#but fuck it would’ve been less of a problem than what it is now

[ashersanity]

— “IT’S ALL IN THE FAMILY.”

— summary. because you — you stupid little fuck, should have known better than to assume the worst out of this sick family you’ve been unwillingly forced into from your parents unfaithful divorce. well, guess what? you were fucking right, and now — you only have yourself to blame, baby brother.

— content warning! incest, step-cest, dub-con at best, non-con at worst, brief mentions of bullying and violence, alcohol intoxication, manipulation, big brother whitney being a creep, whiny little sister kylar, daddy bailey being bailey, loser male reader, semi-forced blow job, cream pie, shit writing, no editing, no nothing and shittier plot with two disconnected scenes, went a little overboard with kylar. a little.

— word count? wait, you guys count the fucking words and don’t raw dog it in the notes app? like, real long, I guess. I mean, fucking long.

— asher’s note. “I did it purely for the sister fucking. @princesstokyomoon kept encouraging the filthy thoughts so I had to churn something out. something filthy — and I mean fucking disgusting shit, y’know?”

Divorces papers hastily signed away, the ink dotted onto the lines promising that this was indeed reality along with leathered suitcases packed to the brim. Family problems never were easy, much less when it had all happened far too quickly. To your parents separating, the familiar grip of your mother’s hand stringing you far away from the house you had grew up in, it all seemed like one bad dream. Unfortunately it wasn’t, no. This was the harsh reality of things, hands clasped on your shoulders as you were forced to introduce yourself to the man she had vowed to marry and the children he bore.

Fuck, if only your mother hadn’t remarried.

“This is stupid.” You muttered beneath your breath to which your mother, sharp as ever had somehow heard.

“Oh please, this is necessary. Unless you wish for us to keep on living in that cramped apartment? I am only doing what is needed for us to survive.” She sharply retorted back, not leaving much room to argue with as it was the truth. Your lives had been much more difficult since the divorce, selfish father that took everything else with him and went away to god-knows-where, probably off to spend it all in one go at the sleazy brothel in town. Filthy bitch.

Yes, it had been hard, but if you had been given one more year, finished school for real, graduated and got a job — Perhaps then, you would’ve been able to provide for the two of you and—

“Why don’t you introduce yourself, dear?”

Breaking out of your reverie, you had faintly registered then that you had arrived into this overly large establishment your mom referred to as your new home. Standing before you was probably the man she had fussed about so much during the uneventful drive. Dark, slicked back hair and stern eyes that dragged over your lips down to the curve of your throat, almost as if to criticize. His outstretched arm and hand stuck out waiting, that was probably for yours to shake which you reluctantly did.

“It’s nice to meet you, sir..?” You uttered coolly, enduring the firm grasp he had on your fingers till he finally was the first to pull away.

“Bailey.”

“Bailey.” You repeated back the unfamiliar name as if to slowly get used to it, knowing you wouldn’t.

“Whitney, Kylar, come down here and properly greet your brother.”

One boy — you assumed to be Whitney, a little older than you, stood at the top of the oaky staircase, perched over the banister. Ruffled blonde hair and sharp blue eyes hidden behind his fringe, eyeing you with disinterest as he made his way down the creaking steps and over to you.

“Nice to meet you.” He grinned, taking ahold of your hand in his with what was evidently a faux smile, one that didn’t quite reach his mean eyes that matched his father, a lingering streak of maliciousness in them. Even his grip, barely restrained in its force, threatened to crush your hand before ultimately letting go.

“You too.” Forcing a smile back, both of you knew then, the stifling tension that brewed in the air — Neither of you were going to get along here.

“Hey freak, its your turn.”

Another, you had barely noticed, a smaller girl scuffling about in the background, anxiously fiddling with the ends of her oversized sleeves, skittish green eyes purposefully avoiding your gaze whenever you so much as glanced her way. That must be the only daughter, Kylar. Cute thing she was, though your mind couldn’t allow yourself to continue that stray thought any further considering the implications that’d involve after meeting your soon-to-be-step-sister. Fucking get your mind straight, will you?

“P-Pleasure to meet you..” In contrast to her brother’s confident strides, she shuffled towards you before clasping your soft palms together in a hold, weakly shaking it.

“..Pleasure is all mine.” You replied, matching her weirdly formal way of speaking.

Well, she didn’t seem so bad compared to the rest.

The introduction didn’t last very long, lacking any real warmth usually found between two shared families merging together as one. It felt more stiff than anything though you couldn’t spare the thought to think it any further, an ushered murmur said to make yourself at home.

As you made your way over to your new room, hauling your hefty luggage up the wooden stairs, something within the depths of your guts stirred from the shared eyes that bore into the shape of your back, intently observing your every move.

The walls here felt unbearably bare.

Like the people that lived in it.

Ironically enough, your new room was much bigger than your older one, leaving little room to complain as you did when your mother had announced you’d be moving into a new place. All the reasons, no matter how good had earned nothing but a gentle shake of her head, dead set on her decision to drag you along. And to say you hadn’t even told Robin you’d be moving away, best friends since childhood that shared everything between the two, except for this apparently. Imagining his freckled face, worry etched across his features had you wanting to go back to the town you knew, knowing you couldn’t.

Sighing lowly, you sat down onto your bed, hearing the slightest crinkle beneath your weight as you felt an uncomfortable, sharp lump underneath it. That.. Reaching for the covers, you threw aside the thick blankets that covered the suspicious looking lump, revealing fresh packets of condoms haphazardly scattered across the sheets and an old, raunchy magazine displaying a cute-looking school boy getting brutally fucked against the lockers by his own bully.

Heat burned your face at the lewd sight, quickly shoving your little “gift” under your pillow so you couldn’t spare another glance at it. Fucking bastards and their sick jokes, “gifting” you shit like that.

You weren’t like them. Fucking perverts.

Were you?

Whitney was the first to change that.

From the first time he laid his eyes on you, you knew then what he thought of you, distaste apparent over his features, the slight curve of his upper lip curled into a snarl. It was obvious, your step-brother didn’t like you. Shit, maybe hate would be a more appropriate word for the things he’d do. Whitney had made it clear from the get-go, the empty names you’d call each other were utterly meaningless, rarely slipping past his own lips. ‘Little brother’. Fuck, you were a pain in his side more than anything else, dropping by unannounced into his life just like that simply because your shitty mother happened to divorce, meeting his dead beat father who then strung up with yours.

The blonde didn’t attempt to hide his obvious disapproval of your presence in his house, blatantly knocking his shoulder into yours whenever he passed by, mouth cruelly drawn into a snide grin as you toppled down to the cold, hard, wooden floor with a dull thud. The bullying didn’t stop there either, often encountering the delinquent in the school hallways, surrounded by his usual cronies that stuck to his side like a bunch of desperate, panting puppies, eager for his approval. They simply wouldn’t leave you alone, went through your damn locker too, ransacking everything that sat in there before carelessly throwing aside the remnants into a nearby trash bin, left to fend for yourself.

Weak, useless. That’s what you were to him, and nothing else. Soon enough, he’d get rid of you, have you snap and run away, it was merely a matter of time.

Well, that was the initial plan he had made up in his mind — Too fucking bad for the poor bully that life didn’t go always as planned, not when he caught you fresh out of the shower, worn towel snugly tucked around yours hips, a bit lower and he’d catch a glimpse of your— Fucking snap out of it, Whitney! The fresh droplets of water that’d trickle down the curve of your back, cascading over the smooth surface before gently dripping onto the fuzzy carpet below. Fuck. Didn’t help that he was staring a tad bit too hard, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from your bare form shamelessly displayed before him. You were doing this on purpose, weren’t you? Tryna get him all distracted, fill his thoughts with nothing but your thighs sticky with his cum, your lips lightly parted to obediently suck on his fat cock, lapping away at the beads of pre-cum that trickled over the curved length.

Knew he had cracked the second his hand had reached for his cock, fisting his dick for all it was worth, hem of his shirt roughly held between his teeth as he jerked himself stupid to the thought of you. His annoying little brother, fucking bitch, oblivious to the effects you had on him whenever he came with a stifled curse, several strings of cum that’d messily splatter across the curve of his toned stomach and his cotton sheets, staining it.

You, of course, lay ignorant to his frequent glances trailing over your frame, mistaking it for the hostility he had shown you over the past few weeks. You were partially right, except this time it was out of frustrated lust, cock stirring beneath his ripped jeans at the mere sight of his younger sibling now. God, not even the dumb whores that’d sloppily suck him off in the grimy bathroom stalls between classes did it for him anymore, eyes shut in a haze to imagine it was your mouth instead wrapped around the tip of his cock.

Dumb slut. Dumb fucking slut you were, didn’t know what he had in store for you. Take it as payback from having infested his mind with thoughts of you that stray to other thoughts and to other.. that’d eventually end in the same scenario, fucking your slutty mouth wide open.

Yeah.. Actually having you choke down on his cock didn’t sound half-bad now that he thought about it.

So why not make it happen?

It had been a mistake then to accept his offer over drinks, get to know each other better, he had cheerfully claimed with a friendly arm wrapped around your shoulder. Bullshit. Think he gave a shit about that? The only ache in his mind had gone straight down to his slowly hardening cock underneath his grey sweats as his plan was brought into motion, insistently pouring more and more of his friends stolen bottle into your cup until you had lost track of the exact number. Prideful as ever, you had gulped it all down, unrelenting despite the nausea that had crept in your guts and the dizzying blur of your vision.

A hint of a rosy flush had started to spread throughout your skin, lightly dusting your cheeks with half-lidded eyes intently gazing back at your older brother’s slouched form atop the cushioned couch. The dribbling liquid sloshed lazily in the glassy bottle that threatened to spill from your weakened grasp on it. TV faintly flickering in the background, playing some outdated show that had since long been forgotten by the two of you, leaving the remote abandoned on the coffee table.

“Cmon, don’t be such a baby.” Whitney would taunt whenever you hesitated in your sluggish movements, silently observing the rhythmic bobbing of your throat as you took quick shots from your half-full glass. Lightweight, he mused in his mind.

“I’m not a baby.” You retorted back with that fucking cute pouty expression he adored.

Fuck. That’s the look. That goddamn look of yours he was waiting for. Nothing better than some arrogant slut all fucked up, practically begging to be taken on his own fucking couch.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.”

“Whitney?” Shit, the way you’d call his name all whiny too, slipping past your own lips. Had his cock twitch like fucking hell, painfully aching between his spread legs.

“Hm? What is it?”

“Why are you so mean to me all the time?? What did I ever.. What did I ever do to you?? I—I just don’t get it.” You hiccuped pathetically, stumbling over your own words, already half-drunk from the fizzling alcohol in your system.

Ah, so you didn’t seem to get it at all yet, did you?

How cute.

“‘Cuz I wanna fuck your noisy mouth, that’s why.”

“..What?”

Blinking back at him, you didn’t even get the chance to register or mutter out another word before he was upon you. Knees firmly planted to each side, increasingly aware of his encompassing frame that towered overs yours as his clothed crotch faced your drunken expression. If it had been any other time, perhaps the blonde would’ve paused then to greedily drink in the sight before him, but this was Whitney after all and he never liked to waste time on silly notions like foreplay, preferring the rougher options that came along with it.

So, fuck it all, right?

With practiced ease, he hurriedly shucked down the elastic waistband of his grey sweats past his hips, hefty cock confidently springing free from the constricting confines of the cotton fabric as it lightly smacked against the curve of his bare stomach. Fuck, you haven’t had the slightest idea how long he had waited for this. Merely a matter of a few weeks for you, though for him, your older brother was dying to sink his dick in that whorish mouth of yours. Looked like you’ve never taken a real cock either, snugly shoved down to the hilt of your inexperienced throat that he’d train till it became a sixth sense to you, gratefully swallowing down his salty cum.

Calloused fingertips tenderly dragged along the swollen flesh of your bottom lip, bloodied cut reopening from the time the bully had split your face open on his fists for the whole school to see in the busied courtyard on a particularly rainy day. Licked his knuckles clean too after that rough beating you took, savouring the heady taste of the crimson mess you left behind, groaning all the while. Had him stupidly hard for the rest of the day, itching to relieve some tension once he got back home. Great times, really.

Now would’ve been the time then, probably— to sputter out your firm opposition over this, resist somewhat. Maybe kick the motherfucker in the balls, satisfyingly watch him writhe on the floor in agony before scrambling up the ancient staircase to hysterically yell about how you nearly got raped by your aforementioned step-brother, to your dozing mother. Christ, that would’ve been the sane decision to do then yet, the bubbling drinks coursing through your veins had thoroughly taken its effect on you, blood rushing down lower to the wrong region, the sinking realization nearly making you bolt upright.

Fucking fuck, you were hard.

And Whitney hadn’t failed to notice.

“Shit, are you getting hard from this?” The delinquent snickered hoarsely to himself, making a show to lightly tap at the growing bulge underneath your own jeans, all too visible despite the rough fabric that covered it. “Should’ve known you’d be into it. Your body speaks for itself, y’know. You want this, you cock whore craving slut.”

No, no. This was all wrong. Must’ve been. You liked girls, didn’t you? Squishy cunts and fat tits you could easily slip your cock into — god. Didn’t like guys and if you did, your step-brother who treated you like nothing but shit would’ve been last on the fucking list.

But you secretly do like being used this way, don’t you? Baby brother.

“I’m n-not fucking—“ Attempting to deny the harsh statement, you cut yourself off from the sudden intruding tip eagerly pressed against your lips, flushed cock head leaking thickly and smearing sticky pre-cum all over.

It wasn’t an order nor anything else that hung heavily in the air, a simple gesture, a subtle thrust of his hips that had his actions speak louder than any words would’ve been capable of. Either you do it or not, the delinquent couldn’t have cared less regardless, always used to getting what he wants and by god, if he wasn’t going to fucking get this. Because the signals alarmingly ringing through your head felt faint in the face of this, shakily inhaling the musky scent of your big brother’s throbbing cock subtly twitching in response to your feathered breaths against it, dribbling out more translucent pre-cum that melded with the scarlet stain of your bloodied lips.

Out of your damn mind — That’s what you were. To even properly consider the implication at hand here. Yet your lips won’t stop from parting, from sticking your pink tongue out, clumsily imitating the gestures of those submissive girls in the cheap porns you’d watch underneath your thin covers late at night, shamefully enough. Always thought you’d be on the receiving end of that one day, dutifully patting at the soft hair slotted between your thighs however here you were, shyly pawing at Whitney’s naked hips instead to steady yourself.

All your fault, all your damn fault so shut up and take it, alright? Shouldn’t have led him on like that, now you’re only reaping what you sow, slut.

A delighted sigh softly escaped from the blonde as you finally gave his dick some much needed attention, experimentally running the flat of your tongue along his leaking slit, coaxing out more dribbling fat globs of pre-cum before slowly and carefully taking his full girth in the warm depths of your tight, wet mouth. “Ah— Fuck. Yeah, that’s good.” No way can he hide the barely restrained, high-pitched, almost needy whimper that threatens to slither past him as you so prettily suck him down to the base, slobbering all over his throbbing balls that has him huffing out a cursed moan of satisfaction, eyes rolling back. “F-Fuckin’— god.” Can’t help the sheer guttural groan that slips out from how tightly his baby brother’s virgin lips sweetly glide around him, the uncertainty in your movements making it all the more endearing as you struggle to take him all in, saliva dripping over your chin to land in varying wet dots on the cushioned pillows. Looking so damn pretty like this with a mouthful of cock, your big brother’s pulsing cock specifically. So don’t blame him then when his hips automatically snap back, slender fingers instinctively reaching for the back of your head to entangle themselves through the soft strands of your hair, ruffling it.

Felt more like he was plainly fucking your mouth than you were sucking him off, sharp, punishing thrusts meeting your open mouthed lips to drive himself deeper in that warm throat that reflexively tightened around his length whenever he hit a particularly sensitive spot — drawing another string of adorable, strangled whimpers from you. “Shit, you sure this your first time? You’ve got the mouth of a — hah, fuckin’ filthy glory hole.” Heat prickling up the nape of your neck at the direct statement uttered, the brief realization of your inexperience being taken away like this, from a blowjob. On the giving end. A first, that will mostly likely not be the only first after this, not when you’re unconsciously getting off to the thought for more in store despite your haze filled brain begging you to reason. Ah, fuck. He’s gone and got you stupidly cock drunk now, didn’t he? The bastard. Slurred mutterings tumbling out above you, almost hasty in how he handles you, wanting to truly savor this never-ending moment when his body can’t stop on its own, too eager to be fulfilled of this yearning pleasure he sought out from you firstly. Thankful for your lack of gag reflex that somehow has you forcefully endure the ruthless slam of his hips, struggling grip straining onto his thighs to brace yourself, promising to leave a fresh set of bruising marks on the tanned flesh.

“Gon’ be my lil’ cockwhore, huh? My fuckin’ slut. Goin’ to be so good for— fuck, big brother, yeah?” If treating you so obscenely like this grants him the privilege to have you beneath him, so stupidly on your knees then, fuck, is it goddamn worth it. Every multicoloured bruise splotched along the length of your legs to your elbows, inflicted from his unfortunate beatings took on at every turn. The cold indifference muddled across your features warping to an earnest scowl from simply acknowledging his presence alone, precisely what he wants. To finally recognize your older brother, the churning fear instilling within you, forced to submit to him and worship him rightfully so.

It’ll be more than that though, the sick realization dawning upon him of this opportunity handed to him on a silver plater, free of his taking, of course. Not some other replaceable slut he can find anywhere else by chance, but one forcefully bound to him whether they like it or not since what can you possibly do? Come running with tears in your eyes to your mommy about what your big, mean, older brother did to you? His father will certainly not be one to help you for that matter, that’s for damn sure. Who the hell will believe you then? No one. Fucking nobody. Inadvertently handing him free range to do whatever he so pleases with you, whenever, where the fuck ever. Oh, but it won’t only stop there, y’know. Ruining you fully for the sake of his own selfish pleasure, corrupt that naive view of yours that has you blush bashfully at a bunch of lewd illustrations plastered onto the printed pages. Soon enough, the majority of your days will be lazily spent in his room, leaking cock dribbling profusely from the kitten licks you’ll so cutely give him then while he absentmindedly scrolls on his phone, grinning proudly as you inevitably beg for more of him. And shit, Whitney isn’t one to disappoint either — he’ll have you rightfully rewarded for such behaviour, in public to be exact. Clip a nice, leathered collar around your neck along with a leash too, tug at it a bit to show off his newfound pet, his loyal little brother that sloppily sucks him off and happily sinks onto his hefty cock at a mere snap of his fingers. Drives him fuckin’ crazy merely thinking about it.

That’s right, suck on your big brother’s fat cock to selfishly earn his twisted love, his blind adoration and protection of your being. His pet. His slut. His beloved baby brother. His now blood, flesh and soul tainted thoroughly by him himself. Personally service him on your knees like the whore that he knows you are. Fucking get on your knees and earn it.

All too soon, despite wanting to stretch this further solely to ingrain the addictive noises of your stifled whimpers and drooling mouth inside his perverted mind, visibly struggling to take him all in as he shamelessly used your throat like some sort of flesh light stretched to the hilt — He can feel himself reach the brink of his limit, confident hips stuttering in their steady thrusts to greedily bury the tip of his quivering cock into the back of your throat one last time. “F-Fuck. Stay like that — just fucking stay like that.” He hissed sharply between strained curses, head thrown back like some cheap virgin whore who’s just received his first ever mind blowing blow job. The familiar overwhelming heat curling in the curve of his belly, like a coiling string on the verge of popping. Balls tightening in need, pulsing spurts of his fat load squirting out of the head of his cock to messily splatter across the surface of your pretty fucking face, ruining you for his own amusement.

Should’ve busted his load down your throat just to hungrily watch you swallow it down, though he supposes that the cum stained look adorning your pretty face is a sight to behold on its own, taking a good minute to appreciate the mess before him.

A blank, pristine canvas that he had helped ruin and stain with the filth of his very own actions.

It suits you, really.

“That’s a — hah, good boy.” Whitney heaved roughly between ragged breaths, the uncharacteristically gentle praise laced in his tone differing from his usually sadistic nature. If it weren’t for the sticky mess that obscured your vision along with the heat of his sweating palm placed flat across your forehead, you’d notice the strange fond, warmth that had settled into his softening gaze, a sort of reverence in of itself. “My good fucking boy.”

“So good for big brother, aren’t you?” He smirks knowingly at your hitched gasps of breaths, struggling so stupidly to form back a snarky insult as per usual.

Ah, he gets it now — really fucking gets it, glazed over eyes settling onto your evidently hard, twitching cock still tented pitifully against the front of your jeans, frantically humping at the air like some sort of rabid, horny and untrained puppy in heat, tongue lolling out. Aw, so fuckin’ cute when you’re cock drunk and needy for big brother. Makes him wanna do it all over again.

For that, he should be properly training you then.

“Whitney— fuckin’ cmon, please.” Whining so pathetically in a way that sends a jolt straight down through his spent cock, immediately standing up to attention once more. You’re really asking for it, fuck.

So damn cute, but so impatient too. Maybe he should fuck your virgin ass next, stuff it full of his cum and see what happens to that bratty mouth of yours then. Shut you up a bit.

“Yeah, yeah. I got it. Just— keep still for me.”

Well, can’t be having his little new pet go frustratingly neglected like that, can he?

—

Kylar, your precious little sister, all too eager to be the first, but the second to sink her mark into you. Convince you a bit more.

Needy as she was, she wasn’t as bad as the rest that inhabited this sick place you reluctantly called home, a flicker of warmth among the distant coldness that resided in this house. Much unlike her brother, the dark haired girl didn’t seem to dislike you in the slightest, often shooting you the smallest of smiles whenever you two briefly locked eyes at the dinner table or in the shared hallways by mere coincidence.

‘Course, she did have her questionable moments whenever you caught her rifling through your drawers, namely the ones where your underwear lay neatly folded in the cubicle space. Promptly muttering out an unbelievable excuse as to why she needed your boxers before bolting past your stunned self, red in the face. Or that time she had decided to curl up onto your bed, lovingly burying her nose into the warm, silken sheets that you slept in, relishing in that sweet scent of yours she’d catch a whiff of as you drew closer next to her at the table.

..Yeah, she certainly had unresolved issues, but it beat the constant poking fun at that Whitney would do. The rough shoving into the metallic lockers that’d clank heavily from your weight, the shared snickering that came along with it and the forced blow jobs that you had somehow eased into over time despite yourself. Fuck, why were you even thinking of that asshole?

Freak or not, she didn’t harbour any of the senseless cruelty this town had to selflessly offer and that was good enough. Enough so that you had found yourself increasingly spending more and more of your time with Kylar whenever you weren’t forcibly dragged along to some shoddy place your big brother roped you into, leaving the loner to her own whims for the day.

So it was no surprise then when the two of you grew closer, a little more than you had expected so to be the one sat onto her worn out bed, her hideaway — she’d call it, a moment of respite from the constant teasing she had to go through from her older brother. A means of escape, perhaps? And for you, it was no different either, all the same. Gladly listening to her overexcited rambling about this and that, about the fine mangas she had newly bought at the local, dusty library, the half priced anime figurines she had found on display beyond the glassy windows that separated them — matching pearly bracelets made of shiny gems and rocks carefully picked at the park she’d sow together to gleefully tuck around your wrist, whining sorrowfully at her own being too loose for her delicate wrists. Cute. Your little sister was real fucking cute, more so than you’d like to admit at times.

So much so you couldn’t ignore the growing knots in the pit of your stomach whenever your knees fortuitously bumped against each other, a sign — a silent, repetitive warning of your shared proximity that was crossing past the treacherous line of two mere siblings. Yeah. Okay. So you found her cute, so what? Big fucking deal. Plenty of guys found a girl cute, didn’t mean jack shit, didn’t mean they wanted to fuck her till she clenched pathetically around them, sniffling miserably at being fucked brutally by their kind, soft-spoken big brother they naively put their trust into. Right, that’s what you were. Nothing more. A responsible big brother she could certainly put her faith into since her other piece of shit brother couldn’t bother with that shitty role, something you’d curse him for on the daily. One she could seek out at a moment’s notice, spend time with to her heart’s content like a normal, unsuspecting relationship between siblings should be.

Not some perverted creep of a big brother who’d steal periodic glances her way, instinctively trailing down to the soft, plump and pink flesh of her parted lips, glistening sinfully from the wetness of her saliva — a habit she unconsciously did despite claiming not to. Gulping thickly, you hadn’t registered how her seamless chatter had ceased to a stop, deafening silence befalling upon the both of you as you stared at each other like some sort of stiff actors awaiting for the next act on stage. Wait, were you staring? Fuck, you were — and she hadn’t failed to notice by the looks of it, blooming flush adorning her pretty, pale cheeks you’d like to press gentle, reassuring kisses to, squeeze under the weight of your palm. Maybe have her spill a few stray droplets of tears across the rosy surface while you’re at it, make her cry the same way Whitney did.

Oh, you’re such a fucking bastard for this one.

“W-What is it? Do I have something on my face?” Her sudden squeak had you stilling in your tracks, twisting the spread sheets without meaning to from the timid pitch of her shrill voice. Look at her, trying to hide behind her torn sleeves in an attempt to draw attention away from her bashful blush, becoming a fidgeting mess under your gaze.

Fuck, no. It was more than that, Kylar. It was the pout of your lips that you wore, the black strands of hair that frames your face so beautifully, the exposed sliver of skin of your thighs from that short skirt you slipped on. It was all you, but dammit all — fuck.

“Hm? No, it’s nothing — really.” Liar. Drawing back to create a manageable amount of space between you both, a reminder not to act upon those disgusting urges of yours, better not to. Bad idea to be thinking with your dick, no man’s ever made a reliable decision with that one. Even so, Whitney did it with you and — nothing particularly bad happened, did it? Would it be so wrong, if you were to do the same? Selfishly grasp for what you so dangerously desire, drop meaningless hints here and there to care for her wants, such a gentler option than any other boy could ever treat your dearest little sister?

