with.

And now, his attention was all on you.

“Satoru,” you said, your voice trembling. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch was featherlight, his fingers lingering for just a moment too long.

You swallowed hard, your heart thundering in your chest as his gaze dropped to your lips. “This is a bad idea,” you whispered, though your words lacked conviction.

“Probably,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, rueful smile. “But I’m full of bad ideas.”

And then he kissed you.

It was tentative at first, as though he was giving you the chance to pull away. But when you didn’t, when your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, his hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer.

The kiss deepened, the world around you fading until all you could feel was him—his warmth, his intensity, the way he seemed to pour everything he couldn’t say into the way his lips moved against yours.

When you finally broke apart, your breaths mingling in the quiet room, he rested his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling your waist.

“Shi-chan,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse. “Tell me to stop, and I will. Just… tell me.”

You hesitated, your heart screaming one thing while your mind warned you of another. But as you looked up at him, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name, you found that you couldn’t say the words.

Instead, you leaned into him again, sighing in relief when he didn’t pull away.

His lips met yours again, this time with more certainty, and your world tilted on its axis. Every warning your mind screamed at you—this is wrong, it will only end in heartbreak—was drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears and the sensation of his hands gripping your waist like you were the only thing tethering him to this earth.

You gasped softly against him, and the sound broke something loose in him. His grip tightened, pulling you impossibly closer, his other hand sliding to cradle the back of your neck. You felt his tongue against yours, tasted his spit as his fingers tangled in your hair. It sent a shiver down your spine that burnt away whatever resolve you had left.

You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t want this. But as his kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, as if savoring every second, all logic crumbled. There was only the searing heat of him, the way he smelled faintly of something sweet and familiar, and the feeling of his thumb brushing softly against your jaw, grounding you even as everything else spun out of control.

Every nerve in your body was alight, every ounce of restraint you thought you had vanished, replaced by the overwhelming need to stay in this moment, in this feeling, for as long as you could.

You pulled away just enough to catch your breath, your heart pounding like a drum in your ears. His eyes searched yours, wide and unguarded, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. His lips were red and slightly swollen, his chest rising and falling as if he’d just run a marathon.

“This isn’t—” you started in a breathless whisper, but the words caught in your throat when he cupped your face with both hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones with a tenderness that sent another shiver through you.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice low and raw. “But… does it matter?”

Your throat tightened, the weight of his words settling over you like a blanket, heavy and warm. You didn’t know how to answer him, and maybe he didn’t expect you to.

Instead, he leaned in again, his breath ghosting over your lips, his hands steady and sure against your skin. “Tell me this isn’t right,” he whispered, almost pleading now, his voice breaking just slightly.

But you couldn’t. You didn’t.

And so you kissed him again. Because in that moment, it felt right enough.

.

.

This is Chapter 3 of a multi-chapter fic to be crossposted to AO3. Taglist below as requested. @starlightglimmersworld @mccookiemonster @leilakaro @certainduckanchor @itsbellablue-blog @shokosbunny @megumisthirdog @thegh0stwife @54fangirl @misslovingpearl @idkuluka @bitchycloudstrawberry @pinkpunkdynamite @theclassbookworm @okaywitheverything

love u guys <3 thx for reading and reblogging

[writingtraumaforever]

Uncontrolled Chaos: Chapter 31

Notes: SAW THE MOVIE! Left a full review (spoiler (optional) and spoiler free) on my page! Hope you all enjoy it as much as I did!

Summary: Sonic and Shadow deal with their ‘distress’.

UC Masterpost!

Link to my AO3!

Start:

“Damnit!” Shadow hisses, having Sonic pressed against a wall for support with his arm around the blue hedgehog’s waist, “What the hell were you thinking???”

Sonic just smirks and grits his teeth through the pain, winking at Shadow as he speaks, “I was thinking I was fighting with my Shadow. Forgot you don’t really fight the same as him..”

Shadow groans a bit at this, rolling his eyes in frustration as he looks at the bots coming down the halls of Eggman’s base. He narrowly got himself and Sonic away from that bigger bot without the blue hedgehog receiving more injury than he already has. He needed to get that emerald and get out of there!

“Stay here,” Shadow demands with a pointed look at the hero, “I’ll clear the way.”

Sonic just huffs at this, leaning a bit more insistently against the wall as Shadow carefully lets go of him to step back, “Where would I go??”

Shadow doesn’t even acknowledge that with an answer, simply rolling his eyes with an irritated shake of his head as he looks towards the incoming bots.

It doesn’t take much for him to wipe them out. A few blasts of the chaos spear and some air kicks and spindashes, and it’s cleared. Shadow turns back to Sonic then who has steadily made his way towards Shadow by scooting along the wall.

“I told you to stay put,” Shadow gruffs out, eyes narrowed at Sonic as he returns to him to allow the hedgehog to use him as a crutch.

