#to strangle him to another death

[mxtxfanatic]

I know that the double entendre in “San-lang” is noted in the other translations, but it really just hit me that one of the hanzi in “bridegroom” (新郎) is the same hanzi in San-lang (三郎), and now I’m just like, hmmm, Hua Cheng really did just slip himself in as the “groom” in that whole first arc, introduced himself as “San-lang” in the second one knowing that Xie Lian would easily put two and two together… and STILL BACKED OUT OF PROPOSING TO HIM IN THE FARMING ARC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[wombywoo]

sick bby 🤧

[faaun]

my arms keep burning and turning red i keep smiling at polaroid photos of my friends i bought a set of pans so i wouldn't have to steal theirs. when i asked 2 ethicists why the way she treated me was so bad (tell me logically why i should let her go) i really meant tell me why i deserve better. tell me why what she did matters in the context of how you know me. will you tell me why do i deserve better than to suffer for a beautiful person?

[arcxnumvitae]

A small what-if

His knees pinned the man's arms to the ground beneath, and despite the former commander's struggles, years of isolation and reclusively had done his strength no favors. Not when the one he struggled against was still young, a violent force of his own and still well-versed in battle. The broken hands certainly didn't help the old commander either.

Strong hands wrapped around the man's throat without preamble or mockery-- an action at odds with the way Mhoirbheinn had toyed with his meal just moments before after his arrival. But no, now no smile rested on the young man's lips as he began to squeeze and the one struggling beneath him grew more frantic. No emotion rested on his face in fact, only an intent stare at his victim, as if he were taking in-- needed to take in-- every minute detail of the other's desperate and pitiful expressions. Spittle dribbled down the corners of the man's mouth as his eyes turned bloodshot. Soon, the strangled noises that left him turned agonized, and yet Mhoirbheinn did not let up in the slightest.

He took care not to squeeze too hard lest he accidentally break the man's neck and cut his suffering short. No, Mhoirbheinn would take care and take his time. He would ensure every single moment of agony of his death was drawn out as much as possible. It was the least he could do to the slime that had caused Bal pain.

Minutes passed in silence save for the slowly fading noises from the commander. Mhoirbheinn remained perfectly still the entire time, vermillion and black eyes never moving once from the other man's face. It was only once the other had stilled, his eyes rolled up into his skull. Mhoirbheinn's hands finally released their hold on his neck, and the fae rose to his feet. One last look was spared the man before swift steps took him from the hut.

Good riddance.

[swdgf]

certain qidian authors shld start a side hustle writing dnmei actually 🙂‍↕️

[friendscfmine]

//i wanna write stan so bad but the only one reblogging any memes is my stupid idiot dumbass maggot-ridden bf with whomst i already have 18 billion threads >:(

[stardust-annihilation]

saw a stupid article about a scene from a show ive never heard of and dont care about and was curious so i watched the scene and it was the Funniest fucking shit. like the article was all 'oh film & tv are getting too graphic & sexualized boo hoo' and then i proceded to watch the most Camp Nonsense. still dont care about that show but that scene was fucking Art.

[w04hxo]

.

[taintandviolent]

sin creeps in ; Nosferatu x Reader

summary: You're plagued by heinous nightmares of a mysterious monster, but you can't help but feel drawn to he who plagues you.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 1.5K | female reader, monster fucking, vampires, vampire sex, bloodplay, biting, drinking blood / blood loss, mentions of death, making out, smut, unprotected sex, mentions of accents, shadow play (fingering)????.

a/n: MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR NOSFERATU 2024! this is just.... listen, I'm not even going to try to justisfy myself. rack up yet another hear me out moment for me. you either understand or you don't. shorter than I wanted it to be, but I needed to get this out and sate my hunger. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

You awake with a strangled gasp, your hands flying to your throat as your breath gradually returns. The nightmares had roused you, as they had every night, but this time, something lingered. Your room was frigid; the gauzy curtains fluttered in front of the open window like misplaced ghosts, allowing the chill of the night to penetrate your quarters. Everything looks terrifying at night; familiar shapes are transformed into horrible spectres, and your very room feels unknown. Unsafe. 

He is here. For the first time in several nights, you weren’t dreaming – he has come for you.

“I know that you are here with me,” you bravely whisper into the emptiness of your own bedroom. The wind whistled, a familiar sound, but something growled – growled in a language you didn’t speak, but understood. The voice was low, gravelly, and heavily accented. 

Hurriedly, you kick the sheets from your legs. The moonlight pales your skin, washing you in its blanch, bluish tone. Gripping your gown with both hands, you gather it up your thighs, exposing them to the cold. The chill of the wind hits your center, and you hiss through your teeth. Your head drops to your chest, and so does your gaze, watching patiently. At the edge of your bed, a large, slender shadow manifests. Him. 

You dare not look up. The feeling of his presence petrifies you, but also arouses you – letting a slick warmth pool deeply between your legs. 

The shadows continue to creep further up your bed, until they reach your feet, which twitch in response. Up, up, up… along your shins. Your skin prickles, and you shiver, doing your best to remain calm. Though he doesn’t touch you, you feel him. You feel every pass of his large hand as it makes its way up your body. His shadow glides over your hip, to your stomach and finally between your plump breasts, coming to a stop over your beating heart. It thumps away like a rabbit’s heart underneath the blackness of his form, and you hear a ragged, strained groan.

Then, with no warning, it moves down, leaving a cold, lifeless chill in its path like a gust of winter wind. You pant, desperately clinging to what breath you have. All at once, the shadow envelopes the soft, warm mound between your legs and your hands fall to the bed, bracing yourself. You have felt his ghostly touches for countless nights, tasting your body as a lover would, but each time your body climbed the peak, the sensations disappeared.  He comes to you in dreams, always leaving you unsatisfied. Your chest heaves in the night, cold droplets of sweat peppering your decollete and breasts. Your hands claw the sheets while you dream, but never reach euphoria.

Tonight, there are new sensations. The phantom wisp of his middle finger runs along the length of your slit. Grazing it. Somehow, you feel his finger part your wet folds, toying with your most sensitive areas. The nonexistent pads of his fingers sweep back and forth over your swelling clit, bringing a spasmodic twitch from each of your muscles. Wanting. Craving. While the sensation lacks the familiar warmth of a living man, it is bountiful with pleasurable feelings – your body responds embarrassingly; your shoulders shudder violently. 

He inhales, a deeply hollow sound. “You desire this… thine own body craves it….” 

The accent seems to fill his entire mouth, rumbling in his throat as he speaks slowly, drawing out each word like an incantation. You let out a plaintive moan, throwing your head back against the pillows, the down feathers crackling underneath you. As though he’s still pleasuring you, your hips writhe back and forth, practically convulsing with need. The shadow of his hand is gone from your body, replaced by the looming darkness of his physical form. After a moment of trepidation, you finally lift your head, and stare into the dark, terrifying eyes that watch you. 

You swallow hard. “I do.” 

A moment passes before you continue. “Take me as you will, for I am yours.” You consent again, desperate to convey your own insatiable hunger, your unimaginable need. 

Another intake of breath from him – it almost sounds labored, painful. His footsteps are dreadful as he moves around to the side of your bed. He’s tall, his form stretching towards the ceilings and towering over you, consuming your atmosphere as he had in your nightmares. His silhouette is large; enhanced by the countless furs he has on.

Weightlessly, his lithe, ghastly fingers reach for you and make contact with your form. They are cold, and the icy feeling of them penetrate the thin fabric of your nightgown. He moves gradually, but hungrily, feeling the curves of your body beneath the cotton. As he moves southward, his fingers skim over the peak of your breast, a nail catching on the swollen nipple. It hurts, but your chest jerks forward still, craving more of his touch. 

Pulling a breathy moan from deep within your throat, his long, sharp nails rake across the tender flesh of your thigh. It’s bathed in the silvery moonlight, which casts horrible, elongated shadows of his fingers down towards your center. He scrapes downward, his middle finger digging into the flesh enough to leave a reddened streak behind, but not so much to break the skin.

“P-please…” you mewl, looking up into his horrifying visage. The sight of him fills you with dread and disgust, but like a single drop of blood in water, it’s tainted with something else, something else that has been lingering in your system for days. 

He’s above you now, though you don’t remember seeing him move atop of you. Still, he’s there. The bed creaks as you push yourself into the mattress, whimpering underneath him. He lowers himself down onto you, the brush of his mustache tickles your face as he lingers above you. A second passes and his waiting mouth envelops yours. He tastes damp and cold, faintly of ash and earth. His tongue slips out and it too is cold, slipping wetly along your own and along your bottom lip. His kiss is dreadful, but possessive, and he inhales each time you exhale, as though he’s trying to suck the very warmth out of you. No man has kissed you the way Count Orlok kisses you, and the chill of the room disappears, snuffed out by the fire that rages in your lower abdomen. 

Your tongues collide with each other; you tasting his lifelessness, and him tasting your utterly intoxicating, vibrant liveliness. For a moment, the two of you stay intertwined at the mouth until he separates himself, smearing his mouth over the warmth of your neck. He hovers, pausing over your pulse. It thrums under his lips, and his hips urge into yours, indicating his hunger.

There is a shuffle, a rustling of clothing. You try to lift your head up to gaze between your bodies, but his hand holds you fast, pressing you against the pillow. The size of his hand is staggering; his palm underneath your chin, while the fingertips extend past your hairline, into the strands. You shudder again and whisper his name. He inhales as though he plans to speak, but doesn’t. 

The front of your nightgown falls apart, revealing your chest to him. With one hand covetously clutching your breast, his mouth opens between your breasts, the slithery coolness of his tongue gliding down along the length of your sternum. As the teeth puncture your flesh, your hands make fists on either side of your body, pulling the sheets into the confines of your palms. He enters you, in more ways than one, and you feel the steady tug of his mouth as he sucks the blood from your veins. Warmth pools in the cave of your stomach.

