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burnedbyshoto · 3 years

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i wonder

i wonder (if you remember the way we looked at each other)

— Living as roommates with your best friend is easy until someone fucks up and catches feelings.

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pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut fem!reader, and they were roommates, childhood friends!au, university!au, quirkless!au, modern!au, americanized university experience, alcohol consumption, drug consumption, the plot is for the sex AHA, womanizer!shouto, shouto and reader are bad roommates but seiji is worse, shouto has sex at 16 for the first time, vouyerism-ish, iffy shouto tendencies, jealous!shouto, jealous!reader, drunk sex so dubcon depending on you, nipplegasms, reader has nipple piercings, blowjob, switching, marking, biting, scratching, praise kink, missing tag ;)

word count: 20,141

a/n: this is for the roommates bnharem collab! please check out all the other amazing fics and art! note to self, dont get drunk the night before this is due and I hope you guys enjoy this!!! I had a lot of fun writing it!!! also,,, sorry if mobile doesn’t correctly format!

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You cracked your eyes open.

The gentle white stream of light permeated through soft cotton curtains, lighting the room in pale stripes and careful touches. Dust particles danced within the shining light, bending and twirling with the flowing air and moving winds. You breathed in deeply, your body still tired, your head still foggy from a night of distractions and too many drinks.

Your eyes are closed once again, your still hazy mind trying to ignore the bitter, rank taste of the alcohol and cum on your tongue and your hands scratching as your naked cleavage. There was still enough time in the day; it was Sunday after—

Wait.

CUM?!

Your eyes flew open, your lips smacking each other as you confirm the awful, salty taste of cum on your tongue. Your hands swiping up and down your front to confirm your state of undress. Your heart starts hammering in your chest, your palms immediately sweating as you try to think about just who the fuck you ended up back in bed with.

Think, y/n, think!

A small grunt came from behind you, and you felt your entire body go rigid immediately. The soft expel of air fanning against your sticky neck is both welcomed and untrusted. With what can only be described as you, as stiff as a stick, peering behind your shoulder similar to a mother who definitely heard her child throw up on her bed but is somehow praying that she was hearing shit, you turned around.

A messy bedhead of red and white greeted you: unfocused, sleepy grey, and brilliant blue eyes staring back at you with fond familiarity and welcome.

“‘Morning, y/n,” Todoroki Shouto grumbles, voice husky, scratchy, deeply warm from his slumber. His next words are damning, though, the slight pride and knowing implications in the small breathe he uttered next. “Had fun last night?”

There was silence, a stroke of hesitancy, then crushing all-consuming fear.

You screamed.

At the top of your lungs.

O N E W E E K A N D A D A Y E A R L I E R

“Who the fuck touched my fucking Angry Orchard Rosés?!” a voice snapped from the kitchen; the tone was fed up, seconds from blasting to smithereens.

You were in the living room, a pair of sweats on, your hair not put together, your face still bare. The music you played as part of your pregame ritual was practically vibrating the wooden floor as you sang along to your music. The telling glass bottle of deliciously pink alcohol swinging inconspicuously between your fingers as you drank it between verses. Despite your other roommate (who you repeatedly told your friends to be ‘like Bakugou but a gazillion times worse because you don’t and can’t like him,’) being seconds from trying to start another feud or possibly a lawsuit against you, your mouth dropped in mock shock before guzzling down the rest of the drink.

“I saw that you fucking skank!” Shishikura Seiji screeched from the kitchen; his stomps were long and heavy as he made his way from the kitchen to the living room where you were. “There were two bottles left in there! Don’t tell me your alcoholic ass drank them both! So help me, I’ll press on your damn chest until you’re puking out my drink.”

“Shishikura, stop,” Shouto spoke up, his own arm raising as he took a long, slow drink from the other missing rosé bottle. “These are 2% alcohol, you’ve had them in the fridge for months now, and you never drink them anyways.”

You grinned as you pulled the glass bottle from your lip, your face failing at the fake look of surprise, guilt, and sorrow for your unwanted and unneeded roommate.

“Sorry, they’re such girly drinks. I figured I’d take them off your hands,” you speak with distractingly bright amusement. “Alcoholics like me, we don’t care. Watch out; I might go for your mouth wash if you’re not too careful.”

“You do that, and I’ll poison you like a damn bitch,” Shishikura threatened, his voice in a menacing growl.

“Ooooo, you want me to bark for you, Shishikura? Want me on my hands and knees?” you taunt back, walking backward until you’re collapsing onto the couch besides Shouto. Your arm quickly sneaks between his, and you lay your head on his shoulder. Shishikura’s face is flushed red, his pupils beady as he trembles with concealed rage.

“She’s quite good at it,” Shouto chimes in, the corner of his mouth twitching into an amused smirk as he takes another drink of the weak liquor. He shifts on the couch, allowing you to curl more comfortably at his side; the both of you know just how much your incredibly prude roommate hates any sort of PDA. “Want to hear her bark? She’s also quite good with her tongue.”

As if to emphasize Shouto’s point, you stuck out your tongue, refusing to break eye contact with Shishikura as the tip of your tongue breached the opening of the bottle.

“The actual fuck is wrong with the both of you?!” Shishikura spluttered, his face somehow turning purple and green and red. A truly incredible sight to be had. “‘Childhood friends are great roommates to have’ my fucking ass, you both are monstrosities!”

Shishikura stormed out of the living room, his ears neon red as his purple hair fell to cover his face. As soon as he was out of sight, you turned to Shouto, your tongue removing itself from the bottle and back into your mouth as you began to laugh loudly.

Childhood friends to roommates, ah, what a remarkable story you had with Todoroki Shouto.

It was accurate to relay that you had known Shouto for more than seventeen years now at your current age of twenty-one. Seventeen years of being what is easily seen as the best of friends, the closest companions, and indeed a bond that would withstand time and situation.

The two of you met during the first week of what was preschool. Although both of you could not remember a single instance of events during this time, your mothers had always been excited to relay this story to you for many years that you could remember. It was odd to try to remember it, but even as they painted a picture of your first interaction, you could do nothing but admit that it sounded exactly like how it could have gone.

You couldn’t remember being four years old; you don’t recall what it was like to strain your neck to look up at your parents or how it felt to be so utterly dependent but to scream brazenly about your childish independence. Your mother smiles when she retells the story of your first interaction, of how you were holding her hand as she walked you to the building where your preschool was to be had.

Your hand was so small in hers. Tightly clutching onto her fingers as you looked around at the other children who were also arriving or had already arrived. Some children were bawling by their parents, others aimlessly playing with toys, and some were attempting to talk to one another, but by the apparent looks of curiosity surrounding the babbling and rambling tangents that could only be understood by a firing toddler brain, everyone was getting along.

A teacher greeted you kindly, squatting down to reach your eye level as they excitedly introduced themselves and asked for your name. You, of course, with your hands clutching the skirts of your mother’s dress, responded with hesitant confidence.

“You’re such a brave girl!” the teacher awed happily, stretching out a hand for you. “Is it okay if I take you from your mom and show you which cubby is yours?”

There was a moment of confusion, then clear understanding hovering over your little head. Your mom looked down with an encouraging smile and pushed you forward.

“Do I get a middle cubby? I don’t want a top one,” you admit, your hand stretching out to grab the teacher’s stretched-out hand.

Your mother watched on happily as you removed your schoolbag and lunchpail and placed them neatly within the somehow middle cubby marked with your name. The teacher also helped you put on your white school slippers before gesturing towards the bright, colorful room, their mouth moving as if explaining every little detail before pointing at the corner. Your mother tilted her head, curious as she followed the teachers point to the corner of the room where a boy with exceptional red and white hair — split perfectly in the middle — sat quietly, with fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

(Shouto, although he can not remember this day himself, will argue with you and only you that he was, in fact, NOT crying.)

Trying to not allow the shock of the unnatural hair color affect her, your mother watched as you nodded to your new teacher and walked over with clenched fist confidence to the small boy.

She watched as you approached him, your jaw moving as you so obviously spoke, hopefully introducing yourself. The boy looked up at you with bright, wet eyes but seemed to speak right back to you.

“Alright, parents! Thank you all for dropping off your children! Do not worry. We will take great care of them all, and they are in competent hands! First days are hard for everyone, so if you can exit quietly, I, and the rest of us teachers, would appreciate that greatly!”

Or at least that’s what Rei claimed the teacher said. However, your mother was watching on with increasing exponential horror as she watched you throw a punch at the air before twisting around and pointing right at her and saying with a voice that was much too loud.

“Punch whoever made you cry, Shouto-chan! My mama says that it is okay to punch bullies!”

Thankfully no one but your mother heard you, and even though she scolded you on the way out, whisper yelling that you “better not punch anyone!” her relief was for naught.

When she would return in the afternoon, a bit late because there had been a hold up on the train, you were pouting sitting on the floor with a scuffled uniform, your arms crossed definitely. Next to you was the boy with red and white hair, equally scuffed next to a white-haired woman and an older white-haired boy.

“Oh my god, what happened?!” she shrieked, racing over to you.

“Y/l/n-san,” the teacher spoke with a tone that indicated disappointment with the subtle undertone of amusement. “Y/n-chan has something to tell you.”

Your mother had taught you many things, she will admit, in your very short life. But sass and annoyment was something not often seen in your household or in you, and to see it so blatantly on your chubby-cheeked face was quickly giving your mother greys.

“Shouto-chan told me that his stupid bully brother Touya was being a meanie, and so I helped him punch him back!” you said with tears in your eyes because you didn’t want to back down from your actions, but you also did not like being scolded. “I don’t regret it!”

“Y/n!”

“Y/n-chan!”

“I don’t either,” Shouto-chan grumbled as your mother collapsed to her knees and began to profusely apologize for you to the woman who was undoubtedly Shouto’s mother. “Touya-nii was making fun of my hair again… y/n-chan helped me, though. Please don’t scold her!”

To say the most in the shortest amount of time, you were, in fact, scolded despite Shouto’s begging. Touya stopped making fun of Shouto’s natural hair. Rei accepted your mother’s apology. The teachers were given two bottles of sake.

And, of course, the most important, the most paramount thing to arise from this first day of school was that your and Todoroki Shouto’s friendship was now bound by blood, sweat, and tears.

Preschool became elementary school, which became middle school, and fading into highschool.

It was without saying that your relationship, your friendship with Todoroki Shouto, was probably one of the biggest, most defining parts of your entire life. He was there when your first tooth fell out, when he dropped ice cubes down people’s shirts, you two had bathed together when you were young, had sleepovers well past the age where him being a boy and you being a girl should have made things weird. You laughed when his voice cracked and dropped, he elbowed your chest plenty when you began growing boobs, you taunted his lack of body hair, he bought you your favorite ice cream and heating packs on your first period. You attended cram school together, went to the park and beaches on days off from school. You were partners in every school activity except under specific circumstances. He had listened to you when you told him excitedly about your first kiss when you turned fourteen, and you laughed when he said at the age of fifteen that he had still yet to kiss anyone.

Everyone always claimed, always asked, wondered, and whispered if the two of you were dating. Childhood friends still this close and not dating? Unheard of; practically illegal! Nevertheless, you ignored the disappointed frowns or the hopeful grins as you and Shouto both denied any sort of romantic connection.

Soon the both of you were in high school, and Shouto was mere days from turning sixteen. Much like when the both of you were when you were four years old, you seemed to be the one spouting many words — sometimes unnecessary words that wound you both up in trouble — of wisdom. You were loud when you needed, talking most of the time only to him and your surprisingly large group of friends. (You weren’t that surprised. Everyone wanted to be friends with the handsome, could easily be royalty or a model, Todoroki Shouto.) Shouto remained, for better or worse, quiet, reserved, and a bit awkward. He was a sweet boy, don’t get it wrong, and you would protect him until the end of your days, but the boy was a complete airhead and relied on you for interpreting social interactions.

“Camie-senpai wants me to go over to her house after my birthday,” Shouto explains, his hands exchanging his school shoes for his outdoor ones. “Something about wanting to do that one second-year first-year student project thing for the third years right away.”

“You have Camie?” you ask, slumping against the metal lockers with a slight thud. “Lucky, she’s so nice… I have stupid Agoyamato. Have you had a conversation with him? It’s actually the worst! He thinks he’s all that!”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay; you’re nice enough that he won’t be like… that,” Shouto smiles, slinging his bag on his shoulders before nudging his head towards the exit. “Ready?”

“Am I ever ready?” you ask with a whine but nevertheless proceed onward.

Time passed, and between cram school, actual school, some clubs, eventually January 11th passed and you held an ice cream cake that Shouto loved. You ate the cake together, relaxing as you sat in the warmth of his kitchen.

“Happy birthday, Shoucchan, never change!” you chirp, shoving his arm that rose to place the piece of cake in his mouth with your shoulder and watched as the sweet pastry splattered on top of the table. “...um?”

“I’ll give you ten seconds to run.”

“Only ten?! What about the happy birthday boy.”

“Oh, true. Three seconds to run.”

“Why?!”

“It’s my birthday.”

An hour later, when your stomach hurt from laughing too much and the sickly sweet weight of too much ice cream cake, you lay snuggled into Shouto’s side as the both of you watched some old movie.

“Thanks for always being here for me,” you mumble, eyes growing heavy as the heat of Shouto’s body began to lull you to sleep.

“I’m always here for you,” Shouto softly responded, hand gliding up and down the curve of your spine. “We should get you home. Your mom yelled and nearly skinned us both the last time you fell asleep here.”

“Only cuz she’s scared that we’ll have some sudden revelation we like each other and fuck each other’s brains out,” you groaned, absolutely not content with having to move. With your face buried in your hands now, you missed the weird pattern in Shouto’s chest over that.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“...fine, just because it’s your birthday.”

The next day, when Shouto followed Camie home instead of you, there was something that made you feel off as you waved at them goodbye. It wasn’t jealousy, that much you knew, but something worse when you watched the way your never-been-kissed-before best friend was ignorant to the dark eyes Camie sent his way.

To be quite honest, you’re not sure if you should be as surprised as you are when you get a phone call at ten p.m. to the sound of a confused, suppressed, overwhelmed voice of your best friend asking if you could confirm if Camie had fucked him. You then stayed on the phone for Shouto until well past two a.m., your heart hurting as he recounted the memory over and over again. You weren’t sure as to why your heart was breaking. By the sounds of it, Shouto had actually enjoyed it, but with every stammer to his voice, you felt lightyears away.

Most shockingly, however, was the effects this had on Shouto and his overall persona.

From ages four until fifteen, Todoroki Shouto was someone who was quiet, observant, took things a bit too literally, at all times was entirely precious in the way he interacted with people, and most importantly, unaware of the female population who lusted after him. It worked well for you because it was fun to tease him about things, nag him about how he was sixteen, and hadn’t been kissed even though if he asked any girl at school to kiss him, they definitely would.

But sixteen-year-old Todoroki Shouto was a new shift, a new paradigm for you to learn. It wasn’t that he wasn’t confident before, but now he emitted a sense of confidence that he was aware of, that everyone was aware of. He became mature, sophisticated, styled even. He was still at times quiet, always completely observant. He rarely took things literally and understood rhetoric and sarcasm and hyperboles. Long gone were the days of preciousness, and instead, there was a sense of a predator on the hunt that bled in the way that he talked to people. Most importantly, however, he was fully aware of the female population and precisely who was lusting after him.

He flirted with women and girls. You would find him leaning against the lockers talking with them, somehow trapping them despite not actually trapping them. A new girl was sitting at your table with him practically every week in high school, each girl asking for the hundredth millionth time that the both of you were not dating. Some girls were even bold enough to apologize to you for stealing your best friend — as if you wanted Shouto.

You had already seen his dick, thank you very much (although the last time you saw it was well before you were nine years old), you weren’t missing out on how it probably looked now! Honestly, you had no idea how Shouto never managed to run out of female students to fuck, the school wasn’t that large, and he seemed to go through a few a week sometimes.

But he was your best friend, your childhood friend, and no matter how many girls came crawling back to your lunch table, bawling to Shouto to take him back, soaking the fabric of your skirt to help convince him to take her back, you stayed. You stayed, accepting the fact that your best friend had become an awkward teenage boy and turned into some high school sex freak.

You stayed when his shaggy hairstyle was clipped and became short.

Overnight, just as he went from being a complete virgin to not one, he went from a scrawny sixteen-year-old boy to a leanly built eighteen-year-old hot-ass heartthrob womanizer.

High school wasn’t forever. Even though it took you about a year to accept and integrate Shouto’s new sex life and behavior into your daily lifestyle with him (he always left four of the three days open for you as all his relationships were casual only). Soon enough, the both of you relaxed and found your own relationship to be entirely the same, and when university exams and applications came about, it was decided that yet again, the both of you would follow each other anywhere.

Which is where you were now.

Tokyo University, a third-year student, living in an upscale three-person apartment with your best friend, of course. Shouto plus someone who practically begged in the most unbegging way to live with you.

Todoroki Shouto and Shishikura Seiji in the same apartment as you made for an interesting combination.

You hadn’t wanted Shishikura Seiji as a roommate at all. Period.

There were about eleven other people you only considered asking, but they all said no for their own reasons. Bakugou and Midoriya had found their own apartment closer to the University, and for much cheaper, Kirishima and Mina were RA’s and could not move in. Kaminari said he liked Sero’s couch too much to leave, and Sero couldn’t live in an apartment without a balcony. Momo said the room was too small, Jirou said she’d rather continue living with Momo, Uraraka said it was a tad bit too much for her to afford (to be fair, you didn’t have to pay because the Todoroki’s were paying for your housing, but you understood), Tsuyu and Hagakure said they were living at home. Iida said he would be too uncomfortable living with a couple.

Everyone you found on the street wouldn’t accept your offer. Hence, Shouto invited the meatball and rosé obsessed Shishikura Seiji to live with the two of you simply because he was Shouto’s lab partner in one of his advanced physics classes. Stupid chemical engineering nerd.

At twenty-one years, you can now say that you’ve entirely adjusted to Shouto’s womanizer ways. Too often do you find yourself sitting at the kitchen counter, a steaming cup of tea in your hand as you drink it in slowly, watching with much amusement as either a no-name girl leaves or a walk of shame Shouto enters. It happens at most five times a week; you were used to it. While the unease had finally left, you had to admit you were impressed your best friend could easily sleep around as he did and maintain his outstanding grades.

However, just because you were finally used to Shouto’s womanizer tendencies didn’t mean the world was. Even in University, your fellow students would ask with wide eyes and behind flat palms if the two of you were dating — specifically if Shouto was cheating on you or if it was an open relationship. You would each and every time, smile cheekily, shake your head and say with a roll of your eyes: “No, we’re not dating. He’s not cheating, and no, this is nothing more than us being best friends. Sho is too much of a jealous person to allow for an open relationship.”

Somehow, the constant begging of approval and the erasure of any romantic connection between you and Shouto from the plethora of female students at Tokyo University wasn’t even the most annoying part of it all. No, not at all.

What really ground your nerves was a pattern you noticed when you were eighteen.

Unlike Shouto, you hadn’t had the chance to lose your virginity until you were eighteen. Most of the boys who liked you always assumed you and Shouto were dating, the ones who gathered the courage to ask you out anyways were boys you were less than impressed with. By some act of some higher god, your crush — the school's third-year baseball team's captain when you were a first-year — reappeared in your life and asked you out. It wasn’t your best decision, you can fully admit it, but he was friendly and sweet as he fucked you in his small bed.

You hadn’t expected sex to be like that, and if you had enjoyed this, you couldn’t help but wonder just how Shouto was in bed to have girls behaving like that.

However, the spell was broken when he helped you change back into your clothes, and he begged you not to tell Shouto he was the person you cheated on him with.

It was on this day that it clicked.

What went for him, unfortunately, went for you too.

Except where girls rose to the challenge to dethrone you from Shouto’s side (a shame because they were vying for a seat that you had no claim over), the boys lowered their head like some damn omega to Shouto’s alpha.

Disgusting.

Even with the plentiful, plethora, consistent denial of your relationship with Shouto, even with the tally of girls, Shouto’s bedded (and more excitedly, deflowered — ugh!) rose consistently, no one ever really believed you weren’t dating him! Too many a time, you had been centimeters from making out with a guy for them to pull away, screeching that they couldn’t allow you to betray Shouto. The men who didn’t care were sleezebags, and thus, with a growl and a snarl, you found that you were only able to fuck men who thought jackhammering their fingers into your labia — yes, your labia — would make you cum.

You didn’t want to say you hated your childhood best friend for such duplicitous, selfish reasons… but you did.

But today was Saturday, a few months into the new second semester of the school year, and with school spirit once again high and workload low. The entire campus was brimming with parties, celebrations, alcohol drinking competition, sleazy dancing, and enough sexual tension to kill all celibate people.

So, we look back to where we started.

Shishikura Seiji running away as you nestled back against Shouto’s chest.

“I didn’t think he was actually going to drink these things,” Shouto sighed, spinning the last few remaining drinks of his rosé in his hand. “It’s been in the fridge for almost five months.”

“He probably made his meatballs again and needed something terrible to blame the flavor on,” you half joke half say in complete seriousness. You were not fond of Shishikura at all, and he was not fond of you either. He had a tendency to mansplain everything, which continuously ground on your nerves, especially when he had no jurisdiction to act so confidently.

He was a physics major, not a goddamn god.

Fuck off.

“I feel sorta bad,” Shouto sighs, his hand low and warm on your waist. “But I will admit, these drinks are practically like carbonated water.”

“2% alcohol,” you stress, your grin widening as you pull away from his chest to stare at him. Your gaze is bright, and his eyes are filled with amusement. “You’re either the world's lightest lightweight or a child with no tolerance to actually expect to get drunk off this shit.”

“I think you’re slurring your words already though, you sure you’re okay, lightweight?” Shouto teases, his soft smirk teasing.

“Who was the one who took three shots and passed out?” you wonder innocently, finger to your chin as if you were trying to remember.

“At least I don’t throw up when I crossfade.”

“IT'S NOT MY FAULT. MY BIOLOGY JUST HAPPENS TO WORKS THAT WAY!”

“Alright, bitch,” Shouto snorts, completely unattractively, “hurry up and get ready, yeah? We have a party we’re already late to, and we have no drinks for an actual pregame.”

You squeal excitedly, having forgotten the massive party that was being held a few blocks away. “I’ll be ready in ten!”

Typically, when you went out partying, you went with the group of eleven people you would have rather replaced Shishikura as a roommate. To get ready for said parties, you would always find yourself at Momo’s place with an outfit change, makeup bag, and hair styling items. You had made it a tradition with the other girls to get ready together. The only exceptions to which this wouldn’t happen was when someone had a work event or some family thing come up.

In your case, you had been stuck at a professor's office, diligently helping to put together their research journal as they were in their final steps of publishing their findings. Due to your friendly relationship with your professor, the time had been lost, and your ten p.m. call time to arrive at Momo’s had been missed with a quick:

↳ held up at work! go on without me, sorry! see you at the party!!!!

When you crashed through the front door of your apartment, you froze, seeing Shouto in the hallway by the mirror. Sometime between getting his haircut to be shorter and from this day, he had begun to style his hair by threading it back by his fingers, and boy, it looked fucking good. He was already dressed up for the party. Black joggers, a white t-shirt that was a bit too small if the tight, seductive way it clung to his muscles spoke of anything, and a hoodie he had no care about in case he lost it after taking it off once getting there. Shouto was practically immune to all weather types, he could be in both snow or fire without a single worry, but he knew that a large sweatshirt that smelled like him was enough to hook and line any truly desperate female.

Shouto had chuckled, taking in your frazzled state with years of practice and nudged toward the fridge, already knowing that you had missed your pregaming with the girls.

“Shishikura has two rosés left. Grab ‘em, and we can pregame together.”

But that was all unimportant and already said.

In the end, it took you thirty minutes to get ready.

You had practically smeared on your makeup, hoping the warm, crazy miscoloring would be hidden within the crazy light show the party would definitely be displaying. Your outfit consisted of a tank top that exposed your cleavage and a skirt that hugged your legs and ass just right.

You came stumbling out of your room, fingers trying to shove on your earrings, the rings on your fingers clicking loudly against each other. You smiled breathily, gratefully accepting Shouto’s sweater as you slipped on your comfortable heels at the doorway before hurrying out.

Shouto kept an arm around your shoulder the entire way out, the immense heat of his body keeping you warm as his sweater rested lazily, awkwardly, around your shoulders and arms. You didn’t want to put it entirely on to save your makeup, and in case anyone had any fucking thing to say about the show you and Shouto were putting on. Eventually, the bright and comical conversation between you and Shouto began to grow louder as the pounding of dance music began to ring in your ears. Soon enough, you passed a few drunk people, more and more, until you reached the house where the party was.

Shoving the sweatshirt into Shouto’s chest, you grinned as the smell of alcohol, weed, over-cologne men and women, the faint smell of puke, and the gross crawl of BO flooded your nose.

Ah yes, nothing like a university party.

Shouto laughs at your evident piqued excitement, and after he pulls on the light blue sweatshirt, he grabs your hand, and into the overcrowded home you go.

The intense heat of overcrowded bodies on a dance floor that also makes up a drinking game floor makes you grateful for your choice of clothes. Everyone around you is already drunk, sloshed, intoxicated off their ass as unknown drinks spill from their red Solo cups, sometimes even raining down on you. You grimace as Shouto continues to pull you through. You can taste the Hennesy on your upper lip and somehow know that whoever was drinking it was a freshman with a vendetta to kill his liver and love for drinking before coming of legal age.

“What do you want to drink?” Shouto yells over the nearly obnoxiously loud music. He has his sight on the drinks counter. “Mixed or the juice?”

“Fuck me up with the jungle juice!” you yell right back, pressing to his side as two dancing (see, vigorously dry-humping) nearly trample on top of you. “Parties are meant to be a non-sober event. I need to be borderline blacked out five hours ago!”

The agreeing chuckle from Shouto isn’t heard by you at all, but you can feel his chest give a familiar vibration as finally, he pulls you from the sea of bodies to where the floor is especially wet and sticky. You’ve reached the bar area.

Grabbing your own red Solo Cup, you watch as Shouto makes his own drink. Heavy on the alcohol, light on the mixer, and a good handful of ice (he’s always liked the cold better). His hand reaches for your cup and you offer your cup up as he opens up an ice chest filled with neon-colored jungle juice.

When the drink is returned to you, the both of you cheers and take a long drink.

“Y/N!”

“Y/N-CHAN!”

“You’re finally here, you fucking slut! Getcha fat ass over here now!”

Your neck is twisted to see the absolutely plastered group of girls you considered to be your closest friends, and you laugh loudly.

“Seems like I’m needed,” you yell at Shouto, trying your best to act nonchalantly as he smiles knowingly at you. “Text me about what you decide to do if we don’t see each other?”

“Of course,” he simply responds before placing the curve of his cup back onto his lip as hands grabbed your arms and whisked you away.

In a matter of sixty minutes, you all had played five drinking games.

The girls felt it was imperative to get you to their level right away, so they started off with a game of King’s Cup. Not only was the deck rigged against you — you pulled all four of the four cards and thus had to chug four times — but you had drawn the last King and drank some weird concoction of jungle juice, a tequila shot, a vodka shot, and whatever the fucking hell Mina was drinking. How you managed to chug that and stay on your feet was beyond you, but it was without saying that you had utterly and inevitably caught up with the girls.

After the King's Cup came the Flip Cup game, your team won thankfully due to Mina’s one flip wonder as Kaminari struggled to down the shot in the cup.

After Flip Cup came Smoke or Fire, a game that had Tsuyu stuck on the bus for a record-breaking one round. No one could believe she did that.

Then came a round of Shot Roulette to end with what you were currently doing now, using a drinking card game Momo had made in her spare time to do embarrassing things at random.

Five games in an hour… you questioned if there was by any chance illegal substances in the jungle juice because it had felt like a whopping two minutes.

“It’s midnight!” Hagakure hollered, stumbling backward as she grinned in drunken, stupid happiness. She giggled before singing, “Midnight… memoriessss~!”

Mina groaned at the reference but completely perked up as the dance music changed suddenly from its slightly mellow, good vibe song to none other than Everytime We Touch by Cascada. By tradition, by applicable law by all and every god, when this one song played, everyone needed to stop what they were doing and immediately head to the dance floor.

With your hand slightly sticky with alcohol, and your mind absolutely clouded with alcohol, you whooped loudly as Mina dragged you to the dancefloor.

You, seven girls, formed a closed circle, your Solo cups sloshing over with alcohol, and your faces scrunched tight as you danced and sang as loudly as you could. Each pounding beat of music vibrated in your chest, each offkey note sung by the party-goers making you feel light, happy, dizzy, and oh so perfectly drunk. For just a split moment, you lock eyes with Shouto, who’s across the dance floor, his arms wrapped around some girl you don’t recognize, eyes drinking you in. You smile for a bit before turning back around, arms rocketing up to the air with your excitement.

Although the song ended, the DJ continued to play bangers, and you never once stopped in your mirthful dancing and grinding against your friends as the night continued to carry on. But when you spun out from Mina, your entire world spinning with it, a pair of warm, heavy, large hands rested on your waist, and you laughed.

“Who is this?” you ask, head slamming backward to try and look at the person who had caught you yet hadn’t tried grinding against you. “Oh, Inasa? Hi!”

Yoarashi Inasa was one of your University's well-known jocks. He was a skilled runner, one of the best Japan has ever seen despite his body type telling you he was a bodybuilder. Immediately your smile of idiotic stupor became intentful, seductive, still bordering extreme intoxication. Was Inasa your type? No, not really, but you could reasonably and accurately say that he was a handsome man, with a fantastic body, not to mention a pleasant personality.

You also itched to know what his dick looked like.

This was definitely someone you could see yourself fucking tonight.

“Hi, y/l/n,” Inasa said, his naturally loud voice easily picked up on despite the music being blasted in your ear. “How’s your night going?”

You lick your dry lips, eyes blinking a few times before you turn in his arms, your arms stretching so that you could wrap them around his neck. “Better now that you’re here,” you smile shyly. “How’s yours.”

“Ahem,” Inasa blushes, his eyes staring straight at your cleavage before looking back up at you. “H-Hoping to get better from here! Well, I’m sure it will be.”

“Oh?” you ask, your confidence building faster and faster as you press further against him. “Anything you have in mind?” —you press your thigh suggestively against the semi-hard spot against his jeans. — “Anyway... I can... help?”

Inasa groans deep in his chest, his head knocking backward at your implications, the pleasant vibrations passing on to you. You grin, fingers scraping against the bottom of his buzzcut and bringing him closer, praying for a kiss. But as he returns his head back down, his gaze leaves yours for a split second, and you watch in horror as a sobering look washes over him.

“Actually… you’re here with some random dude, right? I don’t want to step on his toes. I thought I saw you come in with some guy; sorry y/l/n, I can’t do this.”

And just as quickly as he was against you, he was gone.

It took everything in you not to screech bloody murder over the fact that you were once again left horny with no man to take responsibility for it.

Calculated Rate of Not Getting Dicked Down When I Want to Get Dicked Down When Coming to a Party With Shouto: 78% Calculated Rate of Not Getting Dicked Down When I Want to Get Dicked Down When Coming to a Party Without Shouto: 22%

Walking home alone, cold, and with extreme bitterness towards Yoarashi Inasa was a sadly sobering experience. By the time you collapsed onto your bed, you were only slightly buzzed, boarding sobriety while not being sober exactly.

