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[envy-of-the-apple]

Third Wheel

Dark!SatoSugu x reader

(Warnings: Yandere, dark content, dark, misogynistic language, delusional behavior, kidnapping, blood, violence, +ShokoHime x reader, choking (not in the sexy way tho), threesomes, oral!F!recieving)

Synopsis: Regardless of what Satoru and Suguru tell you, you've always felt left out in this relationship. But when you leave, you quickly find out there's no line your ex-lovers won't cross to get you back

Word Count: 7.3k

When you come home that night, they're already cuddled together, watching TV. 

It's cute. Your boyfriends were always so loose with their affection. When Suguru was cooking, Satoru would lean on his back, more than happy to talk his ear off. Suguru would hold Satoru's waist, steadying him, being his anchor. At night, you'd catch them reaching for each other, trying to hold hands even in their sleep. 

It's clear to even the blind: they are soulmates. 

And you were just extra baggage. 

You don't know how you caught their eyes, but this past year was fun. They've been sweet, both of them have. Inviting you into their lives, into their home, into their bed. Everything moved so fast, but you didn't mind. You were young and a bit spontaneous. Two beautiful men showing a glimpse of interest in you wasn't something you could pass up. This was nice, while it lasted. 

But unlike them, you aren't forever. Their bond would never come close to anything they could have with you. 

It took a while for you to accept that, but eventually, you did. 

"Hey, babe," Satoru calls. "Rough day?" He lazily waves you over. Suguru grunts, before shifting over to make space. 

Despite it all, you're a coward. You don't announce it; you just stare at them. Fondly. Yes, this was nice. You don't think you could handle telling them, though; that would be too much. Seeing how little they cared would break you. 

"Yeah." You give. "Rough day." 

You weave through the house. It's theirs. Not yours. That they've made clear. You're an afterthought. It's the little things. Their toothbrushes are together, yours on the other side of the sink. Their shoes were neatly stacked side by side, and yours were always tucked away in a corner. Left out. Forgotten. Why wouldn't it be like that? They've been together for years. You were still an outsider. 

You only have a little to grab. You just grab your extra clothes, the hair clips you have a terrible habit of leaving around. Just a few items. And then the bedroom looks like you'd never been there at all. 

When you come back out, they don't notice your suitcase. Satoru laughs loudly at something happening on screen. Suguru chides him sternly. Good. It's better this way, you think as you take your suitcase to your car. You don't need any additional heartbreak. 

You make a few more rounds, collecting everything you need. Suguru only catches you when you are about to leave their house forever. 

"Angel?" He calls. "Where are you going?" 

He's looking at you, head tilted in mild curiosity. You manage to smile, looking down at your car keys. 

"Out for a drive." You shrug. "I'll be back." 

Suguru takes it at face value. He lets you go with a small 'have fun'. The walk to the car is heavy. Metal dumbbells on your shoulders. 

When you get in the seat, you finally allow yourself to sob. 

~

I'm sorry, I just can't do this anymore

That's how you ended the wall of text before blocking them. It was the coward's way out. 

"No." Utahime's quick to tell you. "It's the only way. Those bastards would've never let you go otherwise." 

You shouldn't be so quick to listen to her, considering she hates them both. Still, she was more than happy to offer you her home while you picked yourself back up, and started looking for an apartment. You'll humor her for the time being. 

"She's right," Shoko pipes up. Her dark circles are even more prominent tonight. You guiltily think it has more to do with you than with her patients, but she and Utahime have insisted that you stay with them. 

"It was for my sake, more than theirs." You say honestly, tucking yourself into the couch. "They...don't care about me. At least, not like they do each other." 

Utahime rolls her eyes. "You are blind." She says. "Those two were obsessed with you. I'm just glad you got out while you could." 

You laugh, but it beats crying all over again. Utahime doesn't find what she said as funny. She chides you again, something about being oblivious before she settles down to watch the movie she put on. Shoko falls asleep right at the intermission. Her head falls against your shoulder. Utahime leans against you too. And it's nice to have friends to fill the void they left. 

~

Satoru appears first. 

You woke up later than you would have liked. Your eyes are itchy and red from crying all night. Utahime was more than happy to give you her guestroom, but you know you can't take advantage of her kindness for too long. Tomorrow, you'll start apartment hunting. 

Today, you'd sit on the couch and eat ice cream. 

When you go downstairs, you hear a hushed whisper. Utahime's by the door, using her body to keep someone out. She looks angry. 

"-No one's here but me. Now get the fuck off my property." She seethes. 

You recognize his voice. You aren't ready. "Have you heard anything? Anything at all?" 

"No." Utahime gripes. "So go, Gojo-" 

He catches your eyes. Your heart gets stuck in your throat. 

He's taller than her. It takes little to no effort to barrel through her body, easily shoving her aside to get to you. You flinch, his touch burns when he grabs you, pulling you into his arms. 

"Oh, baby." He sighs into your hair. "There you are. Missed you." 

It's too soon. You aren't ready. You can still feel the emotions bubble up from that night, when you collapsed in Utahime's arms, sobbing your heart out. This wasn't fair. They never made it fair. 

You cast a glance at Utahime. She was scowling, close to boiling right over the edge. It gives you enough strength to try to push Gojo off, but he only lets go, when he wants to. 

"Okay." He smiles, reaching down to grab your hand. "C'mon. Let's go home. You had us both so worried for a sec, but if we explain everything to Suguru it'll be okay." 

You find your voice then. As well as your strength. His grip on your hand isn't all that tight. It slips away when you gently shake him off. Satoru stops, confused. 

"Satoru..." You start. "Didn't you get my text?" 

He rolls his shoulders, agitated. "Yeah, but-but it doesn't matter." 

There it was. His lovable personality. Casual careless, nonchalance. For once, you aren't annoyed by it. Maybe your grief made you numb to it. 

"I did mean it," you say as plainly as you can, "every word." 

He freezes. You smile at Utahime. 

"Could you give us some time?" You ask. 

She frowns, but she's never been able to say no to you. 

"Ten minutes." She finally says, before she's marching back to the kitchen. You still hear her muttering while leading Satoru back to your room. 

"I'm sorry." He says when the door shuts behind him. 

"For what?" 

He runs a hand through his hair, taking off those glasses he loves so much. You can't look him in the eyes for too long. It brings up too many memories. 

"I fucked up, right?" He says, he sounds desperate. You've never heard him sound like this before. "I'm sorry. I dunno what I did, but I'm sorry." 

You shrug, picking at the lint of your sleeves. "You didn't do anything. I just...it felt like a good point to just-" 

"-Leave us?" He cuts in. "Come home, baby. I'm so sorry, just come home and we'll figure this out." You look away because you can feel the tears burn up. 

"You didn't do anything." You insist, but your voice is weaker. 

"Was it Suguru? Did he do some bullshit?" Satoru interrogates. "What'd he do? I'll kick his ass, I promise." You hide your smile underneath your sleeves. 

"He didn't do anything either," you assure, "neither of you did." 

He's getting more and more desperate. "Then why did you leave us? What's wrong with us? Why can't we go home and talk this out? Please come back, baby; home doesn't feel like home without you." 

Isn't this what you wanted? A confession. Evidence that they wanted you just as much as they wanted each other. Satoru certainly did. Suguru did, too, considering how hurt Satoru implied him to be. A week ago, you might have been over the moon, too wallowed in self-pity to do anything but agree, run back into their arms, and willingly sink back into 2nd place all over again. 

But the thought of going back to their home makes you feel sick. 

"I can't." You decide. "I just can't. It's over, Satoru." 

I'm sorry. You keep that last line to yourself because you're too scared to crack in front of him. Shatter. Splinter. 

Satoru doesn't share the same sentiment. You hear movement, and when you look up, he's crying. 

A part of you wants to hug him, but you hold yourself back because he isn't yours anymore, and maybe he never was. Still, it hurts seeing him like this. The piece of you that still wanted him is ready to forgive and forget. Your vindictiveness keeps it at bay. 

"That's not fucking fair." He's saying through his tears, even when he's crying, he's beautiful, "You-you can't just ditch us like this. You don't get it; we can't live without you. It's killing us; you're killing us, baby." He staggers forward, in a way that makes you afraid he might fall. In the end, he just collapses on the bed. Eventually, you take a seat next to him. 

He's looking around, you catch him eyeing the pile of clothes in the laundry basket. The hair ties on top of the drawer. The plushies on the bed. You think it might finally be starting to sink that that you're truly gone. 

"Suguru can't sleep these days, y'know that?" He starts, a sardonic laugh in his throat. "He pretends to, but he can't. He stays up all night just wishing you'd come home. The guy is miserable without you, and you can't even gimme a fucking answer." 

His voice cuts you just the way it's supposed to. You wince, feeling his words slice into his skin, finding their way into your heart. You look at his shoes for a moment. He didn't bother to remove them. Maybe that's another reason why Utahime was so pissed. 

"I was starting to feel like an afterthought with you two." You speak. "I mean, it makes sense, you two were together, first. I thought the barrier would just take time to go away....but then it didn't." 

How many times has Suguru taken Satoru's hand over yours? How many times has Satoru forgotten your drink but not Suguru's? How many inside jokes you didn't understand? You always felt petty for being jealous over the tiniest things, but those tiny things kept getting bigger and bigger until it felt like they'd been purposely building that barrier themselves.

You were sick of feeling like the third wheel in your relationship. 

"Baby..." Satoru's voice is tinged in guilt and you can't look at him because you can feel the tears start to well up. "I-I didn't realize." He grabs your hand. 

"Come home." He pleads. "We'll fix it, I promise. We'll be better. We'll do better." 

You shake your head, slipping away from his grip. 

"It's too late." Your voice is shaky. Please let him not notice. Please, please, please for once can his oblivious about everything but his one and only work in your favor? "You can't fix anything, Satoru. Not now." 

"You haven't even given us a chance to-" 

"You should go." You stand up. Satoru follows you out the door. Utahime's already outside. She catches your eyes and nods. 

"Gojo." She speaks, tone clipped. "Get the fuck out of my house." 

He stills, frozen like the prettiest painting in the world. His eyes turn to ice as he stares at her. Utahime doesn't budge. If anything, she advances, pulling you close, acting like a human barrier between you and your ex-boyfriend. You take it immediately, nestling into her side, taking refuge from his icy stare. 

There's silence. You only relax when you hear his footsteps fade and the door slams ricochets into the apartment. And that's when you break down into Utahime's arms completely, letting her coo you into comfort. 

"Maybe I am being overdramatic," you say when Shoko comes back later that day. Utahime was enraged since Satoru left, pacing around the apartment. It's only after both you and Shoko coaxed her back into the couch that she calms down enough to take a seat next to you. 

"Maybe this whole thing is ridiculous. I-I should just go back and-"

"No." Shoko is immediately saying voice firm. "Absolutely Not." 

You can smell the hint of smoke when she came back from the hospital. You try not to assume it's because of you. 

"No way in hell are we letting you go back there after what he did." Utahime gripes. 

"He didn't do anything." You argue. "I swear, I-I was just...being pathetic." 

Warm hands lift your head up. You struggle, still shuddering from your sobs as Utahime forces you to look at her. 

Her eyes are brown. Not as glittery as Satoru's, who's eyes shine like the burning sun itself. Not like Suguru, with his celestial purple. No, hers are just brown. 

You didn't realize how beautiful brown eyes could be. Not just the color of home; the color of chocolate; the color of brownies. The way the light cast down at them made them deep and dark, like a night sky. If you looked closer, you could see tiny stars swimming around. 

"Listen. Are you listening?" When you nod, her voice softens. She tucks your hair behind your ear. 

"You deserve better." She insists. "You deserve better than them. So so much better. I know you can't see it right now, but there is better out there waiting for you." Her voice loses all momentum all at once. "Just...trust me, okay?" 

Her desperation to be heard makes you smile a bit. You nod. Her frown loosens, just the tiniest bit. She relaxes. 

"Thanks," you say after a beat. "I...I needed that. I'm glad I have goods friends." 

Utahime's hands drop from your face. She collapses into the couch cushions with a groan. Shoko laughs. 

"Told you." Shoko says, mirth and alcohol on her tongue. 

Utahime flips her off, and Shoko takes her place. She settles into your side. 

"They were assholes." She tells you. "Forget about them. And she's right, you deserve better." 

You were glad they were there for you, even when you weren't there for yourself. It felt nice that they cared. Vouched, Advocated for your comfort. They made better boyfriends than your old boyfriends ever did. Their support helped heal the Satoru and Suguru-sized holes left in your heart. Every day became a bit better. 

When Suguru eventually turned up, you were a bit more prepared. 

He's a bit nicer than Satoru was. He actually knocks, instead of relentlessly pounding on the door. He doesn't barrel through Shoko when he spots you cowering behind her. His face betrays nothing. He's still. A polite smile is stretched on his lips. Shoko isn't happy about letting him into her home, but when she glances at you, you nod. You needed to do this. You needed closure. 

And so did Suguru. 

You don't speak to him until you're shut in your room. Geto cuts the silence first. 

"How have you been?" He asks nicely. 

"Good." You respond. "You?" 

"Good." 

Conversation stilts. You don't know what to say. Luckily, your ex is never the man who stays silent for long. 

"How's living with Shoko and Utahime been?" He asks, "I'm surprised you've put up with them for this long. They were pretty scary in high school." 

"I bet you two were scarier." You counter. 

He smiles. It's soft, looks good on him. You find yourself smiling back. When you take a seat on the the of the bed, he doesn't follow. You don't know whether to feel glad or not. 

"Yeah, I'm not the proudest of those times." He admits with a sheepish laugh. 

It dies down, and you know the artificial barrier between you two has broken. You shift, waiting for the inevitable. 

"Satoru told me what happened." He sighs. "I'm sorry, Angel. We-I didn't know how you felt. Everything was so perfect, I just thought you felt the same." 

"It's fine." You assure, and this time, your throat doesn't clog up, and your eyes don't feel itchy. "Really. It's-it's fine." 

"It's not." Suguru shakes his head. "You'd be in bed with us if it were." 

That comment pricks something deep within your skin. You swallow, turning away from his piercing purple eyes. They were much like Satoru's. Breathtaking, you could stare at them for hours. You used to. 

But now, you don't have that desire anymore. 

And maybe now that you aren't so attached, maybe you could try being a little more honest. 

"I was jealous." You finally admit. "I couldn't help it. I-I always felt like I was fighting within my relationship. You two were so much closer to each other than I was. Than I ever could be, honestly." 

Suguru frowns, troubled. 

"That's not true." He insists, soft, but something's burning underneath his tone. "Satoru and I have history, but that doesn't mean-" 

"I was runner-up." You cut him off. "For both of you. Looking back, I'm not really upset. It was always impossible for anything to come between the two of you. This-" You gesture between you and him "-was always inevitable." 

"It's my fault." You smile at him, hoping it comes across as sincere as you feel. "I couldn't stand being second place." 

He moves then, kneeling in front of you. Eyes the widest you've ever seen them. He catches your hands in his. You let him. A parting gift. 

"Angel." He starts. "We never once thought of you as that." 

You shrug. "It doesn't matter." You reply. "It's how I always felt. You can't really change the way I feel about things, Suguru." 

You think he's realizing that he's beginning to lose you. His grip gets tighter as if he can physically keep you with him at the very least. He shifts until he's right at your knees, looking up at you desperately. 

"Come back." He insists, abandoning his persuasions. "Just...come back. At least for a little while? We can try again, can't we? Just give us a second chance?" 

It's strange, they don't look too similar, but you can see the similarities. Wow, they're just perfect for each other, aren't they? Yin and Yang. Two halves; one whole. 

You were always a leftover. You just had to learn that the hard way, through days of heartbreak, crying, and sobbing your heart out. It took you awhile to understand that the affection they had for each other is different from the affection they had for you. 

You shake your head. His hands nearly crush yours. 

"I love you." 

It takes you a while to figure out what he said. When it does sink in, your world tilts. Your heart stops at his abrupt declaration and you must stare at him because why? At first, you think he's just desperate: lovebombing. And then you look into his eyes, his sincerity. No, he means it. It makes you feel worse. 

"Satoru does, too, but you know him-he'd rather die than admit something like that." Suguru gives a bitter laugh, one you find familiar even after all this time. "I've always wanted to tell you but thought it was too soon. I thought we had all the time in the world." His voice tapers so he doesn't have to say the obvious but clearly you three didn't. 

You want to reach over, tuck a stray lock behind his ear but you stop yourself because he isn't yours anymore. You gave it all away when you ran. Instead, you curl your hands around his in silent understanding. 

You don't know how you didn't realize it before, but Suguru is less put together than usual. His hair is typically well-groomed and shiny, but now you see split ends. His eyes are clear and bright, but today...they aren't. A dull purple. Hazy violet. 

He's miserable. 

You did this. This was all you. 

"Satoru misses you," he says, "always had. Barely smiles anymore. I don't think I can blame him." 

They loved you. They love you. This was all what you wanted. Just a bit of recognition. There's a tiny part of you that's still itching to jump back in Suguru's arms, kiss him until you're out of breath 'just kidding! it was a prank! let's go home!' and then you two would leave hand-in-hand back to Satoru. 

Going back to them would make them happy, but not you.

But Shoko was right. You deserved better. 

 "It'll get better." You assure. "You'll heal." 

Day by day, the cracks in your heart start to seal. Bit by bit. It may never heal over completely, but you know you'll be okay one day. And they'll be alright too. Who knows, maybe in a couple years, you'll all laugh at this. 

Suguru shakes his head and stands up. His eyes are just the bit glassy, but he's blinking them away before anything gives. It's just like him, honestly, so you're not too upset. 

"You don't get it." He's smiling, not quite in humor. "I don't think you'll ever do but..." He trails off, mid-thought. 

"But what?" You press. 

Then he sighs and closes his eyes. When he looks at you again, his signature pleasantly cold smile is on his face. 

"I did all I could, I think." He turns around, abrupt. "I'll see myself out." 

You're caught off-guard by his sudden departure, but by the time you're following him, Shoko's already leading him out the front door, locking it with exasperation. 

"Is that it?" She asks. "They won't be barging in anytime soon, right?" 

You stare out the window, watching as Suguru gets in his car. Something bubbled in your stomach. 

