#what happened to just ignoring that content

[d-z20]

Neighbourly Care part 3 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You go home for Thanksgiving and who else joins your family but none other than their wonderful neighbours Agatha and Rio

-OR-

You struggle to make it through the meal and so does Agatha, but she "accidentally" spills her drink which means you fuck in the bathroom :)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, top Agatha, top Rio, fingering, oral, mention of humiliation kink

Words: 3.5k

A/N: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE AND KUDOS!!! to celebrate here is a bonus seasonal chapter :D Happy Thanksgiving to those that celebrate, and to those who don't enjoy the chapter ;)

AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Master List

A Thanksgiving To Remember

As the morning light filters through the blinds, the hotel room is dim and quiet. You wake up slowly, feeling warm and content, your body still tingling from last night. You shift slightly, realising that Rio is already awake. She’s sprawled comfortably on her side, her head resting on the pillow, her hand absently stroking your arm. Her eyes flicker open as she senses you waking, and she smiles at you lazily.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Rio hums, stretching and running a hand through her hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Good thanks, how about you?" You smile, feeling the pull of her easy, bright energy. Was she always so upbeat in the mornings?

“I’m great. But she,” Rio gestures toward Agatha with a playful smirk, “isn’t a morning person.”

Behind you, Agatha just grumbles in response, muffling her face into the pillow and pulling you closer into her. Rio leans over, a mischievous grin on her face as she brushes Agatha’s hair from her face. “C’mon, darling, I’ll make you coffee,” she offers sweetly, but you can hear the hint of a challenge in her tone. 

Agatha groans again but finally starts to sit up, stretching with an audible crack in her spine. “Fine, fine,” Agatha mutters. “But it better be good, or I’ll go back to sleep.” 

Rio laughs and gets up to make coffee, leaving Agatha to rub her eyes before looking at you. You share a quiet moment, the lingering energy from the night before making the air between you feel heavy with unspoken thoughts.

As Rio busies herself in the kitchenette in the corner of the room, Agatha grabs her phone and starts swiping through it. Not wanting to bother her, you reach for your phone too. You’re happily scrolling when a notification pops up

MILF 1 has added you to the group chat.

MILF 1 named the group chat Check-In Group

MILF 1: There. You can’t ignore us now, sweetheart.

You’re smiling at your phone when you feel Rio standing next to you, coffee in hand

“What are you smiling at? Not another potential date, I hope." She meant it as a tease, but you can hear the hint of jealousy in her voice.

“No,” you chuckle. “In fact, it’s just the opposite; Agatha is making sure that never happens again.” You tilt your phone to show Rio the notifications.

She looks down at your phone, her eyes narrowing slightly at the screen. “Why do you have Agatha saved as MILF 1?” she asks, raising her voice loud enough so Agatha hears.

You laugh nervously and quickly glance at Agatha, who’s sitting up now and lazily sipping her coffee, her attention on the two of you. She raises an eyebrow at you, her eyes glinting with something more than just curiosity.

“Well?” Rio prompts, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

You squirm under their combined gazes, feeling both flustered and slightly turned on. “It’s just the truth,” you admit sheepishly, your voice dropping as you fidget with the comforter. “She is a mom, and, well, I do want to f—” You stop yourself just in time, your cheeks heating as you look anywhere but at them.

Rio raises an eyebrow, a wicked grin curling on her lips. “Oh? And what am I saved as?” she teases, voice low and playful. “Please tell me it’s not just MILF 2.”

Your face goes hot, and you start fiddling with the comforter in your lap. “It might be.”

Rio bursts into laughter. “You really couldn’t think of something more creative?” she asks, shaking her head in mock disapproval.

Agatha’s smile never fades, but her eyes darken, and she stands up, stretching slowly. “Okay, on that note, I’m going to go shower,” she says, cutting through the playful moment. She gives Rio a brief kiss on the cheek before heading toward the bathroom. “You two behave while I’m gone.”

As Agatha disappears into the bathroom, Rio sets her coffee cup on the nightstand and leans closer to you, her expression shifting. There’s an undeniable heat in her eyes as her lips brush against yours in a kiss that’s possessive and urgent. “So you like to fuck us, hmm?” she whispers against your lips, her breath warm as it fans over your skin.

Your breath catches as her words sink in, and your body reacts almost instantly, a tingling warmth pooling low in your belly.

When the bathroom door clicks shut behind Agatha, Rio doesn’t waste a second. She pushes you back against the pillows, her touch both gentle and commanding. The electricity in the air is palpable as her lips find yours again, her kiss deepening with every passing second.

You moan softly when her hand trails down your side, grazing your hip before slipping under your waistband. She pauses just long enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re already so excited for me. Do you like it that much when I humiliate you?” Her tone is teasing, but there’s an edge to it that makes you shiver.

Before you can answer, Rio presses her lips to yours again, cutting off any reply as her hand moves with a confidence that leaves you breathless. Her touch is slow at first, teasing, as though she’s savouring every little sound you make in response. The tension between you builds rapidly, and the air is charged with unspoken need.

Somewhere in the background, you faintly register the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. Rio pulls back just enough to mutter against your lips, her voice low and dripping with desire. “I’ve got about ten minutes until she's done showering.”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, the hunger in her tone unmistakable. You swallow hard, your pulse racing as you meet her gaze. “I don’t think we’ll need that long anyway,” you admit softly, your voice trembling slightly under the weight of her intensity.

Rio smirks, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction at your answer. She wets her fingers with your arousal before burying two of them inside you, igniting a fire in your core that threatens to consume you completely. “So eager for me already,” she murmurs, her voice both teasing and utterly dominating. Her words make your breath hitch, the hint of humiliation in her tone only heightening your anticipation as she begins to fuck you.

There is no slow buildup, and Rio is mercilessly fucking you in seconds, pulling sounds out of you that you didn’t even know you could make; you’re pretty sure that the whole floor can hear you now.

She starts to pump her fingers faster, and you can hear how wet you are. She takes your bottom lip between her teeth and bites down before soothing it with a quick swipe of her tongue. "Shhhhh, baby, try and keep quiet for me; Aggie can’t know what I’m doing.”

The idea that this sex was potentially forbidden pushes you over the edge, and you grip on to her shoulders for dear life as your orgasm comes crashing over you. You pull Rio into a messy kiss to try and dampen your moans as you wind down. She pulls her fingers out, humming with pleasure as she sucks them clean.

“Fucking hell,” you pant.

Rio looks at you with a devilish grin. 

The sound of the bathroom door opening jolts you out of the haze. Agatha steps into the room, towel-wrapped and hair damp, her expression calm as she surveys the scene. Rio immediately freezes, her eyes widening slightly like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

But Agatha doesn’t say a word. She simply raises an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips, before turning back to the closet to finish getting ready. Her calm, collected demeanour somehow leaves you even more flustered than being caught outright.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. After Agatha and Rio get you dressed, they drive you back to your college apartment; their voices light and playful. “Remember to actually text us this time,” Rio teases as she pulls up to the curb. “We’re not just for weekends, you know.”

“Yeah, text us, sweetheart,” Agatha adds with a soft smile. “We like hearing from you.”

“I will,” you promise, glancing at your phone, already thinking of what you were going to text them.

—

Later that evening, you’re mindlessly scrolling on your phone when you notice a new notification in your group chat with Agatha and Rio.

Check-In Group

MILF 2 changed the name to MILFs Anonymous

MILF 1: Rio!

MILF 2: Come on, just let me have this one thing :(

MILF 1: Fine, but Y/N, change our contact names now please

You roll your eyes at Rio’s antics but do as you’re told, not wanting to dissapoint Agatha; you still feel a bit guilty for having sex with Rio this morning.

—

Over the next few days, you find yourself texting with them more and more. The conversations flow easily—Agatha constantly checking in on you, always asking if you’ve eaten or if you’re doing alright. It’s sweet, in a way you didn’t expect, but it’s comforting. Rio, on the other hand, can’t resist sending her terrible dad jokes, which, despite your best efforts, always make you laugh.

MILFS Anonymous

~ 15:48

Rio: What do you call a group of crows that stick together?

You: Oh God, please stop

Agatha: Seriously. You’re not funny

Rio: VelCrows :)))

Agatha: Sometimes I wonder how I fell in love with you

Rio: It’s because I fuck you like there’s no tomorrow ;)

~ 21:17

Agatha: *click to open image*

Agatha: Huh, you don’t look like you’re doing much fucking to me

You drop your phone with a loud clatter. You were not expecting to see a picture of a Rio naked and tied to the bed with a vibrator pressed against her clit and by the looks of it, she had been like that for some time. You spend the rest of your evening fucking yourself to that image. Each time you think you’re done and can't cum any more, the image pops into your mind again, and you start to imagine all the things they would do if you were with them, and before you know it, your hand is back between your legs.

—

Thanksgiving break arrives faster than expected, and the familiar comfort of your parents' home feels like a welcome change from the chaos of college life. You arrive in the early afternoon, greeted by the warm aroma of roasted turkey and spiced pies wafting from the kitchen. It’s a little odd being home after everything that’s happened with Rio and Agatha, knowing they live just next door. You wonder if you’ll see them during your visit.

It turns out you don’t have to wonder for long.

A knock at the front door pulls you from your thoughts, and your dad answers with a cheerful, “Agatha! Rio! Happy Thanksgiving!”

Your stomach flips.

You appear in the hallway just in time to see them stepping inside, Agatha holding a neatly wrapped gift basket and Rio carrying what looks like a bottle of wine. They’re dressed casually but still look effortlessly gorgeous; Rio is dressed in a breezy striped blue shirt that’s half tucked into her jeans. The loose fit of the shirt somehow adds to her charm, her confident movements making it clear she’s completely at ease. Agatha, on the other hand, is the picture of sophistication, her fitted blazer in a warm mustard hue paired with a turtleneck and slacks giving her a commanding presence that turns heads—even in such a casual setting.

“We just wanted to drop this off,” Agatha says, her usual polished tone soft and warm. “A little something for the holiday.”

“Oh, nonsense, you’re not just dropping it off,” your mom insists, appearing behind your dad. “You’re staying for dinner. It’s the least we can do after everything you did for this one when they got locked out in the rain.”

Your heart nearly stops. You glance at Agatha, who meets your wide-eyed look with a calm, knowing smile.

“Really, it wasn’t any trouble,” Agatha says smoothly, a teasing lilt in her voice. “I mean, we could’ve just let them in with the spare key you gave us, but... well, we thought they might prefer a warm bed and some company at ours instead.”

Your cheeks burn as Rio chimes in, her grin bordering on wicked. “And they didn’t seem to mind one bit.”

Your parents laugh, completely oblivious to the deeper meaning behind the exchange, but you feel like you’re about to combust. Agatha and Rio both throw you brief, pointed glances before following your mom into the dining room, leaving you standing there trying to steady your racing heart.

—

Dinner starts off innocently enough, but the air feels charged in a way you can’t quite explain. You’re hyper-aware of Rio sitting across from you and Agatha beside you, their presence consuming all your focus.

Rio’s long fingers wrap elegantly around her wine glass as she listens to your dad talk, but her gaze keeps drifting to you, her lips curving into a faint smirk every time your eyes meet. Meanwhile, Agatha takes every opportunity to lean close, brushing her arm against yours under the guise of reaching for the breadbasket or whispering a sly comment in your ear that sends a jolt of heat straight to your core.

“You look a little flushed, sweetheart,” Agatha purrs at one point, her tone dripping with amusement. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, biting your lip to keep from saying something that would give you away. Rio catches the exchange and arches an eyebrow, her gaze flickering between the two of you knowingly.

It only gets worse as the meal progresses. Rio’s foot grazes yours under the table, lingering just long enough to send a thrill up your spine. 

When Agatha pours herself another glass of wine, she tilts the bottle toward you with a raised brow, silently asking if you’d like more. You nod, not trusting your voice. As she leans over to fill your glass, her lips brush your ear so faintly it feels like a whisper of air. “Behave, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice so low and intimate that a shiver runs down your spine.

You clench your thighs and glance up at her wide-eyed, but she only pulls back with that same subtle smile, her expression calm and unreadable.

You do your best to stay composed, but your mind is spinning. Every touch, every look, and every smirk makes it harder to focus on anything else.

Then, as if the universe wants to test your resolve further, Agatha “accidentally” spills a bit of wine on her sweater.

“Oh, shoot,” she says, dabbing at the stain with her napkin.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” your mom says quickly. “Y/N, show Agatha where the bathroom is, and grab her a clean top from the laundry room, will you?”

You nod, your pulse quickening as you rise from the table. Agatha follows you down the hall, her calm exterior betraying nothing, but you can feel the tension radiating off her like heat. You scurry off to grab Agatha a clean top and quickly show her to the bathroom.

The moment you’re alone in the room, she closes the door behind you with a soft click and turns to face you, her expression shifting from composed to utterly predatory.

“Finally,” she murmurs, stepping closer, her voice low and thick with desire. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you all evening?”

Your breath catches as she backs you against the counter, her hands finding your waist and pulling you flush against her. Her lips are on yours before you can respond, the kiss hungry and demanding, igniting a fire in your chest that spreads through your entire body.

“Agatha, we—” you start to protest, your voice a shaky whisper, but she silences you with another kiss, her hands sliding up your sides to cup your face.

“They’re none the wiser,” she murmurs against your lips, her voice sending shivers down your spine. “Now, let me have you for just a moment.”

Before you can respond, Agatha’s hands drift lower, deftly removing anything on your bottom half that will get in the way of her goal and letting the fabric fall to the tiled floor. Her gaze darkens as she sinks to her knees in front of you, her palms sliding down your thighs, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, full of lust and mischief, as she leans in closer. “Dripping everywhere,” she murmurs, her voice husky and teasing, her lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Just like the first time we were in a bathroom together. Seems I have a knack for this, don’t I?”

Your heart pounds in your chest as her words hang in the air, her presence between your legs sending a surge of electricity through you.

It might be Thanksgiving, but your body feels like the Fourth of July when she drags her tongue from your entrance to your clit. She sucks it into her mouth and flicks lightly with the tip of her tongue before releasing it and going back to push her tongue inside you. The woman is on a mission and wastes no time in bringing you close to your climax in record time.

Her hand clamps over your mouth, not willing to risk you letting the whole street know that you’re going to cum, and then, with a final flick of her tongue, you’re glad she did because the orgasm hits you like a fucking 18-wheeler truck, your legs start to shake, and you have to grip on to the sink to stop yourself from collapsing. 

Your breathing comes in ragged gasps as the world tilts back into focus, your body still trembling from the intensity of what just happened. Agatha stands, her movements unhurried and precise as she grabs a tissue and delicately wipes the corner of her mouth, her expression one of calm satisfaction.

"Still as sweet as I remember," she murmurs, her voice low and teasing as she crumples the tissue and tosses it into the small trash can by the sink.

You blink at her, still clinging to the edge of the sink for balance, your legs shaky and your mind a hazy blur of aftershocks. Agatha’s hands are steady as she helps you straighten your clothes, her touch lingering just a moment too long, her fingers grazing the small of your back before she steps away.

She smooths the fresh top you fetched for her, giving herself a quick once-over in the mirror. Perfectly put together, not a single hair out of place. You can’t help but marvel at her composure, especially when you feel like you’ve just been turned inside out.

Agatha turns back to you, a soft, almost maternal smile on her lips as she gives your ass a light pat. “Go on, darling,” she says, her tone playful but firm. “Head back out there before they start to wonder. I’ll be right behind you.”

You swallow hard, willing your legs to cooperate, and make your way back to the dining room, still trying to regain your composure.

The two of you return to the dining room during dessert, the scent of sweet pies and coffee wafting in the air. Agatha looks completely composed now, her clean top fitting snugly as she takes her seat next to you. She even stops for a moment to dab a napkin at the corner of her mouth—the perfect picture of elegance considering she was wiping away the last remnants of your cum. You, however, can feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you settle down, trying not to meet anyone’s gaze too directly.

From the other side of the table, Rio watches the two of you with a smirk that’s far too knowing for comfort. She raises her glass in a small toast, the corner of her lips quirking in amusement before she takes a slow sip.

“So,” she says casually, her tone light but her eyes sparkling with mischief, “did the mess get sorted out?”

Agatha doesn’t miss a beat, shooting her a calm, collected smile. “All taken care of. They were very helpful.” She says, draping an arm around the back of your chair.

Your mother beams, none the wiser. “Well, that’s sweet. Always good to know you’ve got a helping hand.”

Rio stifles a laugh behind her hand, her eyes meeting yours briefly. The heat simmering beneath your skin refuses to let up, and you can only hope that dessert wraps up soon—before someone else catches on.

-----

"we could’ve just let them in with the spare key"

*humming* it was Agatha all along

⚠️Remember⚠️validation saves lives (this fic dies when I believe nobody likes it anymore because I have imposter syndrome)

-----

taglist: @aceday @valarmorghuli @ctrlamira @lezbean-with-a-side-of-dilfs @noturlondonboy @darkangelchronicles @4theluvofsapphos

[soaps-mohawk]

Pre-Dinner Activities

Summary: Simon is horny for his wife. That's it. That's the plot.

Pairing: Simon x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ explicit sexual content, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex, Simon is a little shit

A/N: I saw a post about writing filthy smut and posting it today so people have to read it while at dinner with their families. So Happy Thanksgiving for those of you in America, and for those of you not, uh Happy Thursday/Friday whatever day it is for you. This is shit, I wrote it yesterday, but enjoy!

MASTERLIST

“Simon, we’re going to be late.” 

“There’s traffic this time of night.” He says, ignoring your protest as he kneels down behind you. “Can come up with a believable excuse.” 

“I’m not going to dinner with your parents looking like I’ve been fucked three ways to Sunday.” You say, finishing your mascara. 

“That’s what makeup is for.” Simon mumbles, hiking your dress up around your hips. 

“I already did my makeup.” You say, grunting as he pushes you up against the bathroom sink.

“You can touch it up.” His lips brush your inner thigh, his fingers slipping around the hem of your panties. 

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t get turned on every time we go out to dinner.” Your voice gets breathier as his face pushes up between your legs. “Guess this is better than fucking in the parking lot after.” 

Simon hums, the sound vibrating against your pussy as he mouths at your folds. “That’s definitely happening too.” 

Your complaint is cut off by a breathy moan as he drags his tongue through your wet slit. Despite your protests you can’t deny how wet the anticipation of his mouth on you has made you. 

“Fuck.” You breathe, leaning further over the counter as he pushes further between your legs. “You’re going to suffocate yourself.” 

“Good.” His voice is muffled as he presses further between your thighs, sucking your clit between his lips. 

Your panties are looped around one ankle, giving you room to spread your legs for him. Those big hands wrap around your thighs, pulling you back against his face. His lips suckle at your clit, and you know he’s getting absolutely drowned by the slick dribbling out of you.

He offers up no complaint though as he drags his tongue across your clit, his nose pressing against your folds. He draws circles around the sensitive bud, his mouth slurping at the slick starting to seep out of you. 

“Fucking hell, Simon.” You moan, your legs jerking as he scrapes his teeth against the underside of your clit. 

He lets out a muffled grunt, his tongue alternating between circles and teasing flicks against your clit. You’re going to cum and fast with how worked up he’s making you. He loves eating you out, his head between your thighs every chance he gets. He just loves you in general, but he also loves your pussy. 

“Fuck,” You moan as his tongue flicks across your clit. He’s groaning into your pussy, the sound vibrating through your slick folds. 

He pulls away just slightly from your clit, just enough to drag his tongue through your folds again. “Gonna cum?” He asks, his voice still slightly muffled. 

“Yeah,” You breathe, dropping down onto your arms on the counter as you push your hips backwards into his face. 

He uses the new position to his advantage, sucking hard on your clit. Your hips jolt from the pleasure, needy moans leaving your lips as you lay there against the counter. 

Your knees buckle as he continues to suck hard on your clit, his pleased groans vibrating through the sensitive bud. You're so close, your orgasm rapidly approaching. 

You’re right there, right on the edge of your orgasm when he pulls away, completely withdrawing himself from between your legs. You let out a disgruntled whine, lifting your head to stare at him in the mirror as he pushes himself up to stand. 

“What the fuck Simon!” You say, watching him as he frantically undoes his belt. 

“Can’t stand it any longer.” He shoves his pants and briefs down, his cock rock hard and angry red. 

He doesn’t give you any warning before he’s pushing into you, splitting you open around his thick cock. His hand pushes against your upper back keeping you pinned as he begins to snap his hips against your ass. 

“We’re really going to be late now.” You gasp, pushing your hips back against his, meeting his thrusts. 

“Can’t show up to dinner with my parents with a raging boner.” He says. 

“I could have given you a hand job in the car on the way.” You whine. 

“Can’t show up with cum on my pants either.” He grunts, pushing his cock as deep as he can inside of you. “Much prefer this anyway.” 

“Damn it, Simon.” You groan as he shifts his hips, dragging his cock against that spot inside of you. 

“You fucking love it.” He grunts, his hands dropping to your hips. 

He's not wrong. 

His thrusts are rough and sharp, pointed with a purpose. His cock drags along that spot inside of you with every thrust, pushing you closer and closer to the orgasm you were denied just a few moments ago. You’re not going to last much longer, not with his cock bullying itself into you like that. 

“Fuck, fuck-” Your back arches, pushing your hips back against his. He keeps the pace, thrusting into you hard and fast as you cum around him, gushing all over his cock. 