The fingers of his other hand crawl up your shoulder, and like a quill in ink, he dips the pads of his fingers into the hollow of your chest, coating them in your crimson essence. He smears the blood along your decollete, along the hem of your nightgown, tugging it harshly over your shoulder. The blood coats you in a flash of warmth, and then chill as it meets the cold air. 

His hips rut against yours as he drinks, the pulse of your blood matching the thrust of his hips. An ache starts in your neck, a slow pulling sensation that has your eyelids fluttering. He moves within you, his length penetrating as deeply as his sharpened teeth have. Your release is found amongst blood and groans and that same language which you understand, but do not speak. His tongue scrubs at your soft skin, lapping up the blood as it comes… as you do. 

The darkness is ever-looming, and as your aching cunt ebbs its throbbing, it settles down upon you. You let yourself fall backwards into the abyss, freely. It takes you, wrapping its arms around your tiny frame which is dwarfed by his stature. His mouth breaks free of your bloodied skin with a slick pop.  Into the softness of your skin, you hear him growl, ‘Mine.’ The feeling vibrates against your neck, and your lids flutter shut.

[tonycries]

Wanna Do Bad Things To You

Synopsis. He fucks you like he hates you. You didn’t mean to fuck your old friend-with-benefits - truly - it just kinda happened.

Pairing. Multiple x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Reader, hate sex, ex-friends-with-benefits, slight angst, he’s still in love with you,  unprotected sex, jealous sex (from his side), choking, marking, pet names (my love, sweetheart), swearing.

Word count. 1.5k

A/N. Ummmmmmmm yeah. Art by @_3eam on X.

He fucks you like he hates you.

“Shut the fuck up, you little slut.”

“Do it then. What? Scared he’ll do it bet-”

Cut off by a pathetic gurgle - his large hand around your throat. Ringed fingers tightening right above your pulse, the cold metal digging into your searing skin. 

Your vision is bleary, blood roaring in your ears as he leans down, muscled front against your back. His breath is hot against your face as he whispers lowly, “Running your mouth a bit too much, my love. You do the same with him as well?”

Shivers run down your spine - all the way to your cunt, pulsing and clenching furiously around his throbbing tip. Teasing your dripping entrance. Unmoving.

Your walls burn, struggling at the stretch of his thick head, yet still wanting the bastard to fucking move. Such a fucking tease. He was always like this - even back when you two were together, but that’s a story for another time.

Turning to glare at him over your shoulder, “So what if I do? Who are you to tell me what to do?”

You’re either an idiot or a mastermind. 

Maybe both. Because you feel his achingly hard cock twitch animalistically inside you, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across those kiss-bitten lips you knew too well. You hated how much you wanted them on yours right now. 

“You’re right. I’m not anyone to you.” he murmurs venomously, swiftly capturing the tender skin of your exposed neck, sharp teeth digging into you. Branding you. 

You keen, hips bucking uselessly against his bruising grip on your hips as he pulls away. God, you felt so used - and it made your walls flutter around him so desperately. 

Two long fingers reach up to squeeze your cheeks together mockingly into a pathetic pout, forcing you to look at him. “But I’m gonna ruin you for everyone. Including that little prick you’ve tried to replace me with.”

Your eyes flutter open in shock - you didn’t even realize they were scrunched up - getting lost in the ones boring into yours, half-lidded and pupils blown ferally. Electricity jolts through your body at the pure lust and rage whirling in his intense gaze. 

You two were going to be the deaths of each other.

You two were always going to end up like this.

You’ve barely even finished the thought before his flushed tip is kissing your cervix so painfully good. 

“Hah- Oh, fuck. Fuck you.” Eyes rolling to the back of your head as he sheaths himself completely in you. A low hiss leaves his swollen lips as he pulls out agonizingly slow, inch by inch, prominent veins dragging along your g-spot. 

“Fuck, you sure you hate me? Because this pussy seems like she can’t get enough of me, hm?”

Whatever retort on the tip of your tongue is cut off by his rock-hard cock bullying its way back into your snug cunt. He fucks you animalistically, heavy balls stinging your pussy as his cock rams in and out of your hole over and over at a relentless pace. 

Strangled mewls of ah! ah! ah! leave your swollen lips as large fingers presses tight circles into your clit at a merciless rhythm matching the cadence of his hips. 

You mindlessly writhe against him, you felt so full - so split open on his cock. It was too much to handle. He was always too much to take. 

“Now now, don’t hah- run away from me, my love. If you’re going to act like such a fucking slut then take it like one.” he purrs, lip curling into a smug smirk that you wanted to smack off his pretty face. You couldn’t stand him - but you couldn’t get enough of him either.

“I’m not the hah- o-one that runs away. And- hngh- I’m not your ‘love’” you grit, because God forbid you go down without a fight - even when you’re falling apart completely under him.

What else could he have even expected? You always did see through him.

God, did he love that bitchy mouth of yours. 

Huffing out a surprised laugh, he wraps a strong arm around your waist pulling you deeper onto his throbbing cock - grip hard enough that he knows you’ll have marks to remember him by. Not like he planned on letting you ever forget him in the first place.

“You always did know how to push my buttons, huh, my love?” 

“Could say the same for you, sweetheart.”

Fuck that stupid fucking petname. How is it that even after years of not hearing it, his heart still lurches the same as it falls out of your mouth? That annoying, nagging part of his brain wonders if you call him the same thing.

And maybe you could read minds - he wouldn’t be surprised - because you open those pretty lips to say “Though, you’re not my sweetheart anymore, huh?”

Unexplainable anger seethes under his skin in a way that makes him want to claw it off. 

“Fuck you.” he hisses, turning your face so his mouth clashes with yours. It’s all bruising urgency and teeth clashing at the breathless dance of your tongues. 

His cock speeds up it’s abuse on your cunt, fucking you with impatient, harsh thrusts that have his leaking tip kissing your cervix. Had it not been for his firm hand around your throat, you were sure you’d have been slammed into the headboard creaking in protest.

“You drive me fucking insane. Fuck you.”

He hates the whines of his name falling from your kiss-bitten lips, and how it’s his favorite song.

He hates the tears clinging to your lashes in a way that makes him want to burn down anything that made you cry. Including himself.

He hates the way your cunt clamps down on him as if it hurts to part - he wishes you felt the same.

He hates the way he can’t let you go.

You were perfect, so perfect. Too perfect for him. He was probably better for you - all stability and reassurance where he is nothing but a whirlwind of change. 

In one, fluid move, he’s pulled out of the snug heaven of your dripping cunt - flipping you onto your back to stare into those beautiful eyes that haunt him every night. 

"Let's forget everything else, if just for tonight."

And with those words, he’s back inside you again, ramming into you with purpose. Though his thrusts are as unforgiving as ever, something about the air feels charged with something different. A rawness that both of you would have shied away from. 

“Th-this doesn’t hngh- fix us, y’know.”

“I know, my love.”

His low words muffled as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, kissing the bite mark with a tenderness that doesn’t translate into his hips. And you can’t overthink it - because your head is only filled with him and the way your cunt is milking his thick cock so good. 

And later you’ll probably blame your foggy thoughts for the reason why your hands subconsciously wrap around his muscled shoulders, pulling him so impossibly close until you can feel his heartbeat thundering under your touch - in sync with your own. One. Two. Three.

“Ah! Shit. Doing so good, cunt made jus’ f’me. You’re made jus’ f’me.” choked moans leave his throat as he pulls away ever-so-slightly to look into your fucked out eyes. 

“Perfect f’me, my love.”

Maybe at his words - or maybe at his predatory, blown-out gaze - you buck your hips to desperately meet his. Breathless moans of his name leaving your bruised lips.

With a final, purposeful thrust of his cock, he pulls you once more into a familiar, searing kiss that sends you both over the edge. You see stars as you cum, mind barely registering the thick ropes of his seed that fill your quivering cunt.

A low groan leaves him as his cum forms a thick, white ring around his base, dripping down your legs and onto the bedsheets that he knew were your favorite. It was feral - and at least for this moment, it made him feel like yours. 

Some carnal part of him keeps bucking his hips into you as if on instinct, letting you ride out your highs together. Fucking his cum deeper and deeper the way he would as lovers, his strong arms wrapped around you to keep you from moving away. But he didn’t have to, because right now you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Keeping you close. As if he never wanted to let go - both of your bodies a mindless whisper of what your minds craved. 

A delicate intimacy that only your bodies could bring rings in the sex-filled air. And when he finally stops, body collapsing onto yours - he whispers a secret. Meant for only the two of you in this quiet world.

“Fuck me like you still love me.”

Because by God was he in love with you.

- Gojo, TOJI, SUGURU, Atsumu, SUNA, Tsukishima, SAKUSA, EREN

A/N. Maybe I’ll do some fluff next week to make up for this…

Plagiarism not authorized.

[no1deepspacehater]

When Your Dress Is Too Short (LADS Headcanons)

... And you're late for a party.

☆ Xavier

As soon as you step out the door, Xavier says nothing, but his eyes say A LOT.

“I know, I know, but we’re late! I didn’t think it’d be this short…”

It takes him a little to convince him to get going instead of making you change, but he eventually relents.

He’s standing behind you for the entire function. (Partly for you, and partly to hide the hard-on he’s getting.)

Anybody that dares to take a look is getting death eyes.

He will literally pull your dress down for you during the outing if he sees it’s riding up too much.

Good luck finding that dress afterwards; he’ll get rid of it immediately.

☆ Zayne

“A bold choice.” He points out as soon as you slip into the car.

“Please, Zayne, not now, we’re late!”

“You are correct, and while I’m not complaining, you did just flash me upon entering the car.”

“Zayne!”

Will force you to wear his big ass coat if he has one.

If not, he will also politely stand behind you most of the time and loudly cough if you start to bend down too much.

☆ Rafayel

“What do you think you’re wearing?”

“Rafayel, please, Thomas is going to kill us if we don’t show up to your showcase now!”

Unfortunately, Rafayel would rather drink the whole ocean instead of making you walk out like that.