~

It was one of those nights. Shoko had come back early. Utahime was back from the school. You had planned a cute little evening for the girls and a relaxing night in. You had everything: wine, freshly-prepared dinner, a cheesy horror movie, and an announcement you're sure they were more than happy to hear.

You had just settled down the blanket when you hear Shoko come through the door. You take off her coat before she can even touch it, excitedly flitting around her. 

"What's gotten you in such a good mood?" Shoko asks, her dark circles even more profound than before. You don't have to feel guilty about those for long. 

"You'll see!" You chirp back. 

Utahime strolls out of the bathroom, fresh from the shower. Her hair is still wet. You'll ask if you can blow dry it later. 

"That's what you've been saying for nearly an hour now." Utahime groans. "Just tell us already. Or at least, me."

"Patience." You chastise. "But, it's a good surprise, I promise." 

She's not satisfied, but she sits down anyway. They eat dinner, complimenting your skills all the while. You preen at their praise. It's a stark contrast between Suguru and Satoru, how cold they'd often been whenever you did something nice for them: tilted smiles, less-than-receptive words of 'oh baby you didn't have to'. 

As you lived with both couples, you can see the similarities. Utahime's temper is close to Satoru's, but that's where the similarities stop. She's more serious and less likely to blow off your feelings with a playful huff. Shoko and Suguru share the same laid-back personality, but Shoko is always there to listen to you instead of cutting you off with condescending sympathy. 

Wow, maybe Satoru and Suguru were a little more shitty than you initially thought. 

Eventually, the night draws to a close. They're drunk, full, and smiling. Perfect. You clear your throat just when Shoko refills her fourth glass. 

"Again, I'd really like to thank you for letting me stay." You start. "It meant so much to me to have two amazing people to support me like this. So, thank you." 

Utahime smiles. "Don't thank us," she says, "again, you can stay for as long as you want-forever, honestly!" 

You nod. "Well, I don't think I have to do that anymore." 

Shoko freezes mid-sip. 

"What?" She asks. 

"I talked to my parents." You tell them, oblivious to their stone faces. "And I'm going to move back in with them, just until I get back on my feet. Isn't that great? Now, you two won't have to-" 

You stop when you finally notice how cold they look. Utahime looks close to tears. 

"What's wrong?" You ask. 

"You're leaving?" Utahime asks, her voice nearly cracks. "Why?" 

That...wasn't what you were expecting. Shouldn't they be glad the third wheel is finally out of their house? Why does Utahime look so heartbroken? Why is Shoko so quiet? What was going on?

"Isn't-isn't this what you wanted?" You fumble with your words. "Now, you don't have to share the house with me anymore. It'll be just the two of you again." 

They exchange glances, and it reminds you of those secret conversations Suguru and Satoru used to have. Except this time, you can read their faces. 

"What if...we don't want it to be just the two of us anymore?" Shoko starts, hesitant, reproachful like she's approaching a scared wild animal. 

Your eyebrows scrunch. "I don't understand." 

At that, Utahime drops her head in her hands. "Oh, c'mon! We've been doing this for weeks! You can't be that oblivious-" 

And then, she stops herself. Looks at you. You stare right back, and the three of you have the exact same realization at the exact same time. 

"Oh." You breathe. 

"Oh." Utahime whispers. 

"We're all idiots." Shoko says behind her glass. 

"Wait wait. Hold on." You backtrack. "You-you two want...with me?" 

"Yes!" Utahime exclaims. "Yes! God, now everything makes sense. I thought you were just trying to let us down gently, but this whole time you just weren't even paying attention!" 

"No." You argue, face hot. "You two were just really subtle." 

"We all sleep in the same room, these days." Shoko lists. "'Hime sat on your lap with nothing on but a bra and panties." 

"I thought we were just doing friend things!" 

"What kinds of friends sit on your lap, half-naked?" Utahime asks, mortified. 

"I-I-" You give up. 

All this time. You were mourning over something you lost months ago, even when there was something blooming right under your nose. God, you're an idiot. 

Hands. They clasp your own. You look up into Utahime's pretty brown eyes. 

"We want you to stay." She whispers. "We want you." You take a glance at Shoko. 

"Do you want us?" 

You take a deep breath. 

You nod. 

She's smiling, and then Utahime's kissing you. Soft, so soft, nothing like the possessive kisses Satoru gives you. It's innocent and adoring and you find yourself melting into her completely. 

Utahime disappears and before you can mourn her warmth, Shoko's lips join yours. You can smell the alcohol, the slightest sting of cigarettes. You don't mind it. Her kisses are nothing like Suguru's, all powerful and domineering. She takes what you give her, asking ever so nicely for more. 

You break away, panting. 

"You good?" She asks. 

You nod. 

"Good." Shoko hums. "Cuz we're gonna fuck you now." 

"What?" 

Shoko pushes you down on the couch. You land with an oomph before Utahime's descends on you with a flurry of kisses. 

"Waited so long to do this, baby." She's sighing into your lips, fiddling with your shirt so she can pull it off. "Weeks and weeks." 

She pulls down one of your bra cups, massaging at your tits. You hadn't had action in so long, so you eagerly encouraged her movements, kissing her back with just as much fervor. Shoko takes her place next to her girlfriend, pawing at your other tit. 

"Look." Shoko purrs. "One for each of us." Her soft mouth sucks on your nipple, swirling it around her mouth. Your head leans back with a pleasant sigh. 

"Feel good?" Utahime asks. "She's good with her tongue, isn't she?" 

"Yes," you nod, and Utahime gives out a delighted giggle, peppering your face with kisses. You gasp when you feel her hand shift through your shorts, palming at your dripping pussy. 

"Poor thing." Utahime's cooing, and there's a brief hint of mockery in her tone. You've never heard that before. It turns you on even more. "They never gave you attention back there did they?" She circles your clit. "They were too busy sucking each other's dicks to pay attention to such a pretty pussy." 

Shoko pops off your tits, shifting down. She kisses her way to your stomach. You blearily watch as she adjusts herself until she's right at your shorts. Utahime follows her lead, tugging off your shorts. Your panties go next. 

And then you're staring down at them with trepid anticipation. 

"I meant what I said." Shoko says softly. "You deserve better. You deserve someone who cares for you." 

"You deserve us." With that, She and Utahime latch onto your pussy. 

They're everywhere. You have to stop yourself from cumming right then and there, arching your back as one of them sucks on your clit while the other licks into your hole. She manages to stick her tongue inside of you, and it's enough to shoot sparks through your eyes. 

"So tight." Utahime's hissing into your cunt. "Sho, after this, you wanna try to fuck this pussy with your strap?" 

There's a soft laugh, and Shoko pulls away from your clit to answer, much to your disappointment. You whine, thrusting your hips in the air. She stills you with a hush. 

"I don't think we're ready just yet." She hums. "Yet." 

When you glance down, they both are making out with your clit. It's debaucherous. Their soft lips are connected, your tiny bud locked in the middle as their spit trickles down into your pussy. Utahime groans and when you look further down, you realize she's touching herself. 

You don't know which part of this makes you cum, but you cum. It's the hardest you've ever orgasmed. There's so much stimulation that your hips buck up, trying to chase the sparks of pleasure. They let you, licking you through your orgasm. 

When you come down, your thighs fall apart, splayed against the soft cushions. Utahime still isn't finished, licking at your clit. You shudder at the overstimulation, whining until Shoko is pulling her off of you by her hair. 

"Good, baby?" She asks, crawling back up to you. You kiss her as an answer. She melts in delight. 

You break the kiss, glancing over at Utahime. 

Taking the silent request, she kisses you again. You can taste yourself on her lips. You don't mind it. For some reason, it's sweeter on Utahime's tongue. 

When she breaks away, she stares at you, face soft. "You're staying, right?" She asks you. "You'll stay with us? Because after this, I don't think we could ever let you go." 

You give a shy nod, and Utahime beams. 

"Then, you're ours now," Shoko says, settling into your side. "And we're yours. Always." 

"Always." You breathe, content, happy. You could almost go to sleep. 

Shoko slaps your thigh. 

"Not yet." She warns before propping you up. "First, I want you to sit on my face." 

Hours later, you wake up delightfully sore in bed. The two girls are curled up next to you. When you move, you can still feel the bruises Utahime left. You never knew she liked to bite so much. 

You can't even begin to remember what happened, but you don't regret any of it. Hours and hours had passed as they fucked you and fucked each other, and you fucked them. 

Shoko shifts beside you. She was always a light sleeper. 

"Awake?" She asks. 

"Yeah." You softly say back. 

She hums, shifting a little more to face you. Utahime's behind you, arms protectively curled around your waist. At your voice, her eyes twitch. 

"Shut up." She grumbles, but her arms cinch around your waist. 

Shoko stretches as she rises up. You miss her body warmth but you don't mind the view she gives as she saunters over to the dresser, pulling on some clothes. 

"I'm gonna get food." 

Utahime mumbles out her order. You say nothing because you don't want to come in between them, and then Shoko looks at you. 

"What do you want?" She prompts. 

You blink, and when you answer, Shoko smiles, and then she's out the door. 

The interaction makes your heart warm. 

Still, it can't last. 

When you go to get up, Utahime protests, grabbing your wrist. 

"And where are you going?" She prods. 

You fumble. "Back to my room?" 

"What? Why?" Utahime demands with a frown. "What's the point, you're already with us, now." 

"Oh." You blink, but you give in and slink back into bed. "Is...this really okay?" 

"For God's sake, " she hisses, but you don't count it against her because Utahime has always been a little grumpy after waking up. "Yes. We're obsessed with you. How are you so blind?" 

"We want you, and we're not like them." Her voice drops in disdain. "We'll treat you better. You're ours now. You're mine." 

"Yours." You repeat, something warm fluttering in your belly. 

"You can't leave, we'd go crazy, okay?" She seriously tells you. "If someone else takes you away, I'd lose it. And Shoko is okay with murder." 

You laugh. 

"That's not a joke." She warns. 

"I know." And you kiss her again. 

It's like that for a couple weeks. You live in peaceful domestic bliss with two wonderful girlfriends. Now that you're in an actual loving relationship, you can't tell why you ever contemplated ever going back to Satoru and Suguru. Shoko actually talked to you about your feelings. Utahime cared about your input. You weren't treated like an afterthought, second place. 

They were with each other longer than they had been with you, but they never made you feel like you had to fight for your relationship. Speaking off Satoru and Suguru, they never once contacted you after their first two attempts. They'd clearly given up. 

Everything was just perfect. 

And then, it just wasn't. 

You were in bed with them. Fifteen minutes ago, Utahime shuffled off to go to the bathroom. She still wasn't back. Half asleep, Shoko grumbled. 

"She's probably in there fighting a cockroach." She complains, but she rises anyway. "Sleep, I'll be back." She kisses you on the cheek, and then she's gone. 

Their body warmth fades, but they stay because they're tired. These days, you can't really sleep without them, so you wait for the girls to return. Two minutes pass. Then, five. Then, ten. By then, the bed is cold. 

You open your eyes, sitting up. It's so quiet. Are they okay? 

You pull off the comforter, stepping onto the cold wooden floor. The apartment feels strangely...haunted somehow. The air felt heavier now, thick with an invisible tension, like the house itself was holding its breath. It must be because you feel alone, you're sure of it. 

The bedroom leads to a dark hallway. As you make your way down, you can hear something. Voices? Murmuring. The relief almost makes you laugh. Seriously, what were you even afraid about? 

The living room is horrific. 

They look dead. You can't tell if they're breathing or not. Shoko's eyes are closed. Utahime's limp body is sprawled across the floor. There's blood on the wooden panels. 

Suguru doesn't even blink. 

"You're awake." He says it so casually, like waking up to your ex-boyfriends mauling your girlfriends is normal. 

"What..." Your voice fails, you weakly try again. "What did you two do?" 

Satoru answers, smiling with glinty teeth. 

"Isn't it obvious? We're getting rid of the competition." 

You don't understand, your brain hasn't caught up yet, you still think you can talk to these psychos. 

"It's their fault." Satoru's still smiling, but there's nothing happy about his tone. He's carrying a knife. There's blood on it. "It's all their fault. They manipulated you into breaking up with us, baby. That's how these useless sluts got you into their arms." He spits on Utahime's hair. You cover your face with your hands. 

"But, it's not like you aren't at fault, Baby." He points the knife at you. "You left us for them. I'm not letting you off the hook for that." 

You don't know what he's saying. His movements scare you, his eyes, the knife. When you glance at Suguru, you don't know what you're expecting. 

But you know you aren't expecting...that. 

His purple eyes are icy cold. Utterly devoid of any emotion. You don't think you're staring at a person, anymore. 

"You lied," Suguru says, "You lied about us not giving you enough attention. You just wanted to leave us. For them." 

You step back. They step forward. 

Those bastards would've never let you go otherwise. Utahime warned you. Looking at her limp body, you wondered if she thought they'd ever go this far. 

"I didn't." You weakly insist. "I-I wasn't lying about anything! It-it wasn't like I wanted to leave-" 

"Stop lying," Gojo insists. "Stop fucking lying already." 

He smiles again. 

"It's okay, baby. I know you'll come back with us. Right after we're done dealing with these two whores." 

"You'll belong to us." Suguru promises and he steps on Shoko's hands. "Just like always."

They were both crazy. Nothing could get through to them. Now, you would sit there and watch them maul the only things in your life that made you feel complete. 

The worst part is that everything was your fault. 

Shoko's pinky twitches. You can see Utahime take shallow breathes.

And you speak. 

"I'm sorry." 

Your weak voice makes them stop in their tracks. Satoru glances at you, Suguru does too. You can't convince them. The only thing you can do is play into their delusions. 

"You're right." You say, the tears finally feeling useful. "I just wanted to leave. I-I was just bored. I wanted something new." Suguru's lips curl and you quickly move on. "But-but the more I stayed with them, the more I realized...how much I missed you two." 

Satoru halts. You caught him. 

"I did." You stress, carefully making your way to him on feet that were close to dropping at any minute. "Every day, I thought about you two." You reach out, touching his face with shaky fingers. "I really really wanted to come back, but I was afra-afraid you wouldn't...want me back."

Satoru reaches up to touch your hand. His fingers are cold. You resist the urge to shudder. 

"You missed us?" He wonders. 

The lie feels like sand. 

"More than anything." 

His kiss is violent. He crushes you with his grip, touching and biting and everything you hate. You squeeze your eyes shut, letting him suck your soul dry. 

"Don't kill them." You whisper when he finally pulls away. "Please don't kill them. Everything was my fault." 

Satoru's face is pensive. His gaze drifts off to Suguru's. Those silent conversations you hated so much. 

Then, Satoru gives a delighted sigh. 

"You're lucky. I love you so much." He kisses your nose, before pushing you in Suguru's arms. 

"I'll clean up here. Suguru, go back to the truck." He demands. 

You don't fight, letting Suguru drag you away. Shoko and Utahime live in apartments, but you're afraid if you scream, Satoru might change his mind and gut them anyway. Before Suguru leads you off, you catch Gojo scoffing before he kicks at Utahime's face. You gasp and pray that when Shoko wakes up, she'll be coherent enough to call for an ambulance. 

I'm sorry, you tell them. I'm so so sorry. 

Suguru pushes you into the backseat of their vehicle. You obediently take a seat. 

"You shouldn't have left." He tells you. "You should've stayed." 

His face is cold, but his tone betrays the tiniest tremor. If you weren't so scared, you'd laugh. The irony is that he's the one who feels wronged here. 

"I'm sorry," you say anyway. 

He hums, not quite satisfied with your answer. 

"You aren't." He responds, and you hate how well he knows your tells. 

And then, he grins. 

"But you will be."

Hands reach out, gripping your neck. You flail immediately as Suguru cuts of your oxygen. You can't breathe. You can't fucking breathe. No matter how tightly you squeeze onto his wrist, digging your nails into his hands, clawing at his face. He keeps you still, keeping you there as you grow weaker. Your vision gets blurry. Your attempts get sluggish. There's a kiss on your forehead, and you black out completely. 

~

You wake up in a room you've never seen before. And your neck is sore. 

The pain drifts in as soon as consciousness does. You feel like you have a hangover, your head throbs, your eyes struggle to remain open. You can't go back to sleep either, not when it hurts so much. 

The panic doesn't settle in until you catch the cuffs on either one of your legs, keeping you attached to the bedpost. Silver chains, with enough lead to let you move around a bit. The cuffs are padded so you don't rub yourself raw. You don't care about the thoughtfulness. 

They're in the room with you, watching with silent eyes. Nausea builds up in your stomach, and you wonder how long they'd stayed there, just watching you. 

You miss Shoko. You miss Utahime. You missed people who actually loved you. 

Not these two. Monsters that lied and pretended, but deep down, they were just too selfish to share. 

"You were out for a while." Suguru comments. 

"I told you to use the syringe," Satoru remarks, but he doesn't sound too upset. At his voice, Suguru laughs. 

You shift in your spot. Suguru takes that as an invitation. He sits at the edge of the bed, watching you with satisfied eyes. You must look pathetic: shivering, in tears. He reaches up, catching your tears with his finger.

"So cute." And then he frowns. "You know why we're doing this, yes? You were bad. You need to be punished."

"I'm sorry." It's all you can say. You feel like a broken record, doomed to repetition over and over again.

"You aren't. You should stop lying." Suguru says sweetly. "But I'm sure, a couple hours in your new home will help you think about how much you hurt us."

You wanted to scream, but you can't cuz your throat still hurts from Suguru's hands, and you know he's not above putting his hands on you this time. Maybe he never was, you just never saw this side of him until you made him snap.

"You're leaving?" You stumble, moving as they back away but the chains only take you so far. There are no windows, and when Suguru shuts the light off, the only thing that's keeping you from the dark entirely is the light emitting out the hallway.

"Wait." You beg. "Please. Wait, don't-don't leave me here. I'm sorry. This is scary. I'm scared."

Satoru hesitates at your broken voice. Like a shark smelling blood, you pounce.

"Satoru, please."

"If you keep coddling, then the lesson will never be learned." Suguru warns.

Satoru stares at you. He's not wearing his sunglasses. You can see him for what he is now.

"I love you." He says it so sincerely, you almost believe it. "This is for your own good."

The door shuts, and everything goes dark.