“Fucking beautiful.” He groans, his eyes cast downward at your ass as his thrusts start to get sloppy. 

You watch in the mirror as he gets closer and closer to the edge, his eyes still cast downward, his lips parted as he breathes. There’s sweat beaded on his forehead, dampening the edges of his hair. You’ll have to fix that. 

His head tilts back as he cums, exposing the column of his throat. You want to sink your teeth into his skin, but that’ll be for later. He cums inside of you, filling you up with hot spurts of his seed, his hips pushed right up against your ass. He grinds against you a couple of times before folding himself over you. 

His hands come to rest on the counter on either side of you, his gaze locked with yours in the mirror. “Think it’s too late to cancel?” 

“Yeah.” You breathe, reaching for a tissue to dab at the sweat beaded on your own forehead. “We’ve already cancelled twice.” 

“Fuck,” He breathes as he slips out of you. “You’re right.” 

“We need to leave like five minutes ago.” You say, quickly fixing your makeup as he helps you back into your panties. 

His hand cups your pussy as he pulls them up, his fingertips applying gentle pressure to your clit. “Keep that in there for later.” He grins, nipping at the skin behind your ear. 

“Fine,” You give him a pointed look through the mirror. “But we’re going to dinner with your parents, so no fingering me under the table this time.”

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[mephisto-reporting]

Hearbreak Anniversary with Rafayel

Summary: It was your anniversary with Rafayel. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Rafayel Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Content Warning: Fear of abandonment, self worth issues, angst, hurt and slight comfort, Rafayel grovelling, Rafayel POV

The soft glow of the sunset filtered through the gauzy curtains of Rafayel’s studio, painting the space in warm hues of gold and orange. The place smelled faintly of him—a mix of turpentine, salt, and the faint trace of his cologne. You had spent hours here today, your hands busy arranging the decorations you’d so carefully prepared for this special occasion. Sea shells, shimmering like iridescent pearls, lined the edges of the room, their opalescent beauty a nod to the ocean he once called home. Candles flickered softly on every surface, their flames dancing to an unseen rhythm. You’d even managed to find strands of silken seaweed and glass ornaments, hoping to evoke the beauty of his heritage, the beauty of him.

Every corner of his art studio had been dusted, tidied, and then transformed with touches of magic, warmth, and care. You even placed the tiny trinkets and mementos you had kept from your shared moments—little souvenirs from your adventures together, knickknacks that held meaning between the two of you. You wanted him to feel at home, to feel the same sense of belonging that you had with him. You even wore your best clothes, the ones he had once complimented.

Today was your first anniversary. The thought alone sent your heart fluttering, and you’d poured all that love into this space, into this moment.

A few months ago he had told you this was just another day for him. A god’s sense of time was different, fleeting, perhaps even insignificant. But to you, it meant everything. It was a celebration of love that had somehow defied the odds—of a mortal heart tangled with one belonging to something far greater. So you ignored the whispering doubts that crept into the back of your mind, choosing instead to focus on trust. Rafayel had chosen you, not her. No matter how many stories tied them together, no matter the whispered inevitability of their connection, he had assured you. It was you he loved now.

But as the hours passed, that fragile trust began to tremble.

You sat in the chair by the window, smoothing down the dress you’d picked especially for today. Time crawled. The soft golden light of day gave way to a dark, yawning sky, and still, Rafayel didn’t come home. The anniversary dinner, meticulously prepared and carefully plated, sat untouched on the table. Each tick of the clock became a cruel reminder of his absence.

Worry gnawed at you. What if something had happened to him? Perhaps the art sale ran late, or he was caught up with his patrons. But he always came back home, right?

Your heart twisted as you reached for your phone, dialing a number you didn’t want to use but needed to.

“Thomas?” you asked hesitantly, your voice trembling.

“Oh, hey,” Rafayel’s manager greeted casually. “Everything okay?”

“Is Rafayel still at the sale?” You tried to keep the panic from seeping into your tone, but the silence on the other end was damning.

“Uh… no, he left hours ago. Said he was going to grab dinner. Lina was with him.”

Your grip tightened on the phone, your knuckles turning white.

Lina.

The name struck like a knife.

“Thanks, Thomas,” you whispered, hanging up before he could ask anything more.

You sat there, staring at the flickering candles, their light casting long shadows across the studio walls. He was with Lina. On your anniversary. You had trusted him, convinced yourself that you were enough despite the insecurities that had clawed at your heart since the day you met him.

But now, they came roaring to life.

You had known, of course, who Lina was. She was the one linked to the sea god, his past, his history—his heart. You tried not to let it affect you, tried to bury the insecurities that rose whenever she came up in conversation. Rafayel always assured you there was nothing between them. But then why was he with her, of all people, on your anniversary?

Tears blurred your vision as your chest tightened painfully. Lina.

She was everything you were not. Strong, beautiful, a part of Rafayel’s past, his first love. How could you compete with that? How could you compete with someone who had shared so much more with him, someone whose bond with him was carved in the very fabric of his existence? She was a part of him, woven into the his story, while you were… just someone who had stumbled into his life, someone insignificant in comparison.

Lina... The woman who was forever tied to his past. The sea god's bride. The one he’d loved for so long, the one who had always been there, time after time. You had told yourself, time and time again, that it was nothing. That Rafayel was different with you. He had assured you that there was nothing between them anymore.

But if it’s nothing, why is he with her now? On our day.

Your fingers trembled as you held the phone to your ear, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask any more questions. The answers were irrelevant now. His absence, her presence, they were all you needed to know.

Tears pooled at the edges of your vision before spilling over, streaking your face like tiny rivers tracing paths through dusted cheeks. It wasn’t fair. Nothing felt fair. He had promised you. He had promised. But promises were like ocean tides, weren’t they? Sweeping away whatever they could, leaving only bits of broken shells behind.

Lina was everything you could never be. She was strong, beautiful, powerful—everything that Rafayel deserved. She had the sea god’s heart, had always had it, and here you were, just a fleeting ripple on the surface, barely a mark to him. She was woven into the fabric of his past, his future. What are you to him? What have you ever been?

The memories of your relationship, the quiet moments of closeness, the laughter shared under the soft, flickering light of his candles, all those moments seemed so... fragile now. Fragile and fleeting. You were nobody. Just a distraction, a place holder. Nothing more.

You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor like the scratch of claws on stone. The studio, his studio, filled with remnants of him, was suffocating. His scent lingered in the air, the faint trace of his cologne mixing with the oils and paints scattered everywhere. His taste still clung to your lips from the last time you’d kissed him, the memories of his touch branded into your skin. It was all too much. Too much. The studio, so full of him, was now a suffocating reminder of what you had lost. You didn’t want to stay. You couldn’t.

You tried to hold the tears back, but it was useless. Every doubt, every fear you’d bottled up over the months came crashing down, drowning you in their suffocating weight.

This wasn’t love. This was a cruel game, one you couldn’t win.

You couldn’t breathe. You had to get out.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you toward the door. The wind hit your face the moment you stepped outside, cool and biting, but it wasn’t enough to quell the storm raging inside you.

You ran.

The streets blurred into one indistinct smear of light and shadow as you ran aimlessly, your feet pounding against the pavement, carrying you farther and farther from that studio. From him.

Eventually, the pavement gave way to sand, and the sharp tang of the ocean filled the air. The moon hung high above, casting a silver glow over the beach. Your chest heaved, your lungs burning as you collapsed onto the sand, letting the waves crash against the shore in a soothing rhythm that mocked your turmoil. You kept running, further and further away from whitesand bay, along the beach.

You stumbled, falling to your knees in the sand, clutching your arms around yourself. Your chest heaved as the tears fell freely, the sound of the ocean mixing with your sobs. Lina. You could picture them together, her hand in his, the same way they had been for so many years before you. The seagulls cried above you, indifferent to your pain. And in that moment, you realized that the world didn’t stop for you. It never had. You stared out at the endless sea, the dark horizon stretching in front of you.

How could I have been so blind?

The waves crashed against the shore, each one louder than the last. You are nothing to him. The thought echoed in your mind over and over, relentless, until you could barely breathe under the weight of it.

And just when you thought the world couldn’t get any colder, the tears started again. They fell freely now, salt mixing with the salt of the sea.

You had wanted to be enough. But maybe that was a joke after all. But even as your body trembled with the weight of the heartbreak, you knew one thing: You could never go back. Not to him, not to that studio, not to any of it. You were just a wave, crashing onto the shore, and he was the sea god.

The night wrapped itself around you like a suffocating blanket. The cold air bit into your skin, but it wasn’t enough to numb the ache clawing at your chest. Each crashing wave seemed to echo the bitter truth you couldn’t escape: you were never going to be enough for him. You curled tighter into yourself, trembling as the tears continued to flow. The sand clung to your dress, to your damp hands, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The world had narrowed to the storm raging inside you—a tempest of betrayal, doubt, and misery.

The sharp chill of the ocean breeze whipped your hair against your tear-streaked face, but it was nothing compared to the icy grip of despair coiling around your heart. Every promise he’d made, every word of reassurance, felt like shards of glass now, cutting into the fragile hope you’d built. The waves surged closer, the cold spray dotting your skin. Your sobs mixed with the crashing tide, swallowed up by the vast, indifferent sea.

You hugged yourself tightly, your body shaking as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. Yet, you stayed there, rooted to the spot, as if the ocean could somehow wash away the ache inside you. But no wave could reach that far, no tide could touch the place where your heart ached. You wanted to scream, to shout at the world for the injustice of it all, but the air in your lungs wouldn’t let you. You were too small for this world, too insignificant for him. You would never be the sea. You were just a small wave, lost in the expanse of the tide.

Rafayel’s POV

The door to the studio swung open, and Rafayel stepped inside, laughter trailing after him. “You should’ve seen the look on that shopkeeper’s face when I said we’d take both cakes,” he said, his voice warm and light. He turned to Lina, who chuckled softly as she followed him, holding one of the carefully boxed pastries. “He probably thought we were insane.”

Rafayel kicked the door shut behind him, balancing his own box of confections, his grin still in place. “I can’t wait to see my cutie’s face when she tries these. She’s going to love them.”

But the moment his gaze swept across the room, his laughter faltered and then stopped entirely.

The studio was transformed. Soft candlelight flickered, casting golden hues across the walls. Seashells glimmered like scattered pearls, carefully arranged along the edges of the space. Strands of delicate seaweed draped like garlands, their green silkiness catching the light. Trinkets, small but unmistakably meaningful, dotted the surfaces—each one an ode to moments he had shared with you. The table was set with plates of untouched food, lovingly prepared, and the air held a faint, tantalizing aroma that now felt unbearably heavy.

He froze, the pastry box slipping slightly in his grip. His throat tightened as his eyes roved over every detail, taking in the love and care you had poured into the space. The decorations, the mementos, the effort—it was overwhelming.

“Rafayel?” Lina’s voice broke through the silence. She stepped forward, her brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” His voice cracked, and he set the box down on the nearest surface with trembling hands. “I fucked up,” he whispered, barely audible. His fingers grazed one of the seashells, its surface smooth and cool. He trailed his hand over a string of seaweed, the soft texture almost mocking him. “I fucked up bad.”

Lina’s concern deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Rafayel turned toward her, his expression stricken. “The anniversary. Our anniversary. It slipped my mind.” His voice was a low, shaky whisper as he glanced back at the table, the untouched plates, the flickering candles. “She did all of this… for me. For us.”

He called out your name, his voice echoing through the space. “Are you here? Cutie?” His steps quickened as he moved through the studio, searching. The bathroom. The bedroom. The small corner where you sometimes curled up to read. “Are you asleep?” he called, though he knew better. Each empty room was another blow to his gut.

Panic clawed at him as he returned to the main room, his gaze darting to the table again, the small trinkets, the soft glow of candles still burning. The room felt haunted, filled with the ghost of your hope and effort.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly. He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Thomas.

“Thomas, did she—did she say anything to you? Did she mention where she might go?” Rafayel’s voice was taut with desperation.

Thomas hesitated. “She called me earlier. She asked if you were still at the sale. That’s all she said.”

The weight of Thomas’s words slammed into Rafayel like a wave. You’d called, searching for him, only to learn the truth he had tried to ignore. It had slipped his mind completely. He didn’t know you were setting all of this up. For him. For the both of you.

“Thanks,” Rafayel muttered, ending the call and immediately dialing your number. He paced the studio, his heart racing as the line rang once… twice… three times—

And then he heard it. The faint buzz of your phone, abandoned on the sofa near the window.

“Shit!” Rafayel cursed, grabbing the device and staring at the darkened screen as if it could offer him answers. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He collapsed onto the chair you had once sat in, his head in his hands. Where were you? His gaze drifted to the table again, the untouched dinner, the carefully arranged decorations.

How could he have been so blind? So careless? You had given him everything, and he… he had been too wrapped up in himself, too foolish to see what truly mattered.

Lina hesitated before taking a few careful steps toward Rafayel, watching his every move with growing concern. She’d never seen him like this before. His usual confident, almost cocky demeanor had vanished, leaving only raw distress in its place. He sat slumped in the chair, his phone clutched tightly in his hands, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.

"Rafayel..." she began softly, her voice gentle but concerned. "What’s going on? What happened?"

Her hand brushed against his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but the instant her fingers made contact with his skin, he flinched as though struck. His body jerked back, his eyes flashing with something wild—something dangerous.  His eyes, usually a mischievous swirl of pink and blue, flared into a startling, unearthly bright blue before he clenched them shut, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he pulled away, his fists curling. “Lina, I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He forced himself to inhale deeply, reigning in his emotions as the scales receded and his eyes returned to their usual hue. “I’m fine,” he lied, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I just... I need to find her.”

Lina’s hand hovered uncertainly before falling back to her side. “Rafayel,” she began gently, “her phone’s here. Her purse. Even her car keys. Where could she have gone?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, the sharpness in his voice born of self-directed frustration. “And that’s what’s driving me insane.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if the pain could ground him. “She’s out there somewhere, without her coat, without her phone... and it’s freezing tonight.”

Lina straightened, crossing her arms. “Then let me help—”

“No.” His interruption was immediate, his tone brooking no argument. He turned to her, his expression pained but resolute. “This is my fault. I need to fix this myself.”

“But—”

“Please, Lina,” he cut in, softer this time. “If she’s out there, you’ll hear from me. Just… if you see her, let me know. But I have to do this alone.”

After a long, hesitant pause, Lina relented, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine. But don’t do anything reckless. I’ll keep my eyes open and let you know if I find anything.”

Rafayel nodded, murmuring his thanks before grabbing his coat and storming out into the night.

The cold air bit at his face as he ran through the streets, his breath forming short puffs in the frigid night. He clutched his phone tightly, the screen glowing as he swiped to a recent photo of you, showing it to every passerby he stopped.

“Have you seen her?” he asked a bewildered man on the corner. “This woman? Please—it’s urgent.”

The man shook his head, muttering an apology before hurrying off. Rafayel grit his teeth, suppressing the wave of panic threatening to consume him. Where are you?

The thought repeated like a drumbeat as he made his way to the beach. The icy wind off the water made him shiver, but he pressed forward, searching desperately. He called your neighbor, pacing along the shoreline as he waited for an answer.

The voice on the other end was soft, a little worried. “No... the lights are off. The door’s locked. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”

His heart skipped a beat, the silence that followed pressing like a weight on his chest. Where were you? Where could you have gone? You were working so hard fore him, for the both of you since the afternoon and he wasn’t even there to experience it with you together. He could imagine it, the smile on your face as you placed those shells, the excitement in your movements as you cooked his favorite food. His eyes darted to the horizon, a dark line of water stretching out before him, and his legs moved faster, pushing him toward the shore, toward the place where you sometimes went to escape.

The beach was empty when he arrived, the wind biting at his skin, the waves crashing softly against the sand. He scanned the shoreline, dread filling him as he searched. There was no sign of you, but his heart refused to let go of the hope that you might be here.

He walked for what felt like hours, the weight of the cold creeping into his bones as the night deepened. The autumn air turned chillier, the first hints of winter brushing against his skin. You hadn’t taken your coat. You hadn’t taken anything. What was he thinking? You’d never leave without saying something. So why was he—

His breath hitched as his gaze landed on something ahead. A small lump on the sand.

His heart stopped, the world narrowing down to that single, fragile form crumpled against the cold ground.

“No!” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. He ran towards you, his legs moving faster than they ever had before, fear propelling him forward. His feet barely touching the ground as he pushed forward, his every step frantic. He reached you within seconds, his pulse hammering in his ears. He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he gently touched your shoulder.

“Cutie?” he called, his voice cracking. His knees hit the sand as he reached you, and his heart twisted painfully at the sight. You were curled in on yourself, your arms hugging your knees, your face hidden. Tear tracks glistened on your cheeks, even in the dim moonlight, and your body trembled from the cold.

“Shit,” Rafayel hissed, his voice barely a whisper as panic surged again. You were cold, so cold. Damp from the wet sand, your skin pale as if the very life had been drained from you. He pulled off his jacket, draping it around you as gently as he could, his hands still shaking.

Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I see how badly she needed me?

He slid his arms around you, his heart aching as he pulled you into his lap, cradling you as though you might break into a thousand pieces. He brushed the strands of hair from your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he whispered your name over and over, praying that you would wake up. That you would hear him. “Fuck,” he breathed, feeling a wave of guilt crash over him. “What did I do? What the hell did I do…”

But he couldn’t. Not now. Now, all he could do was hold you, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he rocked gently, trying to warm you, trying to make everything okay.

“I’m here, okay? I’m here. I’m so sorry, cutie.” he whispered, his voice breaking. His mind raced, but nothing could erase the hollow ache in his chest. The thought of losing you, of failing you—he couldn’t bear it. He wouldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words tumbling from him like a confession he had never intended to make. “I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I messed this up, I—I’m here now.”

He clutched you tighter, trembling with the weight of his regret. The wind cut through the beach, but he barely noticed, too consumed by the sight of you—so still, so fragile, in his arms. His mind raced, scrambling for something, anything, to fix this

Your eyes fluttered open weakly, barely meeting his. You were too exhausted to respond, your body utterly spent.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice unsteady as he gently tucked his coat tighter around you. “I’ve got you. I’m so sorry.” His thumb brushed the tear-streaked curve of your cheek, his chest aching at the evidence of your heartbreak. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too cold...not like this. Not alone,” Rafayel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hands trembled as he tried to warm you, his arms sheltering you from the relentless chill of the wind. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—” He broke off, his throat tightening painfully. Words felt so useless now, but he couldn’t stop them. He needed you to know. “I’m the biggest idiot in the world. I forgot something so important, something that should’ve been at the center of my mind.” His arms slipped beneath you, lifting you effortlessly despite your protests—if there were any.

Your lips moved faintly, but the sound was lost in the cold wind. He leaned closer, his ear near your mouth. “What is it? I’m here. Please... say something.”

“I thought... maybe you'd care,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The words struck him harder than any physical blow ever could. He felt the sting in his chest, his breath hitching as guilt twisted the knife deeper.

“I do care!” he exclaimed, his voice desperate. “More than anything. I was just... I was so caught up in everything else, and I—I didn’t realize how much you needed me. How much you’ve always been there for me. I messed up, cutie. I know I did.”

You shivered against him, and he shifted to shield you better from the biting wind. “Let me take you home,” he pleaded, his voice softer now. “We’ll fix this. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right, I swear.”

For a long moment, you didn’t respond, and his heart hammered in his chest. Finally, you gave the faintest of nods, your head resting against his chest. You shivered in his arms, your eyes fluttering shut again, too drained to muster a response. Panic surged in Rafayel as he felt how cold your skin was against his. He shifted, standing with you carefully cradled in his arms, his coat wrapped tightly around you.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice urgent but soft. “I need you to hold on, okay? Just a little longer. Let’s get you somewhere warm.” He pressed his cheek to your temple for a moment, as though the simple touch might reassure you—and himself—that you were still here with him.

Rafayel didn’t waste a second. He scooped you up gently, careful not to jostle you. The warmth of his jacket wrapped around your frame and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to soothe some of the tension in your body. He murmured quiet reassurances as he carried you, his voice a constant presence in the cold, empty night. His normally cocky demeanor had shattered into shards of raw vulnerability, replaced by a frantic urgency to get you home—his home. Your breathing was shallow, your limbs slack in his hold, and every uneven step he took felt like walking a tightrope with everything he valued most precariously balanced in his grasp. He adjusted his hold, cradling you tighter against his chest. “Look, I know I’m an idiot sometimes. Fine, most of the time,” he admitted, his words a jumble of nervous energy and shaky humor. “But this isn’t the time to prove me wrong, alright? Just hang on a little longer. I’m taking you home.”

By the time you reached the studio, the candlelight had dimmed, but the room still held the warmth of the love you had poured into it. Rafayel carried you inside. By the time he reached the threshold of his room, his shirt clung to him, drenched from sweat and your tears. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, careful not to jostle you, and hurried inside.

The room was cold and dimly lit, the heater long dormant. He set you down on the bed, fumbling with the blankets to cocoon you in their warmth. Your body trembled, and his chest constricted as he watched you stir faintly before slipping deeper into unconsciousness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible at first, as if the walls themselves might condemn him. Then louder, more desperate, his voice cracking. “I’m so damn sorry. I was stupid—so, so stupid. I should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve kept you safe. Should’ve—” He stopped himself, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sob building in his throat. His eyes flickered between his usual hues and that unearthly blue every now and then.