Literally pulls out some cloth and sewing needle in the car and gets to work.

You’re more comfortable, yes, but Thomas nearly strangled you both since you were 30 minutes late.

Rafayel started getting handsy while modifying your dress, and well, one thing led to another.

☆ Sylus

“Um, Sylus, I think the stylist got my measurements wrong.”

Sylus gives you a look, eyebrows raised. “It’s supposed to look like that.”

“It’s supposed to be this short!? Sylus, if I even so much as tilt, I’ll flash the whole auction.”

“I’d have to outbid everyone for you, after that.” Sylus took a sip of his wine. “Then kill them.”

He’d call the stylist and have them fix it to your liking, although you were an hour and a half late at that point.

Sylus doesn’t mind either way; he likes showing you off, but he also wants you to be comfortable.

[specialgradefckr]

Beat Your Heart to Death

tw: explicit content, extremely toxic dynamics. gojo/geto, gojo/reader, geto/reader, and yes, stsg/reader. female!reader. mutual pining, requited unrequited feelings, the yearning, good god, the YEARNING. relatively unwilling voyeurism. EXTREMELY manipulative dynamics – boundary pushing, gaslighting, etc.

satoru and suguru are completely fucking deranged. their brains are operating on a level where human consciousness and emotion just hits different. they say INSANE shit at the end of this fic. you have been warned.

Sequel: Heartline Gone Flat

This must be what dying feels like.

You watch them, together. Leaning against one another, sleeping, vulnerable. Curled up in each other's embrace.

This must be what dying feels like. Seeing the man you love and the man you lust for, so painfully, peacefully, blissfully in love with each other.

If this is dying, you're surely going to hell for thinking something so awful about a feeling so beautiful.

It’s the sort of thing you think to yourself, bury deep – deep – inside the recesses of your mind. Dredging it out in the late hours of the night when you can’t sleep. Wallowing in your unrequited love, feeling sorry for yourself, while also comforting yourself with the thought that at least now you didn’t have to do anything.

You would never have to approach your longtime crush, Suguru Geto, and potentially ruin your friendship with him. It was something you’d struggled with for years, and after Gojo showed up – you didn’t have to struggle anymore. It was already lost.

And the insane twists your fantasies would play out for you, in those lonely nights in bed – you could be free of those, too. You could completely dismiss the insane idea of propositioning the man-whore menace of a human being who made your heart race, Satoru Gojo.

Satoru and Suguru loved each other, and it would be wrong to get in the way of that. At this point, even saying anything to either of them would be a trespass on your friendship, with both of them.

That was all there was to it. Nothing more to be done. You were mourning your feelings. Strangling your dreamy sighs at Suguru’s kind gestures, stomping the flutter in your chest when you caught Satoru smiling. Killing your heart and leaving it to rot, stepping around it like it’s not there.  

Unfortunately, you couldn’t escape the fact that all three of you lived together.

It doesn’t help that Satoru is just as prone to PDA with Suguru as he was with all his numerous hookups. More, even, because he doesn’t keep it to just his bedroom, doesn’t make the token efforts to stay quiet at night and shoo them out in the morning.

You do your best. Look away. Try to ignore how your heart jumps, twists, does all sorts of funny things at the sight of them kissing.

Satoru’s pretty white lashes flutter closed, Suguru’s warm gaze softens, cheeks flushed as Satoru’s hands jump up to cling to him. He cups Satoru’s face like it’s a treasure, tilting his head and leaning into the kiss like he can’t get enough of it –

You’re staring, fuck. You’re looking too closely. The scene burns itself into your eyes and you want to rip them out, never see it again. But you struggle to avert your gaze, greedy mind committing every detail to memory with a racing heart, dry mouth.

Thirsty, you’re so thirsty, in every sense of the word. They lean into each other, so in sync and so affectionate in a way that tugs on your every heart string. Fuck!

You start to just leave the room when it happens. You’d rather die than get caught staring, you’d rather go without water than thirst for droplets.

And you’d really, really, rather cut your fucking eyes out than face the feelings the sight awakens in you. Longing, yearning, how you want to tear them both off each other at once, how you want to see more, more, more, you want to touch, you want to taste –

God, fuck. You’re like one of those shitty girls who fetishizes male relationships. Aren’t you? You feel like this might be that. But you’re attracted to both of them individually, so it can’t be that, right? You’re not a creep, you’re just greedy. You leave the room when they kiss! You’re respecting their privacy!

They notice, though, is the thing. Not your staring (god you fucking hope they’ve never noticed the staring) but how you leave the room when they get affectionate with each other. It’s Suguru who pulls you aside to ask.

“…and listen, I know you’re not like that, I totally know, so does Satoru. It just… makes him feel a little weird, you know? He was raised by a traditional family, so they either think this is a phase, or call him disgusting to his face.”

Fuck your life. Actually fuck your ENTIRE life. “Of course not – I never – ”

“No no no, I know, I told you, he does too, it’s just – it’s a little disconcerting for him. But I can talk to him, make him understand. This is your house, too, you have the right not to see that sort of stuff.”

That just makes you feel a bit worse, actually. Satoru and Suguru shouldn’t have to hide away in their room whenever they want to kiss. It’s their own home.

“I’m sorry, Suguru, I – I don’t have any problem with you guys doing it around the house. I just…” You shift uncomfortably. “I’m not super comfortable with… PDA sort of stuff. It has nothing to do with you both being guys.”

Suguru nods, “No, I understand completely. Satoru will be disappointed, but you’re setting boundaries, and I respect that – ”

“It’s not that,” You say, “I – you can do whatever you like, really, I’ll just leave – ”

“No,” Suguru interrupts with a sigh, “That’s what’s bothering him. I think deep down he’s a little worried that you find it… disturbing.”

Your chest tightens with anxiety as you rush to reassure him, “Of course I don’t!”  

“No, I know, I know, we both do,” Suguru says in that warm, comforting voice of his, “It’s just how he feels – you know he can’t control that.”

And then your stupid mouth rushes ahead of you. Writes a check your heart can’t afford to cash.

“It’s fine! You don’t have to stop, I. Just… tell him I felt like I was intruding. I didn’t think he saw it as me being disgusted.”

And your heart will pay willingly, because Suguru gives you that smile. Warm and affectionate. The smile you’d fallen in love with.

“You’re not intruding at all. I’ll tell him you said so, it’ll be a great weight off his mind.”

So now the love of your life makes out with his boyfriend and you can’t even leave the room. Hahah. God. Maybe you should start thinking of a way to move out?

Problem: When Satoru moved in, he’d basically started paying all the bills. He didn’t have to worry about being cut off from the family money – even at his young age, he had his own financial success. Even if it started out with a few trust funds and an appointed position at one of his parent’s companies.

Every rent listing looked expensive when your current rate was “free”. And fuck, rent was expensive. You’d have to deal with other roommates, people you didn’t know (and love) as long as Suguru (and Satoru, at this point, you’d known him for years), and you’d be paying for the privilege.

You try, oh, do you ever try to get over it. Sexuality is fluid, after all, so it’s perfectly possible that Satoru and Suguru just ended up being gay. Being with either of them may never have been an option, except maybe as one of Satoru’s flings.

And wouldn’t that just suck? To have one night with Satoru only to watch him realize he’s gay and mutually in love with your longtime crush? Better to never sleep with him at all. You can’t miss something you’ve never had. And you wouldn’t want to be a fling anyways.

The thought stings more than it should, because deep down –

(You’d take it. You know you’d take it. That’s why you’re still here, really, under all the excuses. You’re fucking pathetic, pining for both of them. You’d take anything you could get.)

It doesn’t help that they get freer with their affections after your talk with Suguru. Looser. So unrestrained. You walk in on them fucking in the living room, having come back early from class, face burning up as you stand there stock still for a moment.

They don’t stop, or freak out, or cover themselves or anything. You see Suguru’s naked chest above the couch, Satoru’s hands pinned over the armrest of it, their bare legs and feet entwined and sticking over the other side of the couch. They’re both so fucking tall.

So beautiful. Satoru moans so pretty, and you hear Suguru purr, low and filthy, “Like that, you little whore?” and you feel yourself clenching all the way to your core.

You make a wild dash across the living room, staying on the other side of the couch so they can’t see you. Closing the door to your bedroom as quickly and quietly as you can, panting to yourself, feeling the heat rising on your face and the warm pulse between your legs.

(Pathetic, fucking pathetic. It’s like you’re actually some horny teenage boy with a crush on a pretty girl out of his league, rubbing one out every time you see her with her equally hot girlfriend.)

You’ve got to get ahold of yourself.

Your routine has changed, with the both of them being together, so openly. There were little things you’d shared, now gone, lost to the unfathomable whirlpool that was their relationship.

Used to be you’d buy sweets on grocery trips to share with Satoru. It was an old habit of yours, and when he’d first moved in, he’d caught you with them. Reaching for some with a grin before you smacked him away.

The look he gave you, a slow smirk before he went all wide-eyed and pleading, staggering to his knees like a proper starving drama queen – god, he had to know how he’d made your heart flutter. He probably pulled that on so many people.

Still, he would eat the candies right out of your hand, lips just teasing on your fingertips, eyes lingering on you while he licked his lips. It made you feel weird, at first, but you eventually realized that Satoru was just a weird guy.

He’d yawn and stretch and if he caught you or Suguru watching he’d flash his whole chest, like a girl flashing her tits. He slept naked and left the bathroom door open when he was using it, and he’d often knock when on your bathroom when you were in there, even if he had his own.

He had about ten different game consoles and games for them, plus a huge collection of movies, which he likes to watch with the room completely dark. He sleeps with a nightlight on, and his social media picture is an ugly picture of him from high school with these weird round sunglasses.

Not at all what you expected from a pretty boy like him. But Satoru’s eccentric charm, and the unstoppable allure of his perfect face and body, it rewired your brain somehow. You feel like you’ve wanted him for as long as you’ve known him.

You try to find other people. But the problem with living with Satoru and Suguru is that no one is up to your standards. You’ll never meet anyone as handsome or beautiful as either of them, so why bother?