Would it?

Too lost in your endless train of thoughts, your eyes connecting with Kylar’s green own that bore with such intensity you hadn’t seen before, almost as if contemplating — no, waiting for something to happen. Though you couldn’t tell what it was, her actions were enough so to speak on their own with how she shifted considerably towards you, used mattress dipping from the creaking weight over the wooden floorboards. Ah, was she..?

“Ky—?”

Before your mind was even fully given the chance to process it, like the leap taken before the shuddering dip of a waterfall, her inexperienced, virgin lips clumsily smashed into yours, knocking the wind out of the both of you from the abrupt step taken by your little sister. Sweet. So sweet. Pink tongue tentatively swiping along the scarlet cut of your bottom lip, ushered gasps accompanied by startled squeaks as she timidly gave you what she thought was a simple kiss, but felt more like a pornographic make out session with how she so desperately shoved her tongue deeper. More. Wants more of this, more of that honeyed taste she yearned to savour, to finally enjoy while her other dumb brother so greedily took you away every time she wished to be the one at your side instead. It wasn’t fair, not fair at all! He’s so mean, so why does he get to string you along whenever he so pleases? Should be her, only be her to fill that solemn space. Only her, only her—

“W-Wait, wait— Kyl— fuck.”

As if struck by the weight of what she had just done, the loner recoiled back instantly in a fit of panic from the sheer brashness of her actions. Oh, how could she let herself so easily fall to such temptations? What if you hated her now? Or worse, were repulsed by the kiss? Wouldn’t be able to live it down then, quivering lips and bubbling tears threatening to spill freely down the length of her flushing cheeks from her overactive imagination running rampant — because she’d rather die than to have you loathe her so.

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to— umm.. I thought that maybe you.. wanted me to—“ The girl stuttered uselessly, trailing off in an aimless direction only to shrink back in her unbecoming position. Silence only answered her in return which she took as the harsh reality of rejection, mustering up all the courage she possibly had in her lithe frame to at the very least subtly peek at the current expression painted along your face. Would it be anger? Disgust? Disappointment even? Surely if you hated it that much, you’d have plainly kicked her right off the bed by now, right? Storm out in a fit of shock and never so much as glance her way again.

The sight to greet her instead wasn’t an unwelcome one though — no, far from it actually, her gaze deliberately falling upon the blazing flush of your face down to the evident bulge straining painfully between your legs, palm nervously placed over it in a half-assed attempt to keep your dignity at bay — shit. It’s one thing to be kissed by your younger sister but to get fucking hard from it is like shameful admission on its own, a visceral reaction that could not be denied no matter what reasonable excuses may tumble from your lips. “..It’s fine. I don’t mind, actually.” You’re really no better than Whitney in that aspect, but when an opportunity presents itself, it’s only fair to mindlessly grasp for it, is it not? More worrying is the debauched idea that forms in your mind in regard to the enamoured expression worn by her wobbly lips and wide-eyed look, not-so-subtly rubbing her plush thighs together in a hint of arousal. Oh, so that’s how it is. If the sloppy kiss itself didn’t confirm it then this surely did, a surge of confidence rushing momentarily through your body at your next actions. “Like I said, it���s fine, Ky.” That fucking nickname again. Unable to stop yourself from dragging your cute little sister closer towards you till she consequently found herself comfortably placed onto your lap, blinking stupidly at the bold move done by her normally gloomy, big brother. Silly girl.

“Siblings do it all the time, it’s not weird. It’s natural.” Lying through your goddamn teeth with a certain ease that even surprises you internally, but oh, is it so worth it as her viridescent eyes glimmer brightly to the whispered reassurance in your casual tone, acceptance easily slipping through. “But Whitney and I don’t—“ She starts, only for you to immediately latch onto her endless questioning with the seed having already been planted, too late to fucking back out now. “You and I are different. I’m nice to you and you’re nice to me, so it’s normal if you want to. We can do that cuz’ everyone else does it, alright? You don’t have to be shy with me about it, Ky.” Every carefully measured word to make it seem as though this was the norm, knowing fully you’d be seen as freaks and degenerates by your peers attending the nearby school. Not that they didn’t already think so with Kylar, the rumors having grown out to such an unhealthy proportion that it pestered the poor girl at every corner in the narrow hallways. Poor thing.

So isn’t it your job as her big brother to make it all go away? Make her feel better.

“Shh, just let me..” Soothing circles rhythmically rubbed in a recognizable pattern along the edges of her skirt, repeated affirmations of want so as to ease her chattering mind over the possible morality of this newfound situation. Could’ve said no if she didn’t secretly desire this, though her actions seem to say so otherwise with how she earnestly complies, willingly tucking her arms to her sides to let your hands do the rest. Good girl. So docile, like a porcelain doll, sharpening breaths noticeably deepening from the careful tugs of her short skirt, revealing the confirmation of her depraved wants as the wet patch of slick soaking through her plain, white panties is bared. Your adorable little sister isn’t so innocent as you thought, is she? Contrary to her modest choice of underwear. Getting fucking wet solely from being leered at so openly by her step brother, even going so far as to spread her soft legs for better viewing.

“See? Isn’t it frustrating to be left all worked up like this?” Agreeing nods promptly interrupted by the press of your thumb against her clothed slit, such a sweet, hitched gasp elicited from the lazy circles traced onto her swollen, twitching clit. A free view of your younger sister’s scrunched up expression morphing to one of pure, unadulterated pleasure, scarred fingertips tightly clutching at the fabric of your shirt, but that’s the least of your concerns at the moment, really. “This good?” There’s no real need to ask when you can naturally rely on the shivering of her dainty figure, breathy moans of y-yes and feels good! along with the guiding of her needy fingers, flush against her slicked heat. A flick of your thumb is all it takes to have her turn into a babbling mess, bucking her hips up to meet your cupped palm, incidentally grinding onto your aching hard-on. “S-Shit, okay. Look at you, hah — so fucking wet already.” Barely able to discern the own pitch of your voice, but who the fuck is supposed to properly maintain their composure when your little sister is so prettily begging for your cock?

Effortlessly peeling away at the sticky fabric of her cotton panties, slipping it down the length of her legs to thoughtlessly throw away onto the wooden floor beneath. No time to fucking think, not with how cute her cunt looks, pink and dripping with slick coating the smooth surface of her inner thighs. Ah, and she’s already impatiently fumbling with your belt too, smiling so happily once it loosens to eventually tug your own underwear down too, leaking cock eagerly springing free from its restraints. “Want it that bad, lil sis?” Fuck, does it feel wrong to even be calling her so in your current predicament, yet so damn right too. The pleading nods, urgently clinging to your frame to press against as she grinds her sopping cunt along your flushed tip, whining whenever it knocks just right up against her puffy clit, squelching from the melding fluids. “W-Want it, want it inside, please.”

“B-Big brother—“

As much as you like the high-pitched mumblings of your dearest Kylar, there’s really only so much edging you can take before promptly snapping your hips up in tandem with her own, relishing in the slippery warmth that lovingly welcomes you, stretched folds accommodating to the sheer girth of your length. “Oh, fuck — Fuck, just relax for me. You feel so.. hah, so good.” Collectively sighing in relief at the intrusion of your pulsing cock squeezed so nicely by her constricting walls, having to steel yourself from the tight suck of her cunt snugly wrapped around your tip. “You’re doing so good for me, taking me so well.” Softly hushing her breathy whines intertwined with a mix of pain and pleasure, fingertips digging harshly in the tender flesh of her hips to guide her quivering frame up and down the length of your cock. Isn’t this what she wanted after all? Such a quick learner too, steadily bouncing to match the pace you had set, your wandering hands slipping past the hem of her loose shirt to greedily palm at her perky breasts which prompts another moan to exit her parted lips. Uncaring for the increasingly noticeable squeaking of the worn mattress when your little sis is so cutely riding you, doing her very best to satisfy your immoral urges and have you mark her slicked insides with your seed.

“What a good sister.. So good, aren’t you?” Cute, pink tongue poking out, begging for another messy kiss pressed onto her swollen lips which you dutifully oblige with another muffled groan. Sloppily planting your own against hers, treasuring every shuddered gasp to swallow down and stifling her open mewls. It’s borderline disgusting how desperate you are, savouring every thick inch engulfed by the sloppy suck of her baby sister pussy, reappearing briefly only to bury yourself balls deep once more into her defiled cunt. Isn’t really your fault with how fucking tight she is, is it? Barely grasping the reality of the situation which is the very high possibility of being heard from outside her room right this moment, but fuck — you can’t slow down, not right now, not when you’re already on the verge of spilling your cum deep inside. Damn Whitney, the bastard. Damn to hell your parents, your indecisive mother and her new husband, this is heaven itself right here. “I’m close—“ You huff out in a sort of warning, though it’s more of an invitation to Kylar, an opportunity for you to shoot your thick seed in her wanting hole, practically locking her legs tight around your waist.

Anything for you after all, huh? Her beloved. Her darling. You just didn’t know it yet! And to say it came true on its own, openly enjoying the sensation of your fat cock instinctively fucking into her tight, little sister hole. So close.

“Cum inside me, please. Let’s finish together, big brother. I-I’m close too—“

And that’s all you really need, precise thrusts upwards hastily turning into erratic humps to lazily grind against her ass, wanting nothing more but to see the dumb, drooling, fucked out expression painted across her adorable face, the convulsing of her cunt stuffed full of your length when she does have her first ever orgasm. A few clumsy circles drawn over her used clit is all it takes to have her cumming, slick trickling out of her fluttering cunt to drip over the base of your cock and stain the pristine sheets beneath. “Ah— God, you’re so fucking tight.” Fuck, fuck, fuck — Shoving the hilt of your cock as deep as possible into your little sister’s stretched out hole to rightfully mark her pink insides with your seed, spurting out thick, white strings of cum while you fuck yourself deeper into her womb and downright have her experience her first ever accidental cream pie too. It’s only then when she pitifully whines for you to stop that you do eventually pause, hips drawing back to stare in awe at the dribbling globs of cum spilling out of her sore cunt. “S-Sorry.” You mutter out apologetically with a sigh, the tension easing out of your muscles once she giggles softly in response to your strained apology. “It’s okay. I-I liked it a lot too.”

“Did you?”

“Mhm, I did.” Kylar sleepily mumbles back with drowsy eyelids, the exhaustion washing both over you all at once from, well.. all the movement involved. Let’s leave it at that, actually. Plus you deserve the rest, don’t you? Wouldn’t be fair to leave your adorable sister all alone in her twin bed without her older brother’s body to warm it with too, yeah? It’s fine to lay yourself down next to her curled figure snuggling closely against yours, drape an arm over her waist to remind her of your presence close by, make her feel secure and at ease. A silent, ushered promise to clean her up later once you two awaken, affectionately pressing a single kiss atop her head one last time before sleep takes her first. It’s your role to as the big brother, after all, isn’t it?

“..Good.”

#fuck #..fucking never. ever. writing this much within the span of a few days. ever. #FUCK SCENES WERE NASTY!!!! FUUUCKKK!! #I’m not beating the siscon allegations with this one #off to blow my brains out now #dol #degrees of lewdity #ITS ALL IN THE FAMILY. #whitney the bully #kylar the loner #bailey the caretaker #robin the orphan #big brother whitney #little sister kylar #daddy bailey #bottom male reader #top male reader #x male reader #character x male reader #asher writes

[why-the-heck-not]

21.09.23, thursday

!! today bad !! woke up to a sleep paralysis and it just kept going downhill from there; tried to update my laptop’s software and it got stuck, so now that’s the 2nd laptop that has stopped working for me this week. Literally fuck this week, I’m so done ughhh. How is that even like possible

things done today:

fucked up my laptop

sat around, full of rage & defeat

stress-watched Succession (for the emotional support of seeing kendall sit around in defeat 24/7 bc that’s me right there)

#my plan is to leave it and see in the morning what has gone down if anything #maybe my wifi is just very slow (this is me being delusional) #i honestly don’t know what to do like if I just power it off now will I break the entire system??? #idk like I know it wouldn’t do anything good #it’s on me I think yeah bc I hadn’t opened this laptop in years bc it was the one I got from my university freshman year and I didn’t rly #need to use it and preferred my macbook over it #but the macbook’s display stopped working on monday #and so now I started to use this one and apparently it had a software update and in hindsight maybe I shouldn’t’ve tried to update bc like #at least it was working before and I need a working laptop #but I don’t like using not up-to-date things bc there’s always problems with those #but fuck it would’ve been less of a problem than what it is now #bookblr #studyblr #booklr #aesthetic #books #study #reading #read #book #studyspo #september 2023 #2023

[saerins]

𝐒𝐀𝐄 // 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒: 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓

+ sae x f!reader | wc 5k | content: angst to fluff, breakups, exbf!sae, exes to lovers

notes: this is the alternate ending to conversations ! (requested by one of my anons) i’m so sorry this took so long !!! and i’m 100% sure you did not expect me to write anything this long but i’m sorry my hand slipped >_< again … i’m super rusty but i hope you guys still like this ^_^

summary: sae’s willing to throw everything else away to prove that out of everything in his life, you’re the one sure thing he needs. problem is, will you accept him after what he’s done?

he’s sorry.

he repeats it in his head, over and over again, his fingers almost numb from repeatedly pressing the call button on your number—over and over and over again.

sorry, sorry, sorry.

it’s no use, he knows. it’s why he’s here—why he’s taking a flight, bare-handed, back to japan, back to home, back to you.

“please switch off your phone, sir,” the flight attendant says politely, dutily, as the plane starts to move.

begrudgingly, he resigns, but the moment he starts hearing your voicemail message play, he sighs, speaking into the receiver.

“look, i know i fucked up and it was stupid of me to keep it from you. i’m sorry, okay? and i know you don’t want to speak to me right now but i can’t just sit around and do nothing. i love you, so i’m coming back home, and we’ll talk, and then… i promise you, nothing like this will happen again.”

yes, because he’ll make sure of that. he’ll make sure he doesn’t make decisions like a stupid teenage boy and he’ll make sure to trust you at every turn instead of trying to hide anything from you because you’re right. never in the course of your relationship did you ever doubt sae.

which is a feat. because given his profession and status, any number of girls would’ve been distrusting had they been in your position. not that sae knows, what can he say he knows about girls? nothing, apparently. after today, that much is sure.

as he turns his phone on aeroplane mode, he throws his head back and looks out of the plane window. less than a day till he’ll be there to see you in person. he’s not sure if you’re going to even want to see him, but he’ll try. you deserve that much, at least.

in his head, the same words repeat over and over again.

i’m sorry.

i love you.

you’re all i ever want.

by the time sae’s plane touches down, it’s night time in japan, close to midnight. you should be resting, probably tired out from crying; he can imagine, because stupid as he may be, he can at least say he knows you this much.

your words can be hard, cold, cruel, but you never are. you’re all soft inside, and you’d rather face your emotions alone than let anyone know how you feel. at least, when those emotions concern sae. you’ll keep them to yourself and keep crying, day after day, until you can’t find it in yourself to care anymore.

passport in one hand, his phone in another, he whisks off toward the taxi stand, mind in a mess because his phone’s now ringing with messages from everyone that isn’t you, probably concerning his absence from the last match of the tournament.

fuck the final match.

you probably thought he’ll play anyway. that he’ll play the match, and only afterwards would he attempt things further with you.

funnily enough, that’s what sae used to think too. before any of this happened. never in his life did he think he’d sooner rather sabotage his own career than lose you. it’s laughable, really, how much he’s so afraid of losing you that it clouds his judgement.

he should’ve been honest with you from the start instead of letting you find out on your own. it was that easy.

“could you step on it, please?” sae sighs, irritated at everything keeping him from you; the distance, the traffic, the stupidity.

the taxi driver narrows his gaze at sae through the rear view mirror, clearly annoyed. “i’d rather not get a ticket,” he replies monotonously, and sae sees that he’s driving at the speed limit. “wouldn’t want to get into an accident, would you?”

well, if he did, that would put a real hamper in his plans, so sae just shuts up and switches off his phone. none of them are you anyway. there’s no point.

as he stares out the window at the now-quiet city, he finds that, for the first time, he’s afraid of losing everything.

mira [7.28pm]: make sure you get enough rest! bought some soup for you in case you haven’t eaten :)

you look at the time now—12.14am. fuck, did you really sleep the entire day away?

the sliver of moonlight that shines through your blinds is all you see next to the pitter patter of the heavy rain against your window. it’s pathetic, really, for you to take a day off just because of that argument (if you can really call it that) the night before. you couldn’t bring yourself to even watch his game like you’d promised him you always would, once upon a time.

something tells you that he should expect that, though. even without watching his game, you know they’d win. sae has always been magical like that, being the playmaker he is. you imagine he’s probably with his team now, celebrating the win. or are they asleep right now? you never could get used to the time difference. it’s too much of a headache.

aside from mira, you see a voicemail message in your inbox. from sae. it makes your heart skip a beat. are you even ready to hear him and whatever he has to say? it’s why you’d been avoiding him since yesterday—you’re afraid you’re just going to crumble and forgive and get taken advantage of. it threatens to spin the same old story you’ve always known.

you click on it anyway.

“look, i know i fucked up and it was stupid of me to keep it from you. i’m sorry, okay? and i know you don’t want to speak to me right now but i can’t just sit around and do nothing. i love you, so i’m coming back home, and we’ll talk, and then… i promise you, nothing like this will happen again.”

will it though? how much can you trust his words after he already failed once? it makes you think twice, no matter how badly you want to forgive him because you do believe him. it’s most likely nothing, and what he said is most likely true, but it makes you upset that he thought of hiding such a thing from you.

just as you toss your phone aside, you hear a series of urgent knocks on your door, the thunder ruthless outside. slowly, you get up, dragging your feet against the hardwood floors and flinching a little as you hear how loud the banging is. you’re half afraid and half agitated, halfway between hiding yourself under the covers and threatening to kill whoever it is outside.

but then you swing the door open and you’re met with that pair of teal eyes you’ve always loved, his bangs matted against his face as he pants, the rainwater drenching him from head to toe.

“y/n,” he calls out, as though it’s been ages since he last heard from you. it’s only been a day, but it’s enough to make sae feel as though it’s been forever.

you’re a little shocked, your brain trying to process every single question that comes to mind.

is that really him? why isn’t he in spain? if he played the game, the timeline doesn’t add up—how did he get here so fast? is this actually a dream? holy crap it feels so real, though? why isn’t he saying anything?

“s-sae?”

you’re not even sure if you said that out loud—you’re a little too shocked to make sense of anything right now. but the moment the corner of his lips tug upward, revealing that lopsided smile you love, you know it’s real.

he’s here.

“i… came to talk,” is all he can say. he’s tired from running up the stairs. apparently tonight, everything was against him. there was an accident right at the street before the corner of your apartment, so he’d had to end the trip early and start running for it. by the time he got here, the elevators for your block were all undergoing maintenance and unusable. but fuck if twenty flights of stairs are enough to make him turn away.

you’re blinking a lot, as if you find it unbelievable that he’s here in the first place, but you nod anyway and step aside to let him in, wet clothes and all.

“how was work today?”

it’s definitely not what he came here from spain to talk about but you entertain it anyway.

“didn’t go,” you tell him, a little coldly, but you think he deserves that much, at least. “how was the game?”

“don’t know, didn’t go.”

you two are similar that way.

“why not?”

“i had other important things to do.”

“you do? pray tell.”

it’s the first time sae’s hearing you like this and he’s sure now that he never wants to make you like this ever again—going against your nature.

it’s lame, and overused, and you deserve an essay for why he shouldn’t and wouldn’t ever do this again to you but it’s sae and he’s never sure what’s good in these situations so all he can manage to say is, “i’m so sorry.”

you cross your arms as the both of you stand in your dimly-lit living room, the storm raging on outside. it’s not like you don’t know that. that aside, you’re pretty sure he’s the most sorry he’s ever been. and if you were still the same naive girl you used to be ten years ago you probably would’ve forgiven him by now.

but you’re not.

“okay, is that all?”

it’s not what you really want to say. you kind of just want this to be a dream; that picture of him and that random girl with their lips locked, that fight that you had that made you cry to sleep. you wish it was some sort of stupid nightmare that didn’t make him ruin your trust but it did.

sae, on the other hand, seems restless. he’s taken aback, not quite sure how to get through to you because he’s never made a mistake like this before. “just- could you… forgive me?”

the ache you head in his voice breaks you, and you’re sure he can see the tears threatening to spill, but you stand with your choice. “can i? i don’t really know, to be honest,” you respond, voice soft and low, not quite daring to meet his eyes in case you falter.

the contrast between how you were and how you are kicks him in the gut and he has no one to blame but himself. he doesn’t want to, but he can sense where this is going. he’s not stupid, he just… doesn’t want to believe it.

“please… don’t do this?” sae swallows the lump in his throat, the foreign way his heartbeat quickens out of fear stumping him. there’s probably more he should say, but maybe that just wouldn’t be enough anymore. his words can’t find him and he can’t find it in himself to reach out to you. not when he realises you out of all people hate the most for having to do this.

if you just blindly follow your heart, you’d leap in his arms right now, fuck how soaked he is. because you still love him. you know that, and you think maybe he knows it too, but judging by the perplexed look on his face, he probably doesn’t realise it. that’s why your brain does the deciding for you. it had already made its choice the moment you saw that picture, the moment you saw the headlines on that gossip rag.

“i… think we should break up, sae.”

before today, if you’d told yourself that one day, you’d say these words, you wouldn’t believe it. but here you are, breaking up with the love of your life.

sae is just standing in front of you, staring at you, the happy picture of the two of you during your second year anniversary hanging on your wall haunting him this very second. the command he gave his assistant to help him get that ring for you sending him into the pits of despair. he’s so stunned he doesn’t know what to say or do.

“you’re… serious?”

there’s no expression in his eyes. they’re just dull, and dark, and nothing like how you’re used to.

this time, you’re the one trying to force the words out of your mouth, calmly, because you’re afraid that the tears will just spill out. “you’re… you’re the one who told me to be kinder to myself, right?”

sae chuckles softly, helplessly, as he realises you take every word he says to heart.

EIGHT YEARS AGO

it was beyond him why you let yourself be subjected to this. nobody was a saint, but surely you deserved better than to be treated like trash?

sae understood a little of where you were coming from. it was hard to let go of a three-year relationship, but having you visit him crying in the middle of the night wasn’t exactly what he would condone.

“you can do better than him, you know that right?”

the words slipped out of his mouth before he knew it. he’d once sworn that he wouldn’t meddle in your relationship, that he’d let you figure it out on your own, but your heartaches were getting too often those days that sae just couldn’t hold it in anymore.

it probably wasn’t the best thing to say to you, considering how you were bawling your eyes out and staining his entire jersey with your tears, but sae was never one to filter his words.

“everyone says that.”

which tells sae you didn’t believe that.

“which means there’s some truth there,” he sighed, leaning back against the couch as you continued to bury your head in his chest. sae saw rin from the corner of the room, peaking out of the hallway and gave him a quick wave to signal him to leave them alone.

“i… don’t know what to do.”

you rarely ever did. having been your friend for the past four years before this taught sae two things: one, you gave your all for your relationship, and two, you were one of the kindest people he’s ever known. (and by extension, it simply meant you knew what had to be done, but you refused to do it.)

sae took a deep breath, eyes gazing up at the ceiling before he resumes, “i don’t know why you let people treat you like that.”

you stayed quiet, sniffling, though it’s getting softer now, so sae continues.

“you know, you’re one of the nicest people i know,” sae told you, fingers absentmindedly stroking your hair—the way he always wanted to but never let himself admit. “which is why it kinda sucks that you’re so stupid to let yourself be hurt by that asshole over and over again.”

the both of you chuckled at that. sae was glad to know you understood he meant only well.

“stop… letting people hurt you and then letting them get away like that, okay?” he said it softly, but you definitely caught it. “be kinder to yourself, fucks sake.”

he felt your fingers curl, gripping at his shirt as you stopped yourself from crying. you looked up at him that night, smiling as your tears dried, and sae remembered telling himself that he’d never want to be the reason you had to feel upset.

“when you say it like that, how can i say no?” you joked, laughing, wiping the last of your tears away. “besides, even if i was still being stupid, i’d always have you with me, right?”

sae remembers.

he remembers not answering you, but he remembers thinking yes, always. and he has a feeling you knew back then too, that sae would always be there for you regardless.

only if it’s you.

maybe even back then, you already knew how he felt for you. and you would always listen to him. you’d always believe in him. now he feels even more stupid for everything that transpired. with his words thrown back at him, he finds himself speechless.

“you’re right,” he replies, voice hoarse, his gaze dropping to the floor. sae was being stupid, and he’s crazy if he thinks he’ll be let off that easy.

you’re sniffling a little, and he does you the courtesy of not looking at you even though you’re already turning away. “i’ll mail you your stuff.”

“it’s fine, i’ll get rin to help me take ‘em.”

it’s a diplomatic breakup. polite, nothing out of line, just two adults deciding that maybe now just isn’t the time.

after a long pause, sae gets the guts to speak. “you know you’re the only one for me, right?” because he feels like maybe you’d been doubting it recently and he doesn’t want you to feel worthless. maybe it has the adverse effect and maybe it’s selfish but he needs you to hear that.

you don’t acknowledge it, and you barely acknowledge him, even as he turns to walk out the door. this time, you’re the one not giving the answer, but sae feels like he knows how you feel anyway. you need time away from him. a proper break from him. so sae leaves wordlessly, clinging on to hope that maybe one day, he’ll be deserving of you again.

the moment sae closes the door, you fall to the floor, wailing into your cushion pillow, having one of the worst nights of your life.