“Got bored,” Sonic shrugs, leaning into Shadow as they limp down the hall towards where the emerald is being kept.

Shadow’s eyes look down at Sonic’s leg. More specifically, his thigh. The blue fur there is matted up with deep, red blood. Black scabs already are trying to form due to the air hitting the wound, but Shadow knows good and well it’ll need medical attention before it can close up. Unless they can get this emerald.. then they can use it to heal him. Hopefully.

Making it to the sealed door, he lets Sonic prop against the wall again as he deals with the security lock, typing in whatever it is hackers type in just like in movies because that’s definitely how hacking works mhm.

Sonic watches him. How tense he is, how rushed. He’s breathing heavy..

He holds up his wrist watch to read “Amy’s” vitals, seeing Shadow’s heart rate has indeed spiked rapidly. Sonic looks back to him again.

His eyes aren’t glowing.. there’s no red sparks flickering in the air around him.

He seems pretty in control of his emotions despite them being a bit more panicked currently..

“..You shouldn’t have sent out that distress signal,” Sonic says after a moment, “Gonna have everyone worried—“

“Quiet,” Shadow snaps, “I’m trying to think.”

Sonic snorts and rolls his eyes, looking down at his wound and examining the damage.

That Chaos Spear packs quite a punch..

Glancing down the hall to see if Eggman has followed with his big bot yet, he sees the coast is still clear and looks back to Shadow.

Shifting on his leg a bit uncomfortably, he swallows the pain and speaks again, “You ‘bout done??”

“I said quiet,” Shadow grits out, growling a bit this time to which Sonic smirks slightly and just watches him continuing typing on the security pad.

“Why so tense, Shads—“

“Don’t call me that.”

“—if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were worried.”

Shadow’s eyes glance to Sonic at that, narrowed and angered. Then down to his wound. Then back to the pad.

He’s not just worried, he’s guilty. He feels responsible. Sonic just sighs a bit at that, still offering a casual smile as to not let Shadow see how much it hurts, “I shouldn’t have jumped in the way. It’s just that when my Shadow and I train together, he has this move with his chaos spear where—“

“Do you ever shut up???” Shadow hisses, not really caring to hear any of this right now. He just wants to get that emerald and get Sonic back to the workshop.

Sonic huffs at this, “I was just trying to say it wasn’t your fault—“

“Finally,” Shadow breathes to himself when the doors hiss and slide open. And just in time, too. They hear the loud, distant thumping of robotic footsteps from down the hall.

“Oh hedgehogs! Come out, come out wherever you are!” Eggman’s voice coos through the speakers, Sage’s following after.

“They have accessed the emerald vault, Father.”

“What?! Sunnyside! Get them!!”

Shadow’s wide eyes dart down the hall to see the robot turning the corner for them, already firing to which Shadow quickly shifts his body around Sonic’s to absorb any hits that may land. Arms and legs outstretched and pressed against the wall on either side of him as Sonic stares up at him with wide eyes.

“Go!” Shadow grits, beginning to feel his barriers fall as the blasts get more and more powerful.

That’s the thing with them. Their chaotic abilities allow them to take a good brunt of hits so long as they have ring energy to keep their chaos energy charged up inside. It’s why they can spindash through robots and take hits from lasers and get right back up. But when a blast of chaos energy hits them??? It’s gonna hurt.. which is why Sonic’s thigh is currently split open from Shadow’s chaos blast.

Shadow is all charged up and able to take some hits currently, Sonic is vulnerable.

After blinking out of his brief stupor, Sonic quickly uses the wall to shuffle around the doorway and into the emerald vault. Once Sonic is safe inside, Shadow turns to properly hold off Eggman’s latest creation.

And he has a lot of frustration to get out on that thing.

Sonic makes his way to the control panel of the glass enclosure the emerald is being kept in, typing on the keypad only to have his access denied.

“Damnit,” he whispers to himself.

He can’t spindash through the barrier, currently. He needs the passkey..

As if sensing his distress, Sage appears from the wall behind him.

“You cannot take that,” she says, Sonic flinching and turning to lean back on the control panel and look at Sage.

“Chaos, Sage, you can’t sneak up on a hog like that—“

“Father will be displeased if you escape with the emerald. It is essential to his future plans..”

“Yeah, well, it’s essential to my current plans,” Sonic replies with a smirk, turning back to the control panel, “And I’d sure appreciate it if you helped a pal out.”

“We are not pals,” Sage clarifies, “..But I have scanned your lover.”

Sonic’s eyes widen a bit and turn to Sage at that.

“…He is not yours, is he..?”

“Now what makes you say that??” he smirks, tilting his head slightly.

“He does not move the way yours does,” the AI explains, “Nor does he speak the same..”

It makes sense that she would take notice in this. She’s very observant.. but also, her and Shadow had some sort of… moment back on Starfall Islands. Some sort of talk about family.. losing them. Sacrifice. Being created by a Robotnik. It all seemed to have made Sage respect Shadow a bit more..