In your defense, Suguru is hard to fall out of love with.

It’s not uncommon to wake up to the sound of your favorite breakfast being cooked while Suguru hums away in the kitchen, his pretty hair all tied back. If you sneak in quietly enough you can catch a tender smile on his face, the smell of freshly ground and brewed coffee he makes for Satoru in some expensive machine.

If you are unlucky, he’ll catch you, and that smile will grow as soon as his eyes are on you and you’ll fall in love all over again. If you’re lucky, you can sneak back away, but Suguru will eventually come and wake you up with a knock so gentle you suspect he already knows you’re up.

He shares his hair care routine, and it leaves your hair shiny and lovely. But your hair isn’t exactly like his, so he must have adjusted it.

He offers to help you brush or style it, himself, and asks you if you wouldn’t mind repaying the favor. Like you wouldn’t kill or die for the honor of running your hands through his silken locks.

Suguru is the type of guy who remembers when you get your period and asks if you need anything for it. You magically find your favorite fruits in the fridge, cut up, dipped in chocolate or caramel or yoghurt, however you like them best.

He does your laundry without being asked because he says it’s easier, and cleans dishes before you can get to them.

Every birthday he throws you a party, bakes a cake and he’ll spend hours to perfect a meal from scratch to go along with it. He’s perfect at finding a thoughtful present – Satoru just gives you cash, or some expensive luxury purchase you find fashionable but would never buy for yourself (Suguru definitely went shopping with him).

You get why Satoru likes him. Satoru’s sort of a slob, always leaving clothes on the floor – walking around shirtless like he knows exactly what it does to anyone watching “Just providing a public service, babe~” – and Suguru is so perfectly domestic.

Almost motherly. Whenever you misplace something, the fastest way to find it is invariably to ask Suguru, if he doesn’t approach you first with a concerned smile after watching you look.

After enough times catching Suguru sternly chide him for not putting away his clothes, leaving wrappers on the table, forgetting to put his shoes away; you’re relatively sure Satoru’s called him mom or mommy at some point. Possibly during sex.

And god, you get it. Those gentle tones of “Is everything all right?”, and “I tweaked the recipe, how do you like it?” and “I’m just really happy you enjoyed it.”, it’s enough to make your heart ache.

How, exactly, are you supposed to fall out of love with Suguru Geto?

How are you supposed to leave, how are you supposed to want to, especially when you swear you hear him call himself Daddy, and you find your face getting hotter than it should be.

Whispering to Satoru how “I’ve got you, baby,” and “Let Daddy take care of you, mhhm?”

And god, the high-pitched whimpers Satoru makes in response. He’s a tall guy, mewling, melting beneath Suguru’s hands, his words, his cock – and you could so easily imagine yourself in his place –

How are you supposed to be platonic about this?

 How are you supposed to stop touching yourself when they’re practically putting on personalized porn shows for you?

It's after the third time that you start to think they're doing this on purpose.

Whatever’s between them is something you just couldn’t understand. You get that, you do.

The way they look into each other’s eyes – there’s no way Suguru has ever looked at you like that, no way Satoru would ever want you that badly.

It’s something magnetic that makes them slot together at all times, draws their gazes to one another, leaves no room for anyone else –

But you stumble on them… a lot.

Never mind making out on the couch. You turn into the laundry room to see Satoru backed against the washer machine, his cock so far Suguru’s throat you can see it bulge.

His face is flushed, eyes teary, one hand loosely in Suguru’s hair while he whimpers. Dark eyes gazing up at him, fierce, Adam’s apple bobbing and another noise escaping him.

Or Satoru’s sitting rather innocently in Suguru’s lap, at a certain angle, but the sounds he’s making are less than innocent. Vile, even. Suguru’s broad hand wrapped around Satoru’s cock, pumping up and down, Satoru’s body shifting as you can tell he’s grinding down against something below.

And sometimes it’s really just the noises. You’ve heard them so often now it feels like you can put expressions to every moan and grunt and whimper and whine. Satoru makes a certain sort of gasp and your imagination jumps to think of how deep Suguru must be inside him, how his pretty face must look, twisted in pleasure.

They come back sometimes, from parties, drunk together. Leaning on one another like they could never lean on you – you’re not tall, not built like either of them are. Cheeks flushed as they whisper words into one another’s ears, Satoru giggling, kissing his cheek, Suguru laughing and squeezing his waist as they stumble into their room.

Like they’re in their own little world that you could never intrude on. You just catch glimpses every now and then. They don’t even look at you, it’s like you’re not even there – their eyes are locked on one another.

But that isn’t the worst of it.

Satoru and Suguru start bringing other people in.

No - they start bringing other girls into it. Like it's a punishment for catching them, only, you're fairly certain they wanted to be caught.

Satoru’s never been shy when he had a girl over, about walking around shirtless – maybe it’s an exhibitionism thing. And you’re someone they know well, someone tolerant (pathetic) enough to not say anything.

Either that or they’re both just that good at pretending you aren’t there. But they talk to you, all the time. You eat meals together, have movie nights (if you ignore how Satoru will not-so-discreetly put his hand on the inside of Suguru’s thigh while you’re all sitting together), grocery shop together, smile and laugh and share things about your day.

It’s just that they’re also dating each other. And in love, so in love, it’s painfully obvious that there’s no room for anyone else between them. Which makes the girls they bring over turn your stomach even more.

Sure, they’re one night stands. But they don’t even try to keep it quiet. You hear unfamiliar, high-pitched moans and whimpers, a wet smacking sound that has to be Satoru overdramatically eating pussy.

You wonder what his face looks like. What his eyes look like. Is he staring up at her when she does it? Does she have a hand in the feather-down softness of his hair? Or maybe Suguru’s hand, shoving him forward, that sly smirk that creeps over his lips when you’ve seen his eyes grow dark with want.

Is she whimpering because she’s close? Do they tease her, edging her, enjoying the expressions on her face, the way her body trembles? When she begs, is it for them to stop, or keep going? Whose dick is it inside her? Satoru’s, Suguru’s? What does it feel like? Satoru’s stupid enough to do it without a condom but Suguru isn’t.

What are they doing when she cums? You hear Suguru groan (you know how his groans sound, you know how both of them sound), so he must be cumming too. What’s Satoru doing? He’s too needy to be left alone for long.

Is he watching while he jerks himself? Has Suguru forced him to sit back? Or maybe he’s down where the action is, right where Suguru’s cock is buried inside her, laving over her clit and his cock like the slut he is until they both cum all over his face.

Why can’t that be you? Why don’t they want you?

Your fists clench harder than they should.

One night you stumble onto them in the middle of the living room, all at it in plain view.

Satoru is in Suguru’s lap, tall enough to tower over him. Suguru’s hand wrapped around his throat, choking him, head tilted back in bliss as his lashes flutter. There’s a woman on her knees, between their spread legs, sucking Satoru off.

And you can tell, by the way Satoru shudders, how he’s loose like putty in Suguru’s arms, that Suguru’s dick is buried deep inside him.

Satoru and Suguru don’t even try to pretend it was an accident. Some fucking roommates they are.

Suguru will smile and blush when you ask him about it, apologizing in soothing, kind tones, offering to never bring another girl home again if it bothered you – you’ve been through the goddamn song and dance so many times already.

He has this way of just. Making you feel guilty for even asking in the first place. Like you were presumptuous to say anything at all, unless it was something he wanted to hear.

It’s turned you into this. So eager to please but desperate to keep them at arm’s length. Wanting, longing, and starving for it. Watching because you quite literally can’t do anything else, sights burned into your eyes. Unable to look away. Unable to keep watching.

You don't know what they want from you.

You don’t think you want to, anymore.

Satoru and Suguru are getting impatient.

No, Suguru is getting impatient. Satoru is getting desperate. It was his idea to start going out and finding girls to bring back and fuck.

It wasn’t particularly difficult between the two of them. And promising, at first – after all, what was more likely to get you to snap than watching – hearing – the two of them give some other girl everything you’ve ever wanted on a silver platter?

But you just keep going. Gritting your teeth and bearing with it. Suguru spent a whole week dislodging your vibrator slightly from its charging port, slowly squeezing your lube bottle empty, doing everything he could to drive you to the brink.

Satoru’s starting to remark how much it’s a waste of time. He gets snippy when he’s needy, and lately, Suguru’s cock just isn’t enough for him. He has to go through your laundry, plant a camera in your bedroom on one of those few nights they stay out late enough to give you some private time.

Satoru makes him wear your clothes when Suguru fucks him, lets Suguru gag him with your panties when it’s the other way around.

They play dress-up together and watch you touch yourself at awkward angles with muddied sound quality. It’s not enough, not nearly enough.

Privately, Suguru is a little worried. Satoru’s getting weird – not that he hasn’t always been. But weirder.

He goes right into the bathroom after every time you use it. He’s always quick to reach your drinks for a “taste test” after you’ve had a sip. And Suguru knows for a fact Satoru isn’t using his own toothbrush at night.

He keeps talking about you. Looking at you. Whispering dirty suggestions in his ears, asking impatiently if you look like you’re going to snap.

Satoru is needy like that, demanding, and you’d always balanced him out while helping Suguru relax.

But there’s a distance now that wasn’t there before. The tension builds and builds, needs unmet for so long that desperation is clawing at both of them.

And that’s to say nothing of his own desires. Satoru, for all his faults, still has self-control.

Suguru passes your door every night and stops for a moment. He serves you dinner with a smile, domestic as he is, and thinks how easy it would be to slip something in there. To make sure you’d sleep through the night.

Would it even matter if you didn’t? You let him get away with so much. You love him, you must love him, don’t you? There’s no other reason you would put up with all of this. If he did slip, you’d forgive him, wouldn’t you? You’d drink up all his honeyed words with the same smile you always gave him.

But if he gave you such a convenient excuse, then he would always doubt. Whether you really loved him or if he just made it convenient to love him.