THE NEXT WEEK

annoying jr [10.48am]: oi stupid, i’m here.

—followed by an incessant ringing of your doorbell.

when you groan and swing the front door open, you’re greeted by a smirking rin. at least he hasn’t changed one bit since you’d known him when he was a kid. well, at least not to you.

“did you have to ring it so obnoxiously?” you whine, plopping down on your couch, burying your head in the leather seats.

rin shuts the door behind him, scoffing. “you’re the one who always used to wake up late,” he quips, rolling his eyes (you don’t have to see it, you just know how he’s going to react).

“and someone was always the third party on dates,” you snap back, sticking your tongue out at him.

he deadpans, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “hey, wasn’t my fault my stupid brother kept using me as an excuse to go out.”

right, because back then his parents were a lot more strict than they are now, back before they didn’t know you.

realising that the mood had grown a little somber, rin clears his throat, changing the subject. “how’s work so far?”

you chuckle under your breath, finding it funny how both the brothers’ go-to question is to ask about your work. though, they’ve never been that good in conversations so you can’t blame them.

“it’s fine, promotion period’s coming up so i’m preparing for that,” you respond lacklustrely, getting up off the couch, dragging your feet to your bedroom before resurfacing just ten seconds later, carrying a box full of sae’s things.

it’s full of his clothes, care products and the like, but mostly clothes, because you’d realised you liked to steal his jerseys, wear them like they’re your own, but mostly because they smell like him, remind you of him when he’s not physically around and makes you feel better.

doesn’t make you feel good when you have to pack them up, though. you cried all the way again. pathetically. but rin doesn’t have to know, so you keep up your unbothered facade.

rin takes the box from you, thankfully not mentioning his brother. “hope you get that promotion then,” he says politely, though you sense he might have something else to say that he doesn’t know if he should.

you sigh, because sometimes rin looks like a neglected younger brother and you don’t have the heart to ignore him like sae does sometimes. “go ahead, say what’s on your mind.”

it takes just a moment of hesitation before rin heeds your words. “did you see sae’s interview last night?”

part of you doesn’t want to think about anything related to sae, but most of you still misses him, so it’s a canon event that you still look out for any and every news of him. it’s sad and pathetic and that’s why you make extra care not to mention any of that to anyone.

“nope, was it about their recent win?”

you try to go on as per normal, like sae isn’t just the love of your life that you still wanted.

“mhm.” rin, at least, doesn’t tease you about it. whether he means to or not, you’re grateful for that. “they asked him, though. about that game.” (but of course, you knew that already.)

ah, that game. the game that he abandoned to come find you. the game that led up to your breakup. the game that sae probably had to pay dearly for for knowingly ditching.

“oh, i see. what about it?”

a resigned sigh leaves rin’s lips as he looks at you with the full sincerity of a younger brother concerned with his older brother’s fuckup. “he… really loves you, you know? he’s just… stupid.”

you snort at his last remark, both of you breaking out into a small laughter. it’s bittersweet, thinking about how this might be the last time you see rin, but you’ll probably get over it. you’ll get over this, and sae, and move on someday—now if only you could get yourself to want that.

“i know,” you mutter quietly, deciding that it’s best not to speak too much about it. it’s dumb, considering everything that happened, but his words made you feel relieved, even if just for a second.

just before he leaves, you give him one last hug. “thanks, rin.”

THREE MONTHS LATER

“please don’t give me another heart attack like last time.”

sae huffs, annoyed, although he knows he probably deserves that. his poor assistant went through hell trying to appease everyone on the team due to sae’s last stunt. luckily, there are exceptions made for the best soccer player on the team, so no punishment was dire enough that he had to get kicked.

“i’m just going out for some air.” sae leaves before his assistant can get any words out, entirely too tired today to listen to anything anyone else has to say.

besides, today is a special day.

the moment he’s out of earshot, he calls one of the only contacts on his phone. for some reason, his heart is thumping wildly and his fingers are fiddling with the hem of his windbreaker. the weather is nearing negatives but somehow, he doesn’t feel it.

“hello?”

sae nearly gets a heart attack of his own when a deep, low voice is what he hears, until he realises that he recognises it.

“rin, what’re you doing there?”

he can make out the sadistic chuckle from halfway across the world. “what, disappointed?” (if sae could punch him right now he would.) “relax, we’re just at her birthday dinner and she’s busy,” he explains, though sae doesn’t nearly care about any of that other than the fact that he wants to talk to you.

“where’s y/n?”

“she’s the birthday girl, people are lining up just to take pictures with her,” rin raises his voice over the background, and sae’s never been more frustrated. “she’s taking pics with some handsome guy right now, and he’s got his hands around her waist,” rin whistles right after, and sae can just sense his smugness through the phone.

whether what his brother said was true or not, sae is in no position to be jealous anyway. (even though he is and he’s sporting an unamused frown that’s enough to scare the living daylights out of anyone watching him.)

“wish her happy birthday for me then.”

rin snorts. “sure. disappointed you didn’t get to hear her—” sae hangs up before he can be subjected to anymore of his brother’s nonsense. all he really wanted was to just hear your voice, but he won’t be greedy.

staying friends was already a miracle. that’s only possible because you have a heart of gold, and he knows that if he ever pushes it too much, he might just risk losing you forever and he knows he can’t have that. so for now, this’ll do.

he’ll wait, no matter how long he has to.

later that night, when the moon is high up in spain, sae receives a notification from you. there, attached in your thread is an audio message.

“itoshi sae… thank you.”

the little laugh you leave at the end is enough to make him smile at his phone. he counts his blessings for you, and starts counting down to the days he has left in spain. if he wants you, he needs to go all in.

ONE YEAR LATER

“you ready yet? i’m at your lobby.”

sae can just barely make out your panicked state from the other line. you’re late, and you know he’s fine with waiting, but because you’re a perfectionist, you really really don’t want him to have to.

“yeah, just gimme like, five minutes!” which sae knows translates to i actually need twenty but i’ll rush. there’s a certain satisfaction it gives him—knowing that he knows you in these ways that nobody else can.

“take your time, i have to pump some gas anyway, running low,” he tells you, an excuse which you accept right away because it’s convenient.

sae doesn’t even need any gas. it’s full, so he parks his car by the entrance and waits inside, turning up the air conditioning because he knows you’ll be sweating a little by the time you inevitably still choose to rush down.

it’s exactly one year since the last time he wished you happy birthday (through rin). and this year, he’s happy enough he gets to actually take you out. the past year’s been filled of sae restarting the relationship from ground zero—back to being friends and gradually coming back again to where you are now, dating. sure, it’s taxing having to do it all over again, but he’d do this however many times you want him to.

SIX MONTHS AGO

“hmmm, i dunno how to feel, i kinda like this.”

sae had been calling you up often, and he feels good inside knowing that you might miss him as much as he misses you.

“kinda like what?” he asked, wishing that he could see your expression right now.

“kinda like you chasing me all over again,” you giggled, shameless with your words. “what if i just never agree to be your girlfriend again? what if i just make you chase after me forever?”

he knew for a fact that you weren’t that sadistic, but even so, his answer would still be the same. “then i’ll stick in this phase with you. forever.” although that would render the ring that he bought for you useless.

“oh really?”

sae hummed in faux contemplation. “nah, maybe not. maybe i’ll just ditch you and run off with ryusei or something.”

he got a laugh out of you for that.

“ryusei? not even some other girl, but ryusei?”

sae chuckled—he still remembered his mistake. and he’d never put you in a position to feel that way again. even if you two were just joking around.

“y/n, there’s no one else except you.” he was rarely ever serious like this, especially considering how you bantered as friends, but sometimes, he knew he had to. nowadays, more than anything, he just wanted to know that you had no doubts about how he felt for you.

you didn’t give any response to that, but considering how you started to ease up around him even more after that, sae felt like maybe there was a solid hope there of reviving this after all.

the knock on his window brings him back into the present, your pretty face doing wonders in lighting up his mood.

as you get into the passenger seat, sae steals a glance at you from head to toe—you’re so beautiful and so worth the wait and you’ll always be.

“so, where are you taking me today, mr itoshi sae?”

he leans back against his seat, tilting his head as he looks at you, feigning contemplation. “depends, ms l/n y/n, do you trust me?”

you press your lips into a line, the corners threatening to tug upwards. you’re so adorable that sae’s actually going to go insane but he dons a straight face like he always has because letting you know the power you have over him is more than you need to know.

“i think it’d be a little weird if i couldn’t trust my boyfriend.”

suddenly it’s like time stands still and sae’s hands are stuck on the steering wheel and he’s left staring into space wondering if he heard you right. boyfriend? he turns around to look at you, teal eyes searching your own for answers but all he sees is a smirk on your face—you definitely know the power you have over him.

“wow, want me that bad, huh?” you joke, giggling as you tell him to hit the gas. “i… wasn’t kidding though.”

and as he pulls out of the parking lot, he thinks about the little velvet box that sits in his jacket pocket, thinks about the fact that he’s one of the luckiest people in the world thanks to you. heat rises to his cheeks, and he has to look away from you.

“you know one day you’re still gonna be mrs itoshi, right?”

this time, you laugh—but not like you think it’s a joke, more like the kind where you think was there even any other option? and even then, you offer him assurance.

“there’s nothing i want more.”

#CAN YOU GUYS TELL I MISS SAE SOOO MUCHHH #also … 0% proofread so if you see any mistakes ha ha … #itoshi sae x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x you #sae x reader #sae x you #sae x y/n #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #bllk x y/n #itoshi sae fluff #blue lock fluff #bllk fluff #sae fluff #૪ aeri’s fics !

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

New dad Astarion who is about to see his newborn child for the first time.

Of course, he expects his child to be the personification of serene beauty and divine grace. Them to have their father’s silken silvern locks, his immaculately chiselled features—the artwork perfected by Tav’s wonderful watercolour eyes…

And then he actually sees the child and—well—everybody assures him that, yes, Astarion, all babies look like that barely a half hour after birth…

He kind of has to take that at face value because he hasn’t seen an awful lot of newborns in his lifetime.

But it would’ve been nice if someone had told him that newborns happen to look like shrivelled potatoes, because he’s really, really trying to not let his bewilderment show. 

Astarion swallows. 

Tav’s beautiful eyes are watching him, waiting for a reaction—an enthusiastic one, no less. 

Maybe Tav will believe that he’s overcome with emotions at seeing his firstborn child? 

“Oh my, darling, I’m…speechless,” is all he can choke out, though, being rather proud that it’s at least not a lie. 

To his luck, Tav only nods dreamily, her full attention back on the odd little bundle in her arms.

“Isn’t she perfect?”

Yes, perfectly hideous. 

Astarion only hums in a way of reply.

That—his daughter, he supposes—is with no doubt one of the ugliest things he’s ever seen, but he has a feeling that his honesty wouldn’t be appreciated after Tav laboured for hours to give birth to this…potato-baby.

“Come, hold her, Astarion,” Tav says, then, bidding him to sit next to her on the bed.

The mattress shifts under Astarion’s weight and he obediently holds his arms out so that Tav can gently place the sleeping child against his chest.

Now that Astarion can take a better look, he can confirm that his daughter’s hair is of an indefinable colour and that her features are neither his nor Tav’s, plain as can be. Surely it won’t stay like that?

He and Tav are so ridiculously beautiful, their child can only be drop-dead gorgeous, right?

Astarion’s stomach drops indeed when, suddenly, something occurs to him. 

Oh dear, what if it’s his fault? He has no recollection of his family whatsoever; it’s very much possible that he and his immaculate looks are the exception in his lineage, and that he’s passed on only those mysterious less-than-perfect genes…Tav, as per usual, can’t be the issue!

Astarion is still catastrophizing when the bundle in his arms begins to stir.

All of a sudden, gold-speckled pale green eyes are looking up at him as if to ask what the fuck this weirdo’s problem might be. 

“Oh,” the weirdo in question exclaims at once. “Darling, look, she has your eyes!”

Tav, hugging him from behind, rests her chin on his shoulder, so she can watch as Astarion’s finger tenderly strokes their baby’s chubby cheek.

Their daughter also has, as it turns out, ten fingers and toes, a cute little nose and a hungry mouth—everything that’s supposed to be there is there, and it seems to be working fine, too—which is a huge relief. 

And aren’t those the tiniest pointy ears Astarion has ever seen? Let alone the unexpectedly strong fingers grasping at his!

Astarion, worries forgotten in a heartbeat, can’t help but smile at the baby in his arms. 

She is perfect, after all. 

Tav, face hidden in the crook of his neck, begins to tremble against his back. 

For a second, Astarion thinks she’s crying but then her laughter fills the chamber. It takes her a good moment to articulate whatever it is she finds so very funny.

“She'll grow out of it, you know?” Tav giggles in between her fits of laughter. 

Astarion stiffens. “Of what?”

“The turnip look. That’s what you’ve been worrying about the whole time, haven't you?”

“I was leaning more towards potatoes—but yes, I might’ve been a little worried about that,” Astarion admits sheepishly, although a grin is already tugging at his lips.  

Regaining her composure, Tav reaches over Astarion’s shoulder, her hand joining his as they get to know their child.

“Give it a couple of days and she will look like your proper little elf—beautiful just like her father.”

A content sigh leaves Astarion’s lips, right before he presses them against Tav’s temple.

“That’s the second best news I’ve heard today, my heart, truly.”

#astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #dadstarion #astarion x tav #astarion headcanons #astarion x f!tav #baldur's gate astarion #astarion ancunin #to the best worst dad #astarion father of the year every year #Inspired by Howl from Howl's Moving Castle or rather Castle in the Air #where his first words upon seeing his newborn son are “My word he's ugly!”—truly an inspirational man! #my grandma said for legal reasons i'm not allowed to call any babies ugly so these are astarion's words not mine #just so we're on the same page #emicha writes

[abbyromanoff]

Hello, Abby

I would like to request for a story about R and G!pWanda have financial problems, then they decide to be p*rn creators because they think it's the best way to earn money so fast. One day they set up the challage for their fans: who donate the most will be able to meet them and have dinner, which G!pNat happens to be the lucky one. Things are getting intense and Nat finally get to f*ck R while Wanda watching, dirty talking, and jerking herself off. Or they both f*ck R in both holes.

Thank you! I love all of your works❤️❤️❤️

The Lucky Winner

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x reader, Wanda Maximoff x reader, WandaNat x reader

Word count: 3,148

Warnings: smut, threesome, public sex, punishment, jerking off, masturbation, cunnilingus, R and Wanda are porn stars, Wanda and Nat both have dicks, degrading, pet names, praising, jealousy, mentions of bisexual!R, slightly manipulative!Wanda, financial struggles, breeding, no protection, thinks that’s it!

No one is permitted to steal, copy, or reblog my work as their own!!

“Look, it’s all we can do right now! We can barely afford to eat, Y/N, would you rather fucking starve?” Wanda yelled, now standing from the table you sat at. The loud sounds of the pipes creaking and neighbors next door who were, once again, partying like college students.

“That’s not what I’m saying-”

“Then what? Why can’t we just do this, for us?” She spoke, a little softer this time.

“I want this money, Wanda, I do. I want to be able to go on dates or go out with friends or be able to have more than a meal a day, I do. But there are so many downsides too. I mean- what if one of our friends see it? Or better yet, our bosses! And how am I supposed to deal with the fact that I’m not the only one seeing your sexy body.” She stifled a laugh as you came to a close, a small pout forming on your lips. She grabbed both of your hands in hers, kissing the backs of them and kneeling in front of where you sat.

“Oh, baby, don’t cry.” She wiped the tears on your cheeks, you never liked arguing with her. “I know it won’t be easy, but just like you said, imagine all the dates we could go on. We’d get to live, not just survive. It will be weird at first, especially when we’re showing our bodies off to a bunch of horny dudes to jerk off to, but you just need to think of the outcome, love. I want to spoil you, but I can’t do that if we don’t do this.” She had always been so convincing and deceiving, some would call it manipulation, but you called it love. She loved you enough to worry about you and to want to get you both out of this mess. It was all for the money, you’d have to tell yourself, but you knew it would all be okay if you just had Wanda by your side through it all.

And that ended up being true. It had been almost a year since you two had started, and while she was telling the truth when saying it would be weird at first, you both eased into it over time. It had made you beyond the amount you could ever imagine from your old job, that you both decided to quit. You wanted more free time together, less stress. And with this job, you didn’t need to worry about your bank accounts any longer. You two had enough to get by and treat yourself a little bit at the end of each week.

In celebration of the near one-year mark of your shared account, you two had decided on what to do for your lovely fans. You thought of making a longer video, but realized that would’ve gotten boring for the audience. Then you thought about a live stream where your viewers could comment in the moment, telling you both what to do. Only to then realize some would be busy at work or in a different timezone, they wouldn’t be able to join.

Then it came to you, a competition. If you had multiple people bidding on one thing, it would bring in more money and would make it all the more thrilling and exciting for your fans. You brought the idea up to Wanda, hoping she’d agree, but she wasn’t always the best at doing so.

“Are you kidding me? You really think I’m gonna let you go on a date with some pervy old man who just wants to fuck you?”

“Wanda, we’d both be there. And it wouldn’t just be me getting fucked, it would be like a threesome, you’d be there too.” She looked at you dumbfounded, like you just told her you sold her house and kidnapped her dog.

“You really think some gross man would want to fuck me? I have a dick, Y/N, you should know that better than anyone else.” Your cheeks tinted the tiniest bit at her remark. But it was true, before you she was a virgin, as were you. And she hasn’t been with another person ever since she asked you out that one night, she’d be an idiot to do so.

“You never know, maybe it won’t be a man.” She sighed, massaging her temples as if she was handling toddlers.

“Okay, you’re really cute, Y/N, you are, but you don’t need to be a dumbass. 97% of our fans are males, and you think we’d somehow get that 3% of luck? Not to mention that it won’t be all of our fans so that percentage lowers. And not to mention they’re probably all broke, the highest bid will be a man, darling.”

“Ah, you said ‘will’! So, what do you say? We can get it over with and we’ll set some boundaries of what they can and can’t do, just to make sure we’re both more comfortable with the thought.” You gave her your best puppy-dog eyes in hopes she’d say yes, and while she did an amazing job at disagreeing with you, she was horrible at denying you.

“Fine. But, most of that money is going towards that new car I wanted, deal?” You nodded your head quickly, scaring her with your willingness to do such a thing. Creating the account was her idea at first, but you mostly ran the show now with your eagerness. It worried her sometimes, but it was so cute getting to fuck you in front of a camera with hundreds of thousands watching, knowing they’ll never get to touch. But now someone will, and she didn’t like that. But just like she had said at the beginning, it was all for the money. Oh, how she was starting to regret that statement.

“You ready, babe?” You were both standing outside of the restaurant, preparing yourself for a long night. You wore a red dress with a small slit at the end, your shoulders being on display with the loose spaghetti straps adorning them. Wanda wore black dress pants with a dark blue button-up, the top being unbuttoned just enough to barely get a glimpse of her bra.

“Of course, I am, darling.” She smiled, hoping it would convince you enough. It did, and you gracefully opened the glass doors, letting Wanda walk in a moment before you and then following.

“This guy better at least be cute if he’s fucking you. Wait- no, if he’s cute, I’ll kill him.” You chuckled at her possessiveness, rubbing her arm gently while you stood in line to ease her nerves.

“You know the only dick I want is yours, baby.” She grinned to herself, trying to hide her emotions as a worker came up to her, guiding her to where she would be sat.

You both sat there patiently as you waited for your third party to arrive, looking through the wine menu. The best part was that you didn’t need to look at the costs once, already having the whole thing covered by your generous tippers.

“Is this guy really standing us up?”

“Hey, if so, it sucks to be him.” The two of you were interrupted by a woman, who you at first thought must’ve been your waitress.

“Y/N and Wanda?”

“Uh, yes?” You both looked more than confused on how she knew your name, until it clicked in your brain on why you were even here in the first place.

“Perfect. I was your winner.” She sat down across from the two of you, who both had mouths parted slightly. She chuckled at your reaction before grabbing the menu, speaking in a calm yet unbelievably attractive tone. Wanda thought the same.

“I know, I bet you two were expecting a man.” You looked to Wanda to see her nodding, her eyes landing on the woman’s lipstick-covered lips.

“Well, I hope I didn’t disappoint.”

“No, not at all!” You spoke, a little too loud and causing an older lady from the other table to glance at you. You shyly looked down, rubbing the back of your neck and focusing your attention once again on the paper in front of you, even though you already knew what you were going to get.

“Awh, don’t get all shy on us now, baby,” Nat remarked, not seeming to care the way Wanda tensed up at her words. Her high heel grazed against your leg under the table, and the thoughts running through your mind were less than holy.

“So, Wanda, since this one is clearly a bit nervous right now, how did you two meet?” The conversation between them both went on for a few minutes until your waiter arrived, writing down everything you three asked of him, it was clear that he was new.

“Y/N? Why don’t you speak when you’re spoken to, alright?” Wanda said to you, muttering the words in your ear just loud enough for Nat to hear. She smirked, noticing the way goosebumps adorned your arms the more she spoke. You must not have heard what the two had said to you before, your thoughts being even louder than them.

“I’m sorry about them, they get a little shy sometimes.” You rested your hands in your lap, playing with your fingertips as the two spoke of you as if you weren’t even there.

“Oh, don’t worry, I think they’re just the cutest little thing I’ve ever seen.” She stared you down, biting her lip as she pictured how shy you’d be when she was in between your legs.

“You see, Y/N, I and your girlfriend aren’t so different after all.” That got both of your attention, watching with curiosity as she leaned back, and took a sip of her wine before speaking.

“In your…videos, you seem to just be a little cock-whore for Wanda. You’d do anything to get your mouth on her, you’re like an addict.” She started, humming to herself at the memories of the videos she had pleasured herself to many times, just wishing it was her fucking you instead. You were grateful for the loud tables near you, that way no one could hear the filth pouring out of her mouth.

“I wonder how addicted I can get you to mine in just one night.” Your eyebrows rose just enough for her to notice, a small laugh pooling from her mouth at you and Wanda’s shared reaction. She grabbed her purse from the table, standing up and giving you both her hand for you to follow. Wanda placed a hundred-dollar bill on the table and the three of you walked out. You guided her to the car that Wanda had been driving, letting her push you against the side as her lips connected with yours. Wanda watched, licking her lips and groaning when seeing her tongue slip into your mouth. You moaned, gripping the older woman’s arms as she held them by your head, refusing to let you go.

“Oh, Wanda, don’t be such a perv. If you’re going to watch at least help me a bit over here.” She kissed down your neck and to your exposed chest, smiling as it rose and fell rapidly. Wanda did as told, her hands running across your body like she’d never seen it before, but you all knew that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“That’s it? I’ve seen your videos, I know what you can do.” She looked around and Nat picked up on her worries.

“Really? You’re scared of people seeing you? Maybe you shouldn’t be posting your partner getting fucked by your cock every day then.” She gulped nervously, letting her fears slip away as she focused on you and your pleasure.

“Fuck, baby, I’ve been wanting to touch you since the day I saw you. Once I saw that offer, I knew I had to win. Then, I flew my private jet all the way over here, just so I could fuck you.” She pulled the small straps to your dress down your body, slowly letting the dress fall down your body as you were left bare in the warm night air. She dropped to her knees, grasping your thighs in her hands and pulling your hips forward.

“Ride my face, sweetheart.” You looked at Wanda for approval, only to see her palming herself through her pants. You looked back down at Nat, her hazy eyes staring into your own as you started a small, slow movement.

“I know you can do better than that, Y/N.” She mumbled against you, sticking her tongue out and letting you set your pace. You let out a deep breath, examining the parking lot that was completely empty besides for a few cars and the three of you. Your hips moved on their own as moans left you, your hands traveling to your breasts to tease them.

“Oh- yes! Fuck me, Natty, ruin me!” Wanda could feel a small pang of jealousy in her heart, but she couldn’t deny the act was so pleasurable.

“You like this, Wands?” You asked the woman, cupping her crotch and feeling the hardness through her slacks. “You like watching me getting fucked by someone else?” Your breath was ragged, and Wanda couldn’t stop herself from thrusting into your palm. She watched your hips rut against Nat’s face and whimpered, kissing you with full force to regain some sort of dominance. Nat moaned against you, and the vibrations are what tipped you over the edge. You shook in her hold, your hand clutching Wanda’s shoulder as you tried to get a hold of something.

“That’s it, such a good girl for me, love,” Natasha muttered against your skin, slowly standing up with your juices coating her tongue. She watched you depart from Wanda, a line of spit following after. Her fingers went to your chin, bringing you forward as you could taste yourself on her. Once she let you go, she did the same to your girlfriend, making out with her sloppily as she moaned at your taste.

“You’re such a slut, Wands, letting me fuck your girlfriend like that, don’t you have any dignity?” She stared into her eyes as she grasped your waist, pulling you close to her as you felt her bulge press against you.

“How pathetic do you have to be to get off to a stranger fucking your sweet little thing.” Wanda looked down in shame, but her hard-on proved otherwise. Nat laughed when noticing it, resting her hand on the bulge gently. For a moment, Wanda thought she would go easy on her, until Nat pulled her hands back to slap her covered cock. She mewled, thrusting into the pleasurable pain that Nat gave her.

“Look at this. Look at your pathetic girlfriend, Y/N, can’t believe you settled down for something like that.” You wanted to speak, you really did, but it was nearly impossible to do so. Nat unbuckled her pants, gripping your hand in her own and guiding it to the waistline of her boxers. You shuddered as you felt her, she had to have at least a few inches on Wanda. In a moment of confidence, you grasped her cock in your hands softly, letting it free from its confinements. You stroked her length, watching as her mouth twitched open and her eyes shut. You turned to Wanda, doing the same and relishing in the way they both chased after your hand. You ran your thumb over their tip ever so slightly whenever you got the chance, watching as they mumbled incoherently and panted against you.