Sonic frowns a little at Sage’s words, looking back to control panel as the sound of Shadow’s battle cries and explosions remind him he’s kinda on the clock here, “Yeah, well.. no denying that, huh??”

“Your fighting tactics were thrown off by this. It was very noticeable and resulted in your injury,” she points out, Sonic rolling his eyes at this.

“Yes, Sage, I’m aware—“

“Is the emerald necessary to get back your Shadow??”

Sonic looks back to her at that, eyes watching the AI’s flickering blue ones..

“…yeah.”

Sage looks at Sonic a long moment before she eventually moves to the control panel, “There isn’t much time. Father has reinforcements on the way.” She places her palm flat on the panel and the emerald case immediately opens up, Sonic’s eyes widening and his smile growing.

He doesn’t waste time, moving around the panel and grabbing the emerald before turning back to her with a grateful nod, “Thanks, Sage..”

“Thank me when Shadow is back with his family,” she says simply, Sonic’s smile softening at that before he looks to Shadow and calls,

“Shadow! I got it!”

Shadow glances to Sonic mid-combat, nodding his head in recognition before landing a hard blow on the robot he’s currently battling to make it stumble back for a moment.

Using this opening, he skates to Sonic quickly, Sonic lifting the emerald above his head at this moment.

“Chaos—“

Shadow reaches Sonic.

“—Control!”

They’re zapped out of there with a flash of light..

Knuckles is just rushing out the door when a flash of light stops him in his tracks, shielding his eyes momentarily before lowing his fists to see Shadow standing there with Sonic held bridal style in his arms.

“Sonic!” Knuckles immediately calls, rushing to the two with worry in his eyes, “You okay, buddy??”

Sonic just offers a little smirk, “Yeah, I’m good. Just took a bit of a hit.”

Shadow looks down at his wound, frowning at the sight of it.. he’s lost enough blood as is. They need to get it dealt with.

“The distress call—“ Knuckles frowns, brows knitting up as he looks at Sonic’s gash, “it kinda—“

“Yeah, I know. Didn’t mean to worry you guys, but Shadow over here—“

“No,” Knuckles interrupts, earning Sonic’s attention again with the urgency in his tone, “It—… we had contact with Shadow— our Shadow.”

Sonic’s eyes widen, body tensing immediately as he begins shifting in Shadow’s arms to be put down. Shadow, in fact, does not put him down.

“What?! When?! Is-is he alright?!”

“Yeah, well— we assume he is! His signal was hardly even there, and he couldn’t communicate back, but he let us know he heard our end by temporarily switching his locator on.”

“How long ago was this??”

“Like. Two minutes ago,” Knuckles shrugs, and that’s all it takes. Sonic is squirming his way right out of Shadow’s arms much to Shadow’s annoyance and protesting.

“Would you hold still?! You’re injured—“

“I need to talk to him! What if he saw the distress call?! He’s probably worried sick!”

“You’re not gonna help matters by being hurt! He obviously can’t communicate right now, and I’m sure the fox is working on it,” Shadow argues, now having to simply resort to holding Sonic by his elbows insistently as Sonic tries to pull away, “We need to worry about what we can control, right now, and that’s getting you patched up.”

“I’m fine!” Sonic insists, jerking away from Shadow only to immediately stumble and fall—

Luckily Shadow catches him before he hits the ground, pulling him right back up into his arms to carry,

“You’re not!”

Sonic’s brows are knitted up tight, gritting his teeth at the throbbing pain in his thigh.. not to mention the exhaustion of using chaos control.. his eyes shift to Knuckles who is looking at him worriedly.

“…Come get me the second we have a signal again.”

“I will,” Knuckles assures with a nod.

“Good,” Sonic sighs, looking back to Shadow with a nod towards the house, “Okay. Let’s get this over with so I can get to that communicator..”

Shadow nods, relieved Sonic is actually gonna allow him this rather than fighting him on it.

He needs to fix what he broke.

“I’ll take this to Tails—“

Knuckles reaches for the emerald, but Shadow stops him.

“We need that.”

“For what??”

“Healing,” Shadow says firmly, jerking the emerald away from Sonic’s hand and Knuckles’ reach.

Knuckles frowns at this, “You can’t heal with the emerald.”

“Like hell I can’t,” Shadow snarks back, eyes narrowing at Knuckles.

“Only Sonic can, and his energy isn’t high enough right now—“

“I can,” Shadow insists, in case he didn’t make himself clear.

“You???” Knuckles scoffs, crossing his arms, “But your—… your chaos energy isn’t—“

“Isn’t what??” Shadow snarls, getting tired of his time being wasted while Sonic still sits in his arms bleeding.

Knuckles blinks at him, watching him a moment before speaking, “You’ve done this before??”

“Yes, why would I offer it if I wasn’t experienced in it?? Now if you would excuse me, I’m trying to save the one person here who actually matters!”