[pseudowho]

You hadn't heard Kento arrive home, but moved from garden to living room like a moth to the flame, when you heard the telltale clink-clink of him removing his harness.

You sidled up behind him, a tease in your voice, dragging one languid finger down his spine.

"What's a guy like you, doing in a place like this, huh?"

A low chuckle. "I'm sure I'm meant to be here."

You bit your lip. "Me too. It must be fate. Does your wife know you're here, Mr...?"

"Nanami. And I certainly hope she does."

You weaved your way round to face him, now, sliding your hands from broad chest to shoulders, all peaks and valleys of stone.

"And what would she say," you whispered, circling one fingertip over his chest until he shivered, lifting one knee to brace against his hip, "if she knew there was someone like me, here?" Kento looked down at you, honey-rich eyes narrowing, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"That's what you want, is it?" He whispered back, low voice barely audible in the moonlight-flood living room. "A little...roleplay?" Your eyes glimmered at him in confirmation, and he chuckled. "Alright, then." You felt yourself tremble with anticipation.

Abrupt and firm, his smile replaced by a scowl, Kento removed your leg from his hip.

"Get your hands off me."

You gawped at him. Kento stepped back, clearing his throat, and adjusting his tie, the wedding ring glinting on his finger.

"I'll excuse you, just once, but I'm a married man. Happily."

"Kento, I--"

"That's Mr.Nanami to you. I don't recall us ever meeting, and I don't enjoy such intimate familiarity with strangers."

"--you are just so--"

"I'm sorry for whatever has happened in your life, for you to have such little self-respect, or respect for others, that you have such ill-intent towards a married man--"

You withered onto the sofa under his cool tirade.

"--but I wish you all the best in your future endeavours, while I wait for my wife."

"You are a fucking nightmare--"

"And how did you get in my house? I'll give you ten seconds to leave, before I call the police--"

You screamed into a sofa cushion.

"--do you have somewhere safe to go? Are you hungry? Thirsty, certainly. I can pay for a taxi--"

You felt your soul leave your body.

"--I do hope we don't meet again--"

You laughed, humourless, face down in the pillow.

"-- good day to you."

Kento walked away to the bathroom, leaving you prone and mortified on the sofa. You heard the shower start to run. You lifted your head, shouting at him, furious in your laughter.

"Fuck you for being so fucking pure, Mr.Nanami! Your wife is a lucky woman!"

A deep laugh from the bathroom. "Yes, she is."

[sunflowerwinds]

talking body | v.a

summary: when black haired hot head pitfigher vi catches your eye at a club, you’re determined to get your hands on her. taking her home with you reveals a side you never thought she had.

pairing: fem!reader x pitfighter!vi arcane

contains: mature language and content (18+), bratty!vi (if you squint), sub!vi (WE CHEER), soft!dom!reader, munch!vi, thigh riding, vi is going through it :/, light mommy kink (it’s mentioned a few times. if it’s not your thing, don’t read!)

word count: 3.8K

a/n: …. i’ve never written anyone but the reader being submissive so let me know if this satisfies everyone!also thank you to my love nat for opening my eyes to the mommy realm <3

The first time you saw Vi wasn’t at a pit fight.

No, it was at the club that was above the pit fighting arena. You and your small friend group would go often to said club, drinking to forget about the miserable lives you were living in Zaun. You saw her across the strobe-lit floor, weaving in between bodies with heavy feet dragging across the ground and a glass of who-knows-what in her bandaged hand.

Her oil black hair with matching eye makeup and wrapped chest that she wore as a shirt pulled you in.

You were… entranced by her.

But as soon as you had locked your eyes on her, your friend tapped your shoulder to hand you another drink for the night. When you looked back eagerly in hopes of finding her, she had disappeared in the sea of local Zaunites.

After that night, you never thought you would see the woman again. It was another night at the club when one of your friends informed you of the pit fight just a level down, asking if that was something you were down to go to.

Unfamiliar with the underground ring, you agreed to tag along. You were curious about what these pit fights entailed.

Your friend led you down a hidden passageway from behind the large bar area in the club, shouting to be careful with your steps. You nodded to show you heard her, glancing down at your heeled boot-covered feet to make sure you wouldn’t trip and bust your ass.

Rounding a few more corners, you were blinded by bright lights and a huge crowd. Before you could register where you were, your friend sped up her movements when she heard the cheering grow louder with excitement. You held up a hand to cover your sensitive eyes as you let her guide you to a seat.

As you peek through other sweaty bodies to see down into the round pit in the middle, you spot a familiar head of hair. Your eyes squint as you duck to try and get a better glimpse of that irritatingly attractive stranger. The large man in front of you, cursing at the fight below finally stepped to the side in frustration to leave his spot.

There circling her opponent with smudged black eye makeup and dried blood seeping in her bandages was that fleeting woman from that night. It was undeniably her.

Her movements were so similar to that night. There was no doubt in your mind that she was intoxicated. You couldn't blame her. Taking this many hits to the head had to mess with you.

“She’s so your type!” Your friend shouts over the crowd.

You watch her deliver a few more hard punches to her opponent, the body becoming unconscious and hitting the hard concrete ground. Her fist raises in the air to show her victory.

She absolutely was.

That night ignited a determination to get closer to the pit fighter in however many ways you could. You wondered what she sounded like, if she would flirt with you, and if she did, if you would seduce her into coming home with you to give her the time of her life.

Another week passed before you saw her again. Another club, another night to get fucking wasted and fuck some random girl. That is until you saw her sitting at the bar instead of messily dancing through the drunken bodies on the dance floor.

Her back was turned, her head slightly tilted down but you could tell it was her. She sported a heavy leather jacket with a hybrid wolf painted on the back of it.

You glance down at your own outfit, adjusting the way the top was fitting on your breasts. Your short-short’s hug your hips and plump thighs, the see-through fishnet tights underneath the shorts decorating your legs.

Before you walk over to her, you inform your friends of what you are going to accomplish: getting into the hot pit-fighters pants. They all wished you good luck and sent thumbs-ups before you went on your way.

Pushing your way through sweaty bodies, you find yourself sitting on the stool right next to her. You sneak a few glances at her hunched-over figure, admiring the slope of her nose and the smudged black makeup underneath her eyes.

Her long pointer finger was tracing the rim of the glass, the drink seeming to still be full. You wondered why she hadn’t drunk it yet.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

Her voice was softer than you were expecting. Her words were somewhat slurred, revealing her clear intoxication. Her harsh words threw you off your game for a split second but you brushed it off.

“I’m just looking to get a drink,” you reply slyly, not fully facing her just yet. “You need a new one?”

You motion to her full drink, tilting your body towards her now. Her eyes flicker to said cup then to your frame right next to her. Her eyebrows rose for a moment as she checked you out. She tried to be discreet but her eyes were slower paced than she thought they were.

You had to hold back a triumphant grin when they lingered on your chest the longest.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she told you as her fingers wrapped around the glass to lift it to her lips.

You watched as her throat bobbed as she downed the hard liquor, tilting your head to now check her out herself. After setting her glass back down, she pinched the bridge of her bandaged nose.

“Are you alright? You look pretty beaten up there,” you hum, a frown on your face as you lean in a little closer.

She shook her head to try and wave off the obvious pain that was settling in her head.

“‘M fine. Can take a few hits, dollface.”

You couldn't help the satisfied grin that spread onto your face at the pet name.

“Never said you couldn’t,” you shrug your shoulders.

The bartender walked over to you two, jerking his head to you as a silent question. You ask him for a singular shot of tequila, needing some more confidence to get to relax. Once he sets the shot down on the slightly sticky counter, you down it immediately with a soft sigh.

“I think those hits to the head made you not good at taking hints though.” You hum as you set the shot glass aside.

Her head turns at your words, the subtle raise of her eyebrows making you tilt your head as a challenge.

“If you want, I could help ease that ache you have in that pretty head,” you hum as your finger raises delicately to trace her wrapped arms, watching her fingers twitch. “My place is not too far from here.”

You can see the gears in her head turning, contemplating your offer. The flashing lights from behind the two of you only increase her pounding headache.

“Do I get a name, dollface?” She hums, now fully turning her body towards you.

You hold back the moan in your throat now seeing her up close like this. The torn skinny jeans clinging onto her thighs delectably and her broad shoulders that you would want to sink your teeth into. You even noticed the scar on her lip, making her all the more beautiful.

You lean into her ear to tell her your name, pulling away to peer into her light blue eyes.

“And yours?”

Her eyes flicker down to your lips for a moment before pouring into your own: “Vi.”

The second your apartment door shut behind Vi, you practically shoved her into the small space to attack her hungrily. Vi released a soft noise at your lips attaching to hers, and her hands instantly found your waist.

Your hands slithered up the back of her head, fingers entangling with her oil-back hair. It was definitely dried out and damaged but hearing her moan soft against your lips as you tug at the strands made it an insignificant detail.

You pull away to ghost your mouth over her own, smirking to yourself at the way she tried to follow your addicting lips. That hair pull flipped a switch inside Vi, a shiver running down her spine.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you teasingly scold as you place a hand on her bandaged chest to keep her back. “So impatient, baby.”

Vi huffs out a flustered sigh at your words, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her hands were tightened in fists resting on your hips. You lean in ever so slightly to graze your lips over hers, listening to her breathing stutter. You mischievously smile as her eyes flutter shut, preparing for another kiss.

Oh, you were going to have fun with her.

Taking her chances, Vi leans forward to ghost her lips over yours still. Her breathy whine makes your knees buckle.

“Can I taste you?”

You preen at the question, a lightbulb going off in your head. If you were right about the woman, she would do pretty much whatever you asked. You test that by raising your hand up to her bottom lip, using your thumb to tug down the plump skin.

Vi’s once harsh blue eyes soften, rounding with submission as you release her lip with a satisfied smirk. Your eyes flicker to your couch that is a few feet away, jerking your head over to it.

“How about you go and sit on the couch for me, yeah?” You nod, placing a feather-soft kiss on the tattoo of her name on her cheek.

Vi opens her mouth but shuts it when you raise your brows to challenge her to test it. She made her way over to the couch, keeping her eyes on you as she slowly sat down on the cushion. You follow her in pursuit, standing in front of her awaiting figure. You notice her knee bouncing with impatience, raising your hands to rest on her leather-covered shoulders.

Your couch was low enough so her head was right in front of the zipper of your shorts but her eyes were only focused on your face awaiting instruction. Your hand cups her face, rubbing your thumb over her chin. Vi lifts her chin to lean into your touch as a shaky breath leaves her lips.

“Can you take off my shorts for me?” You run your thumb over her bottom lip, a sweet smile plastered on your face.

Vi nods as she raises her bandaged arms to the button of your shorts, unhooking it from the loop. She tugs the zipper down to expose the waistband of your fishnet tights and black lace panties. Vi sucked in a deep breath at the sight, looking up at you for another instruction.

“Keep going, baby,” you chuckle as you shift your hips back and forth so she can tug the shorts down your legs.

You raise your feet a bit to kick off the shorts, pushing them aside on the ground. Vi’s lengthy fingers hooked on the holes of the fishnets, tugging your hips closer to her face to place a few kisses right underneath your belly button. Your right-hand cradles the back of her head, sighing at the feeling.

Her lips hover right above your public bone, her impatient breathing causing your hips to buck forward.

“Can I? Please?”

Vi was begging now, her hands gripping onto the meat of your thighs. Her eyes were desperate as she placed more kisses through your panties.

“Please what?” You pant, biting your lip at her neediness.

“Please, mommy.”

Vi whines looking up at you with desperation, craving your taste. A shiver traces your spine at her words, never realizing how arousing it was to have someone be so desperate for you.

“So good for me,” you hum as you signal for her to go on. “Go ahead, baby.”

Eager to please, Vi’s fingers hook onto the fishnets where your opening was and stretch it so hard that the fabric rips. The tear causes you to jump but beam at her hunger for you. She pushes your panties to the side, placing soft kisses up your thighs before diving into your sopping cunt.

You gasp at her tongue sliding through your folds slowly, lifting one of your legs to rest on the couch to open up more for her. Vi’s arm hooks underneath your thigh to tug you closer, sloppily licking through your folds.

Your fingers run through her hair to push it out of her face to stare down at her beautiful face. Her eyes were shut, moaning against you to add extra stimulation. You hum as you roll your hips against her face, her nose brushing your sensitive clit.

“Fuck, Vi. Doing so good for me,” you praise her movements.

Vi whimpers at the encouraging words, not slowing down her relentless tongue.

“You taste so good,” the black-haired girl underneath you pulls away to whine for a moment to catch her breath.

You hold back your moan at the dim lighting of a lamp in your apartment highlighting the sight of your slick glistening on her lips and chin. It was simply one of the most erotic things you’d ever seen.

“How good?” You tease as she leans back in to wrap her lips around your throbbing clit.

Vi looks up at you through hooded eyes, eyes glimmering with submission. “So fucking good.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing as she whines into your folds. Her tongue laps with determination as she feels your thighs tense up as your orgasm rapidly approaches. Vi wanted, needed you to cum on her face and she wanted to do whatever it took to get you there. She wanted to lather her face in your arousal just to see your beautiful eyes roll back into your head.

“You look so pretty eating my pussy, baby,” you praise. “So pretty.”

Oh, how much Vi ached for the sweet words you were giving her. She was heavy breathing and whimpering against your drenched cunt as her arm grips onto your thighs so that you wouldn't dare pull away. Your lower abdomen tightened as she raised her fingers to your soaked folds, teasing your entrance with her middle and pointer fingers.

Your hips jerk forward as she carefully tests the waters, inching only her middle finger inside of you. You knew Vi’s fingers were lengthy but feeling them inside of you opened your eyes to how close you were getting to your orgasm.

“Oh my, fuck,” you nod as encouragement for her to continue her movements. “Vi.”

A moan releases from the depth of Vi’s throat at how you said her name, vibrating against your cunt. Your hands were gripping onto her hair as leverage. Your knees were becoming jelly as your stomach tightened, warning you that you were approaching your orgasm.

“‘M gonna cum. Fuck, I’m close. Just like that, baby.”

Vi kept her eager pace, finger-fucking you as her tongue attacked your sensitive clit. Heat settled in your back as your hips stuttered against her face. Her eyes were trained on your twisted features as you came against her mouth.

She lapped up the cum selfishly, now using her other hand to settle on your lower back to push your hips more onto her face if that was even possible. You shiver as you chase the orgasm, trying to catch your breath at the overstimulation.

You mutter curses to yourself, attempting to calm down. Vi’s tongue and fingers slow to help with coming down from the intensity.

“How many girls have you done that too, fuck?” You chuckle, seriously wondering where she learned to do that.

Vi merely blinked up at you, breathing heavily herself. Her eyes were wide with anticipation and lingering submission.

“Was I good?” She questions, her fingers stilled inside of you.

You almost laugh in her face at the question but nod with a bright grin.

“You were so good for mommy, baby,” you coo as you caress her face.

Vi leans into your touch, shutting her eyes. You were never so intimate with hookups. It was usually you ate them out, they ate you out, and/or they fucked you or you fucked them and they left with no more than a few degrading words and harsh kisses.

This was a nice change of pace as far as one-night stands go.

“But what about you, huh? I bet you're so wet down there, angel.”

Vi nods to confirm, a beautiful whine leaving her swollen lips. You beam at the sound, glancing down at her skinny jean-cladded thighs when an idea sparked in your brain.

“Get up and take off your pants and underwear for me, yeah?” You instruct as you remove your leg carefully as it is still a bit sensitive from the orgasm.

Vi stood up on her heavy booted feet, shrugging off her leather jacket that you hadn’t even realized she had kept on this whole time. She must’ve been sweating in that thing. Confirming your suspicions, you watch as beads of sweat trickle down her toned back and shoulders. You wanted to lick it off of her, your tongue tracing every line of ink that was etched onto her pale skin.

Maybe another time if she so chooses.

This time, you sat back on the couch with your legs spread. You suck in a deep breath as she tugs down her briefs, avoiding eye contact with you. You had a confidence boost at how timid she ended up being in the bedroom compared to when you first met. She was nothing but snippy towards you.

Now look at her. Her briefs had an obvious wet patch on them but you were too focused on how gorgeous her body is.

“Look at you,” you praise as you hold your hands out to invite her into your lap.

Vi sucks in a deep breath as she makes her way over to you, eyes trained on yours. You send a sweet grin as you mutter ‘good girl’ as she straddles your left thigh. The feeling of her drenched cunt against your fishnet-cladded thighs sends a shiver down your spine.

It’s like she had read your mind.

Her hips greedily ground down on your thigh, visibly shaking at the relief she was getting. Your hands hold at her toned waist, watching her abs contract and the goosebumps rise to her pale skin.

“Does it feel good, baby?” You hum, running your palms up her torso.

Vi nods with a whimper, her hair falling in front of her face.

“Need to cum,” she mutters.

Your eyebrows raise as an amused, almost taunting chuckle at how fast she needed to cum.

“Oh, baby, you were really aching, huh?” You tease as you lean forward to place a few kisses over her bandaged chest.

Through hooded eyes, she cranes her neck to capture your lips into a soft kiss. You hum against her mouth as you can still taste your arousal still lingering on her lips, swiping your tongue over her bottom.

She mutters as she pulls away for a moment to whisper: “Wanted you to cum first.”

You can’t help but smile so wide that your teeth clank against one another. You move on from her lips to mutter sweet nothings into the crook of her neck, licking over the gear tattoo on the side neck. The shivers and moans that follow only encourage your filthy motives.

As her hips pick up their movements, you pull away to look down at your thigh that was glistening from her slick. Vi’s strong hands were resting on your shoulders as she was craving her orgasm that was mocking her.

Her already smudged black eyeshadow was somehow even more messy at this point. The sounds of her begging and moaning to cum were addicting.

“‘M gonna cum. Can I?” She shivers as she places a weak kiss on your lips.

Her brows furrow and her mouth falls permanently open as her pathetic moans leave her throat.

“Cum for me. You’re so— fuck, Vi.” You nodded as you sat back to watch her movements pick up.

Her desperate ‘ah’s’ fill the small space of your living room, folding her body over to rest her head on your shoulder. Your hands were settled on her waist, encouraging her to keep going.

Vi’s orgasm tore through her body, her grip on you tightening for a few seconds to try and hold herself up. Her whole body shook, her shoulders heaving up and down rapidly.