“Mm, look who’s putty in my hands now.” You stated, licking your lips as pre-cum drooled out of both of their lengths. You wanted to taste them, but you wanted them inside of you at the same time.

“You act so tough, Natty, but in reality, you’re just a slut desperate for anyone’s touch.” You fired back, teasing her for all the degrading words she used earlier on. She whimpered, cupping your dripping wet cunt, teasing her fingers through your folds and teasing your clit.

“You get yourself off every day to two people fucking, just wishing someone would touch you the way I do. So instead, you waste thousands of dollars just to get your hands on someone, talk about pathetic.” Your lips quirked up, thinking you had her completely under your control. Oh, how wrong that was. She gripped your wrist harshly, slamming your front against the side of the car, your body being on display for the both of them. Natasha pressed her head against yours, her mouth next to your ear as she whispered,

“I guess being a nasty slut really is all you can fucking do.” Wanda stood next to her, her tip teasing your entrance before she slipped in with ease. You sighed contently when the head of her cock entered you, only to throw your head back when the rest of her joined. She shivered at your warmth, creating a slow pace of dragging herself in and out of you.

“You’re still mine, baby. You’re still my fucking bitch.” Wanda whispered against you, her head in the nape of your neck as Nat watched with her cock in her hand.

“Oh, God-”

“Yeah, I’m your God, baby.” Her teeth ran across your neck before pressing down, a whimper escaping your lips as you felt her tongue soothing the pain.

“Good girl, Wands, you’re fucking our girl so well.” She clenched her teeth at the word ‘our’, her jealousy overruling the coil in her stomach that had been building up.

“You gonna cum, Wanda? Hm? You gonna get our slut pregnant?” She nodded, unable to speak as she chased her high. You had already been on birth control ever since high school, so you didn’t need to worry about pregnancy, but it had always been a deep desire of Wanda’s. The fascination grew on you, and soon enough, you were begging her to cum inside of you every night.

“Oh- fuck! I-I’m-” She was cut off by her orgasm, her juices painting your walls white as your bit your lip to stop yourself from screaming.

You didn’t get to experience your high as, once Wanda had released, she was already starting to pull out.

“Wait-”

“Ah, ah, bad girls don’t get to cum, Y/N.” You were suddenly turned around, your body weak as your breath was too. You noticed a small gathering near the end of the street, they wouldn’t be able to see you from here but if they got any closer you would’ve been caught. The two of them seemed to notice this too and opened the door to the back seat for you.

“Now, put on your dress and get in the car. Me and Wanda want to fuck you properly this time.”

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha x fem!reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff x reader smut #mcu natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff oneshot #wandanat #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff imagines #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff one shots #natasha romanoff x female reader #g!p natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff x you #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x f!reader

[sinofwriting]

PDA - Logan Sargeant

Words: 1,127 Summary: Logan and his girlfriend like PDA.

Taglist | Masterlist | Patreon 

Alex watches as Logan, his new teammate, kisses his girlfriend, one of his hands that had been resting on her waist drifting down to her ass, before sliding into the pocket there and giving a squeeze and he can feel himself nearly choke on his drink. “Fuck,” he coughs and he can feel George slam his hand on his back once then twice.

“Alright, mate?” He nods, giving another cough before clearing his throat. “Yeah, just watching the rookie feel up his girlfriend.” He watches as George’s eyebrows furrow as he looks over at Oscar who’s sitting at the next table. “Other rookie.” George looks over at where he had and his eyes widen. “Jesus. They do know that they’re in public and we’re all here right?” He looks back over and face twists. They weren’t kissing anymore, but Logan’s hand was still in her one back pocket and his mouth is practically glued to her ear as he whispers something with a smile that Alex doesn’t think he likes one bit and dread for the rest of the season starts to fill him.

They both look away at the sound of Oscar’s voice. “They know.” “What?” Oscar tilts his head over to where Logan is and now the rest of the drivers that had decided to all go out together are looking at the couple. “They know they’re in public. I’ve known Logan for a couple years now. They’re always like this.” “Always?” Alex is hoping that Oscar is fucking with him, joking with him. “Always. They’ve been together like two years now?” He shrugs, “We all thought at Prema it was just the honeymoon stage.” Alex turns to look at George, horror in his eyes. “I don’t think I can do this.” “It’s just a bit of kissing, mate. You’ll be fine.” George pats him on the shoulder and he can see from the corner of his eye Max silently laughing. “She’s going to be traveling with us. Coming to all the races.” George’s hand drops. “Well, your fucked then.” Alex groans, dropping his head on the table with a loud thunk.

“You know, I think I like the american. He broke Alex.” Max says, chuckling and Alex is grateful when he hears the dutch driver let out an oomf. “Thank you, Charles.” “No problem. Though I do think it’s a bit funny.” Alex groans, letting his head drop back down when he had just started to lift it up.

“Seriously?” Charles shrugs, “I don’t understand why there is a problem. So they don’t uh, hold back in public. It is not like they are fucking. It is just a bit of kissing.” He then looks back at the couple and shrugs again. “And ass grabbing. Could be much worse.” Alex lets out a groan when the rest of the drivers make agreeing sounds.

“What’s wrong with Alex?” Is the next thing that he hears and immediately groans again at the American accent.

—

Logan was aware that most people didn’t like seeing him and his girlfriend together. Not because they didn’t like her or him or them together, it was more how they acted. Which Logan was absolutely unashamed about. If he wanted to kiss his girlfriend he was going to. If he wanted her in his lap, she’d be there. It didn’t matter how many fake gags his or her friends made or that time he got told off by Prema’s PR team to lay off because what if the press picked up on it?

The memory nearly made him scoff. Drivers got a bad reputation. If they weren’t knowing for fucking anything that walked, one night stands only, they seemed to be know for cheating on their partners. If not by press and fans than at least by other drivers and the like. Logan still struggled a bit with that part of being a driver. The way you’d see a fellow driver fuck someone and then a day later be bringing their partner around the paddock.

He would’ve figured that they’d be thrilled with a driver so into his girlfriend that he literally couldn’t keep his hands off her. Meant they had one less driver to worry about with a cheating scandal.

“It’s the european.” His girlfriend had said when he told her about it and the response had made him laugh in the moment, but he did wonder if there was some truth to it.

“You alright?” Her breath ghosts over the shell of his ear and he squeezes her hip. “I’m all good, baby.” He grins at her. “Just wondering when Williams is going to give me the talk.” She laughs and he can see Lando look over at them. “Any day probably.” “Probably.” He chuckles. He was surprised that after the first race he hadn’t gotten it. Didn’t mean he didn’t think it was going to happen.

Tilting his head up, he puckers his lips a bit and she immediately kisses him. His grip on her hip tightens when she pokes her tongue out teasingly, wishing that she wasn’t sitting on his lap sideways, but straddling him.

He’s about to move her into straddling him when Lando drops into the seat next to them. So he settles for pressing another kiss to her lips before turning his attention to the slightly older driver.

“You all good, man?” Logan’s grin widens at the way Lando’s nose wrinkles at the word man. Him and the other brits all acted the same way when he said it instead of mate. “Yeah, just thought I’d come over, get to know your girlfriend a bit since apparently she’ll be traveling with us.” His voice goes slightly at the end, clearly wondering if it was true. He nods, “yeah. Finally got her to quit that job of hers,” he starts to tease, laughing when she hits him gently on the chest. Lando looked at the two with wide eyes. “I did not quit my job for you.” She says to him before looking at Lando with a sorry expression. “Ignore, Logan.” He pouts a little at that, but keeps quiet. Not minding her taking over the conversation. He traces her name on her hip as she says it to Lando, before repeating her statement.

“I didn’t quit my job for Logan.” He snorts, but other than that, keeps quiet. “I quit my job so I could go full time with graphic design.” The other driver perks up a bit. “Graphic design, really?” “Yeah, I’ve been doing it for the past like five years.”

He somewhat tunes the two out as they start talking more about graphic design. Only really paying attention to her voice and the cadence of it, as he closes his eyes and relaxes.

---

Tagging: @gemofthenight @peachiicherries and also @yellowyoonglescibe & @heesvers who commented on my post when I mentioned wanting to write this.

#logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #pda verse

[tkaulitzlvr]

hii can u pls do c0ckwarming with tom omg

STAY STILL - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: tom can’t wait any longer, but knows that you are too tired to fix his problem the way he wants you to. but you can’t deny the need slowly becoming mutual so, you decide to meet him halfway, and he doesn’t complain.

content: smut (not full sex, just what the req says lol)

a/n: thanku for the req!! SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING, hopefully this makes up for it! literally screaming and giggling whilst writing this (help), also the way he moves his tongue in this vid HELLO (need it inside me) ++there won’t be a part two (don’t hate me!) my upload schedule is just too irregular, i have a ton of requests and just don’t think i’d be able to write one, in the future if i’m less busy i may come back to this!!

“please baby, i’ll do all the work, i promise.” tom pleads for probably the tenth time, digging his head into the crook of my neck and placing open-mouthed kisses onto the skin, whining lowly against it. any other time, i would’ve given in the second his lips made contact with my neck, and he knows this, deciding to try his luck once again. however right now, the circumstances don’t work in tom’s favour, much to his annoyance. i am too tired to even properly decline his request, sighing loudly and shaking my head as my eyes flutter closed. this isn’t enough for tom, my lack of response not a concrete ‘no’, this all he needs to press himself against me once more, hoping that it would be just enough to push me toward that three letter word he has been longing for me to say. whilst our proximity doesn’t do that just yet, the frequent motion of tom’s hips rocking against my waist reminds me just how desperate he is, the hardness evident through his boxers - not that the cotton left much to be imagined anyway.

“baby i’m tired, tomorrow, okay?” i sigh out, half-heartedly pushing tom away as a frustrated groan leaves his lips. though he fails to see the mischievous grin that spreads across my face with the small push that i place to his chest when he flops beside me, clearly not understanding what i am doing. honestly, i wouldn’t have minded lazy sex - tom never complains when he does all the work and, if i give in, it will make him shut up, his whining already getting on my nerves, whether he is trying to irritate me or not. but, watching the way his face furrows in utter frustration, wincing every so often at the pain that begs for a release from underneath his boxers, gives me the motivation to tease him just a little more - but in the end, i am more than willing to give him what he wants, or at least, meet in the middle.

“fuck.” he mutters under his breath, wincing a little at my response, eyes squeezing shut as his chest heaves up and down, loud and shaky breaths escaping his lips, making it hard to close my eyes and finally fall asleep. i know that he won’t give up yet, so, i lay silently, wondering how long it will take for him to continue pleading me to let go and give him what he wants. and, as expected, not even two minutes pass before his hand snakes around my waist from behind? his body pressing itself firmly against my back.

“this isn’t gonna go away baby, shit- i’m sorry, just, please…let me do something.” he sighs out, a low whine following his plea, hand firmly squeezing my waist whilst his head buries itself into my neck, teeth digging into the skin softly. “fuck- need you so bad, please.”

a small laugh leaves my lips, stifled quickly once i purse them shut, thinking out loud as my amusement towards his desperation quickly becomes evident. tom stops his slow kisses against my neck, whipping his head upward in confusion, failing to see how i could possibly be laughing right now. “what’s so funny? seriously schatz, this fucking hurts. please, just let me take care of it. i won’t be long, just need to feel you.”

his voice reduces to a mumble, eyebrows knitting together once again, though a wave of relief visibly washes over his expression when i roll my eyes, sighing in -totally forged- annoyance, though he doesn’t recognise that. all he realises is that he is getting something, not even completely sure what, but in this moment, anything at all would be enough for him to release - he is far too desperate to be picky. soon enough, he hauls himself up, hurriedly undoing the button of his oversized jeans and tugging them from his frame, carelessly throwing them onto the floor. and god, if i had thought his problem looked bad through the denim, then i am quickly proven wrong, the firm print of his dick through his boxers almost painfully prominent. his hand brushes against it, the cotton of his underwear now creating more friction, his head falling backward as a low groan sounds from the back of his throat, showing just how sensitive he really is, and now i know that it won’t take a lot to give him what he craves.

he quickly moves to climb on top of me, not getting far as my hand rests flat against his bare chest, halting his movement. his eyebrows furrow in confusion, mouth opening to protest my resistance, though i interject, deciding that if he wants me that badly, then he shouldn’t complain about how he gets me.

“mmm, no. sit back baby, i want to try something.” i whisper, teeth grazing the skin just below his ear, tongue running over it afterward as his eyes flutter open and closed, mouth hanging open with a small smirk on his face. he nods his head quickly, sliding backward until his upper half rests against the headboard, head tilted upward and legs sprawled onto the bed. his hands however, fail to be so still, reaching outward hopelessly and grabbing me by my waist, fingers digging into the flesh as he pulls me on top of him.

he winces loudly once i sit directly on top of his chest, the sound soon turning into a low moan, mouth dropping downward into an ‘o’ shape at the dangerously addictive mix of pain and pleasure that i give him. i smirk in satisfaction at his desperation, finding it almost pitiful, watching intently at the way his eyes flutter, on the verge of closing, though they manage to stay half lidded, soon shooting open when my small fingers make contact with the waistband of his boxers. his breathing becomes more erratic, hands flying to my hips once more, chest rising up and down at an even faster pace. right now, wearing only a small pair of shorts and crop top appears to work perfectly in my favour, and tom’s, as his hands reach to pull the strap down, lips soon attaching themselves to my breast, whilst my own hands move my shorts down my body, tugging tom’s boxers down soon after.

his eyes are fixed on where our bodies connect once i line myself up, sliding down onto him at an agonisingly slow pace, wincing slightly at the feeling of being stretched out, going from being totally empty to so full within the space of a few seconds. tom is way out of it, and had been ever since i began to sink onto him, his mouth uttering low curses and grunts under his breath, nails digging into the flesh of my waist, teeth occasionally digging into his bottom lip.

“fuck schatz, yeah…you’re so tight, so good for me.” he utters when i bottom out, though his satisfaction doesn’t last long, eyes quickly opening once he realises that i am not moving, instead staying still with him still inside of me. he decides against questioning my behaviour, his hips beginning to thrust upwards as a slow pace, incoherent whines leaving his lips as he does so.

“ah ah ah…” i begin, lifting my hips upward and almost completely off of him, hand moving to rest firmly against his chest. he slows his movements, pushing my hips so that he is inside of me once again. “no moving baby, just let me sit. stay still, okay?”

i clench around him unconsciously, moaning quietly as he groans under his breath, clearly holding back from snapping his hips upward again. “fuck baby, you’re fucking killing me, you know that?” he confesses, shaking his head slowly, eyes lustful as they stare into my own, the pools of brown silently communicating exactly what he wants to do, the intent behind them nothing close to innocent. but, no matter how tempting it sounds to let him take control, to reverse the roles and have me pinned beneath him, thrusting in and out of me whilst muttering confirmations of how good i feel, how perfect i am, i enjoy seeing him like this, completely helpless underneath me, begging for something, anything, other than the teasing that i keep up, and i don’t intend on giving in.

“you wanted this, right?” i taunt, lips curving upward into an innocent smile, my thoughts anything but, aware of what i am doing, the frustration that takes over his expression proof of my success. “i thought you wanted me, like this…” my voice is low and suggestive, thick as honey, words as addictive as a drug, and he continues to take them all in. my lips make contact right next to his ear, slowly kissing just below it, digging my teeth in afterward, his hips jolting upward at the sensation. and if that wasn’t enough, when i adjust myself on top of him, moving my lips ever so slightly, that is when he loses it, head quickly rolling backward, mouth dropping open, a deep groan sounding from the back of his throat.

“oh my god, fuck- you’re driving me insane, please just- do something.” his voice is shaky, cut off by small groans, his tongue coming outward to play with his lip ring, flicking the silver metal in small circles, all whilst his eyes never leave my own, the desperation within them never diminishing.

“nope, you’ll live baby.” i state in response, leaning forward and resting my chest against his, wrapping my arm around his frame and sighing nonchalantly, closing my eyes. “i told you i was tired.” as i do so, he shifts his weight underneath me, slightly altering the angle that his dick rests inside of me, his eyes squeezing shut at the feeling. no matter how much he wants something more, he doesn’t refuse my embrace, wrapping his arms around my back, his hands tracing circles along the bare skin, lifting up my crop top and resting underneath it.

minutes pass like this, my walls clenching around him every so often, getting him just a little more riled up, enough to make him sigh out in pleasure and groan at the feeling of slight relief, though it is never enough to satisfy him, just enough to keep him on the verge of losing his mind, to keep him guessing, waiting for something more than just being inside of me. this feels like more of a punishment than a reward to him, the frustrated groans he lets out only seeming to get louder, though he doesn’t give in, knowing that he could thrust upwards into me - all it would take is a slight movement of his hips and he would have me, yet he holds back, almost testing his own willpower, even though we both know that it is non-existent, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself otherwise.

and it doesn’t take long for him to finally reach his breaking point, no longer able to handle just having me here, sitting beneath me helplessly, his mind encouraging him to move, whilst his body is too desperate, too completely needy, to even comply with his unholy thoughts. instead, he voices them as a request, trying once again to elicit something from my own still body.

“kiss me.” he mutters into the silence as my head remains rested in the crook of his neck, hearing slightly muffled. though the quiet doesn’t show it, he is becoming more restless, breathing getting louder and faster, his hold on me tighter, almost inaudible whines sounding from the back of his throat every so often.

“hm?” i mumble half-heartedly, lacking the energy to lift my head upward from where it had been resting, staying still within his embrace instead. my thumbs trace the firmness of his back, travelling over each bump, each muscle, all coated with a thin line of sweat, all of it evidence of just how needy he is for this.

“i said kiss me.” he repeats, somewhere on the verge of desperation and frustration, clearly not willing to let me take control of him anymore. as he speaks, his hand moves from my back, making contact with my chin, using it to lift my head upward so my eyes look straight into his own, faces inches apart. warm and heavy, his breath fans against my face when he speaks, the close proximity and admitted need for him creating a light shade of pink to etch upon my cheeks, though it is nothing compared to the helplessness that tom displays, his words proving it if that isn’t enough. “no more games. just fucking kiss me.”

something inside me snaps. whether it is the close proximity, his enticing gaze, or the time that i have spent on top of him, doing nothing to pleasure either of us, it doesn’t matter anymore. all that i am certain of is that i no longer want to tease him, placing my lips onto his quickly. the kiss is slow and gentle as i initiate it, tom reciprocating it, his shoulders quickly relaxing as he already receives some relief after waiting for so long. though it is too soft, too reluctant, too tender for him. he wants more, and he wastes no time in acting on his desire, pressing his lips more firmly against my own, deepening the kiss and biting down roughly onto my bottom lip as it parts in response, allowing him to slip his tongue inside.

and when my hips jolt upwards slightly at his sudden movement, he soon realises that he has me where he wants - still inside of him, and that realisation is all it takes for his hips to snap upwards, thrusting in and out of me at a fast pace. his hands find my lower back, trailing down to my ass and roughly cupping the flesh, using them to quicken his thrusts and allow my bounces to meet them, fingers leaving harsh red marks in place of the soft skin. the distance between our faces only increases beyond a few inches once i let out a loud moan, smiling in satisfaction.

he places one final kiss on my lips, flipping us over in one swift motion whilst staying inside of me. i cry out when his tip hits the sensitive spot inside of me, though i soon play it off, attempting to return my facial expression to something as close as neutral as i can get it - on the inside, i am screaming, silently begging for him to carry on. but he doesn’t. his eyes twinkle with satisfaction, enjoying the way i lay helplessly beneath him, even though moments ago, the roles were completely reversed. he picks up on my attempt to act casual, aware that i am just as desperate as he is, if not more, my entire being transparent, almost pathetically easy to decipher to him.

“this whole nonchalant act doesn’t suit you baby. you can stop acting like you don’t want it, we both know you’ll be screaming in a couple minutes, watch.”

those are the final words he says before reconnecting his lips to mine and speeding up his thrusts, soon proving his bold statement to be nothing short of the truth, making my temporary dominance seem a fragment of my imagination within seconds.

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

#tom kaulitz #tokiohotel #kaulitz twins #tom kaulitz x reader #tomkaulitz #tom kaulitz smut #kaulitz #tom kaulitz angst #tom kaulitz fluff #bill kaulitz

[ihadlife]

Achilles' Heel

pairing: (aged up) pro hero!Bakugo Katsuki x fem!reader

word count: 10.2k

synopsis: You and Bakugo aren't dating, so you can't be really mad when he's toying with you. What you can be, though, is miserable. Especially when you get laid off from work. And to whose else's arms can you run into other than the person who's hurting you the most. 

tags: 18+, adult content, fem!reader, fem gendered pronouns and pet names, angst, so much fucking angst, baby trapping, unprotected sex, dumbification, masturbation, dom/sub dynamics, dirty talking, oral sex (male and female receiving), praise kink, degradation kink, impact play, unrequited love, reader and other people smoke, reader has crippling mommy issues and self-isolates, the worst possible decisions ever made at all times, toxicity contest between reader and Bakugo i guess

an: crossposted on ao3. reader makes decisions so bad i wanted to smack her head against concrete all the time. if you're reading this for the smut i suggest you skip this one, it's not centered around it. it was pain in the ass to write bakugo’s direct speech but if it doesn’t make sense from an accent standpoint i’m begging you let me know and i’ll adjust it. and as always, english is my second language so if you spot any mistakes or even typos pls let me know.

“I get that he was like… busy, and probably exhausted after, but he could’ve sent me a message at least, you know?” 

“Yeah, I’ve been telling you he’s a dick.” 

Your best friend inhaled the cold autumn air through the tobacco and filter in their cigarette, filling their lungs with smoke before exhaling it, letting it mix with the breeze. 

“He’s not a dick… there’s just a lot on his plate.” You tried defending him, but even to your own ears, the words that had left your mouth sounded pathetic and feeble. “God knows how I would’ve acted if I had his job.” 

You were looking down at your own hands, playing with the handle of the mug that was now empty, the coffee in it long gone. You didn’t even have to look up to know that your friend was giving you a dirty look. 

To be fair, they weren't completely wrong. You still couldn’t get behind their words – a dick – but you more or less agreed with their general idea: he wasn’t treating you right and you deserved better. 

Knowing and realising all that, you still couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it. 

“You would’ve been honest and communicated.” They took another drag through their cigarette. “And he should be too. If he wants to keep a relationship.” 

The truth was, he had a demanding job. Being a pro hero and saving people’s lives almost every single day was taxing. Not only physically, but also mentally. You understood that. You had let him know that you understood. 

Still, as your friend said, and even as your own head was telling you, wanting him to communicate his needs and intentions beforehand was the bare minimum. Not even letting a problem arise and preventing it. Because he should have cared. 

The thing that hurt you the most was that it hadn’t always been like that. 

At the start, when you two met, he was attentive. Funny. Kind. Charming. You were sure he was still the same person, only not towards you. Not anymore, at least.

You entertained your friend and they tried to distract you from your own thoughts for about another hour before you both got up and went separate ways, counting on seeing each other sometime in the next two weeks again. Not that any of you could make it longer without seeing each other. 

You decided to take the longer walk home, hop to a small market on your way and buy some necessities you needed. Maybe pick up something small to treat yourself. 

Your heels were clapping on the sidewalk loudly, your tempo moderate. Your feet hurt after spending the entire day in your heels and once again you cursed yourself for choosing this type of footwear when you had known you would have to spend an entire day in them. There was a huge blister forming on your right Achilles, you were sure. 

You fished your phone from your purse without even thinking about it, your thumbs moving on the screen as if they’d had a mind of their own. Or maybe it was a muscle memory at this point. 

You opened the messages app on your phone and stared at the screen. Maybe hoping that if you stared long and hard enough, you would somehow manifest his response. Or maybe he would even open and read the message instead of leaving you on delivered. 

I’m sorry to hear that! You really should take a few days off, you deserve it :( 

Pathetic. 

Scoffing at yourself you put your phone back into your purse and entered the small market. After greeting the lady who owned the shop you grabbed a basket and started browsing the isles. 

You liked this market. The owner was aloof, she never asked you personal questions. You had been going here for long enough for the lady to remember you, you were one of the regular customers, yet she treated you like a stranger every time. 

You appreciated that. This kind of curtness. 

You began your usual route around the small store – a route you’d walked so many times you would be able to walk it with a scarf around your eyes without bumping into a single thing. 

You idly strolled through the shop, picking up the stuff you needed. 

Toast bread. 

A premade sandwich with cheese, ham, and cucumber. 

Spam ham. 

Canned fish. 

A few packets of instant ramen. 

Cheap coffee. 

Two single rolls of toilet paper. 

Two bottles of soju. 

Your feet stopped once you were in front of the register. You put the basket on the counter with a tiny smile and waited for the owner to scan the items. 

Your eyes slid from the small woman to the stand next to the register, where the magazines were, all kinds together. The serious ones and the ones that just wrote about celebrity gossip. Living and lifestyle ones. Ones for teenagers. Weekly sudokus and crossword puzzles. 

You weren’t the same scared, shy, uncertain intern as you were a few years ago. You’ve earned your place in the publishing company; you were a proper columnist at that point. So when your boss had assigned you the interview with the pro hero that would be the main feature of the next issue, you had been elated and had readily accepted the task. You had been sure this would help further your career. Maybe help you get a raise. 

As you had soon learned, you might have been a good columnist, but you were still very much naive. You hadn’t gotten a raise. Nor had the feature helped the career. 

What you’ve gotten out of the interview, however, was your phone number in Dynamight’s phone. 

“Thanks for the interview, it was great.” You smiled and closed your laptop right after saving the file. 

“No, ya were great.” 