His hands hovered over your face, fingers trembling as he brushed damp strands of hair from your skin. “You’re too good for me, you know that? Too good for someone who screws up as much as I do. But I promise—” His voice broke, the words spilling out in a frenzied rush. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Il love you, cutie. I love you so much.” And then, because even in his rawest moments he couldn’t help himself, he added with a weak, self-deprecating chuckle, “I am lucky I’m this charming, or I don’t think you’d ever put up with me.”

He turned on the heater, pacing back and forth as he muttered under his breath, berating himself in every way he could think of, his brattiness peeking through as he cursed the broken world that had led to this moment. He glanced at you repeatedly, as if reassuring himself you hadn’t vanished, that you hadn’t slipped through his fingers.

When you stirred, your eyelids fluttering open, he froze mid-step. His usual confident smirk was gone, replaced by wide, guilt-stricken eyes. “You’re awake,” he blurted, his voice filled with relief but tinged with apprehension. “I know I screwed up,” he admitted quietly, his lips brushing against your temple. “But—seriously, who let you do this to yourself, huh? Oh wait, that’s me. Fantastic job, Rafayel. Bravo.” He huffed out a shaky laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sitting at your bedside. The words spilled out before he could stop them, over and over again. “I’m so, so sorry. This—this isn’t how it was supposed to go. You’re supposed to be mad at me, not like this. Not…” His voice cracked, and he scrubbed a hand down his face, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Then, almost instinctively, the mask of bravado slipped back into place. “But, hey, look at you, stealing my bed like it’s your right. I mean, sure, I offered, but still.” His smirk faltered, his voice softening. “You better not make a habit of this, you know? Making me worry this much.”

You shifted, your eyelids fluttering completely open, and the sight of your weary gaze meeting his nearly unraveled him.

“Raf?” Your voice was weak, barely audible, but it was enough to snap him upright.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He forced a grin, though it couldn’t hide the guilt pooling in his eyes. “Good, because I was just about to start serenading you with an apology song. Don’t ask for a refund… the lyrics are terrible.”

You tried to sit up, but he was on you in an instant, gently pressing you back down. “Whoa, whoa, no sudden moves, alright? Just... stay put for once. Let me handle it for a change.”

"Handle what?" you asked, your voice edged with exhaustion and confusion.

His grin wavered, giving way to something more honest, more afraid. “Everything. All of it. I... I screwed up, okay? I’m the idiot who let you get like this, who didn’t see—who didn’t stop—” His words tangled, and he exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. Or, you know, until you tell me to shut up. Whichever comes first.”

Your lashes fluttered weakly again, and a barely audible sound escaped your lips. “...Rafayel...?”

His heart soared and broke all at once at the sound of your voice. “I’m here,” he said quickly, leaning closer so you could hear him clearly. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Tears welled in his eyes as you looked up at him, your gaze heavy with exhaustion and something he couldn’t quite name—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. It cut him deeper than any blade ever could.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice a choked whisper. “I know that doesn’t fix this, but I swear, I’ll spend every moment making it up to you if you let me.”

For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the hum of the heater and the soft whistle of the wind outside. Finally, you whispered, your voice trembling, “I waited...”

“I know,” he whispered, his tears falling freely now. “You shouldn’t have had to. You deserve better than that, better than me—but I’m begging you, please give me another chance. Don’t give up on me yet.”

Finally, your voice, though weak, broke the quiet. “You forgot... something that meant so much to me.”

Rafayel’s throat tightened, but he nodded, accepting your words. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you. I’ll show you how much you mean to me. I love you,” he whispered against your skin, the words soft but raw with sincerity. “More than anything. More than I can even say. I don’t deserve you, but… please, let me try. Let me make it up to you.”

“Don’t leave me,” he repeated, his voice a breathless whisper, “Not like this.” His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, you could see the mask slip—just for a second. Rafayel was scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of failing you. It was the one thing he had never let you see, the one thing he kept locked away in the deep recesses of his heart, but now, it was clear as day.

As you looked at him, something shifted between the two of you—an understanding, perhaps. You could see his desperation, the way he clung to the edges of his composure, trying to hide the vulnerability he never allowed anyone to witness.

I thought... I thought this was everything I could give. Everything I could be..." your own voice cracking.

He shook his head again, his grip never loosening. “You’re so much more than all of this. I’ve been blind, cutie. And now I can see it—see you.” He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to erase every doubt that had taken root there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for making you feel invisible.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, the tears still staining your face, but the weight of his words was a strange kind of relief. He was here. He saw you now. The storm of emotions inside you hadn’t dissipated, but his presence, the raw sincerity in his voice, made you feel something close to safety.

Rafayel kissed your forehead softly, the gentle pressure of his lips a tender promise. “I’m here, cutie. And I’ll do everything I can to make this right. You won’t feel invisible again.”

You nodded slowly, the tears still flowing, but there was a flicker of hope, however faint. "Just... don't forget again," you whispered.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice firm, but his eyes were full of vulnerability. "I won’t. Never again."

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes closing as if you were too weary to respond. But when Rafayel reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, a faint squeeze answered him. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was enough—a thread of hope that he clung to with everything he had. For now, you didn’t pull away, and that was a start.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

[steddieas-shegoes]

sold out, one night only

for @corrodedcoffinfest popup event for Black Friday using 'one day night only'

rated m | 2980 words | cw: implied and referenced sexual content | tags: modern era, pop star steve, rock star eddie, semi-famous corroded coffin, exes to lovers, getting back together

🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤

The poster is huge, takes up most of the board in the club announcing new events. It’s surprisingly simple for something so large.

‘One Night Only’ accompanied by a picture of Steve Harrington, recently out queer pop icon, and a date and time.

Tonight is the one night only.

Eddie stares at it, kind of wishes he didn’t feel like sobbing, and then books it out of the club.

If he’s gonna make it across town before Steve’s show is done, he’s gotta hope for the least amount of traffic he’s ever seen and a lot of luck. Maybe, if he’s really lucky, the show was delayed enough that he’s still on stage singing.

He manages to find an Uber only a block away, offers them a 50% tip if they can get him to the arena in less than five minutes, and leans his head back against the seat.

~~~~

Four years ago, when Steve followed Eddie and his band to Chicago, neither of them expected much to happen. Corroded Coffin was small town good, but they quickly found that they weren’t quite what record labels were looking for.

A small indie label from San Francisco was interested, though.

So they packed up and moved to California, and to celebrate the first recording session, they went to a karaoke bar and all took turns singing songs that you’d never expect them to.

Steve took a turn singing a Harry Styles song and it was game over.

The whole bar went silent until he was done, and then it was pandemonium as people rushed him as he got off the stage, telling him he should be famous, and that he had the voice of an angel, and that he should try to sign a record deal.

And Eddie knew he could sing; he’d heard him in the shower and the car plenty.

There was just something about seeing him on stage and knowing that Steve was meant for more that really cut into his heart and made him bleed out on that bar floor.

It was the beginning of the end for them that night.

Eddie pushed him away. Steve stopped fighting it.

Steve signed with a huge company out of New York and moved before Eddie even realized he ruined everything.

He hasn’t spoken to him since, not even the one time Dustin had to have surgery and requested everyone be back in Hawkins in case something went wrong. He was being dramatic about leg splints, but they did it anyway.

Eddie caught one glimpse of Steve walking out of the Henderson home the night that Dustin got to leave the hospital, but he didn’t stop him.

Corroded Coffin is big enough to do festival circuits, even playing on the main stage for some of them.

Steve Harrington is big enough to go to Grammy parties and duet with Sabrina Carpenter.

And Eddie is stupid enough to think he can get backstage to apologize to him for being dumb enough to let him walk away.

~~~~

When he arrives at the arena, he’s told he needs a ticket to enter. This is a fact he knew before getting here, but one he chose to ignore in hopes that he might be able to bribe someone with his romantic story.

Unfortunately, the middle aged man who reminds him a lot of Wayne couldn’t care less about his need to tell Steve he loves him.

“You and the 20,000 others in the audience, bud,” the man says. “No ticket, no entrance.”

“Okay, I know you probably hear this often, but I swear he knows me. He’d let me in,” Eddie explains, but the guy is somehow even less impressed. “Oh! Wait. I have proof.”

Eddie pulls out his phone and opens his photos. The album named ‘Stevie ♥️’ is still in his favorites, even though Robin made him promise he’d delete it after the last time she visited. He may have promised he would, but he never said when.

It’s hundreds of photos of them together, mostly selfies, personal pictures they took on dates or in bed or on their road trip or-

“I told you to delete those.”

Eddie spins around at Robin’s voice. She’s standing near the set of doors at the end of the long line of doors, two security guards flanking her.

“And I will. Eventually.” Eddie walks towards her, ignoring the man telling him he needs to leave.

“What are you doing here?” She asks even though she has to know.

She’s his friend even though she’s Steve’s platonic soulmate. She isn’t being mean on purpose. She’s just being protective of both of them.

“Robin…” he starts.

She holds up a hand. “If I take you backstage, will this be a one night only thing or a start to forever thing? Because honestly, I don’t think he can take seeing you if it’s only for you to leave right after. He’s barely-” She cuts herself off, eyes widening.

“He’s what?” Eddie pushes, needing to know what she was gonna say.

She sighs. He knew he’d get her to give in easily.

“He’s barely holding it together as it is,” she admits. “I had to bribe him to get on stage tonight.”

“Bribe him? For this show?”

“And the last dozen or so. He’s tired. He-” She sighs again, heavier. “He misses you.”

“If he misses me, then he should call. Or text. Send a carrier pigeon.” Eddie doesn’t mean for the words to bite, but he can’t help the way he feels and he knows he’s safe with Robin. She won’t take it personally or let him stew in it for too long. “It’s not like he doesn’t have access to me if he really wants it.”

“Eddie. You made it very clear you didn’t want to hear from him ever again.”

“I made it very clear that I loved him too much to hold him back. He was the one who pushed it to this,” Eddie tries.

He doesn’t succeed. Robin is shaking her head, laughing with disbelief.

“You two are made for each other. I’ll bring you backstage, but if I see a single tear shed in anything other than happiness, I’m calling Jeff and telling on you.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh. Calling Jeff isn’t quite the threat it used to be, not since Jeff got himself a very serious girlfriend who keeps him busy. Even if it was, Robin knows Jeff’s just gonna nod along, give Eddie a sad look, and move on.

He follows Robin through the door she came through, waving at the guard who was giving him a hard time– “he’s just doing his job, Eddie” – and feels his throat catch on his next breath when he can hear the beat of the music.

Steve’s pop rock sound isn’t necessarily Eddie’s favorite type of music, but he did stay up until midnight for the release of his debut album. It’s Steve. What’s he gonna do? Not listen to it?

His voice is just this side of raspy, like there’s a scratch of his throat when he hits the lower register his voice will allow. He almost sounds like when Eddie would-

“Alright. He’s got two songs left and an encore. Encore is usually just one song, but this is a special night so he may do a bonus from his new album. Don’t touch anything,” Robin sends him into the green room, waving off the security person who is standing at the door. “Don’t make me regret letting you in here. And don’t hurt yourself.”

“Jesus, Robbie, I’m not a child. I’m not gonna hurt myself-”

“I didn’t mean physically.” She gives him a sad look. “I care about you, too.”

Eddie’s shoulders fall as he breathes out. He didn’t realize how tense he’d been. Robin hugs him and moves to the door.

“I’ll make sure you guys have some privacy for a bit, but we do have a tight schedule. Security’s only here while the crew packs up,” she explains. Eddie nods. He knows the drill. He may not be an international pop star, but he deals with the ins and outs of venues often enough.

Robin leaves and the only sound is the bass thumping of Steve’s last song. Eddie looks around at how bare the room is. Usually, Corroded Coffin has to share a green room with a few other bands unless they pull off headlining the main stage. Those rooms are usually cluttered, crews and musicians constantly coming and going, leaving trash and guitar picks behind. The only thing in this room that would hint at Steve using it is a bag of half-eaten white cheddar popcorn on the table next to an empty water bottle and a mug of what looks like green tea.

Steve’s a big enough star to make absurd requests for backstage, but it’s clear he doesn’t. Eddie isn’t surprised. Steve’s never really been one to ask for things that would benefit him.

He hears the screaming, knows Steve’s just left the stage. He’s probably standing nearby, hiding behind curtains or stacks of speakers, maybe even in plain sight.

“Wait!” Robin’s voice is right outside the door.

The door opens.

Steve’s there, breathless, sweaty, hot as hell.

“Steve, you still have a song,” another woman in khakis and a polo shirt is rushing up to him, waving a clipboard in his face.

“Eddie.” Steve’s voice is rough when he speaks. Eddie can tell it’s more from emotion than the nearly two hour set list he just performed.

“Steve.” Eddie is waiting for Steve to move, for anyone to move. He can’t.

“Steve, you need to go back onstage.”

Eddie has his arms full of Steve before anyone can respond to the woman just trying to do her job. She looks like she’s a tech manager, but usually they wear all black, and Eddie doesn’t know all there is to know about an international superstar performing a concert even though he does know all there is to know about Steve.

He knows that he prefers earl gray tea with real sugar, not the green tea with honey that’s sitting on the coffee table. He knows that his favorite treats are the mini Kit Kats– “not the regular ones, they taste different, I swear!”-- not popcorn that gets stuck in his teeth for hours. He knows that he likes making places feel like home no matter how temporary he’s there, and there’s not a single item in this room that makes it feel lived in.

The woman seems to give up on getting Steve back on stage, and he’s pretty sure he has Robin to thank for it.

He has Steve in his arms for the first time in way too long. He isn’t wasting a second of it thinking about anyone else.

Steve’s sweat is soaking through Eddie’s shirt already, but he doesn’t really care. He used to love having Steve’s sweat on him; It meant he was doing something right.

He knows a reunion isn’t this easy, and any second now, Steve’s gonna pull away and yell at him, and they’ll fight and Eddie will let it happen because he deserves it and-

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Steve sobs against his neck, breath tickling his skin as his lips brush against him in an almost-kiss.

Suddenly, Eddie knows that Steve planned this. This whole sold out, one night only show was only so Eddie would come see him.

Eddie should be pissed.

Steve could have just fucking called him. Texted him. Sent a carrier pigeon!

But he’s got Steve in his arms and it’s always been pretty hard to be pissed at him when he’s pressed perfectly against his chest.

Robin is clearing the room and cursing Steve for making her clean up his messes, but Eddie can hear the fondness in her voice. She wouldn’t bother giving them time alone together if she didn’t want them to have it.

“Robin said I shouldn’t do it. She said you wouldn’t show.” Tears are falling from Steve’s eyes on Eddie's shirt. “I swore you would. She thought I was crazy.”

“You are crazy,” Eddie laughs, squeezing his arms to pull him in tighter. “Planning something this big in the hopes that I’d come to a pop concert is fucking insane, Stevie.”

“But you did.” Steve leans back and looks at him, watery smile enough to make Eddie feel like he could melt into the floor. “I knew you would.”

Eddie wants to kiss him, wants to ignore everything that went wrong and everything they need to talk about, wants to take Steve apart in this room and make it feel like home because Steve didn’t do that on his own. He doesn’t think he’s made any place feel like home in a long time.

“You put a lot of faith in a guy who let you go,” Eddie whispers.

“You showed up for a guy who left,” Steve says back.

“You only left because I pushed you away,” Eddie argues.

“You only pushed me away because you thought it was best for me,” Steve raises a brow, challenging him to keep going.

Eddie knows Steve has a response for everything, though. He’ll keep putting blame on himself the same way Eddie keeps putting it on himself, and they’ll go round and round and waste precious time that they could be doing other things. Instead of pushing, Eddie sighs and lets his shoulders drop.

“I’m sorry,” he says instead of arguing.

“I’m sorry, too,” Steve relaxes in his arms.

“We still have to talk, Stevie,��� Eddie reminds him as he leans in, feels Steve’s breath against his lips.

“We will,” Steve barely gets out before their lips crash together, bruising and needy.

There’s a lot that Eddie missed about Steve. He’s spent countless hours harping over everything he messed up to himself, to Robin, to Wayne, to the band. Steve was forever going to be the one that got away.

“Can we…” Steve gasps against his mouth, hands grasping at every inch of Eddie that they can.

“What do you need?” Eddie wraps his fingers around Steve’s wrists to still him, to make him focus on what he wants.

“Just need you.”

It’s a cop out and they both know it, but Eddie’s fine with it tonight. If he has to be the one to take charge and assume what Steve wants, then he will. For tonight, he can give Steve what he wants to, and Steve will take it.

It’s a little anticlimactic when they come barely five minutes later. They don’t even get a chance to properly remove any clothing before they’re making a mess between them, moaning as if they can’t be heard.

As they come down, and Eddie manages to find a rag that may or may not have been used for other things already, Eddie sees Steve wipe his eyes.

He stops what he’s doing and drops the rag on the floor, pulling Steve close again.

“What’s wrong?” He asks because he can’t let Steve leave him again. Not this time.

“I just don’t want this to be one night only,” Steve cries.

“It won’t be, sweetheart,” Eddie assures him, brushing the fresh tears away as they fall. “We’re gonna figure out how to make it work. The band doesn’t have anything for the next few weeks, so we’ve got time, okay?”

“But I have to leave tomorrow. I have a GQ interview in London,” Steve pouts.

Eddie tries not to be distracted by his bitten-red lips, but they’re just so…biteable.

“I could go to London,” Eddie offers, only slightly joking.

Steve’s eyes light up. “You can?”

“I mean, I can definitely blow some of my savings to follow you around for a bit,” Eddie shrugs.

“As if I’d let you pay.” Steve’s beaming at him. “You really wanna come with me? Even though people will start spreading rumors and it’ll ruin your metal band image?”

“Baby, I’ll stand on that stage right now and scream to everyone who will listen that I’m yours.”

There’s still time to do that, too. Even though it can’t have been more than 20 minutes since Steve left the stage, he has no doubt that there are plenty of stragglers in the arena hoping for Steve to still come out and perform his encore.

“Some fans are kind of-”

“Crazy?” Steve nods. “That’s because you’re perfect. But they can’t have you, right? Not like I can.”

“No. Nobody gets to have me like you do.”

If Robin wasn’t banging on the door to warn them they only had five minutes, Eddie would be trying for another round. Maybe this time, he’d get his mouth on Steve instead of just his hand.

“I guess we should get to the car before fans figure out I’m still here,” Steve suggests. “And before Robin kills us both.”

“Imagine that news story,” Eddie laughs. “Best friend and manager of pop icon Steve Harrington charged with double homicide after seeing more dicks than she’s ever seen in her life.”

“Bold of you to assume she hasn’t seen mine,” Steve laughs as he pulls away. When he sees Eddie’s shocked face, he pats his cheek. “I sleep naked, babe. You knew that.”

Eddie’s face goes back to normal quickly. “Still? I thought that was just so I would-”

“I’m coming in!” Robin shouts as she opens the door. Steve turns away to finish buttoning his pants, but Eddie’s soft dick is right out in the open.

“Seriously?” Robin groans.

Eddie finishes making himself presentable and smirks. “You’ve seen what he’s got. You can’t blame me.”

“I can and I will. Car’s already surrounded, so. Hope you’re good with a hard launch.”

Eddie looks at Steve to check in. Steve gives him a nod.

“Blast off, I guess.”

[mcrveilles]

just this once // ln4

HI WE'RE BACK - i'm having so much fun writing this. thank you for liking it and your encouragement.

word count: 2.1k warnings: casual intimacy themes, secrecy, conflicts of loyalty, romantic tension and suggestive content, heartache, feelings of betrayal includes: friends to lovers, fluff, best friends little sister, brothers best friend summary: the consequences hit hard

PART FIVE previous part - next part

The tension thickens, pressing down on your chest as Max’s words settle in the air between you. You glance at Lando, hoping he has some magic explanation, some way to fix this, but his jaw is set, his eyes locked on Max. His usual easy charm is nowhere to be found, and for the first time tonight, he looks genuinely shaken. Max crosses his arms, his sharp gaze moving between the two of you. "Well?" he presses, his voice growing louder. "Someone better start talking."

You take a shaky breath, your hands twisting together at your sides. “Max, it’s not like that,” you manage, though your voice wavers under the weight of his stare. “We weren’t sneaking around. I mean, not intentionally. It’s just…” You trail off, your words getting stuck in your throat. “Not intentionally?” Max repeats, his tone dripping with disbelief. “So what? It just accidentally happened?”

Lando steps in then, his voice calm but firm. “We didn’t plan this, Max. I swear. But… yeah, there’s something between us.” He glances at you, his expression softening before he looks back at Max. “It wasn’t something we wanted to hide from you. We just—”

“Wanted to keep it quiet until it suited you?” Max interrupts, his voice rising. “Do you even understand what this looks like? You, my best friend, going behind my back with my sister? And you—” He turns to you, his eyes filled with something between anger and betrayal. “You didn’t think to tell me? Not once?” You flinch at the accusation, guilt curling in your stomach. “I didn’t know how,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Well, congratulations,” Max snaps, throwing his hands in the air. “Mission failed.”