“Just like that. Good girl, Vi. So good,” you praise as you run your hand up her back. “Did so good.”

Vi’s forehead was still resting on your shoulder as she tried to catch her breath now more tilted into the crook of your neck. She huffs as she carefully sits up, removing her hands from your shoulders.

“Hey, it’s okay. Be careful.”

Your hands moved back down from her mid-back to rest on her hips.

After a few more minutes of the two of you letting yourselves calm down, the two had peed and washed your hands after your orgasms. You were awaiting the woman to come from your bathroom as you had moved to your bedroom.

Vi immediately asked if she could sleep at yours for the night. You smile at her tired state, slow sighs leaving her lips as she crawls onto your bed with her briefs back on now.

Your whole body was light as you allowed yourself to relax on the mattress, slow breathing as you were fighting sleep. Vi’s head was resting on your chest, bandaged arms curled around your torso. You hesitantly raise your hand to run your fingers through her hair, watching her eyes flutter shut at the feeling. Her lips brush past your collarbone as you feel her open her mouth, thinking she is going to kiss you.

What happens next throws you off guard.

“Cait.”

You blink at the mutter of a name you swore wasn’t yours leaving Vi’s lips. You wait for a moment to see if she does it again but she seems to be only muttering nonsense to herself. Feeling like it was inappropriate, you don’t speak on the matter, watching her drift off into a deep slumber.

You couldn’t even be mad at the woman, assuming what she might be feeling at the moment. And you were just too tired to care that much.

Vi doesn’t seem to notice her slip-up and knocks out against your chest, body stilling. You stare down at the slope of her nose and the small of her eyelashes and wonder who the hell could she be heartbroken over.

And if you wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of soft sobbing, you won’t say anything either.

TAG-LIST: @tearouthearts @onyxherman @prwttiestbunny @pumpkin-eater28 @redheadsyd @cherry-n-cheeks @lunatakashi18 @caicreations @ayooooohush

[shotmrmiller]

kinktober: cockwarming (john price x reader x simon in underground fighter au)

You're no fan of real-time violence.

Movies can never replicate its visceral reality— the sharp metallic tang that clings to the air, mingled with salt and the bitter stench of the swill these local colors call beer. Even worse is having to be the one to patch Simon up with trembling, blood-slick fingers and your molars sunk into the thick of your tongue to keep your lunch where it belongs.

So when Simon sends you Price's way with a firm palm on your arse and his spit still warm on your lips, you're grateful. He'll keep ya busy.

You're not counting his blood money, if that's what he was thinking.

"Course not, love," Price says, the rings on his thick fingers glinting under the dim light overhead as he opens the door to his office. It smells of worn leather, polished wood, and layered on top is the heady aroma of tobacco, rich, unmistakable. (You will not stay if he lights one of those puppies up. You like your lungs how they are.)

"Tha's wha' the bill counter is for." You can feel the warmth of his palm seeping through your clothes— a steady presence at the base of your spine, guiding you forward with a subtle push.

You'd expected him to let you pluck a book off the well-stocked shelf that's been beckoning you since you laid eyes on it and curl up on his couch with a blanket draped over your shoulders. Maybe even chat you up with small talk, ask about your week, school/job, and how you were adjusting to this new life.

Not with his broad front curling around your back, breath warming the shell of your ear, while you stare at the smooth, raised skin on his knuckles— which is less furry than the rest of him— in hopes that you don't fall apart around the thick of his cock. He's got a hand flat on the desk, small finger slanting to the side probably from where it healed wrong, and the other's signing off paperwork you couldn't even try to understand with a clear mind, much less one that's spinning from the sheer want for friction, relief.

Your arse pulses hot from where he'd reprimanded you earlier for squirming too much.

"Quite obedient. Simon's taught ya well." He hisses when you tighten up involuntarily, indignation cutting through the sluggish heat you've been burning in at his remark. Obedient. Taught. As if you're some kind of lap dog, yipping and rolling over for a treat. (Or in this case, a cock.)

"Easy, love. Jus' a joke." The hand he'd had on the desk comes to squeeze at the meat of your ribs, a small gesture, before weaving down to your cunt, fingers spreading, feeling how well split you are around his length, lips spread wide. "I'd hate f'you to turn my own guard dog against me, eh?" His apology comes in jerky little circles, smearing slick over your neglected clit, coarse hair of your mons coated milky white.

Each stroke of his fingers only bows your spine, winding it like one would a key on the back of a doll, your muscles coiling with tension, bodily response not your own after being denied release for god knows how long.

The sharp tap on the door goes completely unnoticed by you, but not Price. His pace remains steady, continuous, as Simon walks in through the door with crimson peppered on his cream wifebeater.

"John." Through bleary eyes, you see Simon settle in the chair across from you both, legs long, knuckles angry red and swollen as he palms himself over his denim. "Gaz may or may not 'ave goaded Soap into a fight."

Price's hand stops abruptly, desperation clogging your throat, the coil beneath your navel cranked so tight you might just scream. His voice rattles you from behind. "And?"

Simon's got his jeans bunched to his knees now, cock resting heavy atop his thighs, quads' ridges shifting as he gets comfortable. He might just be a tad bigger than what you've got sitting snugly against the plug of your womb.

"They're tumblin' outside, among civil folk. I doubt gettin' 'em out will be as painless this time 'round."

Price snarls and you find yourself empty, straddling Simon's hips, your inner thighs burning at the width. "Bloody fuckin'—," the sound of his belt buckle peters off soon after he walks out the door.

Your hands can feel Simon's shoulders flexing as he runs a fist up his length, eyes heavy lidded and focused on the creamy slick dampening your curls. His cock sits long on your stomach.

"'ave a seat, then." Amusement curls his lip, usual pink scar on his lip stretched silver. Your knees don't reach the cushion he's on properly, so you place your feet right above his own for leverage, legs folded tight.

His fingers dimple your waist as you lower yourself onto him, breath rushing out of your lungs as he fills you, aching, burning, a stretch you'll never really get used to, the pinch deep in your core causing discomfort to clump your lashes together until you're flush against him.

"Sit real pretty now. Gotta wait f'r Price t'give me my earnin's."

You're gonna rip his ear off with your teeth if you don't get to come soon.

"Claws in," he mutters, thumbing your pebbled nipple through your shirt. "Won't be too long."

(It was too long but worth every bloody second in the end.)

[luveline]

maybe a bombshell!reader where she is OBSESSED with touching and making out with glasses!reid and he is so confused why she is always all over him. i think bc he never went thru that horny teenage phase, or even the "honeymoon" phase of a relationship, he doesnt quite understand why she is acting that way (not that he's complaining)

tysm for requesting ♡ fem, 1k

There's something soft under Spencer's cheek. His lashes brush against it like the wing of a trapped butterfly as he wakes, his fatigue a weight on his tongue. He wonders where he is for a worrying moment, hand stretched out to feel the couch cushions beneath him. 

The sounds of you reach him from down the hall. The crinkling of your coat set up on a hook near the door, the squeak of your shoes on hardwood, and the familiar lilt of your voice as you sigh, speaking to yourself in quiet tones, "Unlucky." 

He rubs his eyes and sits up. "What's unlucky?" he asks, his throat burning. He must've been sleeping open-mouthed, which is perfect. Attractive, he thinks scathingly. He's less annoyed and more disgusted when he feels the dried drool in the corner of his mouth. 

You don't answer him. Spencer forces his tired eyes to work, sitting up on knees on the couch to try and get a look at you. He can't see into the kitchen from here, to his dismay, but he can hear the contents of your fridge door clinking together. 

You turn the corner with a bottle of water in your hands. When you see him waiting for you your smile bumps up a notch, pretty to cataclysmic, world-ending and life-ruining, all manner of awful as you hurry down the hall in your socks to kiss him. 

Why you'd want to is anyone's guess. He can imagine how he looks, curls matted at the back and frizzy at the sides. Spencer can't help cringing as your fingers weave into the hair at the nape of his neck, your lips a soft pressure against his for a few more blissful seconds. 

You pull back concisely. "You fell asleep?" Your hand comes up, your thumb rubbing gently at his nose bridge. With your other hand, you press the bottle of water to his shoulder. "With your glasses on?" 

He nods in defeat. If he didn't look like a mess, if he hadn't face planted into your fancy couch in his rumpled jeans, even if he were at his best, he's still hopeless, because they messed up his contacts again. You're vocally fond of them even if he hates them. 

"I remember the first time I saw you without them," you say, your kind thumb moving to rub a fond quarter circle into his cheek. "You were," —you steal a kiss, your nose pressed to his, pulling back and pushing in between words— "chasing the tail of that movie star." Kiss, kiss. He loses his grip on the water in favour of your arm. "You looked," —your kisses turn melty warm and impossibly softer— "so, so shy." 

You pull away to card his hair back. Not particularly gentle but never cruel, you rake his curls out of his face swiftly. "How come you never get shy with me?" 

"Don't pretend I never did," he says. It's embarrassing but it happened. 

"Fine, you did." You tuck his hair behind his ears. "Not as often as everyone thought you would." 

"You were kidding. Or, I confidently thought you were kidding. I could write it off as a joke, pity–" 

His timidity with you rose and fell and rose again. These days it simmers, waiting for you to surprise him or tease him or do as you're doing now, rounding the couch to push at him until he sits. You ease into his lap, mostly off of him, a knee to his right and a knee between his legs as your arms circle his back. He's quick to hug you rather than have you slip backward out of his arms. 

"I never pitied you," you say, kissing him again, no signs of stopping. "Don't say that. It's not true. I saw you were a catch before anyone else did, that's all." 

Spencer can't argue with you. He's honestly not interested, distracted by your weight and the heat of your lips as they part against his. To go back and tell the Spencer from a year ago that his bombshell of a coworker, the one who flirts with a sticky charmed smile, who sits on the lip of his desk making eyes at him, and who never takes the easy blows, wasn't joking? It would stunt his brain. It might send him into a cardiac episode. 

To tell him that she's in his lap more often than not? 

Spencer's lucky to be alive. He laughs as he thinks it, his stomach stirring while you scratch carefully at his scalp.

"What?" you ask, voice a stretched murmur, close enough to husky to wind him. "Tickles?" 

"No," he says, "nothing, it's nice." 

He's greedy and a total amateur, pulling your face back down to his in hopes of sparking another heavy kiss. You're enticed for a bit, but Spencer knows his laugh is bothering you, so he steals a last rough kiss before dropping his forehead into your cheek. 

You pet his neck softly. "What, Spence?" 

"It's just unreal, sometimes. It's weird." He can't hide, his glasses jabbing into his eye.

When he lifts his head, you breathe out a laugh and take the glasses from his nose. You fold them, set them carefully on the couch beside you, and meet his gaze fondly. Your lashes kiss in the corners with your smile, pretty lips a balmed pout. He can feel the waxy transfer your kisses have left on his own lips and the skin around them. You're enthusiastic. 

"What's weird?" you ask. 

"How much you like me." 

"Have you ever heard of the honeymoon phase?" 

"The romance feeling very intense at the start of a relationship until we're used to one another," he answers. 

"Right. Well, I'm used to you. I intend on honeymooning with you until you die. And you're in your prime, sweetheart, so…" You lean in with your head tilted heavily to the side, pausing with your lips only just touching his. "You'll have to get used to it," you whisper, waiting. 

Spencer kisses upward slowly. You sigh into his mouth, double when he paws at the small of your back and squeezes you close to his chest, thankful you took off his glasses. 

[stormhearty]

Parings: Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 3k+

Triggers: character death, torture, blood, war

Summary: The fear that Helion envisioned had come true — the Death-God used your body to resurrect himself from the lake on the continent. But what no one had imagined, was that you would be alongside him — tainted in darkness matching the Death-God. What would the Inner Circle and Azriel do, to be bestowed your forgiveness for their acts against you? What will be the fate of Prythian with you guiding fates?

Note: The last part of “Pushed to the Edge”! I thank you so much for all the support for this requested series! Like I said, never thought people would want a continuation of that one-shot! I had so much fun writing this trilogy, and had so much fun watching everyone’s reactions! Please enjoy! Also… I will be writing an epilogue for this series. AHEM. Just to wrap everything up in an angsty bow. Also, I am always willing to write more for Seer!Reader! Don’t be hesitant to ask!

Part One | Part Two | Epilogue

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

The room was deathly chilled, the skies above clouding, blocking the bright sun that had ruled over Day Court. The powers of a God overtaking a High Lord’s. The two of you stood near the large balcony window, shadow and sin coating the two of you — a God and a Seer — a powerful duo shaking the very foundations of Prythian.

Kosechi’s sinister grin grew wider as he turned his heels, walking towards the dias, you follow his tail. You felt the shimmer of wards opening and the winnowing of guards, the Dawn Court’s Peregryn surrounding the edges of the throne room — all ready to attack if the Death-God lifted the wrong finger against the High Lords.

But little did they know, you were a guard dog, ready to attack anyone that would be a threat to the God — ruthless and unforgiving.

Both of you rounded the last quarter of the table, stepping up to the dias as the Deathless God took a seat on the High Lord’s seat, as you stood near him — a vision of a High Lord and his High Lady of the Darkness.

You felt it though… The stares from the Inner Circle. They did not care for the Death God that casually sitting on the throne. They only looked at you, disbelief in their features but you could see something underneath that — the look of longing and regret.

You wanted to sneer, you wanted to show any hint of disgust at the look on their features — how dare they. After everything they have done to you.

Kosechi looked at the Inner Circle, before glancing at you from the corner of his eye and he snicked under his breath.

“How unfortunate, High Lord of the Night. To have lost your beloved Seer to me…” he pointed out, casually resting head tilting on bony hands as he looked at Rhysand, grin still evident on his features. “Did you know… how the High Lord of Day had hidden her from my followers since she was young … protected her within the wards of Day Court. I’ve been waiting… Waiting for her to fall to me, and you and her mate had made that happen.”

He leaned forward, pressing his hands onto his thighs as the grin widened, sharpened teeth glistening in the light.

“She was beautiful… when my followers found her bleeding body. It took a lot of power to seize her, your shadows protecting her…” Blackened eyes staring at Azriel, “But it was a well-worthy fight. Her light was dimming, leaving an empty echo and so I filled it. Filled it with darkness, it was so exquisite, watching her light dull…”

The Death-God caught your eye and tilted his head.

You had looked at him, charcoal hues staring before you bowed your head, silently thanking him as you felt the weave of shadow up your arms, ghosting over your skin — ensuring you were safe and well protected from any danger, even from Koschei himself.

Azriel watched, those tendrils of shadow wound around you, hearing the purr of devotion to you:

“We serve,

“We protect…

“We find, we hide…

“We cherish the light…”

After your death and after the disappearance of your body, Azriel could never summon the shadows again; they did not flock to him, they did not sing to him, not ever since then — and he realized why.

He realized that despite his infatuation with the middle Archeron sister, his shadows knew exactly what he had wanted, where he should have stayed next to. His shadows were attracted to your light, like flies to fire.

And they still clung to you, even now, and would never let you go.

He tried, fisting his hand as if trying to summon his shadows back to him; however, he could hear them hiss at him:

“You failed, you lost…

“You are not worthy of her light…

“We will not sing for you, only for her…”

Your eyes snapped at him as if feeling the attempt to strip you of the shadows. Your eyes met and you just stared, much like he did to you — all those months ago. That very stare, as if reaching into the depths of his soul, causing him to stumble backward, hands bracing the table behind him — the echo of the broken mating bond aching in his chest; something he will never get used to.

“And so,” Kosechi ended*, “I would like to give my savior a gift… one that I had promised her when I had resurrected her from her unfortunate death,” Koschei cheerfully said, straightening up in his seat, “Blood… of all of Pyrthian, starting with her beloved Night Court.” He raised a hand, darkness flowing out of him.

The Peregryn saw that to be a moment of attack and charged for the Death-God, only to be killed, swiftly and silently by you.

No one had seen it, your movement from the dias to the edges of the room, as if you used the shadows to winnow from one end to the other, though impossible. You stood, surrounded by lifeless bodies of those guards, dull eyes staring at the dead, in your hand a familiar dagger — Truth-Teller, dripping in blood.

Helion, Rhysand, and the rest of the Inner Circle watched, trying to hold back the bile that was rising in their throats at the site of you.

This wasn’t you.

You were someone who would never hurt anyone.

You hated seeing war, hated seeing bloodshed — saw it too often in your visions.

And it had been your duty to ensure, with your sight, to prevent it.

And yet, now, you were the one wreaking havoc on Pyrthian.

In that instant, they knew, they had lost you, completely, to the shadows and darkness that they had drowned you in — in the darkness that the Death God had filled you up with. They had failed you, completely and they weren’t sure… if they would ever get you back.

Feyre looked at you, and took a step forward, only to have her held back by Rhysand — a feeble attempt to protect his mate, “(Y/N) …” she called out your name, as if a way to break you out of this trance, to call you back to them, “What has he done to you? We apologize for not listening to you, and for not seeing you. Please, come back home… We’ll make it up to you, we’ll do anything to bring you back… please…”

You snapped your head towards her, charcoal eyes staring at your former High Lady, a mixed look of longing and hatred towards her way. Tears swam beneath your eyes, forcing them back, “You can’t apologize now…” you seethed, “You can’t tell me that you want me back — when all you did for months was ignore me,” your voice was shaking, that small part of you, that old light you had broken through, “And home? When has that been my home for the past few months? I was alienated, thrown away, cast aside, and yet you want me to go back? For what? For you to do the same again?”

Tears broke, as they ran down your cheeks, “He has done nothing to me… You all have forced your hand to make it this way. I have asked you multiple times to listen to me… I begged all of you to listen, but here we are now…” Pained hues stared at your family, “You have doomed us all to Pyrthian’s destruction.”

That old part of you, the one that had died when you had taken your life, the one that disappeared when Kosechi revived you, cried out — cried out for the loss of your light, loss of your innocence, loss of your own life; cried for the circumstances that fell into place. That old part of you drowned in the darkness that your mate and family had subjected you to. Leaving you seeping in the darkness that the Death-God soaked you in.

And you were losing yourself in that darkness.

You never meant it, you never meant to resurrect the Death-God, you didn’t want to.

You never meant to be the cause of Prythian’s doom.