You laughed a little, bashful, a quiet ‘thank you’ leaving your lips as you put your laptop into its case and into your faux leather bag that was resting against the chair you were sitting in. 

“I mean it,” he leaned back in his luxurious office chair, his elbows resting on the arms of the seat. “Most of the interviews I do are real uncomfortable. People love bein’ nosy and invadin’ my  fuckin’ privacy.” 

“You can’t blame them,” you grinned. “Of course, they wanna know everything about one of the most popular heroes.” 

“And ya?” He asked after a slight pause and butted his chin in your direction. 

“Me?” 

“D’ya wanna know everythin’ ‘bout the most popular hero?” 

You didn’t miss the way he changed ‘one of the most popular’ to ‘most popular’. Shameless. 

“Uhm,” you bit your lower lip, not really sure what to answer. 

“Lemme take ya out.”

You couldn’t deny his attractiveness. His cockiness and the roughness around the edges were more alluring than you would like to admit. 

“Okay.” You breathed out and gave him a nervous smile. 

Were you ready to go on a date with a pro hero though? 

“Sorry?” You apologised to the woman when you realised she had said something. 

She repeated the total price to you. 

Oh, right. 

You fumbled with your purse a little and fished out your wallet. 

“Could you please add a bag to that?” 

The woman grabbed one plastic bag from under the counter and put it on top of the things you purchased, not bothering to bag them. 

“Actually… I would also like some cigarettes. And a lighter.” You put your wallet on the counter and started bagging the groceries yourself. 

“What kind?” Was all she said, but you didn’t miss the judgy look she gave you. 

“Gold Marlboro.” 

She turned around to retrieve the cigarette box and basic, plastic lighter in a bright blue colour and handed them to you. 

You finished bagging your stuff quickly, paid for it and with a goodbye exited the market. 

A silent groan left your lips when you felt the rocky cement underneath your feet again, the back of your shoe digging into your Achilles more than before. The blister was going to be a big one. 

The rest of the route to your home was uneventful. Thankfully. Once you opened the front door of the crappy building where you lived, you stood in front of the elevator. 

It was old, unreliable, and just barely held together. This is why you usually took the stairs, but the painful cushion filled with fluid made you reconsider your actions. You looked from the elevator to your feet. It was either the stairs which would abuse your blister even more, or the risky elevator. 

You sighed as you carefully stepped out of the heels. 

“Shit.” 

The blister that formed on your Achilles during the day must have popped and was now bleeding. Your entire heel and the inside of your shoe were stained with red that was slowly turning brown; the edges were crusty and flaking.  

“Great.” 

You bent down to pick up the bloody shoes in your free hand and started walking up the stairs. The stone and occasional tiles of the floor were just a tad too cool on your soles but you didn’t necessarily mind the sensation. It felt nice on your slightly swollen feet after the entire day. 

Once you made it to the seventh floor – your floor – you stopped in front of the door to your apartment, and with a loud bang let the shoes fall from your hand to the floor. The bag with your groceries followed suit and soon you were trying to fish out your keys from your faux leather shoulder bag. 

Your phone started vibrating, set on silent mode. Scrambling to quickly pick it up, you found your phone in record time and checked the caller’s ID, hoping to find a certain hero’s name on the display. 

Your eyebrows furrowed a little when you found out it was your mother calling you. Inhaling deeply and breathing out through your nose, you slid your finger over the screen and put the phone against your ear. 

“Hi, mom!” Your voice was too high-pitched as you greeted her. You leaned your head heavily to the side and squished the phone between your ear and your shoulder to keep your hand empty. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” 

You pulled a face at the pet name. You hated loving it. 

“Mom, I’m sorry, but I’m really busy right now. Is it important?” You slightly fumbled with your bag as you kept trying to find your keys. 

“Oh, no, I just wanted to call and ask how you’re doing,” you could hear the smile in her voice. 

“I’m doing fine! Listen, would it be alright if I call you tomorrow? I’ve got a lot of things I still gotta do today.” You were lying through your teeth. 

It took only a few more seconds of conversation with her, and you both agreed on a call the next day when you ‘have more time’. You tossed the phone in your bag and rummaged through all the things once again before you found your keys in the bottom corner of your bag and unlocked the door. 

 First, you walked into the small and cramped hall of your apartment and put down your purse, then just halfway stepped out of your flat to retrieve your shoes and finally the bag with groceries. 

Eventually, you closed and locked the door behind you, the grocery bag in your arms as you stepped into the apartment that was way too small to even fit a single person. Not even two steps later you were in your living room and bedroom and after three more steps and turning the corner twice you were standing in the ‘kitchen’. ‘Kitchen’ with quotation marks, because the very few cabinets with a sink and without a proper oven could hardly count as a regular kitchen. 

The apartment was horrible. It was in a worse part of town – not necessarily the worst, but bad enough. The prefabricated block of flats was old and in desperate need of renovation; the plaster on the outside of the building was slowly crumbling, the insolation was thinner than the walls between apartments, the pipes were rusty, and you heard that several neighbours of yours from lower levels had complained about mould. 

Most of the people here, except for a few old grandmas and young women around your age, were unfriendly. The neighbours, with whom you shared one of the living room walls, were too loud. 

Oftentimes, there were strange smells, ones you could not identify or describe. Whether they were lingering in the hall of the building or, for some godforsaken reason, in your own flat, they always lasted only a couple of hours. 

During your walks up and down the stairs to get to or from work, you’d meet people who’d make you cross the street if you met them in the city at night. They were mostly younger men with pronounced eyebags and a strut that was either overconfident or not confident enough. 

The only reason you stayed there was because it was cheap and the commute to your work from here was alright. Even with a salary that was too low for the job you did, you were able to afford it and even save a little bit of money on the side for any possible emergencies. 

You set the grocery bag on the counter and went back into the hall to take your probably ruined shoes, bringing them to your minuscule bathroom and setting them on the floor in your shower, deciding on trying to salvage them later. 

On your way back to the living room you took your work bag with you. Opening the window first and letting the cold autumn breeze in, you sat down on the couch and fished around in your bag once again, looking for the cigarettes and lighter that you put separately into your purse. Once you found it, you chucked the bag without any care on the floor and leaned back on the couch, putting your bare feet up on the coffee table. 

You hissed as the raw meat on the back of your heel came into contact with the old glass top of the table that needed some proper cleaning, but ultimately did nothing to alleviate the pain. Instead, you took a single cigarette out of the package and rested it between your lips, inhaling at the same time as your fingers brought the fire from the lighter to life. 

You left the cigarette hung from your mouth, held by your dry lips, and leaned your head back, your hands splayed on the sides of your body. 

The fact was, you were exhausted. 

And you didn’t even have a good reason for it. 

Sure, work sucked. You worked like a dog only to be constantly overlooked and not earn enough. You were lying to your own mother every time you talked, pretending you were much more successful than you actually were, trying to get on her good side and receive any bit of praise. You hated living in your apartment. You were seeing a man who probably didn’t feel the same about you as you did about him. 

The only good thing was your high school friend, always by your side and ready to lend a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen. 

Maybe you should go see a therapist. 

You closed your eyes and deeply breathed in the stale air that refused to move even with the window opened through the tobacco and filter. You wondered what Bakugo was doing right now. Maybe he was working on the paperwork in his office, sitting behind the big, wooden table that you’d once seen. Or maybe he was out, patrolling with one of his sidekicks, walking in the streets. Maybe he was covered with fake sweat, flexing his muscles for a shoot for another men's magazine. 

Your mind lingered on the image of that. 

His healthily tanned skin taut over his herculean muscles, the drops of water rolling down and creating a web of moisture, leaving goosebumps behind. 

You pressed your thighs together, putting a small amount of pressure on the nether part of your body. 

You thought back to all the passionate moments you’d spent with the pro hero. Bakugo might have been getting on your nerves lately due to his behaviour but he was an exceptional lover. He was the best you’d ever had, not that you would admit it out loud. That fiery personality of his projected itself well in the bedroom. 

You brought your hand to the cigarette between your lips, took it away from the dry skin and shook off the stack of ash that was growing bigger and bigger at the end of the tobacco. Even though the hot ash landed on the floor covered by very cheap linoleum that was slowly peeling in some corners, you didn’t care. 

“Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight, princess,” Bakugo was panting above you, the drops of sweat rolling down his forehead, neck, and chest and occasionally landing on your damp skin. 

Your pussy was drooling on his dick, your juices wet on your inner thighs as well as his entire crotch and lower abdomen. He was bullying your body with his cock, repeatedly slamming it in and out of you at a fast pace. 

“Katsuki,” you pleaded. You didn’t even know what you were asking him — to slow down? To change the angle? To fuck you harder? Your brain was a mush at that point and all you could think about was him, him, him. 

“Not my name, sweetheart,” he grinned and slapped the top of your cunt with his hand, successfully hitting your clit. 

You winced and tried to comprehend what he just said to you. Once the words registered, you corrected your mistake. 

“Dyna- Dynamight!” His hero name on your lips was cut in half by your gasp. 

“There we go.” He praised you. He didn’t move his hands from your hips when he angled them more, making your back arch and your pussy more open for him. “Your pussy fits me like a fuckin’ glove.” 

Your head was swimming from all the sensations. Bakugo’s dirty talking, his hot breath hitting your calves while your legs were propped up on his shoulders, the blunt nails on his fingers digging into the skin of your hips, the tip of his dick dragging along your warm walls while he made sure you could feel him for several days to come. 

“Look at ya,” he continued. “My dick feels so good’ya can’t even think, huh? Did I fuck ya dumb, princess?” There was a mocking tone to his voice while he talked. 

In a normal situation, if you were having sex with anybody else, you would’ve been embarrassed. Both about the mocking and also about the fact that he was right. To be fair, none of your exes were able to fuck you good enough to get you into this state. But with Bakugo you couldn’t even manage to form thoughts coherent enough to feel the embarrassment at the moment. 

“Dynamight,” was all you managed to let slip from your lips. 

With the cigarette still between your lips, you unbuttoned your trousers and pushed your dominant hand under the fabric of your panties, the tight cotton sandwiching your fingers between the textile and your cunt. 

You circled your entrance to gather some moisture, your pussy just starting to get wet. With the now slick pad of your finger, you moved it upward, tucking it a little underneath the hood to touch your clit directly. 

Breathing out cigarette smoke from your nostrils, you leaned your head back, resting it against the headrest of your couch. With your eyes closed and a gentle sigh leaving your lips, you started moving the finger in circular motions. 

“That’s right, princess.” 

Your eyes were watering as you tried to swallow around the thickness of his cock in your throat. 

“Fuck yeah, just like that.” His grip on your hair tightened. You were running out of air and fighting your gag reflex when you put your palms on his strong thighs, ready to tap out at the last second in case you needed to. “Choke on my dick.” 

Your nose scrunched up against the neatly trimmed pubes as you gagged hard and you quickly tapped his thigh. Bakugo didn’t release your hair, instead, he tugged your head backwards so you would get him out of your mouth quickly. Your lips were red and swollen, covered in your own spit and as well as his precum, parted as you panted for air. Two tears rolled down both of your cheeks as you looked up at the man standing in front of you. 

“Good girl,” he sadistically grunted through his gritted teeth. “You’re such a good slut for me, aren’t ya?” 

You closed your eyes as he gently, almost affectionately, slapped your cheek a few times. 

“Open,” was all he said as he pushed two fingers into your mouth, reaching so far into your throat it made you gag again. 

You grabbed the butt of the cigarette with your hand that wasn’t down your pants and leaned over to your coffee table to put it out against the glass. Leaving the butt there, you reclined against the couch once again, moving your finger from your clit back to your entrance, adding a second one to cover them both in your wetness and pushing them inside of you, immediately targeting your g-spot. 

“Don’t stop.” 

Bakugo’s hand on your hip helped with guiding your movements, effectively pushing you up and down on his cock as you rode him. You were so close to him your nipples were rubbing against his chest with every motion and you were practically breathing each other’s air. The tip of him was deep inside of you and rubbed against your g-spot each time you moved. Your arms were resting on his shoulders. One hand was leaning your weight against his trapezius and the other one against the god-awfully expensive leather sofa of his which you were probably staining now. 

“Fuck,” he groaned so quietly you were only able to hear him thanks to the proximity. “You’re mine, do you understand?” His other hand, which wasn’t holding your hip but was snaked around your waist and pushing in between your shoulder blades so that you would be close to him, moved upwards and firmly, but not forcefully, squeezed the back of your neck. The gesture only made you feel that much closer to him. You nodded your head as fast as you could, but that was not enough of an answer for him. 

“Say it. Say you’re mine.” 

There was a certain desperation in his voice. Desperation that you heard for the first time with him. 

“I’m yours.” 

The words silently left your lips with a puff of air following suit. Bakugo wasted no time and kissed your lips passionately, seemingly putting all his feelings into it. 

But you knew better. 

“Say it again.” 

“I’m yours.” 

The buzz of your phone vibrating in your bag next to the sofa disrupted you. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You let out an angry grunt. 

You debated not picking it up and calling whoever it was that interrupted you later, but decided against it when you felt a considerable amount of guilt in your throat. What if it was important? 

You quickly pulled your hand out of your trousers and wiped your wet fingers on your blouse, leaving shiny, sticky splotches behind. Fumbling with the bag a little, you managed to find your phone just in time, not even looking at the caller ID as you swiped your finger against the screen and put it against your ear. 

“Hey.” 

Your body froze a little at the sound of the unusually cheery voice on the other end. He must have had a pretty good day, judging by his tone. 

“Uh, hi.” 

“Ya busy?” 

You straightened on the sofa and tried to clear your throat as discreetly as possible. 

“No, I was just cooking, sorry.” Lie. 

“Cool. Listen, we haven’t seen each other for a while so I wanted to call ya.” 

“That’s nice of you.” Bare. Fucking. Minimum. 

“Yeah. I can’t really talk now, I’m ‘bout to go grab a few beers with my mates. I’ll call ya later, so we can talk properly, yeah?” 

“Oh, sure.” You turned your head to look at the clock on the wall in your kitchen. It was already nearing eight o’clock, just how late did he mean to call? 

“Alright. I’ll talk to ya later.” 

He ended the call sooner than you could say goodbye. 

Your hand that was holding the phone to your ear fell limply against the couch with the device still between your fingers. You didn’t know if his call made you feel happy or even more pathetic. 

It was good that he called you, right? He obviously wanted to check up on you. And also promised to call you again later. 

So why were you feeling like this? Where did this feeling come from? 

You gulped the saliva that gathered between your teeth and the flesh of your cheek, accidentally swallowing a bit of air as well. 

No, you thought to yourself. He was trying. That was good enough for you. For now. 

You raised your hand with your phone again and unlocked it, opening a food delivery app. You debated between classic pizza and maybe something healthier, but your finger ultimately landed on the pizza picture on your screen, successfully tapping it into the cart. You chose the address for delivery and type of payment and locked your phone.  

Releasing a deep breath, you stood up and with your phone still in your hand walked the few steps to your bed. The pizza was supposed to be delivered in 30-60 minutes. Might as well masturbate properly with your vibrator in the meantime. 

»»————-　　————-«« 

After giving yourself two orgasms, eating the entire pizza and drinking several shots of soju, you fell asleep on your sofa just a few minutes after midnight. Bakugo didn’t call. 

»»————-　　————-««

It was several days later that you heard from him again. This time, he didn’t even bother with calling you; he decided that two texts would suffice. 

hey, sorry for not calling you the other day, i got wasted 

you wanna see each other sometime again? ;) 

‘That’s not a proper apology. Send him to hell.’ your friend replied when you sent them a screenshot of said messages. 

You were sitting behind the desk you were assigned at work, your hands idly resting on the keyboard of your computer, but your eyes were glued to your phone that lay locked next to your cup of coffee. You should send him a reply. 

“Do you have a minute?” 

You jerked in your seat involuntarily, the sudden proximity of the voice effectively scaring you. Your blood rushed to your cheeks, heating your face, when you realised you were caught slacking off. 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You replied to your boss, not exactly enthusiastically. 

“Great.” He gave you a fake smile that didn’t reach his eyes and quickly left his lips and tapped the side of your cubicle a few times before he turned around and started walking towards his office, obviously expecting you to follow. 

You cleared your throat and got up from your seat, tugged your pencil skirt down a little and followed him as quickly as you could in the garment that was sexy and elegant, but also restrictive. 

You closed the door once you stepped into the personal office that was separated by glass walls from the rest of the cubicles where you and your colleagues worked. 

“Sit down.” Your boss moved his hand in the general direction of the seat that was positioned in front of his desk. 

The table was made of a grey and white particle board, as well as all the desks you and others worked on. The carpet in his office was originally the same shade of dark blue as the rest of the entire floor, but was less walked on and therefore managed to retain its colour better than the carpet in the rest of the space. 

The window behind his back that you were facing and that he liked to stare out of so often was as bleak as it always is this time of the year. The strange shift between autumn and winter when the weather gets even colder and the days even shorter, when you usually reach for your second-hand wool coat before leaving your apartment. 

“We need to talk.” 

You were fucked. 

»»————-　　————-««

Tears were rolling down your cheeks as you held the phone in your hand. 

When are you free? We need to talk. 

A small part of you wished Bakugo cared about you enough to actually get stressed after reading your message. But the more rational part of you knew that that wasn’t the case. The pro-hero with a super-inflated ego wouldn’t get anxious due to a mildly threatening message from an average journalist who had had his balls in her mouth not so long ago. 

Unemployed journalist. 

You debated calling your mother but ultimately decided against it. You weren’t in the headspace to deal with that kind of phone call. 

You also considered calling your friend. 

You didn’t, though. 

You knew they would pity you. You didn’t want people to pity you. You just needed somebody to listen. And maybe a hug. But none of the people you were in contact with or that were in your life would ever just listen. 

So you were left all alone with all these feelings that felt just too heavy on your chest. A lead that made it hard to breathe, a lead that your muscles had to actively fight against to fill your lungs with much-needed air. A lead that made you drag your feet against the pavement. 

Your phone buzzed in your hand. 

this thursday at 5pm, come to my apartment

You didn’t even open the message to properly read it, your eyes just skimmed over the message in the notification on your lock screen before you stuffed the electronic device in your bag once again. 

Good, you thought for yourself. You had three days to somewhat get your shit together before visiting him. As much as you had feelings for a certain pro-hero, you were not about to let him see you like this. 

Especially not since you were determined to end whatever the weird situationship between the two of you was. 

»»————-　　————-«« 

You rested the back of your head against the cool mirror behind you. The extra thick layer of concealer underneath your eyes to hide the dark circles was slowly creasing even though you’d used enough powder to set it… you could almost feel it. 

The Visine in your eyes to make them appear whiter and not like you cried just this morning felt unnatural – too watery and a tiny bit stingy when you closed your eyes for long enough. 

Your thought process? Don’t let him see your weakness. Don’t look like you actually care about this ‘relationship’. Could you even call it that? Could you call this situationship a relationship when he kept you secret from the public and his friends as well? When all he ever wanted to do with you lately was to fuck you? 

The odd smell of the hairspray that you had used deliberately to keep your hair bouncy was almost palpable in the air, even though you used quite a lot of perfume. Those two smells as well as the lingering stench of a cigarette you smoked earlier combined were almost suffocating you, pressing down on your person, making you feel smaller and smaller. 

The supposedly calming music that was playing in the elevator was paradoxically making you even more nervous. 

The trousers you decided to wear that day made your ass look extra good, but cut into your stomach every time you sat down – a decision you, again, made on purpose. To get it over with quicker. You can’t even really sit down with these on. Plus, obviously, it wouldn’t be bad to remind him what he was going to lose, right? One last look at your ass was all you were going to grant him. 

Saying that you were uncomfortable was an understatement. 

You lost your job just a few days ago. It was clear to you you’d have to consider moving soon; the shitty apartment you lived in was cheap, but not cheap enough to keep while unemployed. And now, on top of your job and an apartment, you were about to lose him. 

Maybe it was a good thing, though. Even though he made you feel like you were on cloud nine in the beginning, showering you with affection and spending most of his free time with you, lately all you’d been getting from whatever was happening between you two was stress and anxiety. Self-doubt. More insecurities. 

Besides, were you really going to lose him? Could a person lose something they’ve never had in the first place? 

Your mind wandered on its own to your favourite memory with him. It was still quite fresh, you could remember it as if it had happened a few days ago, even though in reality it had been weeks. 

Your head resting on Bakugo’s thigh, the sound of the television and the feeling of his fingers playing with your hair inevitably lulling you to sleep. Your belly was comfortably full thanks to the amazing dinner Bakugo had cooked for you. 

“You’re sleepin’.” 

“Am not.” You replied, but you could hear it in your own voice, the tiredness and how you slightly slurred your words, your eyes still closed. His smell and proximity was just making you feel so, so safe.

A sigh left your lips as your hand moved on its own and started rummaging in the small purse that you’d brought with you. The fluorescent light in the elevator did nothing to flatter your appearance, quite the opposite, actually. You found the lip gloss you were wearing that day in the depths of your bag and reapplied it generously. You gave yourself another look in the mirror as you stuffed the small thing back into the bag. 

God, it looked like you’d tried too hard. 

Quickly, with only a few stories left, you tried to card your fingers through your hair to make them messier and ruin your appearance a little. Your hand flew to your lips to wipe off all the gloss you’d just put on as the door of the elevator opened to Bakugo’s floor. 

You hesitantly stepped inside of the apartment and took off your shoes, the elevator door closing behind you. Leaving your coat and scarf on the hanger that was situated in the dead end of the hallway, you then stepped in the other direction to actually get further into the flat. 

Your feet were quiet on the overpriced Persian runner rug, so you called his name to announce your arrival. 

“Hey.” 

You were looking directly at his back as you walked into the more open space and the centre of the floor. With his back to you and broad shoulders covered by a simple oversized black hoodie, he was standing right in front of a kitchen counter, probably mixing something judging by the sound of it. 

“Hi.” You replied, your voice lacking the usual enthusiasm that laced it whenever you were with him. You put your purse on the couch in the living area and walked closer to where Bakugo was standing. 

“Hope you’re hungry.” He said without raising his head or really looking at you. 

When you came close enough, you were actually able to see what he was cooking – tamagoyaki. 

“Not really.” You’d kill for some tamagoyaki at that moment, to be honest. “I'm not planning on staying long, actually.” You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned your weight against the kitchen counter, resting your hip against it. 

“Hm.” Was all he said. 

You watched as he poured another part of the egg mixture into the pan, helping it spread by tilting the metal and sort of pushing the liquid with chopsticks. 

Bakugo was an amazing chef. You’d asked him about it when you were eating curry rice during one of the occasions that you’d visited his flat and his response was a grunt and cookin’s not that hard. 

“You know why I’m here, right?” You asked. 

You hoped that he would say it first. Yer leavin’ me. You had prayed that he would say it, make it easier for you. Spare you from having to force air over your vocal cords and formulate the sounds with your tongue and lips. 

He didn’t. 

The silence stretched on as he seemingly minded his business, rolling the tamagoyaki into a perfect little roll and adding more egg mixture. 

“I can’t…” You started but cut yourself off. You gave it another thought before you started again. “This has to end.” 

Bakugo didn’t move a single muscle to indicate any sort of reaction he might’ve had. You watched him finally move as he took two bowls out of his kitchen cabinet and nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen aisle. 

“Siddown, food’s almost ready.” 

He started filling the bowls with steaming rice straight from the rice cooker while the egg was frying on the pan. 

“I said I’m not hungry. I’m not here to eat.” 

“And I didn’ ask.” 

“Stop treating me like a child.” Anger was gathering in the pit of your stomach, twisting it more than it already was. 

“Then stop actin’ like one.” 

A moment of silence. 

You were speechless. 

A lump formed in your throat, successfully gagging you and preventing you from defending yourself. You could feel them, the tears forming in your eyes, threatening to fall over your lower lash line and roll down your cheeks. 

“Please, siddown so ya can eat your food.” 

You swallowed around the tightness in your throat and just nodded your head, not trusting your voice to keep steady. Without another word, you walked around the kitchen aisle and sat down on one of the tall bar stools, resting your forearms on the cold granite countertop. The stone was cold enough to sting your already cold skin, goosebumps forming on your arms. 

After not even two minutes the meal appeared in front of you – a bowl of rice, another bowl of miso soup with tofu, a plate filled with cut tamagoyaki and a small bowl of steamed spinach with garlic. 

“Eat up,” Bakugo said as he put his own bowls and plate on the countertop, sitting next to you. 

The food was warm, filling your tummy with a nice feeling. 

“It’s delicious.” You complimented after a few careful bites. You meant it. 

“It’s alright.” 

Ever the critic. Even when it comes to himself. 

The two of you were eating in silence, only the sounds of chewing and slurping filling the air. 

Bakugo raised his eyes from his meal when he noticed your reluctance to continue eating about halfway through the meal. 

“Why aren’ ya eatin’?” 

You could hear the disapproval in his voice. Not worry, not even concern. Just disapproval. 

“Uhm,” you started, but couldn’t finish your sentence. 

The godforsaken jeans you’d decided to wear were digging into your stomach painfully, to a point where a sharp pain was shooting up your chest. And you filling your belly more wasn’t helping it. 

“D’ya not like it?” 

“No! No, that’s not it.” You moved a piece of the omelette with your chopsticks around on the plate. “It really is delicious.” 

Hmph. 

You chewed on your lower lip. Bakugo was obviously unhappy with your answer. He was still staring you down. 

“I’m wearing my standing jeans.” You admitted after a few seconds. 

“Standin’ jeans.” He repeated, obviously not understanding the term. 

“Yeah. Standing jeans. Jeans that look great when you stand up, but you can't really sit down in them because they’re too tight.” 

Your laughable reason was met with silence, he was obviously letting you stew in the ridiculousness of it all. 