And with no real recollection to what he just word vomited out out of rage, Shadow spins around to quickly walk himself and Sonic inside, Knuckles watching with wide and confused eyes.

Sonic blinks up at Shadow once inside, “Uh- Mobius to Shadow—what was that about??”

“He was wasting our time,” Shadow huffs, moving Sonic into the kitchen to set him on the counter carefully, “For people you consider friends, they don’t seem to worried about your wellbeing—“

“Hey, don’t say that,” Sonic warns with a frown, watching as Shadow begins fumbling for a wash cloth under the sink, “They care, they just know I can handle it. You should know that, too—“

“You weren’t hit by a laser, Hedgehog, you were hit by pure chaos energy. It shouldn’t be taken lightly—“

“It’s happened before, and I’ve been fine!” Sonic huffs with a roll of his eyes, “This is ridiculous, I should be in the workshop with Tails right now—“

“Even if that fox gets in contact with your Shadow, do you really think he’d be happy knowing that instead of mending your wound, you’re allowing yourself to bleed freely while crouching over a half-baked communicator??”

Sonic huffs at this, looking away as Shadow wets the cloth and begins cleaning blood off the fur around the wound.

“…How can you heal with the emerald?” Sonic asks now, turning his head to Shadow, “My Shadow can’t do that.”

“Sounds like he’s a sorry excuse of an Ultimate Lifeform then,” Shadow grumbles, focused on cleaning the matted fur so he can properly see the wound.

“He’s not,” Sonic snaps defensively, “He’s the best of us. Of any of us… he just-…”

Shadow glances up to Sonic when he doesn’t finish his words, seeing the blue hedgehog now looking out the window in thought.

Shadow sighs through his nose and looks back to the wound, “…Would all this talk of your Shadow not being able to heal be because of whatever happened with the Black Arms..?”

Sonic tenses immediately.

That alone is enough answer for Shadow.

“…You said you defeated them.. the Black Arms,” Sonic says after a long pause, Shadow having cleaned up most of the fur around the wound and now working on cleaning the actual wound itself. Sonic hisses a bit in discomfort but his mind is too distracted to be further bothered by it than that.

“I did,” Shadow nods, eyes glancing up to Sonic before back to the wound.

“…’I’. As in alone..?”

“Sort of,” Shadow says with a small shrug, “There was help along the way, I suppose… but when it came down to it, it was myself and Doom.. and I put an end to it for good.”

“How?”

“…Well, I used chaos control to move the Black Comet in the Eclipse Canon’s line of fire. It was destroyed.. I never faced any of the Black Arms again until the Time Eater incident..”

Sonic’s brows knit a bit at that, looking down a moment before back to Shadow, “…Where was I during all this?? Your me, I mean..”

“Helping GUN,” he explained with a small shrug, “You and your friends had your own plans to help save the planet. In the end, it was futile since Black Doom used mind control to freeze you all in place.. I was immune due to having his blood in my DNA.”

“…That’s not what happened at all here..”

Shadow glances up to Sonic at that, seeing how the hedgehog’s ears are drooped and there’s a frown on his muzzle..

It’s an odd sight. To see the hero so.. confused and almost defeated in appearance..

“…I’m going to heal you now,” Shadow says quietly, hand resting over Sonic’s wound while the other moves to hold the chaos emerald, ��This may feel odd..”

Sonic just nods and allows the process, eyes watching out the window at the ARK in the sky..

[reallypleasanttree]

Part 2:

Okita’s eyes widened upon seeing the pink and green haired woman appear through the back exit. Since he saw her with Kenji he grew irritated. Kenji went through girls like they were tissue paper. He would string them along and most of the women would have residual feelings for the jackass. It was none of his business, but a new emotion emerged with the new woman. The corners of his mind prickled as he worked and caught sight of the pair. 

The woman smiled and laughed beside her companion. To most people her interest in Kenji would have seemed genuine, but it was missing something. Her movements were precise and her expressions poised. It was unlike the expression of shock she had when their eyes met as he handed her the whiskey. Their fingers brushed for a mere second and it was enough to captivate him. After the shift ended, he decided to smoke a cigarette before heading home to calm his mind. 

Okita stared at the pink and green haired woman. What could she possibly want with him? She had barely said more than five words in his presence. However, he caught her looking in his direction for the duration of his shift. His appearance was an oddity, but this woman was as well. Certainly, she knew what it was like to be gawked at for her hair and other assets on display.

She wore a short black skirt with a green crop top. Her stomach was exposed, showing the generous curves of her hips and smooth skin. If he could, he would have wrapped her up in his coat to keep her warm. Though, he made it a policy not to pick up women from work even if they were as attractive as her.