But fate… seemed to be laughing in your face.

Azriel watched the confrontation between you and his High Lady, but he couldn't glance her way, all his attention on you. He watched as you held Truth-Teller in your hand, watched as his shadows wrapped around your hand that held that dagger as if to steady it in your hand, holding back the quiver that shook your body.

He could see it, that bit of light, that piece of you that he loved so dearly — he hoped to reach out to it… to bring you back home, to bring you back to him.

He took a step forward, passing his High Lady, a hand reaching out towards you.

Your head snapped at him, glaring at him as the hot streams of tears never ended.

It was as if the whole world stilled, just the two of you in that room.

“(Y/N) …” he whispered; your name was a prayer on his lips.

Much like his was yours, for so many centuries.

He stood in front of you, a hand shakily reaching up to try to touch you, to hold you again — to apologize for his mistakes, to beg for you to come back. Azriel let scarred fingers touch your cheeks, wiping the tears that stained your cheeks. Your skin was cold, ice cold. No warmth, nothing that echoed you. But he held on, cupping your cheek and holding you near him.

You bit your lip, trembling, fighting back all the urge to lean into his warmth — to fall back in love with the Shadowsinger.

“I’m sorry… I am sorry. I will beg for the rest of my life for your forgiveness. To kiss the very ground you walk on, follow the shadows to the darkness of your soul. I will be your blade, slicing your enemies for you so that your soul doesn’t darken anymore…”

Azriel’s hand slipped down your face, caressing cold skin as it trailed down your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake before grasping around your hand that held Truth-Teller. The burn of a bargain tattoo searing onto both of your skin.

He flinched slightly but kept his hazel eyes on you, his hand gripping tightly onto yours. He felt your every shiver against his hold, he felt those tendrils of shadow wrap around his hand — hissing at the completeness of the two mates.

A sob escaped you, your bottom lip shaking as you looked at those hazel eyes you adored. His words soothed the ache in your chest; it was all you had wanted to hear… all those months ago.

But you couldn’t… you couldn’t let yourself forgive him.

You wrenched your hand away from him, as your other hand reached up, mirroring him, pressing the palm of your hand to his cheek, “We had everything, Az…” your voice was hauntingly beautiful, mesmerizing, lyrical, broken, “A family that loved us, a family that we cared for… Yet you were willing to throw it away for a few moments of passion, gallivanting with Elain… You had chosen her over me…” Dark eyes looked at the Made-Fae who stared at both of you with wide brown hues.

You stared back at Azriel, who looked at you as if you were the whole night sky, “…You, Azriel, have broken me, entirely and fully. You will beg for eternity for my forgiveness… We will see to what lengths you will go through… for me…”

You brought his face close to yours, your scent of fresh soft florals — jasmine and sage, overtaking Azriel’s senses. Your lips hovering over his own, “I will show you, my love, on how much you have broken me…”

And with your other hand, you flung Truth-Teller across the room, towards Elain, stabbing her right in her chest. A scream echoed, before your shadows flooded, blanketing the room in darkness, Koschei’s maniacal laughter ringing through the dark.

Azriel had lost track of how long he had been trapped within his cell, with no remembrance of how he got there. The wards that surrounded his cell were unbreakable, one of strong, ancient magic weaving through its walls. He had tried, multiple times to break it. However, difficult; his siphons were taken away and his wings were battered. His strength only depleted day after day, with every attempt to get out. He yelled and screamed, only to be met with silence every single time — he lost all will after that.

So he sat, in that cold, dark cell, watching the sun through the small crack in the rock as his only light source.

He had no idea what was going on in the outside world — in Pyrthian.

He heard, though, through the cracks in the rocks.

He heard the whispers of Koschei’s magic and powers seeping through Pyrthian. The destruction of the world was quick and simple. The God’s power was no match for the Fae that lived, the Fae that had fought against him. He had realized that he and his family had caused this plight to fall upon Prythian.

And that you were right next to the Death-God, using those arrows made of shadow and darkness to rain havoc on both fae and humans alike. Sparing no one in its terrible wake, but…

He had heard of the whispers that you had asked to spare the High Lords from the destruction.

All but the Inner Circle.

The first time you had come to see him was three days after being locked in that cell. The shadows still clung onto your body, whispering and seething at him.

You had tortured him, physically and mentally. Using Truth-Teller to inflict wounds on skin and whispering to him on destruction that wrecked Prythian — as if you were lovers laying in bed after lovemaking.

After hours of torture, shadows swarming towards him to heal those wounds, you had lifted the silencing ward, allowing him to call out to his family — for them to communicate to each other… to keep their sanity within those walls. A kind gesture, you had reminded him. For them to listen to each other — when they couldn’t do the same to you.

What he didn’t realize was that the silencing spell was a haven — it allowed Azriel not to listen to the screams of torture that befallen his family.

He could hear the yells of his High Lord, the call of Feyre to her family, the frantic screams of Nesta and Cassian calling for each other, and the whimpers of the still-alive Elain.

There were many times when he tried to reach out — call for them, let his voice be an anchor through the pain.

He had been the reason for this destruction.

But it wasn’t enough. Eventually, Azirel stopped reaching out; there was no point, there was no getting out of there.

It was like their own Prison, but it was of their own making.

The second time you had come to see him, you had pressed Truth-Teller into his hands, dark eyes locking into dulling hazel.

“I call upon your promise, Shadowsinger…” you had told him, the sting of the bargain tattoo on the back of his neck, the call of the use of the bargain, causing him to flinch, “The blade that will free my soul from the darkness. You promised you’d be it, right?”

And that’s what he had become.

A sword of blood — against all of Prythian.

All for you.

He wielded Truth-Teller against all Fae, beast, and humans alike.

He followed your command, not a single thought but listening to your voice as you whispered with the shadows on who to kill and whom to spare — much like a puppet on a string. Slowly breaking from the inside as he raised his hand against his home.

He had thought that you’d call on him often. As he promised, he didn’t want your hands to be stained more with blood, to have your soul darken more.

But you rarely had called him, only twice you had asked him to kill for you.

When the creak of his cell door opened, hazel eyes looked up from his position on the ground, watching you enter and closing the door behind you.

You tilted your head at him your hand reached out towards him, and Azriel shifted to his feet before kneeling in front of you — his bloodied hands grasping your own and pressing a kiss towards the top of your hand — a movement of devotion.

You leaned down, hovering over him as he looked up at you, “One last time… Azriel…” you whispered, your breath caressing his skin as you pressed Truth-Teller one last time into his hands, the two of you were winnowing out of his cell.

The two of you landed on familiar lands — Velaris — and in the distance the darkening cloud of Koschei’s followers and the Death-God himself, heading towards the City of Starlight.

Azriel watched as they slowly descended into the city, his body screaming to defend, to fight… to protect his home. But he waited for your command, on your word.

What he had not expected was for your shadows to cover his eyes, cover his ears, and slither around his hand that held Truth-Teller. His senses were blocked by darkness, and he couldn’t help the panic that zipped through his body.

This wasn’t like before — you never used your shadows like this.

He knew it was torture for him, to watch himself raise his hand and blade against Prythian — it was the reason why you forced him to fight — to see watch Prythian burn in his wake.

He was confused and it showed in his features.

He felt your hand on his upper arm, through the Illryian leathers that seemed to stick to his skin. He felt your body close to his own as you whispered in his ear, “Let the shadows guide you, Shadowsinger… Let them help you kill on my command…”

Azriel felt his throat bob and allowed the shadows to guide his feet, swarming around him and allowing them to whisper to him again.

He tore against leather and skin, smelt blood that splattered onto his face, and heard the muffled screams and cries of whoever he cut down. He didn’t know who he was killing, nor did he want to. He didn’t want to see the lifeless bodies of those who lived in his home, he had passed by on the streets.

He didn’t want to see the lives of the Velarians he just had taken.

The shadows continued to whisper to him — where to turn, when to strike, when to kill — relying on them as he did once before. He and the shadows were working in tandem, following your commands.

As he walked through the streets of Velaris, he felt the world calm — the screams stopped, the smell of blood fading through the whisps of wind — as if time stopped around him.

He allowed the shadows to lead him, stepping over fallen bodies, and debris. Azriel didn’t know where he was being taken and he didn’t want to know where if it meant more bloodshed on his people.

Footsteps grew closer, and a chilling shiver ran down the Spymaster’s spine, ears picking up on the slightest sound from the direction of the footsteps, Truth-Teller armed against whoever might attack him.

“…Strike in the void in the chest…”

He let the shadow lift his arm, as he lunged forward, Truth-Teller gleaming in the light as he broke through skin, striking at the place where the shadows whispered to hit.

A familiar gasp reached his ears, and the body collapsed against him; his arms naturally wrapping around.

The shadows slithered away from his body and Azriel blinked, focusing his eyes on the figure in front of him.

In his arms, at the end of Truth-Teller was you — he had stabbed you.

“(Y/N) … What…?” his breath came out shaky, as he collapsed with you in his arms, his hand releasing its hold on Truth-Teller as it remained embedded in you, in your chest, right where the void seemed to be swirling around the dagger.

He looked around him, noticing that it wasn’t the bodies of his city that lay on the ground but of Kosechi’s army — you had commanded him to kill Kosechi’s followers.

Before he could breathe out something else, a yell echoed through the skies of Velaris. Azriel whipped his head toward the sound, and he watched Kosechi’s body strike the ground, cracks on the earth as he stalked towards Azriel — the same gaping void in his chest mirroring your own.

Charcoal eyes of the Death-God shifted from the Spymaster’s to your own, as your life was slowly leaving your body and he let out a broken laugh, “Seems that your Seer has planned this… since I had resurrected her. Our connection...” another laugh, one of disbelief, "...was our downfall..."

Eyes moved again to Azriel, “You all never deserved her…”

Azriel watched as Kosechi’s body was swallowed by the void, leaving nothing but whisps of air in his waking — the Deathless God, dead.

Not even a second later, he was focusing on your body, watching the shadows wrap around Truth-Teller, as if trying to stop death from taking your body.

“No….No!” he screamed, as he shifted you in his arms, pressing a hand against your cheek and his forehead resting against your head, “You can’t do this, (Y/N)…” as he tried to catch your eyes, hazel eyes in panic mode.

Azriel didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what to think. All he could think was that he was losing you all over again — and this time permanently.

He felt tears streaking down his features, watching them fall onto your face, “What did you do, my love? Why did you do this?” he whispered against your skin.

He felt you chuckle, one so broken and shallow and he watched you look up at him, your colored hues staring up at him — one devoid of the darkness that had swallowed you up.

“I had always loved you, Azriel…” you mumbled, “… Loved you with my whole being… for centuries I had been devoted to you…”

A cough escaped your lips, dark as night blood dripping down the edge, “You will, for eternity, regret and mourn… You will be as broken as I was when you betrayed me…”

He leaned against the hand that you had lifted to rest against his cheek, your blackened blood streaking against his skin.

“You will never forget what you had pushed me to do… To save Prythian…”

With one last breath, your hand fell limp against your chest, your eyes dimming as the last of your light finally diminished. The shadows went wild against your body, their cries ringing in Azriel’s ears as he shook, he brought your body close to his.

A roar echoed through the skies of Valeris — one full of anguish and regret.

@cleverzonkwombatsludge @setayeshmohseni @kindasleepycryptid @f4iry-bell @woodland-mist @kalulakunundrum @thelov3lybookworm @hnyclover @harrystylesfan2686 @anuttellaa @ithan-holstroms-girl @judig92 @venuseuripedis @fairywriter-oracle @thehighlordishere @acourtofbatboydreams @willowpains @historygeekqueen @dr4g0ngirl @ayme301 @kemillyfreitas @crazylokonugget @abysshaven @naturakaashi @kittenbi @namelesssav @guiltyreader @awkardnerd @je-suis-prest-rachel @quackitysdrugdealer @thesunloveschips @brieflyclassymortal @justdreamstars @isa1b2h3 @himesuedi @fxckmiup @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @t0uch-starved-h0e @mybestfriendmademe

[anantaru]

— how he kisses you

including neuvillette, wriothesley, lyney, childe x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff & suggestive (heavy descriptions of making out), very cute

— neuvillette + slow and passionate

neuvillette sighs out heavenly, a satisfying trace of you captivating his drunken lips when he takes your cheeks in his palms to make you look at him, then the man slowly slants forward until your body was drawn against the bed ever so softly.

a strong feeling of reverence— they always come back to his mind whenever he misses you and was forced to be apart from your soft lips, it's then and there, while neuvillette was occupied with his duties, that the man recognized that kissing you alone was bringing forth pure lightness in his life, an affection like no other and a state of simply being alive and living for the sake of it.

his lips now, finally gliding over yours a bit shaky and slow, but after a while it was followed by a passionate lap of tongue clashing across yours, a once gentle kiss that would always develop into much more than that— his tongue now, repeatedly nudges in the thick of your parted lips before he circles his wet muscle across your own, pricking at the nerves beneath the soft slide of your lips.

this form of love was shared by you, only you, and to neuvillette it was greatly more intimate than the act itself.

to note, but it was quite comical when you take his line of work into consideration, because the way the iudex kissed you felt stolen— like he'd take as much as you would give him, yet also more, he needs more, and he would indulge in it all, aside from eagerly gnawing down on your bottom lip before pulling away, his warm, lingering breathing so tenderly thumping over the saliva-stricken flesh of your lips.

then he deepens the kiss when you glissade your fingers into his long and lustrous hair, rounding your lips on top of his before a sheen outline of a satin-like whine travels from the expanse of your tongue and slithers into his tensed limbs— an eminence of a deep red manifesting, blazingly scarlet on the soft features of his face— holding a passion in this, in tasting you, and it's so unique to him that neuvillette's love for you was a boundless emotion, secured underneath his ribs, free to receive but only for you.

— wriothesley + strong and needful

an impassioned shortness of breath— and the shuffle of two frames moving beneath velvet sheets and darkened shadows when wriothesley holds your face gently in his hands before he skillfully shapes his wet muscle across your lips, spaciously molding and awaiting for entrance.

those revealing quickened breaths, they escape from his chaste kisses like they're bound to go with one another, interlace together at each new long sweep of his tongue running miles between your hearts— and ugh, the duke almost parades in a daze of your taste penetrating him, your fragrance manifesting on him until he smells of you, giving a little sigh of happiness as his bare lips were continuously hot and searing on top of yours.

but with your bodies relaxing in addition to your fire infused cheeks revealing a blossoming smile, your eyes are aglow, in a way wriothesley would never forget, not when such expression was the cause of deep happiness in him, one only you can bring forth.

desire floods your veins when wriothesley wraps his strong arms around your waist to press you close to his chest, weaving his fingers into the expanse of your shirt before his cologne planes over your flaring nostrils, adding a dot of pressure to your attempt to even out your quickening breathing.

it's almost too much— and your body was beginning to overflow on warmth, to the point where you were noticing your pulse thumping in your ears— and his broad body resting against your own was only aiding your current state, your lips pressed together and shifting, a mirage of faint sighs, cute smiles that were unveiling against you, unable to let go, not wanting to let go.

to say, wriothesley's kisses were always strong and curious, you noticed it from the very first day he had kissed you, and you wouldn't want it any other way.

because he wasn't like that— your wriothesley doesn't kiss you slow nor does he do it inexperienced, yet purely meshed in lust and need, and the man believes that it gets better each time he tastes you on his tongue, gripping you tight and refusing to let go when his head leans to the left ever so slightly before you mewl into his lips to make him swallow your sounds, only to give them back to you, his divulging noises hanging on every lap of his tongue spoken without requiring words.

— lyney + quick and excited

for starters, your boyfriend lyney will always leave you gasping for air, and when he first tastes you— there are no thoughts, no precise way and no plan, only a flame of a warm glow rising up on his face and somehow, you could tell his cheeks had to be deep red by now.

with the nuance of his spontaneous ministrations, lyney tilts his head before sliding his tongue past your glossy lips, that were a little wetter now, a bit hotter as well when you, audibly this time, whine into him but let yourself float in his wet laps of tongue and teeth faintly clashing together.

he mimics your movements, parades and calls out your weak spots, then recognizes the way he had to go on about it.

there's waves of saliva exchanging, it turned into an unending dance of barely touching each other but your lips slithering in tandem, slightly jittery when another shiver reglects inwards your figure, an indicating weakening of your knees as they shake— your boyfriend noticing how you're hanging on a thread.

your lips never break away from him all night, and you sigh contentedly at the feeling of becoming one with lyney— the reason? it's simple, because it shows a connection between two individuals, a sort of compliment to the eyes and the delicate sweetness within yourself, a smile of shyness coming from some deep emotion.

and that's a beautiful thing to lyney, to someone who demonstrates a fake personality as a well known magician— that for one, there's something real he was able to feel and experience through you.

— childe + intense but delicate

in the general run of things, no one has ever made you feel like this except for childe— never has someone treated you with such devotion as he did, like you were something so fragile that he needed to protect, had to hold your face in his warm palms ever so gently, ever so featherlight.

to be treated delicately, just as a brief touch from a ray of sunlight, it's soft, and warm, and comforting— and for one, ajax gave you a smile of pure innocence, one that wasn't usual for someone holding the title of a harbinger, but with you it's like he can show a real connection, a hidden tenderness towards the person he desired.

don't panic, don't think, just focus, just let ajax focus on your lips and taste them on his tongue, outline them with the tip of his muscle as he nibs down before pulling away, a string of saliva keeping you both connected and intwined, his thumbs stroking slow circles on your warm cheeks before he draws himself back in again.

your mouths move upon one another intensely, then slowly, as he prances his tongue upon your mouth for another greedy taste— his flushed face an utter mess when you sigh out heavenly, his cheeks blushing brightly as he follows the motion of your pink muscle and glosses through your mouth with lust— like it's a natural force for him to suck on your tongue.

but he lifts his head for a little to regard your eyes that had been barely open, inhaling deeply and cherishing a moment such as this one when your bottom lip quivers of glossy saliva— the mere sight of you pulling apart every sense he had and impassioned him with terrible feverishness, like childe was about to take his shirt of due to experiencing intense swelter.

how precious of ajax to act out from a couple innocent kisses, right?

although remember— the man was seldomly home, and the sensation of having his gravel-bathed groans mingle together with your own sobs relaxes your shoulders greatly before you open your mouth a little more, your bodies struggling against each other.

who was allowed to touch more? experience and taste more, feel more, fuck, something that was turning you close to your breaking point.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[pocoyo-yo]

- smut, black!coded reader, f/m, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex, crying (y/n tho lol), crude language, mating press (pos.), overstimulation -

FRESHLY MANICURED NAILS clawed at the wrinkled pink sheets of your bed. your tangled, newly installed weave was sprawled across your many plump pillows. you were practically folded in half— ankles dangled by your ears and your body felt sticky with sweat and cum.