More importantly, you’re looking at them different. It was good, at first; your pretty eyes darting in a different direction, the way you try to hide your face, keep your words especially cool.

 They want you to TAKE what you want. Want you yelling and screaming and scratching them up like the hellcat they know you are, deep down.

“How long,” He whines between groans as Geto works between his legs, fingering him as he sucks his cock, “Is she gonna make us wait – fuck!”

Suguru pulls away with a pop. Saliva and precum dripping from his lips. Satoru pulls him in for a kiss, by the hair.

“You know she’s liked me a while,” Suguru murmurs, swallowing a moan or two as he works another finger into his hole. “She’s scared of pushing me away. And now that you’re my boyfriend, she probably wouldn’t want to break us up.”

“Fuck, but imagine if she did.” Satoru bucks into him, “She wants us, I know she does.”

He’s always so needy, like a puppy. Suguru likes it, but he can admit that he wants you, too. Misses the energy you’d provide. You’re not demanding like Satoru is. Too prideful. Satoru’s shameless. But you want, oh, do you ever want, and they both do know it.

Once he’s stretched Satoru out enough, he wastes no time shoving him onto his belly, burying himself in his hole from behind – “Fuck! Suguru!”

“On it right now,” He purrs, close to Satoru’s back, reaching lazily for his cock.

Satoru doesn’t like to cum too soon anyways. He likes to cum from getting fucked, to be edged into oblivion – or he likes going hard and fast and overstimulated to no end. Not much in between, unless he was the one in charge.

“Imagine it,” He pants like a dog beneath him. He’s pretty, so pretty, and the only thing Suguru could imagine that would be better is to see your face looking up at him from underneath Satoru, “Suguru!”

He grunts, thrusting his hips harder, “Imagining. What am I imagining?” God, Satoru’s a slut and a nuisance, but it’s always been worth it to indulge him.

“Her,” Satoru breathes after a particularly hard thrust, “Trying to break us up.”

Suguru grabs his hips for better leverage. Satoru dirty talks best when he’s getting fucked hard, after all.

“Fuck, imagine if she got me drunk or something, hngh, finally followed through on those fuck-me eyes she’s always giving me, ghhgh, fuck yes like that, and. Just fucked me in our room, waiting for you to walk in on us together.”

And he can see it, picture it so well.

A drunk night with the most beautiful man alive, because that’s what Satoru is; pretty even now, beneath him, all sweat and lean body trembling as he gets utterly railed.

You’ve always had the attraction, and Satoru couldn’t handle his liquor, and all the sudden, you’d slept together.

“Would you – ah, ahHhh, would you get mad, Suguru?” His voice is teasing now, even through the groans and utterances, “Would you cry~?”

“Ha!” He half-chokes out the laugh, because Satoru clenches around him and it’s hard not to cum right away. He’s going to leave bruises from how hard he’s holding those narrow, lovely hips.

“No," Suguru grinds out, "But I’m sure you both would. She’s the type, and you’re so fucking – gah, so fucking needy. What would you want me to do? Forgive you?”

His pace slows down, and he reaches to squeeze his cock in return, just for a taste.

“Nah – fuck! Yes, keep doing that, fuck.” Satoru bucks into his touch, always, always chasing after him, “She’s too fucking nice all the time. If she did it, it would be – hnng – like. A revenge thing. She should be fucking mad already, pissed off. She should make me cum inside her, say she’s pregnant. Make me dump you and marry her, so if she can’t have you, nobody can.”

Suguru barks out a laugh at the concept, and then a moan, choked off as he feels the heat shooting through him at the idea.

You’re too nice, like Satoru says, it’s a laughable concept, you acting like this –

But what had he seen in your eyes that day after you caught them both with that girl?

“Fuck, I swear I feel you twitching inside me – ”

“What would you do, then?” Suguru purrs hotly into his ear, “You want to win her heart while you’re married?”

“Well, we’d fuck all the time,” Satoru wheezes out a giggle, trembling as Suguru’s hand slides along his cock, “Fuck you – haaaahhh. But I’d be making nice with her, being a good husband, and then you could come and have an affair – ”

Fuck, fuck, that’s too much, “Close,” He grunts, driving himself deep and hard, chasing the edge, “Fuck, I could tell her I love her, blackmail her, even – threaten to tell you.”

A groan as Satoru gets closer, and Suguru continues, “I could fuck her, leave her coming home to you full of my cum – ”

“I’d eat it out of her,” Satoru laughs, near deranged as he jerks between fucking back into Suguru and rutting into his hand, “Jerk me off already – ah, fuck, what if you got her pregnant – ”

White-hot, like the idea of your face beneath him, both of them, accepting them with an open heart full of rage and bitterness and lust, Suguru cums.

He’s just aware enough to fist Satoru’s cock, sliding harshly along it until he hears the lovely whore beneath him gasping, twitching, spilling in his hand.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck,” Satoru whimpers. “Hnghh… god, just the idea of her coming home from the hospital with a black-haired baby.”

“Fuck you,” Suguru barks, because now he wants to cum inside you. He wants, so, so fucking bad to cum inside you.

But god, do you even want them?

You sit there, all day, looking away, running away. That’s not love, is it?

And he’s a romantic, at heart. Satoru is, too. They don’t want anything less than your whole heart. Your entire life, your mind, body, and soul, dedicated to them the way they are to each other. Mad with jealousy and rage and possession.

Satoru had left him with bruises, the day he found out Suguru was crushing on you. When Suguru told him, in no uncertain terms, that he’s been wanted you for over a decade now and he wasn’t leaving before he got you. Blue fury in his eyes, heart twisting in his chest.

He’d looked him in the eye, grin wild and wide. Staring down as he has him pinned. Suguru had raised his knee up between his legs to find his cock desperately hard and throbbing.

“I want to fuck her first,” had been his wicked demand. Pain and pleasure traded like currency in return for love, each of them furious at the other for wanting you. They reaped the cost of their love on each other, settled their scores deep in their souls.

Because even if Suguru had seen you first, could he really say he’d wanted you first? Did he really want to fuck you before Satoru moved in, before he saw you flustered from your attraction and playfully trading banter with Satoru?

Had he wanted Satoru because you wanted Satoru? Had Satoru wanted him because he could see that you did?

Lines cross and uncross between you and the two of them, too tangled to ever unravel.

Time to tighten the knot.

[leriexoxo]

WET ‘n’ WILD

Pairing: Bestfriend! Chan x Reader

Tags: Smut, feelings realization, accidental voyeurism, subtle seduction, bathroom sex, unprotected sex, breeding (idk what’s wrong with me), oral

Word Count: 4k

Summary: Chan and you have always been best friends, sharing everything from inside jokes to travel plans. But when you take a trip together and end up in the same hotel room, things start to shift. After an accidental reveal in the bathroom—where Chan sees you in a way he never expected—he can’t seem to shake the image of you.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He didn’t knock.

Of course he didn’t knock.

You should’ve locked it—you knew that. But you were in a rush, hair wet and clinging to your back, steam curling around your shoulders as you stood beneath the spray, eyes closed, miles away from reality.

Until the door opened.

And in walked Chan.

Shirt half off. AirPods in. Whistling.

He didn’t even notice you at first.

You turned, shampoo dripping down your forehead, blinking water out of your eyes as his figure passed the mirror—and froze.

A beat.

Then another.

His head tilted.

And then you watched his jaw drop.

Because the shower was glass.

Clear. So fucking clear.

And you were completely naked.

“Oh—shit—” He yanked an AirPod out, eyes going wide like he was staring down a demon.

“Chan—!” you yelped, covering yourself too late, spinning toward the wall with a slap of skin on tile. “Get out!”

He stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet.

“I—I didn’t know you were in here—I couldn’t hear—fuck, I’m sorry!”

He slapped a hand over his eyes.

But not before you caught the way his gaze had dropped. Lingering.

“Chan!”

“I’m leaving—I’m leaving!”

The door slammed shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Your heart pounded in your throat.

His face when he saw you—not just shocked… stunned. Like he hadn’t even considered the possibility that you were anything other than his best friend. Like he’d never imagined you had curves, softness, skin like that.

Like he’d just discovered a whole new you.

And suddenly, sharing a bed tonight didn’t feel so harmless anymore.

You wrapped a towel around yourself with shaking hands, your skin still flushed—not just from the heat of the water, but from the look on his face.

That stunned, wrecked, “holy shit she’s hot” look.

You’d never seen him look at you like that.

You cracked the bathroom door open a sliver, peeking out.

He was across the room, pacing like a man on the verge of an existential crisis, hands on his head, shirt still bunched halfway up his chest, and his AirPods now clutched in a death grip.

When he saw the door move, he flinched like you were holding a gun.

“I swear I didn’t mean to!” he blurted. “I—I wasn’t looking!”

You stepped out, towel hitched high on your chest, dripping onto the carpet.

“Chan.”

His eyes did a quick flick—towel, legs, towel again—then snapped to the ceiling like it offended him personally.

“I didn’t know the shower was—was like that. I thought the glass was—was frosted or something!”

You crossed your arms. “You literally built like a Greek god but you’ve never seen a naked body before?”

He let out a strangled laugh. “Not yours, I haven’t!”

Silence.

Your heart thudded.

Not yours.

You watched the realization hit him in real time—how loud that sounded, how different it felt saying that out loud.

He looked at you then.

Actually looked.

And his gaze did something… weird. Like it didn’t know whether to apologize or worship.

You swallowed.

“Do you… need the bathroom now or?”

He blinked. “Uh—no. Nope. I’m good. I can hold it. Forever, probably.”

You turned, heading toward your suitcase, pretending your heart wasn’t jackhammering against your ribs.

Behind you, you heard him mutter to himself:

“Why is her ass like that…”

You froze. “What was that?”

“Nothing!”

Yeah. Nothing.

Except everything had changed.

You’d dried your hair in silence.

He’d scrolled his phone on the edge of the bed like it was going to save his life.