“Why?” Okita raised an eyebrow. Her mouth twisted as she considered the weight of her next words. Due to the light and patio above them, her face appeared in strips of light and shadows, almost like pinstripes. Her emerald eyes enchanted him and he found it difficult to look away. Her lips reminded him of sakura blossoms. He could not specify what it was, but she had an ethereal quality to her. Nearly too perfect to exist. 

“You remind me of someone,” she answered. 

“Is it your ghost?” He asked jokingly. Her face fell. Her lips curled down and her eyes lost their glimmer. Okita immediately wished he had said something different, but the damage was already done. He gritted his teeth. “That was a bad joke, sorry,” he attempted to apologize. He dropped his cigarette and squashed it into the ground where he belonged for offending her. 

“I knew this was a stupid idea,” the woman muttered with a bowed head. He barely heard her. She lifted her face. “Sorry for bothering you. I didn’t mean to disturb your night.” She turned and he could almost hear the string of fate snapping. If she left now he would never see her again and unease settled in his stomach. He reached out his hand and caught her wrist. Her skin was cold to the touch.  

“I didn’t mean to come off as insensitive,” he said. “Can we start over? I don’t know your name.” Her eyes traveled down to where he held her before meeting his gaze. A shadow crossed over her features and he noticed the beauty marks beneath each eye. She nodded slowly.

“I’m Kanroji Mitsuri,” the woman said. 

“Genji Okita,” he introduced himself and dropped her wrist. “Are you from around here or just visiting?” 

“Business trip, but I’ve been here before. I used to go to a ramen shop with a good friend around Kiiroi Tsubaki Street. I forget its name,” Mitsuri said. 

“Is it Kuroyuri Ramen?” Okita questioned and she nodded. “It’s the oldest ramen shop in town.” He glanced at his watch as it was nearly 1 A.M. His grandmother would worry if he wasn’t home soon. She lived in the apartment next to his and despite his protests, she would stay up until he got home. 

“I have to get home. I don’t normally do this, but can I give you my number?” He asked. It was against his better judgement and breaking his policy. Deep inside he knew if he let her slip through his fingers, he would regret it. Mitsuri took her phone out of her purse and pulled up the new contact screen. He recited his number and she asked him to repeat it to ensure it was correct. She typed a quick message and he heard his phone buzz in his pocket. He would have to check it when he got home. 

“Let me know when you get home safely,” Mitsuri said, “otherwise, I’ll worry.”

“Isn’t that my line?” He asked jokingly. This time when she laughed it was real, the corners of her eyes crinkled. The sound of her laugh made him pause. It was the sound of bells chiming. He’d heard it before, but he could not place where. Either way it brought forth a sense of warmth to his heart. 

“Well, it’s mine for now. How about you use it tomorrow night?” Mitsuri suggested as she fiddled with her purse strap. She was adorable. 

“Are you asking me out?” Okita asked. 

“Depending on your answer, yes,” Mitsuri said, her cheeks tinting pink. “So, tomorrow night?” 

“Yes,” he answered before he could think too much about it. This was definitely breaking his policy.

The completed section I have for the Demon Mitsuri and Reincarnated Human Obanai fic where Muzan won and turned Mitsuri into a demon.

“If we survive the battle against Muzan, will you marry me?” Mitsuri asked. They laid, staring at each other. She ran her hand over his cheek, caressing his scars. They ran from his mouth to his ears, deliberately made for him to look like a snake. He never cared how they looked, only if she would be bothered by them. However, she adored them. The raised lines brought her comfort in the familiarity. He entrusted his secret and his face to her alone. He sought solace in her and she in him. 

“Yes,” her lover agreed. 

Nothing could describe how she felt. Warmth blooming beneath her breast. With that single promise, he tied himself to her forever. Scars and all. Except it was not to be. He died fighting one of the Upper Moons. She nearly died before Muzan turned her into a demon. When she first became a demon she had no memory of her former life. It came back in pieces. 

Muzan explained how eating humans would make her stronger. Hunger clawed inside her stomach. Instinct drove her to kill and devour her prey. It didn’t matter who it was. She needed to fill the void in her stomach when in actuality the emptiness originated in her heart. 

—-

“Mitsuri,” the man said. She blinked and tried to focus her eyes on his face. They were inside a large fortress with rotating columns, platforms, and bridges. Nothing stayed in place. “If things get bad, promise you’ll run.” 

“I’d never leave you,” she said automatically. His long black hair shielded her from reading his expression. A white snake coiled tighter around his neck. 

“Please,” he breathed and raised his head. His teal and amber eyes were glossy. Scars graced his cheeks along with a downtrodden expression. She held a hand to her chest. “You’re important and deserve more than this.” He gestured to the demons crawling around the Infinity Castle. “You have to live, so please,” he said, tightening the grip on his sword. “If we fail, run,” he said. She nodded. 

They wouldn’t fail. They had a life to live after this. 

—-

The next night Mitsuri woke feeling full for the first time in ages. Just as she was important, he had been important. She couldn’t remember his name or all of his features. The scars across his cheeks though. She remembered those. 