The words hit like a slap, and you blink back the sting of tears. Max has never spoken to you like this, never looked at you like this—like he doesn’t even recognize you. The hurt in his eyes is worse than the anger, and it makes your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared for. “Max,” Lando says again, his tone softer now. “You’re my best mate. I never wanted to hurt you either. But…” He hesitates, like he’s searching for the right words. “I care about her. A lot. And if you can’t see that—”

“That’s the problem,” Max cuts in, his voice raw. “I do see it. I saw it tonight, clear as day. And maybe even before that, but I ignored it because I trusted you, Lando. I trusted both of you.” The weight of his words hangs in the air, and for a moment, no one speaks. You can feel the tears threatening to spill over, but you hold them back, refusing to break under the pressure of Max’s gaze. “I need some time,” Max finally says, his voice quieter now, but no less resolute. “To think. To figure out how I feel about all of this.” He takes a step back toward the door, pausing to look at Lando. “Don’t follow me. Either of you.” And with that, he turns and walks back inside, leaving you and Lando alone on the balcony once more. The sound of the party swells as the door shuts behind him, a stark contrast to the silence that settles between you.

Lando exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Well,” he mutters, “that went about as badly as it could’ve.”

You let out a shaky laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

He steps closer then, his hand brushing yours in a gesture that feels both apologetic and grounding. “We’ll fix this,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a determination that makes your chest tighten. “I don’t know how yet, but we’ll fix it.” You nod, though you’re not sure that you believe him. The night feels heavier now, the spark of earlier completely snuffed out. But when Lando’s fingers lace with yours, you let yourself hold onto him—just for a moment—because even in the mess you’ve made, he’s the only thing that feels steady.

You pull your hand from his stepping back until the cool metal of the balcony railing presses against your spine. Lando’s brows knit together, confusion flashing across his face. “You okay?” he asks softly, his voice careful, like he’s afraid you might shatter. But you already feel like you’re breaking. Your breath comes too fast, and your chest tightens as all the emotions swirling inside you—guilt, fear, frustration—bubble to the surface. “I can’t do this,” you whisper, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “What do you mean?” His voice is steadier now, but you can see the cracks in his confident mask. He takes a step forward, and you immediately hold up a hand to stop him.

“I mean this.” You gesture vaguely between the two of you. “Us. Whatever this is. I can’t, Lando. I thought I could, but I can’t.” He stares at you, his jaw tightening. “Baby, don’t do this,” he says, his tone low but urgent, almost pleading. “I’m serious, Lando,” you say, hating the way your voice wavers. “Max hates me now. He hates you. And he has every right to. We were selfish, and we’ve ruined everything.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Lando says firmly, his hands falling to his sides. “He’s just upset. He needs time to process this, that’s all.”

“Maybe,” you say, your throat tightening, “but I can’t keep doing this with you, sneaking around, pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. It’s too much, Lando. I can’t handle it.” The hurt in his eyes is like a punch to the stomach, and you have to look away, focusing instead on the city lights below. For a moment, the only sound is the distant hum of traffic and the muffled music from inside the apartment. “You’re scared,” he says finally, his voice quieter now.

You laugh bitterly, though there’s no humor in it. “Of course I’m scared. I’m terrified, Lando. I’m terrified of hurting Max even more, of ruining what we had—what you and Max have. And I’m terrified of…” You trail off, biting your lip hard enough to hurt.

“Of what?” he presses gently, stepping closer despite your earlier protest. His voice is softer now, like he’s trying to coax the truth out of you.

“Of you,” you whisper, the words barely audible. “Of how much I feel when I’m with you. Of how I can’t seem to think straight when you’re around. It’s too much, Lando. You’re too much.” He doesn’t respond immediately, and the silence stretches out between you, heavy and suffocating. When he finally speaks, his voice is steady, but there’s an edge of vulnerability that makes your chest ache.

“I’m not going to apologize for how I feel about you,” he says. “And I’m not going to let you push me away just because you’re scared.”

“Lando—”

“No, let me finish,” he says, his tone firmer now. “I get it. You’re overwhelmed. So am I. But this? What we have? It’s real. And I’m not going to let you throw it away because you’re too afraid to fight for it.” His words hit you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, all you can do is stand there, your heart pounding in your chest. You want to argue, to tell him he’s wrong, but deep down, you know he’s not. Still, the fear is stronger. It wraps around you like a vice, squeezing the air from your lungs. “I need space,” you say finally, your voice trembling. “I need to figure things out on my own.”

His face falls, and the sight nearly breaks you. But he nods, his jaw tight. “If that’s what you want,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It is,” you say, though the words feel like a lie.

He steps back, his hands sliding into his pockets. For a moment, he just looks at you, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to memorize every detail. Then he nods again, turns, and walks back inside without another word. You stay on the balcony, the cool night air doing nothing to ease the heat burning in your chest. And as the door clicks shut behind him, you realize just how much it hurts to push him away.

The second Lando steps away, a hollowness seeps into your chest, spreading fast and heavy like a lead weight. The cool night air brushes against your skin, but instead of soothing you, it amplifies the ache inside, making every breath sharp and uneven. You tell yourself this is for the best, that pushing him away was the right thing to do—for Max, for Lando, for yourself—but the words ring hollow.

Guilt churns in your stomach, twisting like a knife. Max’s face, the flash of hurt and betrayal in his eyes, replays in your mind like a haunting reel, over and over again. And then there’s Lando. The look he gave you before he turned away—raw, unguarded—feels like a scar you’ll carry for a long time. You hate that you put it there.

Your hands tremble as you grip the railing, the cold metal biting into your palms. Everything feels too much, too fast. You were supposed to keep things simple. One night. One moment. A slip you could explain away and move on from. But it’s become so much more, hasn’t it? And now, it’s spiraled into a mess you can’t seem to untangle.

The lump in your throat grows heavier, and your vision blurs as tears pool in your eyes. You don’t know if you’re angry, sad, or just exhausted—maybe all three. Angry at yourself for letting this happen, sad for the way things are unraveling, and exhausted from pretending you don’t care as much as you do.

And you do care. That’s the worst part. You care so much it’s terrifying. Every glance, every touch, every stolen moment with Lando has carved its way into you, leaving marks you don’t know how to erase. And the thought of losing him—really losing him—hurts more than you want to admit.

But the fear is louder. Fear of what this could mean for Max, for your family, for your heart. Fear of stepping into something that feels so big, so overwhelming, it might swallow you whole.

So you stay rooted there, staring out at the city lights, wishing they could somehow illuminate the answers you so desperately need. But all they do is flicker and blur, leaving you just as lost as before.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The buzz of Silverstone is electric, a sea of orange and British flags waving wildly as engines roar to life. The atmosphere is alive, but you feel out of sync, moving through the paddock like a ghost. Max is there, but his smiles are subdued when it comes to you. He’s cheering forLando, though, still proud and supporting his best friend for his home race. Still, his excitement feels muted, his celebratory backslaps and grins somehow...limited and different. It’s like he’s drawing a line, one you’re not sure how to cross.

Lando keeps his distance too. You catch glimpses of him—a flash of his curls beneath his cap, the familiar set of his jaw as he talks to his engineers—but he never looks your way. You tell yourself it’s for the best, but it doesn’t stop the ache every time he passes.

When the race begins, you stand in the far back of his garage, heart pounding as Lando’s car tears through the track. Every overtake, every perfect turn has you holding your breath. You try not to think about the way things used to be—the way you’d celebrate together, no hesitation, no lines drawn in the sand. But you can’t help it. Because even with everything between you now, you’re still there, willing him to succeed.

When he crosses the finish line in P3, with Lewis winning the race, the roar of the crowd is deafening. You clap and cheer with the rest of them, smiling despite yourself as Lando lifts his trophy. Max is by your side in the crowd, grinning from ear to ear, but even his elation feels careful, like there’s something unsaid hanging between all of you.

Lando doesn’t look for you when he steps down from the podium. He’s swarmed by cameras and teammates, orange confetti raining down, but he doesn’t scan the crowd like he used to. And you? You stay on the sidelines, your pride for him tangled up in all the things you’re too scared to face.

tag list: @sltwins @sarx164 @hadesnumber1daughter @fullmugwolffish @willowsnook @sageskiesf1 @f1fantasys @cmleitora @rawr-123s-stuff @leclercdream @chezmardybum @landossainz @cloud-55 @sillyfreakfanparty @harrysdimple05 @mwuaferrari @milkysoop @weekendlusting @chezmardybum @isotopemylove @luvvcharxo

[weepingwillowwonder]

YALLLLLL, guess what's on my mind today?~

[CW: Suggestive content, MDNI 🔞, not really proofread]

Playing hide and seek with Alastor in the swamp in his room had become a reoccurrence in your relationship with him. The stipulations being, if you were caught, he could do whatever he pleased with you, with your goal to find your way out of the swamp.

Of course he would always catch you, pin you down wherever you were found and have his way with you. This "game" you weren't meant to win, was just as fun for you too though. He'd thoroughly take care of you, feeding off of your fear and the adrenaline coursing through him as he got to hunt you down.

But one day, you somehow manage to escape, very much to your suprise (and his). Scrambling to leave his room, you take no time looking back to see if he was behind you. You try to act as casual as possible as you head into the lobby of the hotel and take a seat at the bar where some of the residents were gathered.

"Damn toots, what happened to ya?" Angel Dust comments, eyeing your attire almost with disgust. Still trying to catch your breath, you hadn't realized exactly how dirty your clothes had gotten in the swamp. As you were examining yourself, in the corner of your eye, an impeccably dressed Alastor strolls into the lobby, immediately making his way towards you.

Maybe it was the sharpness of his smile, or the stiffness of his posture that has the residents scattering like flies as he approaches you. He doesn't sit down, instead he stays standing, hovering next you and motions to Husk to pour him a drink.

You initially try to ignore him, but a gentle hand settling on your lower back has your head snapping up in his direction in suprise. While subtle, the public display of affection, catches you off guard. When you finally do meet his eyes, the first thing you note is that his pupils are blown, the weight of his gaze sending shivers down your spine.

You stare each other down, unspoken words between you, only broken when you both look to see Husk set down Alastor's drink in front of you. You let out a shaky breath as he accepts the drink and takes a sip, only to hold it again when he leans in close to you, speaking quietly.

"Well done, my dear. Truly, I'm shocked you were able to slip from my grasp." He lets out a small laugh as his lips brush against your ear and the hand on your back slides lower. "Go get cleaned up, then come find me. Hurry now, so I can tear you apart..."

[sugarushwriting]

cherry popper —

sunghoon x reader

getting your cherry popped by your enemy

mature content featured, read at your own discretion

note: i know i know i said a writing schedule but this is my issue — i just want you all to read what i have planned so bad! i’ll start the schedule soon, ignore my last updated post

“you are infuriating!” you screeched, stomping your foot to the ground like a child.

“no, you are!”

“for goodness sake, you both are infuriating!” your professor interrupted your arguing with park sunghoon.

your worst enemy since middle school. now both ready to graduate university soon, nothing has changed.

you and sunghoon turned to your professor with looks of disgust towards one another. your professor has had you both in her classes for 3 semesters as you both shared a major.

“i’ve dealt with you two for too long! always arguing before, after, and during my lectures! you two can’t even stop bickering long enough to enjoy this nice class trip!” the professor rambled.

“professor, i really was trying to enjoy this trip—,” the professor cut you off

“no you haven’t! any given moment you started an argument with mr. park, knowing he will argue back. you two leave me no choice, you are to stay here in your rooms at the hotel, my assistant will be staying on the floor if you two need anything. he’ll most likely try to find a bonding exercise for you two.”

“if we stay here, that means we miss the exhibits!” sunghoon exclaimed, dark bushy eyebrows furrowed in confusion, hurt, and anger towards you.

the professor shrugged. “hopefully it’ll teach you a lesson like i teach my children.” she scolded, waving her finger at both of you.

you and sunghoon stood in the hallway of the hotel dumbfounded that you would be missing the exhibit you both were so excited to view. three months you’ve been waiting for this trip!

you groaned in annoyance, “you just have to ruin everything, huh?”

sunghoon turned to you wide eyed, “me? you’re the one always starting shit between us two!”

“you could just ignore me.” you shrugged trying to place the blame all on him.

“ignore you? i’ve tried, and you never let it go. you keep pestering like an annoying little bug until i reply to you.”

your lip turned up, “listen here you little—,”

“finish that sentence and i’ll ask the hotel to make you clean toilets.” your professors graduate assistant snapped.

you and sunghoon turned around to face the young guy who couldn’t be more than 3 years older than you.

“faked being ill because my girlfriend happened to come down to the city to see me. haven’t seen her in four months as we live apart,” the assistant began explaining, “but now i have to babysit two annoying little young adults who can’t get along for nothing!”

“man, you don’t have to babysit us. we can care for ourselves.” sunghoon stated.

“and risk you two sneaking off?” the assistant shook his head.

you crossed your arms, “so what do you want us to do?”

“the hotel is low on staff in the kitchen. they just need help with dishwashing and putting together cutlery.”

“no way! i don’t want my fingers to turn into raisins!”

“that’s why gloves were invented, cherry.”

you narrowed your eyes, ready to stab sunghoon if you could, especially at the nickname he’s given you for the past year.

“you two, kitchen, now. you can go to your separate rooms afterwards. don’t snitch on me, help the kitchen out, and i’ll tell the professor you two got along well enough to be able to join in on the activities tomorrow.”

“deal.” both you and sunghoon agreed.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

it was all going well—decently well for you and sunghoon until you dropped a plate in the sink, causing the water to splash both you and him.

he splashed water back, so now you and him were banned from dishwashing and instead wrapping cutlery for future hotel guests.

about an hour later, you both were only half way done through the giant bucket of clean dishes.

“this is exhausting!” you sighed. “my neck is starting to hurt.”

“stop whining and just keep going.” sunghoon replied quietly.

“what’s got your panties in a twist?”

sunghoon dropped the fork and spoon he was holding. “mhm, i don’t know, maybe you? always starting arguments with me.”

“you’re the one who started it, park sunghoon.”

“when did i ever start? you are the one who started it back in middle school.”

“middle school? sunghoon, i never even talked to you in middle school until that day you said my hair bow was ugly.” you reminded him.

that’s when sunghoon became your enemy. maybe for a stupid reason, but as a young girl, you had tried a new hair style with a hair bow after your mom made you get a hair cut, that the salon butchered.

you were insecure about it for a while, but it only really unsettled you when sunghoon came up to you one day during lunch telling you that your ‘hair bow was ugly, and nothing can make your hair look pretty again.’

since then, you’ve always sought out to ruin park sunghoon. whether it was getting better grades, to become top of the class. becoming class president so he’d be class vice president.

or even childish things like a whoopie cushion, taking a picture of him picking his nose in private, and even starting arguments over small things.

but the biggest would have to be when you started dating his friend second to last year in high school, you two only ending the relationship a little over a year ago.

kang taehyun.

it was a sneaky move to date your enemy’s friend. but it worked in your favor as just your presence annoyed sunghoon. he started to dislike you even more then.

but it wasn’t like sunghoon and taehyun were best friends, they just happened to be in the same friend group.

sunghoon remembered the day he called your hair bow ugly. he actually didn’t think it was ugly, but he was upset about what he overheard you and your friends at the time saying about him.

then when sunghoon found out you were actually dating taehyun, he couldn’t believe it. he would tease you and only bring it up to taehyun the reasoning for you to date his friend was to annoy him.

sunghoon used to hate seeing you around all the time when he just wanted to be with his friends. he especially disliked whenever taehyun would be too handsy with you.

“i only called your hair bow ugly because you and your friends made fun of me.” sunghoon sighed deeply. his lips went into a thin straight line as he went back to his deep thinking, focused on wrapping the silverware.

you looked at him surprised and confused. “sunghoon, when did my friends and i ever make fun of you?”

sunghoon sighed once more, wanting to forget the whole incident, but knew now was probably a good, but very late time to confront you about it.

“i overheard you all laughing at the fact i was a figure skater at the time, and said something about me being feminine.”

you stood there, too much in shock. your brain racked old memories and conversations, trying to remember that exact time. as you stood and stared, sunghoon continue on with the kitchen chore.

then it hit you, and you slightly chuckled. “sunghoon, we weren’t laughing at you. we were admiring you. the fact you was a boy doing figure skating? we were so impressed! and the feminine thing was a compliment, i promise! i swear as young girls we were jealous because you had a nice body we were jealous of at the time.”

sunghoon snapped his head toward you, observing you for any chance of a lie. he saw none as you stood there and smirked.

“you really called my hair bow ugly, to upset me, because you misheard my conversation with my friends?”

sunghoon scoffed, “well i mean, as a young boy, it was hard enough being a figure skater. i was just, don’t know, very introverted and shy.”

which he still was most times.

“you aren’t introverted or shy around me, sunghoon.”

“because i can’t be. you drive me up the wall on my nerves.”

you laughed. sunghoon liked the sound. he always did.

then he asked, “did i really hurt your feelings by saying your bow was ugly?”

you nodded. “yes you did. that started a war.”

“a war between us that i think we can now end?”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

after another hour, you all were close to finished when the kitchen staff let you go. rubbing your neck, you complained, excited to shower and just lay around for the rest of the night.

it was only 6 in the evening, and the exhibit went on until 9 pm, and you both were sure the professor and classmates would be off doing their own thing for the rest of the night as curfew wasn’t until 1 am.

“wanna watch a movie?” sunghoon asked, startling you. “i mean, there’s nothing else going on for us, and we could, maybe, keep each other entertained?”

you shrugged. “sure. just let me shower first. my room or yours?”

“mine. my friend and roommate, heeseung, snuck in some beer.”

you smiled. “perfect.”

half an hour later, you both were showered, in comfy clothes, and in sunghoon’s hotel room, sitting on the couch at the end of the beds watching a movie.

two drinks in, sunghoon was feeling bold. “why did you date taehyun?”

being caught off guard, you slowly turned your head, then tilted. “uh, why?”

“did you only date him because of me? to make me mad or jealous?”

“more to make you mad.” you teased with a wink.

“well congrats, you made me both mad and jealous by dating my friend.” sunghoon snickered, sipping his bottle of beer. he was no where near drunk or even tipsy. just a bit of extra courage running through his veins.

it was him watching you out of the side of his eye that got him this way. your laugh, your smile, the smell of you, so intoxicating.

you were more shocked and confused than ever. “sunghoon, what?”

sunghoon leaned down to look at your face, “taehyun used to bitch and moan that he could never get in your pants. that you would tease him, only willing to dry hump with him.”

you swallowed but rolled your eyes as well. taehyun always did complain that you never let him have sex with you. it never really bothered you.

taehyun knew you were a virgin. what he didn’t know was that whenever you thought about finally being intimate with him, all you thought about what sunghoon. all you could see was sunghoon. your thoughts were consumed of sunghoon whenever you thought anything sexual.

“why wouldn’t you have sex with your boyfriend, cherry?”

“why do you call me cherry?”

“answer me first.” sunghoon placed the bottle on the floor bedside him so he could turn his body to face you once more.

“uh, well i just didn’t want to have sex with him.” you shrugged one shoulder.

“why not?”

“eh eh, i answered you, your turn.” you tsked.

sunghoon bit his lower lip, staring at your lips as he replied, “because of that cherry lip gloss you always wear.”

you were wearing it now. not only did it look good against your skin, it tasted good too, whenever you got your nervous antics and chewed on your lip.

sunghoon always observed you putting that cherry lip gloss on your lips. it started with the cherry chapstick in high school, but just a little over a year ago you started wearing the cherry lip gloss.

“now answer me.” sunghoon demanded.

you took in a deep breath wondering how much or little to tell him. “well,”

“—was it because he wasn’t me?” sunghoon interrupted, your eyes going wide.

“sunghoon, no, what would give you that idea?”

“he told me he heard you calling out another guy’s name while playing with a toy of yours. he looked at me with anger and disbelief as if i had something to do with it.”

your eyes still wide, mouth shaped into an ‘o.’ you laughed nervously waving sunghoon off, “ah, he probably misheard me, that’s all.”

“i don’t believe you cherry.” sunghoon stated, standing up from the couch only to stand directly in front of you. eye level now with his crotch, you looked at him with innocent and confused eyes.

“sunghoon—,”

sunghoon stopped you mid sentence just by his thumbs hooking to the hem of his sweats, only pulling them down a little, teasing to pull out his cock.

“have you only kissed and dry humped him? what else have you done with him while thinking of me?” sunghoon clicked his tongue.

you shook your head. “sunghoon you’re mistaken!”

“sucked taehyun’s dick while thinking of me? mhm, even dry hump him thinking and wishing it was my lap you were rocking against?”

each sentence, sunghoon leaned in closer, mouth inches from yours. he could smell the cherry lip gloss of yours. excited to taste it finally.

you closed your eyes because—it was the truth. all of it. you blurted, “i never had sex with him because i’m a virgin!”

sunghoon chuckled, raising to his full height again. with a smirk, “mhm so my cherry was waiting to get her cherry popped by her enemy.”

you tightened your legs closer together for friction, but also to prevent yourself from becoming any wetter at just his words.

your movement didn’t go unnoticed from sunghoon. he got down on his knees in front of you. “has my cherry thought about getting ate out from her enemy? have you imagined it was me instead of taehyun going down on you?”

you shook your head, wanting to not believe this was happening. it wasn’t until you felt sunghoon’s teeth bite your thigh through your own bottoms, you snapped your eyes open.