Fuck men.

Fuck their cowardness over a nonexistent romantic/sexual relationship between you and Shouto.

But also… you really wanted to fuck men right now.

The slicked horniness of the potential thought of bedding Inasa had made its unignorable appearance via your soaked panties. You hated yourself, hated your biological needs and lusts.

“I’ll wring Shouto’s neck in front of all of them next time,” you grumble to yourself. “Stage a fake breakup for an imaginary thing…”

Nestling further into your pillows, your eyes closed, body relaxing against the bed when a peculiar sound seemed to echo in your ear.

Thud.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Your eyes slammed open, your jaw-dropping at the very obvious, entirely embarrassing sound of Shouto having sex on his desk sounded in your room! Of course it sounded in your room. His desk was pressed to your wall because that would mean whenever he was his icky womanizer self, you wouldn’t have to hear anything! Your rooms were soundproof but apparently not movement proof.

The thwack of the wood desk slammed against the wall, and with your ear so close to the wall, you began to hear the shaky, intense breathing of Shouto. The whines, keens, and screams of the girl he was fucking as she begged for more. Sobbing that his cock was too much for her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Your panties soaked even more, and with a brain that somehow retracted back into its state of stupor, your fingers brushed against your swollen, ready clit.

This was wrong, so very, very wrong, you thought, the sounds of pitched whining against the stupidly impressive, steady, consistent fucking.

Your mind was a drunken fever.

Your eyes closed not all the way, yet blind to the wall before you as your finger danced and teased against your demanding clit.

You whined softly, matching the groaning of Shouto, who banged something other than the desk into the wall.

For a moment, just this once, you wanted to be the one desperately clinging to Shouto’s back, hips snapping and circling in tandem to his, allowing him to drill his cock deep within you. Your back arched, heat reaching your toes, buzzing filling your lips.

“Yes, fuck, right there, Todoroki!” the girl screamed, begged, and prayed. “Oh my god, yes, yes yes, right there, right the— mmph!”

You find your teeth sinking into your fist, trying to keep your pounding, horny induced brain from crying out. You wanted to know what he was doing to her, if he had kissed her silent, shoved his fingers in her mouth. Maybe he had fucked her so good she couldn’t possibly say more.

There is nothing from Shouto you can hear, no noises of praise, nothing except the occasional ragged breath that seems to permeate through the walls and whisper sweetly, teasingly, like a succumbs in your ear.

Thud.

It increases, in noise, the wall separating your room from his beginning to rattle, shake in his conquest.

Your fingers are wet, entirely slippery with your conquest, your hips thrashing against your touch, clinging to a phantom memory of the last male you had managed to fuck. Then, as your stomach trembles with the orgasm that's mere seconds from blessing you with a release, you hear him—Shouto.

“Fuck.”

It’s not much. If anything, this girl should be so embarrassed she hasn’t been able to elicit a loud response from Shouto, but it’s a verbal gift from heaven above for you. His voice, tight, husky, drenched with a driving lust, whispers to you and only you, wrapping you in this blanket of solitude and need.

With your back arching from the mattress, your hips leaving the soft surface, and your jaw growing slack, your moan is silent, unheard by no one but the heavens as you cum. Heat floods throughout your entire body, tickling and twirling in you until you can’t do anything but shudder, shaking as you fall back down on your bed, dizzy and completely satisfied.

You don’t think about it.

Don’t try to unpack just what happened right now because the reality that you had just masturbated to the sound of your childhood best friend fucking some random girl is a bit too much. Even for you.

So you don’t think about it, and soon the thudding of the desk on the wall is nothing but a drumming lullaby, and sleep consumes you.

When you wake up, you don’t remember what you did.

You get up and trudge to the bathroom, your party clothes abandoned completely so that you’re wearing nothing but a large shirt you had stolen from Shouto years ago. You scratch your belly as you walk into the bathroom, eyes caked with your sleep still as you begin brushing your teeth.

As you brush your teeth, you begin to take off last night's makeup — well, whatever remained of it.

Spitting out the last foamy remains of the paste from your mouth, you rinsed your mouth before washing your skin. You looked much more awake now. Slapping your cheeks in an encouraging, ‘im a functional human adult taking part in some random face wash commercial,’ you exited the bathroom and went to the kitchen.

Shishikura was already in the kitchen, his face expressionless, entirely dead to the world as he scooped some rice into a bowl and topped it off with some eggs.

“Morning,” you yawn, arms stretching over your head as you near closer to your unwanted roommate.

Shishikura sneers at you, but even he was more polite in the morning, sometimes.

“I heard the both of you get back last night,” Shishikura mocked, slamming the lid to his rice cooker with an unimpressed scowl. “You were thirty minutes apart. You know, if you two still want to be partying like a bunch of eighteen-year-olds, do it respectfully.”

Your smile back at him is as fake as he is, and you refuse to move out of the way as he tries to walk back to his room. He growls — gross? — and sidesteps you, grumbling the entire way back to his room as you roll your eyes at his retreating form.

What a child.

You entered the kitchen, fixing up your own things for breakfast.

Kettle brewing hot water for tea, rice cooker on for your own rice (you make enough for Shouto too), and you begin cooking some ham and eggs, readying yourself for a Sunday for going to the library and studying. You hummed to yourself, your phone plugged into the speaker as your music filled the quiet morning air.

You bobbed your head in rhythm with the music, your eyes concentrating on slowly cooking eggs as you poured the hot water from your kettle into the teacup. As you placed your teabag in, you looked up to the sound of a creaking door and grinned wickedly as a girl with light blue hair walked out of the hall you and Shouto’s room were in.

Her dress was rumbled, a few blooming red and purple marks sitting prettily on her collarbone, and her face flushed red as she began to scurry out.

“Bye!” you call out, laughing at the scared eep from the girl and the disgruntled groan from Shouto’s room.

You set down your tea, flipping the eggs in the pan as you heard more shuffling before finally, Shouto made his appearance. He was in nothing but grey sweatpants that sat so low on his waist you could not only see the band of his boxer-briefs, but you were entirely aware of the v-lines, the abs, the pecs, and the small happy trail from his belly button down. You also noted that there was not a single mark on his body, and you wondered if he had ever taken a single mark from a one-night fuck before.

God really cursed you with an objectively attractive best friend, huh.

“Morning, slut,” you sing, noticing with happiness that your rice cooker sang a merry tune, indicating that the rice was done. “Breakfast?”

“Mm,” Shouto grumbled, his hands rubbing his face as he trudged closer to the kitchen, taking a spot on one of the stools. “Depends. Did you make it?”

“...I always make it.”

“I think I like Shishikura’s breakfast better.”

Silence.

You glare at Shouto, and in turn, his lips press to a comfortable, teasing smile.

“Fend for your damn self then.”

Shouto laughed loudly as you began to stubbornly fix yourself a bowl of both your servings. You ate far less than he did, but still enough to fill you until after three pm, so the size of your bowl was hysterical.

“You’re such a horrible wife-roommate,” Shouto accuses, standing up from the stool and entering the kitchen to try and persuade you otherwise to give him his own food. “And here I thought that you liked cooking for me.”

“Go tell your stupid wife-roommate Shishikura instead,” you cry loudly, the faux sniffles from you stupidly fake as you begin to shovel a mouthful of rice and eggs into your mouth. “I’m shwure you’chll beh happ t’gther!”

“That’s absolutely disgusting, y/l/n,” Shouto accuses, his nose scrunching as he traps you in his arms, mouth trying to intercept the food moving from your bowl and into your mouth.

With another desire to prove how unsatisfied in your roommate-marriage you were, you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue full of uneaten, partially chewed rice.

“Ea’ eh!” you mocked, your grin growing as Shouto’s initial instinct was to whip his head away from you.

But as always, because Shouto enjoyed being incredibly annoying, he went after your tongue, readying to eat the chewed-up food off your very tongue.

Eventually, you gave Shouto back his part of the breakfast, laughing as the both of you chatted about who was going to repay Shishikura for the used rosés. Neither one of you could decide, and so it was something to be solved later. Noon, however, came and with a nod, you accepted Shouto’s hug goodbye, to which you twisted his nose triumphantly as you waddled out of the front door, clothed in your winter gear, textbooks, and laptop,

It was time to brave the world and get this paper done.

“Mina, I mean… absolutely no offense when I say this, but it still shocks me every time you say you’re a chemistry major. You just seem so…”

“Dumb?”

“Yeah.”

“You gotta be some kind of stupid to willingly take inorganic chem,” Mina laughed, balancing her textbooks on her head as the both of you climbed the stairwell to the library’s study rooms. “That's why I have the dance minor! Best of both worlds!”

“Could never forget about that,” you laughed as the both of you neared the top of the stairwell.

You didn’t mean to notice him. As a matter of fact, most of your failed conquests at parties never amounted to much anger from you, but seeing Inasa from across the way, his face buried in some aerodynamics textbook, anger boiled in you. On the way to meeting with Mina, you had realized your mistake last night and how you wouldn’t have made said mistake if it hadn’t been for Inasa! You could’ve been dicked down, slammed against your bed and wall as the giant of a man fucked you!

“I’ll be right back,” you sneered, eyes narrowing as you passed your textbook to Mina.

With fire following in ever long, powerful stride, you blinked and immediately found yourself before Inasa.

“Hi. Wanna explain what happened last night?”

Inasa reacted as if you had shot him, his knees coming up to hit the table, his body knocking backward, and he tumbled, crashing to the floor as you watched with a gaping mouth.

“Y-Y/L/N!” Inasa shouted, his face going through half a billion emotions before settling in anxiety-filled fear. You watched, horrified yourself, as he swung to his knees, his head crashing to the floor as he began apologizing to you. “GOODMORNING, HOW ARE YOU TODAY?!”

“Pipe it down, Inasa!” you hiss, your cheeks flooding with embarrassed heat as you garnered the attention of everyone on the floor. “I’m not going to hurt you! I just wanted to talk!”

“Aha, yes, of course!” Inasa laughs, a full belly laugh. He sits up and you freeze seeing the bloodied cut on his forehead. He stands up, completely unaffected by the gash on his forehead, and uprights his chair before sitting comfortably. “How can I help you?”

“What happened to you last night?” you try again, eyebrow raised, arms crossed definitely and awkwardly because yeah… you were confronting a guy who didn't want to sleep with you. “You were into me and then suddenly wasn’t.”

Inasa laughs more, although nothing you said, implied, or did was even remotely funny.

Irritation runs through your veins.

“Inasa, please,” you sigh in helplessness, your eyes annoyed, pleading, and hopeful that he would be the one to finally give you an actual reason.

“It’s… it’s not you. If that’s what you’re wondering,” Inasa finally sighs. His face turns uncharacteristically solemn as his tongue passes through his lips, his shoulders raising to a shrug. “Typically speaking, you are exactly who and what I want when I endeavor in less than chivalrous but still passionate activities. I wanted you last night, and I will not lie that even as I left, I regretted behaving as I did.”

“Well, you did it, and it sorta really sucked,” you laugh, your mouth taut in a frown as your feelings are genuinely hurt.

You keep being put down, and there’s no reason for it.

Why couldn’t you be as sexually active as you wish you could be?

“...Todoroki has a claim on you,” Inasa spoke slowly, his mouth dipping from a usual smile to a frown. “I know you guys aren’t together, but in a way, you two are.”

“No,” you say with complete certainty, anger burning in your chest, “we’re not.”

“Try telling Todoroki that,” Inasa shrugs, his fingers scratching through his buzz cut. “Listen, I wanted to have intercourse with you last night; I did. I also am aware that Todoroki is a womanizer, but he said you were off-limits for all of us.”

“He said that?” your voice is perfectly calm, not showing the raging fire in you.

“Well, no, he definitely did not,” Inasa sighs, the palm of his hands pressing tightly against his eyes. “He has never said it… but it’s the way he talks about you, how he looks at you. It’s a claim on you, even if it’s not a verbal one, and well, no one wants to defy him.”

Your nostrils flare in your irritation, and you find that you’re stepping into Inasa’s personal space, his eyes going wide as you step between his legs and press your hands on his chest.

“I’ll be going home in about five hours. If you still want to fuck me, wait for me,” you say slowly, trying to make sure he understands. “I don’t care if Sho looks at me the way he does; he is not my boyfriend.”

Inasa gulps, his tan skin sporting a healthy pink flush, “Yes, ma’am.”

Five hours later, you’re walking into your apartment with Inasa behind you, his warm, slightly sweaty hand clasped in yours. You make eye contact with both your roommates, Shishikura, whose eyes are rolling to the depths of his skull, and Shouto, who looks like a wall. You, despite the anger you’re feeling for Shouto, smile prettily, then grin wolfishly as you corral Inasa towards your room. You send your roommates a wink before closing the door with a decisive click.

Much like you assumed the night prior, your drunken hazed, lust-driven, anger-flared thoughts proved to be right. Inasa fucked you against the wall, deep into the mattress, he drilled and fucked you until his dick was wet with your slick, and his leg was trembling with his plentiful unleashed loads. But you weren’t done yet, too many times have you been denied, and even though Inasa was trembling, his voice shaking with desperate pleas to slow down or he would cum too fast, you rode him with powerful, swiveling hips.

Once he left, you felt light again.

Your head light, body glowing as you dressed your bruised, cum slick body in a robe as you trudged to the bathroom. You showered, letting the warm water and sweet-smelling oils drench your body before you eventually exited, your hair in a towel, Shouto’s shirt on your person again.

Waltzing to the living room, you grinned as you collapsed on the couch, every grievance you held when you walked in forgotten at the moment.

“Hello,” you smile, your head falling onto Shouto’s lap who was, at the moment, very interested in his phone. Shishikura was gone, undoubtedly leaving in case he heard something he didn’t want to hear during your little four-hour sexscapade. “I am a leaf flowing through the river right now, if you’re wondering.”

“Don’t need to wonder. You were perfectly loud enough,” Shouto grumbled, his eyes rolling. “Says something that I could, considering the rooms are soundproof.”

“I should hope so! After you, the girls rave that Inasa is the best fuck on campus,” you hum, still on a delirious high as you attempt to reach for your best friend's hand to grasp. But to your shock, Shouto jerks away from your touch, and he stands, letting your head fall roughly on the couch. And just like that, your anger is back. The emotion Inasa had managed to fuck out of you for a bit returned at full force. “Shouto?!”

“What?” he snaps.

“What the fuck is your problem?!”

“My problem is that you brought someone to fuck at fucking five p.m.,” Shouto explains, his expression like the void, empty, dark, menacing. “We agreed to keep it until past ten.”

Your face screws up as you push up off the couch, “Are you kidding me?! I’ve seen you constantly bring girls to fuck at any and all times of the day! Don’t suddenly bring that shit in when it clearly isn’t an actual rule in this apartment!”

“You were also being obnoxiously loud,” Shouto narrows his eyes at you.

“You are too!”

“When am I ever?”

“I literally listened to you fuck that girl last night against our shared wall!”

“You moved your bed to our shared wall?! When?!”

“Doesn’t matter! I would’ve heard it just fine on the other side!”

“The girl wasn’t even that fucking loud!”

“You can’t ever remember the names of the girls you fuck! Do you know anything about them ever? Are you even using condoms?!”

“You only ever fuck men with questionable personalities.”

“Gee, I wonder fucking why!”

The two of you were nose to nose, anger flaring and near tangible between the two of you.

“What do you mean?” he grits slowly.

“I’m talking about you mad dogging any male human who so much as looks or thinks of me!” you snap, finger shoving between his pecs. “No one touches me because somehow they respect the way a womanizer looks at me.”

“I’m not looking at you in any special way,” Shouto squints his eyes, completely not having your accusations.

“Even if you don’t, this fucking behavior is pathetic of you!” you say, hands motioning between you two and the room. “I had sex, and you’re acting like some pathetic child! I have been putting up with your sex-craze tendencies since we were sixteen, asshole! Sixteen! If I want to gloat and float about having sex, then I fucking deserve to.”

His nostrils flare, his upper lip curling in a small twitch before he rolls his eyes and walks away.

“That’s right, Todoroki,” you laugh bitterly at his retreating form. “Walk away from a fight because you can never win them.”

It took a bit for the dust to settle, but as soon as it did, you realized in horror that you and Shouto had, for the first time ever, fought.

Being roommates with Shouto was always a fun thing. Having your childhood best friend right at your disposal meant that you could have dinner nights, movie nights, game nights, morning waffles, hikes, and literally anything whenever and wherever you wanted. He was a person to talk to when the days were long, and there was no one else in the world, the person who was there for you through thick and thin. But for two days, he had been locked away in his room, unwilling to look at you, refusing to be anywhere near you.

Your friends had noticed immediately.

The way the both of you hadn’t shown up together, the way you sat at opposite ends of the table, refusing to be trapped in a conversation together. Separate the two of you were, and the world acted as if Earth had dropped out of gravity.

You could care less right now.

You were rightfully mad at him! How dare he act so pettily over you having a sex life when you were expected to blink, turn the other way, and laugh when he would shower after a girl would leave before joining you on the couch to watch a movie. He was in the wrong, not you!

But even if you were unwilling to budge and he was refusing to see things the way they should be, you were now incredibly lonesome. So as you sat with your back on the mattress. Your butt to the wall, and your legs kicking against the wall, you thought of what you could do. With a bitter sigh, you rolled off your bed and scurried out of the apartment. Nothing but your wallet and ID on you so that you could get to the store on the first floor of the complex.

Holding the item in hand, you knocked on a door, your gaze already on the floor, embarrassed that you were going to do what you had to do.

“What?” came the annoyed voice of Shishikura, the door to his room opening as he looked at you unimpressed and very obviously unwelcomed.

“Truce?” you asked, raising the six-pack of Angry Orchard Rosé Cider.

Shishikura looks at you, at the ciders, then back at you.

“Fine.”

How in the world you’re drunk off of four rosé ciders is beyond you, but you are. You’re in the living room, laughing so hard that your stomach hurts as you’re trying not to snort the liquid from your mouth and out your nose. Shishikura is equally plastered off of one drink, his red a ruby red against his purple hair. He’s leaning against you, his breathing ragged, near asthmatic as he tries to once explain just how Shouto looked like when some girl slapped him across the face yesterday for ghosting her after sex.

“He was so shocked!” Shishikura squeaked out, his voice pitchy and incredibly high as he laughed more and more. “You should have seen it!”

Your feet kicked at the air, your face and lungs burning with a fire you hadn’t felt in so long as your laughter turned silent. You gasped for air, trying to contain yourself but failing hysterically.

“Do you wa’ another meatballsh?” Shishikura suddenly asked, his hands flailing to grab his plate of meat. “I think you want another o’.”

“I wan’ ‘ne!” you cried with a slight slur, tears of joy slipping past your eyes to which you haphazardly scrubbed them off your face. “They’re soooo good! I didn’t think they could be so… be so good!”

You find yourself eating another meatball, drinking it down with the cider and feeling happy again. Shishikura goes still by your side, and you hum in wonder, unfocused eyes trying to find what had caught his attention and falling onto the one man you were mad at currently.

Shouto was standing at the apartment entrance, dressed in ripped black jeans, a tight grey turtleneck sweater, and his backpack slung on his shoulder. It was, without a doubt, a studying-only outfit. You knew and have discussed too many times with Shouto about how he never trusted women to take his turtlenecks off without potentially ruining the fabric.

“Well, someone’s finally home... from a night of beddin mo’ women, huh?” a voice spoke, but you were completely unsure if it was you or Shishikura who said it.

Judging by the way Shouto’s eyes locked on Shishikura and not yours, it seemed it was him who said it.

“No, I was doing something,” Shouto retorted, his hand gripping the strap of his backpack, his eyes shifting between you and Shishikura. “A paper for class.”

“Sure,” you end up speaking up, your voice sounding completely sober. You sit up so that your elbow is resting on Shishikura’s nearest shoulder. You raise the glass bottle to your lips, drinking its content without care, never once breaking eye contact. “What was the paper's name? You going after your TA? Or was it a professor by chance?”

Shouto’s eyebrows furrow, his face completely unimpressed by your comeback, but he remains silent.

“He looks like he’s trying to cosplay that one Young The Rock picture, no way would a dignified professor or TA fuck him!” Shishikura laughed with a loud bark, and all of a sudden, that was all you could see too.

The both of you howled with laughter, laughing and slapping each other as you attempted to drink the last bits of the rosés as Shouto rolled his eyes and walked away.

“This is fun. No wonder why you guys do it to me so often.”

As time does, it moves forward.

It seemed as if the entire campus had tuned in to what had transpired between you and Shouto. No one the slightest bit sure as to what happened, but everyone knew something big had happened. There was no more walking together before classes or after classes, no weird Instagram or Snapchat stories of the other, both of you never having to excuse yourself because you had plans with the other. Even though they claimed to not care about other people’s business, the school was suddenly invested in the single speculation that Todoroki Shouto’s and Y/l/n Y/n’s relationship was over.

“Breaking News, it was never a real relationship!” you would scream the first few times you heard it, which only worked to make them whisper louder that you were in further denial.

For the last seventeen years of your life, you had never gone more than two days without talking or seeing your childhood best friend. Those two days happened when Rei had experienced a staggering, hospital-inducing breakdown from stress and had subsequently burned Shouto when you were five years old. The two days were because he spent four days in the hospital. The first two days, he was not allowed visitors as the hospital staff put him under a coma to help his body from entering shock and heal. Of course, the moment he was awakened, you were dragging your mother to his bedside.

That was the only time you hadn’t seen or spoken to Shouto consistently.

But since Sunday evening, you had only seen Shouto once when you were drunk with Shishikura. You had only spoken to him then too.

For the first time in seventeen years, you broke your record of not talking or seeing Shouto.

From two days to five.

It was weird.

You felt almost empty.

So when Mina and Uraraka placed their arms around your shoulders, their eyes dead serious, you knew that they had a distraction for you.

“The deltas are throwing a party,” Uraraka spoke with mystery. “It is on Saturday.”

“It is only right that we go, get our asses so drunk our blood is practically a distillery, and fuck anyone who looks at us a second longer than anyone else,” Mina agrees, her tone wise and knowing as she nods her head.

“Our question to you is:” they spoke together, their voices weirdly, obviously practiced, in synch. “Are you in?”

Your tongue is pressed between your lips, your fingers pressing against the textbook you were using to help support your essay’s thesis, and you roll your eyes.

You grin.

“Obviously.”

And as time promises each and every time, Saturday finally came.

“What is our objective tonight?!” Mina screams over the background music that Jirou is blasting in Momo’s larger-than-life bathroom.

“To fuck bitches and get money!” Hagakure, the only one currently not downing a drink, screams back.

“NO, WRONG!” Mina shakes her head, climbing onto the white marble countertops and pointing at Jirou. “Kyo! Your turn!”

“To beat that prick in the sound booth and prove that I’m—”

“NO! Wrong again! Yaomomo!”

“Um, to make everlasting mem—”

“INCORRECT, YOU GORGEOUS PRINCESS! Tsuyu, don’t fail me, babe!”

“Well, it’s to prove to Todoroki that y/n-chan should be able to fuck any person she wants.”

“A bit lengthy, a bit focused on the wrong parts of it, but YES! Tonight’s operation: get y/n a man — preferably Inasa — who fucks the negativity out of her!”

You laugh loudly, rolling your eyes as you lean in closer to the mirror. You hold a Mike’s Hard in one hand, and in the other is your eyeliner as you paint on your makeup. You’re not really hearing the conversations that the girls are having, your own mind too lost in the music, and the swaying you’ve picked up as the three bottles of Mike’s you’ve had in the past thirty minutes are calming down your still frazzled nerves.

You don’t pull away from your reflection until after you’re done smoothing over your favorite lipstick on your pouty lips. You look over at your reflection and see Mina dancing with an awkwardly stiff Jirou and a delightfully giggling Momo on the bathroom countertops. A smile forms on your face, happiness radiating in your chest, and you grin looking at your friends.

But Shouto still sat in your mind, and you couldn’t help but wonder why.

Why did it hurt knowing that he was avoiding you as much as you were him?

Why didn’t he just try to corner you?

Why did you care that he didn’t?

He was your best friend in the entire world, since your earliest memories, he’s been there, you reason, your whooping not quite as loud as you watch Jirou awkwardly be sandwich between a grinding Mina and a complacent Momo.

It was his fault you, you further reasoned, smiling widely at Hagakure, who was twirling around you, applying her lipstick as a super crazy never before seen talent of hers. He was the one acting like an idiot over the people you slept with even though you let all the people he slept with slide!

But why did you?

Your brows furrowed slightly, unfurrowing just as quickly as Mina pulled you and Uraraka up onto the countertop with her as Jirou and Momo dropped to the floor.

You fucking were in love with Shouto, damnit! Of course you let the stupid personal things go just to appease him! Your back straightened, your eyes rolling as you began to dance with the Kehlani music thumping in the background, but then you freeze.

You were in love with him.

You loved Shouto.

Not in a friendly, platonic, family way.

In an ‘I would date you if I could and marry you on the prettiest beach in front of the most beautiful sunset’ way.

You found that your body was dancing on autopilot as you began to reassess your thoughts, your actions, your wants with Shouto, desperately trying to disprove this love for him. But no matter what you did, you found that it was true no matter what angle you looked at it.

The bass dropped, and you went stiff, your body standing straight and tall although you felt incredibly, terribly small.

“I love him,” you spoke, although you’re not sure who to. Maybe it was to the laughing gods above you or the crying spirits around you. But the girls heard it for some reason, and they, as they were patiently waiting for these past six, nearly seven days, caught you as you went weak.

Finally, realizing that you were in love with your childhood best friend was not the conclusion you expected from a week's silence from Shouto and you. But as you were currently in a crop top with a mesh shirt underneath and the most ripped jeans you owned, chugging down a neon green and blue nearly toxic alcoholic drink, you realized that being at this party was the right way to conclude this circus of a week.

The rush of the liquid dropping down the beer bong was something you found yourself struggling to keep up with, and you felt some of the liquid pour out of your mouth as you grunt, trailing down your heaving chest, creating an image in your onlookers as you refused to choke or pull away. Swallowing the last bit of the drink, ripping the plastic tube out of your mouth, you threw your hands in the air, Tsuyu, who had held and poured the contents for you, screaming too as she lifted your arm in victory.

You couldn’t really hear the music anymore, much more entranced with the music you were singing on your own, and you were currently holding Mina’s face, touching foreheads with her as you spoke a mantra of your love for her.

“Ashido Mina, you are the baddest bitch in the whole wide world. I love your pink hair and your fat ass, and I would die for you. I love you… so fucking much,” is what you said. How it was actually said and how it was perceived is a whole other story because Mina laughed loudly and allowed you to hug her despite your sticky alcohol body.

Your twenties were the new two’s, it seemed.

“Yo, y/l/n!” a voice yelled, and although you let go of Mina’s face, your arms found a new home around her neck as you turned around.

“Hm?”

Your terrible drunk eyes looked all over before falling on a man wearing a basketball jersey and joggers.

Shindou Yo, one of campus’ manwhores. He had a reputation similar to Shouto, you knew that very well, but you were aware that he was disturbingly creepy. According to many vital witnesses, the man slept with just about anyone willing regardless of gender, so not only did you know what the girls thought of him, experienced with him, there was a wider demographic not even Shouto had entered. Number one thing to be told was the fact that Shindou was into some heavy, dark shit to an extreme, his room reeked of sex, and he himself smelled like booze, weed, and BO. But a strong dick was a strong dick at the end of the day.

“Come play beer pong with me?” he asked, his hands shoved into his pockets as he smiled innocently. “I’ve heard some pretty solid shit about your skills, and I want to see how I add up.”

“I’ll play!” you agree immediately, jumping at the thought of drinking more. “Bu I don’t wa’ beer… ish nashty.”

“Anything for you, darling.”

With your arm still holding onto Mina, you accepted Shindou’s hand and allowed him to drag you off to where he wanted to play the game of beer pong.

The game of beer pong went without a single thing going wrong. You were paired up with Shindou, and Mina had managed to find Kirishima in the crowd before you got to your destination and demanded she have him as a partner and not Monoma.

It was safe to say that you were drunk, disgustingly out of your mind. It was an intense game of Cup Pong, the two different teams equally as bad in the drunken stupor, but finally, the two teams were down to a single cup and Kirishima — who was the only reason why they were winning!!!! — had the last ball. You watched in terrible apprehension, fingers digging into Shinsou’s biceps as Kirishima rose the wet ping pong ball to Mina’s lips and let her blow on it for good luck before bringing it back in and began a few steadying practice throws.

“You know, I’m glad I saw you at this party,” Shindou whispers to you, his head ducking down so that you and only you could hear that.

“Why?” you say a lot louder than you wanted, your heart hammering in fear that you would lose this game.

“Because you’re sexy as fuck,” Shindou spoke, his voice turning deeper, huskier, “and now you’re single.”

You blink, attention stolen from the game as you forgot about the final cup and looked at Shindou with a blank stare and an open mouth.

“What?”

“Cuz you and Todoroki are over,” Shindou explains to you as if you’re a child. “You guys are over, right? That’s all everyone’s talking about, and all us guys are ready to fuck you whenever you’re ready.”

His smirk irritates you, the lust in his eyes angering you as you drop your hold on his arm.

“We weren’t together, and you knew that,” you say, eyes narrowing as the crowd watching the game explodes in raging cheers as Kirishima sinks the ball into the cup. “Why the fuck would Shouto be fucking every girl that walks if we were together? What makes you think I’d be okay with it?”

“You’re a cuck,” Shindou continues on, confidence unaffected. “Oh, are the two of you maybe changing roles now? Does the big guy want me to fuck you in front of him?”

Your fist makes contact with his throat before you can even stop yourself and the cheers quickly turn into gasps.

After apologizing profusely to the party holders, they decided that you could, in fact, stay at the party. Your knuckles throbbed in pain, the alcohol in your system buzzing in you in a way that wasn’t fun or relaxing as you made a simple side-step dance move in the middle of the dance floor. The girls, who had at the beginning of the party, drifted ways, had once more glued themselves at your side on the floor. You weren’t in a dancing mood as you took a drink of what you assumed to be a Moscow mule made by Mina for you to keep you at a high for the rest of the party.

Like hell you would ever let Shouto cuck you!

Let him fuck another woman in front of you?

You would go insane if he ever thought that would be acceptable.

“Down girl, relax!” Mina yelled by your ear. “I thought I was babysitting y/n, not Bakugou Katsuki!”

You startled, realizing that your frown had become a fierce snarl as you danced on the floor.

“Come on, babe, let’s get you feeling good again; let’s enjoy this night!” Mina exclaimed, her hands pushing your drink to your mouth and forcing you to chug the contents of the drink. The red Solo Cup is dropped to the floor as soon as you finish. She grabbed your wrists and began to fluidly move your arms — or as well as she could manage herself because she, too, was drunk.

But with Mina winking and smiling at you, the rest of the girls eventually throw themselves into your linked dance circle, your own negative emotions left and in came joy.

It took about another round of ten songs for the dance circle to be destroyed and to have all of you resuming a rave-like jumping and scream-singing as Jirou finally snuck her way into the DJ booth and succeeded to take over. You spun around at the end of one song, laughing completely out of breath as you clapped your hands together. You often forget that while Jirou only listened to a very specific genre, she was a musical genius who had banger playlists for every occasion.

It seemed frat parties were one of them.