Neither of you spoke about the glass. Or your body. Or the way he stared like he’d seen a forbidden fruit and accidentally took a bite.

By the time you slipped into your sleep shirt—long, soft, just barely enough—he’d already tucked himself under the covers and pretended to scroll through TikTok, screen dimmed, thumb unmoving.

You climbed in beside him, careful not to touch.

The air was thick.

He was stiff.

In more ways than one.

Chan lay on his back, arms above his head like he was physically restraining himself. You could feel the heat rolling off him, the tension coiled in every inch of his body.

He hadn’t said a word since you turned off the light.

But he hadn’t stopped looking.

You were facing the wall, pretending to sleep, when you felt it. The tiniest brush of fabric—his shirt sleeve barely grazing your arm.

A jolt lit up your spine.

You didn’t move.

He did.

Another shuffle. His leg shifted. The bed dipped just slightly closer. His breathing hitched.

You rolled over.

He flinched like you caught him red-handed.

Your faces were close now. Just inches apart in the dark, your features soft in the moonlight through the window.

“Chan,” you whispered.

He stared at you like he was watching a horror movie and a porno at the same time.

“I’m fine,” he said too fast. “Everything’s fine. This is fine.”

Your eyes flicked down.

Oh.

There was no mistaking it now.

The very obvious, very hard outline straining against his sweats.

You raised a brow.

“Is it… uncomfortable?”

He let out the weakest, most pathetic laugh you’d ever heard.

“Uncomfortable isn’t the word,” he muttered, slapping an arm over his face. “I’m dying.”

“Because of me?”

Silence.

Then a groan.

“You can’t just look like that,” he hissed. “Like—you’ve always been hot, okay? I just didn’t realize you were built to ruin me until today.”

Your breath caught.

And you felt it—his restraint crumbling, the tension snapping like a rubber band stretched too far.

You shifted.

A little too close.

Your thigh brushed his.

His jaw locked.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” he asked hoarsely.

You leaned in, your voice a whisper in the dark. “Doing what?”

He let out a low curse.

And then—your knee nudged his thigh. Just a little. Accidental. Maybe.

But the noise he made?

Absolutely not accidental.

Low.

Guttural.

“Don’t—don’t move like that,” he begged, voice strained. “I’m seriously one shift away from embarrassing myself.”

You bit back a smile.

Then shifted again.

This time, deliberately dragging your leg across his thigh, grazing right over the problem area.

His hand shot out and gripped your hip.

Hard.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Unless you want me to lose every last bit of control I’ve got left.”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t move away either.

And neither did he.

—

Chan had always thought of you as his best friend.

No complications. No weird tension. Just you.

But that was before he saw you in the shower.

Now? Every single second felt like psychological warfare.

He first noticed it in the elevator.

The way your sundress clung to your hips, the curve of your ass shifting when you leaned over to press the button. The little dip of cleavage just peeking out when you turned your head.

He swore he didn’t look.

But he did.

And once he started, he couldn’t stop.

He noticed it at brunch.

You laughed at something one of your friends said, leaning forward on your elbows. And he swore to god—the way your breasts pressed against your top? Unholy.

He had to excuse himself and splash cold water on his face.

He noticed it again at the museum.

When you bent to tie your shoe and your shirt lifted just enough to show your lower back. That tiny flash of skin was enough to send a pulse straight to his groin.

He kept trying to think of math. Taxes. His childhood trauma.

Nothing worked.

And then, of course, came nightfall.

He stood in front of the bed like it was a trap.

You crawled under the covers in that same oversized sleep shirt, brushing your hair out of your face, oblivious to the way his soul was crumbling.

“Night, Channie,” you said sweetly.

“Night,” he choked, voice cracking like a boy going through puberty again.

He lay stiffly on his side of the bed, hands folded over his chest like he was at a funeral.

Because it was a funeral.

Of his sanity.

Of his ability to think of you like a normal friend ever again.

He tried not to breathe when you shifted in your sleep.

Tried not to feel when your leg brushed his.

Tried not to imagine sliding that shirt up your thighs and finding nothing underneath.

He failed. Every time.

And still—he didn’t touch you.

But god, did he want to.

⸻

You were in a tank top now. No bra. Chan could see the outline when the air conditioning kicked in. He nearly spilled his drink trying to look away.

He avoided eye contact the entire morning.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He nodded too fast. “Yep. Great. Fine.”

He was not fine.

He was edging. Emotionally.

You came back to the room early while he was changing.

He had just dropped his towel when you walked in with a bag of takeout and froze in the doorway.

Your eyes widened.

Chan nearly dislocated a hip trying to cover himself.

You blinked, then said, “Oh.”

Just—oh.

You turned around like it was nothing.

He, on the other hand, had to sit down for five minutes and reevaluate his existence.

Now she’s seen me too.

And the worst part?

He wanted you to look again.

⸻

The afternoon sun was unforgiving, golden and heavy as it beat down on your shoulders.

You adjusted your sunglasses, sipped your drink, and stretched out on your lounger—legs bare, back glistening, swimsuit snug in all the right places.

Chan sat nearby in board shorts and regret, pretending to scroll his phone while sneaking glances like a pervert in training.

You caught him once.

He looked away so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

You smiled.

“Hey,” you said, flipping onto your stomach. “Can you help me with sunscreen?”

His head snapped up.

“Wh—what?”

You held out the bottle. “My back. And, like… everywhere else I can’t reach.”

You were facing away from him now, bikini riding low on your hips, legs spread just enough to make him forget his own name.

Chan swallowed.

“Y-Yeah. Sure. Of course. Yeah.”

He knelt beside you, squeezed some sunscreen into his hand, and tried not to hyperventilate.

The first touch was careful.

Gentle.

His palms gliding across your shoulder blades, working the lotion in with slow, cautious movements. You were warm beneath his hands—soft and smooth and dangerous.

He moved lower.

To the small of your back.

Then down.

To your waist.

Your hips.

He hesitated at the top of your thighs, fingers twitching.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t stop him.

So he continued.

Hands sliding down the back of your thighs—kneading, pressing, lingering.

You let out the tiniest exhale when his fingers grazed too close to the edge of your bikini bottom.

His hands paused.

You didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

But your thighs clenched.

And his cock twitched.

He cleared his throat, voice tight. “You, uh… you want me to do your legs too?”

You hummed. “If you don’t mind.”

Oh, he minded.

He minded so desperately.

Because now he was smoothing lotion down your calves, back up your inner thighs, fingertips dangerously close to a line he shouldn’t cross—and his dick was practically fighting for freedom in his shorts.

You shifted slightly.

Just enough to press back into his hands.

His breath hitched.

“You’re playing with fire,” he muttered.

You turned your head, eyes hidden behind your sunglasses, but your smirk unmistakable.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have come near the flame.”

He sat back like you burned him.

But the damage was done.

And that night? That bed?

There was no pretending anymore.

Not when his hands had already memorized your skin.

⸻

You were only meant to rinse off.

Quick shower. No big deal.

But of course, the universe had other plans—and the tiny metal clasp of your bikini top had declared war.

It was stuck.

Tangled in the curls at the nape of your neck, pulling and snagging no matter how gently you tried to free it. You twisted, yanked, whined under your breath—but the more you fought it, the worse it got.

You were officially topless, wet, and trapped.

Awesome.

You sighed and stared at yourself in the mirror, arms folded over your chest.

There was only one option.

“Chan?” you called, wincing.

A pause.

Then his muffled voice from the other side of the door: “Yeah?”

You exhaled. “I, um… I need your help.”

“Everything okay?”

“No,” you groaned. “The clasp’s caught in my hair and I can’t get it out.”

A beat of silence.

“…Are you naked?”

You huffed. “I’m trying not to be.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then: “Okay. Yeah. Coming in. I’m not looking—I swear I’m not—”

The door cracked open and he stepped in, eyes averted, one hand shielding his vision like a Victorian maiden scandalized by ankles.

You couldn’t help laughing. “Chan.”

He peeked.

And then he froze.

Because there you were.

Hair dripping. Skin flushed. Bikini bottoms still clinging to your hips—but your top was hanging awkwardly from your neck, one arm twisted back, hands barely covering your breasts.

“Don’t stare,” you said, cheeks hot.

He blinked rapidly. “I’m not. I’m—fuck, I’m trying.”

You turned, exposing the tangled mess. “Just get the clasp, okay?”

His hands trembled as he stepped closer, fingers brushing the wet strands of your hair.

He was so careful.

So quiet.

But the moment his knuckles grazed the slope of your spine—your breath hitched.

And he felt it.

All of it.

The tension. The heat. The barely-covered body standing inches away.

His fingers paused.

You whispered, “What’s wrong?”

“I…” His voice cracked. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Your heart pounded.

“Chan…”

He turned you around, slowly, still holding the strap—his eyes dark, jaw clenched.

Your hands instinctively covered your chest again, but he caught your wrists gently, easing them away.

“Don’t hide from me,” he whispered.

Your lips parted.

And then—

His gaze dropped.

To your breasts.

To your waist.

To the water trickling down your skin, beading between curves he’d only touched through fabric—imagined, fantasized about.

He was completely fucked.

And he knew it.

You reached for him first.

And when your hand met his chest, he shuddered.

The next second was a blur—he grabbed your face, kissed you like he’d been holding his breath for years, like he was starving and you were the feast.

Your back hit the bathroom counter.

His hands were everywhere—cupping, kneading, memorizing what he’d only dreamed of. Tongue licking into your mouth, hips pressed firm between your legs, his cock thick and hard and grinding against your soaked bikini bottoms.

He pulled back, breath ragged.

“I’ve wanted you every night since that shower,” he rasped.

You smirked, lips swollen. “Which one?”

He growled.

“Get in bed,” he said, lifting you like you weighed nothing. “I’ll show you.”

He didn’t make it to the bed.

Didn’t even try.

Because the second you reached between your bodies—fingers bold, cupping the heavy length straining against his swim shorts—Chan snapped.

His breath hitched, hips jerking forward like you’d electrocuted him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice low and wrecked. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You bit your lip, hand squeezing gently.