“what was that for!”

sunghoon laughed, “be honest baby.” then, you nodded. “guess i’ll have to make your imagination become reality, huh?”

quick and easy, he got your bottoms off of your legs, and used his thumb to tease your clit through your underwear. a wet spot already beginning to form.

sunghoon’s eyes sparkled with neediness and excitement. he got up from his knees, you internally protesting, until his lips captures yours into a searing kiss.

he whispered against your lips, “so tasty, cherry,” as he continued to intensely work his lips against yours, loving the cherry lip gloss against his own lips.

he soon fell back to his knees, kissing up your right thigh before he moved your underwear to the side, poking his index finger to your cunt. he was met with tightness and some resistance, but only because it was a new feeling, new fingers for you. long, fingers to be exact.

sunghoon poked his index finger in your hole, followed by his middle finger, your legs opening wider for him, head rolling to the back of the couch with a groan. your hands gripped the couch, fingers digging into the cushions.

sunghoon then added a third finger, his ring finger, and your right leg went to hook over his shoulder, him holding your left wide open for him.

it was so much you wanted to snap your legs closed. sunghoon rocked his fingers in and out a few times, until your wetness covered his fingers, and he pulled out, quickly undressing you of your underwear. but just as quickly as his fingers were gone, it was replaced with his tongue and lips.

“sung—hoon!” you sang into a moan, left hand gripping his locks.

he moaned into your cunt, lapping up the juices you had to offer to him, occasionally using his k-9 teeth to nibble on your folds and clit. when his lips found home onto your clit, using his tongue to swirl, teeth to nibble, three of his fingers entered back into your cunt, no warning or teasing. he began rocking his fingers in and out in a medium pace, his tongue flicking your bud.

your chest and stomach began to tighten, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, head rolling onto the back of the couch from left to right. he removed his lips, fingers still, only to spit on your cunt, and got right back to work as if he didn’t pause to begin with.

this orgasm was about to be intense. taehyun never gave you mind blowing head like this. he was always decent, though. but sunghoon’s tongue was magic and had you coming way too soon.

“hoon!” you moaned loudly, hoping no one outside the door could hear you. “i’m—hoon, i—come—my goodness!” you babbled.

sunghoon used only his tongue while you came down from your first orgasm of the night.

your body jerked from the overstimulation, you pushing sunghoon’s head away.

“taste so good, cherry. better than i imagined.” he whispered once again, against your lips, before kissing you, his tongue poking through to find yours.

while kissing him, sunghoon grabbed you by your thighs so he picked you up and held you, turning around so he sat on the couch with you straddling him.

your wetness immediately started to stain his sweats, but he didn’t care. “hump me, cherry.”

“like this?” you asked. he wanted you to hump him? you bare below, him with his sweats?

you squealed when a palm of his came down to your bare ass. “it wasn’t an option, cherry.”

you nodded, biting your lip, as you began to rock your hips back and forth and in circles around his cock which was imprinting through his sweats. your cunt could feel the outline of him, getting wetter with each movement.

soon, you were on your way to your second orgasm. sunghoon’s hands gripped your waist, guiding your movements as you became more sloppy, only worried about reaching your second orgasm.

“that’s it cherry, use me like you’ve always wanted.” fuck sunghoon’s words were not (but was) helping.

your hands gripped his shoulders, trying to steady yourself as your movements increased as your orgasm was approaching.

your thighs started to become wet from your own juices, a big spot covering sungoon’s outline.

sunghoon pulled you closer as you came, he began sucking and kissing your neck, sending you over the edge even more.

your movements slowed down, as his hands stayed glued to your hips. your breathing became heavy against his collarbone, you giving it a peck, leaving a lip mark.

you’ve had two orgasms, sunghoon none. you leaned back to look sunghoon in the eyes. “what about you coming?”

sunghoon’s lips perked up, “cherry, i’ll come, don’t you worry.”

sunghoon from underneath, pulled down his sweat pants, your thighs and cunt somewhat hovering over him. you felt his tip brush against your folds, your body shivering with excitement.

you only hoped your toys prepared you enough for this moment. sunghoon pushed his sweats off as far as he could, down to his ankles. his shirt came off next, along with yours, leaving you both completely naked.

“cherry, i hope you used a dildo big enough.” he stated as he pulled a condom out from between the couch cushions. you were to entranced to even comment on that.

you bit your lip, “i hope so too, hoon.” you sighed against his lips, kissing him, as he helped you ease down on his hard cock after he put on the condom.

you bit down on his lip when he fully pushed you down on his length, a loud moan coming from you both.

“fuck, so tight cherry.” sunghoon groaned, head leaning back against the couch. “those toys did nothing to prepare you for me.”

you stayed still, both in a comfortable position. “i’m scared to move.”

“just go slow, okay?” sunghoon’s fingertips ran up and down your spine to comfort you. with a sigh of pleasure, you lifted your hips to the tip only, to slowly push back down.

you were sure you felt him in your stomach. slowly, you kept a rhythm of up and down on his length, occasionally rocking your clit forward for friction.

soon your thighs were starting to tense and become tired. “hoon, can—can you take over please?” you sighed against his cheek, nose resting in his neck.

without even removing himself from in you, sunghoon stood up from the couch, your wetness dripping in between the both of you. he carried you over to his bed, your legs wrapped around him.

he laid you on the bed, again, never slipping from inside you. his hand found one of your hips, the other resting against your cheek.

“let me know if it’s too much.” sunghoon stated before he pulled out completely only to push back with such force, your cunt squelched, your eyes shutting, a loud moan leaving your lips.

“fuck! sunghoon!”

you wasn’t expecting that. but honestly, you wasn’t expecting or even wanting him to be gentle.

for the next however long, which felt like hours, sunghoon rutted his cock in and out of your cunt with ease, your wetness spilling out on your thighs and his.

his thumb came down to your clit, rubbing left, right, up, and down, stimulating you just right to bring you to your third orgasm of the night.

“that’s it cherry, baby come on my cock. come on your first cock. fuck!” sunghoon moaned. “such a dirty slut thinking about your enemy while with that ex of yours.”

“hoon—sorry,” you apologized for no reason at all. why was you apologizing?

“wanted me to be the one to pop your cherry? got your wish.” sunghoon sighed, his pace of thrusts speeding up and becoming sloppy as he was chasing his first orgasm. “fucking whore thinking of me while playing with your toys. imagining it was me eating you out. kissing you. all while with—,”

with a loud, explosive moan, you cut sunghoon off as you came for the third time. no squirting involved, but you did have so much wetness dripping out of you, anyone could be mistaken.

sunghoon released into the condom with a low, throaty, growl-like moan, collapsing on top of you before rolling off.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

sometime in the middle of the night, you heard hush whispers. you didn’t move an inch, only somewhat, subconsciously listening.

“sorry man, i can ask her to leave?”

“absolutely not! i’ll go bunk with her roommate for this trip. once i tell her why i need somewhere to sleep she will be more than thrilled.”

it was heeseung, coming in after 3 am. once he saw you and sunghoon in the same bed, he didn’t even ask questions, only smiled.

about damn time you two fucked the anger out of one another.

sunghoon crawled back in bed next to you, your body only covered by a shirt of his. sunghoon stared at your sleeping figure with a smile.

you were finally his.

[n0ahsebastians]

you can be all i got...

this is a little bit of a softer fic. i wanted to save the smut/sexual content for some other things i'm planning to write hehe

this was a request from someone so this is dedicated to that person <3

i hope you all enjoy this one, it's just pure fluff and softness <3

It was happening again. She was feeling worthless about herself, about this relationship. It happened every few months. At least it used to. It was more common now, with him being gone on tour and the band blowing up over the last couple years. She was in her head, her thoughts were scaring her. She really wanted this to work. It was working, or at least she had hoped it was. 

He was coming home tonight. It was their last show of the year and she was so excited to finally see him again. She was off work for the day, trying to keep herself busy from the awful thoughts floating through her head. What would she say to him? How was she supposed to tell him she was feeling awful about their relationship again? How was she supposed to explain to him that her friends talked about them as if she wasn’t in the room? She told him once and he told her to ignore them, that it meant nothing to him. She was important to him, more important than people talking stupidly about their relationship. It was childish honestly.

The front door opened while she was busy cleaning the dishes and she didn’t hear him come in. He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle. She nearly dropped the dishes in the sink.

“Jesus Christ,” she gasped, feeling her heart nearly plummet out of her chest. He chuckled, pressing his face into the nape of her neck. 

“Hi baby.”

“You scared me.” She had soap on her hands but rested them over his as he swayed them back and forth. 

“Sorry,” he kissed her cheek and then the top of her head. She closed her eyes, feeling his warmth against the back of her neck, the weight of him against her back comforting her. She could feel his lips against her temple, his breathing slow and calm as he held her. 

“I missed you so much,” she whispered, reaching for a towel to dry her hands. She turned in his grasp to face him, looking up at his so tired eyes and the dark circles that accumulated underneath him. She wanted to kiss away the lines in his forehead and take away all his tiredness. Everything that was bothering him, or maybe everything that was bothering her. 

“Missed you more.” He kissed her softly, pressing her gently against the counter, his hands around her waist. He could feel the tears falling against her cheeks gently. He pulled away from her, resting their foreheads together. 

“What’s wrong, love?”

She wanted to tell him but she didn’t want him to think she was being ridiculous. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt this way about them. To the public eye, and even to their friends, she had always been “the older woman”. 

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just…I’m happy you’re home.” 

“Something else’s wrong,” he whispers, rubbing his thumbs along her cheekbones. She wouldn’t look at him, she couldn’t. It’s not that she felt any shame in them being together, she never had. But looking at him right now, in this very moment, seemed like it would just break her. 

“Will you look at me please?” 

No, she thought, I can’t look at you, it hurts too much. 

But she did. She looked into his eyes again, those eyes that were always so full of love and adoration for her. For their relationship, for everything that she was. She loved him, she did. But it was eating away at her, the thoughts of him leaving her, the thoughts of him thinking this wasn’t working anymore. 

“Talk to me,” he rested his forehead against hers again, listening to her soft breathing and feeling the warmth of her body against his. 

“I’m just…people are talking again, you know? About us.”

“So?”

Noah never felt the same way as everyone else did about them. When they first met, the band was just starting out, just making a break for themselves. He knew even then she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She wasn’t even much older than him; 6 years was nothing to him. To her it was a constant battle she was fighting everyday. 

“That doesn’t bother you?” 

“Why should it? They’re all assholes anyways.”

He was right of course. That didn’t change how she felt about any of it however. The reassurance was there but the thoughts wouldn’t leave.

“How can I make you understand that I don’t give a shit what all those people think about us? What your friends think? I don’t care. I really don’t. I love you, nothing’s going to change that. I’ve always loved you.” 

She wrapped her hands around his wrists, sniffling at his words. He was so sweet, the kindest person she had ever been with, probably ever in her life. She was so tired of feeling this way but it was hard. It was hard to put the thoughts aside even when he was saying how much he loved her and cared about them.

“Noah…”

“I love you. I need you to hear me right now, okay? I need you to listen to what I’m saying.” 

She nodded slowly, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. 

“You’re the love of my life. I don’t care if people think you’re too old for me, that doesn’t fucking matter to me, okay? You’re everything to me, I love you. I knew I loved you when I saw you planning our shows with Matt at the venues and I knew I loved you when you told me your favorite movie was ‘10 Things’. I loved you the first time we kissed and when you told me your favorite song of ours was ‘Careful What You Wish For’.”

“That’s a lot of times to realize you love someone,” she chuckled and looked down at the floor again. 

“Those were all the times I fell in love with you over and over again. Everything I saw you doing, saying, telling my friends, I knew I loved you every time. And it made me fall in love with you even more.”

She was crying now. She loved this man so much. She loved absolutely everything about him and more. 

“I love you,” she whispered, reaching up to cup his cheeks in her hands. 

“I love you so much, you have no idea.”

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, his lips soft against hers. He held her close as if she might disappear in his very grasp. Nothing else seemed to matter to either of them at that very moment in time, just the two of them in the four walls of their shared home. 

“I have something for you,” he says against her lips, giving her a small peck before reaching into his jacket pocket. A small box was retrieved and her lips parted at the sight of it. She didn’t want to look too much into it, but if it was what she thought…

“Noah…are you…?”

“I told you you mean everything to me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me.” 

He opened the box. A silver band with a small diamond nestled on top was inside. She felt her breath shudder, the diamond reflecting off the kitchen light above them. It was so simple but so beautiful. Almost a reflection of their relationship. Simple yet beautiful. 

“Marry me,” he voice shakes as he says the words, the words he’d been planning to ask for weeks. It was all he could think about during the last few weeks of the tour. 

“Are…are you s-serious?” she whispers, her hands shaking as she reaches for the small box. 

“Yes, so serious.” 

She laughs gently and it’s music to his ears. He’s in love with her, so deeply in love with her. He could not think of a better woman to spend his life with. It was her, it’s always been her.

“Yes,” she breathes, not even realizing she’d said the word. She’d say yes in a million universes to this man if she could. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes, of course, yes, I’ll…fucking marry you, Noah.” 

Their kiss is deep, saying a thousand more things than words ever could. It’s the words she wished she could say to all those fucking people ever doubted their relationship, all those people who ever said he would leave her for someone younger. It was everything he had told her to reassure her and more. It was everything. 

“I love you so much, baby,” he whispered, kissing her cheeks, her nose, her chin, everywhere that he could to make sure she knew how loved she was by him. 

“I love you, this is…wow.”

He placed the small band on her ring finger, watching the way it slid perfectly along the digit. 

“I measured one of your rings before I left,” he admitted, interlocking their fingers together to feel the band against his own skin.

“You did?”

“Mhm.”

“How long have you been planning this for?”

“A few weeks, maybe like…two months.”

Her eyebrows nearly shot up into her hairline. 

“You’ve been planning to ask me to marry you for two months?”

He shrugged, the corner of his lips moving up into a smirk. 

“You’re something else, Sebastian, you know that?”

“You love me.”

She did. “Yeah…yeah I do.”

[leighsartworks216]

Scar Tissue

Sylus x gn!Reader

Eyyyyy @comatosebunny09 I finally finished it >:3

Based on this post

Title from "Scar Tissue" by Red Hot Chili Peppers

Warnings: cuddling, early relationship, intimacy, injury, guns, knives, semi-nudity

Word Count: 2,421

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“Speak.”

The generic carpet muffles his footfalls as he crosses the room to the oversized floor to ceiling windows that peer out over Chansia City. You follow behind him until you get to the dresser, lined neatly with your clothes.

The hotel is very nice, especially high up here in the presidential suite. Though, you haven’t had much time to actually enjoy it. You got here yesterday, and it feels like all you’ve had time for is sleeping and getting dressed. It’s all been meetings, deals and exchanges otherwise. The only reason you’re back here at all is to change clothes to go to dinner with another client.

Sylus sighs, irritation painting his face with a scowl. You can just barely hear Luke’s voice on the other end. They’ve been holding down the N109 Zone in Sylus’s absence. “More petty land grabs?”

“Nah, from what we’ve heard it sounds like an affair came to light and now they’re duking it out to win their love.”

You snicker as you pull out a clean shirt. You turn and drop it on the bed, back to Sylus as you take off your shirt, bloody and torn from your earlier meeting. He turns to shoot you a half-amused half-annoyed glance over his shoulder. “Have Mephisto-”

But the words get stuck in his throat. Time seems to slow down as he stares at the bare expanse of your back. Your skin looks like a well-used cutting board. Scar after scar, criss-crossing over each other, fundamentally altering the appearance of your flesh for years to come.

He can pinpoint which were from missions he’d sent you on. Jobs that put you in the line of fire, where you had to fight your way out to survive, where someone got a surprise jump on you.

Others are completely foreign. Cuts and bullet wounds and burn marks, all unfamiliar to him. What secrets from your past do you keep locked away from him? How safe are you from the ones that hurt you? Would you ever tell him if something was wrong? If something cropped up from back then, from a time he’d never know enough of? Perhaps not.

Somehow, the former was worse. Knowing he was the one that sent you into trouble. Or those damn injuries you earned from taking a hit intended for him. Being the root cause for your pain aches more than never knowing the damage you incurred before.

You slip your shirt on, hiding the marks from view, and peek over your shoulder at him, confused by his silence. Time speeds back up.

He schools his features into something neutral, hiding the regret and hurt, and burying it deep down within him. He looks out the windows once more. Luke asks if he’s alright. Sylus ignores it, speaking as if nothing ever happened.

-

Dinner was dull, for the most part. The client didn’t seem to understand that you weren’t there for conversation, repeatedly prompting you to answer questions. You’d have signaled Sylus to put the man in his place, but it was all too amusing to see him flounder.

“What kind of gun do you use?” You’d slipped it from its holder mid sip of wine and dropped it onto the table with a heavy thud. That’d taken him by surprise. He recovered quickly enough, spewing off facts about the make and model that you already knew.

“Has it been modified?” You broke it down and separated the parts that had been replaced or enhanced. He’d curiously reached out to inspect them, but you put it back together before he could touch anything. He paused, but put on a slightly strained, polite smile as he awkwardly sat back in his chair.

“How good is your aim?” You shot the end of his cigarette when he went to tap the ashes into a dish, scaring him so bad he shook the entire table and had to rapidly keep his drink from tipping into his lap.

He seemed content to leave you be after that.

You fall back into the bed, arms spread out wide and still in your dinner attire. Sylus chuckles. “Have fun?” he teases. He sits down beside you, leaning on his arm with an amused grin.

You shoot an unimpressed glare his way. Fabric rustles as you slide your hand along the bed to hold his arm, caressing the tensed muscles of his forearm. “Don’t worry, you can make it up to me.”

His grin turns into a salacious smirk. You smack his bicep. “Not like that.”

“You don’t know what I was going to suggest.” Nonetheless, he kicks off his shoes by the side of the bed and lays down beside you. With one hand acting as a pillow, the other rests comfortably on your stomach. You wrap your arm around his neck to play with his hair. Content, you close your eyes.

The last vestiges of the sun filter through the window. Combined with the few lights in the room, you look… peaceful. It’s starting to become a common sight, and he takes great pleasure in being the one allowed to witness it. These times when you trust him enough to relax. When you stop listening out for the slightest hint of danger. When your body releases the tension constantly preparing your body for an attack. It’s a privilege. He hopes never to take it for granted.

Your fingers flit lazily through his hair. His body still tenses on the onset of your touch. His natural instinct yells for him to pull away, go on the defensive, protect himself. It’s always a battle to fight against them and allow himself to completely trust someone. As this - cuddling together, the small moments of physical intimacy and skinship - become the normal, the fight gets easier and easier.

He wonders if that same defensive instinct wars on in your head when he slips his hand under the hem of your shirt. The first brush of his fingers on your flesh, the flinch of muscle away from the contact, that eases back into his touch after a pause. If it does, you say nothing of it. Rather, when your stomach flinches away, you tug on his hair. An equal exchange. And perhaps a reminder of the lengths you have both gone to expose yourselves to each other.

Calloused fingertips dance across your belly, hidden by the fabric of your shirt. Soft ridges and toughened skin of layers of damage done across the years. His mind is shot back to the thoughts he had earlier. You can feel the shift in his touch. The way his fingers lift to barely ghost over your skin, as though you’re as thin and fragile as wet tissue paper. You open your eyes to watch him.

His face is stern. Like when discussing a difficult deal, his brow is furrowed and his eyes are dark. He slowly pushes up the shirt until it rests in a rumpled heap around the bottom of your ribcage. The shift in your breathing latches on at the edge of his senses. Just as with your back, scar after scar decorates your skin. But one stands out from the rest.

Along the line of your hip is a cut. It’s shallow. The skin it tore apart is irritated from lack of care and not having a moment to rest properly.

That’s his fault, too. Dragging you out to a dinner you didn’t really want to go to instead of giving you the opportunity to sleep and heal. Technically, you’re his bodyguard - his guard dog, always by his side, defending him from anyone who you deem a threat. Yet, he’s discomfited by just how quickly you step in to protect him. That’s what this scar is the result of.

The meeting this morning. A fight broke out. He was aiming a gun at the other group leader. One of their lackeys came up from the side with a knife. And you got hit. It had bled, but you’d brushed him off so easily when he mentioned it. You weren’t doubled over, nor were you in a rush to patch it up, so he trusted your judgement. Without a second thought.

Fortunately, your judgement is dependable. All it really needs is a bandage to keep the skin together and bacteria out while it heals, and yet he doesn’t get up. He doesn’t move. All he does is trace alongside it, feeling how it becomes intertwined with the scars before it.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he says, but the tone of his voice is odd. Teasing, edged with something raw. Something more vulnerable. Something that you two have been dancing around for weeks. “Tell me the next time you’re hurt. I’ll patch you up.”

You brush the hair from his face. His red eyes shift first to the bunched up fabric of your shirt, then to yours. His eyes are soft. The deep maroon of before has melted into a bloody crimson.

“I can patch myself up.”

He scoffs with a smirk and the slight tilt of his head. “I wasn’t asking, sweetie.”

You quirk a brow up at him. “Does it bother you?”

“Yeah,” he agrees readily.

Your fingers falter. He brushes his thumb more firmly along the edge of the cut, still light enough that it doesn’t hurt, but with enough force that it no longer feels like he’s treating you like something fragile.

You frown at him, tapping three times at the base of his skull, a silent request for more information. He pushes himself up onto his elbow. It should be salacious, even intimidating, for him to hover over you like this. But it’s not.

His eyes follow his hand as he traces other marks on your belly. A bullet entrance wound here, a Wanderer’s blade there. The ones he caresses are newer. They haven’t yet faded into your skin. Of all of them, he’d only helped treat one or two. Some, he never even knew about, but he could trace back to when, what mission, they were received from.

“How many of these are from protecting me?” he asks lowly. “You do realize I can heal from all of these much faster than you can, don’t you, sweetie?”