"take it, baby— give me another one 'n cum on this dick.."

his words went through one ear and out the other while he pounded his cock in your tight pussy. your toes curled at the feeling of overstimulation flowing through your veins— watering eyes flickering to the back of your head. you moaned softly and tears fluttered down your hot cheeks. everytime his wet cock split apart your creamy folds; you squealed— biting don hard on your bottom lip. the wet ripples of your skin with every slap of his hips against yourself filled the room.

"s— stop," you sobbed and hiccuped on moans as his thumb raked circles over your swollen clit. ".. 'can't cum no more! stop p— please!"

"yes you can— now shut the fuck up 'n take it, pretty." he grunted— harsh breaths left his red lips.

you furrowed your brows and glanced down. your tits bounced on par with each of his thrusts and your tummy jiggled— his pace was unforgiving. the pads of his rough fingers rubbed the sensitive bud which made little whimpers flow from your sore throat.

"no! no! i— i'm.." you jerked your hips back— the feeling was overwheming.

he pressed his body closer to your own— your arousal coated his dick with ever every thrust. a creamy, white ring formed around the base— his cum from previous rounds smeared on your inner thighs and leaked from your hole.

"ya wanted this— walked around like a slut in public just beggin' to get fucked," he raised his slightly hand and slapped your clit. "now you got my dick but y're still complainin.."

you whined, "I— I'm not! baby please..!"

"baby please," he mocked— a wide grin spreading across his face. ".. now make me cum— it's all yours, mama."

CHARACTERS - TOJI, SUKUNA, todo, reiner, CONNIE, eren, MIGUEL O'HARA, draken, HANMA, TAIJU, sanemi, AOMINE

[dissapointu]

Can you do something with the arcane characters (more specifically Viktor but id like to see how others would be too if thats okay with you ofc) and how they would be ice skating/ice skating with reader. Thank youuu!

Uuuaghfhdshsisn such a cute ask!

Viktor

Viktor wasn’t thrilled about the idea of ice skating. His cane wasn’t exactly built for gliding across frozen water, but the way your eyes lit up at the rink softened his resistance. “If I fall, you’re catching me,” he warned, stepping gingerly onto the ice.

You stayed close, holding his arm as he wobbled. Despite his initial hesitance, Viktor found himself smiling, especially when you cheered for him after a single, ungraceful loop around the rink. “Maybe this isn’t so bad,” he murmured, watching you glide effortlessly ahead of him.

But the moment he tried to speed up, his feet slipped out from under him. You burst into laughter, skating back to help him up. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked, shaking his head but laughing along with you.

“Absolutely,” you said, taking his hands. “Let’s go again.”

Jinx

Jinx was a whirlwind on the ice. From the moment you laced up your skates, she was already darting around, almost crashing into everyone in her path. “Catch me if you can!” she yelled, zipping past you.

You hesitated at first but gave chase, laughing as she swerved and spun to evade you. When you finally caught her, both of you tumbled into a pile on the ice. She cackled, her cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Think you can outskate me? Not a chance, sugar,” she teased, pulling you back up for another round.

Vi

Vi acted like she was too cool for ice skating but secretly loved it. She steadied you as you both stepped onto the rink, smirking when you clung to her arm. “Relax, I got you,” she said, guiding you along

After a few laps, you found your footing, and Vi couldn’t resist showing off. “Watch this!” she said, attempting a spin. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to impress you.

When you challenged her to a race, she grinned. “You’re on, but don’t cry when I leave you in the dust,” she joked, taking off with you close behind.

Sevika

Sevika had no interest in ice skating at first but gave in when you insisted. “Fine, but if I break something, it’s on you,” she grumbled. On the ice, she was surprisingly steady, her strength and balance keeping her upright.

You teased her for being better than expected, and she shrugged. “Takes more than some slippery ice to take me down,” she said, smirking.

When you started to slip, she caught you with her robotic arm, pulling you close. “Careful,” she muttered, her tone soft. “Can’t have you getting hurt.”

Silco

Silco on ice skates was a rare sight. He only agreed because you promised it would be “fun.” He moved cautiously, his usual grace compromised by the ice.

“Stop laughing,” he said dryly as you glided circles around him.

“Come on, Silco, loosen up!” you encouraged, grabbing his hands.

After a while, he found his rhythm, his confidence returning. By the end of the night, he even attempted a slow dance with you on the ice, his reserved smile making the whole experience worth it.

Vander

Vander was a natural on the ice, his strength and steady demeanor making him a great skating partner. He held your hand as you found your balance, his warm laugh easing your nerves.

“You’re doing great,” he said, his deep voice a comforting presence.

When you suggested skating together, he lifted you effortlessly, spinning you around before setting you back down. “See? Nothing to it,” he said, grinning as you laughed in delight.

Ekko

Ekko was all energy on the ice, weaving through the crowd with ease. “Come on, firebug, keep up!” he called, skating backward to face you.

You tried to match his pace but ended up slipping. Ekko caught you just in time, his arms wrapping around you to keep you steady. “Gotcha,” he said with a wink.

He spent the rest of the session teaching you tricks, his enthusiasm contagious. By the end of the night, you were laughing and racing each other like pros.

Jayce

Jayce was overly confident at first, claiming he’d be the “king of the rink.” That confidence faded the moment he wobbled onto the ice.

You couldn’t stop laughing as he clung to the edge. “Don’t just stand there—help me!” he said, reaching for your hand.

Once he got the hang of it, he was unstoppable, showing off and trying to impress you. “I told you I’d get the hang of it!” he said, beaming as he pulled you into a spin.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn was graceful on the ice, moving as if she’d been skating her whole life. She held your hand, guiding you through the basics with patience and encouragement.

“You’re a quick learner,” she said, her smile warm.

When you finally managed to skate on your own, she clapped, clearly proud. “I think you’re ready for a race,” she teased, challenging you to a friendly competition around the rink.

Mel Medarda

Mel exuded elegance, even on the ice. She took your hand, leading you with effortless grace. “Relax, darling,” she said, her voice soothing.

She enjoyed showing off, performing spins and gliding effortlessly. When you asked for tips, she smiled. “It’s all about confidence,” she said, pulling you close.

Dancing on the ice with her felt like a dream, her refined presence making every moment magical.

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa’s strength and determination made her a natural skater. She was your rock, steady and dependable as you learned the ropes.

“You’re doing well,” she said, her tone encouraging.

When you stumbled, she caught you easily, lifting you back up without effort. “See? No reason to fear,” she said, her smile reassuring.

Maddie Nolen

Maddie turned ice skating into a playful competition, challenging you to races and tricks. “Loser buys dinner!” she teased, darting ahead

Her energy was infectious, and you couldn’t help but laugh as she showed off her skills. When you finally caught up to her, she grinned. “Not bad, but I’m still the best.”

Lest

Lest was hesitant at first, her feline instincts making her wary of the slippery surface. But with your encouragement, she gave it a try.

She moved cautiously, her tail flicking with every step. “This is… strange,” she admitted, but your laughter eased her nerves.

By the end of the night, she was gliding alongside you, her confidence growing with each lap. “Perhaps this isn’t so bad,” she said, her smile soft and genuine.

[rezwrites]

hi! could u do a rio x f!reader enemies to lovers? maybe a detective au? and maybe smut if ur comfortable with it

Of course!

Warnings: 18+MDNI TW: very minor mention of murder/suicide cases, cursing, office sex, risky sex, mutual fingering

Eyes flickering between the case file and your computer you typed fervently, shrill rings of the office phones outside your door and the clacking of your keyboard filled the silence of your mind as you worked away. This case was pretty simple this time around, thankfully.

“Knock knock,” her silvery voice invaded your senses. Immediate irritation painted your face as you looked up to see Rio leaning against your doorframe, a small box in her hands.

You’ve dealt with years of her atrocious arrogance. You wanted to knock her down a few pegs whenever she oversaw your cases and barked orders at you, as if you didn’t know how to do your own job. Most interactions the two of you always ended in an argument. It has simmered down recently, but she still gets under your skin.

“Oh no.” you stood up, rounding your desk, “This case isn’t anywhere near FBI jurisdiction. What are you doing here?”

“Your chief asked me personally to work this case with you. Something about you do better when I’m around.” Rio’s lips ticked up.

Clenching your jaw, you narrowed your eyes at her, “The case is over. I just finished the crime scene report and sent it over to the lawyer for the trial.”

“I’m only kidding.” She pushed herself off of the doorframe, “I just came by to see you and to give you these.” She held out the box of cookies, subconsciously fiddling with the side of the ribbon wrapped around the box.

This was the fourth time this month she came by with food. You turned her away every time, despite how good the desserts looked. You had to acknowledge her dedication, the tiredness in her features showing you that she did indeed put effort into these treats. Guilt started to gnaw at you now that you think about it, but you steeled yourself before she saw you waver.

You glanced down at the cookies then at her, “definitely poisoned.” Taking the box and tossing it on your desk, you crossed your arms turning back to Rio, leaning back on your desk.

“They aren’t. I stayed up late to make them.” She frowned, picking up the box shoving it into your arms, “Just eat one.”

“Why do you want me to eat your food so insistently?” You gripped the side of the box, slightly denting it.

“Because I want to know what you like.” Rio stared intensely into your eyes, it was a little unnerving. It was like her sepia orbs were searching for something. You could see the dark circles under her eyes from the lack of sleep.

Reigning yourself in, you straightened yourself out , “I like… telling you to get the fuck out my office.”

There’s small twinge of pain in your chest when she sighs defeatedly, shoulders slumped as she walked out your office without so much as a witty comeback. Some part of you hoped she’d come back, guilt building the longer she didn’t. The rest of the day passed unusually quiet, the cookies left on the edge of your desk taunting you.

Stepping into your home quite late you were greeted by, Jupiter, weaving himself through your legs, meowing shrilly as he leads you to his bowl to fill. Putting his food up after filling his bowl, exhaustion hit you like a truck. Deciding to skip dinner you grabbed the box of cookies you had haphazardly tossed on the kitchen table, making your way to your bedroom.

The shower made your body heavy with tiredness, finally ready to stop fighting it you slipped into bed. Jupiter jumped up snuggling his small, orange body into your side. Flipping open the box lid, you hesitate picking up a cookie. Eventually, you took a bite savoring the way it was soft and chewy as it melted in your mouth.

After a few cookies your fingers slid over a slip of paper at the bottom of the box. Picking up and flipping over the bright pink note, the words in large black ink.

Delicious, right? ;)

Your face heated up, crumping the note in your fist tossing it back in the box. Shoving the box to the edge of the bed, you turned everything off and went to sleep.

—

Looking at the evidence board you're wracking your brain. It seems to be a simple murder-suicide but something in your gut says otherwise and the evidence to support your hunch isn’t there.

“Ugh, great. Feds are here. Again.” Your coworker grunted out. It seems you weren’t the only one aggravated when FBI got involved. Looking over your shoulder you see your chief escorting Rio into the meeting room. Chief explained that the case now falls to the FBI due to the victims being part of an international theft ring.

That same coworker started going on a rant, shocking everyone, including Rio. Fussing about getting cases taken away. He even had the nerve to insinuate that Rio had connections to higher-ups since she was always being the one to take cases.

For all your issues with Rio you could never deny that she knows what she’s doing and that she handles herself well on the field. You have to admit that you have learned a few skills from her throughout the years. All her decorations and medals are deserved. You’d be damned if someone that doesn’t know her at all slander her hard work.

You sat there seething until you couldn’t take it anymore. Slamming your palms on the table, everyone turning their heads to you as you stared this worm of a man down, “Enough! I completely understand the frustrations but we don’t have the resources nor manpower like they do. They are way more equipped to deal with criminals like these than we are. In the end we should be thankful the FBI is here. The only reason she gets these cases is because she’s great at doing her job. If you think your tough shit then go out there and try to do it yourself rather than sitting on your ass and complaining!”

The chiefs booming voice silences the whole room before anyone else could start mouthing off. He commanded everyone to go blow off steam, specifically instructing you to hand Rio all the files, evidence and reports.

Relief washed over you once you entered your quiet office, the soft click of the door closing behind Rio. Taking a deep sigh, you began to calm down compiling everything case-related into a manila folder.

“You just defended me?” Rio stood there stunned, breaking the silence.

“I’m the only one who gets to be an ass to you.” You retorted quickly, a bite still evident in your tone.

“Aww, when did kitty get rid of her claws?” She teased, stepping towards you. Glancing over her shoulders you checked to make sure the blinds to your office windows were closed.

“Ugh, five minutes. Shut up for five minutes.” You exasperated.

A smirk grew in on her face, “I think I can find a way to occupy myself. Besides he did say to let off steam.” You watched as her eyes darted between your lips and eyes. Rio hovered in front of you, her warm breath fanning over your face. You leaned up initiating a gentle kiss. She cupped your face deepening the kiss, passionately. Breaths heaving as your fists twisted in her blazer, pulling her closer. Her hands fell to your side thumbs tracing patterns, sliding her thigh between your legs.

“I hate you,” you rasped out in between kisses, “I want to hate you.”

“I don’t want you to hate me. I never did.” she pulled back.

“Can I?” Her fingertips stopped at the edge of the waistband of your slacks, her other hand on the small of your back keeping you upright. Eyes glossing over your face for any reaction.

“Yes.” You breathed out , “may I return the favor?”

“‘F course.”

Her hand slipped into your pants fingers ghosting over your sensitive bud, hips jerking for more pressure. Undoing her belt you’re sure she felt the same as her breaths stuttered when your fingers grazed her clit, drawing light circles.

“Already so wet from kissing?” Rio lightly mocked, running her fingers over your slick slit. As her fingers eased into you a low groan escaped you.

“Hush. You have no room to tease.” Your palm pushed against her as a digit slowly sunk into her own wetness making it easy. She could bury her face in the crook of your neck all she wants, but you still feel the vibrations as she moaned when you added another finger.

Wrapping your legs around the back of her knees, you tried to keep your noises at a minimum as her fingers pumped in and out of your fluttering walls. Your movements faltered minimally before returning with fervor, both of your palms rubbing each others clits.

“I got you.” Whispering in her ear when you felt her knees quiver, curling your free arm around her. Her soft lips return to yours, nipping at your lower lip.

Curling your fingers into her warm depths, hitting the spongy spot her body started to shake. Holding onto her tighter you worked her through her orgasm, as she kissed you harder muffling herself, you swallowed her moans eagerly.

Releasing herself from your lips to breathe you bit her shoulder to fight your screams, as white hot pleasure crashed through you. Rio curled her fingers, an extra shock coursing through your body. Both of your shaky bodies stilled, coming down from your highs. Removing yourselves from each other you grabbed some tissues to clean up, your facing heating up when you turned back around to see her sucking your wetness off of her fingers.

“You ate the cookies, right?” Lifting your head to see her proudly smiling, “I may have added a love potion.”

“Stop,” you laughed, lightly pushing her shoulder, tucking her shirt back into her pants. Rio chuckled pecking your lips, smoothing your shirt.

“Let me take you on a lunch date.” Rio suggested starting to move over to grab the file. You grabbed her arm not wanting to leave your proximity yet, “Rio I-”

She looked at you quizzically as your words died out. You wanted to tell her how you felt, no doubt she felt the same after what just transpired but you still somewhat felt it wasn’t the right time.

“I love you too.” your eyes widened, a smile growing on both your faces,” Now let’s go get lunch.”

[sebastianswallows]

Nobody's Darling — 1. The Road

— PAIRING: Benny Cross x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: Benny comes across a girl walking alone in the middle of nowhere and offers her a ride to the nearest town. They stop at a motel.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 3.1k

— A/N: Hello, my dears! So yeah, I saw The Bikeriders because of Austin (and Tom Hardy) and of course I had to write something for it 😂 I've been labouring at it for the past two weeks lol This was meant to be a one-shot but it kept growing and I decided to split it into chapters. The plot is partly based on something that happened to me, namely I missed my stop and the bus drove me way out of the city before I realised what had happened 💀 Anyway, hope you enjoy it! 😘💕✨

Grey clouds floated across the sky. Fields of yellow and burnt grass rolled along like waves. A string of birds cut through the far horizon. The fading light of the sun seeped softly through the glass and warmed her cheek but she was happy to keep sleeping, caught in that special spot between awake and dreaming when her thoughts were peaceful, settled, and she could weave from them a pretty fantasy. The chill of a November evening didn’t quite make it into the bus but the windows were already fogging and the seats grew cold.

She woke up with a start when the wheels struck a hole in the ground and everything jolted.

“Where am I?” she groaned, squinting at the window. Her reflection frowned back but beyond it, she could see… nothing. She was in the middle of nowhere with only naked fields and swaying power lines around her. She checked her watch and her heart stopped.

“I should’ve been home by now. Oh no, I did not sleep through my stop,” she whispered to herself — but she did. “Wait! Driver!”

She got up and ran to the front, scrambling past all those empty seats, her jacket in one hand and purse flailing in the other. The driver gave her a bored expression as she leaned panting against the divider.

“Wait, please, I need to get off! Where are we?”

The man looked at her with all the serenity of an overworked drone in a dead-end job. He didn’t seem particularly alarmed to see her there, nor did he seem to care about her predicament.

“Halfway to the next town,” he mumbled as he started to slow down. “There’s another stop ‘bout a mile back.”

“Great…”

“Next bus comes tomorrow ‘round seven thirty.”

“Oh.”

She looked around again as if she could see something different from up here but it was all the same. The vastness of it frightened her and she half-wished she’d never woken up.

The driver pulled over at the side of the road and tilted the cap on his bald head, his teeth tight around a toothpick.

“You’ll be alright?”

“Yeah…” she said automatically. “Sure.”

He opened the door and her whole body began to tremble, the situation suddenly completely real. She gathered all her nerves and put one step in front of the other, and as soon as her feet were on the ground the bus started to move again, driving away.