“They’re too tight when I sit down, they dig into my stomach.” 

Bakugo blinked at you once before he rolled his eyes and without a word got up and left the kitchen, disappearing in the direction of his bedroom. 

You heard some sounds coming from the other side of the flat before he reappeared with grey sweatpants in his hand, handing them to you. 

“Change.” 

“I’m not going to change into your sweatpants.” You protested, looking at the fabric in his extended hand. “I didn’t even want to stay here. Nor eat your food. Can we just get this over with?” 

You were this close to begging him. This close. Begging him to say the final words, those ones you had no guts to really say. Even though they were long overdue. 

“Ya look like shit.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Ya heard me. Ya look like a’mess. Change'nto those damn sweatpants and finish your food.” 

You looked from his face to the sweatpants he was still holding out for you. Reluctantly, you took them and stood up, immediately feeling the relief in your midsection. You walked back into the hallway where you came from and disappeared in the door on the left – Bakugo’s bathroom. 

You peeked a look at yourself in the mirror immediately after closing the door behind you. He was right. You looked like shit. The concealer was cakey under your eyes; the foundation was sitting on your skin almost unnaturally, making you look like you were wearing some sort of a mask. The mascara formed spider legs on your lower lash line – where some stray tears had gathered. The Visine you had used obviously wasn’t working.

You could just leave the apartment. Just leave and not look back. Obviously, he would get the hint, right? 

Leave and not say a word. Save yourself from the uncomfortable conversation, the uncomfortable feelings that would inevitably bubble up your chest and settle in your throat. 

You sighed and put some liquid hand soap in your palm, turning on the water with your other hand. Smearing the soap across your face, you rubbed hard enough to get the mask off your face, so you could feel the inevitable tears on your skin without any barrier between the two. The soap was slightly stinging as it got into your eyes, but it didn’t stop you from rubbing your face with your nails until your skin was all red and the makeup was now underneath your fingernails. 

It didn’t matter if you wore your mask or not. Not anymore. He had seen right through it. Might as well bare yourself to him. 

Looking up at yourself in the mirror, you saw the black streaks of mascara all over your face, which made you dunk your face into the watery, soapy concoction for longer, until it was running down your forearms and to your elbows, dripping down onto the grey rug on the floor. It didn’t bother you at this point. 

You only opened your eyes again when you ran out of breath, now looking at beet-red skin with two bloodshot eyes that were staring back at you in the mirror. 

That would do for now. 

Opening the drawer underneath the bathroom sink, you knew exactly where to look to find the hair accessories Bakugo kept for all his hookups. Grabbing the ones you needed, you pinned your slightly damp hair out of your face. Stripping off your standing jeans, you folded them neatly into a nice square before you put on the grey sweatpants that were ill-fitting on you. 

It didn’t matter now. 

Didn’t matter what you looked like. 

You sniffled a little and opened the door, emerging into the hallway and letting only the slight taps of your feet announce your entry to the kitchen. 

Bakugo looked up from his meal, unphased, and nodded his head to himself. 

“Thanks for the sweats.” You put your jeans on the counter to your right, where there was empty space. 

“No problem.” 

That was actually kind of nice of him. 

Your brain whined in your head. 

He wasn’t supposed to be nice to you. Not now. Not when you needed a final push to end this. Like a coward. 

“Is al’this just ‘cause of me, or did somethin’ else happen?” 

You stayed silent for a while, instead putting in your mouth a spoonful of miso soup with a piece of tofu. 

Should you be honest with him, or lie? 

…It didn’t matter anymore, did it? 

“I got fired.” 

You stuffed your face with the fried egg. 

It was really nice to eat a warm meal after some time. Only now that you were wearing his sweatpants and your entire stomach wasn’t hurting from those damn jeans did you realise how much you actually relished the feeling of warmth filling you up. 

“Sorry t’hear that.” 

All you replied was a low hum from the back of your throat, continuing to fill the dark, empty space inside of you with the home-cooked meal. 

“Ya wanna talk ‘bout it?” He asked after a minute. 

You could see in your peripheral that he was looking at you now, pausing his eating. 

“Not really.” 

After that, the two of you finished eating in silence. Once you accepted that Bakugo knew you weren’t alright, the silence actually turned comfortable. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from thinking things over while the two of you were eating. Was this really the last time you’d ever see him? He deserved to get dumped for how badly he had treated you, right? 

Maybe he had his reasons. Maybe something in his life happened the same way you got fired just recently? 

You shook your head from side to side discreetly as you swallowed down another mouthful. It was too late. You came here for a reason, and that reason was exactly what you were mulling over now. 

Don’t be a fucking coward. 

It was the right thing to do. 

Bakugo treated you as disposable. If that was what you were to him, there was no reason for you to stay. 

Were you ready to prove to yourself that you truly were disposable to him, though? 

You realised you had been staring at now empty plates and bowls in front of you only when Bakugo’s hand appeared in the picture to collect the dishes. 

“Thank you for the food, it was really nice.” 

“Hm.” 

You stayed seated at the kitchen island as you watched him neatly put the bowls and plates into the dishwasher. It was obvious that he followed a certain system. You didn’t even consider getting up and offering any help. You knew him well enough to know that he would scold you and tell you to sit down again. 

Your eyes drifted over his body while he was bending down to put the porcelain away. The way his back muscles moved underneath the fabric, the way the dirty blonde hair at the nape of his neck brushed against the skin. 

You could almost feel it. Feel his muscles move under your fingers, taste his skin on the tip of your tongue. 

Your eyes followed his movement as he finally turned around once he was done, resting his backside against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes met and your look didn’t falter. It didn’t. 

“So ya wanna break up?” 

You let him win and looked down at your lap. All you saw was the grey fabric that belonged to him. 

“Is it really a break-up if we haven’t even properly dated?” You dared to raise your eyes again. 

“Fair enough.” 

It was him now that looked down. You won this round. 

You were sitting on the bar stool in silence while he was just standing there, in the kitchen, the kitchen island creating sort of a safe barrier between you two. Your fingers were fidgeting in your lap, trying to make your mind focus on anything else than what was really going on in your head. 

Don’t say it. 

Don’t. 

“What happened?” 

You winced. You said it. 

“Whaddya mean?” 

This was a mistake. 

You abruptly got up and grabbed your jeans from the countertop. You were leaving in his sweatpants. You’ll send them back to him sometime later. 

“Wait.” 

You could hear his hurried footsteps following you to the living room area where you collected your purse from the couch. 

“Wait, god dammit,” he grabbed your arm and spun you around so you could face him. “What didya mean by that?” 

You were staring at the neckline of his hoodie, tears smudging your vision. There was not enough of them to roll over the notional barrier, but enough of them for you to fear that they would. 

“What didya mean by that?” He repeated the question. Now that he was so close to you, his voice got much softer. Much quieter. 

That along with the smell of his cologne and deodorant made you realise just how much you’d missed him. The emotion filled your body with a strange feeling of sorrow and grief. 

His hand left your arm and you craved for his touch to return. 

“What happened?” Your voice sounded broken. It felt like it was another person talking rather than you, you couldn’t recognise it. “It was so nice at the start.” 

You dared to look up at him, which turned out to be a mistake. The movement sent the drops of salty water over the edge of your waterline. You felt them rolling down your cheeks to your chin where they connected into one and dripped down. 

Bakugo’s vermillion eyes followed the movement of the liquid on your face. He almost looked guilty. 

“I don’ know whaddya want me t’say.” 

“The truth.” 

He looked away from you for a few seconds while he put his hands in his pockets. It was clear he was debating it. Whether or not he should really be honest with you. 

“You owe me that much.” You encouraged him to talk even though you didn’t want to hear it. You wanted to be anywhere else with anybody else than in his apartment with him. Maybe you were a masochist. 

“I used ya.” 

Fresh tears started streaming down your face as soon as his words registered in your brain. His saying it out loud made it all too real. If he hadn’t admitted it, you could still pretend it was something else. You could pretend and make yourself feel better about it. When he admitted it you lost the possibility and comfort of gaslighting yourself into thinking he had a good reason. 

He had enough sense to look at the floor almost shamefully when he carried on. 

“I had a lottov things goin’ on ada time. Ya distracted me from it.” 

You blinked harshly to force the water from your eyes out. The gentle gasp for air left your lips even though you tried to fight it, to conceal it from him. 

“’M sorry. I thought I could give ya more, ‘cause you’re really nice.” 

“Yeah, well… really nice doesn’t seem to cut it, does it?”  

You both stood there in silence for a few more beats before you felt his hand on your cheek, his thumb smearing the tear away from underneath your eye. 

“Don’t.” 

It was a quiet plea, a quiet plea that sounded too much like a whimper, leaving your lips parted after rolling off them. 

“I meant what I said.” He pulled his hand away from your cheek, moving it to the other and wiping your tears there as well with the upper side of his index finger. “Ya are nice.” 

“Whatever.” You removed your face from his touch, eyes glued to the floor. 

“Spend the night.” 

Was it an order, or a request? You didn’t know, but the sentence froze your feet to the floor before you could turn and make your exit. 

“What?” 

“Listen, listen. No funny business. Just, spend the night. Ya can sleep inda guest room.” He added the last sentence almost as an afterthought. 

Your eyebrows were furrowed above your eyes that were moving from right to left, going from one red eye to the other, trying to gauge the sincerity of his statement. 

“Spend the night.” He repeated once more, his voice just barely above a whisper. 

Your mind was screaming at you to get the hell out of that apartment, but you felt yourself nod. 

A masochist. 

“Yeah?” He was making sure. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, not even looking him in the eye. The lump in your throat was making you feel like you could choke on it and you already felt bad for betraying yourself like this and agreeing to his outrageous request. You couldn’t bear the way he was definitely looking at you on top of all of that. 

Bakugo gently put his hand on your shoulder and guided you back into the heart of his apartment. 

“D’ya wanna watch some movie?” He led you to the couch so you sat down on it without any protest. 

“Sure.” 

He sat down next to you, not really close, but not far away from you either, turning the TV on and switching to the streaming service on it immediately. 

You kept biting the inside of your cheek and looking everywhere else than at the TV or him. Hearing the opening of a movie, you raised your eyes to the big screen mounted on the wall. Your throat went dry as soon as you realised what was playing. 

“No, something else.” You demanded quickly. “I wanna watch something new.” 

Bakugo looked at you for a few seconds and then nodded his head, taking the TV remote in his hand once again and switching the movie to a different one. 

The movie that he initially pressed play on was a movie you talked about with him. You could still remember how you gushed about it, mentioning how it was your favourite movie growing up and saying the words we should watch it together sometime. Of course, that 'sometime' never really came. So, now you wouldn’t let him do this. You wouldn’t let him taint your movie. This was yours. He had no right to claim this thing as well. 

You wouldn’t let him have this because that would mean that at some point he actually listened to you. It would mean that at some point he might’ve tried if he cared enough.  

The sound of a different movie playing commanded your attention then and so you tried to tune in as much as possible. Just from the music, you could tell that it was an action movie. 

“Real’ like this one.” 

You wished he didn’t say those words. 

»»————-　　————-««

You were probably in the middle of the movie and lucky for you, you were already able to say that you hated it. Loud explosions, ridiculous situations, plot with holes. Surprisingly, Bakugo liked a Hollywood action movie with too big of a budget. 

Your eyes drifted from the TV screen to the window. Living this high up definitely had its perks. The view being one of the main ones. You remembered how naïve you had been when this situationship started. How you had thought maybe if this goes well, I’ll be looking at the same view every morning. 

“Ya don’t like it?” 

Ever the observant. 

You turned your head to the other side, looking at Bakugo who was looking right back at you. You bit your lip and shrugged your shoulders. 

“It’s fine.” 

You didn’t want to be mean but you also didn’t want to lie about liking it. 

“Fine?” 

Wrong answer, apparently. 

“I guess I just wasn’t in the mood for an action movie.” You tried to calm him down a little. Lying it was then. 

“Shoulda told me that hour and a'half ago. Dammit.” 

You watched him as he grabbed the remote and exited the movie. 

“What are ya inda mood for, then?” 

You watched his profile illuminated by the light from the TV screen for a few seconds. He was so beautiful it almost pained you. The constantly furrowed brows you almost couldn’t see because of his hair covering his entire forehead, his perfect nose, the shape of his lips. His skin without blemishes, apart from a few small scars, even though he didn’t really have a skincare routine. 

You remembered how you imagined what your possible babies would look like. They’d be perfect. 

“So?” He asked impatiently when you hadn’t answered immediately. 

His eyes met yours when you decided what to do. 

Moving closer to him, you leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. Just as you remembered. He still tasted the same. It was Bakugo who leaned back, looking at you. Making sure you knew what you were doing. You leaned in more, kissing him again. Gently, almost tenderly. What if this was the last time you ever got to taste him? You relished the feeling, trying to commit to your memory as much as you could. His taste, his smell, the way his lips felt against you. The kiss got interrupted when he pressed his forehead against yours. 

“Are ya sure ya can handle it?”

You knew what he meant. Are you sure you can handle that, emotionally? Are you sure it won’t ruin you even more?  You couldn't help yourself. Bakugo was like a scab you couldn't stop picking at. An open wound that just wouldn't heal. He was your weak spot.

“No.” You said with your voice all breathy, kissing him once again, this time more passionately. Bakugo reciprocated without missing a beat, one of his hands grabbing the side of your face and the other one going straight to your waist. Not even a few seconds in, you swung one of your legs over his thighs, straddling him without breaking the kiss. 

You were eager. 

And Bakugo was just as eager as you. 

Part of your brain hated this. Hated how good his touch felt, hated how familiar all of this was. How safe you felt right in that moment and just how vulnerable and exposed it was all at the same time. You felt weak. 

Bakugo’s hand that was on your waist moved to your hip and gripped it tightly, pushing you back and forth, guiding your movements so you would grind against him. There was impatience in the movements from both of you. You knew where it was coming from on your end but the implications of it coming from him made your heart drop in your chest. 

“Need you.” You half whined against his lips before you quickly stood up and took off the sweatpants he had lent you. Bakugo followed suit – he took off his trousers hastily and welcomed you back in his lap with open arms, immediately grabbing at your flesh and squeezing what he could. 

“Couldn’t leave ‘thout one last fuck, could ya?” He growled against your skin when he moved his lips to your neck and started kissing and nibbling it. 

You let out a quiet moan and grabbed his growing bulge through his boxers, the thin fabric the only thing separating you from him. He was almost fully hard already, huffing against your neck as you stroked him. 

“Fuck, okay, lemme go grab a condom.” The hero parted from your neck momentarily and was about to get you off of him and get up when you stopped him. 

“No!” 

You surprised yourself with how quickly you objected to that. Bakugo stopped himself and gave you a look. 

“No,” you said calmer this time. “I wanna feel you.” 

You deserved it. You deserved this. You deserved at least one good thing in your life. And he would be the one to give it to you. You didn't need his love or affection. All you needed was a piece of him.

You pushed his underwear down just enough so his balls and dick, now fully hard, were free and stroked it, eliciting an almost painfully sounding groan from the man. 

“I wanna feel you tonight.” You repeated, pushing your own panties to the side and lining him up with your entrance. 

You definitely needed more prep than this, you knew that it would be an uncomfortable stretch and that you weren’t wet nearly enough to help with it, but you couldn’t wait any longer. 

You groaned from the slight sting, it was a bit worse than you expected it to be. 

“Shit, easy.” Bakugo put his hand on your hip to slow you down a bit. “No need’da hurry. We got all night, princess.” 

»»————-　　————-«« 

You sat on the bathroom floor in your mother’s flat, having to temporarily move in with her due to your unemployment. The phone you kept pressed against your ear kept ringing and ringing. To be honest, you were expecting it to go straight to a voicemail right away. 

“Yeah?” He picked it up probably at the last possible ring. 

“Hey.” You greeted him. “Listen, could we talk?” You bit your lip as you looked at the positive pregnancy test in your hand. 

#bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #pro hero bakugou #pro hero bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo x you #bakugou x reader #bakugo smut #bakugo katsuki smut #katsuki bakugo smut #bakugo angst #bakugou angst #bakugo katsuki angst #tw: baby trapping #ves writes

[itsbeeble]

LET LOOSE

SUMMARY: Younghoon has hated you since the day he met you. He thought you were stuck up with that better-than-you princess attitude of yours. What better than to just…fuck it right out of you?

GENRE: smut, fluff, angst, crack

PAIRING: Kim Younghoon x afab!reader (ft. eric)

WC: 5.3K

SERIES MASTERLIST

PERM TAGLIST: @juyeonszn @winterchimez

18+ MDNI AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

WARNINGS: Swearing, public sex, floor sex, academic rivals that everyone knows secretly want to fuck, enemies to lovers, missionary (that's a first wow), sexual references, mentions of alcohol, insults (not sexual), arguments, pining, mentions of killing someone as a joke, dry humping for like two seconds, making out, mentions of marking, mentions of oral, guys i think this is the least slutty fic I've written for this series, y/n is stuck in a perpetual state of denial, let me know if I missed anything but i think that's it

A/N: Everyone allow me to introduce Doll's less-slutty cousin!! I can't believe we're over halfway through this collab omg. I'm really glad people are loving this and I hope you guys have been catching the easter eggs me and Fawn have been throwing into our fics 😏

If anyone asked you what you thought of when you thought of local star student, heartthrob, and frat boy Kim Younghoon, you would scoff and cross your arms over your chest. 

“I hate him,” you would say, your lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed until they were practically touching. “I hope his house burns to the fucking ground.” 

One would think this was a gross overreaction, that you probably held a grudge over something stupid, or that he killed your dog or maybe he copied off your essay but made it seem like you were the one who plagiarized. And oh, how that would’ve been much simpler. 

The true story, however, goes all the way back—

“Thinking about me again?” A hand cracks down on the desk in front of you, your mind and body jerking back to reality. 

There he is, you think to yourself, the bane of my fucking existence. Your teeth are already grinding together, your grip tightening around the pencil you’d been using to write your notes and all he’s doing is standing there with a stupid fucking smirk. 

“Why would I be thinking of you?” You bite out and Younghoon places a hand over his heart in mock hurt.

“Ouch, sweetheart.” Your body stiffens and your face contorts with disgust at the nickname.

“Don’t call me that, douchebag.” Younghoon sighs dramatically, dropping down to be at eye level with you. 

“So cruel to me,” a pout, and then he’s smirking again. “What if I was into that, sweetheart?” 

You might throw up.

“What do you want?” you groan, noting how other students have begun to flood out of the lecture hall while you’re putting your things away. Younghoon shrugs, rising to his feet at the same time as you. Had you been a weaker woman, his height would’ve had your knees wobbling and your panties hitting the ground but, fortunately, you were a strong woman. Some of your friends couldn’t relate to that despite your very clear and very much valid hatred for him. 

“I just wanted to see what you were up to,” he shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking back onto his heels. “Considering that we’re now partners for this assignment.”

Your heart drops into your stomach, your eyes widen, and your cheeks are fighting between going pale and burning bright as a tomato.

“What are you— what do you mean we’re partners?” You echo, and his smirk only widens. Your shoulder bashes into his arm while you make your way to the front of the lecture hall where the list of partners is posted. He trails behind you, long legs making it easy to keep pace despite how impossibly fast you seem to walk.

“Aren’t you so excited?” He sounds too excited about this, and you have to physically stop yourself from grabbing him by the neck and choking him where he stands. “We get to work together for the whole semester!”

“I still don’t see how this is a problem,” Dawon tells you her tongue running over her lip as she watches you pace the length of your dorm suite’s lounge area. “Isn’t he, like, super hot? And smart?”

Your lip curls into a sneer and you whip your body around to look at her.

“He is not hot,” your voice has raised in pitch, your arms waving frantically. “He’s— he’s stupid and— and annoying, and he doesn’t know how to shut up, and his face— oh his face is just so— so—”

“Kissable?” Suyeon offers when she makes her way over with a steaming mug of tea. 

“I think rideable is a better word,” Dawon grins at the way your jaw drops at the two of them. 

“He does have a very rideable—”

“Okay, enough!” You snap, your face beginning to burn bright red in anger.

“Ooh she’s blushing!” Suyeon giggles and your face only burns brighter. 

“You both are insufferable,” you throw yourself back onto the couch, your head turned toward the ceiling. “Kim Younghoon is annoying, stuck up, and his face is not kissable or rideable.” 

“So you’re saying you’ve thought about it before?” Suyeon presses and you roll your eyes.

“Hell no. Why would I think about that?”

“Because he’s your mortal enemy and everyone ends up fucking their mortal enemy at some point.”

“Plus he’s a yummy, scrumptious, daddy cupcake.”

“Ugh, so true Dawon.” Suyeon squeezes your roommate’s hand, the two of them grinning deviously at each other.

“That’s— did you just call him— No, that’s not the point. The point is, that’s not true!” You lift your head, eyes wide with horror. “That only happens in books!”

“Not just books,” Suyeon raises her mug to her lips with a hint of a smirk on her face. “Didn’t you hear about the KAT and TBZ presidents?” 

“Oh my god, Eric told me about that!” Dawon gasps. “Apparently they—”

“I don’t need to know the details of their sex lives.” You interrupt again. “God, you two are just…”

“Don’t you just love us?” Dawon winks at you, and you wrinkle your nose in distaste.

“Let’s not go that far.” Her lips twist, and the three of you go quiet for a moment. 

“Why do you even hate him?” 

Ah, there it is. The same question everyone had been asking since the day you started at this school. 

Why do you hate Kim Younghoon? 

“It’s complicated,” you tell them what you always say. You tell them that it’s nothing they should be concerned about. He knows what he did.

“Then uncomplicate it.” Suyeon is much softer than Dawon, her eyes furrowed but not with the mild irritation Dawon has. It’s more…concern than anything else, and for a moment you think about telling them. Think about dropping your petty act, let them know exactly what about Younghoon bothers you so much. 

You open your mouth, and the two girls in front of you lean forward expectantly, practically on the edge of the tiny couch that had been squeezed into the suite.

“I can’t.”

“That isn’t going to work, sweetheart.” Younghoon says, waltzing up to you after your failed attempt to talk your professor into letting you change partners or work alone. Your shoulders are slumped in defeat, something that Younghoon seems to laugh at. “You’re stuck with me.”

“I really hate you, Kim Younghoon.” You lift your head, wanting so desperately to glare at him but you can only find the strength to stare blankly. He kisses his teeth, eyebrows furrowing.

“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” 

“Who cares? It’s true.” 

You want to scream. You want to throw your body onto the ground and throw a tantrum, to cry and whine, to kick and punch the air—anything to get out of this situation. 

“All this because I got a better grade than you in one class in high school.” Younghoon shakes his head, his hair falling into his face and obscuring his eyes partially. Your heart thuds against your ribcage (because of the memory, obviously). 

“You really think that’s the only reason I hate you?” Hint: he’s right for once. Would you ever tell him that? No. As far as he knows, you have endless reasons to hate him. As long as he lives, that list will grow. In fact, it would be better if he knew that you’d be pissed if he died before you because that means he tried to escape one last competition, but you’d hate it even more if he died after you because that means he would win one last time.

“That’s all I can think of,” he shrugs and you kiss your teeth. 

“Disappointing me again, douchebag.” He scoffs at that.

“Of course I am. When am I not upsetting you about some bullshit?” 

Oddly, this time you don’t answer him. At least you don’t give him an answer to that question. 

“Listen, Kim Younghoon,” you place a hand on your hip, shifting your weight to lean mostly on one leg. He leans toward you a bit, slightly angling his head as if trying to hear you better. “You’re the most annoying, egotistical, snobbish boy I’ve ever met. You always have this, like, need to be better than me— than everyone.” 

Younghoon inhales, his eyebrows knitting together and his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. You can see the irritation in his gaze, can see him fighting the urge to snap at you and it has your stomach churning. When he finally responds, it’s not exactly what you expected. You thought he would snap back at you, tell you to go fuck yourself, to call you the same insults you just called him.

He doesn’t.

“Meet me in the library at 4 o’clock.” Your head jerks back, your nose wrinkling with confusion. 

“Excuse me?” Younghoon just smiles coyly, already turning away from you.

“Don’t you wanna get this project done so you don’t have to deal with me?” He can practically see the wheels turning in your brain, contemplating all your options. 

“I mean yeah, but how do you know if I’m even free—”

“You’re always at the cafe at the same time as me,” Younghoon glances down at you, stepping to the side as he pushes open the door of the lecture hall. You say nothing as you push by him. “I’m starting to think you’re obsessed with me, sweetheart.”

“That’s not— I would never— how—” You sputter, stumbling over your words and waving your hands in the air while you try to come up with something to say. Something to deny. Younghoon begins to smile again, coy and near-mocking. 

“I don’t hear you actively denying anything.” His eyes widen and he bends forward, lowering his face to be near yours. Your cheeks are heating up, your mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Words. You need words. Why is nothing coming out?

“Shut the hell up, douchebag.” He laughs and your stomach churns again. Is he laughing at you?

“I’ll see you at 4, sweetheart.” Younghoon starts to reach his hand toward you as he leans up, but thinks better of it and drops it back to his side. 

“Yeah, sure,” you scoff and turn your back to him.

Fucking prick.

“You have got to be kidding me,” You toss a stack of papers onto the table you’re sitting at, glaring at the notes Younghoon wrote on the whiteboard. He’d rented a study room for a few hours, giving you time to start working. 

Or, at least, try to start working. You had made no promises about not trying to kill him and making it so neither of you could get any work done. Although, you had thought about running him over with your car so that you would have an excuse to work on this alone.

The blinds over the door had been shut, blocking anyone from looking in and potentially seeing you try to kill a man. Lucky for you.

“What’s so wrong with what I wrote?” He squints at the board and you push yourself out of the old, creaky chair you’d been sitting in. 