You tilt your head. “It bothers you… that I do my job?”

He chuckles, but the mirth doesn’t reach his eyes. “You could stand to be a little less efficient at it.”

The world falls quiet. The sun disappears, leaving darkness in her wake. The orange glow of the hotel lamps forms mountains and valleys along your skin. You study him, searching for answers.

Over your lifetime struggling to survive, you’d gotten good at reading people, Sylus included. Of course, he had broken your assumptions and expectations. If he hadn’t, you’d never have let him get so close. Never have allowed him to touch you like this, see your skin like this.

Right now, you can’t understand him.

He hired you to be his bodyguard, to protect him. To be his own personal shield when shit hits the fan. But he doesn’t want you to? A lingering fear in your mind worries for the end of your partnership. Would he really touch you like this if he wanted to fire you? Besides, when you made the damn deal, he said only you would have the power to call it off. He wasn’t someone to go against his word.

You drop your hand from his hair. His eyes snap to you, a flicker of fear that is snuffed out when you touch his chest. He’s still wearing his nice dress shirt, jacket discarded elsewhere. You play with one of the buttons. “How many times have you stepped in to protect me?” you ask.

Countless times. More and more frequently.

“Do you let any of them scar?”

He slowly shakes his head. It’s always second nature for him to use his Evol to take care of any and all injuries. Anything that could scar is gone before he has a chance to think about it, so long as he’s in the right conditions to use it.

“Then you can’t understand.”

He hums. “Enlighten me.”

You grin. Gliding your hand from his chest, down his arm, you hold the back of his where it rests on your stomach. It doesn’t take much effort to guide him. He watches, feels the scars that scrape by, as you bring it back back down to your hip, until his palm rests over the cut. It will heal within a couple of weeks, probably less. Once it’s healed, it will scar over. Once it scars over, it will be nothing more than a lasting memory embedded in your skin.

“They’re badges,” you say quietly. When he looks back up at you, you’re watching his hand, trailing your fingertips over the veins that decorate them. “I earned them from protecting you.”

So why would I not want them?

It goes unsaid, but he catches it anyway in the gentle reverence of your carress, the quirk of your brow when you look at him wordlessly asking if he can understand now. It doesn’t need to be said.

He slips his hand out from under yours. The bed shifts with his weight as he turns and gets up. You feel the loss immediately. It’s easy to hide the disappointment, but it churns over in your gut, more distinctly than you’ve ever felt it before, as he disappears around the corner of the wall. Did he really hate them so much?

He returns a minute later when you’re considering fixing your shirt with a medkit in hand. He sits on his knees, sets the kit down beside your body, and opens it up to get what he needs. The disinfectant stings as he wipes it along the cut, but you hardly feel it when he just looks so beautiful. So focused on taking care of you.

“Tell me when you're hurt,” he reminds you. He unspools a length of gauze and wraps it around your midsection securely. He glances at you with a slight grin as he grabs a roll of bandages from the kit. “They won’t scar well if they get infected first.”

A week later, you’re the one patching him up. He sits calmly on the couch as you draw a needle through the skin of his bicep. It’s just a knife wound. Earned from stepping in to protect you.

He can’t wait to see the scar.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip

[trixy812]

nanami smut one shot plsplslpslpls plz !!

First time

{Nanami Kento x reader}

ִֶָ࣪☾. Content: kento nanami x reader (boyfriend x girlfriend), fluff, smut!, mdni, first time, Nanami!Virgin, no protection

ִֶָ࣪☾. Synopsis: It was inevitable. Nanami was going to lose his virginity to you

ִֶָ࣪☾. AN: Sorry it took me longer than expected! It's been crazy and a little bit sad days. This is the second Omake of my Nanami x reader series :) it can also been read as a one-shot. This is my first time wrting smut it was really difficult (normally I write everything in spanish first and then I translate it and Man! sex words are hard to translate!)

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4

Reader meets Gojo

First time

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The karaoke lights had been soft and almost romantic that night, but the heat between you and Nanami had reached an almost unbearable point. The kisses, the furtive touches sneaking under clothing, the palpable desire surrounding you both—it had been too much. At some moment, particularly when you had deftly and proudly unbuttoned and unzipped your irresistible boyfriend’s pants while still tangling your tongue with his, you were on the verge of freeing his pulsating erection from his boxers… when Nanami stopped you.

“Not here,” he said in a husky voice, his hands still gripping your hips. “This isn’t how I want our first time to be.”

At first, you felt a pang of frustration, but you understood what he meant. However, now, a few days later, something had shifted. Nanami was still attentive and loving, but there was a certain physical distance, as if something was holding him back. He no longer kissed you with the same urgency or held you by the waist with that passion that made you feel completely his.

Your mind, traitorous as ever, began whispering insecurities.

Maybe he doesn’t like you that much. Maybe he doesn’t desire you like you desire him. Maybe you’re not enough.

It had been a week since Nanami noticed something was different about you. It was almost imperceptible: a distraction in your eyes, a pause before replying to his messages. At first, he said nothing, preferring to give you space, but he couldn’t deny that the thought of something being wrong gnawed at him.

That afternoon, after your last class of the day, as often as his schedule allowed, Nanami came to pick you up. But instead of the animated chatter that usually filled the walks, you were silent, your gaze fixed on the ground. Nanami noted your unease, and although he tried to ignore it, he couldn’t.

When you reached your apartment, you turned to him with a tired smile.

“Thanks for walking me home, Kento. I’ll see you another day, okay?”

He frowned, placing a hand on the doorframe to stop you from closing the door.

“What’s going on?”

“What? Nothing, I’m just tired, that’s all,” you said, avoiding his gaze.

“You know I’m not stupid. Something’s bothering you, and you’d rather carry it alone than tell me,” he said with his usual calm tone, but there was a tension in his voice that made you step back.

You huffed, crossing your arms.

“It’s nothing important, Kento. I don’t want to bother you with silly things.”

“Let me decide what’s important or not,” he replied, stepping into the apartment uninvited.

You sighed, closing the door behind him. “Fine, if you insist…” You hesitated for a moment. Nanami was already sitting in one of the two chairs at your small dining table, so you decided to sit down as well.

“Is it that… you don’t find me attractive?”

The question caught him off guard. His eyes widened more than usual.

“What? Where is this coming from?”

“It’s just that…” You lowered your gaze, fidgeting with your hands. “After what happened at the karaoke, I feel like you’re different. Like you don’t want to touch me or kiss me anymore. And I’d understand if it’s because you’re not that into me, but… it makes me sad.”

Nanami seemed at a loss for words for a moment. He stood up slowly from the chair and knelt in front of you so your eyes were level with his.

“Y/N, that’s not true. Not at all,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You’re beautiful. I’m so attracted to you that sometimes I think I’ll lose my mind just looking at you.”

“Then what’s going on?” you asked, tears welling up in your eyes. “Why does it feel like you don’t want to be close to me in that way anymore?”

Nanami sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked uncomfortable but determined to explain himself.

“I’m nervous,” he confessed, lowering his gaze for a moment before meeting yours again. “That night at karaoke… I wanted to keep going. Really. But I thought it wouldn’t be fair to you, or to me… And after that, I started overthinking everything.”

“Overthinking what?” you asked, still confused.

“That I want it to be special for both of us. And that you’ve been with someone before.”

His confession left you stunned. “How do you know that?” Nanami ignored your question completely, not even reacting to it, and continued speaking.

“It’s just…” He paused, struggling to find the right words. “I feel like I won’t be able to stop myself from comparing to that experience. I don’t want to disappoint you or make you think I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You looked at him, incredulous. “Is that what’s bothering you?”

Nanami nodded, clearly embarrassed. “I’ve even been reading books like The Key... Books that might help me… do better for you. I want it to be perfect, something you’ll never regret.”

The tenderness you felt for him in that moment was overwhelming. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, though your eyes still shimmered with tears. “Kento, you’re a complete idiot.”

Nanami frowned, clearly confused. “What?”

“The first time is never perfect,” you said, cupping his face in your hands. “I don’t need you to read books or prepare like it’s an exam. I just want you to be with me.”

Nanami stared at you intently, his face so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with your own. His hand rose slowly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear with a tenderness that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Y/N…” he murmured your name softly, but his tone carried an intensity, as if every ounce of adoration he felt for you was encapsulated in those letters.

He leaned in, and his lips met yours with an urgency that stole your breath away. It was a kiss filled with need, as if he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. His hands were far from idle. One rested on your cheek, cradling you like something precious and fragile, while the other slid down your arm to settle on your waist, pulling you closer.

Still seated, you leaned into him, your fingers finding their way into his blond hair, tangling in the strands with desperate affection.

The kiss deepened, and Nanami let out a soft sigh against your lips, as though releasing something he had been holding back for far too long. There was a fierceness in the way he kissed you, but also a meticulous care, as if he wanted to commit every detail of this moment to memory.

His lips parted just enough to let you both catch your breath, but not enough to break the moment. His half-lidded gaze met yours, his breathing ragged, and his lips slightly reddened from the fervent kiss.

Despite the unrestrained passion, you could tell Nanami was still nervous—not out of lack of desire, but because he was, after all, himself: a perfectionist, someone who wanted to give you his absolute best.

You felt butterflies in your stomach too, but it wasn’t fear or insecurity. It was determination. The disappointment of your first experience no longer intimidated you, because this was different. This was Nanami. And that changed everything.

"Stand up," you instructed, your voice steady. Without hesitation, he obeyed, now standing before you, his posture stiff, betraying the nerves he tried to hide.

Still seated, with your legs crossed, you kept your gaze fixed on him, feeling a rush of anticipation course through you. Your hands, steady yet gentle, reached for the waistband of his trousers. The motion was slow, almost ceremonial, as you felt the firmness of his abdomen beneath the fabric. Your fingers worked precisely, unbuttoning the top before carefully sliding down the zipper, the sound amplified in the quiet room.

As your hands lowered the fabric without hesitation, the tension in Nanami's body became evident. His muscles subtly tensed at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he remained perfectly still, allowing you to continue. Inside, you felt a surge of courage—not because you were experienced, but because Nanami’s own nerves paradoxically gave you strength. Someone had to take the lead, to be the strong one for both of you, and you were proud it could be you.

Sliding his trousers and underwear down his hips, you let them fall gently to his knees.

And there it was. A solid and imposing erection. Just the sight of it made your core ache, pulsing with the desire to feel something tangible.

Nanami took a deep breath, his eyes glancing to the side, unable to meet yours directly. His cheeks burned with a deep blush, and in a low, firm tone, he muttered:

"Never say again that you don’t attract me…” His voice faltered slightly before he continued, still avoiding your gaze. “Look... how hard you make me.”

Hearing his words, something ignited within you, and an overwhelming wave of desire surged through your body. You licked every inch of his testicles, letting your tongue trace along the length of his shaft. Taking as much of his erection as you could into your mouth, you began sucking and drawing him in with eager attention.

Nanami didn’t moan—he growled softly, expressing his pleasure through the guttural sounds that escaped him, showing just how much he appreciated the care you were giving his throbbing erection.

But just as he neared the brink, you paused, withdrawing your attention. It was your turn now.

Decisively, you slid out of your pants and underwear, revealing your center. Without breaking eye contact with Nanami, you grasped his wrists firmly and guided him down until he was kneeling before you. The intensity in his gaze revealed that any lingering nerves had been replaced by pure desire, his rapid breathing reflecting how much you affected him.

Gripping the backs of your knees, he pushed your legs apart, exposing your most intimate self.

Nanami, always so composed and reserved, now stared at your exposed sex with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. Slowly, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your center. The warmth of his breath against you made your mind spiral.

As he tasted you for the first time, his eyes lit up in a way that was utterly uncharacteristic—a genuine, pure delight that disarmed him completely. You were delicious, and the realization left him undone.

In seconds, his usual restraint crumbled. He devoured you with unbridled enthusiasm, losing himself entirely in the act. For a moment, the ever-gentlemanly Nanami was gone, replaced by someone who savored every moment as if the world had narrowed to just you.

FLUTTER!

With a swift and decisive motion, Nanami reversed your positions. Now he sat in the chair, and you straddled his lap. This was the moment.

You brought your forehead to his, letting them rest against each other, and with one last kiss, you guided his erection clumsily but confidently to your waiting entrance. Holding your breath, you let him fill you completely.

"Nothing in my life has ever felt this good," Nanami thought.

You wrapped your arms around him, wanting him as close as possible. His hands gripped your hips firmly as he set a steady and fast rhythm. You could feel the heat building inside you as your bodies moved together in perfect sync.

Nanami’s rhythm faltered, and with a strained groan, he surrendered. The heat of his release filled you, leaving you trembling in his arms.

You shared a look, a smile, and one last passionate kiss.

Still holding him tightly, your forehead against his, you whispered:

“It was perfect.”

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

A/N: Nanami knows you are not a virgin anymore because one time he overheard your mom said to your dad something like

"She thinks we are dumb. She said she was going out to eat with a friend and she came back hungry and with her hair wet..."

>////////////<

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4

Reader meets Gojo

First time

[zosan-secondchances]

The Pirate King of the North: Part 4

Main Themes: Villain Sanji, Alternate Universe, Zosan Ship

Warning: Long post ahead with One Piece spoilers. Contains strong language and explicit content.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Three days after the call, Sanji follows Zoro’s instructions to the book and waits for him at an island with a bustling town in the middle of the day. The blonde is well aware of the local Marine base in the area but he ignores this fact and turns up at the townsquare just as he promised, not wanting to disappoint his, hopefully, future fiance. Unsurprisingly, he is met by navy officers who tell him to come along quietly.

Law had refused to use The Polar Tang to contain their guest as he didn’t want to risk his submarine and crew to suffer any potential consequences as a result of the interrogation that they're planning. Zoro had to pull strings to borrow a room at the Marine base, stating that it’s for an official Warlord business. He and the doctor had been waiting for over half an hour overtime for the soldiers to return with Sanji. Zoro sends additional troops to investigate the delay. After another suspicious amount of time of having received no news, the two decide to investigate the matter themselves.

Zoro and Law make their way to the townsquare where the swordsman had instructed Sanji to be. Upon arrival, it was clear what had happened to the navy soldiers that he’d sent out. Deep red and severed body parts taint the white tiles throughout the block. A few had somehow made their way on top of trees and the shops’ window sills. Some float lifelessly in the fountain right in the middle–its sprinkling water had changed to a scarlet red. Liquid splatters grossly against the white marble sculptures that decorated the water feature.

Law grits his teeth, his knuckles turn white from gripping his sword tightly.

Zoro all but rolls his eyes. He hates the fact that he’s used to Sanji doing this sort of thing.

Zoro

What a waste.

They follow a trail. It’s not hard to find where Sanji had gone given how much blood there was, and Zoro had a sneaking suspicion that the blonde had purposely left his stained footprints to show where he’s going. He enjoys Zoro chasing him this way after all.

While walking, Law sends a message through his own den-den mushi to his crew, ordering them to check in on the citizens and make sure that everyone’s safe. Not long after, Bepo reports that the citizens are unharmed–extremely shaken but they’re untouched. The polar bear adds that a few witnesses say that it was only the Marines who tried to force the Pirate King into cuffs that had been torn apart. Some had apparently been allowed to flee.

Law looked to Zoro, as if expecting him to have a reasonable explanation as to why the Pirate King behaves the way he does. Cutting down local town Marines seems a bit too excessive in his opinion. The swordsman confesses that he's just as confused, and that over the years he'd just accepted that he's just mad because it's just the way he was born.

Zoro

All the more reason he deserves to die.

Zoro stops in his tracks, standing on the wooden pier of the docks. It looks like the rest of the bloody footprints lead right through to the very end. Looking at the ocean, he sees a distinct murky area of red on one spot. A head of blonde and white hair pokes out from the middle, the sun shining beautifully over it. Zoro felt–

Zoro shakes his head at the thought. 

Law follows Zoro's gaze, ending the call on his transponder snail when he sees who's in the water.

Law

Speak of the devil….

 

Zoro

OI!!!

The blonde turns to look at the source of sound.

Sanji

MELLORINE!!!

Sanji waves enthusiastically at the duo staring at him.

From afar, Zoro could tell that the man practically had heart eyes bulging out of his eye sockets.

Sanji takes a plunge into the water, swimming away from the murky area then reappears next to the wooden pier just under where Zoro was standing. His head pokes out gracefully, then gives the swordsman a warm smile.

Zoro takes a step back to distance himself, suddenly feeling like a girl whose skirt is being perverted on.

Zoro

Don’t give me that, idiot. Your outlash may have cost me some pull from the Marines.

Sanji

Oh? Has it occurred to you that that may have been my plan?

Zoro’s eye twitches, clearly infuriated at being toyed with. He pulls himself together internally and lets out a defeated sigh.

Zoro

Is this for not meeting up with you in person like I said I would? I got stuck with all the bureaucratic paper bullshit.

Sanji

I don’t know…

Sanji had a teasing tone behind his voice. He effortlessly pulls himself up to sit at the edge of the wooden planks, shakes his head and starts wringing his hair over his shoulder.

Sanji

Next time, don’t make promises you can’t keep.

Zoro lets out an offended huff.

Zoro

Next ti–? NO! There’s no next time! We're enemies. And what, is this your way of punishing me? To make me feel guilty? By murdering a bunch of Marines?

Sanji

Oh please, it was out of self-defense! They came onto me first….

Sanji calmly stands on his feet. Slowly, he begins to strip off his top, revealing his lean but muscular figure.

Zoro’s eye trails from Sanji’s scar across throat, down to the defined v-shape below his waistline. He recognises the cuts and burns from their battles, and some he guesses are from his own volition. When the blonde turns to fix his hair, Zoro eyes a small red tattoo, located below the nape of his neck. For some reason, he’s never noticed it on him before–a red circle with four triangles, arranged to look like the claws of a dragon. It has a cluster of messy scars over it, as if it'd been attempted to be removed by means of violent scratching. Like all else, he’s wondered what the story behind this is–

Zoro almost slaps himself to shake the thoughts out of his head. He makes an effort to look the blonde in the eye before he notices him staring.

Sanji gives Zoro a side glance before squeezing the damp clothing in his hands to dry it. He closes his eyes and his mouth curves into a cheeky smile. He gives his top one last flick before tossing it over his shoulder.

Sanji

I gave them a chance to apologise but some of them didn’t have any manners and charged in. Really, they were quite rude.

Zoro

You could have just knocked them out. Some of them were fresh blood. They’re probably just trying to prove they can do a good job to impress their seniors.

Sanji

By overdoing it. And now that fresh blood is all over my poor clothes. All because they tried to force me into those…heavy, rusty fuckin’ pieces of– 

Law clears his throat.

Zoro and Sanji look at him, annoyed at the interruption.

Law

If you’re done bickering like an old married couple….

Zoro’s eye visibly twitches, his brows furrowing angrily at Law's poor choice of words.

Sanji practically swoons, his hands slap his own reddened cheeks while the rest of his body squirm comically.

Sanji

OH, YOU–stop that! We’re not married yet, you bastard!

Zoro

WE’RE NOT GETTING MARRIED. PERIOD!!!

Law could practically feel the veins in his forehead pop.

—

They start the trek back to the Marine base, purposely taking the longer way through the shoreline to avoid panicked citizens after Sanji’s onslaught.

Sanji

Marimo-kun~!

Zoro ignores the man, and concentrates on walking quietly. He attempts to put his mind in a meditative state.

Sanji

Ma–ri–mo-kun~?

The shade under Zoro’s brows darkens. He focuses on his breathing–he inhales, holds it, then exhales. He repeats it several times more.

Sanji crumples his heavy damp clothing into a ball then throws it at the back of Zoro’s head, causing the other man to stumble.

Sanji

I SAID “MARIMO”, YOU ASS!!!

Zoro grabs the wet top and throws it hard onto Sanji’s face square on, knocking the man down on his butt.

Sanji

THAT HURT!

Zoro

DON’T THROW GROSS THINGS AT ME! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!

With a blink of an eye, Sanji’s demeanour changes. He bites his lip and looks up to Zoro with a large puppy eye.

Sanji

Why is he here? Isn’t this a date?

Zoro

Fuck off. I never said it is. We’ll tell you when we get to the base.

Sanji

Hmm…no, then I’m not going.

Sanji crosses his arms stubbornly. His legs do the same, planting himself firmly on the ground.

Law

Zoro-ya, can’t you just tie him up and drag his ass along? I just want this over and done with.

Zoro

You’ve seen what happens if you force him into things, idiot.

Sanji

Yeah, idiot.

Zoro

I’m not talking to you.

Sanji

Then do, otherwise I’m not coming along. You're taking me into a Marine base after all. I'd be at a disadvantage as soon as I step inside. You have to give me a good reason to go with you.

Zoro

You said you'd help me.

Sanji

You? Sure. I was hoping to gain your personal favour. Him? Ehh…. He's not exactly my type.

Sanji looks at Law, slowly dragging his eyes down his frame.

Sanji

Hmm…I guess he could be if he's willing to play.

Law nervously takes a step back, feeling hot and bothered.

Zoro sighs. He considers for a moment, trying to come up with a way to make sure that Sanji cooperates with them peacefully for as long as possible without sacrificing anyone to indulge in whatever sexual fantasies are in his head. After a time, he speaks firmly.

Zoro

Tra-guy, tell him everything you told me.

Law

Here? We’re doing this right here, right now?

Sanji

I'm glad you understand, Marimo.