The sun was dipping into a pool of pink and the birds that circled overhead were growing louder. She was alone in a darkening field with nothing in front of and behind her except for lamplight spilling yellow and pale over an empty road and dead grass all around. If she regretted getting off that bus, it was too late now.

“At least it was warm inside,” she muttered. “But I could never make it back in time for work tomorrow from the next town… Damn it.”

There was nothing left to do. She sighed to herself and started walking back. In her head, she tried to calculate how late it would be by the time she made it home but each result only scared her further.

“Best not to think about it,” she said. “Just keep walking…”

She hadn’t gone on such a hike since she was a little girl, and never far outside of town. She’d only walked through fields and meadows and the forest that stretched east. There was certainly no time for it since getting hired at the local newspaper, and she liked it that way. Her days were measured and predictable, her clothes were always clean, and nothing ever hurt her — except her back if she sat down writing for too long. She was scared now not just because she was alone and in the dark but because she’d never done a thing like this before. Her heels were unsteady on the crumbling tar and her purse felt heavy on her shoulder. Insects were singing in the grass and creatures rustled through it that she dared not think about. Were there snakes around here? Rats? She pulled her jacket tighter around herself.

After half an hour she came across the bus stop that the driver mentioned. The sign for it was half-chewed off and the wooden bench was worn and stained a sickly yellow beneath a flickering light. She considered for a moment sleeping there until the morning but then the ignominy hit her: to sleep on a dirty wooden bench under the flutter of moths and mosquitoes. To come home unwashed and stinky with her hair a mess and her stockings torn. And if any of the neighbours saw her… No. She walked past that bus stop and didn’t look back, and soon found herself surrounded by darkness again.

“You deserve it,” she muttered as she wrapped her arms around herself, her body ambling forward with none of the grace and poise she had half an hour before. “How could you fall asleep? You weren’t even that tired, and the bus ride is so noisy. You couldn’t wait another ten minutes to get home? Idiot, idiot…”

The walk back to the city was taking longer than she thought it would, and by eight o’clock she was still out there. The sky was sprinkled with stars and the wind was flitting gently through her hair and the creatures in the bushes were growing ever louder. If she weren’t so cold and terrified she might have felt exhausted. Her feet hurt and her back was bent under the weight of her purse and she hadn’t eaten since noon. But suddenly, in the distance, she saw a glint of something made of glass and metal — it was a phone booth. The joy that rushed through her wiped all her pain away and she hurried to reach it, nearly tripping. She felt halfway home as soon as she stepped inside its murky walls.

“Please work, please work, please please please.”

She picked up the receiver and held it on her shoulder as she opened the phone book and started leafing through for the nearest police station. They would be obliged to come and pick her up — that is if she could only explain where she was…

“Hello? Operator?” But no voice came from the other side. The tone was dead. “Operator?” she tried again, her voice growing shaky. “Hello? Anyone?”

As she kept tapping on the phone hook, desperate to reach someone, a bright light came peeking over the horizon from the direction she had just come from. It couldn’t have belonged to a car but whatever it was that approached her was fast and loud as all hell. She held her breath as she watched it getting bigger, brighter, closer. This was the only driver she’d seen the whole night and she was equal parts hopeful and horrified of just what it could be. After all, what kind of person would be out driving at this hour on a weekday?

She forgot about the telephone as she followed this strange light until it was close enough to blot out all the darkness. It blinded her for a moment but that thunderous rumble soon settled to a pur and it stopped on the other side of the road from her. When her eyes adjusted to the brightness she realised it was a motorcycle, thin and lean and silver.

Its rider propped himself against the ground on one long leg clad in blue jeans and reached into his pocket. He was tall and slender, his figure swathed in shadows, his motions simple but relaxed and almost elegant.

“It doesn’t work,” he said as he lit a cigarette. “Been broken for a while now.”

The flash of flame from his zippo lighter gave her a hint of his face. He was young, perhaps even younger than her, with full pink lips and a slight stubble, soft blue eyes, and a sprinkle of dirt like freckles on his face. There was a wildness to him and an air of gentleness as well, but his jacket was a dark denim and thick with patches, symbols that probably meant something to him — he must’ve belonged to some sort of “club”. She didn’t know much about bikers aside from what she read about them in the papers, but they’d always seemed to be a bunch of layabouts. Aside from drinking far too much and smoking she knew they got into trouble with the law, had fights, caused accidents, and were generally dangerous to be around.

“I’m… just trying to get to town,” she said in a wary voice.

“Well, I’m headed that way.”

She said nothing, her hand still frozen on the telephone.

“Want a ride?”

It was a tempting offer but one that made her shiver. She’d never been around a man like that, never even exchanged words with one, and everything that she expected from his kind — rudeness, lewdness, and a bad attitude — was suspiciously absent from him. He looked at her with those soft eyes, his long leg braced against the road, and waited. She should have accepted his offer, she should have just gotten on his bike and wrapped her arms around him, but… she couldn’t.

“No, thank you.”

He kept on smoking quietly and looked her up and down much as she’d done with him. She wondered what he saw… She was probably a pathetic sight and a strange kind of person to come across in such a place. When his eyes finally left her figure they strayed across the wilderness. There was nothing around them for miles, they both knew that, and other cars wouldn’t be around that road for hours.

“You know how far away you are?” he asked, rolling the cigarette between his fingers.

“I’ll be fine.”

“It’s a long walk.”

“I don’t want to…” She was about to say she didn’t want to ride all the way back with a stranger but instead said, “trouble you.”

He didn’t react at first, keeping that air of stillness about him that made her wonder what he thought. But after a few moments, he nodded and dropped the cigarette, crushed it underneath his boot, and with a leisurely motion mounted his bike once more and revved the engine up. Before she could say another word he’d already sped into the distance and left only a cloud of dust behind.

She almost felt sorry to see him go. Almost felt guilty too… She didn’t want her distrust of him to be so apparent or to cause offence, no matter what kind of a person he was. But she told herself he must’ve been a dangerous man and that she was better off alone than riding back to town with him. Well, she wouldn’t be riding back with anybody now… The telephone line was dead, just as he’d said. The wire must’ve been disconnected somewhere.

She wanted to cry. Instead, she began to walk once more, trudging through the dark.

The sky was as black as a curtain cast across a silent stage and against it lit from below the pale lights of interspersed lamps. The roaring of the bike got slowly lost in the road that lay before her and soon only her steps echoed to remind her of how alone she was. She watched the small light of the rider fade and hugged herself against the cold, holding the purse to her chest as if it could protect her. Her feet were hurting so much she worried they were bleeding and she considered taking them off until she looked down at the road and its uneven dirty tar. She closed her eyes even as she kept on walking, too tired to gaze out at the same old nothingness again.

But then she heard a roar floating on the wind and felt a tremble in her chest as if an earthquake was approaching, and when she opened her eyes again she saw that lone light making its way back to her. He seemed to ride back faster than he did as he was leaving and he reached her in no time at all. She slowed down to a stop and so did he, parking right beside her.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck in an awkward, boyish way. “Look, I’m sorry if I scared you earlier. But I can’t just leave you out here. You sure you don’t want to —”

“Alright,” she said, her voice already weak and weary. She was hungry and cold and scared that she’d never make it back to town that night. Too scared to refuse his help a second time. “Just… just get me to the edge of town. I can make my own way home from there.”

If he was surprised at how quickly she accepted now, he didn’t show it. He simply moved closer to the front of his seat and made space for her behind him.

She took a deep breath and approached him carefully as if he rode a beast, not something made of metal. It looked solid and precariously thin at once and yet he straddled it confidently. The saddle looked just big enough for two. She hopped on as best she could and tried to keep her legs together but when he looked at her over his shoulder he shook his head and laughed.

“Legs on either side,” he said. “You’ll fall off if you ride like that.”

“But, my skirt…”

He looked up and down her legs and she tried not to read too much into the way his eyes had darkened.

“Roll it up,” he said in a low and soothing voice. “Don’t worry. I won’t look.”

She held her breath as she rolled her skirt up high enough so that she could throw her other leg over the side. He waited while she settled into the position and planted her feet firmly.

“Ready? Hang on,” he said as he revved the engine up. “I’ll go real slow, alright?”

“A-alright…” she said as she placed her hands timidly around his waist.

But he didn’t go slow, at least not by her standards.

It was completely different to riding in a car, more visceral and real with no windows to protect her. She let out a little scream and clung to his body more tightly than she meant to, eyes falling shut, legs tightening around his bike. He smelled of gasoline and metal and several days’ worth of sweat cooled down by the chilly autumn night but he felt so solid in her arms, so firm and steady, even as the world flashed by. Eventually, she was brave enough to rest her cheek against his back and opened her eyes to look at the vacant countryside. It was a little frightening, as she expected, but peaceful too. As she fisted her hands in his jacket, right over his heart, she tried to peek over his shoulder but could just see the side of his face, focused and relaxed, and the white circle of the headlight. Somehow, that was enough for her. His hair tickled her forehead, feeling softer than it had any right to be, and she found herself smiling. There was something base and ancient in the way he smelled, the way he spoke, even in the way he moved. It was as if he had in him the blood-memory of an ancient Knight on armoured steed galloping alone and steadfast through the fields and woods of untamed lands.

The outskirts of town were much tamer than that, however, and before long they could see the faint lights of the outermost buildings, squalid flats, and blinking advertisements. When he started slowing down she felt herself breathe a sigh of relief. It must’ve tickled the back of his neck because he bent his head forward as if to get away — or to ask for more.

“Where are we?” she asked once the noise of the motorcycle died down.

“Marshal Avenue,” he said, easing the bike to the side of the road.

She didn’t know exactly where that was, but she guessed they were on the other side of town from where she lived. All along the street were boarded-up shops, derelict flats, and liquor stores. Across from where he parked was a building that looked to be about a hundred years old. She could hardly fathom walking home at that hour, especially through a neighbourhood like that, but it was better than being in the middle of nowhere.

“Well, thank you. For the ride.”

He lit another cigarette and dismounted the bike, rolling his broad shoulders to unwind. She got off quickly, scrambling to cover her legs in the crumpled skirt before he turned around and saw her. He gave her a look over his shoulder when he heard her fussing and slowly turned around.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

“Yeah, I… I can walk from here.”

He looked at her and stayed quiet but there was something in his eyes behind that veil of smoke that made her curious about what he had to say. He simply nodded and turned toward that old building behind him. She hugged herself and looked up and down the street, waiting for him to say anything — to ask for money, to make fun of her for thinking she could make it home, to make a pass at her…

“Well, good night,” she said.

And as soon as she started walking away he spoke to her again.

“Hey, it’s kinda late. They got rooms upstairs.”

“What?” she asked, turning on her heels a bit unsteadily.

“Owner knows me,” he shrugged, crushing the cigarette beneath his boot and immediately lighting up another. “Could get you one for cheap.”

She shifted her weight from one foot to another and looked around pretending to think… but her eyes kept coming back to him. He puffed quietly away and gazed at her with no design behind those clear blue eyes, looking just as uncertain and awkward as she felt standing in the middle of the street. She didn’t want to trust him but a part of her responded in the same way that she did when she saw a homeless puppy.

“You mean, a room of my own?”

“Yeah.”

She looked from him to the large building again.

He could probably tell that she was torn because he helpfully supplied, “They got food too. Hungry?”

She was. It had been over twelve hours since she’d eaten or had anything to drink.

“I kind of am.”

“Me too,” he said. “Come on.”

[hexxedgod]

‧꒰ sparring session with leon s. kennedy ꒱‧

pairing: leon kennedy x gn reader

summary: a sparring session with leon kennedy.

words: 3k

The sound of leather striking leather filled the small training room. Your fists, wrapped tightly with gauze, darted forward, landing solid punches on the padded target Leon Kennedy held in front of him.

"Good form," Leon said, his low voice calm yet approving. He smirked, tilting his head as if teasing. "But your follow-through needs work. You’re pulling your punches."

You huffed, lowering your arms as sweat dripped down your temples. “I’m not pulling anything, Kennedy. Maybe your reflexes are just slow.”

Leon chuckled, the sound low and rich, his blue eyes glittering with amusement. “Is that so? Alright, hotshot. Show me what you’ve got.”

He tossed the pads aside and stepped back, raising his hands in a defensive stance. His movements were smooth, deliberate—a predator sizing up their prey.

Your heart thudded in your chest. Sparring with Leon felt like playing with fire, but you refused to back down. He had been trying to teach you self-defense for weeks now, always patient yet unrelenting. He was good at pushing you, knowing exactly how to needle you into giving your all. But this was different. This was your chance to prove you could handle yourself.

You mirrored his stance, your eyes locked on his. “Don’t hold back, old man.”

Leon’s smirk widened. “Old man, huh? Let’s see if you can keep up.”

The first move was yours. You lunged, aiming a quick jab at his side, but Leon sidestepped effortlessly, pivoting to avoid your strike. He was fast—faster than you anticipated.

“You’re telegraphing your moves,” he said casually, dodging another punch. His hand shot out, gripping your wrist and twisting gently to throw you off balance. “Gotta be unpredictable.”

You growled in frustration, using your free hand to attempt a sweep kick. To your surprise, it connected, forcing Leon to release you and stumble back. His grin was wolfish now, a glimmer of pride in his eyes.

“Not bad,” he admitted, rolling his shoulders. “But let’s see how you handle this.”

Before you could respond, Leon closed the distance between you in a flash. His strikes were precise but restrained, testing you without causing harm. You ducked and weaved, managing to block some of his blows, though he landed a few taps against your arms and sides.

“You’re holding back,” you accused, panting as you circled him.

Leon raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

Without warning, he feinted left and swept his leg toward yours. You barely avoided the takedown, leaping back and countering with a strike aimed at his chest. He caught your wrist again, but this time, you twisted sharply, breaking free and stepping into his space.

For a brief, electrifying moment, you were nose-to-nose with Leon, your breathing heavy, the air between you crackling with tension. His hands hovered near your waist, ready to block your next move. Neither of you spoke, the intensity of the moment stealing your words.

“Not bad,” Leon murmured, his voice a rough whisper. “But if this were the real thing, you’d be on the floor by now.”

You smirked, your competitive spirit flaring. “If this were the real thing, you wouldn’t see me coming.”

“Is that so?” His tone was teasing, but there was a challenge in his gaze. “Alright, one more round. Winner buys dinner.”

“You’re on.”

The sparring continued late into the evening, each round more intense than the last. Neither of you wanted to admit defeat, the competitive tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife. By the end, you were both sprawled on the mat, laughing breathlessly.

“I’ll give it to you,” Leon said, wiping sweat from his brow. “You’ve got potential.”

“You mean I almost had you,” you shot back, nudging his side with your elbow.

Leon grinned, leaning back on his elbows. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Leon lay back on the mat, his chest rising and falling steadily as he caught his breath. His smirk hadn’t faltered, even after you’d landed more than a few solid hits toward the end. You rolled onto your side to face him, propping yourself up on one elbow, your pulse still racing—not just from the fight.

“You know,” you said, voice light with mock arrogance, “if you weren’t so busy showing off, you might��ve actually won.”

His eyebrows shot up, amusement flickering in his blue eyes. “Showing off? That’s rich coming from someone who went full Rocky Balboa in the second round.”

“Hey, at least I didn’t trip over my own feet trying to dodge,” you shot back, grinning.

Leon chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Fair enough.” He tilted his head toward you, his gaze softening slightly as his smirk faded into something more thoughtful. “You’ve got a good fight in you. You know that, right?”

The sincerity in his voice made your cheeks flush, and you quickly looked away, pretending to focus on your gloves as you untied them. “Yeah, well... I had a good teacher. Even if he’s kind of a pain in the ass.”

“Kind of?” Leon teased, propping himself up on one elbow now too, bringing his face closer to yours. The space between you felt smaller than ever, the air charged with unspoken tension. His eyes flicked down briefly—to your lips—and your breath hitched.

You tried to play it cool. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” he murmured, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip. The smug smirk returned, but there was something else in his expression now—something darker, more dangerous. “You keep talking a big game, but I’m starting to think you like losing to me.”

That did it. Your competitive streak flared, overriding any hesitation. “Oh, please. The only thing I’m losing is patience with your cocky ass.”

“Prove it.” His challenge was soft but loaded, his face now mere inches from yours.

Before you could think better of it, you leaned in, closing the gap between you in one bold move. Your lips met his, the kiss starting out firm and unrelenting, as if you were still sparring—but then his hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face as he deepened the kiss. The shift in control made your pulse spike, your competitive edge melting into something far more intoxicating.

Leon pulled back just enough to speak, his voice rough and low. “Guess I win this round.”

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, yanking him back to you.

His laugh was muffled against your lips as he kissed you again, slower this time, savoring every second. The training room faded away, leaving nothing but the heat of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, and the way his fingers brushed against your waist like he was already planning his next move.

“Just so we’re clear,” you managed to say between kisses, your hand fisting in his shirt to pull him closer, “this doesn’t mean I’m letting you off easy next time.”

Leon chuckled, his lips trailing to your jaw, then your neck. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Leon’s lips lingered at the curve of your jaw, the scrape of his stubble sending shivers down your spine. His hands, calloused yet gentle, slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him. The hard planes of his body pressed into yours, and your breath hitched, the tension between you snapping like a live wire.

“You’re full of surprises,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his lips brushing against your skin. “First, you keep me on my toes in the ring, and now this?”

You tilted your head, giving him better access as his mouth trailed along your neck, each kiss igniting a fire in your veins. “What can I say? I like keeping you on edge.”

Leon laughed softly, the vibration against your throat making your knees weak despite the fact that you were both already on the mat. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in just enough to send a thrill through you. “Well, you’ve got my attention now.”

“Good,” you breathed, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging lightly, forcing him to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark, smoldering with an intensity that made your heart race. “Because I don’t like being ignored.”

“Trust me,” he said, his voice a velvet rasp, “ignoring you isn’t even an option.”

Before you could respond, his lips claimed yours again, this time with more urgency. The kiss was deeper, hungrier, and it left you gasping for air. His hands roamed over your body, exploring with a mix of confidence and restraint, as if he was testing your limits. When his fingers slid beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing against bare skin, a soft gasp escaped your lips.