Her fingers traced an outline of where his scars had been on his face. Jagged, harsh lines meant to frighten, yet… they brought forth joy and fulfillment beneath her breast. For the first time in years, she felt her heart. There was a steady thump, she heard reverberate over her body. She grasped the light blue bed sheets. 

Mitsuri. A smooth voice echoed in her mind. It wasn’t like the times Muzan called upon her. No, this was different. It was like a soft caress  as someone pushed back one of her thick braids and whispered in her ear. 

I will always love you. Chills ran down her spine. It was what she craved. Someone to love her. 

Over the next night, the joy Mitsuri felt vanished. That feeling disappeared in the fog like the scarred man who held her heart. They had been lovers, yet she remained. 

———————

They called it a Glasgow smile. When someone’s face was cut from the corners of their mouth and upwards. A permanent scar to make someone look like they’re always smiling. And who wouldn’t smile when they were with her? 

When she looked in the mirror to see a demon with smooth, pale skin. Pink and green hair with emerald eyes. Her face was sweet enough to look at and a body comparable to a goddess of love. It drew in her prey like a Venus flytrap. An offering of sweetness only to be entangled in her vice grip and torn apart.  

She felt nothing as she recalled the vivid, brutal details of her kills. Muscles and ligaments snapped as she tore them from the bone. Blood, the metallic taste sat on her tongue. With each bite, she hoped to fill the void. 

Before the main event, she would charm them, luring them in with a soft chuckle and a touch on the shoulder. With a single touch and a drop of her blood, anyone would fall in love with her. Their eyes would dilate, heart would quicken, and skin would sweat. All signs that her blood demon art worked. Now she was in an alleyway with a stranger. 

“I love you, baby,” her prey whispered. She felt nothing, but the sickening hunger as her stomach growled. Love was no longer part of her vocabulary. At least not in the waking world. Her dreams were another matter. 

The woman dug her nails into the back of his shirt as he kissed her jawline. He was completely intoxicated and reeked of alcohol. She pulled back her lips, her teeth elongating as she prepared to strike.

Her saliva contained a natural sedative. As soon as she bit his neck it would take less than three minutes for him to lose any feeling except for his overwhelming love and affection for the pink haired woman he picked up at the bar. She pulled her head back and before she could read his face, she bit his neck, just hard enough to draw blood. An appetizer before the feast. 

He groaned. She sucked on his neck, drinking his blood. Alternating between sucking and biting, she could feel his body becoming slack. His hold around her loosened and his knees started to buckle. She paused to hold his body up against the wall. 

She flexed her hand to make her nails grow. With her long nails, she carved a permanent smile onto the man’s face. Blood dripped down the man’s cheeks. Her blood demon art was stronger than the pain and fear he should have felt. 

“I love you,” he murmured past the bloody smile. 

“You don’t,” she said. His eyes closed, the blood loss too great to ignore. 

Looking at her work, she could see the man she longed for. He had black hair, sweet almond shaped eyes, and the Glasgow smile. How she missed running her hands over the ridges of the scar. In the next second her former lover was gone. She gritted her teeth before she bit into the stranger’s neck again. The blood quelled her rage, but it would never fill the emptiness inside. Seeing him, though? That was the only time she felt full. It would only last a short time before she’d hunt again. 

Anytime she carved a smile into her prey’s face, she saw her lover and remembered how it felt to be in love instead of the fallacy of being loved. The feelings ushered forth. The coolness of his hands in hers, his arms encircling her in an embrace, the look in his different colored eyes as he watched her race towards him, reunited after a mission. Carving into her victims was the only way to keep his memory alive and her emotions. 

Otherwise, she was a shell of the woman she had been. She could act like the happy go lucky girl, but it never reached her heart. Her smiles were disingenuous along with her promises to care for the men she devoured. No, it was only his confession that quickened her heart. 

————

“Iguro-San, if I became a demon what would you do?” Mitsuri asked. The question was prompted by the last hashira meeting where they met the Kamado siblings. Iguro-San had been unnecessarily harsh with the brother while the Wind Hashira tormented the demon girl. It made her wonder how the Serpent Hashira would react in the boy’s place. Would he be so willing to demand her execution? 

He sat beside her on a bench. There was a plate of dango between them. Iguro-San took one out of twenty, leaving nineteen for her. His grip on the stick tightened and he stared directly ahead of them. 

“Don’t speak like that,” he said loudly. Mitsuri blinked. He never raised his voice around her and spoke kindly. The stick broke between his fingers. She raised her hands up to catch one of the fallen pieces. Instead he caught her wrist and faced her. Her cheeks warmed at the contact and his heated gaze. 

“I’d never allow you to become a demon, not while I’m alive,” Iguro practically growled. 

“I-I’m only joking,” Mitsuri stuttered. 