Law

I… I don’t know.

Sanji

I don’t need the whole sob story, Trafalgar D. Water Law.

Law blinks in surprise that Sanji knows his name. Sure he had a bounty but he didn’t think it was anything noteworthy. He certainly wasn’t aware that the Pirate King would care enough to know about it. He opens his mouth as if to say something but gets interrupted.

Sanji

I have eyes and ears everywhere, love. What I don’t know is why the Surgeon of Death is looking for Doffy.

Zoro

Doffy? The same guy who gave you your new weapon?

Sanji

Aww! You remembered?! …Are you jealous?

Sanji gives Zoro a suggestive wink, taking the swordsman aback.

Zoro

Don't be ridiculous.

Sanji

If you like, I can call off my affairs with him and just make it exclusive with you….

Law

As much as I want to kill that monster, I don’t think I can right now. Not at my current strength.

Sanji snaps his gaze to Law, giving him a dangerous look.

Sanji

You’re right. You can’t.

Law

I’m just looking for my friend. It’s…it’s his brother, Donquixote Rosinante.

Sanji raises a brow.

Sanji

Corazon has been dead for years.

Law

Then you better check your sources, Mr. Prince-ya. Because I have letters from him from the last several months.

Sanji stands on his feet and approaches Law slowly.

Sanji

Show me.

—

Back at the Marine base, Sanji and Law escalated into a heated argument in the interrogation room. Sanji insists that if they truly want his insight into Donquixote Rosinante, the doctor should show all the letters that he claims to have.

Naturally, Law refused to show the blonde, stating that it’s all too personal.

Zoro knows he shouldn’t, but for once, he feels relieved that someone else is dealing with the mad king’s temper. He hides a smirk behind a bottle of sake, taking a swill.

Sanji

Don’t be an idiot. I don’t give a flying fuck what’s in them!

Law

Then there’s no reason for you to see a single one.

Sanji clasps both of his hands together, and gently sets them down the wooden table in front of him. With a deep voice, he speaks.

Sanji

Enlighten me then, how do you truly know it is him?

Law

If you must know, all his letters have…details that only he and I know.

Sanji firmly presses his fingers down the table, then speaks slowly but clearly.

Sanji

All the more reason that you could be in bigger danger than you think, doctor.

Law frowns.

Sanji

You're far too enamoured to think straight. How do you know it’s not just someone else messing with you? Hmm? Someone like Doffy?

Law crosses his arms then leans back against his chair, listening intently.

Sanji

Think about this… very… carefully.

Sanji shuffles in his pockets and fishes out a pack of cigarettes. When he opens the box, his eyes furrow in disappointment, seeing that all of his smokes are heavily damaged from water and blood. He throws the pack over his shoulder then snatches Zoro’s bottle of sake as the swordsman was about to take a drink.

Zoro

Oi!

Sanji takes three big gulps before slamming the bottle down on the table.

Sanji

Given how touchy you are about the idea of me reading them, I’m guessing you’ve become quite emotionally attached to the letters, haven’t you? Just consider, whoever wrote them knows an awful lot of details about you. What’s more, they know where to find you, and how to find you.

Zoro raises a brow at that. He notices that the doctor is starting to lose his composure slightly as a tiny bead of sweat falls on the side of his face.

Law

You assume it’s being sent to me.

Sanji

A trail, then? He’s leaving you clues and you’re more than happy to follow it.

Law

That’s…

Sanji takes another big drink, then explains his point further, waving Zoro’s bottle in front of him as he makes hand gestures to emphasize his speech.

Sanji

What if it’s a trap? If someone, say…I don’t know–like Doffy–is pretending to be Corazon, then you’d have been sold out for a fool.

Law slams his hand aggressively on the table, cracking its surface where his fist landed.

Law

You’re wrong!

Sanji stares at him unimpressed but doesn’t say anything, as if allowing him the chance to explain himself. He leans back against his chair.

Law

Look, I just know, okay? It’s him. I’m sure of it.

Sanji

You just know…?

Law

Yes.

Sanji

Then you’re hopeless.

As Zoro attempts to steal his sake back, the blonde slaps his hands away and takes several more swills from the bottle, as if telling the swordsman that he’s not done with his turn yet. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand then returns his focus back to Law.

Sanji

And how is it that you just know?

Zoro

Tra-guy, he’s not going to stop until you show him.

Law

You’re on his side, Zoro-ya?

Zoro

Look, you don’t have to show him everything, just show him one–like the bit where you’re stuck. It was enough to convince me.

Law pinches the gap between his brows.

Law

What you’re basically telling me…is that I should trust him with this information? That I should trust this mass murdering fucker with something extremely important to me?

Sanji

I told you, I don’t give a shit what’s in it–

Law

That’s what worries me! Because I care–a lot! I….

Law’s ears visibly reddens in embarrassment. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, averting his gaze.

Law

He was… is… very important to me. The letter is from him. I’m sure of it. And if you don’t care about it then I’m not letting you get your hands on it.

There was a moment of silence. Sanji watches Law in his vulnerable state. After a while, the blonde takes another drink from the bottle and sets it in front of Zoro.

Zoro grabs the bottle enthusiastically. He raises it above his mouth and nothing but a single drop falls onto his tongue. His smile vanishes, and his shoulders droop sadly until his arms and face melt onto the table. He sets the bottle down, pushing it away from him.

Sanji

I apologise, doctor.

Zoro and Law both look at Sanji in surprise.

Sanji offers a warm smile to Law.

Sanji

I’m afraid I’m not so good at these things. I’ll help you however I can.

Zoro stares at him in disbelief, cocking his head on the side against the table, processing the genuinity behind Sanji’s tone. He detects no ill will or malice behind it. He tells himself he’s just a bloody good liar.

Sanji

However, I still need to see a letter–just one will do, like the swordsman said–so I can study it. I promise I’ll take good care of it. If it resembles Doffy’s writing in any way, I will tell you. If it’s not, I’ll see what I can deduct from it, given that you’re apparently…”stuck”.

Law

I…thank you, Mr. Prince-ya.

Sanji slightly bows his head at him in acknowledgement.

Law

However, there is one thing that still bugs me….

Sanji

Oh?

Law

Why the interest in Corazon? You seem very keen to find out if he’s really dead or not.

Sanji

Corazon was–is…Doffy’s brother after all. His death shook a number of undercover Marine agents, enough to blow their covers.

Zoro

How would you know that?

Sanji

Because it all happened under wraps, which I make it my business to know. Your precious World Government made sure to cover it up nice and snug to keep up appearances.

Meanwhile, everyone else who actually did the work started pointing fingers, accusing each other of who ratted out your mate, afraid that they’re next. Ultimately, they hunted each other down. Now, while I don’t give two shits about the Marines, this whole ordeal should not be taken lightly.

Sanji leans forward on his seat.

Sanji

If he is alive, then Doffy has lied to me, which violates the rules of our country’s alliance. I’ll need to look into this matter personally to keep this quiet. If you let me help you, this will be beneficial for the both of us, I assure you.

Law takes a moment to process everything that Sanji had laid out for him. Reluctantly, he nods. Thinking it takes a criminal to know one. He reminds himself that he just needs advice and nothing more. He leans forward and shuffles in his pockets. He pulls out a folded piece of paper but before he could stretch his arm to offer it to Sanji, the blonde raises his hands in front of him.

Sanji

Let me just wash up. I still have Marine blood on me and I don’t want to get them all over your letters.

Sanji stands, then walks to the door.

Zoro’s eyes follow him. His expression softens at the blonde’s thoughtfulness and unexpected change in character. It must just be the single sip of the sake that clouds his own thoughts. He makes it clear to himself that it’s just acting–no doubt to get on Law’s good side then at the last second stab him in the back.

Sanji

Marimo-kun, the door, please?

Zoro

Ah. Right.

Zoro unlocks the door, then hollers for a couple of Marines to take the Pirate King to the washroom, instructing them specifically to “be nice” if they value their lives. Hesitantly, they do as he says, even with the odd request, too scared to do anything out of hand especially after learning what had happened to their colleagues in the townsquare.

Law kicks back on his seat, placing his hands behind his head.

Law

He’s not what I expected.

Zoor closes the door behind him, and turns to the doctor, glaring at him.

Zoro

That may be the last thing in your head if you let your guard down. Remember what I told you earlier.

Law

His mind is his real weapon, not his claws. I know. But he–

Zoro

As soon as he charms you, he’ll make you do things you’ll regret. Luffy would kill me if he gets to you.

Law

You sound like you talk from experience….

Zoro

Don’t even go there. Have you forgotten that he’s just murdered a bunch of Marines not far from here?

Law

I…you’re right.

Zoro approaches Law, jabbing a finger on his chest.

Zoro

Don’t forget what I said.

Moments later, Sanji returns to the interrogation room, escorted by a couple of trembling Marines behind him. They bring him inside, then rush out the door, locking it behind them in a panicked state. The blonde looks and smells a lot cleaner this time, and his hair is damp again–presumably after having borrowed the navy’s shower room. Zoro and Law also can’t help but notice that he’s completely changed out of his blood-stained clothes, and is now sporting a Marine officer uniform worn with the coat buttons undone and no shirt underneath, keeping his front exposed.

Sanji saunters, twirls gracefully, then strikes a pose to show off his new outfit proudly. Zoro can’t help but let out an unexpected hearty laugh.

Zoro

That looks awful on you! You didn’t just pry it from the dead, did you?

Sanji

Goodness, no. They had spares. I admit, it’s a little loose, but you don’t have to be so mean.

Sanji flicks his hair, keeping his other hand on his hip. The small spray of water from his hair strands makes it look like sparkles in the air with the way the room’s light shone on it. He looks down at the swordsman, making the other man stop in his fit of laughter.

Sanji

Besides, I feel fantastic in it.

Hey, tattoo guy, let’s do this. 

Sanji is back on his seat. The look of confidence he usually wears on his face has dithered away. He looks dumbfoundedly at the piece of paper that Law had given him. He flips the paper to check its back, looks at the front again, then flips it once more.

Sanji

This is it?

Law nods. His face had gone red.

Sanji

It just says “I love you.”

Law pulls out a stack of the similarly sized papers of varying shades from his breast pocket and lays it down in the middle of the table.

Law

Now you’ve seen one, you’ve seen it all. But uh… you can’t touch these.

Sanji slaps his forehead with the palm of his hand.

Sanji

I don’t know what I expected. THEY’RE NOT EVEN SIGNED!

Law

It’s something he’d do, okay?! You wouldn’t understand.

Sanji

No, I don’t!!! This is ridiculous! Is this seriously it?!

Sanji stops abruptly. His eyes stare at the stack of papers, shifting left and right, as if suddenly deep in thought–and he’s thinking fast. He inspects the one closely in his hand, then holds it close to the stack on the table, comparing the two.

Sanji

These papers are all not from the same place.

Law

Why does the paper matter?

Sanji

Because, my dear, this means that you’re always in his thoughts–or whoever’s writing it anyway. They didn’t write this all in one go then went about scattering it. They took their time, and wrote down a new letter each time they thought of you with whatever they could get their hands on.

Law freezes. Whatever thoughts he has, he keeps it in his head but it’s noticeably making his hands and lips tremble. After a few quiet moments, Zoro breaks the silence to help him out.

Zoro

Tra-guy, show him the other thing.

Law

Right….

Law pulls out a long envelope the length of his arm. He carefully places it in front of Sanji

Law

This came with the letter that you’ve got in your hand.

Sanji tilts his head curiously. He carefully sets down the letter he’d been given earlier, then gestures towards the envelope.

Sanji

May I?

Law nods.

Sanji gently lifts the flap, then pulls out a delicate feather from the envelope.

Law

The letters always come with a clue where to go next. My crew and I have been travelling for several months now, mostly in the Grand Line. This is the latest, and the reason why we thought Doflamingo may know something, or has got Corazon locked up somewhere. But we haven’t been able to track him down for quite some time.

Sanji pinches the hollow shaft, spinning the feather to admire its features.

Sanji

Hmm…I don’t think it’s Doffy. Though this would make a nice feather for a hat.

Law

What makes you say that?

Sanji claps his hands excitedly.

Sanji

Ooh, I’m glad you asked! There’s this hat that Zoro’s dad wears everywhere. It’s got this gorgeous white feather that makes it stand out nicely with–

Zoro

Not about the hat, stupid! Why do you think it’s not Doflamingo?

Sanji

Rude. But that’s a simple question. Doffy’s coat is pink. This is more purple-pink. Hmm… I think this might be from a South Bird. They’ve got a big body and an even bigger personality. They’re native to Skypiea.

Zoro’s brows shoot up.

Law

Skypiea? The legendary island in the sky? Isn’t that just a tall tale? 

Zoro

I remember those birds. I can see why there’d be some confusion now.

Sanji

Have you been there, Marimo-kun?

Zoro smiles softly at the feather, then reaches out for it. Sanji obliges, handing it to him by the hollow shaft gently, their fingers brushing each other. The swordsman runs his hands through its soft barbs.

Zoro

Sure have, while travelling with my old captain.

Sanji watches Zoro admire the feather, taking notice of his brightened expression and hazel eye. He wonders what sort of tales he has in store. He doesn’t speak much of his old captain to him. Then again, he doesn’t really share a lot of things with him because why would he?

Only now did Sanji realise that he hasn’t really taken his time to admire the swordsman’s features up close. He makes a mental note to plan a sneaky peek under a different light–maybe outside during dawn or dusk when the colours of the sky would bring out his eye colour more.

Law

How do you know for certain that it’s from a South Bird, Mr. Prince-ya? I don’t recall you being an aviary expert.

Sanji

Oh, I’m not claiming to be a scientist in any way. But I have this thing for feather coats since Doffy likes to use it for sex.

Zoro drops the feather from his hands.

----------

Here's a more polished art to make up for the longer chapter.

[kawoala]

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES . . . !? suna rintarou ; 3, part two.

╰ ⨳ word count ; .7k ( 753 )

╰ ⨳ content warning ; profanity 、 underage drinking 、 violence 、 writing in 3rd person ( kindof ) for the first time in forever 、 really rushed / bad writing 、 PUNCHING!! 、 assault 、 possibility of career going down the drain..

okay, so you’re smacked.

rintarou supposes he should have stopped you after the fourth drink komori had shoved into your hand, but how was he supposed to know you were a lightweight?

you were sitting on the kitchen counter just a moment ago, swinging your legs as runa sat next to you. he had been leaning up against the refrigerator, watching you over the rim of his cup. creepy, he thinks, but you’re just so pretty.

he had looked down at his phone for one minute, distracted by some stupid AI cat video, and when he looked back up you and runa were gone, ‘mori and ‘tsuki engrossed in a conversation in god knows what.

now, he’s frantically looking through the crowd of possibly hundreds of people, looking for you and runa. this is weird - being worried about runa and you.

for runa, it makes sense; that’s his baby cousin. they grew up together, shared meals, shared beds - she’s like a baby sister to him. for you, though? he just met you today, for fucks sake, why should he be so freaked out about something happening to you?

finally, rintarou makes a break through the crowd - a couch in the middle of the living room. and - holy shit - there you are.

with some guys arm slung over your shoulder, your legs pulled over his lap.

there’s a feeling festering in rintarou’s stomach. he can’t quite place it, but it doesn’t feel good. he watches runa try to pull the guy off, watches the guy swat at her hand, watches him kiss your neck.

the swatting is what sets him off, he thinks. maybe it’s the kissing - or maybe it’s the stupid fucking smirk planted on the guys face as he locks eyes with rintarou.

he makes it over to the couch in two strides. in even less time, he’s pulling you off the couch and steadying you as you stagger. yeah, he definitely should have cut you off after the fourth drink.

“rin-“

“is there a problem here?” the guy - silver-haired, smug, ugly, stupid-looking - asks, standing up. he has to bend his neck to look him in the eyes, rintarou has to hold back a laugh. “or can i continue talking to my girl?”

“your girl?” runa exclaims from behind rintarou, trying to walk in front of him. “that’s fucking rich, semi! who even invited you?!”

her words are slurred, but compared to you, she’s a sober virgin who's never cursed in her life.

rintarou turns to runa and raises his brows. she hesitates, but eventually nods and does the same.

he waits until runa pulls you farther away from the two men, ignoring your wishes to sit back down on the couch. rintarou looks at semi and looks him up and down.

“you need to get the fuck out,” he says, voice low.

and then semi laughs at him, looking around at the other guests in disbelief. when he turns back to rintarou, probably about to spout some dumb shit, rintarou punches him in the mouth.

he falls back against the couch and rintarou punches him again. he doesn’t know why he’s so mad, but he can’t seem to stop himself. he gets three punches in before runa is pulling him off of the other man, eyes wide, terrified.

rintarou looks at the bloodied face of semi and regret fills almost his entire body. he is so going to jail. he glances back at you - you.

you’re sitting on your ass in the corner, head leaned against the wall, knees pulled up to your chest. komori and tatsuki run into the living room and for the first time in a long time, rintarou sees real urgency on tatsuki’s face.

he knows he’s fucked up. he always some way or another. he takes a couple steps back, shaking out his hand beside him.

he doesn’t know what happens to semi; he doesn’t care. tatsuki drops them off and rintarou helps you get into different clothes, careful to not look at you while you’re undressed. he holds your hair back when you throw up and puts you to bed.

he walks to the living room and sits on the couch, staring into the blank TV. his career is so over.

╰ ⨳ taglist ; @miiyas , @heartmaddie , @cherrysurf , @pookalicious-hq , @grassbutneo , @akaashislovee , @cvddlebug , @pardoffel , @ssabvln , @smiithys ,, @justagirlnamedkai , @sweetlyvibe , @hibiscy , @iluv-ace , @aozui , @anqelkoz , @dndjxkskcn .

[whorrorbvby]

an update:

hey friends a lot of people have been asking where ive been on other socials and im sorry for being m.i.a and ignoring everyone’s worries. im not getting into it right now and i dont know if i want to talk about the details publicly. 

i deleted tumblr from my phone about two and a half weeks ago and ive had a friend keeping a queue going on main for me. it might be that way permanently now i don’t know. I don’t know that I want to come back to tumblr if im being honest. a lot of things happened and i just can’t handle seeing certain people anymore so i’ve been hanging out on two of the more safer socials where tumblr people people generally leave me alone. not that im upset with you any of you or anything it’s more of a personal relationship and it just turned me off of basically everything and i just can’t handle a lot right now.  

i didn’t want to stop posting my own content for obvious reasons but i really can’t bring myself to come back it’s too hard and my heart can’t handle it right now. i also haven’t taken any new photos or anything and as of right now i don’t really feel super comfortable in sharing my body in that way. situations have made me feel disgusting as a person and i can’t look at myself. im trying to post more on ig to boost myself back up but i don’t know my self image is kind of ruined now. plus i’ve lost 15lbs from stress and inability to eat because of it and with how many people already harass and bully me for how scrawny i am i don’t want to subject myself in my current mental state to even the possibility of anyone saying anything. 

but like i said i have a friend running main for me and i might have them run this account too and my pepper page just because i do want to go back to making content i just dont know if i can handle posting or being in certain spaces right now. 

on top of what im currently dealing with in my personal life this is just a really hard time for me in general because of the holiday season and close to the anniversary of my best friends death so i tend to shut down a little anyway it’s just my entire world came crashing down again and im honestly starting to give up on even existing. i know im being melodramatic and i need to suck it up and just go back to status quo it’s just really hard this time and i cant force myself into a positive headspace like i used to even for a second. i have honestly never felt this empty and i barely know who i am or what my worth is anymore. 

i dont know if i’ll turn my asks back on. my friend offered to answer anything for me but its better for my mental health if i dont because i know people will ask questions and i dont trust myself to not completely go off on a tangent. im sorry i know im rambling but i feel like a proper update with zero room for misunderstanding is needed and i dont want to sugarcoat or lie to any of you to make myself seem or feel better cuz i respect the hell out of you guys and you deserve honesty if for nothing else. and i appreciate so fucking much you all continuing to support me and hype me up through all the bullshit life keeps throwing at me. 

im mostly on ig and threads right now and on threads im talking about games and movies with new people im meeting and it’s been really helping through shit. if you follow me on snap you saw me say im thinking about deleting everything. my accounts are still up and as long as my friend still wants to help me out i’ll at least have a queue running on main but i’ve deleted every social app other than ig and threads. i wholeheartedly planned on deleting snap last night but it’s the only way some of you get any updates from me so for now i wont delete it but i might make a new one instead just to get away from situations that are bringing me down. we’ll see. if I make a new snap i’ll post it everywhere n put it in my bios. that being said i don’t have a private/nsfw snap and i wont make one im sorry. i still wont sell content outside of what i post on peppers and i wont do customs im sorry. maybe in the future but right now i need to focus on myself and getting out of this headspace before i do anything else. 

but truly thank you for sticking with me and just genuinely being the best crew around. i promise to try my best to get out of this mess of a headspace im in as quickly as possible and im really sorry for basically abandoning everything again but i really am hopeful for the future and just trying to focus on myself and my happiness at the moment 🙏🏻🧡

[honeyhae-svt]

🎮Part-Time Lover | JxW 🎭 `~^\___TEASER___/^~`

JxW Fanfiction / Jeonghan & Wonwoo FF (SERIES)

Afab!Reader x Jeonghan & Wonwoo - MDNI Genre: Smut, CEO x Streamer, CEO x Employee, Gamer x Gamer, Streamer x Gamer, Streamer x Streamer, Enemies to Lovers(?), Friends to Lovers(?), Friends with Benefits, Slowburn, Angst, Romance, RomCom, Workplace Romance, Love Triangle(?), Slice of Life, Modern AU, (inspired by GAM3B01) ⚠️ WARNINGS ⚠️: explicit sexual content (18+, smut), alcohol consumption, mentions of drunken behavior, slight workplace power imbalance (CEO x Employee dynamic), strong language (profanity), cyberbullying/online hate (mentions of rumors, edited content), emotional manipulation (mild, e.g., jeonghan’s cold treatment), petty arguments (playful/tense, potential verbal sparring), depictions of stress/anxiety related to online and work life, light suggestive jokes/humor, mentions of romantic/sexual tension between characters, enemies to lovers-style tension (includes teasing, rivalry, jealousy), and my shitty writing (lol I hope y'all enjoy on this one) wc: 734

TEASER

🎮 "In a world where gaming isn’t just a hobby but a battlefield..." 🎭

By all accounts, your life shouldn’t be this complicated. You’ve mastered the double life effortlessly—or at least, that’s what it looks like from the outside.