However, the next song had your head tilting backward, your grin spreading even wider as you began to move your hips in slow, distinct movements. Dancing with your hips was something you had learned, something you instilled into your dancing category for as long as you could remember.

The beats were loud, deep, thumping deep in the ground and vibrating with great strength in your chest as you pointed a finger at Mina, who was also dancing similarly to you. Your lips moved as you sang the song quietly, the heat and humidity of the room suddenly pressing onto you like another person. You hummed, flicking the parts of your hair sticking to the nape of your neck off, grateful for the slightly cooler air hitting your sweaty skin.

As you rolled your hips down, your hands fanning yourself, trying to cool down your deliriously warm, alcohol-heated body, you froze for just a bit. A person pressed to your back, your ass pressing against a hot thigh, and a hand resting upon the curve of your thigh, keeping you in place. You might have cared, but the body against yours was a welcomed one. Your hips and ass continuing to move in tandem with the music, deliberate highs and lows, and you worked your way up and down the man's body who met yours with spinning accuracy that made you began to pant, your heart racing because this was hot to you. You raised your arms behind you, clasping onto his neck, keeping him on you.

His hair was soft under your touch, slightly sweaty but threaded and parted between your fingers just too easily. His left hand, which had found a spot on your stomach, was radiating heat, something easily felt due to you only having mesh cloth there.

It was slow.

Sensual.

Somehow familiar.

Absolutely mind-numbing.

His chest broad against your back, muscles strong and tight against you.

He was skilled, practiced. Someone you knew was not going to disappoint you, and as your lust-glazed eyes took in the entirely shocked looks of your friends, you finally turned to look.

Somehow, someway, you weren’t shocked at all to see Shouto’s clouded, dark eyes locking on yours. Your world seems to freeze as something between you and Shouto is so obviously broken between you, forever changing, no longer able to go back. It didn’t matter that this was the first time in almost a week you had seen him, had talked to him, he was there, and you wanted to feel his skin scorching against yours. His touch screamed of his want for you, your recognition of your love for him, and your current lust for him. You were angry, hurt, confused, but you were too drunk to care, too intoxicated on the spell the two of you created on this dance floor.

But even as your world froze, the music continued on.

Grabbing Shouto’s hand, you spun around so that his chest was now pressed against yours, your legs between his. You continued dancing, continued to roll your hips down as you sunk down to the ground as Shouto remained standing, his hand supporting and balancing you as you went down and up. He began to dance with you again, the world seemingly disappearing as the two of you ground and panted heavily in each other's ears.

He pushed forward, and you whined, feeling the blazing swollen heat of his semi-hard cock against your stomach, but you met him there.

Your fingers fisting in his hair as his hands found their way into your back pockets, gripping your ass, and your eyes fluttered shut as his mouth, blazing, intense, and intentful, mashed against yours. You kissed him back immediately, all defenses abandoned to that of your lust, wants, and needs. His mouth was a fire, his kiss a blaze that consumed you, drowned you, made you push for more.

It was a kiss that lasted who knows how long, but by the time you had separated, you could feel the familiar sting to your slowly swelling lips and the song that had ended.

His eyes were a near black, his cheeks flushed, and his arms kept you so close you had to think if you were in the privacy of your home or in public.

“I want you,” you whispered, your voice begging, pleading for him.

“I need you,” he responded, his voice equally wishing.

“Take me home,” you speak, lips pressing sloppy, desperate hot kisses to his neck. “Take me home and fuck me.”

“Fuck, yes, okay. Let’s go,” Shouto pants, his hands leaving your ass and grabbing onto one of yours before taking you and dragging you away.

It wouldn’t hit you until much later, but the very first kiss you had ever had with Shouto was in the middle of a dance floor, at a party where the male population had been ready to snatch you up after your relationship with Shouto was so-called over.

You were breathless.

No matter how deep you inhaled, you felt like you weren’t having enough oxygen flooding your veins, filling your lungs. You laugh loudly in the night, uncaring about the strangers you passed looking at you and Shouto, who chuckled and snorted with every giggle you made.

This felt crazy, insane, something serendipitous and not real even in the smallest of bits.

He kissed you.

He wanted you.

He said he needed you.

Wants and needs were different things, but he said need.

He needed you.

Just you.

Your feet ached from the running, but you could only focus on Shouto, your mind filling and swimming in the memory of his body pressed to you. The way his lips ghosted over your neck, and the way he danced against you — with you. The four-block walk back to your apartment seemed too far, and your eyes locked on a nearing alleyway.

With much more strength than you should have, you shoved Shouto into the alleyway, your mouth immediately pressing onto his.

Shouto groaned into your mouth, letting you drink his noises as you pulled him close, consuming him in a messy clash of teeth, spit, and tongue. You whined back, your legs slotting between his thigh and grinding down on the hard muscle. It alleviated the growing, scorching heat in your panties but also intensified it, making you want for more and more and more.

“You drive me fucking insane,” Shouto groaned in your mouth, shifting and guiding your rolling hips his thigh better, more fluid, more intense.

Your eyes barely cracked open, your mouth no longer kissing him put pressing against his in an open mouth pant. Your drunken breath saying nothing but implying the world.

Something Shouto was more than keen on giving you.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered for you to hear, so reverent, so holy. And so that you, the center of his world, the only thing he saw and believed in, knew how passionately, how ardently he believed in you, his mouth slid down your neck, and his teeth sunk in your flesh. He claimed you, praised you, making you a part of him.

“I’m still so mad at you!” you moan, voice pitched, whiny, and deliriously high. “I love you, asshole. I love you, and you sleep around! I love you, and I don’t care if you sleep around, but you care that I sleep around?!”

“I love you too,” Shouto mumbles against your neck, his teeth continuing to press into your skin that seems to explode with heat at the revelation. “I love, and I’m an idiot; I’m so sorry.”

And then he does something with his tongue against your neck, the soft of swipes, the wet tickling heat making your head slam back against the brick wall, and a mangled, strangled moan of unadulterated want emits from you.

“We'll talk about this in the morning,” you pant, fingers fisting in his shirt. “We can fix this, but right now, shut up and fuck me.”

“Y/n—”

“I’m horny,” you interrupt, hips sharply jutting into his leg. “You made me horny. Take responsibility.”

His eyes flashed dark, his nostrils flaring, and your words cemented in his head. He resumed his painting, his worship on your neck as you cried loudly in the alleyway, desperate, needy for more.

It was dizzying to have him on you like this.

For so long, you had only touched him in a few ways, had only ever felt a specific type of warmth. But this was unlike anything you’ve ever done with him, to him. It felt like you were burning and freezing, consumed by heat and energy and everything Shouto. His all too familiar cologne filled your nose, drowning your brain, invading your senses. His frantic heartbeat felt against your own body, telling you exactly how you were affecting him, how you made his heart speed and jump with every breathy whine.

“Fuck, I can’t do this. We need to get home now!” Shouto growls, his hands grabbing you by the wrist yet again and pulling you away.

His strides are long, quick, and powerful. You’re running to keep up, beautifully out of breath, staggering and stumbling to keep up in his objective to get back to the apartment now.

It doesn’t seem to take long before he’s pushing open the doors to the apartment complex, corralling you through the doors and into the elevator to get to the eleventh floor. The elevator doors are behind you, and with no one else in the life, you turn on him and immediately resume your own endeavor of claiming Shouto with your mouth, body, and soul. He matches your intensity, hands roaming from where the clasp of your bra sat to the curve of your ass. He grabbed you, pulled you in closer, the air in his nose staggering as you stammer against his mouth.

Teeth touch lips, tongues in each other's cheeks, and Shouto leads you out of the elevator backward, his one hand on your waist forever steady and the other one holding the key. Your fingers are back in his hair, pulling and tugging sharply on the soft, short strands with nearly disappeared gel. He gets to the door, fumbling with the key as you continue to kiss him, distracting him with the smallest of movements.

“Which room?” he asks against your mouth, pushing you through the threshold, his foot closing the door behind him.

The shoes are haphazardly kicked off and you’re now on your tiptoes to continue kissing him as you were. You tried to think, tried to figure out if you wanted to be surrounded by Shouto’s scent or to have him displayed in your room. His teeth then suckle on your bottom lip, biting down on the swollen, hot flesh just gentle enough that your mind draws a blank and your voice responds on its own.

“Mine.”

You shriek then, Shouto swiftly picking you up off the floor and you panic, hands swatting and beating on him as you scream to let you down. He continues walking, holding you without a worry, his arms remaining strong and firm beneath you. But with your distraction, with your lips no longer pressed sinfully against his, Shouto’s mouth finds a junction point on your clavicle and sinks his teeth down again, claiming you once more.

“S-Sho—” your voice hitches, the feeling too intense for you to process all at once. You hear your room door open and close, and without warning, you’re soaring through the air before collapsing on the bed.

“You think I go to the gym to get muscles for fun?” Shouto taunts, his fingers hooking under the dark grey t-shirt he’s wearing. “Angel, I go to the gym to make sure I can fuck you in any position, against any surface or wall you want.”

Your body feels like it's scorching as he removes his shirt, his muscles rippling and moving seductively with the devious, intentional movement.

“What’s wrong, y/n?” Shouto asks, the shirt dropping to the floor, removing all traces of oxygen from your person. He steps closer, fingers circling around your ankle and suddenly pulling you in toward him until you were sitting at the edge, his lips hovering over yours. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your tongue feels dry in your mouth, but your eyes narrow before you push up and capture his mouth back with yours. He kisses you back deeply, bending down so that you begin to shift backward, allowing him the space to crawl onto the bed with you, and at the last moment, your leg wraps around his waist and spins the both of you. Shouto gasps as you pin him onto the mattress, your tongue invading his mouth, brushing and swirling against his, coaxing his own tongue back into your own mouth. With the wet heat in your mouth, your teeth playfully, just gently dig into his appendage and tug.

“No, but it seems like I got yours,” you humor him, your teeth releasing his tongue, and Shouto looks up at you like you were both the sun and the moon, and the stars were a gift to him.

It takes your breath away.

Shouto grins, shifting onto his elbows so that he’s closer to you before kissing you again.

The kiss is growing louder, both your mouths ever so consuming, trying to relay years of repressed, unknown emotions and feelings within a drastic, incredible touch. Your hips begin shifting against his crotch, humping his clothed erection, demonstrating yet again the power and grace you hold in your body.

Shouto’s hands move from your ribs up to your breasts, and with the hot, rough flesh of his skin, he squeezes your tender flesh. You moan into his mouth, hips bucking wildly against him at the sensation. It isn’t a powerful flesh, but a reminder, a demonstration of just what and where he could inflect passionate actions.

Your hands scour his chest, fingernails dragging teasingly down his firm, developed muscles, fingers flicking and teasing at his own exposed nipples. Shouto grunts into your mouth, hips bucking powerfully upward into your clothed cunt, and you splutter at the power behind it. But it seems as though Shouto is over the fishnet mesh shirt and crop top you’re wearing because he’s tugging it out of the waistband of your jeans and commands in a deep, lust-ridden voice: “Off.”

Goosebumps flash across your skin, bubbling and spraying across your sensitive skin as your shirt and crop top join Shouto’s on the floor. Your gasp loudly when Shouto rolls the both of you over swiftly, his mouth immediately pressing hot, viper kisses on your breasts. All thought and reason leave your mind as his teeth nip and pull. His fingers pushing the straps of your bra off your shoulders and shoving your boobs out of the bra in a firm hold.

“You have no idea how fucking long I’ve wanted to touch you, kiss you, fuck you,” Shouto whispers, his tone almost dark as his hot air fans against your already pebbling nipples. “Fuck, angel, you’re better than anything I’ve ever dreamed about.”

You whine loudly, fingers tangling in his hair as you desperately, wordlessly try to persuade him to put his lips around your attentive, eager nipples.

“I always forget you got these things,” Shouto says in wonder, his fingers touching the metal bars sitting so innocently, deviously on through your nipple. He tugs on the bar, and all the nerves in your breast fire and tingle, and your feet curl by his back as you whimper. “Fuck... I can’t believe I forgot…”

“S-Shouto, I fucking swear!” you almost screech, hands desperately pulling at strands of red and white, wanting his teeth and tongue and the suction of his mouth on your nipple. “Stop. Fucking. Talking!”

Shouto chuckles, his eyes of blue and grey flashing up at you dangerously, knowingly.

“Okay,” he says cheekily, and as if he read your thoughts, his teeth gently bit down on your all too ready nipple. Your head slams against the mattress, your chest feeling alive as if you had been electrocuted. He sucks your nipple, teeth tugging on the sensitive flesh, clacking against the metal in your flesh. His fingers taking care of your lonesome nipple, keeping it company with gentle, purposeful rolls as he has you sobbing his name.

“Please, please, please,” you beg, although you have no idea what you’re begging for. Your hips pathetically grinding into his clothed cock, trying to get yourself to cum while not having been touched. “Sho— Shouto!”

Shouto pulls away from your nipple with a loud pop. His breath panting, short, and overwhelmingly strained as if simply sucking your throbbing, needy nipple had given him the same amount of pleasure as it did you before consuming your forgotten one. Just as before, you melted against him, begging please, pretty please to him but never telling him what you were wanting. You didn’t know what you were wanting.

But unlike before, his hands leave their attentive position on your free nipple and slam your hips back down onto the mattress, keeping you down and still as he continued his ministrations until you were nipplegasming. You choked as the orgasm consumed you, your body going rigid and your eyes rolling to the depths of your head as his hot mouth was all you could think of. For a moment, the needy wet heat between your thighs was easily ignorable, something unneeded until Shouto was pulling away and kissing you again.

His chest was pressed tight against your own chest, your sensitive, overstimulated nipples rubbing against his chest with the welcomed friction as you let out a wordless, near-dizzy sigh into Shouto’s mouth. He kissed you with incredible passion, with dizzying heat, and consuming lust.

Your voice was so small, your voice easily drowned in Shouto’s mouth as your fingernails dug into his back and raked down pathetically, desperately proving that you were still here. Still fighting him on just who would win this night. Your fingers went down the curve of his spine, trailing down until you found the waistband of his sweats, and with his mouth everso distractingly on the swell of your breasts, biting, marking, and sucking hickies and his print on you for forever, he helped you slide the pants off.

In an almost dramatic fashion, his eyes burning deep into yours, leaving you stunned and a worshiper at his feet, he rose off your bed and let the pants fall. You shakily inhaled, your eyes suddenly transfixed and only seeing the hard, leaking dick that stood tall and proud against his twitching stomach. At the mere sight of him, you now truly, completely, and entirely understood just why the girls were obsessed.

From tip to the base, he was thick, the flush of his skin gorgeous, the curve of his cock optimal to fuck anyone. He was long, thick, and delicious—trimmed pubes of red and white and balls that had your mouth watering and going dry. You wondered, imagined, tried to visualize just how much it was going to hurt getting that in you. You’ve never had a man with a dick like that, never had to choke or fuck on something that looked like it would possibly render you stupid the moment you were impaled.

“Can I?” you ask, ‘can I touch you? Can I suck you?’ go unsaid.

“You owe me one,” Shouto says, his words teasing if it wasn’t for the way his voice betrayed him with the eagerness, the want and inexplicable tell that says if you don’t touch him, he will lose his fucking mind. “Please, do it.”

You’re dragging him back onto the bed, sitting him by your headboard, spreading his legs apart as you situate yourself between them. With a tentative, shaky hand, you reach out and grab on his dick.

His flesh is hot to the touch; it's hard and twitches just so at your grasp. Shouto lets out a gasp mixed with a whine, and you look at him with wide eyes and parted lips. Unable to help yourself, you lean in, your nose touching the underside of his length and nuzzling into the flesh. You look back up at him with hooded eyes, eyes dark with mirth, lust, and an overwhelming need to please Shouto. He stares back, eyes entirely too bright, almost scared, almost as if he can’t believe this is happening.

You smile softly, eyes breaking contact to look at the swelling cock in your hand, and then back at him as your tongue pokes out of your mouth and puts a long, wet stripe against his length.

And Shouto?

Shouto moans like a man who’s had warm food after days of starving.

You lick from base to tip, saliva mixing with precum as your mouth presses teasing, open mouth kisses down the length of his cock, tongue pressing against the sweltering heat of his balls.

“Fuck, y/n, stop teasing,” Shouto grits, his hips pathetically snapping into nothing, his hands desperately trying to touch you, to which you swatted him away each and every time. You tut, shaking your head. With both your hands fisting his dick at the middle of his length, your squeeze and pull in opposite directions.

The reaction is one that you were hoping for, Shouto’s head slamming to the headboard with a clash, his legs jumping just a bit, and precum coming out in even heavy drops. You laugh breathlessly at his display, enamored with how fucking easy he is to get to make noises. He’d never made noises before, no other girl had him the way you did, and that made you crazy with power.

Before you wanted to, your mouth consumed to head of his cock, allowing the musky smell that was completely and only Shouto to fully consume you. You sucked on his thick swollen head, tongue pressing on the leaking slit on his head as he choked on your name. You smile, taking him in further, straining against the weight in your mouth, the pressure on the back of your throat, and the stretch of your throat. As soon as you had him a bit way in, you were pushing out, his hips driving to find you but missing you. Shouto’s noise was almost broken, near needy, and your head spun with his noises. Unable to stop, you pushed in again, allowing the drive of his hips to send his cock further down your throat.

Tears filled your eyes at the action, his cock much too large, much too thick to be fucked into your throat as such. Your fists acted as a barrier as you adjusted, your throat humming, mouth moaning as Shouto lost himself to the heat of your wet mouth. You bobbed your head, fucking him diligently and intently with your mouth, driving him further down, your tongue and hollowed cheeks. You sucked his dick with the intention of ruining him, of making him fill your mouth and throat with him so he could never doubt that it was him you wanted, him you needed to consume. You let go of one hand, allowing it to fondle with his balls as his cock went further into your mouth, the sounds of your choking, gagging, and crying egging him on.

“You take me so good,” Shouto sang to you, whispering words that only you’ve heard. “Fuck, angel, take me all the way. I know you can do it.”

With his hands at the back of your head, your fingers squeezing his balls, and the shaky removal of your final hand on his cock, he drives his hips all the way up. Shouto curses loudly, and you choke, feeling the rush of cum shooting down your throat, and you’re let free.

“Swallow it all, don’t spit it up,” Shouto breathes, his body shifting upward, eyes intent, focused. “Let me see.”

You cough violently, mouth closed as you swallow the salty cum, only letting your mouth open to allow the drool and spit to drip from your flat tongue as you show him that you swallowed every last seed. He groaned, grasping you by the chin and pulling you back in for a passionate, all-consuming kiss. The taste of Shouto and his cum sat heavily in your throat, and you were shaking as he began to unbutton your jeans, shedding them off of you as he flipped you back around so that your back was resting against the mattress.

Salt sweat dripped down your neck, and Shouto left fingertip bruises on your waist, your knees and legs awkwardly kicking as you finally got your jeans off your ankles. You shuttered, feeling Shouto’s hot, spit-slick dick pressing against your stomach, your cunt flipping and twisting at the thought of taking him all in.

“You’re still, fuck… you’re still hard?” you gasp, Shouto’s fingers tracing the innards of your thighs, scratching at your ass, slapping it once, twice, leaving you pitched and shaking.

“How can I not be when you’re down beneath me?” Shouto asks, his eyes looking at you as if he was burning the very naked image to you in his brain for him forever. “You’re mine, right?”

The question itself, while unexpected, was not unwanted.

You feel yourself nodding, your fingers scratching up his flexed arms, “Yours and only yours.”

“Good,” Shouto smirks, leaning in, his entire weight on the one hand beside your head, making you groan as his lips were so close yet so far away. “I’m yours as you are mine.”

With that, his fingers pressed to your thus far, unattended to clit, your legs shaking, kicking the air as you howled in pleasure. But it was such an intimate place, something you never expected Shouto to ever touch, and so, in a voice so pathetic you couldn’t even recognize it as yours, you screeched: “D-Don’t touch that!”

Shouto cocked an eyebrow, his head tilting as his fingers swirled around your swollen nub, sending just enough electrifying pleasure through every neuron in your body. “Why not?” he asked, voice authoritative and curious and sadistic. “It’s mine — you’re mine. I can play with what’s mine whenever I want.”

The words make your entire will collapse, the words liquid heat in your ears and mind. You moan loudly, feeling Shouto adjust your hips, lining your spasming cunt with his cock, and with his tongue delving into your mouth, his lips pressing against yours, he slowly pushed into you.

Shouto was loud the entire way into you, the deep grunts, breathless moans, and mindless babble of how this was unlike anything he’s had before, better than anything he’s ever imagined. He bottoms out quickly, hands leaving purple bruises against your skin as you lay on the bed silent.

Your back is entirely arched, jaw slacked, voice dead on your tongue because the feeling of him buried deep within you is staggering. You let out a single tone noise, your mouth gasping for breath as your voice finally begins to come back to you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whisper over and over, your legs tight around Shouto’s hips, shaking with the feeling in you. “God, y-you’re so big, Sho… I’m—”

You can’t finish your sentence because he shifts just enough that his cock is meeting places in you that had never been encountered before. Your eyes roll back again, your fingers pressing ruby red scars to his back as you scratch and tear his back.

“You’re so fucking tight, shit,” Shouto pants, his mouth panting against the sweat on your collarbone, his own breathing heavy and spaced. “You’re perfect, y/n, so fucking perfect.”

You preen with those words, your mouth finding a home at his temple to which you kiss him, drag your lips down to his ear. You bite and nibble as you adjust to him buried deep within you. And he heaves a sigh and pushes up off you, eyes daring to stare into you as he huffs almost in disbelief of this entire night.

“I’m going to start moving,” he says, fingers scratching down your sides to your thighs. “Are you ready?”

Not trusting your voice, you nod. Shouto smiles, leaning back down for one last kiss to which you quickly returned, staying there as his hips moved backward before thrusting back into you. It's the first thrust of many, but your arms wrap even tighter underneath his own, your nails scarring his back as he goes again and again. You fucks into you deliberately, readily, with purpose and skill that speaks wonders and lives up to the many rumors you’ve ever heard.

His thrusts are powerful, slapping into your thighs with a mighty smack, making you whimper and wail into his salty neck as your hips lift up to meet his. It's a powerful dance, a dizzying cycle. His cock sliding up and down your puffy velvet walls, your weeping walls clenching him in a vice, unforgiving and unwilling to let go.

He speaks praises into your ear, your yours, your mouth.

“Such a pretty angel, moaning for me, crying for me, tell me you want my cock. Tell me you want me buried in your fucking stomach.”

You are converted to him in return, seeing him, speaking to him, devoted to him.

“Fuck, I want you more. Faster, harder! Don’t stop! I can feel you in my stomach, Sho! Fuck! Fuck me, fuck me fuck me!”

His weight is pressed on your thighs, spreading your thighs further apart, fucking into deeper, fucking you so powerfully, so desperately your soaked cunt squelches and drips your essence, soaking your bed and his legs. Your teeth sink into his skin, copper filling your mouth, and your vision feels missing as you are slamming your hips up, rolling them desperately to fuck back into him. You can feel his hand clutching yours, pressing it into the mattress as he somehow speeds up again, drilling you into the mattress, the bed creaking and bending under both your weight.

“More, more, more!”

And he gives, and gives, and gives.

You wail his name, the heat in your skin, tickling your clit and innards making you sweat, the alcohol on your skin sticking you to Shouto.

Shouto grunts your name, hisses your name, damns you heaven and back for having such a fucking grip on him. It's when he looks into your eyes, cock drilling into you at a speed and power that no human should ever obtain, one hand gripping yours and the other pinching and teasing your clit, you cum, bursting open at the seams.

Your orgasm is loud, clenching, all-consuming, and you drag Shouto down with you as he stammers, shudders, and cums deep within your womb. His seed spilling out of you as the both of you collapse onto the bed with breathless, thoughtless minds.

“Fuck,” he says.

“Right?” you chuckle.

And with your nose pressed to his sweaty, sex-lulled body, you fall asleep with his hands traveling up and down your spine. Hopefully, things would be well when you woke up.

P R E S E N T

To stop you from screeching so loudly you woke up the entire world, Shouto held his hand to your mouth, his eyes wide, terrified, and completely confused.

“Please stop yelling… my head hurts…” Shouto begs, his face completely exhausted but with that post-orgasm sleep glow.

“We had sex?!” you shriek, throwing his hand off your mouth. “We were mad at each other, and we had sex?!”

“Oh,” Shouto seems to remember, his head rolling before he sat up, bringing you up with him. “Right, we should talk about that, huh?”

“You think?!” you shriek, entirely overwhelmed with the fact that you had done so much embarrassing shit last night.

It’s quiet for a bit. The birds chirping outside an almost cheerful taunt as the both of you, for the first time in seventeen years, find it too awkward to talk. No one wants to speak first, to mention the elephant in the room, for once it happened, there really was no going back. Not that there was much to go back from.

“I’m in love with you,” Shouto finally says. It’s an admittance, a whisper that's strong despite it told in such a hushed voice as if you would laugh at him as he confessed. “I’ve actually been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

Now that shocks you.

Your eyes are wide, and you’re staring at Shouto, unsure what to say, what to ask, but you know you need more answers.

“I know, hard to believe, huh?” Shouto chuckles, his hand running through his sex and sleep disheveled hair. “It’s true, though… I don’t remember not ever being in love with you.”

“No… no way,” you say, your body running cold, and you shiver. You remember then that you’re sitting up, and you’re very incredibly naked. Shouto notices and moves to grab a blanket at the foot of the bed and wraps it around you. “That doesn’t make sense,” you argue, your furrowed brows making your skin crease as you try to think back on all your years and memories, looking for signs in which Todoroki Shouto loved you. “You never showed it.”

“Camie said the same thing,” Shouto sighed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he shrugged nonchalantly. “Before I was sixteen… I don’t know; I guess I could understand why. I only ever talked to you, always paired up with you. I let you hold my hand, and I let you hug me… I thought me telling you that I had never been kissed before would make you want to kiss me, but it never did. I know I was awkward and a little different when we were younger, so when I was paired up with Camie… I thought she would help me.”

“By fucking you?” you asked, your frown deepening as you remembered your bitter feelings over Camie stealing Shouto’s virginity.

“She… she said that by being sexual, maybe you would see me as a man, and not the four-year-old crying boy in preschool,” Shouto smiled sadly, his fingers picking at one another. “Me having sex was supposed to show you that I was a man who wanted to see you as a woman in return, but it didn’t work.”

“Well, no shit,” you snort, relaxing a bit although you felt limp. You found yourself leaning against Shouto’s strong shoulders, your head landing heavily on him. “You went from a virgin to fucking anything with a wet hole.”

“...yeah, I’m sorry about that,” Shouto said with regret, his shoulders sagging just a bit. “At first, I thought I needed to fuck more girls to prove I was a man to you because you acted like nothing had happened after Camie… but sex was fun, it felt good.”

“Sex is good,” you agree with a soft chuckle to which he returned.

He shifted a bit, arms tightening and relaxing before he finally admitted, “It helped distract me from you because you looked at others the way I wanted you to look at me.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper back.

“No, don’t be,” Shouto speaks firmly, his arm wrapping around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple. “It was my fault. I was never assertive enough, confident enough to simply confess.”

“So, does you being in love with me having anything to do with you driving the entire male population away from me?”

Your eyes look up at him, finding his embarrassed gaze before he glances away.

“That actually wasn’t intentional… I guess I just talk about you a lot.”

“Yeah, but still doesn’t mean you couldn’t ever deny it yourself!”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Apologize then.”

“Y/l/n Y/n, I am sorry for making the entire male population we’ve ever come across think we were an item and not telling them otherwise. I am sorry for keeping you from enjoying sex while I continued to. I am lousy, and my love for you should be unreturned because that was ass of me.”

You sigh, your lips pursed to keep from smiling as you looked back at his handsome face.

“Now, ask me the damn question, crybaby.”

“Crybaby?”

“You finally admitted that you were, in fact, crying!!!!!”

If you asked Shishikura Seiji what the worst thing about being the third roommate to Todoroki Shouto and you was, he would give a million and three answers as to why it was the worst.

One: he absolutely hated how loud the both of you were. Todoroki Shouto was someone he thought was quiet and introverted, but whenever he was around you, he was loud. You were just plain old loud, and he thought it was annoying.

Two: he absolutely hated your rice. Call it petty, but after you fed him on his first night and tried putting him into a chokehold for saying the song your rice cooker sang at its end was the stupidest fucking thing ever made, everything you made taste like ash and dirt.

Twenty: he hated that there were biweekly karaoke nights. He would be studying away in his room and wanted to die when he heard the all too familiar sound of Mamma Mia’s Here We Go Again blasting in the living room.

Hundred fifty-seven: SO. MUCH. FUCKING. SEX.

Three hundred thirteen: SO. MUCH. DRINKING.

Five thousand: SO. MUCH. WEED.

Ten thousand three: you put his toilet seat up whenever you’re drunk, so he falls in when he goes to pee in the morning.

Five hundred: the way the both of you looked at each other, fucking disgusting.

To say the least, there were a lot of many different reasons scaling from actual issues to petty small shit, but Shishikura was not in any position to find a new apartment, so he stayed. To be quite honest, having been living with Dumb and Dumber (you and Shouto, respectively), he only thought there would be one thing that would make him lose his actual mind.

The day that would inevitably come and the both of you realized your feelings were, in fact, returned. He didn’t want to even imagine how the animalistic sex he often had to hear coming from your hallway would increase, or the sappy stupid romantic love he would see in the living room because as best friends, you both had no care for PDA and if you were allowed to kiss? Allowed to have sex? He feared he would have to wear a hazmat suit in every corner of the apartment. You both were already incredibly loud as a duo (see reason one as to why he hates living here); he feared the worst when the mutual love was realized.

But he exited his room a week after that Sunday morning with a fully loaded water gun just in case. His eyes narrowed, the hair on his neck raised as his beady eyes focused in on the living room.

Shouto sat on the couch, his back on the armrest, and you sitting between his thighs as you watched him play some game on his Switch, your smile large and annoyingly bright, but he realized that he couldn’t hear you screaming or speaking so loudly he could listen to the conversation.

No, as a matter of fact, Shishikura couldn’t hear a single word; the words being exchanged between you and Shouto spoke so softly, so intimately, it shocked him. Shishikura noticed with an almost awed surprise that even though your smile was as annoyingly bright as before. It wasn’t directed at anything but Shouto, and Shouto’s smile, while nowhere near as big, just as warm and full to you.

It was intimate, romantic even.

Nothing had changed in your relationship except now, finally, now, you were allowed to kiss and fuck each other like heat-driven animals.

Shishikura was shocked to his core, unable to comprehend the sight in front of him.

You nor Shouto paid him any mind, too lost in the game and in each other to look his way as he made his way into the kitchen for his lunch. Shishikura set the water gun on the counter, a small smile spreading on his face despite himself, and chuckled.

Maybe the two of you together weren’t something to hate on after all.

“Hey, is that a water gun?!”

#todoroki x reader #todoroki smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha

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quindolyn · 3 years

Note

hi hi i have a req- remus and/or sirius where the reader has like bigger boobs w like stretch marks and stuff (bc theyre natural!!) and shes insecure ab them so the boy(s) make her feel better

Stripes || Wolfstar

A/N: I am not particularly fond of this piece all that much but it is what it is. I tried not to mention breast size too much because I know not everyone has big tits and I want as many people as possible to resonate with my work. Tits of all shapes and sizes can have stretch marks, they are completely natural and beautiful.