“It’s contradictory!” You complain, reaching around him for the eraser. He grabs your hand before you can do anything, turning on you with a scathing glare. 

“It’s not, though!” 

His grip tightens on your wrist when you pull it away. You narrow your eyes, but he doesn’t waver at all. There’s heat behind his gaze, heat that makes you nervous. You know he won’t hurt you, that’s not who he is. The heat though…that makes you nervous. It’s the same heat you’d felt several times in the past few weeks. 

“Let me go, Kim Younghoon.” He leans his head toward yours and your throat begins to close, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Not until you tell me why it’s contradictory!” He snaps. You swear your ears start to ring, your vision closing in until all you can see is Younghoon. 

“It’s— why does it matter so much to you?” His grip finally loosens and you rip away from him with a huff. 

“Because you’re putting down my work! Again!” He flings his hands into the air and you bite your tongue. “Why do you hate me so much?”

A lump in your throat, tears in your eyes, and Younghoon drops your hand. He looks defeated, his shoulders slumping and his lips set into a deep frown. 

“I just,” Younghoon sits in his chair, the old wood creaking under his weight. You stand in the middle of the study room, hands by your sides and your eyes flicking around nervously. Your posture is so tense compared to his, your eyes flitting around anxiously. “I’m tired of this shit. Not knowing what the fuck I did wrong. You never give me a reason and, at first, I was fine with it. I liked the casual rivalry. But now I’m just…it’s been four years, and I still don’t know what I did.”

“Choi Yuna.” It comes out fast, the name of your ex-best friend. So fast that Younghoon doesn’t catch it, he just stares at you with a look of pure confusion.

“What?”

You say her name slower this time, tugging at the edge of your shirt. “Choi Yuna, you dated her from freshman year until late sophomore year.” 

“Okay, yeah,” he leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “What does she have to do with this?” 

Your cheeks are burning, and you know he can see it. See how flustered you are.

“She was my best friend.” You bite on your tongue, trying to find the right words. 

“I know,” he said, and you purse your lips. “She talked about you all the time.”

“That’s funny,” you scoff, a spark of anger returning to your tone and to your facial features. “Considering she’s the reason I hated you for so long.”

“What are you talking about, sweetheart?” Younghoon huffs, rubbing at his eyes with his palms. You can tell he’s frustrated, so you speak quicker.

“She— she knew that I liked you.” His eyes snap up, wide and bulging. “She knew that I wanted to ask you out in freshman year, so she made sure to get there first. I— at first I thought that you knew that’s why she did it.”

“You thought that I knew your best friend wanted—” Younghoon huffs and rises to his feet. 

“Just—” You hold up your hands as he begins to step toward you, slowly backing you into the wall. “Just let me talk. I thought you knew, yes. She told me that you asked her out first and that she just— she just agreed. So yeah, I started to hate you. I started arguing with you and every answer you gave in class because I was just so…angry at— at everything, at myself.”

Your back is against the wall now, and you’re slowly curling in on yourself as Younghoon gets closer. 

“And…?” he cocks an eyebrow and your swallow thickly.

“By the time I realized that it was all her….at that point it was just easier to keep hating you. To keep everything at bay.”

“Everything?” He echoes and had you been looking at his face instead of his chest, you would’ve seen the smirk you’d always claimed to hate plastered onto his face. 

“Yes,” you groan and lift your head. Your breathing hitches in your throat, your body pushing even closer to the wall when you finally see just how close Younghoon is to you. 

Just a few inches from your face is his own, his eyes dancing from your eyes to your lips. His breathing is, compared to yours, slow and even. Inhale, hold, exhale. You can see his chest rising and falling with the rhythm. 

“Why—” you clear your throat. “Why are you so close to me, Younghoon?”

“No legal name this time?” He murmurs, one of his hands coming up to rest on the wall beside your head. His head dips down and now his lips are brushing against yours, every breath you take mixing with his. “What happened?”

“I just— you’re a little close to me.” Your hand presses on his chest, but it's as if you aren’t even trying to push him away. “We— we probably shouldn’t.”

Younghoon kisses his teeth, shaking his head at your suggestion. Arguably, it’s a wise choice, but right now he has you exactly where he wants you. If he lets you leave now, who’s to say you won’t pack your bags and take a one-way flight to Brazil?

“I’ve been waiting,” he says and you squeeze the hand on his chest into a fist. “For three years for you to get your head out of your ass. I’m not letting you go now that I have you.”

“Have me?” Your tone shifts into one of challenge rather than the nervous air you’d surrounded yourself with. “If anything, I have you, Kim Younghoon.”

You yank him to you by his shirt, reaching up on your tip toes to place a firm kiss on his plush lips. You hear a groan rumbling in his throat, the hand not on the wall wrapping around your waist and squeezing tightly. Your lips mesh together, but it isn’t messy. It’s slow, calculated just like every move either of you had made against each other. Every argument, every challenge. The build-up. It all led to this, and you’re not letting him go this time. He’s yours and Choi Yuna can’t take him this time. 

With a new fervor, both of your hands come to lace into his thick strands of black hair, effectively trapping his lips against yours. He drops the hand that was on the wall, both hands now on your waist and sipping under the loose fabric of your shirt. You gasp at the cold feeling of his hands on your skin, and he takes that opportunity to sneak his tongue into your mouth. It’s experimental, the way his tongue caresses yours, pushing gently and letting you suck at the warm muscle. He listens to the pretty little whimper you let out when he does the same thing in return and a shiver runs down his spine. His hand slides up the back of your shirt, emerging from the collar and lacing into the strands of your hair. 

Air. You had to come up for air. You needed to breathe. Your lungs are aching, but fuck his lips are addicting. They’re soft, and warm, and they feel so good against yours. 

Your knees cave slightly, your mind going fuzzy and Younghoon rips away from you to steady your body, his knee shoved between your legs to help keep you upright. 

“Sweetheart,” his tone is lighthearted, but you know he’s scolding you. “You need to learn to breathe. I’m not leaving just because you need some air.” 

A pretty little whine escapes you, but Younghoon is quick to realize that it’s not because you can’t find the words to respond to him. Well, if you think about it, that kind of was the reason. 

Your hips are rolling down on his knee, your hands gripping his shoulder for dear life as you ride his thigh. Your head is rolled to the side, your eyes squeezed shut as you try to find the right pace and the right amount of pleasure to ease your arousal. Younghoon’s jaw drops, and he feels his dick twitch in his pants at the sight of you trying so desperately to relieve yourself on him. Unfortunately for you, he notes, your jeans seem to be in the way of you achieving your pleasure. 

“Sweetheart,” he coos but his voice is shaky and he thanks god that you’re too far gone to notice. “Look at you, trying so hard to get yourself off.” 

You whine, and his breathing hitches when you try to ride him even harder. 

“Is it not enough?” He presses and your eyes fly open with the quick nod of your head. But then you shake it, and his heart clenches at the confused furrow of your brow.

“‘S not!” You whine. “Need more, Hoonie.” 

He smiles when you reach one of your hands down, undoing the button of your jeans and trying desperately to shove them down as far as they can physically go without interrupting your ministrations. To your dismay, they barely get anywhere before Younghoon has to set you down and starts to tug them down your legs gently. 

You never thought you would enjoy watching a man get down on his knees for you, never thought you could have this much of a reaction to it. Younghoon though…the sight of him looking up at you through his lashes, the nearly pathetic look in his eyes when he sees just how soaked your panties are— it’s enough to have you practically crumbling to the ground, your lips crashing against his again and forcing him back to lay on the ground. 

His hands are everywhere— your hair, your hips, your ass, anywhere he can reach. He squeezes the soft flesh of your ass when your lips trail down his neck, sucking little marks into the skin and pulling groans and quiet whimpers from his throat. 

Your hands run under his shirt, and he weakly tries to help you push it over his head to be tossed somewhere else. You shush him, a playful look in your eye as you place a finger on his lips. 

“Gotta be quiet now,” you unbutton his jeans, slowly dragging them and his boxers down and he lifts his hips to help you slide them down to his knees. He doesn’t bother with your shirt but makes quick work of your bra and shoves it up. You’re sliding your panties down your legs when he shoves his hands under your shirt, squeezing and tugging at the soft mounds of flesh on your chest. A quiet moan at the feeling of him tugging at your nipples, and his hands falter momentarily when you wrap your hand around the base of his cock.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he teases and you scoff while lining him up with your sopping wet pussy. You know he’s big, both of you do, but you’d never admit that to his face. Never admit that you’re nervous about taking it all in, nervous that you won’t be able to take him at all.

“As if your little dick could possibly hurt me—” your voice catches and he watches with strained amusement as you begin to sink down on him. Your walls are tight around him, practically squeezing the life out of his poor cock while you try so desperately to keep sliding down on him. Younghoon pulls his hands out of your shirt, sliding them down to your hips and gently rubbing them as a means to ease your discomfort.

“What were you saying about my little dick?” Younghoon sneers and you have to fight back the whine that threatens to slip out of you. He’s just over halfway in when you force yourself to give up, the stretch beginning to be too much for you to handle. “I could’ve prepped you, y’know? Made this easier for us both.”

You can only lower your head onto his shoulder, biting harshly into the skin while he flips you around and pushes your legs up toward your chest. 

“Hold these here, sweetheart.” You do as he says, gasping sharply when he begins to sink into you. 

“Fuck, Younghoon!” 

“Shhh,” he kisses you gently while continuing to press into you, using the width of his shoulders to gently spread your legs a bit further apart. “‘M almost there, I promise.”

“‘S too much,” you whimper, a tear slipping out of your eye and dripping onto the carpeted floor below you. “‘S too much, Hoonie.”

“I know sweetheart,” he coos and looks down at where the two of you are connected. He fights the sudden urge to cum when he sees the fluttering of your walls, sees them clenching around him, and trying to force him out. “I’m almost there.” 

Another whine from you and he quickly slides the last three inches into you, clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle the scream you release. He stays still for a moment, listening to the sound of you sniffling, and turns his head briefly to look at the door. A shadow passes by and he exhales quietly. 

“And you were worried about me being too loud. Who’s the one with a hand over her mouth, hm?” You can’t don’t respond and Younghoon pulls out entirely, leaving just the tip inside of you, and when you whine and let go of one of your legs to reach out for him, he sinks into you in one harsh thrust. 

The moan you let out behind Younghoon’s hand is guttural, and your back arches off the floor. His thrusts are rapid, yet he doesn’t falter in pattern. He sinks deep inside of you, punching into you so deep that you swear he’s going to hit your cervix. He lets his hand drop from your mouth listening to the way you try to hold back your noises. Every whine, every whimper and moan and cry, you try so hard for him. 

“Such a good girl,” he coos. “Keeping quiet and letting me fuck her real good.” His voice is so quiet, the words practically hissed into your ear and it’s so hot that your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

Your grip on your legs loosens and then your hands drop them entirely, letting them fall onto his sturdy shoulders. He watches as both of your hands disappear under your shirt and he feels a pang of irritation as you begin to play with your nipples. They draw sharper noises out of you, higher in pitch and slightly louder. Although, Younghoon can’t complain when the combined pleasure has your cunt fluttering around him and fresh waves of arousal washing through you to make it easier for him to fuck in and out of you.

“Hoon,” your whine is loud. Too loud. “So close, please!” 

Younghoon hushes you again, his hand running up the side of your leg and squeezing at the flesh of your thigh. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he tells you. “You gotta be quiet f’ me. Gotta be quiet so nobody walks in, okay?” 

“I can’t.” You sob out and Younghoon pushes himself closer to you, practically folding you in half so he can kiss you. You open up immediately, whining and letting him slide his tongue in for you to suck on.

Younghoon’s hips begin to stutter, his body shaking against yours, but you’re closer. Your body spasms, and you nip at his tongue to keep him close to you while you cum. Younghoon grunts at the combined feeling of your bites and the clenching of your walls around his length. It’s all a bit too much and it only takes a few more thrusts before he’s shuddering and collapsing against you, spilling ropes of white hot cum inside of you. 

He can feel the combination of his and your cum beginning to squeeze out of you around the tight fit of his dick inside of you, but he doesn’t have the strength to pull out of you just yet. You’ve stopped biting at him, your eyes squeezed shut and your mouth slowly sucking at the warm muscle he continues to provide you. 

Your body is sore, your thighs aching and likely bruised when you walk into your dorm a few hours later. You hadn’t gotten any work done after that, spending the rest of the time making out in a chair and grinding on each other like some damn horny teenagers. You know you’re a disaster, but you’re more than content with that knowing that Younghoon looks the same (if not worse). 

When the door clicks shut, it’s dark in the suite and you silently thank god that Dawon and Suyeon are asle—

“Where the fuck have you been?”

The lights flick on to reveal your two friends at the counter in the suite’s living area. Dawon looks furious, but Suyeon looks like she just wants to go to be. You grimace, dropping your bag off your shoulder and onto the ground next to you. 

“Out.” Your voice is hoarse and you grimace. You imagine your throat is a little bit bruised from…things.

“Doing what.” Dawon snaps.

“Or who, judging by the looks of you.” Suyeon clicks her tongue and rises from the couch. “Look at you! It looks like someone tried to eat you!” 

Dawon squints at you, and you turn your gaze to the floor. 

“You fucked him, didn’t you?” She inquires, but you both already know the answer. 

“Who?” Suyeon frowns. “Who did she fuck?”

Your nose wrinkles, and you turn to her with a look that says I think you know. Suyeon tilts her head, her eyebrows knitting together in thought. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

“Oh. OH— OH MY GOD—”

The Tau Beta Zeta frat house isn’t as bad as you thought it would be. At least not party-wise. The moment you and your friends walk in, you’re engulfed in noise, drunk partygoers, and scattered members of the frat. In one corner you can see what looks like two members of the frat making out with their girlfriends. Haknyeon and Changmin, Dawon said, Too bad they couldn’t find a private space. Damn exhibitionists. A smile quirks on your lips just slightly. Oh, if only she knew the truth.

You barely acknowledge her, however, scanning the room for Younghoon. 

“Eric!” You grab the passing boy by the arm and he jerks to a stop, nearly spilling the contents of two cups. 

“Yo!” He grins at you, and you can just faintly see the crinkle of his eyes under the red baseball cap of his. “What’s up?”

“Have you seen Younghoon?” Eric purses his lips in thought.

“You aren’t gonna kill him, right?” You laugh and so does he.

“No, not anymore. Or…I might if he doesn’t show up soon—”

“BOO!” Someone’s hands wrap around your waist lifting you off the ground and spinning you as you scream for him to put you down. Eric slips away, casting his eyes behind him to watch you and Younghoon as he approaches a girl in the corner. 

“Kim Younghoon!” You snap, swatting him upside the head. Your boyfriend smirks at you, bending down to try and give you a kiss that you block. “Don’t kiss me, you douche! That wasn’t funny!”

“It was kinda funny,” he laughs, swooping in to give a kiss that you choose not to block this time. It’s deep and slow, and he tilts his head to get a better taste of you when you bring your hand to the back of his neck. 

“Mmm, I think I like it when you don’t hate me.” He murmurs when he pulls back, grinning wickedly when you place a kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

“Do you now?” 

“Mhm.”

“Shouldn’t have scared me then.” You scowl, turning away from him and beginning to stalk away. He scrambles after you, frantically trying to keep up despite the crowd. 

“Where are you going?” He whines, grasping at your fingertips. You turn your head, a coy smile playing on your lips. 

“We gotta let loose, don’t we? We’re a little tense right now.” 

A puddle of drool is practically forming in Younghoon’s mouth and he’s suddenly in front of you, moving with a renewed fervor. 

When the door of the third bedroom on the right of the third floor shuts and clicks locked, nobody questions it. Not the thumping, nor the loud grunts and moans. 

When someone needs to let loose, people know better than to interrupt. Especially when it’s Younghoon and his former-crush-turned-enemy-turned-girlfriend.

© itsbeeble. do not steal, claim, or repost.

#blackoutorbackout🍻 #itsbeeble #reese's works 📩 #reese's pieces 🗞️ #reese's moots #ally~ ⛄️ #fawn~ 🧼 #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop smut #kpop fluff #kpop angst #kpop x reader #the boyz #the boyz imagines #the boyz x reader #the boyz fluff #the boyz smut #the boyz angst #kim younghoon #younghoon imagines #younghoon x reader #younghoon smut #younghoon fluff #can you guys tell that i cried writing this #almost didn't finish in time #actually i rewrote it like five times #couldn't get it quite right #but be glad it's not 10k jesus christ

[magicfootballstuff]

Debut (alessia russo x reader)

Summary: You’ve dreamed of making your WSL debut for years. But when the day finally arrives, it’s not how you imagined at all. The one person who should be celebrating the big moment with you, your girlfriend Alessia, won’t even look you in the eye.

———

Today should be the best day of your life. As you stand in the tunnel at Leigh Sports Village behind Katie, about to walk onto the pitch to make your Women’s Super League debut, you should be brimming with mixed excitement and nerves.

Your debut has come as a bit of a surprise. Playing as the number two to the best goalkeeper in the world, you’ve got a couple of cup games under your belt, but you’ve not yet been given any minutes in the league. In fact, today wasn’t even supposed to be your league debut, and wouldn’t have been if Mary hadn’t fallen ill at the last minute, forcing Marc to call you up to the starting lineup with just over an hour to go before kickoff.

Maybe that’s why the excitement hasn’t kicked in yet. Maybe you haven’t yet processed that this is happening.

Or maybe it’s because you had the mother of all arguments with your girlfriend last night and that’s playing on your mind instead.

You don’t even remember how the argument started. You might have left something lying around in a place it didn’t belong, or moved something of Alessia’s, or something else completely trivial, but bickering turned into fighting which turned into yelling and crying, which eventually led to Alessia storming out of your shared flat and not returning.

You assume she slept at Ella’s. You don’t care though. If Alessia wants to be childish and run away instead of working through the bumps in your relationship like grown-ups, then that’s her problem.

You should be celebrating today with her though. Your first league game for Manchester United - she knows how hard you work in training, how many hours you spend analysing world-class keepers to improve your own positioning, how much you’ve dreamed of today. Yet she hasn’t even made eye contact with you since Marc announced the starting lineup.

She’s behind you somewhere. You can hear her laughing along with Ella. Like she doesn’t care that she hurt you last night. Like she doesn’t care that you’re about to play the most important ninety minutes of your career so far.

If that’s how she wants it to be, then fuck her. You won’t let Alessia and her childish antics ruin your big day.

“You ready?” Ona’s accented voice asks, as she rests her hands encouragingly on your shoulders from behind.

In front of you, Katie turns around and gives you a reassuring smile, then says, “You’ve got this.”

You smile your thanks to Katie and briefly cover one of Ona’s hands with your own gloved one in appreciation. It should be Alessia supporting you right now, not them, but you’re glad that at least some of your teammates understand what a big moment this is and have your back.

As you follow Katie down the tunnel and onto the pitch, the reality of the situation starts to kick in, and so do the nerves. There’s a crowd of seven thousand people here, each one watching you and expecting you to represent their club. You can’t let them down. You can’t let yourself down.

In an ideal situation, you probably would’ve made your league debut against a mid-to-low table team, a confidence builder where making a mistake or two probably wouldn’t cost you the game. As it is, playing against Chelsea, you know you’re going to be tested all game and that even the tiniest slip-up could be the crucial difference between winning and losing not just the game, but the title.

Sure enough, you get your first touch of the ball less than two minutes after kick off, a tame shot from distance that you follow with your eyes all the way to you, not testing you too much as you catch it simply against your chest, before rolling it out to Maya to start the next phase of play.

It continues much like that. The game is intense at both ends of the pitch, two title rivals battling against each other, and you’re forced into a few more saves, though none of them are particularly difficult. Even so, when you head in at halftime goalless, it’s with a sense of relief that you haven’t let the team down yet.

You remove your gloves in the dressing room to take on fluids, accepting congratulations from a few of your teammates on a solid first half with a grateful smile. But when you sit down to listen to Marc’s halftime team talk, it’s only Alessia on your mind, and you zone out slightly from his words as you watch her across the dressing room. 

If Alessia feels your gaze on her, then she doesn’t acknowledge it. Maybe she really is that engrossed in what Marc has to say, maybe she’s just trying to spite you. But what remains when you return to the pitch for the second half is that the one person you want to reassure you that you’re doing a good job still won’t even make eye contact with you.

The second half kicks off with heightened intensity, just as you expected. Manchester United get the first chance, a shot from Ella that ricochets off the crossbar before Leah taps the rebound wide, but Chelsea have come out with just as much intent to assert their dominance on the game. Within just five minutes, they’ve won a corner and almost all of the red shirts on the pitch are crowded into your box to help defend your goal.

The ball is launched from the corner into the box and it’s a bit of a mad scramble. A United player tries to clear but only as far as the edge of the box, where it lands at the feet of an unmarked Chelsea player. They take their chance and fire the ball through the crowd of players towards the bottom corner of your goal.

An instinctive reflex you’ve spent your entire life preparing for kicks in and you dive to the side, just barely glancing the ball past the goalpost with the tips of your fingers out for another corner.

Frustrated with the poor defending, you get to your feet as Chelsea set up for a second corner, and bellow at your teammates, “Mark your players!” 

What they do on the rest of the pitch is something you have very little control over, but the box is your domain and if you have to shout at them to get them to do the bare minimum amount of defending, so be it. You assess your area as the Chelsea player sets the ball down by the corner flag, and you spot a blue shirt unmarked near the back post.

“Alessia!” you bark at your girlfriend to get her attention. Her stunning blue eyes find yours and your gesture with your gloved hand at the unmarked Chelsea player as you yell, “Stick with your fucking player!”

Yelling at each other on the pitch isn’t a complete novelty - there’s a mutual understanding between all the Manchester United players that any harsh words said on the pitch are for the benefit of the team, and though you and Alessia haven’t actually played many games together, you both know how to leave anything that happens on the pitch behind for the sake of your relationship.

Until today, you’ve never had to do the reverse. Though shouting and swearing at Alessia during a match would be fine on any other day, when you know it’ll be completely forgotten when the final whistle blows, your demand feels a hundred times more scathing when you remember the argument you had last night that still hasn’t been resolved. 

There’s the briefest of glares in Alessia’s eyes, but she’s not petty enough to risk conceding a goal just because you’ve fallen out, so she does as instructed and moves closer to the other player, positioning herself between the Chelsea player and your goal.

The ball flies in and you launch yourself in the air, fist outstretched as you try to punch it away, but it’s too high and you miss it completely. As you tumble to the grass, you see the ball soar almost in slow motion towards the previously unmarked Chelsea player. It’s Sam Kerr and you know she’s going to score, you know that your chance of a clean sheet on your league debut is going to get snatched away by the most ruthless striker in the WSL.

But then you see somebody else, a hero in red, throw herself at the ball too. Alessia has spotted the danger and she uses her height to her advantage, her head hitting the ball at the same time as Kerr’s. It’s just enough to stop the ball heading towards the goal, and though you don’t know exactly what happens next as you scramble to your feet, too many bodies trying to nudge the ball in opposite directions, a Manchester United foot eventually gets a clean enough connection to smash the ball out of the box and away from immediate danger.

And just like there are things that stay on the pitch, there are things that stay at home.

“Good job, Less,” you praise her, clapping Alessia on the back with a gloved hand.

There’s stuff that needs resolving off the pitch later, but Alessia has just kept your hopes of a clean sheet alive and more than deserves your praise for that. Her eyes soften a little as you revert back to using her nickname, before she jogs away back to her normal position in United’s forward line.

Things are far from back to normal but there’s comfort in knowing that whatever has come between you and Alessia in the last twenty four hours - and to be honest, you’re struggling to remember if it was even worth the raised voices and the frosty atmosphere between you today - you can still count on her on the pitch when you need her. You mind somewhat at ease, at least until the final whistle blows and you’re free to actually talk to your girlfriend, you’re one hundred percent focused on the task of keeping a clean sheet to help your team.

But if you’d thought the back-to-back corners earlier in the second half were a problem, nothing could have prepared you for what happens in the eightieth minute.

It’s getting desperate from both sides. Legs are tiring, challenges are flying in, cards are being shown by the referee. The football is becoming sloppier, each team fighting for that singular moment of brilliance or luck that could win them the game. As United win a corner at the other end of the field, they send almost everybody up to get on the end of it, leaving just you and a singular defender in your own half. There are so many bodies in the opposition box that from your vantage point at the edge of your own area, you don’t have a clear view of what’s going on, but you watch as Katie sends the ball flying in. Desperation sets in as the United players try to knock it into the Chelsea goal, then somebody goes down and you hear cries for a penalty, but as the referee waves the claims away, a Chelsea player manages to send the ball forward and suddenly they’re on a break.

You backpedal towards your own goal, covering the net, but a feeling of dread rises in your stomach as the Chelsea player drives the ball forward. She’s a substitute who has only been on the pitch for ten minutes, fresh legs outrunning the final United defender and now you’re the only one left between her and an inevitable goal.

One-on-one with the Chelsea striker, you have just a split second to decide what to do. If you stay on your line, the player has a choice of which corner to slot it into. If you run towards her, you risk getting chipped or dribbled around. Part of being a keeper is making decisions but right now every choice feels like it might be the wrong one that costs your team the game. 

Instinct takes over and you leave your line, arms held out as you rush towards the oncoming striker and try to be as much of a distraction as possible. As you get closer, you do the only thing you can and slide in for the ball, trying to smother it with your outstretched gloves. 

But this is Chelsea and the striker anticipates your move, attempting to lift the ball over your grounded body. Your defenders are rushing back to help you but they’re too late, you’re the only one who can stop an otherwise inevitable goal and as you flail almost helplessly on the ground, the ball hits your forearm and changes course.

You don’t know where the ball has gone and you don’t get the chance to find out because the momentum of the Chelsea striker sends her clattering into you, a knee connecting with your ribs and she trips over you and falls to the floor too.