“Maybe I do.”

That did it.

He hauled you onto the counter in one fluid, desperate motion—bikini bottoms dragged down in a flurry of wet fabric, discarded somewhere on the tile. You gasped at the chill of the marble under your bare ass—but Chan was hot, burning between your thighs, and he stepped in close, slotting his hips to yours.

His mouth was everywhere.

Kisses rough and endless, biting down your throat, teeth scraping your collarbone, hands gripping your thighs like he could mold you to him.

And then—he paused.

Looked at you.

His gaze dropped to your chest.

And he groaned—deep and guttural—like the sight of your tits was something he’d dreamed of too many times and was now seeing in high-def reality.

“Fuck, baby…” he whispered, reverent. “These… god—”

He dipped his head.

And feasted.

Tongue flicking over your nipple, lips wrapping around it, sucking so fucking deep you arched with a cry.

Your fingers tangled in his curls, tugging as he kissed and licked and moaned into your skin, worshipping you with his mouth like your tits were salvation and he was begging for forgiveness.

Every flick of his tongue sent a pulse straight to your core.

You were already soaked.

Already panting.

And then he slid two fingers inside you without warning—curling, pressing, thrusting slow as he suckled your other nipple—and you saw stars.

“Chan—fuck, oh my god—”

“That’s it,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin. “Let me hear you.”

You were shaking.

Legs trembling as he fucked you with his fingers, mouth never leaving your chest, his cock hard and leaking against your thigh through his shorts.

“You’ve been teasing me for days,” he growled, biting gently. “Walking around like you don’t know what you do to me.”

“I didn’t,” you gasped, “not really.”

He looked up at you.

And then—he kissed you.

Deep. Tongue and teeth and claiming.

“I’ll show you.”

With one hard thrust of his hips, he pressed against your center—bare, swollen, aching—and you whimpered at the pressure.

“Please,” you breathed. “I want you.”

“I’ve wanted you since that first night,” he confessed. “I can’t hold back anymore.”

He grabbed your ass, tugged you to the edge, lined himself up—and slid in.

All the way.

In one deep, hungry thrust.

You cried out—head falling back, nails digging into his shoulders—because nothing had ever felt like that. Like him. Stretching you full, stuffing you so deep your body didn’t know where he ended and you began.

“Jesus fuck,” he gasped. “You feel… you feel so fucking good.”

He stayed there a second—buried inside you, panting, trembling—then started to move.

Hard.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Every snap of his hips sent a jolt through your body, every grind of his pelvis against your clit had you whimpering his name.

“Say it,” he growled into your neck. “Say whose you are.”

“You,” you choked. “Yours.”

He fucked you harder.

“Again.”

“Yours, Chan—please—don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

Not until the counter was soaked, your thighs were trembling, and he spilled inside you with a moan so guttural it left you breathless.

And still—he kissed you like he was starving.

Over and over.

Like it was never just sex.

Like it never could be.

⸻

The silence after was thick.

Heavy.

His breathing was still uneven, chest rising and falling against yours as he held you there—pressed to his body, still buried inside you.

You could feel the tremble in his arms. In his thighs. In the way he kissed your temple like he didn’t know how to come down.

And then, softly:

“Let me take care of you.”

He lifted you gently, careful even though you were wrecked, and carried you the few feet to the bathtub.

Turned the faucet on.

Checked the temperature.

He was quiet—almost reverent—as he set you down on a stool and adjusted the water.

Then he knelt behind you.

“Hold still,” he whispered.

You felt his fingers in your hair—delicate and slow, undoing the mess of tangles caused by your bikini clasp. He took his time, gently easing the metal free, brushing through the curls like they were something precious.

“I got it,” he said, voice warm.

You turned your head.

He smiled at you, soft and small, like you were a secret he didn’t know how to share.

“Come here.”

The tub was full now, steam curling around you, and he helped you in first—settling you between his legs, your back to his chest, water lapping around you both.

It was peaceful.

Safe.

His hands slid over your arms, your stomach, cradling you under the water like you were fragile glass.

You let your head rest against his shoulder.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” you murmured.

“Like what?”

“Soft.”

He chuckled. “You made me soft.”

He was hard again.

You felt it—pressed against your ass, twitching under the water, completely unavoidable.

You smirked. Shifted just enough to make him twitch again.

“Baby…” he warned, breath hitching.

You turned in his lap, water rippling, and straddled him slow.

His eyes widened. “Are you—?”

“Still want you,” you whispered. “Need you again.”

Chan didn’t stand a chance.

Not when you lined him up and sank down with a moan, not when the hot water made everything slippery and sinful, not when your tits were right in his face and you were riding him so fucking slow he thought he was gonna pass out.

“Fuck, baby—fuck, you feel—” he grabbed your hips, guiding you, panting against your collarbone— “you’re gonna kill me.”

You leaned in, kissed his jaw. “You love it.”

He nodded frantically. “I fucking love it.”

You moved faster, grinding down, letting your nails scrape his scalp as he groaned and pressed kisses to your chest like he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

Water sloshed.

Steam clung to your skin.

He looked up at you, breathless and undone, and whispered like a prayer:

“Let me come with you this time.”

You nodded, hands on his shoulders.

And when you clenched around him, gasping his name—he followed, head thrown back, arms wrapped around you, cursing against your skin like he couldn’t believe this was real.

And when it was over?

He held you there.

Still inside you, water cooling, hearts pounding together.

He kissed your forehead.

And for the first time all trip—maybe ever—you felt like more than his best friend.

⸻

The soft, golden light of morning crept through the curtains as you stirred awake, still tangled in the warmth of the sheets—and Chan’s arms, which were wrapped around you like he couldn’t bear to let go.

You blinked sleepily, then smiled, feeling the gentle pressure of his body against yours. His lips were pressed lightly to your neck, breath warm and slow.

“Morning,” he murmured, voice still thick from sleep.

You stretched, turning in his arms, and kissed him gently on the lips. “Good morning.”

Chan smirked, his hands sliding down your back and pulling you closer. There was something different in the air now—a tension that wasn’t there before, but it was sweet. His touch wasn’t just comforting—it was possessive, but in a playful way.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand gently brushing your side, his fingertips lingering a little longer than necessary.

“You’re my girl, you know that?” he said, his voice low, lips still pressed against yours.

You pulled back a little, eyes wide. “I’m your girl?”

He nodded, the teasing glint in his eyes making it clear he was serious, but also having fun with the whole idea.

“Yeah,” he smirked, running his hand down your side, his fingers grazing your hip. “You’ve always been my girl, haven’t you?”

You raised an eyebrow and leaned back, giving him a cheeky smile. “I’ve always been your girl, huh? Is that so?”

Chan’s face softened as he grinned at you, his hand brushing your hair back from your face. “Mm-hmm, but you’re really my girl now,” he teased, his tone turning almost mischievous. “And no one else gets to have you.”

You laughed, shaking your head at him. “Always so possessive.”

He leaned forward, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Nah, I’m just saying what’s true. You’re mine now.”

You tilted your head and raised a playful eyebrow. “I’ve always been yours, Chan.”

His smile faded just a little, his gaze turning more intense, and there was a flicker of something deeper behind his eyes.

“No,” he said softly, looking right at you. “Now you’re mine.”

And then, as if to prove it, he kissed you deeply, his hands pulling you closer, his lips sliding over yours with an urgency that made your stomach flip.

For a moment, it was as if the whole world stopped, just you and him, tangled up in the sheets.

You pulled back, catching your breath, and smirked at him. “Well, I guess you got what you wanted.”

He chuckled, his hand resting on your cheek. “I always get what I want when it comes to you.”

You smiled back, that little spark in your chest igniting again, something more than just playful affection building between you two.

And when his lips found your neck again, soft and tender, but possessive in its own way, you realized this wasn’t just some morning after kiss.

This was his kiss.

And maybe, just maybe, that was exactly what you wanted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Awwww! I loved this one so muchhh 😭😭❤️❤️ Chan was so cute in this fic! I’m gonna be writing a lot more chan fics from now on.

If you know you loved it more than i did, drop a like for encouragement and REBLOG! Its important

Masterlist

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP idea: To Be Human Again

Danny had not been human for a long time. His home dimension had long since fallen. He lost his friends and family to old age, watched their descendants rise and fall in the same way, and witnessed his Earth come to an end.

When the cosmos erupted and took the solar system he knew and loved, Danny was oddly at peace with the end. He was no longer a Halfa but a full Spirit of the Stars. Solar flares ran through his veins rather than blood, stardust decorated his skin in gently kissed freckles, and his eyes held the swirling clouds of the cosmos.

Danny had not become a ghost. He had transformed into an Ancient, commanding the prophecies, fates, and endless opportunities that all living beings could experience in their lifetimes.

He flouted through his domain, witnessing battles between Lords of Choas and Order. Planets gain life and break apart. Endless time stretching from the graveities he weaves to flouting stones.

As time passes, his name begins to fade into legends and myths, and even the ghosts that once battled with him forget their time together. They, too, can age at a much slower rate, but change comes for them. He is present for Box Lunch's birth, but when he leaves to create light in the darkness, he misses her growing up. When he returns, Box Lunch does not know him, trembling in place as she bows low like her parents.

He stares at her, wondering what he found wrong with her, until he realizes she is a young adult. Were it not for his once evil timeline, he wouldn't have known her child form. He had missed it.

His gaze falls onto the much older pair of ghosts who call him by his new title. Neither Box Ghost nor Lunch Lady show any signs of remembering his name. They greet him with his title, and act as if though that is his identifier.

How many eons had it been since he last heard someone call him Phantom? Or even Danny?

"Lord Star Weaver?" Box Lunch stammers when the giant being only continues to stare. "Is something the matter?"

"Hmm," he considers her question, wondering if his realizations upset him. It's not that he was lonely or that he missed the sound of his name. But he has spent eons in a haze focusing on his work, and now it's almost as if he was waking from a dream.