Warnings: smoking, it's not too too smutty I'd call it more fluffy smut, tit sucking, mentions of love bites, all acts are consensual and there is an established safe word

Word Count: 1,928

“We could go again,” Sirius offers as he lights his cigarette, leaning up against the headboard, guiding the fag to his lips he inhales deeply and you can’t help but be mesmerized as you watch his lips wrap around it.

Pink and soft, they're swollen from the night's previous activities, thinking about how they got that way sends a shiver down your spine, do yours look the same? Exhaling, you watch the smoke curl out his nose before dissipating into the air.

“Don’t know Pads, you think you could get it up again?” Remus stretches to reach his wand on the bedside table quickly and silently spelling you all clean.

Grey eyes flash with annoyance as he lifts the cigarette back up to his lips, though you must’ve watched him smoke hundreds of times you still can’t manage to tear your eyes away.

Maybe it's the way his fingers manipulate the small object as he plays with it absentmindedly that draws you in, the joints and muscles in his hand shifting under pale skin which looks almost as soft as it actually is.

Every now and again he’ll catch you staring at him, like now for example. His eyes flicker downwards finding your optics already fixed on him, “You want a hit Princess?” He raises his eyebrow, gesturing with the hand holding the smoke.

You nod your head, it’s not every day you’re included in their little smoke breaks post coitus, “Please.”

“Please,” Sirius mocks you as he leans down to hold the cigarette to your lips. You barely have the chance to taste the tobacco before it's being pulled away, this time to your right where Remus takes his time enjoying his smoke.

You can’t help but whine as it departs your lips and you’re met by the shit eating grin on Sirius’ face, clearly taking pleasure in teasing you so mercilessly.

“No whining Princess, smoking isn’t good for pretty girls is it?” Letting his hand cup the side of your face his thumb runs along the soft cushion of your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to tease you.

In your peripheral vision you catch the cig being handed over your head, exchanging between the two boys as you nod your head once more.

“Good girl,” He coos, before taking another hit.

As the smoke leaves his nostrils he’s dipping down to find your lips. He tastes of smoke and something about it coming from his lips makes it all the more sweet, it’s probably better than the real thing.

It’s intensified as his tongue delves into your mouth, you can practically feel the smoke in your lungs, you’ve never been a match for him and simply let your tongue be manipulated by his before he pulls back, connecting the two of you with a strand of saliva that when it breaks falls onto the side of your face.

“Messy girl,” He murmurs, smug smirk on his lips, as he wipes away the mess, in reality his efforts only work to smear the spit on your cheek rather than clean it up.

“So what do you think baby?” Remus asks, sitting up and pulling you with him so you’re both upright, “You wanna try and go again?”

“I don’t know Rem, you think Siri can get it back up or is my wrist gonna cramp trying to get him hard?”

“You two are cruel,” No matter how hard he tries to hide it you can see the slight smile pulling upwards at his lips, “You’re even hiding your titties from me, mean.”

He gestures towards your chest, he’s right, you’d subconsciously clutched the sheet to your chest, crossing your arms to keep it in place and your breasts covered.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as the realization dawns upon you, it wasn’t that you were intentionally guarding them from either boy but you realize that that is how it looks.

“No it's not that Siri I just, I usually keep them covered. They’re… they’re… “ You stumble over your words, only increasing your embarrassment.

“They’re what puppy?” Remus asks, lightly brushing your hair behind your ear so that he has access to your temple, smearing his lips across the soft skin.

“I don’t know,” As you grow shy your voice drops to a mere mumble, “They’ve got all sorts of marks on them.”

This proves worrisome enough for Sirius to set down his fag, letting it sit in the ashtray on the nightstand.

“You mean stretch marks Princess?”

You try your best not to cringe at those words, stretch marks. It's not a dirty word, somewhere inside you, you know that but that has never stopped you from being insecure by them. Deliberately choosing tops that side the ones that sprout from the tops, near your under arm before traveling down the curvature of your tit. Making sure your lingerie always has some sort of extra covering where they’re most visible.

You feel Remus’ hold on you tighten from behind at your pained silence, it's telling enough.

“Just don’t like them.”

Your words have Sirius climbing closer to you, throwing your legs around his hips so the two of you can sit face to face while Remus holds you from behind.

“May we see them, Puppy?” Remus’ elegant fingertips dance along the top of the sheet which resides just a few inches below your collarbone. You shiver at his dainty touch, his fingers are light as feathers, slowly coaxing you into trusting them with this.

“It’s okay,” Sirius’ hand delicately grasps your knee over the soft sheet, “Wanna see our pretty girls but it's alright if you need a moment puppy.”

“No, s’okay.”

Sirius gives you a small smile that only grows as you drop the sheet, letting it pool at your waist.

He spares you a glance before slowly extending his arm, giving you time to tell him to stop or pull the sheet back up, and even though you want to do both those things and more you love Siri. You love Rem. And you know that they’ll be gentle and patient with you.

So instead you steel yourself for his touch relaxing as you feel Remus’ sizable hands wrap around your waist, resting on your tummy.

Your shoulders bunch back up as the tips of Sirius’ fingers, nails having been painted black just a few hours ago. His touch is steady as he finds a particularly predominant mark tracing along the curve of your tit.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous (Y/N), can’t believe I get to touch you.”

“You’re silly Siri.”

“Not silly, you’re just fucking breathtaking. You got the nicest tits.”

“Just all marked up,” You shrug your shoulders, Remus takes the opportunity to smooth his chapped lips along your joint.

“No,” Remus contradicts, “They’re marked up when we sink our teeth into them and leave pretty bruises all over them,” His hands travel from your waist to explore your tit before stopping on the top of your left one where he remembers having sucked rather fervently just an hour before, “Like right here.”

His pressing down on the flesh pulls a squeak from you as a shock of pain shoots up your spine, leaving your body tingly and the specific spot where his fingers rest pulsing.

“These,” He continues, dragging his fingers over the small indents in your skin, “Are your stripes.”

Sirius leans down, capturing your nipple in his mouth as his hands go to support the weight of your breast. The angle’s a bit awkward but it seems to do little, if anything, to discourage him.

Gently capturing your nipple with his teeth he sucks harder, nuzzling at your chest as he does so. The pleasure that you derive from such a simple act has your head falling back onto the solidity of Remus’ shoulder, pulling whimpers from your throat as you jutt your chest out.

“So fucking good,” Sirius growls as he regretably lets go of your titty, “Pretty nipples,” He accentuates his point by twisting them each between his fingers, “Pretty stripes.”

Leaning down he drags his tongue along one of your stretch marks, beginning in the valley between your breasts before extending upwards.

“They’re completely natural, Puppy,” Remus’ voice is subdued as he runs his hands up and down your waist, “Lots of people have them on their tits, Siri and I have them in other places too.”

“S different on you , Remmy,” You try to explain, “You two are perfect.”

“Does it bother you when we see them during sex baby?” He asks with genuine curiosity in his voice, the thought of making you uncomfortable when you’re so open and vulnerable leaving his stomach twisting.

“Not always, no,” He remains silent, urging you to continue, “You make me feel beautiful Rem, both of you, I just can’t help but not like them, don’t like the way they look, or the way they feel.”

You hear him suck in a deep breath and you can practically hear the gears in his mind turning as he contemplates just what to say.

His hands move to hold both sides of your face in his palms as his forehead falls to rest against yours.

“Let us show you how beautiful your tits are, will you let us do that?”

“You don’t have to-”

Sirius cuts you off, releasing your tit from his mouth, “We want to (Y/N), let us,” He dips his head back down, delicately kissing the top of one of your breasts, “Please.”

He murmurs the simple, one syllable, word against your skin, the sensation sending shivers through your body. He rolls your hardened nipples between his fingers, it's nearly enough to have you mewling as you kneel at his feet. Maybe another time.

Before you can register what’s happening, strong hands are softly pushing you back so that you’re laying down on the bed.

You feel the steady weight of your breasts bouncing on your chest before they’re being grasped by hands that just by touch you recognize as Remus’. His thumbs run along the insides of your breasts where more faded lines reside, creating swirling patterns that Remus seems to thoroughly enjoy.

“You know why you got these right?” Sirius questions, raising his brow.

You shake your head.

“Because you got big fucking tits Princess, look at them!” Smoothly he replaces Remus’ hands with his own, letting their weight settle in his hands, “Bigger than my hands, bigger than Rem’s, they’re fucking gorgeous.”

He drops onto his bum as he reaches over you to pick up his fag, raising it to his lips as his eyes fixate on your bare tits, a wicked smirk on his lips. Instead of feeling uncomfortable under his eyes the feeling is something equivalent to the sun’s rays shining on you, warming you all the way down to your core.

You can’t help but smile at the sincerity in his voice, the absolution with which he speaks pulling at your heart strings. How did you get so lucky as to deserve his love? Though he’s not as chatty you know Remus believes every word out of Sirius’ mouth, tenderly he takes your hand in his, absentmindedly playing with your fingers while your two hands rest in his lap.

“It’s just hard to believe you guys sometimes, m’your girlfriend, you gotta be nice to me.”

Gently Remus guides your hand to his crotch, you’re met by his aching cock which you’re just now realizing is standing fully erect, aching, weeping red tip smearing precum against his lean belly.

“Believe us now?”

tag list: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @amourtentiaa @kittykylax @superbturtlemakerathlete @oliviashea05 @pinkandblueblurbs @dracofknmalfoy @itsmentalillness @zzzfour @gubleryum @advictedtohim @marauderswhore07 @st0nesnglitter @priii @miraclesoflove @shadesofvelma @ashlovesthemarauders @artemis1orion @skaratjung @ava-brooke-blog1 @fairyprettygirly @padfootswife @roonilwazlibswhore @swearingsolemnly @jamespotterslover @lolooo22 @adrianscumslut @jeannelupinblack @wh0reforthemarauders @myalupinblack @ashesandstars @remugoodgirl @planet-wolfstar @saintlike78 @i-love-scott-mccall @cedricisnotdead @pretty-pop-princess-hs @sunshinexweasley @saggyb1lls @trashyvicks @sprucewoodlover @slut4drvc0 @1-800-amortentia

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philtatos78 · 2 years

Text

Ambessa medarda X Female reader (part 2)

(So we have more now. Also. Warning this does contain nsfw, smut in various forms, possibly some hardcore kinky shit that i was wanting to write down for a while.)

Kinky shit includes: hair tugging, choking, spit kink (its the one with the warning so you can ignore it if you're not into it), its also wholesome as fuck in a twisted way so. Have fun.

Also warning i did not properly proof read this shit.

(Warning: this is nsfw. Good luck)

As mentioned before in previous posts this madame right here is a hardcore strict dominant lady, but here is the fun part, she doesn't stick to one dominant role nono she has multiple, she has the gentle dom side for when you are looking for comfortable and purely sensual time, exhibit A:

Her hand circled around your thigh and the other around your waist, keeping you close as you grind yourself down on the roughness of her pant leg.

Her thigh provided you with support as you panted and took in shaky breaths, your eyes clouded with lust and tears that restricted your vision, born from the depths of desperation and frustration as you tried so hard to hold back from coming, the friction felt so good, it did nothing to aid your goal of not coming undone embarrassingly fast, but stopping was not a choice you could make either, just occasionally when you were seriously going to lose it. Your juices soaked through the pants leaving a dark spot under you directly.

The hand on your waist tightens pulling you forward, only to have her whisper in your ear "do you want to come little one ?", you heard and felt the smile on her lips as she teased you with her words.

Her lips latched on to your earlobe kissing it and licking away at the most sensitive spot behind your ear making you tremble on your weak legs. You swallowed a whine to swallow the extra drool that collected in your mouth and threatened to spill, "Mistress, please.... i beg of you, let me cum i have been going at this for hours please.... i dont think I can keep going..." your pathetic moans filled her with joy as she leaned back to get a better picture of you. You knew she was in a soft good mood today by the smile that stretched her lips and next thing you know she says: "No."

The idea of her being anything but a bossassbitch even in the bedroom is out of question, not only that, its out of imagination too.

She has her moments of brutal tough love, and you know when she is in that mood. The way her hand trails from your shoulders to the back of your head, collecting all the hair in her way before tugging very slowly very close to the scalp making your eyes roll back instantly, your will power leaving your very soul, you let your shoulders drop and let her lead your head back so that she can kiss you deeply leaving your lungs aching from the lack of oxygen but filled with the need and desire for her even more.

You were sitting comfortably with your legs crossed on the softness of the bed, hair untied and free from any tangles or styling braids, freshly washed and perfumed, your sleeping silk dress flowed in a halo around you, and you let out a deep breath only to inhale the fresh air coming from the open balcony door.

You closed your eyes and let the breeze carry away what negativity accumulated itself inside of you during the day.

Suddenly, the bed dipped from under you and you felt her presence behind you.

A small smile tugged at your lips as she gathered you in strong warm arms, pressing her face to the crook of your neck, inhaling you scent like it was the first time, suddenly you feel her open her mouth only to bite down firmly on the fleshy part between your shoulder and your neck.

You whimpered but kept still as her teeth left a mark that will certainly be there in a few hours. she licked the place she bit placed kisses on it.

"There..." she said in a satisfied voice, looking at her creation. "I saw that the marks i left on your back faded when we were bathing. I wanted to renew them. Maybe i should give you more... just in case" you heard how amused she was so you let your head fall back into her chest as she got comfy and on the bed with you laying between her spread legs with your back to her soft and firm chest.

"I am all yours Mistress, marks or no marks, I will forever be your pet, until one day you deem me unfit for such an honor..." before you could open your eyes you felt her hands on you, roughly stripping away your dress and leaving you bare for her eyes to hungry take in the picture you make.

Her hands slide down your chest and she bites down at the top of your breast, a breath away from your nipple, your back arches and she wraps her arm around you to keep you in place as she sucked new bruises everywhere on your chest.

It was agony for you, with every kiss on your body and every touch and every lick you felt the heat between your legs rising until you couldn't keep them shut anymore. So you let your legs fall open with her in the middle of em this time.

The scenery made her stop and lean back to watch the pretty picture you painted for her. Love bites littering your chest, nipples hard, your legs spread showing her what it really does to you, your pretty pussy glistening in the dim light, slowly starting to drip clear into the silk sheet under you.

You felt her eyes hundreds of time to the point that you stopped being embarrassed by her gaze and more inclined to present yourself in front of her. Showing her what she already knew belonged to her completely and indefinitely.

Her fangs show as her smile stretches on her face. She looks pleased and satisfied with her work on you." You look perfect small one..."

Her hand wrapped around your neck and you let her, neck slightly relaxed and head thrown back, her hand didnt squeeze yet, it was just a claim. Her hand was steady as it tightened slowly from the sides of your neck, making the air that goes in into your lungs decrease as time goes by.

The small amount of air that makes it in, makes it out shortly after, your heart beating like thunder roars in your chest cavity, lungs burning with the lack of oxygen. Your lips parted to allow you to breath more comfortably but now they lay open uselessly as you feel your eyes roll back, you didnt resist or say anything, your arms lay uselessly as well on either side of you.

It was giving your both a head rush, but yours was in a literal sense and hers was ... well in a more psychological one.

The hand let you go finally and your back hit the bed, your lunged soared at you as you took deep breaths to try and feel normal again, and as you were focused on breathing, she slowly climbed into bed, gathered your limbs into her arms, and shushed you to sleep. Your ear on her steady and strong heartbeat.

You fell asleep before you heard anything else.

(Warning: spiT k!NK)

Everything is an act, but acts speak words, sometimes the actor does say things that go hand in hand with his act, sometimes he doesn't, he let his demeanor and actions preform the act.

Laying in the sun felt wonderful in cold weather, you thought to yourself as you stretched like a cat on a sunny spot on the marble floor, milky white marble with gold specs in it. Your nose was still cold though. You sat there trying to gather some warmth from the sun, with the sound of scribbling on paper accompanying your train of lazy thoughts.

Ambessa was sitting comfortably in a huge comfy looking red chair with her papers and reports looking over them and scribbling her thoughts and signatures here and there... or whatever it is leaders do, confirming budgets here giving new orders there, you know the drill.

Your train of thought emptied itself in a stop and stilled there. By now your whole body felt tingly and partially warm, so you decided to leave your spot and crawl towards the chair.

You didn't feel like getting up, plus your brain was way too soft and mushy to conjure up proper thoughts.

You noticed that Ambessa was not wearing any hard armor today, soft clothes... open and comfortable.

The cold tip of your nose made contact with her ankle, your slowly trailed it up until you stopped on your knee, your hands travelled her calve and your hugged it close to your chest, burying your face on her knee and part of her thigh, you hummed to yourself at the warm flesh of her thigh.

The soft fragrance of her skin and scars littering her amber skin. It shines gold in the light, the closest thing to a real life goddess you ever saw.

It's scary the things you would let her do to you without complain. Maybe even with gratitude.

Her hand came down to cup your face, her hand was so big and so warm it felt like she was holding fire in her hands before she touched you. You rubbed your face into her palm which made her chuckle. She released your face, leaning her elbows on her knees to get a closer look at you, your eyes were wide looking up at her like it was the first time you saw her.

Her thumb came to rest on your lower lip, you parted your lips automatically for her after giving her thumb a small gentle peck.

"Open up for me little one..." knowing whats coming made you tilt your head and open your mouth more in excitement, she loved this look on you. She loved the fact that you get excited for her, she wanted you needy and begging and excited at the sight of her...

She opened her mouth for a string of saliva to pour like honeyed mead from her lips into your waiting ones, you knew not to swallow, only collect it to show her. You spread your knees and placed your palms faced down on your thighs.

Your showed her inspecting eyes proudly her spit in your mouth before she approvingly told you to "Swallow". You did as you were told.

"Good girl.... good slut"

(This was longer than expected ...)

#arcane women #arcane #ambessa #ambessa medarda #sevika #sheriff grayson #grayson #grayson arcane

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dreamerstreamer · 3 years

Text

Into The Woods

Pairing: werewolf!Dream / Clay x human!gn!reader

Summary: [Werewolf!AU] It’s love at first sight when you move into a quaint, little house by the forest’s edge, but you soon find that there’s more waiting for you in the woods than you originally thought.

Word Count: 10k

A/N: my third commissioned story! this work has been altered so everyone can read it, but the plot remains the same. this story was a blast to write, and i hope you all enjoy it! <3

With a step back and a firm tug, the back door slammed shut with a satisfying click. You grinned as you turned the key in the lock. Slipping the silver keyring into your pocket, you turned on your heel, your gaze sweeping over the vast open forest that stretched out before you. Viridian green leaves loomed over the earth, standing in stark contrast to the clear, cerulean blue sky that stretched across the horizon overhead. On the ground below, the occasional wildflower sprouted up and out of the earth, their soft petals shyly unfurling and fluttering in the warm summer breeze.

For such a lovely view, you never would have guessed that you would be able to afford a place like this for so cheap.

Then again, Elmwood Ridge wasn’t a particularly notable town. Best known for its countless acres of elm forests and the large lake that laid at its centre, the town had become something of a nature reserve unto itself, despite being anything but. It was a quiet, quaint region, somewhere you had always distantly dreamed of visiting, if only because of its peaceful atmosphere. You never thought that you would end up living there, though.

It had been a split second decision made on impulse, and looking back, maybe it wasn’t the smartest move you’d ever made, but you didn’t regret one bit. Your new house was two stories tall and built with lovely stone bricks that looked like they came right out of a fairytale. The triangular sloping roof hung just over the sides of the house to provide some shelter from the rain, and the second floor had two balconies—one in the front and the back. Needless to say, you were sold in a heartbeat. Not only was the house pretty, but so was the price tag. You vaguely remembered hearing something about complaints of noisy wolves in the forest, but you weren't deterred. A little noise never killed anyone, and you were more than happy to share your space with nature.

Hopping down the back steps, you gently tread across the soft grass, careful not to step on any flowers as you walked. After moving in two days ago, you had planned to take the day off to hike and learn all that you could about your new backyard. You would head into town tomorrow and look for a job then—right now, all you wanted to do was explore and appreciate your new home.

Gazing up at the rustling elm leaves one last time, you smiled to yourself before stepping out of your lawn and into the forest.

In the distance, a faint howl rang out across the trees.

Between stretches of chestnut wood, a flash of tawny brown and golden fur dashed across the earth, powerful paws pushing off the ground with each leap. Landing atop a fallen log, the wolf raised his head, his muzzle raised toward the sky as he inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring.

Fresh. Clean. Warm. The faintest scent of flowers.

He exhaled, emerald eyes blinking as he scanned the open forest around him.

Carrying out routine morning patrols around the pack’s territory was one of the alpha’s many duties, but Clay still wasn’t quite used to it.

Stepping down from the log, he let his tongue hang out of his mouth, his ears flicking as he took in every sound. Somewhere above him, a bird flapped its wings, chirping as it took flight. Along the breeze, he could pick up the distant scent of deer coming from the south. His eyes flashed at the smell. He would have to report that to the pack when he returned—it had been a few days since they last had a large hunt. Sniffing one last time, he began weaving between the looming trunks, his entire body rapt with focus.

He had only been appointed as alpha a little less than a month ago, and although he had technically been taught the ropes, it took more than just a few lessons for a wolf to truly become alpha. He could still remember how the former alpha had pressed his nose to his side, nudging him onto the rock peak in front of his pack with an aging howl. He had been getting older, and everyone knew it—it was only a matter of time until a new leader was selected, but Clay never would have dreamt he would be the one who was chosen.

Only a few people were as surprised as he was, though. He was one of the larger wolves in the pack, and while he wasn’t the tallest in his human form—that title belonged to the young, curious Ranboo—he was by far the strongest, having led more than his fair share of hunts before. It was only natural that he ended up in his position, and he was welcomed into the upper ranks with open arms.

A glimmer of warmth washed over him at the memory, and he would have smiled if he wasn’t shifted. He had never felt such pride before, feeling everyone’s excited gazes on him as he howled up at the gleaming, full moon. The shouts that filled the starry night sky made his heart swell in his chest, and he just knew he was going to do his best to make everyone proud. He would protect them to the ends of the earth, if he had to.

Kicking away a stray branch, his eyes quickly flicked over his surroundings. He recognized this area, and he knew that he had almost completed a full circle around the pack’s perimeter, by now. There was only a tiny stretch left before he would return to the camp and fill everyone in. Raising his head, he let his jaw fall open to catch any aromas that travelled along the breeze.

All of a sudden, a new scent wafted over his nose, an unsettling sense of unfamiliarity striking deep within his core.

There was something in the woods—something that did not belong here.

In an instant, Clay’s lips were pulled back in a snark, his sharp canines bared as he sank his paws into the soil below. His claws latched onto the dirt, his grip firm and unwavering as he pressed himself closer to the ground, careful not to let his scent travel in the air.

They weren’t common, but every now and then, hunters would venture into the woods with their heads held high and guns drawn. Most of them came hunting for game, shooting down the occasional deer or elk to bring back to their own families. Clay didn’t have a problem with those hunters, but as for the ones who came in search of wolves?

Clay wasn’t sure he could be so lenient with those ones.

Prowling forward, he kept his haunches low, his tail brushing over the shrubbery as he took step after step toward the strange, new scent. Ever so slowly, he crept closer, his pupils dilated in focus. Suddenly, he stopped, freezing in place.

He could hear footsteps.

Inhaling deeply, he let his eyelids fall shut.

One, two, three...

His eyes shot wide open, and he whipped his head up, only to go stock still as a silhouette came into view.

It was a person, a regular person.

He blinked as he lifted his head, his expression growing neutral as he watched you crouch down to examine a small pile of stones stacked beside a tree, one that he vaguely remembered being made by Tommy and Tubbo when they went exploring a few weeks ago. There was no gun strapped to your body, no pack hanging off your hips as you rose back up to your feet. You didn’t seem to be a threat at all, and from the back, he couldn’t tell if you were even carrying a weapon.

Just then, you turned to the side, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat.

The world suddenly fell away, his surroundings melting into nothing more than a hazy blur as his eyes locked onto your face. His heart came to a screeching halt in his chest.

You were beautiful.

The light framing your lovely face made your cheeks seem all the more lively as you rose. He watched as you brushed your fingers delicately over the bark of a tree, your brilliant eyes meticulously tracing over the curve of every leaf as you walked past. Your feet never lingered in one place for long, constantly moving and skittering across the forest floor like a rippling stream. It was almost as though your every movement cast streaks of dappled sunlight everywhere you stepped, the marvelling spark flickering in your gaze making his head spin with wild abandon.

Clay felt something warm and tight curl against his insides, unmistakably soft and affectionate. It was almost hard to breathe with the way his lungs squeezed and shook behind his ribs. He hadn’t felt this feeling before, but he had heard enough stories to know exactly what it was.

His mate—you were his mate.

There wasn’t any one way to truly describe what a mating bond was, but the most commonly accepted one was that it was a connection that tied people’s souls together, uniting them in perfect harmony. Every werewolf had a mate, and most of the time, they would find their mate in another one of their kind. But right now, as Clay stood in the forest, his gaze glued to the most beautiful human he had ever laid eyes on, he knew that he wasn’t going to find his mate in some other shifter like everyone else had said he would.

Having a human for a mate was rare at best, and unheard of at worst. After all, not every human had a mate, and he had heard stories of shifters being rejected by their human mates. Some of the elders in the camp still refused to believe that having a human mate was even possible, but nearly all of the younger shifters had accepted it—embraced it, even. But never in his pack, at least, had someone learned that their mate was a human.

It looked like he was going to be the first.

For a few long moments, he simply stood there, watching you silently with wide eyes as you slowly made your way deeper down the path. A part of him wanted to chase after you, yearned to walk by your side for as long as his legs would let him. But as soon as he raised his paw, he quickly lowered it again, a pang of guilt shooting through him.

He couldn’t go up to you—not like this, and most certainly not now. He didn’t have nearly enough experience under his belt as an alpha yet, and bringing you to his world could just make everything even worse if he wasn’t careful about it. He swallowed, taking a single step back as you slowly slipped out of view, disappearing into the trees and carrying your lovely scent away with you.

Anxiety gnawed at the inside of his gut, and he couldn’t help but wonder if you would even return. Surely you must live around here to be hiking in these woods—maybe you would hike here again, if not even more often.

He paused, then nodded to himself before whipping around, his tail swishing behind him as he clenched his jaw.

Tomorrow. He would come back tomorrow.

A few feet deeper within the trees, the sound of a stick snapping shattered the forest’s silence.

Along the lightly-treaded path, you whirled, your head pointing toward the sharp sound. Pausing, you raised your head, your gaze darting to the forest canopy above. The sun peaked down at you between swaths of vibrant green, and you squinted, raising a hand to shield your eyes. The trees remained quiet around you, only whispering with the soft rustles of their leaves.

A moment passed in silence. A robin warbled.

You let out a long exhale and shook your head. Turning once more, you stepped over a small crack in the ground, humming as you walked further into the woods.

It was probably nothing.

Sapnap grunted as he dropped the pile of sticks onto the ground, the wood clattering at his feet in a heap. He scowled at the sight, resisting the urge to kick the pile down. He couldn’t believe Wilbur had actually tricked him into doing something as simple as collecting firewood. It wasn��t difficult or anything, but he was the beta, for crying out loud! He could have at least passed the buck to someone like Tommy, that brat.

“Sapnap.”

Sapnap blinked at the familiar voice, turning to find himself standing face to face with Clay. His dirty blond hair was disheveled atop his head, and his cheeks were flushed with heat. A smile tugged on his lips at the sight. “Oh, hey, Clay. Welcome back.” He squinted at the way Clay’s chest heaved, his breaths coming out shaky and uneven. “Um, you good, there? Did you run back here or somethi—”

“It happened,” Clay blurted.

Sapnap blinked, raising a single brow at him. “What happened?”

Clay swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I met my mate.”

Sapnap paused. “Oh. Oh.” A wide grin stretched across his face, and he reached over to clap a hand to Clay’s back. “That’s awesome, man! I’m guessing it happened on your patro—”

“My mate’s human,” Clay said suddenly.

Sapnap paused again. “Oh. Oh.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Clay’s shoulders went slack at his side as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his scalp. “I, um,” he said, his words coming out in a hazy rush. “I don’t think I’m ready to—” He stopped, feeling Sapnap’s patient gaze rest on him, then opened his mouth, again. “I can’t just reveal our world so soon. I’ve only been alpha for what?” He gestured vaguely. “A month? I’m not experienced enough, yet.” He slumped forward, a hollow, wistful look settling onto his features. “It would be too much for both of us.”

Sapnap nodded thoughtfully, understanding flooding his face. “It’s okay, Clay. Take your time.” He fell silent for a brief moment, then quietly added, “Did you reveal yourself or anything?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I was too surprised to even move.”

Sapnap’s lips quirked up into a tiny smile. “Then there’s no rush,” he said. “You’re allowed to build up your confidence first, dude. Your confidence as a wolf. As an alpha.” His eyes flashed with soft reassurance. “As a mate.”

Clay raised his head, blinking as Sapnap gently nudged his shoulder with his. “You can do this. Plus,” he added, his tone growing more lighthearted, “I’m your beta. You know I’ve got your back.”

The chuckle that escaped Clay’s lips was low and short, but he could already feel the tension seep out his shoulders like a leaking dam. “Thanks, Sap.”

Taking a step back, Sapnap hummed, offering him a lopsided smile. “Anytime.”

Clay turned on his heel, jerking his head toward the centre of the camp. “Well, I need to organize today’s hunt, but I’ll catch you later. I trust you’ll keep things under control while I’m gone.”

He nodded. “Of course—you know me.” With a short wave and a small grin, Clay began walking off in the opposite direction. “Oh, also,” Sapnap suddenly shouted after him, “don’t forget to grab something to eat before you go hunting today, yeah? I know you missed breakfast.”

Clay didn’t look behind him as he shot a thumbs up at Sapnap from behind his back, but Sapnap could already picture the way he would roll his eyes with a smile. Shaking his head, he turned back to the firewood scattered around his feet, a new glower creeping onto his face.

He was so getting back at Wilbur for this.

Every morning after, Clay dutifully woke up early and strolled deep into the woods, shifted into his wolf form as he scented the air and patrolled the area just as any good alpha would. But time and time again, that one sweet scent never seemed to return, almost as though it had vanished from the forest entirely. At times, he thought he caught the faintest whiff of it, but some further exploration would only reveal a small patch of flowers, never you.

Needless to say, his disappointment was palpable.

It had been a full week now, and Clay was running out of hope. Maybe he was wrong—maybe you wouldn’t ever come back. His heart ached at the thought.

He had been too hasty, wasn’t he?

Hanging his head, he whimpered to himself in the quiet forest, sniffing absentmindedly as he ambled about almost aimlessly. He still had a duty to fulfill, he knew, but he couldn’t ignore the empty feeling burrowing deeper and deeper into his chest.

But right then, just as he paced another few feet forward, he heard it.

A melody.

It was soft, the singing travelling down from the west in a distant murmur, or perhaps a hum. If he hadn’t been paying attention, he surely would have missed it. He didn’t know this song, didn’t recognize it one bit, but he could already tell that it was sweeter than any thrush’s song or any loon’s call. He felt his heart flip in his chest, and just like that, he knew.