Leon pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice heavy with restraint.

You shook your head, your fingers gripping his shoulders. “Don’t stop.”

That was all the permission he needed. In a swift motion, he rolled you beneath him, his weight pressing down just enough to make you feel completely at his mercy. His lips found yours again, more demanding this time, and you responded eagerly, your hands roaming over his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt.

Leon’s control faltered as your nails dragged lightly down his spine, earning a low groan from him that sent a thrill through your entire body. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he muttered, his lips brushing against your ear. “Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”

“Why don’t you show me?” you challenged, your voice breathless but bold.

His gaze darkened, and for a moment, the teasing glint in his eyes was replaced by something far more primal. “Careful what you wish for,” he said, his tone a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

Leon’s hands slipped beneath your shirt, his touch firm yet deliberate as he pushed the fabric up, exposing more skin to his wandering lips. The contrast between his rough fingertips and the softness of his kisses was dizzying, leaving you completely at his mercy. You arched into him, your body instinctively seeking more of his touch, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as the heat between you grew unbearable.

“Still think you can handle me?” Leon murmured against your skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot at the base of your neck.

“Try me,” you shot back, your voice shaky but defiant.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his expression a perfect mix of admiration and desire. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Not when I’m winning,” you said, smirking despite the fact that your heart felt like it was about to burst out of your chest.

Leon laughed, the sound rich and full of genuine amusement. “Alright, let’s see how far that competitive streak gets you.” His lips claimed yours again, and this time, you knew neither of you had any intention of stopping.

Leon’s kisses grew more fervent, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that left no room for doubt—he wanted you, and he wanted you badly. His hands roamed over your sides, slipping beneath your shirt with deliberate ease, his calloused fingertips igniting sparks as they traveled across your bare skin. You gasped as his touch teased higher, his thumb brushing just beneath the curve of your ribs.

"You're full of surprises," Leon murmured, his breath warm against your ear, his lips grazing the sensitive spot just beneath it. "I thought you came here for self-defense lessons. Turns out, you’re a fast learner.”

Your laugh was breathless, your fingers threading into his hair to tug him closer. “Maybe I just needed the right motivation.”

Leon smirked against your neck, his teeth grazing the delicate skin before soothing it with a kiss. "Motivation, huh?" His voice was thick with desire as his hands wandered lower, tracing the curve of your hips. “And here I thought I was just doing my job.”

“You’re doing more than that,” you replied, tilting your head back as his lips traveled lower, his teeth and tongue working in tandem to leave a blazing trail of heat in their wake. Your breath hitched as he shifted, his body pressing more firmly against yours, the hard lines of his frame pinning you beneath him.

Leon pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes darkened with an intensity that sent shivers racing down your spine. “Tell me to stop,” he said again, his voice husky but edged with restraint. "Because if we keep going, I might not be able to."

You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding as you reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over the rough stubble on his jaw. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That was all it took to shatter his restraint. Leon surged forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was nothing short of consuming. His hands gripped your thighs, hitching them around his waist as he pressed closer, his body molding to yours as if you were made to fit together. The heat between you was almost overwhelming, every kiss, every touch stoking the flames higher.

Your shirt was the first casualty, Leon peeling it off with a mix of urgency and reverence. He paused briefly, his gaze raking over your now-bare skin, his expression a mixture of awe and hunger. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as his hands traced the lines of your body, memorizing every curve.

Before you could respond, his lips were on you again, exploring every inch of newly exposed skin with a fervor that left you gasping and arching into him. His hands followed suit, his touch firm but unerringly gentle, as if he was intent on both worshiping and undoing you at the same time.

Your fingers fumbled with the hem of his shirt, and he leaned back just long enough to let you pull it over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his chest. Your breath caught at the sight, and he smirked, his confidence evident in the way he leaned down to kiss you again, his hands resuming their exploration of your body.

“Still think you’re winning?” he teased against your lips, his tone laced with mischief.

You smirked, your fingers trailing down his chest before resting just above his waistband. “Oh, I know I am.”

Leon groaned softly, his hands tightening on your hips as if he was fighting to maintain control. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that made it clear he was more than willing to let you have the upper hand—for now.

Leon’s restraint was unraveling fast, and you could feel the shift in his demeanor. His kisses grew rougher, more desperate, his hands wandering with purpose now, exploring every inch of you as if trying to commit your body to memory. Your skin felt like it was on fire wherever he touched, and you arched into him instinctively, craving more of the heat he was offering.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” Leon murmured, his voice a low growl against your neck as his lips trailed lower, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your collarbone and to the swell of your chest. His hands slid up your sides, his fingers hooking under the strap of your sports bra, his movements teasing and unhurried as he waited for your permission.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as you breathed out, “Don’t stop.”

That was all he needed. With practiced ease, he pulled the fabric away, exposing you completely to his heated gaze. For a moment, Leon simply stared, his expression a mix of awe and raw desire. His hands cupped your waist, steadying you as he leaned in, his lips brushing over your skin with a reverence that made your breath hitch.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, as if the words were meant for himself more than you. His lips found the sensitive skin just above your heart, his kisses slow and deliberate, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your skin. Each touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, your body responding eagerly to his every move.

“Leon…” you gasped, your hands sliding down his back, your nails grazing over the taut muscles as you tried to pull him even closer.

“Patience,” he murmured, his smirk returning as he shifted, pressing his body against yours and pinning you to the mat once again. “I’m not in a hurry.”

His deliberate pace was maddening, each kiss, each touch, stoking the flames higher but never quite quenching the fire. His hands roamed lower, tracing the curve of your waist before settling on your hips. His fingers toyed with the waistband of your leggings, his eyes meeting yours as if silently asking for permission.

You nodded, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you whispered, “Yes.”

Leon didn’t waste a second. With a firm but gentle motion, he slid the fabric down, his hands caressing your thighs as he worked, his touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. When you were fully bare beneath him, he leaned back for a moment, his eyes raking over you appreciatively, his expression a mixture of hunger and restraint.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered again, his voice thick with desire, before leaning down to kiss you with a fervor that left no room for doubt about how much he wanted you.

Your hands found their way to his belt, fumbling with the buckle as you tried to even the playing field. Leon chuckled softly, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Eager, are we?”

“Shut up,” you shot back, though your voice was breathless as your fingers finally succeeded in undoing his belt. You tugged at the fabric, your hands sliding over his hips to push his pants down.

Leon groaned at the contact, his head dropping to your shoulder as he helped you with the task. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips finding your neck again as he murmured, “You’re going to drive me crazy.”

“Good,” you replied, your voice bold despite the rapid pounding of your heart. Your hands roamed over him, exploring every inch of newly exposed skin, reveling in the way his body tensed beneath your touch.

When he finally settled against you, his body pressing into yours with delicious weight, the heat between you was almost unbearable. His lips found yours again, the kiss slow and deep, as if he wanted to savor every second. His movements were deliberate, every touch, every kiss, designed to draw out your pleasure and leave you gasping for more.

“Still think you’re winning?” Leon teased, his voice a rough whisper against your lips as his hips pressed into yours, the friction making your breath catch.

You smirked, your nails digging into his shoulders as you met his gaze. “Oh, I’m absolutely winning.”

Leon laughed, the sound low and husky, before capturing your lips in another searing kiss. “We’ll see about that,” he murmured, his voice full of promise as he set about making good on his challenge.

[caitified]

final buzzer

kate martin x reader ( family series )

warning:none, not proofread i’m tired 🫂

the final buzzer sounds, kate stands on the court, frozen in place, taking it all in. the aces have won the wnba championship. the weight of the season- every ounce of effort, every late night practice, every sacrifice and every doubt– all of it melts into pure joy and disbelief. around her, the arena erupts and all she can think about was the heartbreak she and her teammates had faced last year in comparison to this moment. her teammates were screaming, confetti flying everywhere, all kate could think about was you and eva. she scans the crowd, her eyes searching until they land on you, standing courtside with eva on your hip.

when you lock eyes, her face breaks into the biggest smile. she doesn't hesitate; she takes off running in your direction,weaving through the crowd of people on the court. the second she reaches you, she pulls you and eva into a crushing hug. eva’s little hands grab her face, as she plants a kiss on kate’s cheek, her excitement bubbling over.

“mommy, you did it”

kate laughs, cradling her daughter close and spinning her around, letting her small hands reach for the confetti raining down. she looks back at you, her eyes filled with a mix of warmth and affection, and pulls you in for a kiss. when she pulls back, there's a spark in her eyes that's just for you.

“you were amazing tonight,” you whisper, your hands gently cupping her face. “eva and i are so proud of you”

she swallows hard, her voice barely a murmur. “i couldn't have done any of this without you.” he fingers tighten around yours, and you stay like that for a moment, the noise of the celebrations fading into the background.

as you finally make your way off of the court together, kate with eva on her hip and your hand firmly in her, the team's victory party is in full swing.

the locker room is alive with music, laughter, and shouts of excitement as everyone celebrates together. eva instantly becomes the life of the party, proudly showing off her tiny aces jersey with “martin” on the back. she makes the rounds, collecting high-fives from kate’s teammates and soaking up all the attention.

hours later, the three of you head back to the hotel, exhausted but not wanting the night to end. in the quiet of your suite, you put eva to bed, tucking her under the blankets. Kate leans down, brushing a hand over her eva’s hair, whispering her goodnight. eva’s eyes are already closing, but she manages a sleepy smile, murmuring,

afterward, you and kate sink into the bed, her head resting on your shoulder as the stress of the day begins to hit her. she lets out a contented sigh, her fingers intertwined with yours, and the two of you sit in comfortable silence, just soaking in the feeling of finally being here, together, after everything.

kate tilts her head up, her gaze meeting yours,“thank you,” she murmurs, her thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of your hand. “for being here tonight.”

you brush a stray piece of confetti from her hair, smiling softly. “kate, i’m so proud of you. this is exactly where I want to be.”

she leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips, slow and deep, pouring every bit of her love and gratitude into it. when she finally pulls back, her voice is barely a whisper. “i love you.”

debated on whether or not to keep writing, but i chose to as i am so grateful for all of your support. i’m so grateful! happy reading. requests are open.

[iliketangerines]

So I have a headcanon that some places in outworld or just some places in the mk universe have celebrations like rio carnival- with the outfits and dancers- so hear me out- earth realm boys going to outworld for the tournament and there’s a celebration for the tournament going on and reader is the dancer- she’s all dressed up in what they wear ((which is really revealing but also absolutely stunning)) and sings heavenly. The song what is love gave by Janelle Monàe gave me this though- you should totally listen to you.

what is love

a/n: i actually love that song fr

pairing: gn!reader x kung lao, raiden, johnny cage, kenshi takahashi

warnings: none :)

you sit in the dressing room, mussing your hair and making sure it looked perfect for the event, and you apply a final layer of gloss on your lips

you inspect your appearance one more time, standing up to smooth down the dresses in your costume that barely covers your chest and rides up your thighs everytime you walk

but you don’t mind, and you wink at yourself in the mirror to give yourself a bit of confidence before exiting the dress room and wait by the sides of the stage

you can see everyone in there, Empress Sindel and her daughters, General Shao and his loyal dog Reiko, everyone which you’ve sang for before

but this time, you see the Earthrealmers, and you stare at them with wide eyes from between the curtains

they’re quite interesting, dressed different compared to everyone in the room, and it fascinates you

you’ve already seen Liu Kang many many times for different tournaments, and the god spots you peeking through the curtains and gives you a small nod

you smile in response before disappearing behind the curtains to wait for your cue to get up on stage and perform

you hear the music start to play, and you come from behind the curtains and present yourself, hands tracing up your body and lifting the material slightly

you take a few deep breaths and listen for the musical cue and start to sing, sweeping your eyes over the people in the banquet hall before settling your gaze on the Earthrealmers

you smile at them and weave your way through the crowd, singing high and clear, and they watch you enraptured by the way you sway your hips and make your way toward them

they’ll never be here for another tournament, and so you decide to give them a bit of a special treat, crooning at them as you tilt the head up of a man with a bladed hat

he gives you a cocky smirk and holds onto your hand gently and kisses the back of it, and you shoot him a wink as you continue to sing

your hand traces over the shoulders of their champion that you had seen earlier fight against Li Mei, and he flushes pink

you smile at his shyness, and he gives you a gentle smile

you walk away from him and approach another man dressed in purple and silver armor with brown hair, and he gives you a large smirk

you approach him, and he stands up holding out his hand for you to take

you take his hand, singing loud and clear, and he spins you in a small circle and gives you a small wink

you just trace his jawline as you move past him, sending him a small glance as you approach the final Earthrealm champion, a man with dark hair and red armor

he doesn’t smile at you, just gives a hard glare, and he crosses his arms as if sizing you up

you smile at him, singing out the last part of your chorus, and you trace his jaw and tilt his head up to look at you, leaning in close as you sing out the last part of the song

you can hear the banquet applause, and you see a slight flush color the man’s cheeks

it’s all you need as you prance away from the table and start your next song, making your rounds through the tables and giving the other guests a similar treatment

at the end of your act, you go back to the stage and finish off strong before giving a deep bow and going off stage

you give the Earthrealmers one final peek and find them staring after you, and you give them a friendly wave and disappear behind the curtains

you would haunt their dreams with your beautiful and haunting voice, always wanting you and needing more

[15-lizards]

Not sure if you've been asked this before but I love the detail and research you put into your ASOIAF material. What do you think ladies of various houses did for fun? What talents would they be encouraged to develop as they grew older? What did different kingdoms view as being an "accomplished" lady? I know this is HUGE, but I'm always so curious about domesticity and the interior lives of women in fantasy.

I loveeeee the domestic lives of historical women I love material culture and decorative arts that shows us how they lived

-northern noblewomen are usually taught a variety of textile arts, to repair old cloaks, embroider gowns, weave tapestries, quilting blankets, etc etc. A lot of it is practical, as everyone is needed to pitch in on household preparations, especially when it's getting close to winter, but it still functions as entertainment, like when Sansa goes to needlepoint circles to make pretty wall hangings and gossip. Other entertainments include singing and listening to traveling bards (though "refined" instruments are not common up north). An "accomplished" northern lady is one who can do a wide variety of domestic tasks in order to provide what she can for her family.

-Iron Islands womens' domestic life is as bleak as everything else on the islands :/ Women do a lot of practical sewing and weaving, but there isn't much time or product available to do it for leisure. Entertainment often comes in the form of drinking, feasting, and (oftentimes lewd) songs, but highborn women are not allowed to participate as much as the men, though they participate significantly more than mainlander women. The concept of an "accomplished" women is kinda sneered upon on the islands, as men think that kind of stuff is for uppity southerners, but there is still an unconscious expectation for noblewomen to be able to complete practical domestic tasks and be able to run the household, though not so much as they overstep the men.

-Riverlander highborn women take great pride and enjoyment in textile art especially I think. Obviously they do it for practical uses, but there is soooo much woven art in a Riverland women's household. Long, detailed tapestries that run the length of the wall and all of the pillows and gowns and blankets have cross stitch decoration. Outside of textiles, riverlander women love love love traditional songs and ballads, passing them down from generation to generation, especially the bittersweet ones about Jonquil or Simeon Star Eyes. An accomplished riverlands woman is well-rounded and able to apply her domestic talents to many areas, and creating a warm and comfortable home is the most important aspect.

-Noblewomen of the Vale are expected to be paragons of domesticity. Their leisure time is often filled with very feminine pursuits. Praying for her family in the sept. Shyly dancing with kings and lords at balls. Doing delicate lacework and needlework upon her gowns or gifts for others. Doing these things makes one an "accomplished" lady in the eyes of Vale culture. A pious and virtuous young woman who can offer her domestic talents to her family, as well as expertly navigate a complex social web full of gossip and drama, while still staying above all of said drama.

-In the Reach, noblewomen are given a masterclass in aristocratic leisure activities. Not only do they delicately sew and stitch, but they are also taught pretty songs, court dances, how to ride and hunt and hawk like a lady, and even how to gossip slyly appropriately. Because there is more room for comfort over practicality in the south, "accomplished" women are not expected to contribute as much in the way of household management. Instead they are molded into perfect ladies, who can lure in any suitor or charm any guest, one who clearly has the resources to learn so much in the way of entertaining. Overall expected to become a symbol of refinement for their father and/or husband's name.

-Westerlands women are very similar to Reach women in their leisure activities and domestic lives and what they consider to be "accomplished", due to their proximity. However I think there's more of a focus in the Westerlands for women to be more practical, so that they can be more apt in household management and "useful" domestic tasks. This is due to an underlying seriousness in western culture, which I think is the main difference between them and their neighbors. Both charming and sly and self-interested, but present themselves in different manners.

-Crownlands women have the most available to them in terms of leisure and entertainment (rivaled only by the Reach), both social and domestic. Large balls, public plays, and royal feasts are expected to be attended if you're a noble lady, but one is also free to privately garden, read, ride, bind books, make dolls, sew gowns, paint, etc etc. What counts as an "accomplished" women fluctuates on whoever has the most influence, so many nobles play it safe and teach their daughters the basics of court manners and needlepoint and dancing. However since Kings Landing especially is a large mix of cultures and values, there are many noblewomen who are differently talented and in their own right.

-Stormlands women often enjoy outdoor activities for their leisure. Even in the rainy, muggy weather, they are out on the hills to ride or hawk or hunt. They pursue domestic activities as well, like the other noblewomen of Westeros, but are also expected to enjoy the outdoors like the men, in order for their health and constitution. They feast and dance and sing and drink, and its not uncommon for them to match the men in these activities. An "accomplished" woman in the Stormlands is someone who can easily juggle domestic tasks, running a household, and be able to keep up with the men in their activities, and do it all without complaint. More "frivolous" activities are not required.

-Dornish women's domestic culture is fairly unique compared to the rest of Westeros. Due to the weather in most parts, many noblewomen do their leisure activities indoors. These include games like Cyvasse, reading fictions and Dornish poetry, arguing philosophy, playing instruments, singing, and dancing. Due to the general equality between genders (and no im not calling Dorne a feminist utopia) women are allowed to take part in more mental pursuits. Because of this, an "accomplished" Dornish woman is expected to be one who is well read and knowledgable about many fields, and can carry on intelligent conversations with anyone, as well as being charming and hospitable to all who meet her.