By day, you’re the razor-sharp assistant to Jeonghan, a CEO whose reputation is as sleek as the tailored suits he wears. In the professional world, you’re known for your no-nonsense attitude, your precision, your ability to keep up with a man whose demands leave most people in the dust. By night, though, you’re a completely different force: Kitsunya. The streamer with a bite, whose persona is as sharp as her gameplay. You’ve carved out a name in a world that doesn’t give second chances, where every mistake—or perceived mistake—can uncover years of hard work.

And for a while, you had it all figured out. A rhythm. A balance. Two worlds, perfectly parallel, never touching. Until that night.

You don’t need anyone to remind you what happened—though your brain seems to enjoy doing it anyway. One drink too many, a kiss you didn’t mean to give, and suddenly, Jeonghan was no longer just your boss. He was the man you’d kissed. The man whose lips lingered far too long in your memory, though you can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or something else entirely.

The fallout? Silent, subtle, but impossible to ignore.

Jeonghan hasn’t spoken a word about it since. But he didn’t have to. His actions say it all: the coffee runs to nowhere, the cold detachment, the subtle but deliberate way he keeps you at arm’s length. And yet, his eyes linger. Longer than they should. As if he’s waiting for you to say something—or maybe daring you not to.

But here’s the kicker: you’re not even sure you know what you’d say.

And then, there’s Wonwoo.

Oh, Wonwoo. The thorn in your side, the bane of your streams. The gamer who seems to have made it his life’s mission to get under your skin. What started as casual teasing during streams has evolved into full-on verbal warfare, the kind that has fans pulling out popcorn and hashtags. It should be easy to dismiss him as just another troll in your life, but there’s something about him that’s… infuriatingly magnetic. You hate that you’re even thinking about him right now.

The tension between you and Jeonghan is one thing. But now, people are starting to notice the dynamic between you and Wonwoo—particularly Jeonghan. You can feel it in the way his gaze sharpens when your name comes up, the way he watches your streams a little too closely. It’s not possessiveness, not exactly. But it’s something, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the heat from it.

Then, just when you thought things couldn’t get messier, the gaming world turned on you.

A viral clip. A doctored video accusing you of hacking. In a space where credibility is everything, the hit was personal. Haters piled on, armed with accusations and hashtags, while loyal fans fought to defend you. It was chaos. But you? You handled it like you always do—with a smirk, a quip, and a gameplay session that shut them all up.

Still, the stress is starting to seep in, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep your walls intact.

And then, Seungcheol happened.

A party, he said. Just a casual get-together for streamers and friends. You’d turned him down initially—your schedule was packed, and honestly, you weren’t in the mood to socialize. But Seungkwan and Hoshi wouldn’t let up, their constant nagging somehow finding its way into your streams and DMs. By the time the weekend rolled around, you found yourself with no choice but to show up.

So, here you are.

Jeonghan’s there, of course. Polished, poised, and watching you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. Wonwoo’s there too, leaning against the bar with that infuriating smirk of his, as if he knows something you don’t. And the rest of your circle? Laughing, teasing, acting like life isn’t one giant chess game where every move feels loaded with meaning.

The night is young, and the air hums with the kind of energy that promises something big.

You thought boss battles in gaming were tough? This tension, unresolved feelings, and unexpected rivalries would be enough to make your hairs attached to your head fall out. Because the real game? It’s just getting started.

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

a/n: to make up the loss of my sudden-long vaca, i wrote this for the reader-anon who requested this ages ago (a wonwoo ff but i decided to add my lovely wife, jeonghan to the mix cause i love and miss him so fucking bad). and now, im making a teaser cause i feel bad for staying out far too long. i have a ton of works pending and im already on it cause like wtf i love writing and this has been on my head far too long. I HOPE YOU GUYS WOULD WANT TO READ THIS AND LMAO I HAVENT EVEN FINISHED OMC SERIES AND IM ALREADY MAKING ANOTHER ONE WTF ajwnruoenfguoaofa im making a masterlist, for those who wants to be added on the taglist reblog / comment on this post and you'll be automatically added ! TY FOR READING ILY GUYS SM

[call-me-copycat]

BNHA Spoilers:

(Also this is just a complaint post, I'm not very good at explaining my thoughts so please don't try to argue :⁠-⁠( Feel free to add on thoughts but I can't argue )

I have to say I'm not too happy with the leaks, which is hard for someone like me to admit!

As an AceAro person, I was thrilled with the original ending and the fact that no ships were confirmed nor denied, because it left enough for the fans to work with while not shutting anyone down outright

I'm not really a fan of ships, I'll be honest, and I don't really like romance in anime (hard to avoid! I know!), but I never really saw anything wrong with people and their ships and whatnot, and I never minded analyzing some of them for some friends - it was all in good fun after all!

The pairs in the leaks felt like something out of character almost, it didn't feel very... Horikoshi Style I suppose

I do enjoy getting extra MHA content, I always always will, but it isn't a good feeling to me seeing these characters in this anime that focuses on motivation and inspiration and becoming Heroes eventually getting together and dating - I'm not sure, I guess it's the unfitting themes? Something about it unnerves me

I don't know, I've always been adverse to romance my whole life, I always preferred plot and writing instead of two characters getting together (if the plot and writing lead up to two characters getting together? I'm fine with that)

I've seen people saying Uraraka and Deku are canon and I have to say... I don't really feel comfortable with that

I can see it as cute, yes! But I feel that he didn't have as deep a relationship to her as he did with Bakugo (they're always themed around each other, and I found whatever relationship they have with each other very profound, as it ran very deep for a very long time)

Same goes with Toga and Uraraka - it happened over the course of the series, I got to see them learn and struggle together, I got to see them talk about their problems and desires and it felt overwhelmingly different than when it's Deku and Uraraka

I may be biased in the end, I have friends who ship Deku and Bakugo and I have friends who ship Uraraka and Toga, but I've seen some very informative takes that explain it a lot better than me why I think they're such good parallels to each other

I like that Deku and Uraraka are good motivators to each other, Uraraka inspired him in the beginning when he really needed it and he returned it to her as well - but I can't really see it as romantic? Then again, ignore that because I can't see anything in MHA as romantic

I dunno, I feel the romance really overtook the whole plot away from the ending and I'm devastated - that's all what everyone's talking about right now, no?

Deku and Uraraka

Denki and Jiro

The rumor of Bakugo being married (?)

Kinoko and Kuroiro are dating

That's not even all, there could be more that I easily missed

It feels very unsatisfactory, it makes it seem like Love was the entire meaning of the series My Hero Academia when it was not! I'm a big full-circle person, I would have adored a call-back! Something that alludes to the beginning of the series, like what they did with the cover

I want to see how Hero Society is, I want to see Deku and how he coped with the loss of OFA, I want to see Aizawa, I want to see Present Mic! How is he doing, I want to know if he's okay? Is Nezu still the principal? There are less demand for heroes since there aren't as many villains, I want to see that change and its effects! I want to hear more about Vigilante Heroes, and I want to see other Underground Heroes, I want to know more about the Quirk Doomsday Theory, and more about what the world was like when quirks first formed, and I would like to see Hisashi Midoriya! There's so much, see? I would rather talk about that and more over who's dating who ( ･᷄ὢ･᷅ )

It has its good moments, I will always love seeing the (former) class interact with each other, and I really liked seeing the new Hero Rankings, especially with some of the aged up designs for the characters - I can feel how much love Horikoshi has for these characters no matter what's going on in the series

I don't know, don't take me too seriously because I am a biased person after all - I've dropped one of my favorite book series as a kid because my favorite (the most competent) character died, and then every person in the book had gotten together with another person - it was a similar disappointment because it ignored the plot (it was a post-zombie apocalypse series) in favor of looking towards romance once more

Fairy Tail recently came out with their 100 Years Quest, and I know I dropped the anime early on as a kid (in favor of MHA ironically), but coming back to it only to see almost (if not) all characters together in a relationship, some with kids? I know, don't go near anime if you don't like the tropes, I've been told that before - I'm just complaining a little because I didn't expect to see it in MHA so I'm a little shocked

Nevertheless, I'm still looking forward to seeing the rest of the epilogue, I'm always a fan of Horikoshi even if I don't like some things (⁠；⁠^⁠ω⁠^⁠）. It's still a treat for me to get more MHA content, I love the art and I love being a part of the fandom -

I'm sure some time in the future I'll even miss the shipping wars that went on lol

[casuallyobssessed]

Vicious Pastimes - Evil Robot Ted x Virgin!Fem!Reader ❥ 2.6k Words

A/N: Completely self indulgent fic. I spent a lot of time mulling over this. Sorry if it's a little weird. Let me know if you see any mistakes!

Warnings: Dead Dove content, dub/non-con, P in V Sex, minor character death, virgin!reader, graphic depictions of blood/blood play, mentions of violence, no use of y/n, no beta

Archive of Our Own Link

Blood is everywhere. Your hands are barely visible through the blinding red as you press your shirt down against the hole in Ted's chest. With your heart racing and hands trembling, you knew there was no way he could survive something like this, yet you hold pressure anyway. Sobs rip from your throat as you apologize to your boyfriend who lay motionless beneath you. None of this is fair. 

Laughter rang out from behind you, cutting your mumbling apology short. You sniffle and lean back, smearing blood across your face as you wipe your tears away. 

“Crying won't bring him back, y'know,” Evil Ted snickers.

You can't dignify him with a reply. Instead, you lean down and brush the stray hairs out of Ted's face. As much as the look suited him, you hated the fact that his unruly hair made it impossible for him to see clearly half the time. You try your best to ignore the now glassy look in his eyes. The quiet stillness, the unusually pale skin… none of it is him. Your Ted is gone. All that's left is the evil robot version of him that ripped his heart out, and will now, presumably, take your life, too.

“Dude, c'mon. This pussweed isn't worth the tears, you've got the better version right here.”

Evil Ted crouches down beside you, brows furrowed in confusion, like grief is a foreign concept to him. That's probably because it is, you realize. 

“Will you just kill me already?” You ask him, stone faced.

“Kill you? No way. Why would I do that?”

“Why wouldn't you?” It was your turn to be confused.

“Wasting a babe like you before getting to try out the goods would be most heinous. I can see why Ted was so into you,” Evil Ted grins and gestures to your breasts, covered only by your lace bra. As all the adrenaline has worn off, you suddenly feel incredibly exposed as you're looking down at your crumpled, bloodied shirt resting on Ted's chest.

This isn't how tonight was supposed to go. You and Ted were supposed to have a date night; order pizza, watch a movie at his place, and you were going to ask him if he wanted to finally go all the way with you. As cliche as it was, you wore your best bra and panties to show off for him, not some evil robot version of him.

You fold your arms across your chest to hide yourself from his prying eyes as much as you can. Evil Ted's grin turns into something more sinister and you can almost see the gears turning in his head. 

“Don’t tell me you're getting shy now,” He sneers. 

By the time you can process what's happening, you're already being shoved backwards, not-so gently smacking your head against the kitchen floor. Evil Ted leans over you, arms caging you in on both sides. He stares at you, smiling in a way that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“Get off of me!” You pound your fists against his chest, but he doesn't budge.

“What did you see in him besides the huge dick? Did he at least make you cum?” He asks, ignoring you. 

“Huh?” His question stuns you enough that you just look at him, dumbfounded. What kind of questions are 

these?

“I bet he hasn't, dude probably didn't even know where the clit is.”

“Ted and I haven't had sex. We talked about it, but I wasn't ready.” 

“Shit, does that mean you're a virgin?”

You nod, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep into your cheeks.

“Dude, no way!” Evil Ted's eyes light up at your confession, adding to your discomfort, “That's gonna make this so much more fun.”

“What?” 

Evil Ted laughs at your confusion before sitting down on your stomach, effectively straddling your torso and keeping you in place. Something grabs his attention by Ted's body and he looks away from you for a moment, reminding you of your proximity to your dead boyfriend and just how alone you are now. 

You're pulled from your spiraling thoughts when he reaches down and presses his hand into the stagnant puddle of Ted's blood that has pooled beside his body. His gaze bounces between you and the blood dripping from his fingers before he gives you another wicked grin. You can't imagine what he's thinking, but it can't be good. 

You thrash against Evil Ted, but his strong, robot thighs hold you down while his thumb presses against your lower lip, pushing insistently until your mouth opens wide. 

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop!” You cry out, but it falls on deaf ears. 

“I love it when you fight back, babe. Gets me real hot,” He smirks and slips his fingers in your mouth. You gag at the intrusion as the metallic tasting liquid coats your tongue. Frustrated and enraged, you let out a groan as angry tears spilled from your eyes. 

“You're pretty when you cry,” Evil Ted murmurs, “What does he taste like?” 

There is an inquisitive glint in his eye as he pushes his fingers further into your mouth. Biting down on his hand proves useless. He is mostly metal, after all. 

Your chest heaves as you sob. The last thing you intended to do was give Evil Ted exactly what he wanted, but you couldn't help crying. You've never felt so defeated in your life. 

You were powerless to save Ted, too weak to save yourself, and losing hope by the minute. The entire situation makes you feel sick. From the salty-sweet iron swirling through your senses to the weight crushing your middle, your stomach is tied in knots. It doesn't help when Evil Ted bends down and removes his fingers, only to replace them with his tongue licking curiously into your mouth. You wonder what the combination of spit, blood, and hatred tastes like to him. 

Evil Ted's hand starts to roam your chest, lingering on the lace fabric covering your breast. His fingers run along your bra until they find the center clasp between the cups and unhook it with ease. You're only a little impressed by how easy he makes it seem with one hand. 

Trying to think about anything other than Evil Ted's tongue halfway down your throat, you focus on the way his hand grasps your breast. A thumb brushes over one of your already hard nipples, inciting a low hum from you and sending a warmth straight to your core. 

Playing along with his weird advances hadn't been part of the game plan, but if it gets you out of here alive, it might be worth a shot. 

“Fuck. Look at you,” Evil Ted growls appreciatively as he pulls away from your face, licking the remaining blood from his lips. 

The last thing you wanted to think about was how disheveled you probably looked. Blood coating various parts of your body, puffy eyes, tear stained cheeks, all topped off with your tits hanging out. By the hungry look on his face, he clearly liked what he saw. 

He confirms your suspicions when he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. His tongue circles over the sensitive bud sending goosebumps spreading across your skin. You close your eyes, searching for your happy place. This way, it almost feels normal. 

At least it does until Evil Ted takes it upon himself to bite your nipple. Your whole body jumps from the sudden, harsh sensation and your eyes fly open. He looks pretty pleased with himself by the expression on his face. 

“Seriously? Do you have to be such an asshole?” You huff at him. 

“It's in my programming, babe. Now do me a favor and get on your knees.”

Evil Ted pats your thigh while standing up, allowing you room to move. You hesitantly follow directions, shrugging out of your bra while repositioning. The moment you get settled on your knees, he's pushing your upper half towards the floor, giving you only a moment to catch yourself before hitting the ground. Something akin to ‘fuck you’ finds its way out of your mouth before you remember the situation you're in. 

There's a brief second where you try to lift yourself back up, but he's got a steady hand between your shoulder blades. Cheek pressed to the grimy tile, you come to terms with the fact that you're not going anywhere. 

“Stay down.”

You nod. It's a simple command, but his tone is nothing like you've ever heard come from your Ted's mouth. 

“Good girl.”

Those words spark an unfamiliar fire somewhere deep in your gut and a new, bright pink flush across your cheeks. Behind you, Evil Ted is making quick work of pulling down your pants for you, revealing your matching lace panties. His warm hands caress your ass, giving you an appreciative smack as he lets out a low whistle. 

“The view from back here makes me glad I killed that loser. Dude had no business dating a babe like you if he wasn't gonna take advantage of the full package.”

You roll your eyes and wonder if it's too late to try to crawl away from him. Would you have any real shot trying to run away from an evil robot? Chances are you could make it a couple feet at least before he tackles you. 

After a little bit of musing in your head, you decide it's not worth the off chance that he decides to just kill you out of frustration. Your main goal is still survival, and you try your best to remember that as he unceremoniously yanks your panties down your thighs. 

His fingers find your surprisingly dripping wet center and his touch makes you gasp. You're ashamed at how your body has been reacting to him. You weren’t expecting to be turned on at all, much less to this degree. 

Slowly, he dips one finger inside of you, and it's the most gentle he's been with you throughout this entire situation. He's met with little resistance on your part. One of his fingers already feels like too much and you're whimpering embarrassingly beneath him. 

“How the hell am I supposed to fit my dick in here if you can't even handle two fingers?” He snaps, sounding mildly annoyed. 

It's not your fault that you’re not used to this. You haven't done anything like this before. How can he expect you to be comfortable moving this fast?  

After adding another finger and pumping them in and out of you briefly, you hear Evil Ted undo his jeans behind you. You turn and watch him as he shoves his underwear and pants down, far enough for his cock to spring free. You let out an unfeigned gasp at how thick it is. 

He was right about one thing. Fitting him all inside you was going to be a challenge. You're hit with a fresh pang of guilt when Evil Ted lines himself up with your entrance. He eases the tip in, graciously giving you more than a couple seconds to adjust to the stinging stretch that brings tears to your eyes. It wasn't long before he decided he didn't want to wait anymore and shove himself all the way in. 

“You are so,” Evil Ted growls as he bottoms out inside of you, “fucking tight.” 

He wastes no time in pulling all the way out and 

thrusting back in again, hard. Your body rocks forward from the force causing your arms to collapse beneath you, landing you nearly face first on the tile, again. You let out an involuntary, high pitched whine as he slams into you. 

“You liked that, huh?” Evil Ted goads, gripping your hips tighter and thrusting in harder this time. 

Your heart knows this isn't your Ted, but your body clearly isn't convinced. Clenching your walls around his dick and moaning his name was not sending the message that you wanted him to stop. You are taken pleasantly by surprise when he reaches around your hip and begins toying with your clit. Maybe he isn't completely evil. 

“Beg me for it,” Evil Ted’s breath ghosts across your back, sending chills down your spine. 

Okay, maybe he was still fully evil. You do not want to beg him for this. Saying it out loud makes it real, and you're not sure if you're ready to face that, yet. 

With your lack of an answer, his touch on your clit slows down to a halt. The painful aching in your core is growing and you’re starting to think you really do need that release from him. 

“Please?” You sound unsure of what you're asking for.

“Please what?”

If you could look him in the face, you'd be glaring daggers at him right now. 

“Fuck. Please let me cum,” It comes out more like a whine than you intended. 

It's enough for Evil Ted to take mercy on you. Teetering on the edge of bliss, it doesn't take much for him to shove you right over with a few more firm circles of your clit. You could swear you're seeing stars. 

This isn't how you imagined your first time would be, yet here you are, letting yourself get wrecked by Ted's evil robot clone. Being disgusted with yourself isn't enough to stop you from completely losing yourself in the intoxicating euphoria of cumming on his cock.

While you're shaking, being fucked through your orgasm, Evil Ted seems to be following close behind you. His thrusts are getting sloppier, his breathing quickens, and the grip he has on your hips is sure to leave behind fingerprint shaped bruises. 

With a guttural moan, he finishes deep inside of you. The good news is that it didn't take very long for him to finish, but now there's an uncomfortable fullness in your cunt as you feel his cum begin to drip down your thigh. 

How does that even work for a robot? In all honesty, you don't really care. You're just glad it's over. The breath of relief you exhale is cut short as Evil Ted grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you back towards him. The sudden pain makes you squeak and jerk against him, but his grasp is firm. 

“That was most excellent,” His sarcastic tone was not lost on you, “Next time, I'll totally go down on you. Promise.” 

“We are not doing this again,” You scoff, knowing there's no way in hell you'd willingly do anything with this asshole ever again.

His grip tightens, yanking your hair again and hissing in your ear, “I could keep you here, y'know. Use you whenever I feel like it. That'd be a pretty sick trade-off for getting to live, huh?” 

Not sure how to reply to that, you just growl at him. This asshole has a way of leaving you speechless in all the wrong ways. 

“That doesn't sound like a no to me, babe.”

He lets go of your hair, letting you drop down to the floor again. There's comfort in the cool tile this time. At this point, you don't actually care what he does with you. After what you've allowed this robot to do to you right next to your boyfriend's corpse, you're sure that wherever Ted ended up, he's not too thrilled with you. You hope there's no way for him to know in the afterlife, but you've got a feeling he does.