In a flash, he was racing across the earth, his paws flying out beneath him in a blur as he ducked under branches and darted past deer, missing the way they startled at his sudden approach. The song was louder now, and he could smell it—smell you.

It was only a few seconds later that he came to a stop, his paws digging into the ground as his heart leapt into his throat.

Soft hair. Bright eyes. A dazzling grin.

You were back.

You had headphones on this time, he realized, and you were humming aloud to yourself, your feet most likely moving in time to the beat of whatever song you were listening to. You were a little off-key and occasionally stumbled over the refrain as it came around, but he found himself entranced nonetheless. Even when you were doing something as simple as humming, you were stunning.

Why come back today of all days? he distantly wondered to himself. What made today so different from any other day?

He wracked his mind as he felt the sun shine down on him gently, warming his back as he crouched down a little. He rarely kept track of the days—that was Sapnap’s job—but he knew that there hadn’t been any special events or holidays going on in the human world. Pressing his ears flat against his head, he scratched his paw at the ground in confusion. Just what made today so special?

That was when the realization slammed into him.

It had been a week since he last saw you.

Once a week—you must hike here once a week.

If he could smile in this form, he already knew that he would have the biggest, stupidest grin plastered to his face. He wanted to leap for joy and howl like there was no tomorrow, but he didn’t want to alert you of his presence just yet. Again, it had only been a week, and he was still far from being a worthy mate for you.

Once a week, he thought once more, his eyes glued to you as you skipped further down the trail and out of his sight. I can wait another week.

The wind sang in his ears as a gentle breeze brushed over his tawny fur, the forest murmuring a silent lullaby into his ear as he whirled back around. As much as he wanted to stay with you forever, he had a patrol to finish and a pack to defend. He let his eyelids flutter shut for the briefest of moments, your face engraved into the rosy crevices of his heart as your humming filled his ears once more.

He couldn’t wait to see you, again.

One week later, you grumbled to yourself as you stomped through the woods, complaining about your new job under your breath. Clay wished he could comfort you, but stayed put with his claws buried in the dirt.

Two weeks later, you watched with wide eyes as a doe and her fawn drank from a nearby stream. He made sure not to hunt those two down in particular later that week.

Three weeks later, you were snapping photo after photo with the camera hanging around your neck, your eyes absolutely brimming with curiosity. He thought you were prettier than any view the forest had to offer.

As one week stumbled into the next, the months began to pass in a blur. Summer collapsed into autumn as the leaves turned gorgeous shades of crimson red and golden orange before tumbling from the sky. Shortly after that, the forest was covered in a blanket of ivory white snow, leaving the branches bare and awaiting the return of spring. The snow soon melted into rain, and puddles littered the forest floor while flowers began to bud and bloom once more. In almost a whirlwind of seasons and waiting, summer rolled around once more, marking the first anniversary of your arrival in Elmwood Ridge.

With each passing season, Clay continued to watch you from afar with a tender gaze. Some days, he would listen to you hum as you trekked along while other times, he would only manage to catch the tiniest of glimpses of you between the trees. No matter how short the instance was, every second he got was well worth the wait, and Clay could feel his affection bloom like a new spring flower. As the trees grew larger, as did his confidence. Time was the best teacher the forest had to offer, and it didn’t take much longer for Clay to grow comfortable with his duty as the alpha of his pack. But despite his newfound strength, he still didn’t feel ready enough to approach you outright, to reveal himself to you as he was. Doubt swirled in his mind like a raging storm, eating away at him like a gnat digging through mud.

He was beginning to fear he may never be ready.

Lifting his head, he sniffed the air, the now familiar scent of his mate drifting across the new summer breeze. You were taking a new path today, he noted in an instant. Perhaps you were doing some exploring.

Padding through the trees, leaves crunched beneath his feet as he leapt over logs and puddles, following after your scent as it grew stronger and stronger. It only took a few moments for him to find you standing atop an elevated rock face, your head lifted as you gazed up at the light scattered between the tree leaves. Your face almost seemed to be glowing in the pale, morning sunshine, your eyes looking like two dewdrops as they curved into tiny crescents. Clay’s heart rattled in his chest, and he resisted the urge to howl to the heavens above.

You were lovely, his mate. If only he could work up the courage to properly tell you.

Basking in the sunlight, he watched as you took a few steps forward closer to the cliff’s edge, your eyes still trained on the sky above. It wasn’t a terribly deep fall, he knew, but the fall was most certainly far enough to hurt someone if they fell at the wrong angle. He narrowed his eyes as you stopped dangerously close to the edge, halting just a few inches from the drop. Surely the stone was strong enough to support your weight, even as old as it was, right?

Apparently not.

Clay saw the cliff crumble before you did.

Terror shot through his body like a bullet as he watched the rock face collapse under your shoes, your feet tumbling out beneath you. Your hands desperately reached for the cliff face, but he could tell from the way your scream cut through the forest’s silence like a sharpened blade that you weren't going to be able to grab it in time.

There was no time for him to think—his body moved first.

In one moment, he was standing with his mouth slack and his emerald eyes blown wide with horror. In the next, he was lunging across the rock face, his jaws wide open as he reached for the lower collar of your shirt. The moment he felt his nose brush against the back of your neck, he snapped his jaws shut, careful not to pierce your skin with his sharp canines as the cloth caught between his teeth. Your weight bounced beneath him once, and the gasp that escaped your lips made his head spin dizzily.

Close—you were so close, and your scent was intoxicating.

You turned your head ever so slightly, and he felt it the moment your eyes locked onto his. You were scared, he could tell, but as you took in the sight of the wolf holding onto you, you almost seemed to relax in his grip. Planting his paws firmly against the rocky earth, he tugged his jaw up and backwards, pulling you away from the cliff face and over even ground. Your hands scrambled to latch onto the cliff edge, helping to pull yourself up until finally, he let go of you, your now torn collar resting against the back of your neck.

Heaving a sigh of relief, you let yourself collapse against the rock face, lying on your back as you gasped for breath. Your chest felt tight like a wound-up spring, and adrenaline pumped through every vein in your body, yet you felt oddly calm. After a minute or two, you slowly pushed yourself forward on your arms until you were just barely slouching forward, looking over your shoulder. A few feet away from you, the wolf stood, his eyes trained intently on your face as you swallowed.

“Um,” you breathed, your eyes desperately scanning him up and down. “Hello?”

He didn’t say anything in return, simply shuffling further away from you. He was giving you space, you realized after a brief moment, and you blinked as you scrambled to sit completely upright. His fur was a soft, golden brown, and you had half the mind to distantly think that you wanted to run your fingers through it. Something about him seemed comforting like that.

“Hi,” you whispered once you were seeing him eye-to-eye. “Ah, um, thank you for saving me.”

Maybe you were just imagining it, but you could have sworn his eyes widened in an almost human-like manner. He didn’t move from his spot a few feet away from you, and you swallowed. You thought you would be more scared than this, more terrified of the beast standing before you. But as you sat there, watching as he blinked at you, you felt as though you were anything but. An unfamiliar yet strangely comforting warmth curled around in the pit of your stomach as you tilted your head at the wolf.

He felt so... safe. So familiar, almost like you had met him before.

“Are—are you a nice wolf?” you asked after another moment, your voice faltering the tiniest bit. “I’d like to think you’re a nice wolf, since you just saved my life.”

Once again, you were greeted by silence, the only indication that he had heard you at all being the way his ears flicked. What am I doing? you suddenly thought, your mind running at a million miles a minute. I’m talking to a wolf—an animal. I’m not a Disney character.

This was weird—or at least it was supposed to be. Yet, as you stared at this wolf who simply stared back at you with these bright, stunning green eyes, you couldn’t help but feel that everything in this moment was just perfect. Like you had been waiting your entire life for this moment to happen.

“You’re really pretty,” you suddenly blurted. In an instant, you were slamming your palm over your mouth, your cheeks flooding with heat. “Oh my god, that was embarrassing,” you murmured, your voice coming out muffled. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart hammered against your ribcage like a caged bird begging to be let out, and ever so slowly, you lowered your hands from your mouth, offering the wolf a shaky, sheepish smile. “Um, thank you, again,” you said gently, honestly. Leaning forward, you pressed your hands against the cool stone to balance yourself, your fingers digging into the rock as you spoke. “I don’t really know how you knew I was there or how you knew I was going to fall, but I really appreciate it.”

The wolf blinked at you once more, then took another step back, subtly dipping his head. Your smile widened at the sight. Pushing yourself upward, you rose to your feet, brushing off the dust from your frontside before standing upright, fidgeting almost nervously.

“I—I,” you stammered, suddenly feeling awkward, “I think I’m going to go home now, but...” You swallowed, raising your hand in a small wave as heat rose in your chest. “...thank you so much, again!”

Before the warmth in your heart could burst, you whipped around, sprinting away as fast as your legs could take you. You didn’t see the way the wolf practically crumbled into a ball on the ground, whimpering to himself as you disappeared out of sight.

Bolting down the hill and past the trees, branches blew past you in a blur as you dashed between the trunks and over patches of wildflowers. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears like a beating drum, and your chest felt oddly light. You couldn’t shake the memory of how intense that wolf’s gaze had been on yours, his eyes swirling with something that made your stomach churn and your mouth go dry.

He really was pretty.

Sapnap yawned as he stretched his arm behind his back and above his head, rolling his neck as the joint popped back into place with a satisfying crack. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept in like this, but he did not regret it one bit. Clay had given him the okay, after all. One late morning wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“Sapnap, you are not going to believe this.”

Sapnap yelped, whipping around with eyes as wide as saucers as he stumbled back a step. The drowsiness left his body in an instant, almost as though he had never been tired to begin with. Clay’s hand shot out to grab his arm, steadying him as he swallowed, relaxing once he realized who he was looking at.

“Holy crap, Clay,” he gasped, pressing a hand to his racing heart, “you scared me! I know you’ve gotten better at this whole stealth thing, but that was just straight up terrifyi—”

Clay’s grip on his arm tightened. “I saved them today,” he whispered.

Sapnap froze, and there was a beat of silence. “You did what, now?”

Just like that, Clay had flung his arms up and around his head, his fingers buried in his hair as he began to pace, his tone frantic and rushed. “There—there was this steeper area with this cliff but it was kind of hidden, and then it was breaking and I just knew something bad was going to happen, and I couldn’t just let that happen, so I moved without thinking and I was pulling them back and—”

A pair of hands suddenly grabbed onto his shoulders, stopping him dead in his tracks. “Breathe,” Sapnap instructed calmly. “You need to breathe, dude.” Clay opened his mouth, but Sapnap spoke before he could. “You are talking so quickly right now, and I can’t understand you when you talk like that.”

Clay closed his mouth, mulling over the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions steamrolling through his head. After a few moments, he finally spoke once more. “I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, suddenly sounding completely and utterly awestruck. “My mate actually stopped and thanked me. And called me pretty.”

Sapnap’s fingers loosened around Clay’s shoulders, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. “Yeah?”

Clay sighed, sounding absolutely lovestruck. “Yeah.”

Pulling his arms back to cross them over his chest, Sapnap eyed him up and down, cocking his head. “So,” he began gently, “how are you feeling?” When Clay opened his mouth, Sapnap quickly added, “Slowly, please.”

Clay groaned, teasingly rolling his eyes before leaning back on his heels, rocking back and forth as he began to speak. “I only revealed myself as a wolf,” he said softly, “so I don’t know if they know about the mating bond yet. I don’t even know if humans can feel it like we can.”

He tilted his head back, gazing up at the cerulean blue sky. “But there’s something about the way we looked at each other that makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, humans can feel it,” he whispered, sounding breathless all at once. “Call it a gut feeling, I guess. I don’t know.” He cast a glance over at Sapnap, his eyebrows furrowed. “Do I sound crazy?”

A thoughtful look flickered across Sapnap’s face. Then, he grinned. “A little bit, yeah.”

Clay sighed, something he noticed he had been doing a lot more, lately. “I just…” He swallowed. “I just don’t want something like that to happen ever, ever again.”

Suddenly, he fell quiet, his lips parting as the wheels in his head began to turn. Sapnap watched as a tiny spark came to life within his focused gaze, small but oh-so vibrant.

“You got an idea there?” he prompted after a few seconds of silence.

Clay blinked once. Twice. Then, a smile stretched across his face—a smile as bright as the full moon.

“Something like that.”

It was probably a dumb idea for you to return to the forest for your weekly hike as if nothing had happened, but you couldn’t quite quench the curiosity that bubbled up inside you every time you thought about the wolf who had saved you. His gaze had been fiery, yet compassionate, and he had been purposely so gentle when tugging you away from the cliff. You weren't a fool—you knew how powerful a wolf could be. Then why did he treat you so kindly?

You had to find out.

Marching through the brush and shrubbery, you whipped your head this way and that, scanning every strip of forest you could lay your eyes on. Wolves were good at hiding, you knew that. After all, if they weren’t as stealthy as they were, they would never be able to catch a meal. But you had been hiking for almost an hour now, and you still hadn’t seen a single glimpse of the wolf. You couldn’t say you were completely surprised, since it wasn’t like you knew every inch of the forest, but you were frustrated to admit that you were at least a little disappointed. Maybe this was a lost cause.

But then, you heard it.

The sound of a stick snapping.

Freezing, you paused, turning as you glanced to the sides. Nothing out of the ordinary stood among the bushes. You stopped again, then pursed your lips.

No, something was there.

A tender curiosity sparked between your lungs, but it was coated in a thin layer of reluctance. Sucking in a deep breath, you whipped around, squinting at the seemingly empty trees around you as you opened your mouth.

“Wolf?” you called out slowly into the quiet. “Is that you?”

At first, all was quiet, and you held your breath. The leaves rustled around you almost tauntingly, and you distantly heard the caw of a crow. You were just about to give up and go home when a flash of gold caught your eye.

Standing motionless a single yard away was a wolf—your wolf.

A grin stretched across your face, joy surging through your body as you carefully took a few steps forward. Oh, this was definitely a dumb idea, but you was more than brave enough to keep going.

“Hi, there.” You shuffled your feet, a tentative look passing over your face. “You’re, um—” You gulped. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

Clay’s eyes went wide, and he took a step back. No! he thought, hoping you would be able to read his expression, even as a wolf. Never. Not in a million years.

You stared at him for a long moment, blinking slowly as you scanned his face up and down. Then, your lips quirked up into the tiniest of smiles.

“No,” you murmured in the softest of voices, and he felt his heart melt in his chest. “If you were going to do something, you would have done it by now, wouldn’t you?”

Clay nearly sank in relief, and he barked. You raised a brow at the sound, furrowing your brows slightly. “Do you want me to keep you company?” you asked, beginning to walk up to him. “Is that what you’re doing?”

You had only made it a few steps when he suddenly barked again, taking a step toward you. In an instant, you froze, watching with bated breath as he curled around to your other side and gently nudged at your leg with his nose. You shot him a curious glance, stumbling forward the tiniest bit. “Hey,” you said, “what are you...?”

You trailed off, a cut rock face suddenly catching your attention from the corner of your eye. The stony grey wall was nearly perpendicular to the ground and looked almost eerily similar to the one you had nearly fallen down the week prior. Just like that, it clicked.

There was another small cliff right there. He was trying to keep you away from it.

“Oh,” you breathed, your lips splitting into an even wider grin as you made sure to steer away from the short cliff, “you don’t want me falling again, do you?”

He snorted, and you blinked at him. That sounded far more human this time—almost too human. It almost reminded you of a dog, if anything. A triumphant smile slowly crept onto your face, and with your head held high, you turned on your heel, marching onward and away from the rock face.

“Well, wolf,” you said, a teasing arrogance seeping into your tone as you glanced over your shoulder at him, “I promise you that I’ll be much safer this time arou—woah!”

The toe of your shoe caught on a protruding stone, and with a sharp yelp, you stumbled forward, gravity pulling you downward with a harsh pull. With a flail of your arms, you only just barely caught your balance as your hand shot out to grab onto a tree and steady yourself. Your heart flipped in your chest as you planted your feet firmly against the ground, the soles of your shoes pressed flatly against the earth as your fingers curled into the bark. Your chest heaved with surprise as you stood upright, turning to look over your shoulder at the wolf. He blinked at you, and while you knew wolves couldn’t quite smile, something about his gaze almost seemed cocky—like he was laughing at you. Heat crept up your neck and onto your face, your cheeks bursting with warmth.

“Y-You did not see that,” you sputtered, coughing into your sleeve as you brushed off your pants dismissively.

Almost as if to spare you some embarrassment, he turned his head away from you, although you could see his eyes glance your way every few seconds. Pouting, you huffed, whirling on your feet as you continued to trudge down the path. Soon enough, the sound of soft footsteps trailed after you, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound, knowing that he would follow you even if you weren't looking.

That night, you dreamt of whispering trees and a pair of bright, viridian green eyes.

What had once been a weekly ritual of watching from afar soon turned into an amicable companionship between human and wolf. You weren't afraid as you walked into the woods to see a familiar pair of eyes waiting for you, your eagerness to see him only growing with each passing week. Clay himself could hardly contain his excitement. Actually walking beside you was so much better than simply watching from the woods, hidden by the trees. He loved your company and absolutely basked in your presence, even if you sent his heart into an absolute frenzy.

“Sometimes,” you said aloud one day, “I really do think you can understand me.”

Clay stiffened, praying you wouldn’t notice the way his ears pressed flat against his head as he turned to look at you. You sat on a tree stump while he padded atop the fallen trunk it sat beside, your gleaming gaze slowly blinking at him as he silently circled around you.

“I think it’s got something to do with the way you react to some of the things I say,” you murmured. You watched the way his tail flicked behind him, the soft fur brushing gently against the low-growing plants. A second later, you sighed, waving your hand. “Ah, I’m probably just imagining things.”

Clay nearly heaved a sigh of relief, continuing to pace. You would say surprising things like that every once in a while, and it would send his heart racing. Well, you usually only said one absurd thing per week, so you probably weren’t going to say another thing like that toda—

“Can I pet you?”

His paws came to a halt. Perhaps he thought too soon.

Before he could even properly process what you had said, You were backpedaling, shaking your head with an apologetic look. “Agh, that’s a terrible question. You’re a wolf, not a dog. There’s no way you wou—”

All of a sudden, he was crawling up to you, jutting his forehead toward your hand. His muzzle was clamped shut as his eyes bore into yours, and you gaped at him, the realization beginning to dawn on you.

“Wait,” you breathed in disbelief, “you’re actually going to let me?”

He didn’t move, lowering his eyes to the ground almost shyly as his ears curled toward you. Slowly, you raised your arm with a shaky hand and reached forward, letting your fingers gently brush over his tawny fur with a feather-light touch. You nearly gasped at the feeling, not noticing the way his legs trembled beneath him.

“Wolf,” you whispered after a few seconds, “you’re really soft.”

Clay nearly combusted on the spot. Perfect—everything about you was just perfect.

With your hand buried in his soft fur and the summer breeze ruffling your hair, You smiled, sighing with warmth lighting up your heart as the wolf at your feet melted beneath your touch.

Sapnap tapped his foot impatiently, squinting up at the glaring sun. George slept in, again. He was kind of used to it now, but even though he wasn’t surprised, he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was more than just a little ticked off.

“My mate pet me today.”

Sapnap tensed for a split second, turning to see Clay staring at him with wide eyes. Relaxing once more, he stared at him for a long, long moment before speaking. He really needed to start giving him some sort of heads up at this point.

“Dude,” he said, “I know that the last time you asked me if you sounded crazy, I said a little bit, but I feel like I might have to change my answer.”

Clay shot him a glare, and he couldn’t stop his lips from twitching in amusement. “Sapnap,” he said bluntly, “you act like you don’t talk about Karl and Alex like this.”

Sapnap looked taken aback for a moment, raising a finger, then lowering it with a defeated look. “Touché.”

As Clay walked off with his head held high and a bounce in his step, Sapnap chuckled, watching him leave with a small smile. He recognized the gleam in his eyes, the rosy hue of his cheeks.

Love—Clay really was in love, wasn’t he?

“I’ve been thinking,” you said one day, a few months later.

Clay perked up at the sound of your voice from where he lay at your feet, soaking in the first few rays of sun. It had been well over a year since he had first laid eyes on you now, and a little over a few months since you began walking together. It was only a matter of time until the leaves would turn golden brown once more as autumn descended upon them.

“I dunno,” you murmured, knocking your legs back against the stone you sat on. “I feel like I should give you a name instead of just calling you wolf all the time.” You flashed him a shy grin, your gaze darting this way and that. “It feels kind of awkward, you know?”

He cocked his head. A name? Chances were you probably weren't going to guess his actual name. He supposed he wouldn’t mind a nickname. Then again, he didn’t think he would mind anything that you might do. Lowering himself closer to the ground, he let out a quiet bark of approval.

Your lips twitched the tiniest bit at the sound, and you hummed, drumming your fingers against your thigh. “How do you feel about... Aaron?”

His emerald eyes flashed as he took a step back, ducking his head the slightest bit. Your lips pursed into a small pout, and you leaned down to rest your chin on your hand. “Alright,” you murmured, “not Aaron, then.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek for a second. “Roy?”

Clay didn’t even have to think about it for more than a second before he was whimpering, pressing his head to his paws as he dropped his haunches close to the ground. You snorted at his obvious disapproval, tapping the toes of your shoes together with a pensive look.

“Okay,” you said slowly, drawing out the vowel sound, “maybe we should try some less... human-sounding names.” You tilted your head, letting your gaze trail up the tree trunks and up at the sky above. The sun wasn’t shining directly into your eyes this time, and you blinked with surprise to see a puff of white fluff blocking out the light.

“What about,” you offered with a hum, “Cloud?”

You glanced down again, only to see the wolf staring back at you blankly. You couldn’t quite read the look in his eyes, but you had a feeling he wasn’t quite satisfied with this one, either. Lowering your chin, you puffed your cheeks, glancing this way and that across the forest around you. You couldn’t just call him something like Leaf, or Sky—those would be too obvious, too plain for a wolf as lovely as him.

Sighing, you let your eyelids flutter shut, letting the sun wash over your cheeks and warming your skin. He was... special, even if you knew you were biased in your opinion. There was some special quality about him, something that made your chest swell and your heart skip a beat, almost as if he came straight out of a—

“Dream,” you whispered at last.

Clay’s ears perked up at the new name, and he lifted his head, flicking his ears at you. Maybe it was the name itself, maybe it was the way you said it, or maybe it was just you, but something about it just felt right. He barked once, lifting his tail as he stepped toward you.

You blinked at the sight, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Dream?” you repeated. “You like the sound of Dream?”

He barked again, leaping up onto his hind legs for a moment. You grinned, giggling at the sight of such a large wolf acting almost like a dog around you. “Alright,” you murmured, reaching your hand out toward him, “Dream it is.”

Leaning closer to you, he sank into your touch as you rubbed your hand over his head, scratching behind his ears as he let out a soft whine from the back of his throat. Your eyes softened, and you curled your knees a little closer to your chest, resting your chin on them.

“It probably doesn’t matter to you since you’re a wolf and all,” you said softly, your voice almost sounding shy in the quiet of the morning, “but my name is [Y/N].”

Clay felt a tender warmth blossom in the cracks beneath his chest, heat unfurling from the depths of his soul as something inside him swelled beyond belief. Your hand continued stroking his fur all the while, not at all noticing the way he pressed his head a little closer into your soothing touch, yearning and longing for more.

“[Y/N],” his heart sang, shooting from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. “[Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N].”

Had a name ever sounded as beautiful as yours?

Sapnap was going to wring Skeppy’s neck. Skipping out on a morning meeting was one thing, but skipping it to hang out with your mate? Not even he did that.

“[Y/N].”

Sapnap didn’t bother flinching as he turned to see Clay standing in front of him, panting like his life depended on it. This was far from the first time this had happened, and he was sure it most certainly would not be the last. “What?”

Clay shook his head, half-looking like he was about to collapse on the spot. “My mate’s name is [Y/N].”

Sapnap blinked, then his lips curled up into a smile. “Congrats for learning what it is, man,” he said honestly, patting Clay’s shoulder with his free hand. “That’s fantastic, really. You’re making progress.”

Clay swallowed, and he reached up to drag a hand down his face before letting it drop loosely at his side. “Sapnap,” he said slowly, his voice sounding quiet and raw, “I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

Sapnap’s eyebrows knit together, confusion rippling across his features. “What do you mean?” he asked. “You can’t keep visiting?” Something uncomfortable and cold tugged at the back of his mind. “There’s no way you’re just gonna give up like that, are you?”

Clay’s jaw dropped. “What? No! I mean that...” He paused, squeezing his fist for a moment as he sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t think I can keep showing up in only my wolf form.”

The cogs in Sapnap’s whirred to life as he took in his friend’s clenched jaw. Then, his eyes went wide. “Are you saying...?”

Clay nodded, pursing his lips as he swallowed thickly. “I’m going to reveal who I am.”

His eyes flashed with determination.

“Who I really am.”

You hummed as you twisted the key in the hole, the back door locking shut with a click you had grown used to hearing every week for the past year and a half, now. Whirling around, you could already feel the smile start to spread across your face as you leapt off the porch and ran toward the well-worn path, the forest beckoning you forward with a distant howl. You didn’t remember when exactly your weekly hikes grew to become your favourite part of the week, but you couldn’t imagine life without them, anymore.

Sucking in a deep breath, your chest swelled at the fresh air rushing into your lungs, excitement flickering through your body with every step you took. You couldn’t wait to see Dream again, as strange as it may sound. He had grown to be a greater comfort than you would have ever imagined, even if he was just a wolf. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but you knew your feelings were true—you couldn’t deny the warmth he made you feel.

Whipping around a tree trunk, you felt your heart skip a beat. You already knew Dream would be waiting for you at your rock—the one he had saved you from all those weeks ago. It had become a sort of meeting spot for them, and every week without fail, he would appear there, no matter how early or late you were.

As the shrubbery gave way to a clean, dirt trail, you lifted your head, squinting your eyes. You recognized this part of the forest, and you knew that you were getting closer. Just then, you saw it—the familiar streak of grey stone slanting up from the earth in a small cliff face. Usually, Dream would sit at the cliff base, his ears already pointed toward you. But today, your brows furrowed when you didn’t see a pair of ears facing you, but a head of hair.

Someone else was at your rock.

Slowing your pace to a walk, you paused for a moment, eyeing the figure sitting at your usual meeting spot. It was a man, you realized, and he was facing away from you. He wore a simple white shirt with jeans, and his hair was a shade of dirty blond with streaks of gold. Even if only from the back, it looked almost oddly familiar gleaming underneath the morning sun.

Taking a tentative step forward, you curled your fingers into your palm. “Hello?” you called hesitantly.

The man startled for a moment, then turned toward you, his face coming into view. As his gaze locked onto yours, he opened his mouth and uttered two simple words.

“Hi, [Y/N].”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat.

His voice was soft, gently wrapping around you like a soothing blanket. Your gaze only briefly raked over the comforting smile gracing his lips, instead focusing on the gleam in his eyes that danced with something warm and inviting.

His eyes were green—a shade of green that you had grown to know and adore.

No, you thought, your heart trembling in your chest. He couldn’t possibly be...

You took another step forward, closing the space between them by another few inches. With your eyebrows knitting together, your voice dropped to a small, curious whisper. “Dream?”

He shot you a crooked grin, chuckling softly. “That’s my name—or at least the one you gave me.” Leaning forward, he rose to his feet, the sun casting a bright streak of light across his cheeks. “My real name is Clay.”

All of a sudden, you felt as though all the air had been sucked out of your lungs. “Clay,” you repeated, your mind slowly growing murky with confusion, “but you’re also Dream. How...?”

A sheepish look skittered across his face, and he ducked his head. The way he lowered his chin was familiar, looking almost far too like a certain wolf you knew. “I—I guess you could say I live in two worlds with two forms,” he began. “Sometimes I’m a wolf, sometimes I’m a human.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but you didn’t miss the way his shoulders remained tense. “You already know one of them, but I didn’t want to keep hiding this form from you, so...” He gestured to himself with a bashful look. “...here I am.”

You blinked at him slowly, the muddled fog in your head slowly giving way to a strikingly warm clarity. But before the clouds could fully part, your lips began to move.

“You’re still pretty,” you blurted, your eyes going wide as soon as the words left your mouth.

In a flash, Clay’s cheeks flushed crimson, a haze of rosy pink dusting his freckles. “H-Huh?”

Waving your hands in front of you, you took a step back, embarrassment shooting up your spine. “I-I mean to say that you’re still pretty as a human! Because you’re pretty in both of your forms!” You stiffened, exasperation soaking your features as your knees buckled. “Wait, no, oh no, that’s also embarrassing... wait, please, um—”

Suddenly, he began to laugh. You fell quiet as you watched Clay clutch at his stomach, his lips split into a wide grin as peals of laughter tumbled from his lips. A familiar pit of warmth flared up in your stomach, one you had felt standing here with Dream so many times before.

He really was Dream, wasn’t he?

As his chuckles finally died down into silence, he stood upright once more, wiping a barely there tear from his eye. “I’m sorry for laughing,” he managed with an apologetic smile. “You must be confused about, well, everything.”

You offered him an honest, lopsided grin. “A little.”

His smile slowly melted from his features, and he cleared his throat as he turned to face you head-on. “Well, this is probably going to sound weird, but you and I...” He swallowed, his gaze flashing. “We’re mates.”

You blinked, your lips parting in surprise. Something in your chest slowly expanded. “Mates?” you repeated softly.

He nodded, his expression firm yet hesitant. “Yes, mates. It means that in one way or another, our souls are connected.” Inhaling deeply, he screwed his eyes shut before continuing. “It’s a lot to take in, I know, but I just want you to know that you don’t have to accept the mating bond.” His voice was trembling now, growing quieter by the second as he squeezed his hands into fists at his side. “You don’t owe me anything. I know this must be scary for you, and the last thing I want is for you to feel pressured because of m—”

“I’m not afraid.”

Clay’s eyes shot wide open, and he raised his head, shock etched into his features. “You aren’t?” he whispered.

The smile on your face was open and kind, and you shook your head. “No,” you murmured, sincerity lacing your every word. “Not at all. Dream, Clay... no matter what your name is, you’re still you, and I know you.” You took another step forward, your eyes never leaving his. There was hardly any space between them now, and Clay could feel his shoulders begin to shake with the sheer gravity of the moment. “I can’t explain it, but I just know I do.”

He swallowed, a whirlwind of anxiety and affection brewing just beneath the surface of his skin. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered, his voice cracking. ��I know I’m just a stranger to you.”

You shook your head, again. “You’re not,” you said quietly. “Not to me.”

Before he could even register what was happening, you were reaching for his hand, clasping your palms around his fingers and holding them gently. His heart flipped in his chest at the feeling of your skin against his, and something stung at the back of his eyes.

You were so warm.

“I want to do this,” you whispered, just for him to hear and him alone, “I promise. I—” You gulped, your gaze remaining steady. “I might not know anything about your world yet, but I want to learn.”

You squeezed his hand. “I want to learn more about you.”

Clay sucked in a ragged breath. With shaky fingers and a gentle touch, he pressed his other hand to the back of yours, squeezing back ever so slightly. “I want to learn more about you, too.”

The smile you flashed him easily outshone the sun and every star that scattered across the night sky, and for a moment, he thought his heart had stopped in his chest.

“I’m glad,” you said, your eyes gleaming with delight. “I think we’ll have plenty of time to do that on our hike.”