“Your life is not a joke,” he said. “You’re the most important person to me.” He moved his hand from her wrist to hold her hand. Her heart stuttered this time. Did she really mean that much to him? Surely he was only being kind. Mitsuri tried to pull her hand away, but he held tighter. 

“Kanroji-San, don’t you get it?” He asked, leaning towards her. Her ears buzzed until all she could see was his face. His earnest gaze hypnotized her, leaving her frozen on the bench. 

“I love you,” Iguro admitted. He reached up and pulled the bandages down. She didn’t even care to look at his unmasked face before their lips met. Soft and gentle despite the fire raging inside her. When she finally pulled back she took in the sight of his smile, the one that extended past the corners of his mouth. 

“I love you too,” Mitsuri said, lifting her hand to caress the scars for the first time. 

—

Mitsuri woke up still feeling his warm hand clasped over hers. The memory etched into her heart. The heat in his gold and teal eyes as he confessed and the kiss afterward. Why couldn’t she stay inside the dream for a bit longer? She traced the outline of her lips. 

Her lover kept his promise. He died before she became a demon. He never had to see her like this. A shell of her former self. Listless, selfish, gluttonous. She rolled to her side. Her stomach growled. Another night in the endless days where she sought a cure to this hunger. 

There was no cure. She pinched her stomach. There was no cure for the emptiness, eating away at her insides. The only relief were the memories of Iguro and his all encompassing love. 

I wish you were here. She looked at the empty side of her hotel bed. What would it have been like if he was turned into a demon? He would have been beside her now. She ran her hand over the sheets, recalling how she would search for his sleeping form in the middle of the night as humans. The longing was still there. Mitsuri rolled out of the bed, her white silk robe trailing on the floor. Tonight she had to hunt. 

—-

Mitsuri never stayed in one place for too long. It would be noticeable if multiple men disappeared from the same club or city. Now, she was standing beside the bar trying to decide who would be her next victim. She smiled at the man across the crowd. He was tall with bleached short hair. He met her gaze and she winked. He made his way down the steps to her. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here?” He greeted. 

“Waiting for you,” Mitsuri said, the lie slipping out easily. He grinned widely. 

“I’m Kenji,” he introduced himself. 

“Haru,” she said using a pseudonym, batting her eyes at him. It was over the top, but men couldn’t resist a girl throwing herself at them. “I’m in town for business.”

“What are you drinking?” Kenji asked and pulled her to the bar’s service counter. His hand rested on her upper arm. “I’ll buy you whatever you want.” 

“Such a gentleman,” she praised. 

The bartender was preparing drinks. The lights were dimmed, but she could see his features clearly. The man from her dreams. Her flirtatious nature vanished seeing him. Black hair pulled back into a ponytail and his two toned gaze honed in on Kenji and her as he looked over his shoulder. She licked her lips as he glanced her way. The only thing missing was his scars. His cheeks were smooth, she wanted to run her hands over them. 

“Okita, my girl wants a whiskey on the rocks,” Kenji yelled over the cacophony of sounds. She barely registered the man she decided would be her meal tonight. 

“Is that right?” The bartender asked. Mitsuri nodded, unable to speak. He was so close, the man she craved more than anyone. Her usual calm demeanor lost as her hand shook. Okita turned around to prepare her drink. He was well built, his hands tactful as he pulled out a chilled glass and one of the bottles of whiskey. He didn’t even bother looking for it. He memorized the selection. 

Obanai. 

Thud, thud, thud. 

It was the first time she felt her heart race in decades. Her past lover stood in front of her. All she had to do was reach across the counter and run her hands over his face. His scarless face. 

I love you. He told her nearly a hundred years ago and it still rang true. At least for her. This man was a mirror copy of her lover. 

“Here,” the man said, holding the amber drink and meeting her gaze. She took the drink and tried to ignore the way their fingers grazed and the spark of electricity under her skin. Did he feel it? Her lips tingled. When was the last time they had kissed? It must have been the night they fell into the Infinity Castle. “Are you alright? It looks like you saw a ghost,” he questioned with concern. Mitsuri stood straighter.

“No, I just-“ she said, losing her cultivated calm. 

Before Mitsuri could find the words, Kenji pulled her into the crowd. Her goal tonight was to find her next meal. She could not get distracted by the man who looked like her past lover. She sipped on her drink as Kenji continued to flirt. Mitsuri kept the conversation going, easily enough. Kenji talked about himself, not bothering to ask her any more questions. He was less of a gentleman than she thought. 

As much as she tried to focus on Kenji, her eyes kept drifting back to the bar every few minutes. Okita was methodical as he went from person to person. He took orders and made drinks and small talk. 

He smiled at the customers, yet it never reached his eyes. He was pretending, just like she was. The thought was sobering. They were actors tonight. He was cast in the role of a working man while she was a woman looking for a casual hookup. Obanai told her once he loved her because of her authenticity. The memory made her sick. What would Obanai think of her now? 