Dreams....what did those feel like again?

"Tell me, Box Lunch, are there any portals to any living Earths?" His voice booms over the Realms, echoing as if they were a part of him. Maybe they were.

Danny had not sat on his throne since his elder sister breathed her last, but he still remembered the way the Infinite Realms changed on his whims. It's where he learned to weave stars. The young woman's ghost looked startled before she gestured vaguely to a path behind her.

"Yes, sir. I regularly use the anchored portal to visit the local Earth. It's where my father was born before his death."

Danny looks down at Box Ghost before leaning toward Box Lunch's height. She is no bigger than his pupils, and she seems frozen in terror as his eyes glow with hunger. "Show me," he says.

Her parents make strangling noises, but they wouldn't dare speak against the King and Ancient of creation. They send their daughter worried tight smiles but encourage her to lead the Star Waver to the portal.

She flights for a solid hour, his large form sending every ghost into hiding as he passes. Despite not having a living heart, he knows that it beats a mile a minute within her chest as her glow flickers in uncertainty.

They arrive at the portal, a swirling green pool resting in the open mouth of a mechanical jester. Danny thinks it looks like the building of an amusement park. He remember going to one once with Sam. This had been the Funhouse, filled to the brim with trick mirrors.

The memory causes him to smile.

Lunch Box nervously moves her hands one after another, bowing at the waist and stepping to the side so Danny can consider the portal. He is much larger than the building and doubts his foot would fit inside the portal.

He should change his form.

"Here it is, Lord Star Weaver, the portal to the human-AGHHHH!" Box Lunch's words fade into a scream as two bright rings of light form around the Ancient. Fearing she had offended the being and he was planning on retaliating, she flings herself to the ground before the portal, begging for her existence.

"I will do anything!" She cries, head pressing against the glowing green stone underneath her. "Mercy, please, Lord Star Weaver."

"Anything? Then you shall be my guide in the new Earth, " a human voice says. Shocked, she raises her head only to see that the Ancient has vanished and that a human teenager with soft fluffy hair, big baby blue eyes, and the most innocent demeanor is staring back at her.

Were it not for the soul she could feel carefully folded up inside him, she would have thought him a human who stumbled through the portal.

"My....Lord?" she dares to ask, and she's rewarded with a soft smile. Honestly, the human body the Star Weaver has chosen is an odd one. It looks like a strong gust of wind could knock him over.

"Yes. Where does this portal lead?"

"Gotham," She shutters out, "The city within the United States of Earth. This portal is in te middle of a human outlaw named Joker, but humans there aren't able to see us very well so he never bothers me."

"Gotham" Danny rolls the name on his human tongue, tasting it as the sound vibrates through his bones and his heart. It's been so long since he last felt this alive, and if that was what the name could do, who knows what the city could bring him. "What a wonderful place to get lost in, don't you agree, big sister?"

"Um...I beg your pardon?" Lunch Box blinks, but he shifts her fate with a snap of his fingers. Since she had never been alive, having been a Realms born, Danny has control of her guiding star. He moved it for one that belonged to a version of herself born in the human world.

Lunch Box's body shifts into flesh and blood. Her draw drops as she stares at her human hands. Danny grins. "I'm Danny Fenotn, moving to Gotham with my older sister. Adopted, of course. Who might you be?"

She looks at him with horror and heartbreak, but what leaves her mouth is only three words: "I'm Della Fenton."

"Della." He repeats the name, nodding his head and smiling. "It's lovely."

"It was my mother's Earth name before her death, " she says in a daze, and Danny smiles, striding into the portal without a second glance.

"Come on, Della, I want to see our new home."

He steps into the portal, while she can only look out over the Realms that no longer whisper and speak to her. How could it? She was no longer a ghost. She silently apologizes to her parents, who would likely be waiting at their haunt for her, and turns away from the only home she's ever known.

She can not afford to anger the Star Weaver. If he can breathe life into her with a mere snap of her fingers, she fears what he can do to take it away.

On the other side of the portal Della finds that her King has been caught by humans, who have tied him up to a chair and a snickering clown waved a knife in his face.

His gentle smile did not leave his face even as the Joker sliced two thin lines on his cheek.

"Della" Danny calls never taking his eyes off the clown. "Is this the outlaw you spoke of?"

Human goons swarm her. She is shocked to find that they can touch her as she is thrown on the ground, only to remember she is now human. The dull ache in her chin is her new reality.

"Yes. That's the Joker," She says after getting her wits about her. One of the goons presses the heel of his foot on top of her head, slamming her back to the ground and breaking her nose. A scatter of snickers echoes through the room as Joker loudly cackles.

"That's right, little boy. I'm the Joker, and this is my Fun House. What were you two doing sneaking about here uninvited?"

There are teeth in the Star Weaver's answer, and she shivers in place, wondering how she will survive him. "Oh, I just felt like star gazing. Say, did you know your guiding star is becoming dim?"

[whimsyvixen]

Ooh would you ever do a piece on like a riot cop/riot suppression officer? Just a big burly guy with a face covering helmet that wants nothing more than to pound some law and order into the mc

Men in uniform always have clutching my pearls. Abuse of authority kink makes me one sick woman but I can't help my desires. I want to be held down by a strong man, especially by one that is hellbent on putting me in my place~~⛓️😩

You have a very peculiar head on those shoulders, darling. I absolutely love it~ 🖤♥️. You actually gave me a bit of motivation to doodle something for this idea of yours. I can't offer you a story so this drabble is the best I can give you. I hope you like it ✌️💋💋💋!!

~

Red Velvet

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Riot police officer x female reader

⚠️ WARNINGS/TAGS⚠️: explicit content, yandere, dark smut, rape/non-con elements, forced orgasm, unprotected sex, mating press, forced breeding, slapping, dacryphilia, degradation, dirty talk.

You're shrieking and sobbing from the exquisite fucking being forced on you. It was too much! I couldn't do this anymore. You're trying to shove him away and pleading for him to be more gentle, your squirming doing little to disrupt the tempo of his pistoning hips.

Desperately, you threw your hand forward with all your might and your fist connected with his face. He let out a grunt of pain, holding his nose with one hand while he held you down with the other hand to pin you to the floor. Seeing him gingerly touch his nose to determine the damage, your struggles renewed to get away from him. Suddenly, a vicious backhand twisted your head to the side, your stunned face breaking out in more tears from the sting on your cheek.

"The hard way it is then," there is a vacant look in his eyes as he stares down at you, making you dread what he had in store for you. He is quick to grab the back of your knees, pushing them to your chest to fold you into a more obscene position.

He doesn't give you time to formulate a protest before your high pitched cries echo across the room once more as he jackhammers into your poor abused pussy, the filthy squelch of cock piercing the walls of your womanhood audible over the repeated slap of wet flesh clashing against one another. Tears blur the image of the riot police officer above you, his black attire pristine if not for the blood smeared across it.

Those poor people. They didn't deserve it and here you were, allowing the monster responsible for their deaths pound away at your insides like a common whore.

"I'm almost there, you rebellious little bitch," he hissed over you, his serpentine eyes fixated on his cock plundering the heated depths of your pussy. His brows scrunched in near pain as your cunt strangles his dick, your walls gripping the rod of flesh so tightly that it was almost hard to pull out of you when he shifted his hips back.

"I'm cumming inside this tight little pussy." He chuckled at your horrified expression, bringing one gloved hand down to rub your swollen clit tenderly before pinching it between his fingers. The action had your hips thrusting up, a mortifying moan escaping your lips as you shook from the painful pleasure. Your eyes rolled back as he continued applying pressure to your sensitive nub, your mind no longer coherent as your body became a slave to his touch. Your hips started grinding shyly into his thrusts, unable to resist the decadent pleasure of a dick stretching your cunt and kissing your womb with every deep thrust.

"Good girl, let's end this, yeah?" He murmured sweetly, his harsh breathing muffled behind his mask. "I can feel my balls tightening up. Get ready for my load, bitch. You'll be drowning in it soon enough."

[trek-tracks]

Imagine this. You're Spock. You've tried not to get yourself emotionally involved with your crewmates. It's not going very well. Your doctor goes and contracts a terminal illness and doesn't tell you (but luckily your captain can't go three seconds without breaking Space HIPAA or whatever exists in the future) and then tries to run away and die on an asteroid. You take out the Instrument of Obedience, privately thinking that it would be nice to have some control over this maniac you somehow care about's actions. You spend Surak knows how much time downloading and translating an entire civilization's medical library to cure him. No problem. It was just an incurable disease. You didn't need to sleep this month.

Two episodes later, another alien civilization tries to check said doctor out like he's a library book and then writes "withdrawn" on his forehead and pretends they don't have to give him back. He tells you to leave to save yourself; he'll stay. Did you mention you decoded an entire medical archive like two weeks ago for---fine. You go through unspeakable emotional violations to put him back into circulation on the Enterprise. It's cool. You didn't need your dignity anyway.

Two episodes after that, your illogical, self-sacrificial doctor mutinies and sedates you--the ranking officer in charge--undoing the fact that, again, how many hours did you spend? Curing an incurable illness because you couldn't let him die? Singing like an idiot in front of a bunch of snickering Platonians with laurel leaves on your head and no pants to speak of?--so he can get himself tortured to death on your behalf. You convince an empath to save him. He pushes her away because he "can't destroy life." Your captain is crying. The shiny force field shows everyone that you're having very non-shiny emotions. Do Vulcans even believe in hell

You think you've finally reached some sort of sacrificial detente. It's been a while. Neither of you have died on the other's behalf. You've both had to save your captain a few times, but that's normal. All in a day's work. Then said captain wants all three of you to check out a mysteriously abandoned library of time periods. You should have figured you would wind up in some sort of frozen wasteland with your doctor and no perceivable way to return what you'd borrowed. Well. At least there's the two of you so that you can keep an eye on--

He falls down in the snow. His hands are blue. "Go on without me," he says, dramatically. "Alone, you have a chance."

yeah I'd strangle that fucker against a cave wall too