Right then, a breeze came drifting past, the distant scent of rain filling the air. The trees murmured with rustling leaves and flapping wings as two birds landed on a hanging branch above, gazing down at the two silhouettes standing at the base of the rock face. Just for a moment, or maybe even two, the entire forest went still.

And unbeknownst to you and Clay, right between your feet, a flower began to bloom.

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raggaraddy · 3 years

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hello if you want you can ignore this of course but I was wondering what would vampire Hoseok do if he found out someone turned oc? Your fics are amazing by the way!

Bitten to death

A/N: Thank you for your request :) It was fun to write. However I took it less as a reaction, and more of a story prompt. So it's not exactly a conclusive answer to your question. I hope you still like it, though ^-^ 💜💜💜

Summary: You thought you knew everything about Vampires but when you wake up one you learn there are some important things you did not know. And it's only going to let worse once you learn why you were turned.

Trigger Warnings: Blood, death, maiming, choking, violence, mind control, abduction, yandere themes.

Vampire! Hoseok

It was like a horror story within your already horrific story. Some man you've never met before broke into Hoseok's house when only you were there. While you screamed and fought and instinctively called for Hoseok, he covered you in bites unlike any other you had felt before. Ones that made you suffer as if fire was coursing through your veins. You wish that you could say you were strong enough that your fight had some kind of impact. But in truth, it was over after only a few seconds. And it was in those few seconds that you felt your chest burning and your breath fill your lungs for the last time.

Waking you're met by the stranger hovering above you. Your head aching and your body throbbing in ways you had never experienced before. With a quick glance, you can see everything around you, and that does mean everything. Every single little detail. And the information is overwhelming.

Your mind feels as if it's breaking from everything you're taking in. For as far as you can see there are pallets and long isles of shelves lined up, the contents on every rack crystal clear. You can hear the sound of his shoes on the concrete and the dirt gritting underneath, and how each peak of sound travels and bounces off the farthest point in the warehouse. Even the smells, there are hundreds of them all hitting you at once. A few you know like the fragrance of the treated wood or the oils stain, but others you couldn't guess at. It's as if all of your senses are on high and you have no way to focus them.

Despite your panic, no matter how much you want to run, you can't. Laying on your back with your arms spread out to either side of you and your legs held together, you're being bound by the thinnest most delicate length of silver chain. Though, it's not tied. It's only draped over you, but still holding you as if it were stronger than any steel. Burning you as if it were touched by the sun.

You may have only seen a few newly made vampires before, but you have still been around them enough and know enough about their existence to recognize how and why your body feels wrong. And absurdly you can't help but feel betrayed. This was not supposed to happen to you. It was the only safety you got from belonging to someone who was called The Immortal King, and The Origin of Cruelty. No one was supposed to be foolish enough to steal from him, and most importantly, no one was supposed to be able to hurt you. But now because Hobi didn't keep you safe, he's now lost his blood supply and you've lost your humanity.

The stranger snaps his fingers, the sound bursting in your eardrums making you groan and wince as he repeats it. "Focus your attention on just this one sound. On just the sight of my hand. Feel the air around it." He coaxes you, snapping again. The noise echos dozens of times, ricocheting off every wall. The dull thud of his fingertips hitting his palm only sounding the once though.

Opening your eyes your concentration goes to the hand held above your face as he said, the space around it blurring. On the back of his pointer finger on an otherwise porcelain complexion, you notice a small patch of dry skin just below his knuckle. Clear blue-black defined veins wrapping the back of his palm. He clicks his fingers again and you catch the sound of friction from the way his finger rubs down his thumb, feeling the most minuscule shift in the air created by his motion.

The pinpointed attention helps for a moment, but then you shift your eyes to his face and the explosion of information overpowers you again. His hold comes around your neck keeping your head from turning. The tight pressure on your throat while stifling your movement, nearly makes you smile. There's no airflow to restrict. Your chest isn't heating, your body isn't convulsing trying to breathe. Even in this tense moment, you can't help but find it humorous, thinking how many times over the years had you wished for this exact thing when Hobi had squeezed the air from you.

"Watch my eyes," on his words your vision becomes immersed in them. They're piercing blue. Made up of streaks of white interlacing with a clear sapphire shade, like thousands of threads made out of the purest tropical ocean. A transparent irregular line encircling his pupil, and beyond that every distinct strand blurs together with the others until it reaches the shadowed grey edge that holds the circular shape. Slowly his jet black pupils dilate, stretching and filling his entire iris till every trace of colour is removed. As if transfixed, you're unable to close your own eyes, a flooding of bright light filling your field of view. The strength of it is so intense that the tendons in your sockets ache and your eyes begin to water. Tears rolling down the sides of your face, cresting in your ears.

"Apologies, you are only my second." He confuses you with a vague explanation you did not ask for. The black finally receding into its natural size. Your own eyes scrunching as you try to blink away the soreness. The bizarre occurrence leaving you feeling drained of strength, filling you with anxiety caused by the uncertainty, which is only worsened by the glimmer of triumph in his gaze.

Searching past him to the ceiling your brain is again processing the whole image instead of the sum of its parts. The strain in your head slowly fading, your tight held muscles releasing as everything begins to normalize. You don't know what he did, but it seemed to help.

He doesn't back away, continuing to invade your personal space. Although, the way his fingers are trailing along your skin while you're restrained on the floor is still not the worst thing he has done to you. Seeing as he killed you.

"I had almost given up hope that Jung Hoseok would love." His hand daintily caresses along your neck and up your jaw. Your eyes shutting as his fingertips run over your lips. "I began to fear it might not be something possible for him." He divulges, his touch still aimlessly wandering.

The way he speaks you can feel his vailed anger. Despite his soft words, this is not someone who cares about Hoseok's wellbeing, this is someone who hates him deeply.

"However, you restored my lost faith. And for that, I would like to thank you, Inamorata."

He thinks Hoseok loves you? Is he crazy?. He's possessive of you, that is all. Even in moments of deception or weakness when you had told him that you loved him, he's never said it back with any sincerity. And he has never said it of his own accord.

"Sir," your eyes reopen. "I think you've misunderstood. These," you weakly gesture to the silver, each slight movement searing the links deeper into your flesh. "aren't necessary. We are on the same side. I hate Hobi, more than anyone."

"Truly?" He asks tilting his head to the side. His white hair messily hanging across his forehead.

"Yes," you nod trying to insist your point. "He's kept me locked up for years." you chuckle dryly. Finding it nearly risible that all of this is because this man believes in a fantasy.

"Well then, you are free to rise," he nods resolutely. Plucking the chains out of your melted skin as you grit your teeth. The sound of the sizzle on his own skin baffling you as to how he can even lift them.

Sitting up you gently pull your limbs in, inspecting the blistered and bloody marks. The skin on your wrists already starting to intricately knit itself back together.

"Come here." The stranger calls from a rested place on one of the pallets to your right.

Standing, it is a bit hard to walk with your ankles still cut up but you make it to him decently. Looking around you, you can see the sun streaming in from the high windows that line the whole length of the warehouse. It's enough to light up the otherwise dark space, but with the sheer size of this place, the beams of sunlight do not get close to the two of you in the centre. Still in the middle of the day, it means Hobi can't get to you. Not easily at least. So you're on your own for now.

"Kneel." He instructs plainly. And you follow, lowering onto your knees in front of him. Your only thoughts are of escape. You may be in your first minutes as a vampire, but it should be simple to move quickly. It always seemed like something that came easily to them. "Inamorata, you will call me Master." he declares abruptly.

"Yes, Master." You smile confusedly. Inamorata? Why does he keep calling you that? You're unsure if it's a name or a title, but it's weirding you out.

Your face drops, your heart thumping, realizing what you said. The words you just spoke replaying in your head. You hadn't meant to say that.

Why did you say that?

In fact, why had you knelt? Why were you doing what he said at all?

With a gaped mouth you climb back to your feet. "Look, I think-um." You start not knowing what you want to say.

"Kneel." He orders again more forcefully yet with a knowing, jovial smirk. You shake your head hard, staying upright. You're not going to let him order you around. He has to be kidding.

Your brows furrow, your mouth drops open, and your forehead tightens as your knees bend against your wishes. You drop back into your knelt position. Grunting as your jaw clenches, your fingers digging into your legs, doing your best to resist without success.

Your eyes go wide in shock.

"Good. Now stay there," his voice makes your stomach drop. But your muscles relax, your shoulders dropping and your bottom lowering on your calves. Your body resting in this position.

This is nothing you have ever seen before. It's nothing that you knew was possible. It shouldn't be possible. On top of all the horrible advantages they already have, you're sure you would have known if mind control was one of them!

"How?" You gape, shaking your head in disbelief. "Why?"

"Why?" a smile fills his face, "What you have told me is far different than what I had heard." He stands and turns, tapping his foot against the top pallet sending it and its boxed contents flying. He grabs at the bottom slats of wood underneath and drags them closer to you with a horrid screeching on the concrete. Sitting back down he is now much lower and much nearer to you. So much so that his legs spread straight out on either side of you. "See, I had heard stories of the self-proclaimed King of Vampires, who had fallen in love with his human pet. That he kept her close, kept her safe, and drank from her exclusively."

"That's not love." you interrupt with a scoff, "That's imprisonment."

"Well, let us see what the truth is. Tell me honestly, Jung Hoseok's little Inamorata, do you love him?"

"Yes." You're mouth answers before your mind has time to think. "No!" you instantly correct.

The smile grows larger on his face "And what do you feel about him?"

"I'm scared of him. But I care for him." The words are pouring out of you uncontrollably, your face placifying as you speak. "and I miss him when he isn't home."

"And does he love you?"

"I think so, yes." You wish you could make yourself shut up! Your calm tone drops and you bite your jaw trying to take back your own body, growling as you do. "No! He doesn't." you snarl in a rapid shift.

"You think so? Then my last question; Do you want him to love you?" He asks satirically.

"Yes," The word slips out. Being accepted joyously from him. "You can't just make me say anything you want!" you shout. Your body is rigid and stiff as you think to stand with nothing happening.

"I did not," he chuckles, "I made you say what you believe is true."

"No, you didn't! Tha-" his finger raises to his lips shushing you, cutting you off like your voice had disappeared.

That is not how you feel! Hobi may have gotten better as time has gone on, but he is still cruel and malicious and heartless. The only thing this man is doing is speaking to your primal brain. The part of you that gave into its survival instinct and it's the part that you fight every day to repress so that you stay in control. You can't love him, it's not possible.

"Ha, you are far more amenable than my last. I can hardly feel any resistance." He mocks, tapping his temple. "And I recall Jung Hoseok trying to move heaven and earth to break free. Even Mansueto struggled to contain him. But you," he reaches down holding out his hand and you follow his gesture, your body moving independently to accept it. "You are a broken little thing."

You don't understand his ridicule. You're not moving consciously. Your own mind isn't connected to your actions. So you can't fathom how your body is even reacting, let alone how you should be able to fight it.

"Stop." You complain, your voice coming out with far less strength than you had intended. "Look, Hoseok doesn't have my blood anymore, okay. So just leave me out of whatever fucked up feud you have you have going with him."

"No, that is not enough." his tone becomes suddenly harsh. He lifts his hand and you stand as he raises it. "He stole someone precious to me and he must feel the same agony of loss."

"You're wrong." you swallow, working to overcome your nerves, "I'm sorry, but you just are. He doesn't love me. I'm not precious." You try to reason, seeing your pleas falling on an unreceptive man.

"We will see."

The sun has barely set before you hear commotion beyond the metal walls.

You had tried over and over to pry information from this man, to convince him to let you leave. But you were unable to gather so much as a name from him, and clearly, you failed to be let go. After a certain point of ignoring you, he stopped you from speaking altogether. Not allowing you to say a word until he permits it. More than that though, he filled your head with many instructions. Telling you how to behave in anticipation of Hoseok's arrival.

100 meters in front of you the locked doors are ripped off their hinges, a dozen men and women pouring into the warehouse with inhuman speed. But as if time slows down your eyes adjust and you can see them, see their movements with full clarity. Hoseok comes in last and straight down the middle into the open square that you all occupy. And you must admit, you are genuinely happy to see him. Now you just want him to hurry up and get you out of here.

The man steps forward to meet them while you are sat on the stack of pallets behind him. Your only instruction at this time is to sit quietly and wait for him to call you. Hating the feeling of being restrained by your own body.

Watching them all lineup versus a single man, you find it comical how outmatched he is.

Hobi always said that when he got tired of playing with your human body, he was going to turn you. And he was furious if anyone robbed him of even your smallest reactions, so clearly, he was going to be beyond pissed that someone sped up his plan, and took your death away from him.

"That's mine," Hoseok puffs up his chest, looking past the man's shoulder to you.

The only thing that's confusing you, though, is if this man knows who The Vampire King is, why he didn't expect to be met with hell on earth, and why he didn't prepare better.

"Jung Hoseok, always so impolite. Do you not think you should greet an old friend after so many years?"

"We can talk all you like, Kol," Hoseok snarls, finally giving a name to your killer. "Once I get my property back."

"I think you'll find this is my belonging now." he chuckles in a brief pause. Hoseok's expression darkens, his eyes becoming murderous. The fury around him actually making you shiver. "Do you like the modifications I made? She is much more durable now."

Supposedly, Hobi's already noticed your change, because he doesn't look at you again. Instead, the two men have an intense staredown. All of the vampires on his side looking ready to kill on a word.

"And far more obedient. Come here," Kol calls you, holding his hand out at shoulder height for you to take. Moving automatically, you jump down from the stack of wooden pallets placing your fingers on his palm.

Unable to stand the rage on Hoseok's face you look down, just missing the exact moment he charges. But you see an instant later as he is thrown back like a paper doll into four stories of shelves, his weight bringing the metal, the shelves, and the products down on top of him as the whole structure collapses. His men looking as startled as you to see Hoseok so easily discarded.

Before the toppling construction settles, Kol breaks from your side and an incredible, horrible scene breaks out. His speed is something you can't follow, even now. You only see the trail of destruction when he stops. One after the other, he made his way through half of the vampires, ripping them apart. Literally tearing some in two halves. Decorating the square with blood and innards.

The others are as belated and overwhelmed as you, only just having the sense to react as his blurred image stops. When he advances again, this time he doesn't use his quickness for an advantage and simply ploughs through them. They attack all at once, and still as they grab and strike at him, their forces barely move him. And his response is terrifying.

You can only bear to watch the first one. Kol's fist driving through a woman's chest, the horrid cracking of her ribs as he tears it back out making you want to scream. But his orders have you completely silent. Instead, you close your eyes, sealing your hands over your ears. Trying to block out the violent sickening sounds of his destructive rampage.

There's a last thud before it falls quiet again. Your eyes springing open to see as horrific of a sight as you had imagined. He's dripping in blood. Drenched in it. And Hoseok's people are strewn in every which way. Not a single one having survived.

Sauntering through the sea of dead bodies, he makes his way to the side where Hoseok is unmoved, tossing away the beams and panels as if they were nothing. Grabbing him by the ankle, he drags him from the rubble into the clear space in front of you. The man you once thought of as the most powerful in existence, and his troupe of vampires, was completely demolished in mere seconds of work. And you can only watch on with your body shaking. Your hopes of rescue decimated. Your chest aching with worry, even for Hobi's sake.

"Now that it's a more intimate number of us, should we talk?" Kol releases him, brushing past you as he sits where you had before. His action triggering an instruction he provided earlier, forcing you to follow him and kneel at his feet.

Sitting up, Hoseok rubs the back of his hand against a large gash under his eye. The ferocity not having left his mannerisms. "You disappear for 90 years, and you show up to what, gimmie a blood bath." His laugh falls into a grimace as he stands himself back up.

"I was created in the 13th century and you brought infants to a fight with me. What did you think would happen?" Kol asks scornfully.

"I was hoping they would do a little better," He smirks, shrugging off their deaths. "Okay, that's my bad. But still, that doesn't tell me what you want. Or did you just want to remind me that you're still alive?" He taunts, his sardonic nature returning, "Remind me that you're still pissed and you can kick my ass. Good job. You put on quite a show." he smiles, his tongue running over his fangs as he gestures around at the gruesome display. "But she," he points to you with two fingers, bitterness lacing his next words, "is worth nothing to you."

"Oh, she is worth everything to me," Kol slides forward, his hand brushing down the back of your neck, "because she is worth everything to you."

On those words, you get the most heart-wrenching sight. A pang of insecurity shows up in Hoseok's eyes. Uncertainty and something so close to fear. The smile fading as he looks him up and down.

"I am curious, though, Vampire King, do you think she will detest the Sire bond as greatly as you did?" he punctuates the question, tugging your head back by your hair. "If I treat her as Mansueto treated you, how long do think until she breaks?"

With immense speed, Hoseok splinters one of the wooden crates near him, lunging at Kol, aiming to drive the shard into his heart with a roar. But he's caught before his hand ever plunges forward. Instead, Kol takes the sharp wood and spikes it into Hoseok's stomach. Continuing to dominate him with a solid blow, knocking him off his feet, smacking him into the concrete in front of you. Stepping down, he swings his foot punting Hoseok in the chest hurling him back among the remains of his fallen creations.

You had thought if you ever saw Hobi being handled as roughly as he treated you, that you would enjoy the Karma of it. But seeing him so easily immobilized is making you sick with fear and mostly sadness.

With Kol having stood, you're no longer bound on your knees and you scramble to your feet. You want to run to Hoseok's side but before you have the chance Kol drags you into him, his hand wrapped around your waist, his other crudely brushing the hair from off the side of your face.

"Call out to him. Tell him your every feeling." He hushes the order in your ear.

"Hobi!" you yell, not sure you would have even needed to be compelled to want to shout for him. "Get up, please. I'm scared. I wanna go home!"

"Go to him," Kol releases you and you sprint to his side, hardly able to slow your sudden frantic speed.

Doubled over Hoseok is bleeding profusely. He needs your blood- but you can't do that anymore. And you have no idea what to do. You don't know how to help him or how to get out of here. He's the one that is supposed to keep you safe.

Coming from behind you, Kol bends down shoving you out of the way to lift Hoseok by the throat. "Stop!" you follow their movement, hanging on Kol's arm. "Stop! Please." But you have no effect. Instead, he jerks the wood dagger out making Hobi yell in pain.

"Do you recall what you said as you killed our Sire?" Kol whispers maliciously. "You told me that 'I will get over it'." Releasing him, he lets Hoseok plummet to the floor and you drop with him trying to catch his weight. "In 100 years from now, I'll let you see her again and you can tell me if you were able to take your own advice." he smiles spitefully.

"Hobi," you whine lowly. Brushing his hair from his sweat and blood wet forehead. "I don't want to go with him. Rather the devil you know, right," you softly chuckle, trying to pull his energy back.

Even though you know the both of you have no chance at the moment, you guess you're just looking for an affirmation that he isn't going to let you go and let this other man keep you for the next century.

"Please," you whisper, your waterline filling with tears.

Reaching towards you, Hoseok's hand constricts around your throat, pulling you into him like he has countless times before.

"You're mine," he growls through pained grunts. His anger lessened, distress replacing it. But he gives you the answer he could see you searching for.

"Yes," you nod subtly. Closing your eyes as you lean further into his hold.

"Get up," Kol orders, interrupting you.

Despite his tightening grip, you pull away from Hobi, standing as you were told. The elder vampire taking your arm leads you away through the bodies to the open doorway.

"Say goodbye Jung Hoseok," Kol calls back, leaving him injured and alone, making you wish more than ever that you could pull back. "And do not worry, I'll take very good care of her for you."

#bts #yandere #jung hoseok #j hope bts #yandere hoseok #yandere hobi #yandere bts #yandere bangtan #bts scenarios #bts fan fiction #bts requests #bts reactions #vampire! jhope #vampire! bts #bangtan reaction #bangtan fanfic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Laisse tomber les filles 11

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; size kink; age gap; manipulation; sexual acts and dubcon, possible untagged elements..

This is a dark!fic and Lee Bodecker x (short) reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find yourself ostracized on campus by your shyness, but your reticence won’t deter an unwanted suitor.

Note: Thank;s for all your patience on this series.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You just wanted it to be over. The suffocating silence had you paralysed against the seat as the two men roiled in mutual loathing. Lee kept a hand on the wheel as his other kept wandering close to your skirt. You were embarrassed at his lack of shame.

Then it started. The whole seat shook with each kick of Andre’s feet against the back as he stomped the leather like a child. Lee jolted and gripped the wheel with both hands as he glared at the rear view mirror. He growled and cleared his throat.

“Boy, you don’t want to do this,” he snarled, “right now, you got one maybe two charges. I don’t care how rich your daddy is, I can have you at the station for months if I wanna.”

“Blah, blah, blah, you’re just small time, buddy,” Andre hissed, “gettin’ your kicks with college girls. It’s you who should be sitting back here--”

“And what were you doin’, boy? Houndin’ the girl across campus like ya do,” Lee retorted, “I’m tellin’ you one last time to shut your mouth.”

“Lee, please,” you murmured, “I just… please, just let him go and we can… um, be alone.”

“Oh yeah, she sounds real excited for your fat ass,” Andre chuckled.

“Andre,” you turned to peek over the seat, “I’m trying to help you.”

“I don’t need your help…” Andre jutted out his jaw and looked out the window, “...slut.”

The silence pervaded the car again. Lee’s breath gristled in his throat but he said nothing at his cheek twitched. You sat back and hugged yourself as you watched the road through the windshield. The tension strangled you and you just rocked as you wished for it all to be over. You wanted to go back to your dorm and hide under your covers.

The way ahead grew darker and while you weren’t familiar with much beyond the campus, it didn’t seem to be the way to the station. You glanced over at Lee and fidgeted. Trees rose around you and the land plateaued before a long bridge that stretched over a loudly flowing river.

Lee slowed and killed the engine. A shiver crept up your spine as you got a bad feeling in your stomach. You watched him climb out as his weight shook the car. You held your breath, time slowing as you held your breath and watched him open Andre’s door. It was the younger man’s huffs that brought you back to reality.

The sheriff dragged him out and they struggled as you pushed yourself across the seat and got out on the driver’s side. Lee fought with Andre as he angled him around to the railing of the bridge. You followed and saw the dark shadows of the crashing river as it dipped down into a dam.

“Wait, wait,” you grabbed onto Lee as he turned Andre to face the water, “what are you doing?”

“Now, honey, you go back to the car, you don’ need to be out here,” he elbowed you away, “I’m just teaching the boy a lesson.”

“Lee, please, let’s go--”

“Go back to the car now, dammit, woman,” he snapped and you flinched at his tone.

“Fucking pig,” Andre spat, “oh, I’m so afraid--”

“Uh huh,” Lee grumbled and bent and grabbed Andre’s legs. He thrust him up and over the rail, dangling him there as his cuffed arms bent awkwardly behind him, “y’aint scared, I see.”

“Hey, hey, let me up,” Andre demanded, “you fucking pyscho.”

“Now I just want you to think about how you talk to authority, boy,” Lee taunted, “lots more I could do than close you in a cell for the night and give a meal to tide ya over, don’t ya think?”

“You’re fucked,” Andre swore, “get me up.”

“I got no problem lettin’ you up, I just wanna hear it,” Lee snickered.

“Here what?”

“Here you beg,” Lee sneered, “just like this girl’s gonna be beggin’ for me and not you--”

“Lee,” you uttered in shock.

“Honey, now, I won’t tell ya again--”

Lee stumbled back and his arms flew out as he tried to catch himself. You heard Andre scream and ran up to watch him plummet down into the depths, legs flailing and crashing with a terrible splash. You gasped and covered your mouth as he dissipated into the black waves.

“Shit,” Lee grumbled as he stood and came up next to you, “I told ya go back in the car, distractin’ me like that.” He grabbed your shoulder and squeezed, “ain’t ya a good girl? You know how to listen, don’t ya?”

“Andre,” you tried to shrug the sheriff away, “is he--”

“Even if his head still in one piece, he got them hands tied,” Lee tutted, “goddamn accident like that, tragic thing.”

“Why would you do that? Why would you hang him--”

You were stunned as Lee shot his hand up to grip your chin. He forced your mouth closed and pushed you against the rail as he closed you in with his size. He glared at you in the shadow of his headlights, “what are you sayin’, girl? You talkin’ back to me?”

“Please--”

He pressed his finger to your lips and shushed you, “please, nothing, honey. This is your fault. That boy be back on his feet if you weren’t out her naggin’ me. You aint my wife yet.”

“Lee--”

“Sir,” he corrected you and poked his finger into your mouth, “now, they gon find that boy and they’ll call me and I’ll make sure they don’t get a whiff of us. You know kids, into weird things these days, always where they don’t belong.”

You blinked at him as your eyes glossed and pushed another finger into your mouth and hummed, “well, looks like we can get on with our date, honey pie.”

📚

It wasn’t until the lights of the city blurred your tears that you realised you were crying. You were horrified by the man beside you and yourself. You kept seeing Andre falling, hearing his scream, hearing the sharp splash against the water. You imagined the way his bones would’ve cracked and his lungs would fill as he was helpless to escape the flow of the river.

When the car stopped, you winced and Lee grabbed your hand as it balled tightly in your lap. He pried your fingers open and laced his between them.

“Honey pie, I’m sorry I spoke to ya like that,” he purred, “it was only… I was worried for ya. I didn’t want ya to see all that. Just tryna protect you and all that.”

“Can you take me home--”

“Home? Is that small room really a home, honey?” he shifted closer to your on the street and caressed your cheek, “you seen my home, our home. I wanna share it with you.”

“I got school,” you wisped weakly as he let go of your hand and slid his arm over your shoulders, “I can’t--”

“What you learnin’ in that school? You don’t need none of it. History? You can read at home.”

“But I… worked so hard. I wanna learn--”

“Let’s not talk about this right now, honey pie,” he cradled your chin, “it’s been a long night.”

You looked down, too hollow to argue. You didn’t want to marry him, at least you didn’t think you did. You still had another three years of school at the end of the semester and you enjoyed your classes. You might be alone but you weren’t lonely.

“So, you read some?” he asked as his thumb tapped on your chin.

“Yes,” you said quietly, “a little.”

“That first chapter,” he said as he pressed your lip down, “you wanna try some of that?”

Your eyes widened and you gulped. You looked out the window and realised that you didn’t know where you were. You could push him away and climb out but you wouldn’t know where to go from there. And you couldn’t do all that. You were trapped.

“Sure,” you replied and kept from sobbing, there was no other answer he would accept.

“Alright,” he pulled away and stretched his arms across the seat, “like I said, honey, you take the lead.”

You gaped at him and felt his gaze in the dim. The headlights were off and you heard the distant sound of tires. You were all alone in the heart of the metropolis. You rubbed your hands together as you hesitated.

“Your mouth, honey pie,” he breathed, “I been thinking about it all day.”

You remembered the opening scene in the book, the explicit descriptions of the sloppy mess of the act. You inhaled deeply and told yourself not to be you, be the woman in the book, be Delilah, the temptress.

You reached for Lee’s fly before you could snap back to doubt and fear. You tugged at his belt clumsily as your hands shook and you pushed down his zipper. You felt him harden beneath his pants as you did and you sucked in a lungful of air.

Your lips quivered as he groaned and tilted his hips. You pushed his fly open and reached into his briefs. You gripped him and gasped.

“That’s all for you, honey pie,” he purred, “see what you do to me?”

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t find your voice in your tight throat. You licked your lips and braced yourself for what you were about to do. You’d come this far, there was no turning back.

#lee bodecker #dark lee bodecker #dark!lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #laisse tomber les filles #the devil all the time #au #college au

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inhuman-obey-me · 3 years

Text

God-Fearing Faith

Can also be read on AO3 here

Word Count: 5.7k

Description: In the Great Celestial War, torn between Lucifer and his Father, Simeon chose not to fight. That comes with its own consequences. There's a reason Simeon's greatest fear is his own Father.

[cw: body horror, abusive parent, PTSD]

This was, of course, always going to have been the outcome.

He had made his choice. As soon as he heard that Lucifer was planning on rebelling, he had made his choice. It was not an easy choice, or a simple one, but it was his choice nonetheless.

Alas, they say that neutrality is the side of the oppressor, but a tyrant never sees it that way.

"You did this to yourself," Michael reminds him disapprovingly.

Simeon stands at the center of the Council of Seraphs, awaiting a judgment that was already preordained before he ever stepped in the room. They will convict him, because there is no other option - their Father has demanded it. The trial is merely a formality.

He did not plead his case. There is no point in trying, after all. Father will not listen, and the other seraphs will never listen to another angel over God. Lucifer had just proven that, hadn't he? And maybe he had chosen wrong - maybe, all in all, he should have chosen Lucifer's side. Because it wasn't as though he hadn't been asked, and oh, how Simeon had longed to stay with his fellow seraph, his closest friend who was like a brother to him.

But between a brother and a father, he chose neither, praying quietly that it could end in peace.

Yet, who do you pray to for peace when God himself is party to war? What higher power could he have appealed to when the highest power in existence was one of the ones at fault?

Though he cannot bring himself to regret his decision, he feels the slightest twinge of regret for not supporting Lucifer more. At least, if Lucifer had won, he wouldn't have ended up here now, standing trial for not being loyal enough to their Father.

Simeon stares Michael in the face, and reminds him that he too loved and adored Lucifer not too long ago. That he still does, no matter how he votes in this trial. That, after everything, Lucifer is still precious to all of them. He knows it, and so does Simeon, and so do all the seraphs in this room. All of them still deeply love Lucifer. Even now. No matter what they say.

Michael's expression twists with anger. How dare Simeon say such things in front of their Father.

With a vengeful sneer, he reads the judgement firmly, steadily - "With unanimous votes from the Council of Seraphs, we do hereby declare you, Simeon, angel of devotion, guilty of desertion and treason. For your crimes, you are hereby sentenced to demotion - from Seraph, to Cherub, to Throne, to Dominion, to Virtue, to Power, to Principality, and finally, to Archangel. The ceremony shall be performed two moons from today, in this room, at the highest point of the sun. You may not appeal this decision. You are dismissed."

And so it has to be. This has always been, after all, the only possible ending.

Well before the ritual has even begun, Simeon feels himself burning. He repeats a prayer, day after day, for two long months - praising the glory of God, worshipping his light, acknowledging his greatness.

Begging for peace and mercy, again. Because that worked so well before, right?

But there is nothing else he can do when the burning begins. So he prays.

“Master, now dismiss your servant in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation and for glory.”

When the day arrives, the chill of the chamber feels like the coldest he's ever been. It isn't, not really, but after two months of flickering heat burning on and off within him, it's strange to be left cold this way. But he relishes the cool air while he can, because he knows what's coming.

Uriel gives him an almost pitying look as he wraps the chains around his disgraced colleague. For a split second, it almost looks like he wants to say something - but the look is gone as quickly as it came, and he retreats quickly back to his place in the circle. And Simeon is left alone in the center, wrists and torso bound in ropes of thick gold chains.

He looks defiantly at his Father, positioned directly before him in the circle. No matter how he thought it over in these past months, still he did not regret his decision. So he would stand by it. The punishment is coming either way, so he might as well be proud of the choice he made.

His Father glares back.

You will regret defying me, his voice echoes in Simeon's mind.

With a wave of his hand, the ceremony begins.

The seraphs kneel, pouring holy water into an intricate pattern engraved in the ground, which glows with magic as the liquid flows down to the center of the circle. It feels cool against Simeon's bare feet, for the moment at least.