“It looks like you need a refill,” Kenji said, breaking her concentration. Mitsuri looked down at the empty drink in her hand. “I’ll grab you a new one.”

“No, I’ll get it,” Mitsuri said and turned before she could stop herself. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to Okita. She slipped away and through the crowd. When she stepped up to the bar she was faced with a white haired woman serving behind the counter. 

“What can I grab for you?” The new bartender asked lazily. Mitsuri scanned the entire bar, but he was gone. When had he disappeared? 

“Where did Okita go?” Mitsuri asked despite her best judgement. He wasn’t the same man as Obanai. They may have looked alike, but they were not the same. 

“His shift ended. You can probably catch him outside,” she said, pointing towards the exit. Mitsuri set her drink on the counter and ran out the door, forgetting about her mission. 

The cold air hit her lungs as she opened the heavy door. Mitsuri looked to the right and only saw a dumpster with a rat running across the top. 

“Ghost girl,” someone said on the other side of her. Mitsuri turned towards the sound, already knowing it was Okita. Even his voice was like Obanai’s. He held a cigarette in his left hand as he leaned against the brick wall. He flicked the ash on the ground. “Are you running away from Kenji?” He asked. “I don’t blame you. He’s an asshole.” 

“Sort of,” Mitsuri answered and shut the door behind her. It was only the two of them-and the rat looking for food in the dumpster. “If you knew he was an asshole, why didn’t you intervene?” 

“It’s not my place and, besides, you look like you can handle yourself. If you’re here, then it seems like I was right.” There was a glint in his eye. He smirked as he brought the cigarette to his mouth. He breathed in and out, blowing the smoke straight up.

Mitsuri swallowed as she stepped in front of him. She had not felt nervous in ages. It was foreign as other past feelings emerged with this man’s appearance. What was she doing right now? 

“The other bartender said your shift was over,” Mitsuri said. 

“Was it that good of a drink?” Okita asked, tilting his head. “Izumi could have made you the same thing.” Mitsuri shook her head. 

“No, I wanted to see you,” she confessed. She wanted to do more than simply see him. She wished to touch his scarless face, run her hands through his silky hair, and kiss him. Objectively, Mitsuri knew this man wasn’t the same as Obanai, but they’re similarities were uncanny. He ignited a spark and now a small ember burned inside her chest.

[cakebatteronabrickwall]

In the end, the ending is not so tragic, so dramatic or destructive at all. The trick succession pulls, has always pulled, is making it seem so, making you feel about it the way its characters do.

But when the script (and i'm not the biggest fan of refering to something outside of the actual show) says there's something here, maybe it's okay, calls Ken a man followed by his particular history- that's just it. Or, to rephrase: it just is.

[revvethasmythh]

So I went and watched all the possible endings, and it confirmed something I had been thinking, which is that the redemption ending choice is, perhaps, the most immediately regretful one--but that they all come with some form of regret. In the redemption ending, Rook has to knowingly deny themselves the catharsis of retribution (should they desire it, which, at least for me it felt difficult not to) in order to offer Solas one last, painful chance to do the right thing. That willful denial of your own catharsis feels like an immediate regret. Giving Solas the opportunity to pursue atonement might very well be the best choice all around, but it is also incredibly painful to offer that to someone who has done so many terrible things (not a small amount to you personally). Why does he deserve another chance? Especially when so many dead (including a beloved mentor) lie in his wake? Which, I suppose, is the point: he doesn't. But you offer it anyway and it SUCKS ASS, because how could it not?

I don't know how this plays with other story choices (a sacrificed Davrin or a Harding who embraced her anger, for example), but within the context of my own choices, I can imagine an immediate satisfaction to either tricking or fighting him--especially the trick ending, where you can actively name drop Varric--but it feels like the sort of thing that would feel worse as more time passes. Once you've calmed down and are able to ask yourself if that's what the people you've lost really wanted. Varric, in Regret Superhell, didn't want vengeance. He just wanted his friend to walk a better path. And Harding always believed there was another chance for anyone, so long as you kept reaching a hand out for them--even when it sucked ass. So the redemption ending feels like a sort of indignance, an instant regret for not doing worse, for not getting comeuppance, for being forced to eschew satisfaction (related: I wonder if the Inquisitor feels those things as well coming out of this ending, considering how long they've lived under the shadow of Solas' actions). Conversely, the other two endings feel like an immediate satisfaction, because you got to trick the trickster with all the wits Varric taught you, or because you finally got to punch him in the face and it felt really good. But I feel like those endings would come with a creeping regret, something that sneaks up on you later, especially when remembering the fallen and what they would have wanted you to do. Ultimately, because of that, it feels like no ending is devoid of regret. Which I suppose, is rather thematic.

[timberhearths]

please draw nthad make out 🤤🤤

Dude

[vt-scribbles]

Please still be here in 4 years.

Please.

[bredforloyalty]

am i a sadist or does everyone keep asking themselves that