Michael steps forward to recite the prayer chant:

"Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, for you created all things, and by your will, they do exist. Purify this one from all unrighteousness."

The seraphs clasp their hands together in a circle, locking the magic into the ceremonial space, and repeat the chant back.

At once, his Father's heavenly fire strikes him, a pillar of light beaming down upon him and spreading through his body. All six wings of fire burst from his back against his will, stretching out their full length as if to try to escape from the blast. He feels his form contort; his brown hair shifts to a snakeskin halo of spikes; his face melts away to reveal the twisting golden rings of his true angelic form. It travels down to his feet, absorbed by the holy water, which burns at his soles as though he is standing on coals. The gold chains, too, absorb the searing heat of the fire, and as he strains against his bindings in pain, it only serves to etch the curves of the chains into his body.

His eyes, normally covered modestly by his wings, ignite with the fire as it spills through him, but still, his Father maintains his cruel gaze, and even without eyes, it is all Simeon sees.

The heavenly fire has engulfed his entire form now, and he gasps at the sudden weight as his wings turn to molten rock. They rip themselves from his back, crashing behind him with a reverberating thud against the marble floor, and his shoulder blades expand behind him, tearing themselves out of his back to create four new wings of feathers and steel. Under the chains, his arms become metallic themselves, as do his chest and neck. He tries to scream, but there is only fire in his lungs, and it travels through his throat, tearing through every part of his head. When he feels a mouth to close again, it is not one mouth, but four - the four faces of the cherubim.

After what feels like hours but was surely only a few minutes, the fire drains into the holy water beneath him. He gasps, finally able to breathe, as his many faces and wings draw themselves back into his body. Everything in him aches at the transformation.

His Father's cold eyes are still locked with his.

The seraphs pour fresh holy water to the ground and begin the chant again:

"Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, for you created all things, and by your will, they do exist. Purify this one from all unrighteousness."

It hurts no less the second time - the fire smiting him down, drawing back out the form that had just folded itself into him. His face tears into four; his wings again force their way from his back. His legs buckle beneath him, forcing him to the ground before burning away entirely. The metal of his hands breaks apart into floating shards, and thin wheels of gold extricate themselves from the gold plates of his waist. His vision blurs as hundreds of new eyes burst open upon the wheels, every single one trained on his Father's own unforgiving gaze as he watches the angel morph again. He feels the melting of the metal in his new wings, and feels with anguish the searing of the metal against the feathers of the same, as both shift shape to rounder wings that wrap the fire all around him.

Vaguely, Simeon can hear the echoing roar of his own lion's face as it is engulfed by the flames, followed by the eagle's caw, and the human scream. The ox face left behind stretches into a sphere of hollow rings of gold, and yet more eyes merge their way into his vision.

And then, in a flash, cold hits his skin, the fire retreating into the holy water as suddenly as it had come, pulling all his ophanic features back into his human-like form.

His father's contemptuous stare continues to bore into him.

Are you still so defiant now?

Is he? With the dizzying slew of transformations, Simeon can hardly think straight to even consider the question. His mind is still catching up to the vision of one thousand eyes bursting into existence across his body. His head is throbbing, and trying to cradle it in his hands only leads to the still-hot metal chains searing marks into his wrists.

What he does know for certain, however, is that his Father is far from done. Seraph, to Cherub, to Throne, to Dominion, to Virtue, to Power, to Principality, to Archangel. Step by step, stage by stage, the demotion ceremony would continue. There is still a long, long way to go.

As if reading his mind - and knowing his Father, he probably is - the ritual begins again.

Holy water. Hands clasping. The same prayer, again.

"Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, for you created all things, and by your will, they do exist. Purify this one from all unrighteousness."

The third time, he releases himself easily to the fire, giving in to it at once as it draws out his chariot-like Throne form, but it doesn't burn any less all the same. Wheels, rings, eyes - all dissolving to the flames, blasting apart and falling from his form.

For a moment, fire is all he is - no body, no mind, only soul and blazing heat. And then the pyre takes shape - brilliantly burning stars for arms, a halo of embers, sparks shifting constantly in his belly. His hands twist long and thin - one into a sword, the other to a sceptre, planetary orbs swirling into existence at opposite ends of each. A mass of dark matter settles as his face, and tiny galaxies piece themselves together beneath him for legs.

Simeon grasps helplessly at balance, trying to stabilize a form made of formlessness. He can feel himself spilling out of himself and coming back together, pulsing without edges, and all the while still - burning, burning, burning. Wet tears form but are immediately lost in the void of his shapelessness.

When he is abruptly returned again to human form, he is thankful just to feel himself contained within a definite body again, grateful to feel the warm wet streaks as the tears welling at the edges of his eyes roll down solid cheeks.

Yet, again, still trapped with the other definite - the harsh stare of his Father.

Any strength left in his legs leaves him, and he collapses to the ground, ignoring the pain as his wrists pull against the hot gold of the chains yet again. On his chest, too, the metal constricts against him as he frantically gasps for air.

It's almost a surprise to him that they give him this moment to recover - though, having been a seraph himself as recently as an hour ago, he knows it's purely out of strict adherence to the rules of the ritual, not out of any kind of sympathy for him.

When he pulls himself together enough to stand again, Michael motions to Uriel. Three levels down, which means he has fallen to the Middle Order already. Time to adjust the bindings accordingly.

"I'm sorry," Uriel whispers quietly to him, maintaining expressionlessness as he wraps new, thinner chains around him, reaching further along his arms and chest than before.

Bitterly,Simeon thinks to himself that there is no apologizing for this - it was voted upon, and it was unanimous. But he knows, too, that the other seraphs had no choice either. Their Father had demanded this verdict, and none of them could ignore a direct order from him.

Doing so was, after all, precisely why Simeon himself was in this situation now.

So without breaking eye contact with their Father, he responds simply, "Don't be. Or you'll be next."

His former peer completes the rest of his work in silence, and as soon as he resumes his place in the circle, the ritual begins again.

"Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, for you created all things, and by your will, they do exist. Purify this one from all unrighteousness."

Going from Dominion to Virtue is an almost welcome reprieve, relative to the earlier transformations. Fire strikes him down again, but Simeon braces himself this time for the feeling of nothingness as the edges of himself fall away, galaxies and empty space bursting from inside him. A million stars explode into existence along his body, then explode again out of it, the black holes left behind dancing with the heavenly flames coursing through him.

Gradually, the fire slows and hardens. The light of embers flickers through cracks in molten rock left behind along his core. His wrists, too, tremble with new mass as crags form beneath the chains, connected to his shoulders only by stormy flashes of lightning. Dark clouds fill his form like billowing smoke, and he almost feels like he will choke on his own existence. Blinding rings of light wrap themselves along his limbs like snakes. He is at once heavy and weightless, dark and light, chained and unmoored.

In this confusing contradiction of his newest form of existence, Simeon is almost glad for the holy fire and icy glare of his Father. He clings to them as his anchor, however painful of one to hold onto, lest his mind drift too far away and leave him entirely. Or is it better to lose himself by letting go, than to focus on the pain? He isn't sure, but he's not certain that he will come back to himself if he doesn't hold on. So he clings to the thread of stability he has, embracing the burning as best he can.

It makes it all the more jarring when the heavenly flames abruptly retreat again, leaving him solid and cold, everything around him a blur except his Father. The sudden chill sends an involuntary shiver through him, echoed by rattling chains reverberating through the chamber.

He shuts his eyes, tries to reorient himself. Deep breaths. Halfway through now. Just three more, and it will be done. His fall from grace will be complete, and he'll be free. Or at least, as free as the angels ever are, given their roles as God's warriors and messengers. But he'll be out of this ceremony, freed of these chains. And...then what? A low-level grunt worker, to be bossed around by all his former equals in this room?

Maybe that's a good thing. At least, that's what he tries to tell himself. True, a demotion is a demotion, and he'll have less power available to him, less respect from the other angels. Less freedom to do as he pleases. But in truth, can he say he's ever had that much freedom? Isn't that why he's here now? Because he never really had that freedom in the first place - just the space to do the things his Father approved of, which had just happened to be the same things he'd wanted to do, until now. And at least, once his full demotion is complete, perhaps the freedom he loses in the work he does will be a worthwhile exchange for being freed of the pressures of being a seraph, from being always close to their Father and his strict command.

That's what he thinks, at least, until he opens his eyes again and sees his Father still staring down at him.

There is no escape from me, his Father's voice taunts in response, and Simeon isn't quite sure whether the voice in his head is actually sent by his Father or just created from his own fear.

Regardless, another half of the ceremony is still to come, and so it must continue.

"Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, for you created all things, and by your will, they do exist. Purify this one from all unrighteousness."

Heavenly fire comes down, and his insides ignite once more. His legs stretch and split apart into glowing rings; his arms turn stormy again. His chest hardens back to molten rock, tightening against his attempts to breathe before breaking apart, leaving trails of flame and lava dripping down through the rings of light below. The dark clouds throughout his form catch fire as well and burn away to steam and smoke.

His shape changes less drastically now as his rank falls lower and lower, yet the heavenly fire lingers longer this time. The transformation aches through him, new pieces stretching and pulling themselves into place.

Slowly, thin metal plates emerge through the fire and settle as his new face, locking his expression to neutrality - as if mocking the neutrality he'd tried to take in the war. More sheets of steel fold themselves together into layers of a round shield for a torso. A ring of eyes opens along the outer border of the shield, confusing his vision again, along with six larger eyes in a circular pattern around the center. It takes his mind a moment to catch up to processing all of them, trying to orient to so many new perspectives all turned to different directions. Thorns prick all over as two long rose stems grow from his chest, wrapping themselves around his neck, and another eye opens at the center of each flower. Sharp golden wings extricate themselves from his back, and a harsh golden halo slices in an arc behind his head.

Simeon clenches his fists as the flames travel through him, clinging to his insides and pulling his new form gradually, painfully back in. Unlike the previous times, it holds onto him on its way down to the holy water this time. He feels every inch of his wings scraping against his returning flesh as they drag themselves back inside his body, as with the rest of the form.

It's strange - angel transformations are usually instant. They aren't meant to be this slow.

That's when it sinks in that this isn't just rote punishment for law's sake - it is spite. He lifts his gaze again to see that his Father's cold expression has not changed at all, but there is wrath in those eyes. He can feel fury emanating from the light that always surrounds him.

Simeon has never heard of their Father drawing out a punishment for vengeance's sake before. This ceremony, the entire demotion process, was always just a ritual that was part of a judgment given for the sake of upholding a realm of law and obedience. But then, their Father had also never personally weighed in on a trial to tell the seraphs what way to vote until this, either. And there is no mistaking the anger coming from him now.

All for choosing neutrality...?

No, that's not it. It's not for choosing neutrality; it's for not choosing against Lucifer. The realization dawns on him - this isn't about him, never was about him or his refusal to fight. It is about Lucifer. It is about their Father's most beloved angel until the war, rebelling against him. It is about the fact that the war that ensued was the first time any of the angels had ever really questioned their Father's rule. It is about reminding everyone in this room of his power as the unmistakable, undeniable ruler of the Celestial Realm.

This is not about punishing Simeon. It is about punishing Lucifer.

And for the first time since his trial began, Simeon is truly, deeply afraid. He had known that the punishment for his refusal to fight would be intense and painful, but he had prepared himself for that when he made his decision in the first place. But to be a proxy for punishment against Lucifer for rebelling, now that the Morning Star himself was out of reach, fallen to the Devildom?

But the realization has come far too late, and there are two more rounds of this still to go.

New holy water flows down to his feet, and the seraphs begin the chant again.

"Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, for you created all things, and by your will, they do exist. Purify this one from all unrighteousness."

The heavenly fire burns hotter this time than any of the ones before, and in the fog of pain, the knowledge that the last one will only be worse briefly flits across his mind. But his thoughts are quickly pulled away by what is now a slow, excruciating transformation back into the form that had just left him moments ago.

His wings cut their way out of his back again like jagged knives, hot from the blazing heat pushing them from his body. They quickly melt away as they exit him, dripping molten streaks of metal down his back, as do the sheets of steel making up his shield-like frame. The liquid metal snakes its way down him, hardening back into rough shards cutting against his feet as they reach the holy water below. His neck feels choked with prickling flames as the blaze travels up the thorny stems of the roses growing from his chest, framing his face with fire.

The chains binding him stretch and grow, twisting themselves up his arms and wrapping his torso in a constricting suit of armor that feels more like it's meant to squeeze the life out of him than protect him. Each ring burns itself against his newly reforming skin beneath, merging into his flesh - it is not actually armor, after all, but a part of his own body. The metal continues threading its way up him, wrapping his neck, his face, his hair, until it grows past him into a twisting, tulip-shaped crown atop his head. From the flames at his core, jewels start pushing their way out of him, each one piercing him on its way out, and they spin together into a blinding orb in front of him. From his fingertips, thin needles of yet more metal prick as they join the gems, sending a reverberation of eerie music through the hall as they merge to form a long, thin scepter.

Simeon can feel his mouth being pried open by the flames, or perhaps it is being burned away entirely - in the shifting uncertainty of transformation, he's not quite sure which. Against his will, his voice joins the echoing notes of the scepter, until the sounds accumulate and stretch into haunting shriek.

And then, all at once, the flames leave him, the form of Principality leaves him, the scepter and the armor and everything leave him - and he is left standing, alone, silent, cold, enchained, mouth still agape with the memory of the sounds that had just moments before been wrenched from his throat.

He gasps for air, shuts his eyes as he readjust his vision from the now-gone blinding light of the jeweled scepter. Phantom pinpricks still tingle at his stomach, and for a moment, he almost thinks he's going to vomit. Still, he hangs on to the barest shred of dignity and composure until the feeling passes, and waits for the pain of everything to subside.

When he opens his eyes again, he meets the gaze of his Father in almost a plea. Stop this. Please. I am not Lucifer. Lucifer is gone.

But if his Father can hear the begging of his thoughts, as he seemed to hear him earlier, he doesn't show it. He doesn't respond at all, merely staring Simeon down with the same ice cold stare he's held this entire time. And the ceremony continues.

Michael waves to Uriel, who steps forth to replace the chains again. Simeon is down to the Lower Order now, the last and lowest ranks of angels. Redundant as it feels to replace his bindings, given all the transformations that have already happened, the ritual demands it.

Uriel doesn't meet his eyes this time - despite his remorse, he keeps in mind Simeon's earlier words of warning. But he can't quite bring himself to do this with pride, either. Just earlier that day, they had still been colleagues and equals. It's a cold reminder that no matter how strict or obedient any of them are, their Father is the ultimate in charge, and they are all only one displeasure away from the same fate. Likewise, Simeon avoids eye contact, neither ashamed nor proud of his current state.

The chains are even more slender now, almost elegant in the way they snake around his wrists. As a seraph, he could have broken these new chains easily, but now as a principality, they're more than enough to hold him. Deep inside, he can still feel the great well of power within him, but as if a glass cloche sits in the way, he knows instinctively that he can't summon any of that strength anymore. He will never be able to again.

Somewhere, just as deep inside, he starts to question whether he even wants to - to access the strength given him by the one now putting him through all of this.

He pushes the feeling far away though. He should be grateful that, following the war, he wasn't equally cast out of the Celestial Realm, shouldn't he? Those who had fallen, they were informed, had met a far worse fate. Lucifer and his brothers flit across his mind; though he wasn't close with all of them, he wonders if they are okay. Lucifer, at least, proud and full of conviction, surely must have made it out with his head held high as ever, right? What fate had befallen him worse than this, that Simeon was experiencing now...?

When Uriel finishes and retreats back to his place, Simeon hangs his head down, giving up on his silent begging to his Father. It's clear at this point that there is no mercy coming. Their father does not forgive; he condemns.

Until the war, Simeon had really believed that his condemnations were right and just.

But are they, after all? Can he truly believe it anymore? He had understood Lucifer well enough, but...he had really believed that trusting their Father was the right way to go. That Lucifer's rebellion was wrong. That their Father was, always, in all cases, correct, and that there was a reason for everything he did.

The cool brush of holy water at his feet pulls him back from his dark thoughts.

"Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, for you created all things, and by your will, they do exist. Purify this one from all unrighteousness."

Even the heavenly fire seems to come slower, now on this final time. His Father's eyes, though still coldly distant and unreadable, almost seem to shine with the voraciousness of his vengeance.

The flames lick at his face like hounds hungry for a meal.

In the pain, time seems to slow to a stop.

And then it does. It stops. Everything stops. He doesn't feel the chain metal armor searing itself back into his skin, or the gems pulling themselves through his body. Everything falls away; all becomes just a bright, white brilliance. Simeon feels weightless.

Is this it? Has his Father abandoned the ceremony after all? Is this...

No, a booming inner voice answers him. You won't die. That's too soft for an angel like you.

"Father?" he calls back silently. His eyes would have widened, if he'd had feeling left of them to widen. So it was true, his Father could hear every one of his thoughts.

And yet, he had ignored Simeon's begging for this to stop.

I told you that you would regret defying me.

"Father, I-I'm sorry. I thought - Lucifer is so precious to us. He was acting on what he believed in. I know that he was wrong, but -"

Yes, he was. And you, Simeon. You are an angel, one of my children, my creations. And yet you dared defy me. Pathetic.

He almost wishes he could summon the courage to defy his Father again, but he is too exhausted from round after round of transformation. Instead, he feels only sorrow. For Lucifer. For the other angels that fell. For himself.

You still don't understand your lesson? Troublesome child, Lucifer wouldn't listen either. I've removed him. Miserable wretch as you are, you will learn. You ought to be more grateful I chose not to eject you too.

Darkness floods his blinded vision, and Simeon sees himself in his mind's eye. His reflection smiles sweetly at him, before its eyes widen. Its mouth twists into a scream, expression more pained even than the shrieks pulled from him in his last transformation, but rather than sound coming out, shadows spill inwards, consuming him.

As if in answer, Simeon's own soul suddenly twists equally in pain, choking on a flood of umbra enveloping him from inside, until he's unsure if the image before him is a reflection or just him seeing himself from the outside. The dusty taste of ash and soot covers his tongue, as a fire unlike the clean holy flames chokes him from within - the smoke of hellfire.

Feathers, light and dark both, explode in bursts through his body. Flurries of new wings extrude themselves from his back, pulling patchwork marble patterns in jagged edges, fighting with each other for dominance as they clash in their growth. He feels his face split into two, one side drawing the hoop of a thin metal crown behind him, while a thin horn twists out from the other and loops back over to pierce his cheek. Scattered across his hands, fingers stretch into sharp, wicked claws, while his palms turn to pure light.

Though this twisted form is removed from his actual, physical body, the heavenly fire burns harshly against him still, and harsher yet upon his new demon-like features, incinerating them away almost as quickly as they emerge from his body. His angelic elements fare hardly better, as the hellfire within him eats away at them.

And all the while, his Father's voice hums tauntingly in his mind.

Feeble excuse for an angel, you are blessed to still hold my power. Do not forget who made you. I created you, gifted you with my divine power, and I can wipe you from this existence. And it will make not a shred of difference, for I shall make another, one more obedient, who understands his place...unless, my child, you submit now. Surrender yourself back to my command, and I shan't destroy you completely. Or this will be the last of your miserable, wretched life.

Amidst the pain, the infinity of nonexistence blankets despair upon his mind in threat, an incomprehensible emptiness.

It's too much. He is not able - was not created to be able - to endure all of this agony. An infinite void, heavenly smiting, darkness corrupting, all at once - his whole soul feels on the verge of collapse.

"I swear, Father!" Simeon cries. "Please, anything! Anything you ask, I'll obey! Forgive me, please...!"

It feels like another eternity before his Father murmurs his satisfaction, letting the frozen moment fall away back to the reality of the seraph council's chamber.

The rest of the transformation ritual proceeds as before, though after the jumbled, aching blending of transforming into both angel and demon at once, turning to an Archangel feels as though it passes quickly by comparison. When the last of the fire extinguishes upon the holy water at his feet, and the chains release themselves to mark the end of the ceremony, he collapses to the ground, succumbing at last to the blissful release of unconsciousness.

For a long time after his demotion ceremony, Simeon cannot sleep through the night. He wakes at random times, gasping for air, from dreams of being on fire again. A few times, when he wakes, he finds his wings actually alight, as though they remember their seraph form when they used to be made of flame, and he screams at the half-asleep memory of how those wings turned to rock and tore themselves from his body. Other times, he is wrought from his rest by a phantom feeling of ash in his throat, choking on the taste of hellfire.

He wonders if these dreams are being sent to him by his Father, or by his own mind.

Which would be worse?

Night after night, he prays desperately for release, exhausted.

He never receives any answer.

It is years before he makes it through a night without waking, and many years more before he manages a peaceful, dreamless night. It is centuries more before those nights outnumber the dreams of flames.

All the while, he hears the whispers and snickering of older angels as he passes through the Celestial Realm halls now, particularly from Middle Order angels smugly delighting in now outranking a former seraph. Gossip of his restless nights spreads between them, rumors flying around of the demonic screams that come from his room when all should be asleep.

Some of them wonder if perhaps he's not an angel at all anymore. Others sneer that maybe he shouldn't be.

Maybe they're right. Maybe he shouldn't be.

He doesn't enter his angel form very often anymore. He still remembers the feeling of corrupting, of horn instead of halo.

Maybe he's not fit to be an angel.

He prays again.

#obey me #obey me!#obey me swd #obey me simeon #om! simeon #obey me fics #obey me angst #writings #body horror cw #abusive parent cw #ptsd cw #angels being terrifying #mod chaos in the devildom #very angsty and very body horror #my two specialties?#i am two months late responding to chapter 58 but OH WELL

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cas-kingdom · 4 years

Text

Dad

A/N: Thank you to my anons for helping me come up with some perfectly Geralt-like explanations of parenthood. <3

Despite the summary, Geralt doesn't outright call Akela his daughter in a couple of these, but the point of the story is to show how he can call her that without actually saying it, if that makes sense. Still fluffy and (dangerously) sweet! Also a nice little Yennefer-Geralt scene here.

While writing number 4, I listened to 'Scared' by Jeremy Zucker.

Title: Dad

Summary: Three times Geralt called you his daughter, and the one time you called him ‘Dad’.

Words: 4607

“I knocked it off the cart.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Why would I try to steal something I have money to pay for?”

The old man’s face turned sourer, if that was at all possible. “Oh, you have money?” He expectantly stretched his hand out, palm up as his fingers twitched. “Pay me, then!”

You rolled your eyes. “But I’m not buying them!”

“You tried to steal them!”

“I did not!”

“I saw you!”

“What you saw,” you spat out, leaning forward, face the picture of anger, “was me bumping against your cart and knocking a couple apples off—which I apologised for.”

A noise somewhere between frustration and rage spewed from the man’s mouth and he shot his arm forward like a snake striking to attack, grasping the front of your tunic and tugging you forward. “Listen here, girl—”

You clenched your fists and readied to bite back, but before you even had a chance, the man’s hands were ripped from you, and he was shoved away.

“Get your hands off her,” a stony voice ground out, voice brooking no argument. Geralt stood tall and menacing in front of the hunched old man, head tilted slightly to the side as he glared at him. He knew you were often capable of looking after yourself, proven clearly when you stepped beside him and a look of smugness appeared on your face, but he also knew that that would likely never change how much the anger flourished inside him when he saw someone lay their hands on his child in a way such as this.

The old man pointed a shaky finger at Geralt. “You stay out of this, Sir!”

You scoffed, and Geralt spared a glance down at you, briefly raising a brow. “What, exactly, am I supposed to be staying out of?”

“The little bitch tried to steal my produce!”

“I didn’t!”

“The little bitch,” Geralt said, holding out an arm to stop you from lunging, “is my daughter. And if you ever speak in that manner to her again, you won’t be able to speak another word.”

The man looked ready to respond with vigour, but at the last moment his eyes averted to the sword and the daggers at Geralt’s waist, and the cogs in his brain began to turn as his vision wandered up to the white hair and the amber eyes. He shut his mouth and stepped back, resigned.

“Forgive me,” he said. He appeared as though he was ready to run before he grabbed one of the apples you had knocked off his cart and pressed it into your hands, a forced and nervy smile showing on his lips. “Here, take this!”

Your eyes lit up and you smiled victoriously, taking a bite from it and turning to walk off as you called back a quick, “Thank you!”

Geralt sighed deeply and hummed, giving the man a final glare before following after you. “He was right. You are a little bitch,” he remarked.

You grinned and tossed the apple in the air, the sunlight glinting on the green fruit as though in triumph. You handed it to him and watched as he relented with a roll of his eyes and took a bite. “Waste not, want not!”

“What’s it like?”

Geralt lifted his head to look at Yennefer. She was lying on her side opposite the fire, her head resting in her hand, and she seemed contemplative. Curious, in a way, which was odd for her, though what could he really say about that? It wasn’t as though he’d known her long.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

Yennefer jerked her head in the direction he’d been staring in for the majority of the past ten minutes, where you were fast asleep, curled under blankets, head beside Jaskier’s, who was wandering in the land of dreams himself.

He looked at you a moment longer before turning back to the mage. A hint of his own confusion danced in his eyes, but she spoke before he could open his mouth to question what it was that she meant.

“Parenthood,” she clarified, her voice softening. “What’s it like?”

Geralt rose an eyebrow, briefly floundering for words at the, quite frankly, surprising question. For a woman who was all invulnerability and strength, it was something he hadn’t expected to come from her. Not to mention he didn’t often think about what she’d asked.

He glanced away and shook his head. “More trouble than it’s worth,” he told her with a short breath of a laugh.

The corners of Yennefer’s lips drew upwards. She fidgeted with a stone on the forest floor. “I’m serious.”

His other eyebrow shot up. “So am I,” he assured her. “She may seem sweet, but underneath it all is the monster I’m most afraid to go up against.” He offered her a rare smile, which she returned, and for the first time in a while both mage and witcher felt peaceful. It was blissfully quiet—the only sound being Jaskier’s snores and incoherent mumbles—and it was dark, giving the two the serenity they needed after the trials of the previous days.

“It’s… hard,” he said seriously, despite the fact he was admitting that he, the infamous Geralt of Rivia, found something difficult. “You learn new things every day.”

“What kind of things?”

“Everything. About yourself, about her, about the world in general… you make decisions you probably would never have thought about before. You have responsibilities you wouldn’t have believed would ever be associated with you.” He let his eyes wander over to your sleeping form. “You don’t know what the hell you’re doing most of the time. You can feel so… so lost at it, right until you start to realise the only thing that’s keeping you grounded is the same thing that gave you the title of father. It…” He paused, leaning forward to poke a stick into the dying fire. “It gives you something to live for, and at the time I found Y/N, that was what I needed most.”

Yennefer’s lips curled into a smile as she slowly sat up, tucking her legs underneath her. “It sounds tiring,” she said, glancing down for a moment, and Geralt nodded.

“It is. But the rewards outweigh the difficulties. It’s something you’d give up everything to keep.” He looked across at her, noticing her loosened shoulders, and realised for the first time that he took his title of father for granted. Yennefer’s mutations had made her sterile, and though he was the same, he’d still somehow found a way to get past that, even though he’d never once pondered on the possibilities of it before he’d found you. Yennefer hadn’t been so lucky, and as he looked at her, he found that that reflected perfectly in the eyes he now viewed as… sad.

“You’ll feel that someday,” he said without thinking, and when she glanced up, he nodded in your direction. “When you have your own.”

Yennefer gazed at him, violet eyes piercing the amber of his. They stared at each other for a moment, no words passing their lips but every meaningful word being said nonetheless, until Jaskier snorted in his sleep and the both of them ripped their eyes away, returning to their stone and their stick.

“Thank you, Witcher,” Yennefer spoke up a moment later, and Geralt nodded once.

“You’re welcome, Mage.”

Geralt turned his head down to look at you. You were standing beside him, absently tugging on the neckline of the dress you’d bought from a market that very morning. You were clearly irritated, sighing in annoyance and muttering under your breath every so often.

When you noticed him looking, you shook your head, face every bit unhappy. “I don’t want to be here,” you ground out.

He rose an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Why are we here again?”

“Lord Lyon invited us.”

“And how do you—” You scratched at the back of your neck, the foreign material rubbing it raw—“know Lord Lyon?”

Geralt glanced down again and frowned, slapping your hands away from your red neck. “I saved his sister from a werewolf,” he said, instinctively tucking a few strands of hair that hadn’t made it into your plait behind your ear, “and he insisted my attendance at his feast tonight.”

You rose an eyebrow at that, finally relenting in your fiddling and letting your arms hang loosely. “Your attendance,” you picked out. “I could have stayed at the inn.” He ignored that, as you expected, and you sighed, shoulders slacking. “You never usually care for extra repayment,” you said. And it was true. He didn’t. He preferred to do his duty as a witcher and not stick around to see the aftermath of his hunt, except to accept his money. He didn’t care for physical shows of thanks. It was better that way, for you and for him. But he’d, for once, genuinely been concerned for the lord’s sister, so he’d accepted the invitation with the intention of only staying long enough to gain information on her wellbeing before leaving.

Geralt lifted his chin as he noticed a familiar man enrobed in silk and jewels walking towards you. He took in a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the conversation ahead of undoubtedly mindless babble about his life and anything else the lord wished to ask him.

“And you never usually say no to free food,” he remarked quietly to you before forcing a tight smile at the open-armed, freely grinning man when he stopped in front of him.

“Geralt of Rivia!” he greeted, and you turned your head to meet him, only just refraining from raising your brows at the sight that met your eyes. You weren’t used to seeing royalty or regality of any sort, so you were never one to shy from your overly dramatic opinions of how these people dressed and carried themselves. You were quite certain all the clothes on your body wouldn’t amount to the price of a single ring on his finger, even though you’d had to beg Geralt for weeks to buy you the new leather boots on your feet now, just about hidden by your long dress.

Geralt had made an attempt to dress nicely, too. He’d washed and brushed his hair—and made several mock lunges (and one actual one) for you when you’d continued to tease him about it—and was wearing clothes that, though giving him an extremely regal look of his own, seemed unfamiliar to you. You much preferred him in his loose tunics and trousers, hair muddy and tangled in knots that he wouldn’t give a shit about until he needed to (which was barely ever, unless you were counting surprise and sudden invites to feasts such as this).

“Lord Lyon,” Geralt said with a small nod. “How is your sister?”

The lord reached forward to clap him on the shoulder, and this time, you did raise a brow, knowing your witcher’s dislike for such actions. Sure enough, Geralt’s smile grew tighter, and you could see the lines on his forehead become more pronounced. Perhaps in different circumstances—definitely in different circumstances—you would have laughed at his predicament, despite his clear discomfort, nevertheless this time you had to do with quickly turning your head to the side and stifling a grin.

“My sister fares well!” Lyon told him, not removing his hand. “She’s been asleep since you returned her safely to me, but the healers assure me she will make a full recovery. Thank you again for your unforgettable help, my friend!”

“Thank you for inviting me here tonight.”

Lyon stepped back, finally letting his hand drop to his side, and the corners of your lips twitched when Geralt subconsciously rolled his shoulder. “Well, this is the only other way I could think of repaying you when coin did not seem enough. A good meal!” It was at this moment, when you were shuffling from foot to foot in boredom, almost reverting back to your scratching and tugging, that Lyon noticed you, and he rose both eyebrows, glancing between you and Geralt. “And who might this be?”

“Y/N,” Geralt introduced, stopping you with a firm hand to your shoulder. You looked up at the lord, offering a smile. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought her.”

Lyon tilted his head slightly to the side in obvious interest, disregarding Geralt’s last sentence with a wave of his hand. “You mean she’s yours? Your daughter?”

You continued to stare at the man in front of you, unbothered. You were well used to being called his daughter—it was easier for him to agree when people asked if you were, and you sometimes wondered when exactly he’d given up on correcting people. If he’d ever corrected people in the first place.

“Your daughter?” Lyon repeated at Geralt’s lack of response.

“Yes.”

“I thought… well.” He looked a little sheepish, but Geralt was all too aware of what was coming. “I was always told that the trials witchers underwent made them—”

Geralt interrupted him before he could continue. “They did. I am.” He squeezed your shoulder. “She’s not mine by blood. But she is mine.”

Lyon stared a while, thinking to himself, before he abruptly smiled in acceptance. “Very good. Though I would never have taken you for the parent type.”

“My apologies,” Geralt said, inclining his head, “but you don’t know me well enough to make that assumption.”

A soft smile graced your lips and you glanced down to the ground, your heart swelling with love you could only ever feel for him.

“Quite right.” Lyon was clearly apologetic. He opened an arm out and motioned for the two of you to follow him. “Come, let us eat. You can tell us all exactly how you killed that werewolf!”

The hilariously dismayed look Geralt sent you after that made you snort.

How had it come to this?

“Geralt?” you whispered, daring to edge closer. He looked so pale, even in the short rays of moonlight radiating down. His skin was pallid, white hair muddied and hanging in knots around his face. His eyes were shut, his lips were set in a straight line, and even as you shook his shoulder, he did not move.

He did not move.

Geralt always moved. He had long since trained himself to wake at the first sound or touch that did or didn’t come from you. And yet now, even as you doubled your attempts and shook him so hard you were sure he’d be disorientated were he awake… he remained still. Still and silent. Completely dead to the world.

Dead.

Your heart soared, not for the first time, and you sat back on your haunches for a moment, staring with eyes as wide as the yellow moon looming over head. It was almost as though your unconscious mind was waiting for him to wake up. Willing him to wake up. Because you knew good and fucking well that without him, the point of remaining in the living was completely lost on you.

Reluctantly, your mind swiftly hurled you back. Back into damn memories of the swings of his sword and his shouts of exertion and pain as he fought with the monster that had suddenly stormed where you’d been resting. You should have stayed behind the rocks as he’d ordered… you shouldn’t have listened to the clash of metal hitting sturdy skin and bone… and you certainly shouldn’t have jumped up from behind the rock and screamed his name, leading him to whirl around in panic and giving the beast time to throw him against a large boulder. You could still remember the sickening crack of his head hitting the solid stone. That would have been the perfect time to scream his name, but you’d found that no words had been able to escape your clenched throat. You’d felt like you were being strangled, and your heart had stopped beating for the longest second as you’d watched with absolute terror…

He’d been telling you a story. You’d been lying beside him, exhausted eyes staring up at the starry sky as his voice lulled you to sleep. You couldn’t even remember what the story had been about, all you’d been focused on was the comfort his voice offered, and for that reason you had not registered at all when he’d abruptly stopped speaking. He’d waited a moment, eyes narrowed, before quietly standing to his feet, picking up his sword as he went. All his senses had been alert, and were he an animal, his ears would have been pricked up and forwards, listening for any noise that sounded at all abnormal.

He’d taken calculated steps forward, hands tight around his sword’s hilt, boots making no sound as he stepped over fallen leaves and twigs. And then he’d stopped, standing completely still, save for his eyes, which roved the area in front of him. He’d turned his head the slightest bit and harshly whispered your name, but it had not been enough to rouse you, and you’d stayed sleeping until less than three seconds later when what you now believed to have been a kikimora burst from the cover of the trees, screaming raucously and lunging towards Geralt. You’d bolted upright and he’d yelled at you to hide yourself as his sword came clashing down on the thing, not waiting to see if you’d done as was asked before moving to attempt to lead the monster away.

That had been only three minutes ago. One and a half minutes ago, he’d been thrown against the boulder. One minute ago, he’d managed to use the last of his strength to pierce the beast’s hide with a cloying crunch, mixing with both his and the kikimora’s shrieks of agony. You had looked on with trembling hands as it fell to the side, completely unmoving, and watched, waited, for Geralt to stand to his feet.

When he hadn’t, you’d taken one trembling step forward, hands cold and in fists at your sides, before running the rest of the way, not caring in the least that there was a possibility the monster might still be alive. All you’d cared about was the possibility that Geralt might not be.

You stared at him now, hopefully waiting for his eyelids to flicker, or a finger to twitch… but there was no movement.

You shook him again, harder now, but it didn’t work, and with a desperation you had never felt before, and your breathing quicker than ever, you hurried closer towards him, grabbing the sides of his face and shaking him, slapping him, hitting him… anything that had a chance of waking him.

“Geralt!” you shouted, voice cracking. You slapped him again, pausing only when you felt something wet and sticky coat your right hand. When you pulled it back, the sight of red met your eyes.

You stared at it for a moment, hands shuddering, before the red and the blackness of everything else melded into one as tears filled your eyes. A tightening of your throat and a short intake of breath was all that was heard before gut-wrenching sobs tore through your chest and you fell forward, clutching your bloody hand to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut as your grief poured from you in an onslaught of irrepressible tears.

“Please, please, wake—wake up!” you choked out, your forehead resting against his chest, hands gripping his ragged tunic. “Please! I can’t—I can’t—Please! Geralt! You can’t die! You’re a witcher! Witchers don’t die! Wake up!”

But he didn’t.

You harshly breathed in with as much effort as you could muster, and the smell of blood overpowered your senses… yet, at the same time, there was still that hint of forest and greenery which made him Geralt. The scent that was often the only thing that could make you fall asleep. The scent that you only had to catch for a moment before you immediately calmed. The scent that, even now, amidst your hiccups and sobs, caused the briefest feeling of serenity to swirl through you before it vanished as the new, metallic aroma abruptly tickled at your nose.

Another sob racked your body when the scent disappeared and you shook your head. “Daddy…” It came out as a mewling whine, so broken and utterly devastating that it would have made even the heartless cry along with you, but there was no other sound… no other noise in the darkness of the forest around you except the guttural cries wrenching from your throat.

It was the feeling of being alone which scared you the most. The feeling of… being without the one person who’d ever made an ounce of sense to you. The one person you loved more than life itself and who probably loved you even more than that.

You would rather die alongside him than live in a world you knew he no longer walked in.

A moment passed, and you sat there, hunched over with your head on his chest and your tired hands slowly slacking in their hold on his tunic. Your eyes were red and swollen, cheeks wet and tracking the mud and blood which had inadvertently transferred from his clothing to your face, and you were shaking so much that when a slight tremor rippled beneath you, you took no notice of it whatsoever.

At an exhausted yet almost incoherent groan, you blinked, opening your eyes despite it doing nothing against the blackness of you face pressed to him. You tried to silence your cries as much as you could, holding your breath, not quite willing to believe it but hoping more than you’d ever hoped before all the same.

“Fuck…”

And you bolted upright, your eyes blinking against the blurriness. You wiped at them, your heart thumping, blood pulsing through your distraught and exhausted body, and looked on with shock as Geralt—yes, Geralt!—slowly raised his arm and brought his hand to the back of his head. His eyes squeezed tightly shut as his brows furrowed in obvious pain.

“My fucking head,” he rasped out, and you let loose a noise of relief, suddenly and without warning bursting into tears once again. You launched forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his chest. He groaned and finally opened his eyes to peer down at the mop of hair in his line of vision.

He gulped down the sickly feeling in his gut as best he could, trying to make sense of his surroundings, and after a moment the memories returned to him, causing him to shut his eyes once more at the force of it. He returned his attention to you, lowering his hand to place it on the back of your head.

When your sobs grew, his frown deepened and he tried to lift his own head, swallowing back bile when the throbbing ache increased. He felt nauseatingly terrible and instead dropped his head back to the hard rock below him. “Hey…” he whispered. His voice was hoarse and he didn’t really trust the words coming from his mouth. “It’s alright.”

You shook your head. “N-no! It is-isn’t! I thought you were dead!”

He sighed unsteadily and moved his trembling fingers through your hair, trying his best to block out the discomfort (which was a nice word for agony). “I’m not dead,” he told you, and you finally lifted your head, showing him the extent of your hysteria. You looked as though you’d been bawling for years, and he shook his head softly, raising his other arm to wrap around you and pull you back towards him. His head was pounding, he knew he was bleeding in more places than one, but to be perfectly honest, he was simply happy to be alive, and to be holding his child in his arms, however much he would be covered in tears and snot by the time he finally gathered the strength to push himself up.

“I thought you were,” you croaked out, and he rubbed his thumb across your temple. You reached up, grasping his hand, and he narrowed his eyes, blinking at the sight of blood coating your own.

“Is th-that yours?” he asked, the words feeling funny on his tongue as he stumbled over them. You sniffed and glanced to where he had turned your hand over in his.

“No,” you said, “it’s yours.” At that open revelation and reminder, you lifted your eyes, haphazardly wiping your hair from your face and blinking against the tears that still didn’t seem to be stopping. “It’s from your head. Does it hurt?”

Geralt’s face contorted into one of pain yet again as he reached his hand to his head, bringing it back and intaking a sharp breath once he saw the blood. “Damn,” he grumbled. “Yes, it hurts. Like hell.”

You unconsciously bit at the inside of your cheeks and watched him as he lowered his arm and shut his eyes. Your heart continued to pound and every so often your ragged breaths were interrupted by a hiccup. “I’m sorry,” you muttered after a short while.

He blearily opened his eyes to look at you. “Why?”

“I called your name,” you told him, “and you turned around.”

He nodded faintly in remembrance. “Why?” he repeated.

“I don’t know.” You swallowed thickly, tears fogging your vision again. “I was stupid. I just… got so scared, and I didn’t—I didn’t want you to… to…”

At your rising distress, he pulled you down to his chest again, ensuring your ear was conveniently placed over the left side of his chest. His heart was slow—perhaps a little faster than normal yet still slow all the same—but in the silence of the forest he knew you would be able to hear it and let it soothe you.

It worked, and the two of you stayed there for a while. Geralt fixed his attention on his own breathing, trying to match yours as he felt your pulse through his hands. He wondered briefly how far the nearest village was and if he could risk asking for medical help. Perhaps he could reach Triss in Novigrad, and both he and you would have a safe place to recuperate.

His muddled mind was interrupted when he turned his head and noticed the kikimora for the first time, lying in a rotten clump on the ground a couple feet from him. He swallowed the knot in his throat and shut his eyes, remembering all too clearly what had happened and, more importantly, how close it had been to getting you. Unconsciously, his hands tightened around you, and he slowly breathed out, calming himself before he let his emotions reign over him. You didn’t need to see that.

“It’s alright,” he said softly, more to himself, but it assured your all the same.

“Next time, I want to fight with you. I don’t want to watch. I’ve been trained for these moments.”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“I thought you were going to leave me.”

“Leave you?” He shook his head. “No, no, never…”

He shut his eyes. He knew that the day he left you would be the day the stars burned out and the world became shrouded in darkness. To leave you would be to leave his heart, and that was the one thing that, no matter how battered and bruised, he would hold onto and keep safe with every fibre of his being.

It was his duty, after all.

As your father.

Witcher Masterpost

2K notes · View notes

lis-likes-fics · 3 years

Text

Exhilarated

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x Reader Word Count: 4,602 words heheh Warnings: Car crash (again), smut Author's Note: Took too long because I'm ✨inconsistent✨.

~~~~~

Y/N sighed deeply as she drove down the dark road, headed back home from out of town. A friend of hers had invited her to her birthday party and she accepted, reassuring Carlisle that she would stay safe while she was out. He had promised her that he would always be by her side, and he took the promise to heart. He was reluctant to let her go by herself, but she convinced him that she would be alright.

Now she was on her way home to Carlisle. She was peering through her windshield when her phone began ringing beside her, the sound was loud and it startled her. She tore her attention away from the road for a moment to decline the phone call, she'd pick it up when she stopped.

Y/N looked back up to the road, cursing loudly when she saw a deer beginning to cross the road. She yanked on the steering wheel, swerving out of the way of the deer that had frozen in the street, staring at the lights that flashed at it.

The car jerked over, just missing the deer. Y/N slammed on the breaks as hard as she could and the car skid across the road. She crashed into a tree, the airbag deploying and smacking Y/N in the face, disorienting her for a moment.

It when she smelled the gas when she knew she had to get out of the car as fast as possible. Her heart pounded in her chest, she could hear her pulse in her ears. She opened her door, struggling to move her legs as she looked down. She groaned when she saw her foot stuck in the car, preventing her from moving.

She wiggled her feet out of her shoes and managed to get her legs out of the car. Just as she was out of the car, the vehicle blew, throwing her in the air from the impact of the explosion.

She let out a strangled yelp when she landed on hard, rolling over the ground before being abruptly halted by smacking another tall tree. Another cry escaped her as she felt a terrible pain in her lower back that soon spread all over her body. She was sure something was broken, and it was something vital. Blood soon started dropping her mouth, creating a bad taste in her mouth.

As if she'd be able to summon him, she choked out a strangled call, "Carlisle…" Her voice was barely audible or understandable, but she didn't stop. She needed him. Her body hurt so badly, she was in need of his aid.

However, it seemed as though he could hear her calls as a black Mercedes came racing down the road to get to her, screeching to a stop before the door was opened and Carlisle was coming out to her within the next second.

He was kneeling at her side, looking her over with worried eyes as he spoke, "What is it with you and cars?"

She chuckled weakly, wincing and coughing up more blood. "I'm sorry," her voice cracked as she got the words out. He shook his head, placing a hand on her cheek, "It's not your fault, dear."

He continued looking her over, trying to make note of everything wrong. She spoke, struggling to get the words out of her mouth, "Carlisle, I can't m-move my legs."

Carlisle acknowledged her words, "I'm going to move you onto your stomach, okay?" She gave him a nod and allowed him to do so. He felt around her back along her spine, asking her questions about how it felt and what happened.

At the end of his assessment and her recap, he let out a heavy breath and gave her a sad look. She couldn't comprehend it, she had started to fade in and out of focus, looking around her surroundings.

When she hit her back so hard on the tree, it fractured part of her spine and paralyzed her from the waist down. Along with that, she was bleeding internally and he knew she wouldn't have enough time before she actually passed out. He knew it would be bad if she passed out, it wouldn't end well at all.

And he couldn't lose her.

With glazed eyes, Y/N turned her scarce attention to Carlisle, "What's….wrong?"

Her breath had become heavy, the other effects of the accident were starting to sink in. Carlisle looked her in the eyes, as if he was memorizing every detail in them. She weakly moved an arm with the intention of placing her hand on his cheek. He took her hand in his, holding it to his cheek as he savored the warmth of her hand.

"Carlisle-?" His name was interrupted by a painful cough that riddled through her. He told her with a sad voice, crying without tearing up. "I don't think you're going to make it. You got hurt really badly."

She wasn't concerned about herself, she was concerned about him. She didn't want to leave him alone, she didn't want to leave his side after promising a million times a day that she never would.

Fresh tears stained her face to cover the old ones, not from physical pain but from emotional pain. "I'm not leaving you," she whispered in a hoarse voice.

He sighed and nodded, "I know. You'd never forgive me if I let you, and I'd never forgive myself if I let you."

She knew what he was getting at. For a moment, she was scared of the physical pain that would come with his cure, but the fear ceased when it was challenged with the despair of even the thought of leaving Carlisle's side.

She gave a weak smile and nodded, "Do it…"

He had a pained expression on his face as he considered the option again. It was the only option where she would come out alive-- or at least for the most part.

Carlisle stroked the side of her face with his thumb, gazing over her features as he looked past the injuries, looking at her true self as if it was the last time he'd see it.

He whispered in a clear but saddened voice, "I'm going to miss these eyes." She smiled at him, swallowing thickly.

Carlisle lifted her head carefully, kissing her deeply with as much meaning as he could without hurting her further. She kissed him back, it was one thing she could focus on fully with her mind slipping in and out of attention.

He whispered in her ear, "I'm so sorry."

She shook her head and told him in a broken voice, "I love you."

He kissed the side of her face, "I love you, too."

He braced himself before finally biting into her neck, his teeth piercing the skin and drawing blood. He fought off his urge to suck her dry quite well, more focused on saving her than he was on tasting her blood.

Y/N inhaled sharply, a strangled sound caught in her throat as she tried her hardest to hold in her scream. She could feel the venom already spreading over her body, burning her up from the inside out with such excruciating pain.

When Carlisle finished, he wiped his mouth and gazed at her painfully. He hated seeing her in pain, he hated seeing her looking so broken.

Try as she did, she couldn't stop the cries from leaving her body. Carlisle wiped at her tears as she squeezed her eyes shut tight, every fiber of her being struggling through the pain.

It felt like she had been lit on fire, for a moment she thought she would be hurting like this forever. She screamed and writhed in unbridled pain, her body jerking all over the place as she clenched and stretched her fingers repeatedly.

She almost wished the bottom half of her body stayed paralyzed, but she decided not to. It was better to go through the pain and spend eternity with Carlisle than it was to die and leave him without the love of his life.

Y/N opened her eyes, forcing a breath out of her lunges before sucking another back in. Her eyes fell on Carlisle. She found some remedy, thought very little, for the pain as she looked into his eyes. Beyond the agony he felt for putting you through such pain, she could see the love he felt for her that justified the physical pain.

It was that love that made him strong enough to do what he needed to do.

She didn't know how long she would be in this state-- it was different for everyone-- but she knew it would be worth it if it meant she would get to spend forever with him.

Y/N had been moved by Carlisle to his home, they couldn't stay out in the middle of nowhere while she was turning. In the safety of the home, she continued through the change.

She felt bad for putting everyone through the ordeal of having to listen to her pained screams as she turned. They wouldn't blame her for that, of course. They knew the pain she was in, they'd endured it before. That didn't stop her from feeling like she was burdening them. If only she'd been a little more careful, they wouldn't have to go through the mess that is changing.

While Edward could hear the thoughts she was having while she turned, he wasn't in the room to dissuade her from thinking those thoughts. Carlisle was right by her side the entire time. He refused to leave her, nothing his children could say would make him for even a second.

They eventually had to move Jasper out of the house. Her change was affecting him because, along with the physical pain, she was going through the emotional pain of having to watch Carlisle watch her turn. It hurt her to cause him any pain and Jasper wasn't holding up because of it.

She was in transformation for four days.

If she hadn't known physical pain before, she definitely did now. While changing made her exhausted, once she was a vampire, the exhaustion disappeared into a drained feeling.

She looked around the room, as if seeing everything for the first time. She could see every small detail in everything she laid eyes on.

She felt this strange feeling in her throat and chest, as if something was wrong, something was going against her natural instinct.

She finally put a finger on it when she realized she hadn't started breathing yet. She didn't need to, so she hadn't realized it when she didn't.

She took in a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. She could smell so many different things at one time: the trees outside, the fresh morning dew, each distinctive smell of each person throughout the entire house.

She listened closely to the sounds around her, the quiet shuffles of the residents in the house, the chips of birds outside, the light breathing of someone sat next to her.

She turned her head to look at the person next to her. A smile spread across her face as she gazed at him, looking at every small detail of his face, listening to every breath he took as he watched her with his own large smile.

"Hey," he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper but perfectly audible to her. She felt as though she might cry as she stared back at him, she was so glad to see him, even if she was with him for the past four days. She was seeing him clearly, there were no tears in her eyes.

She overestimated the amount of strength she needed to use as she got off the bed Carlisle had in his room solely for her and hugged him, straddling his waist as she buried her face in his neck, holding him a little too tight.

He let out a hearty laugh at her enthusiasm, holding her to him just as tightly. She took a deep breath in, inhaling his scent and memorizing it instantly. He was perfect in every single way.

She gripped him tight, carefully not to break him as she tried not to underestimate her strength. She breathed a sigh of contentment.

When she finally let go, it was only enough so she could kiss him. As soon as their lips touched, she sighed. The kiss alone was exhilarating.

She intertwined her fingers in his hair, letting out a soft moan against his lips. His lips tasted sweet, it was a taste she'd never experienced, but she liked it-- loved it, even.

When she pulled away, it was strange to not be gasping for breath. If she were human, she would have been.

She smiled back at him again with loving eyes, "Carlisle." She was surprised by her own voice, it was clear and seemingly perfect in every way. Carlisle watched in admiration as she experienced these things as if for the first time.

She looked back at him, "I sound…"

"Beautiful," he finished with a smile, "as always."

He kissed her again, wrapping his arms more securely around her as he stood, setting her on her feet as he pulled away. He grabbed her hand, guiding her to the bathroom connected to his room, despite him not needing to use it.

Carlisle pulled her in front of the mirror, his arms wrapping around her waist from behind and his head lying in the crook of her neck. She held his arms around her, locking her fingers with his as she stared at her reflection.

It seemed as though all of her imperfections before had been corrected, painting this perfect version of herself that actually seemed to compliment Carlisle now.

Her skin was smooth like silk, her hair was styled to perfection, despite the mess it was in, her crimson eyes were deep but they shone like stars. Even if they were yet to be the honey gold of Carlisle's eyes, they were still strangely appealing to gaze into.

She had always felt like she didn't look right next to him, she felt out of sorts. He seemed like a perfect sculpture carved from the most divine marble while she was a jugged wood carving placed next to him.

Now she looked as flawless as she did, she felt like she finally completed this perfect pair they seemed to form.

She turned her attention to Carlisle, his eyes trained on her face as she looked at him through the mirror. She smiled at him, turning in his arms to lay a hand on his cheek.

She went to kiss him again, but was suddenly distracted by a burning in her throat that made her reach to touch it. Carlisle nodded lightly, "You need to feed."

She sighed softly and nodded, taking his hand in hers and allowing him to lead her out of the house. As they walked downstairs hand in hand, the Cullens were all downstairs waiting.

She paused next to Carlisle, moving her free hand to hold their intertwined hands. She felt strange under their looks like this, like there was something wrong with her. She tensed under the eyes, a strange feeling rising in her as she grew anxious. There was this strange instinct in her that made her feel threatened, thus moving her to be hostile.

But before these instincts could properly kick in, they were smiling at her and rushing over to give her hugs. She was startled for a moment when Alice rushed into her arms happily, slightly squealing at her. She settled and hugged her back, eventually exchanging hugs with everyone in the coven before getting a giant bear hug from Emmett-- and she expected nothing less than that.

They gave her a proper welcome into the coven, expressing how happy they were that she was alright. Before she could strike up some conversation, Carlisle pulled her away so she could feed. "You can catch up afterwards," he smiled at Y/N.

Y/N found that she wasn't clumsy anymore. It was as if being a vampire cured everything wrong with her and made her this perfect woman. It made her feel like she was actually worth Carlisle's time now. She never said anything before, she didn't feel like it was appropriate to, but she always believed that she was far less than Carlisle. She never believed she was really that valuable, Carlisle's reassurances could only last her for so long.

After teaching Y/N how to properly hunt, they returned home. She was smiling the whole way, happy with her new self as she walked with Carlisle.

A few days passed and Carlisle started to notice she felt a lot happier than she had when she was human. He was curious to know why the change was such a big one, she was brighter, more radiant, as if things were finally working out for her.

One night while everyone was out feeding, Carlisle and Y/N were still at home together. He questioned her, "You're happier than you used to be. Even Jasper can feel the difference."

She shrugged, "I am." The simple response was enough to make Carlisle push on. "Why weren't you this happy before?"

Y/N looked at him, her red eyes staring into his golden ones before she sighed. "I'm different now. Before I was this clumsy, accident-prone, mediocre girl and now I actually feel…strong."

Carlisle took her hand in his, bringing it up to kiss the back of it, "Y/N."

She nodded, "I know, I know. I wasn't mediocre before, and I'm not mediocre now. I'll always be special to you."

He chuckled lightly before licking his lips, "Why did you think you were mediocre?"

She shrugged and sighed, "I mean…you literally look like a perfect specimen, like a beautiful statue. I…didn't. I was unimpressive and boring. But now I'm strong and I'm beautiful and…I'm perfect now."

Carlisle said exactly what she thought he would, but it somehow still managed to hit home with her.

"Y/N," he said, "when you were human, I cherished you for what you were. I still cherish you for what you are. Do you want to know something? The only difference I see between you now and you then are the color of your eyes. You were always beautiful, you were always strong, you were always perfect, and you always will be. To be honest, I do miss the clumsiness."

She chuckled at the last part, kissing his cheek, "Yeah, because arriving at the ER at least once every two weeks was fun."

"It amazed me how much one human could get hurt in a month," he replied, a soft laugh erupting from his chest.

Y/N smiled brightly and sighed. Perhaps she was hard on herself. All of her self-doubt wouldn't disappear in one night, but perhaps it would over her time with Carlisle. He would definitely do everything in his power to make sure she knew her worth.

She leaned over to him, kissing him gently before smiling and telling him genuinely, "I love you, Carlisle."

"I love you," he smiled. He took her face in his hands, kissing her lips softly. She moved so that she was sitting in his lap, happy to be with him, as always.

Carlisle's hands smoothed over her back, his touch was soothing over her skin. She pulled away from his lips, her eyes closed, her mind focused on his hands on her. It was such a soothing and exhilarating feeling. Her skin tingled wherever his hands dragged as he watched her sigh in pleasure.

Her voice was feathery as she spoke, "What's happening?"

His smile was one of adoration, "Your senses are stronger. You can feel every touch, smell every scent, hear every sound, taste every taste, and see every sight on a higher level."

She nodded, "That makes sense." She'd never felt anything like this. But, to be fair, she'd never been in a relationship as close and intimate as with Carlisle-- or anywhere near it.

She leaned forward again, her head in the crook of his neck as she pressed her body against his. "Do it more," she whispered.

And he did. His hand glided over her skin, grazing her up her back, over her shoulders, and down her arms. His hands gripped her, his thumbs brushing her skin, before moving back up her arms and down her sides.

Y/N turned her head and kissed his neck. Carlisle's eyes fluttered closed, his hands grazing down her outer thighs, moving back up and starting over running up her back.

She adjusted herself so she straddled his waist, locking her legs behind him. She loved being this close to him, he always felt so wonderful.

"How do you feel?" He asked her in his honey smooth voice.

She smiled, "Really good." She leaned forward, her hands cupping his face affectionately before kissing him again. He hands supported her back, pulling her impossibly close.

He stood, his arms wrapping around her waist to carry her. Laying her gently on the bed, he kissed her more desperately than he had before. Y/N sighed, moving her arms to wrap around his neck.

With every second, her need for him at that moment became more than just for care. She wanted him, needed him. With every kiss, her carnal need for him grew stronger.

Carlisle didn't need to be a mind reader to know what she was thinking. He whispered into her ear, the words so delicate in the air, "Say the words, and I'm yours."

She moaned lightly, nodding her head before giving him another kiss, "I want you, I want this. Please make me yours."

He smiled, kissing her hastily. His hands moved down her sides, gripping her waist as he pressed his thumbs into them. She grabbed his shirt, initially going to take it off of him before deciding to just rip it from his body completely.

He found that amusing as he allowed the piece of fabric to fall to the floor. He chuckled lightly, shifting her to move farther onto the bed. His hands pulled down her pants eagerly. He let them drop to the floor, kicking them out of his way.

She watched him intently, her eyes clouded with lust. He smiled at her and snuck his hands into her panties, rubbing her clit expertly.

She sucked in a breath, gripping the sheets for dear life as she let out a loud moan. Carlisle couldn't believe his eyes at the sight, it was beautiful, she was beautiful.

His finger moved quickly, applying just the right amount of force. Her legs tightened around his waist, pulling him close to her. He moved back over her and kissed her again, swallowing her moans hungrily.

It was ridiculous how fast he made her reach the edge. She was getting close to meeting her release and all he did was kiss and touch her. If she was this sensitive, she could only imagine what he would feel like inside of her.

She was getting so hot thinking about it.

"Carlisle," she moaned before he stopped his ministrations, he knew how close she was. She whined and he told her in a surprisingly seductive tone, "I love the way you look when you get close, but I don't want you to come yet."

She couldn't believe his words as she looked at him pleadingly. She was so ready for him. She was so ready to feel him.

She reached down his pants, undoing his belt eagerly. His eyes closed momentarily before he looked back at her, his eyes liquid gold as he gazed at her. When she had his pants down, she palmed him through his underwear, moaning lightly.

Carlisle groaned at her contact, kissing her neck and earning a sharp gasp from her. One hand went back to his head, holding him down next to her. Her other hand continued before going to take off his boxers entirely.

She let out a soft sigh when she saw his impressive length. He wasn't small, that was for sure. He let out a sigh of his own before whispering in her ear, "Are you sure?"

She bit her lip, kissing his cheek before telling him, "Carlisle, I love you. I want to share everything with you, especially…"

Carlisle glanced at her after her hesitation. "Especially what?" He asked.

She sucked on her lip before admitting, "Especially my first time."

He shared a long, meaningful look with her. He kissed her again. Despite the disheveled state they were in, the kiss was slow and sensual and managed to convey their love for each other with such depth. When he pulled back, he gave one last look to her before she nodded confidently.

He contained eyed contact with her before sliding inside slowly. She threw her head back, closing her eyes and gasping. She let out a loud exclamation as he buried himself deep within her. He groaned into her skin.

He pulled out slowly until he was left with just the tip inside of her before pushing himself back inside. She wrapped her legs around his waist, so eager to keep him close. "Oh, please," she moaned.

Carlisle sighed, a sound so full of pleasure at hearing her voice pleaded for him like she was. His excitement exploded, he had to try and control himself.

Carlisle's breath picked up, he tried to keep himself on as much control as possible, doing his best to keep from pistoning in her.

However, when she got used to his impressive size, tightening her grip around his neck. "Oh, yes," she sighed, "More. Please, Carlisle, more."

He almost lost it when she said his name in such a way. He didn't realize just how much power she had over him until she moaned his name in her plea. He obliged to her pleas and his thrusts became faster and harder.

Her sounds filled the room and his sounds began to mix with hers from his excitement. She could feel a knot in her stomach as she felt herself getting closer to her release.

She cursed under her breath, moaning his name in his ear. Carlisle could feel her squeezing around him, which only spurred him on as his thrusts became more erratic. Her moans, her cries, her pleas, they were so seductively precious to him. He wanted to pull them from her night after night. He wanted to have her forever.

"I'm so close," she whispered, her mouth hanging open as she moaned out.

"I know," he said, "I can feel you."

She smiled, panting heavily as Carlisle thrusted into her so deliciously. He was getting so close, he was just at the edge of his release.

She sighed, the words sending them both over the edge with such force, "I love you, Carlisle."

They gasped, holding their breath as they finally reached their sweet release together. Y/N intertwined her fingers with his, kissing him deeply as she moaned into his mouth.

They chased their highs together, the feeling so intense, so euphoric, so exhilarating.

When they finally started to come down, he eased her through it. Their breaths mingled as they pulled away from the kiss. Carlisle pulled out of her. He brushed a thumb against her cheek, pulling her into another kiss.

She smiled, holding him impossibly close to her. When they pulled back from the kiss, Carlisle whispered, "I love you."

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