Suddenly, you’re overcome with pain. You know you should be more concerned with where the ball has gone - it’s your sole duty to stop it from hitting the back of the net and it could have gone anywhere off your arm - but there’s an excruciating pain in the side of your chest where you collided with your opponent. 

You can’t do anything except lie there on the grass, curled onto the side that isn’t splitting in half with pain. You’re not aware of much around you, just unintelligible voices and somebody rolling you onto your back. Everything is swimming, indistinct sounds and shapes, until one piece of familiarity cuts through the blur as a hand finds yours.

You let your eyes flicker open and there are three people crouching over you, but you only have eyes for the one dressed in red, Alessia frowning down at you in concern as she clutches your hand and brings you back to your surroundings.

“Hurts,” you manage to grunt out.

“Shh, it’s okay baby,” Alessia soothes you, squeezing your hand. “I’ve got you.”

“Where does it hurt?” asks one of the physios kneeling beside you.

“Here,” you say, attempting to gesture to the side of your chest, but even that small action incites a sharp pang of pain.

The two physios start their examination of you, probing gently around the painful area, and as you become more aware of your surroundings, you remember that you’re lying in the middle of a football pitch, with twenty-one other players, a referee, and a crowd of several thousand waiting for you to get up so that the game can resume.

“Did they score?” you ask Alessia.

“No,” she tells you, shaking her head with a little smile. “You stopped it from happening. You did so good.”

“I can carry on,” you try to tell the physios. “There’s only ten minutes left. I can finish the game.”

Just as you say that, the latex glove covered fingers of the physio traces along your ribcage, and you wince as it grazes over a sore spot.

“She needs to come off,” the physio tells Alessia, before beckoning over to the bench. You see the medics start to enter the pitch with a stretcher and immediately start your protests.

“No, I’m fine,” you say, trying to push yourself up into a seated position, but there’s another stab of pain in your side and you collapse back into the grass, crushing Alessia’s hand in yours.

“You’re not fine,” Alessia tells you. “They’re right, you need to go off.”

“But…” you start, thinking of Mary, who was sent home to get better, and of the academy goalkeeper who will have to come on if you get subbed off with even less preparation than you had.

“But nothing,” Alessia interjects. “You’ve done your job. You’ve kept us in this game for eighty minutes. Trust us to take care of the rest. We’re a team, aren’t we?”

There’s a look in Alessia’s eyes, a searching glint, and you know that she’s not just talking about Manchester United and the rest of this game, but your relationship. She’s asking you to trust her, promising that she’s got your back, even if it might have seemed like she didn’t have it earlier. 

And because you love her, despite all the profanities that were yelled at each other last night, you believe her.

“Yeah,” you nod, as you allow the medics to help you onto the stretcher. “We’re a team.”

———

You’re sitting up in a hospital bed a couple of hours later, eating a yoghurt that one of the nurses brought for you, when there’s a soft knock on the door.

It’s Alessia, still dressed in her Manchester United training kit that she must have changed into after the game, and you nod to show her that she’s welcome to come in.

“Hi baby,” she says, still lingering in the doorway, with a softness to her voice like you didn’t fight last night, like you haven’t spent the whole day not talking to each other. “How are you?”

“I’ve been better,” you admit, finishing the last spoonful of yoghurt and setting aside the now empty pot. “Two fractured ribs. No football for a few weeks, maybe longer, depending on how it heals.”

“I guess you’re gonna need someone to look after you at home,” Alessia jokes.

There’s still something not quite right, a wedge of awkwardness between you, and you know it’s time to settle the disagreement that has made the last twenty four hours pure hell instead of the league debut you’d always dreamed of.

“Does that mean you’re coming home again?” you ask.

Alessia laughs as if the question is ridiculous.

“Of course I’m coming home.”

“Because I’m injured and you feel sorry for me, or because you actually want to?” you can’t help but have a little jab.

“I want to,” Alessia says, fully stepping into the room and taking a seat in the chair beside your bed. She reaches for your hand and you let her toy with your fingers as she continues, “I hate how we left things last night.”

“How you left things,” you remind her. “You’re the one who left.”

“And I’m sorry for that,” Alessia apologises, and you can see the sincerity in her blue eyes. “I needed some space so I ran away, which was stupid and childish of me. And I was still fuming this morning so I decided it was best to leave it and talk after the match, but then you got called into the lineup and we still hadn’t fixed things and then you were just lying there injured and barely moving and I’ve never felt so helpless. If I could take away all the pain you’ve felt in the last twenty four hours, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

You know that Alessia’s not just talking about the physical pain of your injury, but the hurt that she caused you in your fight and its aftermath too.

If you’re being fair, you probably hurt her too. You both said things that you wouldn’t normally say in last night’s argument.

“I’m sorry too,” you say, flipping your hand palm up and letting Alessia slide her fingers in between your own. “I think we both got caught in the heat of the moment. What were we even fighting about?”

Alessia laughs as she exhales, then says, “I don’t even remember. Something stupid. Something not worth me running away. I don’t want to fight with you again.”

“Look, we’re gonna fight,” you point out. “That’s part of being in a relationship. It’s not going to be easy all the time. But we can definitely be better at communicating.”

“I know,” Alessia nods. “That’s on me. I’ll try to work on it.”

“It’s on both of us,” you reassure her. “But thank you.”

A third person enters the room and you glance up to see one of the nurses who has been looking after you, middle-aged with a kind smile and a lilting Scottish accent.

“You must be the girlfriend,” says the nurse, addressing Alessia as she takes a piece of paper out of the file she brought with her into the room and jots something down.

“That’s right.”

“Then I’ll tell you the same thing I told her,” the nurse continues, her tone motherly but with just a hint of sternness. “She needs to take it easy while her ribs heal. No physical activity.” She gives Alessia a pointed look, then adds, “Of any kind.”

Alessia’s cheeks flush slightly at the implication, but she nods and says, “I understand.”

“Make up sex is off the cards then,” you joke under your breath.

You’re clearly not quiet enough because it’s not just Alessia who hears you, but the nurse too, who sends you a look of warning that has you sinking back into your pillows in shame.

“I’ve had enough athletes come through these doors to know exactly what you lot are like. I know you hate sitting still but you need to heal.”

“I’ll make sure she behaves,” Alessia promises the nurse. She turns to you, then adds, “Anyway, the better you follow the nurse’s instructions, the sooner you’ll be back playing football.”

“Exactly,” the nurse agrees.

“Did she tell you that she kept a clean sheet today?” Alessia asks the nurse, a hint of pride in her voice.

“She did, aye. Almost makes a couple of fractured ribs worth it, doesn’t it?”

“Well, Alessia scored the winning goal, so she’s the real hero of the day,” you shrug modestly.

One of the first things you did while waiting to have your ribs x-rayed was to check the score to see how the last ten minutes of the game panned out. Your main concern, of course, had been the clean sheet that you put your body on the line to preserve, and you were relieved to see that the academy keeper who took your place didn’t let any goals past her either. But you’d almost given up hope that United would score, which made it a delightful surprise that of all people, Alessia was the one to slot a winning goal into the Chelsea net in the eighty-seventh minute.

“It sounds like you can both share the credit today,” the nurse says diplomatically, as she clears away your empty yoghurt pot. “A good partnership in more ways than one.”

You look at your hand joined with Alessia’s, then up at the adoring look in her blue eyes.

“Yeah,” you agree. “The best.”

#alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #established relationship

[melinoelliones]

You were on your first official “dream first date”, cuddled up watching cheesy romance movies. However Micah Yujin, the cocky little hacker you met 5 days ago, wasn’t being so cocky anymore.....

MINORS DNI/ AGELESS BLOGS DNI/ ANTI DC DNI/ 18+

Warnings: neck kisses, oral, dry humping, hickies, teasing, early ejaculation, grinding, cursing, slight face fucking, slight choking, whimpering

1.9K words

SECOND PIECE OF WRITING LESS GOOOOOOOO!! Again I am still new at this so please don't jump me LOL. I know there are many mistakes, weird wordings/story so on and so forth but oh well. I played Error143 a while ago with my friend group, and since then this man has been on my mind 24/7. Seeing him get flustered in game reminded me of this idea I had stored away for a fic which I felt would actually suit him nicely so here we are. Hope all the Micah lovers enjoy. On a serious note I have never written for a gender neutral reader so please let me know if I should change anything! Also I’ve used the nickname Angel as one of the names since that is what he uses in game!

The image of Micah was drawn by @kamuyagi​ on tumblr and twitter so check em out! I was given the green light to use their art so thank you again, it was lovely speaking to you :)

"You... actually like this stuff?", you could almost hear the smirk creeping up on Micahs face while pointing at the screen. "Some of us like to bake, others like to lie in bed and watch romance movies, problem?", you questioned while glancing over at him with a stern look, "no no, I have no issues here, was just curious is all Angel". He chuckled away while watching you turn back to face the TV, his chest now pressed against bare back as he was pulling you closer into him.

THE Micah Yujin was in your bed, cuddling up behind you, watching one of your favourite movies, it was almost unreal to you. Who would've known this would be the outcome of deciding to hack someone 5 days prior due to jealousy.

You could feel every ridge from his toned stomach as you both followed along with the movie, you both were down to just your underwear as he had suggested you guys "stay comfortable" since you were spending the day binge watching cheesy romance movies.

You couldn't help but think there was an ulterior motive but he was adamant that there was "no funny business in his agenda today", even though you had to pretend to ignore the figure which began to press against your lower back every so lightly.

"Uh uh uh, what is THIS my love"? Before you could even respond Micah had covered your eyes with his hands so you could no longer see the screen, "this is FAR too PG for you don't ya think Angel?", his sniggering getting louder as you attempted to swat him away. "THIS is too PG? Micah they're only kissing, I don't even think they go all the way in this one", you couldn't help but laugh a little, he was so immature.

You rolled over to face him, inching closer to his newly flustered face, "How about I show you PG hmm?", your seductive tone causing his eyes to widen, your own flittered between his and his lips. The sexual tension in the air rising as you let your lips linger by his teasing him while moving to lay on his chest.

"You're such a tea~", you cut him off by crashing your lips into his, gliding them over one another. His hand slid up to your neck, gently applying pressure while lightly tugging you even closer, the kiss getting heated ever so quickly. Micah caught your bottom lip between his, gently easing his tongue into your mouth as you followed, you let him take charge just this once.

The sexual tension quickly turned into frustration, as he deepened the kiss you knew he wanted more, the soft moans leaving his lips told you more than enough but you wouldn't give it up that easily. You could also feel how needy he was yet he didn't dare to try anything further.

You slowly pulled away, a string of saliva linking you together as you sat up, he watched as your eyes moved from his lower stomach to his eyes. "It's pretty convenient that at your request we are both only in our underwear. It's almost like.... This is what you wanted to happen hmm? Don't get all shy on me now". The grin forming on your face causing the usually cocky man under you to squirm trying to cover his heated cheeks.

"Nothing to say for yourself hmm?" you frowned smugly while watching Micah struggle to get any words out, "a~actually I~". You felt him choke back on his words as you leant forward letting you fingers coiled around his already hard nipples. "Sensitive here are we Micah?", your words ringing through while snaking your fingers around them.

You could feel Micah swallowing down his moans on your lips as you placed small kisses down the side of his neck, sucking lightly on each left kiss while nibbling down. Whilst trailing them down to his chest you blew gently against the newly placed hickies, you felt his body quiver due to how tender the marks were.

Micah's eyes widened as he heard your breath hitch while jolting up. "Ah, and you told me to shield my eyes from a kiss in a movie?", the confused look on his face dropping as he followed your eyes to his newly grown piece that was now pressing up on your lower half, you took your bottom lip in your teeth as you cheekily began to grind down against it.

Was Micah really that turnt on by a few neck kisses? This was the same egotistical man that would boast about how you would definitely fold first when it comes to being in the same room.

You couldn't help but giggle to yourself quietly while watching him squirm under you trying to take any extra friction he could from your lower half to his, desperation looked good on him.

You crawled off him, you could almost hear him internally sighing thinking you were done teasing him but he couldn't be further from correct. You placed yourself between his legs, hands running down his torso to the band of his boxers, your eyes half lidded with desire as you rolled your tongue against your top teeth, a coy grin plastered on your face.

Sliding the fabric down under his hips you took his length in your hand, the sheer size of it took you by surprise, no wonder the rare times when he was modest were only when you would joke about it being small without having seen it, "So this is what you've been hiding, I think I can handle it" you bit your lip while perking up.

"What do you mean by tha~ oh fuck", Micah hissed through his teeth as you timidly rubbed his ever growing member. With each stroke you could hear his needy moans get louder, his eyes showing a pure yearning for more."Look at you, is this the smug and overconfident hacker I met 5 days ago? 2 minutes in and you're already this turnt on", you teased as he averted his eyes from you.

"Look at me pretty boy", your stern tone followed by you meticulously moulding your fingers around his member massaging it in your hand, you could hear Micah curse through his moans. He turnt to look at you, eyebrows tilted upwards in bliss.

You weren't sure how much more he could take as you didn't know his cues yet, however you did know you weren't going to let it end here, having a cheeky man in submission was too perfect to give up this fast.

You slowly stopped your hand movements, "w~why'd you stop?" Micah whined trying to conduct himself, he wasn't used to being this vulnerable but with you he didn't mind but he wasn't expecting all this.

"Okay Micah, would you rather I finish you off with my hand, or mouth? Hackers choice.", your cheeky tone confusing him as to if that was a real question. Before he had a chance to formulate a response you placed your fingertips on the cusp on his cock, as you pressed them onto it you stuck out your tongue to let a drop of saliva hit his tip, your grip tightening as his body squirmed.

While kneading the tip in your fingertips you asked again, "You gotta pick one Micah, if not I guess we can leave it here and go back to the mov~", "mouth". "What was that? I couldn't hear you?", you pouted jokingly as if to mock him. You had full control and you were going to get the most out of it.

"P~Please, please finish me off with your mouth Angel", Micahs head rolling back in pure sexual frustration, "good boy Micah, i'm all yours". Without another word you skimmed your tongue across his shaft before taking it in your mouth, your warm breath adding to the burning in his stomach.

You bobbed your head up and down taking him all in, your saliva mixing with his precum engulfing his cock in a wet heat. "Fuuuck baby, don't stop", his hand slid to your cheek, caressing it before bringing it to the back of your head, you felt a slight pressure.

Was he really trying to fuck your face? You weren't expecting him to get a burst of confidence, or was his body just moving on its own? Either way it was turning you on little by little. You placed your free hand on his balls, palming them as he began to grind his hips forwards, the crown of his cock hitting the back of your throat each stroke.

Micah's moans became sloppy and incoherent as your tongue slid across the slit in his piece before taking it all back in, humming to allow it to slip back down your throat, the vibrations adding to the overwhelming closeness he was feeling.

You could feel him twitching slightly in your mouth, "oh my g~god i'm so close baby", his whining getting louder as you gave his balls in your palm some more attention. "Just keep going baby" he mewled out in desperation.

Before you could have another thought you felt him shudder, as if on cue he let go, you could feel it cascade down your throat coating it completely, his breath hitching as you continued to deepthroat him, swallowing whatever remained in your mouth. "W~What are you d~oing I can't take much mo~", you could hear him whimpering as the overstim started to consume him, the delirium swirling inside him as the suction intensified.

"F~Fuuuck Angel", he was drowning in pain and pleasure, you started to slow down using your tongue to take in the elixir of cum and saliva encasing his cock cleaning him up. You could almost feel his member throbbing as you pulled back. You gazed at him alluringly as he covered his deep red cheeks with his forearm, "welllll, did I do good Mr Micah?".

Another cheeky smirk emerging on your lips as you slid your hand on last time up his length to take off anything remaining, licking it clean while remaining eye contact with him, he breathlessly mumbled "you~you did more than good I can tell ya that much" whilst you placed him back in his boxers carefully.

Micah grabbed your jaw with his hand pulling you into a quick heated kiss as you went to lay by his side, the taste of him and your saliva slightly re-turning him on. "You outdone anything I expected you to do, that's for sure, i'm still kinda in a haze", he chuckled letting you go, you winked at him before sliding back to face the television, back against his chest once again.

You could feel his heartbeat calming down behind you, you had definitely shocked him with your actions. Who knew you could make a cocky man whimper n writhe with just your mouth? God knows what he would be like if you guys actually fucked, you were definitely intrigued though.

You felt his arm wrap around your waist before moving up to your chin, turning your head so your ear was beside his lips, his breath sending shivers down your spine, "Once i've managed to collect myself, how about I repay you for your little display hmm? How does that sound?". His husky tone taking you aback.

He placed a kiss on the nape of your neck before sliding his arm back to your waist, your mind running through all possible scenarios that could pan out due to his cryptic words. All you knew was that the date was just beginning.

#meli noel's work #micah yujin #micah yujin smut #micah yujin x reader #micah yujin x reader smut #error143 #error 134 #error143 smut #error 143 smut #meli noel

[ciphykiss]

< incubus (ii) >

blade x f!reader; implied nsfw (only un-explicit part), mdni (implied) somnophilia

a/n: second part of incubus, but stave off the thirst for now XD

“Declined.”

You blink, once, twice, dazed—you count every checkered tile in your peripheral vision, wondering if you’d misheard. Bewildered, you straighten from your previously bowed stance, head tilted to the side. Jingyuan pays you no mind, bent over a fortune scroll stamped with Master Diviner Fuxuan’s insignia. Behind him, Yanqing can only stare, wide-eyed.

“Excuse me?”

Those infuriating, once captivating (but now more serpentine than anything else) golden eyes peer up at you, unperturbed. “Upon careful evaluation, it has been deemed that [Name] of Cloudford’s maximum security detention center is to remain deployed at her post indefinitely—until the case of the stellaron hunter is sealed and closed.”

“By whom?” You demand, fists clenching the fabric of your dress. “‘Indefinitely’? Exactly how long is that? This is ridiculous, and against the very rights printed on Section 35 of the Luofonian Codex—”

“By me.” Jingyuan rests his scroll atop his checkerboard. “And I’m sure you’re aware by now, but the Codex also states every Arbiter General is free to exempt and circumvent said articles when deemed necessary.”

“You can’t be serious,” you hiss, slamming your hands over the table; you see Yanqing bristle, hands cleaving for his sword, and Jingyuan has to raise a hand to temper his retinue that had, no doubt, risen to their feet and aimed rifles at your head. You pay them no mind; the vampire-bruises from last night sting as a reminder of your paranormal plight, caked under layers of foundation and color corrector. There’s an odd sting that shoots up your left leg, making it slightly difficult to stand upright. “You’re making me a prisoner of the flagship?”

Jingyuan sighs, resting his chin on a hand; ah, it’s that attitude again, all unbridled kindness and fleeting exasperation, like waves atop a morning sea. Over time, it spells more patronizing than it does calming, and urges you to reenact the more violent (and less whorish) parts of your lucid dreams. Your fingers twitch at the sight of his unmarred cheek.

“Why must you always assume the worst of me, my dear assistant?”

A droll stare. “You uprooted a fresh graduate from her position as amicassador, took advantage of her naivete to weasel in mutable terms in her contract, had her work an eight to ten schedule with unpaid overtime, and encouraged said amicassador graduate with no background in combat to cross-examine one of the most wanted criminals in the galaxy.”

“First of all, what you are not paid in overtime is delivered to you in the forms of generous bonuses and an exceptional annual raise,” Jingyuan argues, scandalized by your declarations. Even Yanqing looks to him accusingly now. “And as for your meeting with… our newest problem, well, that’s a result of your own belligerence, isn’t it?” He taps his table with his knuckle, the first signs of irritation stretching over his usually composed visage. “You were instructed to meet with me as soon as you arrived on scene. If you had, I would’ve taken the time to inform you of what you were getting yourself into, and the risks associated.”

You throw your hands up in the air. “Well, fuck me for not considering my employer would throw little old me into a foray of top ten most wanted killers! I don’t know what you want me to say, Jingyuan, especially considering how little regard you’ve shown me for my entire career at your stupid post.” Your lips curl. “And you wonder why your turnover rate looks like it crawled out of Tingyun’s first year exam scores. Unbelievable.”

“Mind your tongue; there are children present,” Jingyuan snaps, but neither you nor his blond heir really give a damn. In fact, Yanqing looks like he’s fighting a smile. At least someone found the situation funny. “Regardless—this is a decision that has been agreed upon by both Diviner Fu and I. Thus, your resignation request has been… well, rescinded.”

His lips twitch into an almost-smile, and despite sounding like he meant official business, you can tell the bastard is enjoying this. You gaze mutely at the hastily-scrawled resignation essays you’d filled out at 6 AM over coffee stains and ink splatters, untouched beside a gold, ornate vase on the Jingyuan’s table; the general raises a brow at your lack of ire, likely expecting glares or creative (but politely-framed, as to not earn a bullet to the back of your head) death threats by now.

Instead, you smile. Jingyuan immediately grows wary.

“Article 6, subsection 23,” you purr, “Any defamation or destruction of property belonging to the Arbiter-General of the Xianzhou Luofu will result in the permanent termination of said civil servant’s contract; punishments include, but may not be limited to, a six-month leave of absence from all organized labor.”

You grin. Jingyuan’s eyes widen.

“...whatever it is you’re planning, do no—”

“I think I’m long overdue for a vacation, don’t you, general?” You sing, and the general and his compatriots can only watch in slack-jawed horror as you raise the vase (an armistice gift from the Marshall Hua) and send it shattering onto the tile.

Deathly silence fills the halls of Jingyuan’s palace. Jingyuan doesn’t look up at you when he speaks, low and gritted, as damningly close to murderous as you’d ever heard him.

“Take her away. Solitary confinement. Two hours—then ensure she returns to her duties. This time, I want completion.”

Your smile drops.

“You—!”

And then you’re thrashing, the ends of your heels digging uselessly into the ground. The stupidly beefy arms of his personal guards yank you backwards to your makeshift cell (the infirmary), preventing you from falling backwards on your face.

“You can’t do this to me!” Your shrieks go unacknowledged; Jingyuan is too busy mourning over his dumb vase. “Jingyuan, you bastard! This is a violation of my rights! Terminate me! Throw me in jail! Anything but back there!”

Yanqing glances over the broken shards glinting over filtered sunlight. “General… is it really okay to let her go like that?”

The silver-haired man sighs, weary and a thousand years older than his already-dreaded age; he picks up a shard and examines it for any signs of salvageability (there are none). “Despite her… grievances, Diviner Fu has already determined her ‘likely favorable but not quite necessary’ for this case. I’m afraid she would’ve had to stay regardless. Though I do wish my dear assistant was even a smidgen more… agreeable.”

“—I knew I should’ve let Tingyun leak your 18+ sauna album! Just you watch, Jingyuan, after I’m through—”

“She has what.”

ꨄ︎

“—so please, for the love of all Aeons, I don’t care if it’s your stripper alias or Foxian Beauty & Haircare handle, just please, give me something to work with,” you groan, finding yourself at the mercy of the selectively mute space murderer with both your clothes and hair disheveled from fighting off (clawing at) Jingyuan’s men. Your throat aches from two hours of screeching obscenities, begging for mercy, and finally, prayer (unfortunately, you’d never been pious, and Lan had likely forsaken you by now). You’d thrashed, flipped the nursing cot upside down, shattered glass vials against the walls, and fallen to a half-dead heap on the floor by the time you were dragged in to resume bio-data collection.

If he registers your incessant whining, the space-criminal doesn’t show it; he says nothing for a long while until the void fills with the sound of incessant pen-tapping against your digital clipboard.

His mouth bends into a frown. “Stop that.”

“So he speaks,” you drawl, sarcastic. “Tell you what—why don’t you share your introductions with the class—me—and I’ll stop yammering. Easy as that.”

“Is it necessary?” He inquires cryptically. “Why don’t you just ask that general of yours—I’m sure Jingyuan would be able to sate your curiosity.”

Your rhythmic tapping ceases. “You know Jingyuan?”

That, he doesn’t answer; you observe him as he lapses back into silence, as dark and brooding as ever before, and feel the welts on your neck itch, an obtrusive reminder of your night terror (your dubbing isn’t quite accurate, but the label makes you feel better about yourself). Then, you resume clacking your pen in tribute to the morning show you’d catch glimpses of on the way to hell (work), and observe the tick working on the man’s jaw.

“...Blade,” he says at last, the word cutting like the edge of a serrated knife; you blink. Blade. The name suits him, somehow—all edge and red, like the backdrop of a battlefield. “...but here, Ren.”

You’re tearing through the bio-data form like a storm; two lines is enough. You’ll make it enough. Blade/Ren. Affiliation: likely Xianzhounian. Fabric points to a prime of at least five-hundred years prior; further trace collection is needed. Picture comparison of clothing necessary for evaluation. Suspected relation with Luofu General—unsure if this is an attempt to derail from questioning/true identity. Unlikely, but possible. Discouraged communication style. Psychiatric evaluation necessary; put-off by rhythmic tapping. Likely suffers from heightened senses; could be a result of battle-trauma or mixed genetics (both?). Likely a Xianzhou Native; probable Homo celestinae, blood testing required for confirmation.

“Blade,” you murmur, and the name rests oddly comfortably in your mouth; a strange moniker, but it sounds almost sweet when you say it, as if meant to be spoken. The man—Blade—shifts, not out of discomfort or regulation, but as the first non-forced physical acknowledgment you’d managed to wrench out from him. 

His lips curve into a sneer when you continue scritching.

“All figured out, from just a name,” he mocks. You raise a brow.

“Does that offend you?” You tap your pen in thought, conjuring up the next bullet point. Easily offended by assumptions. Possible insecurity? 

To your surprise, he grazes a smile—but not your regular, run-of-the-mill grin. It’s malefic, a touch depraved, like staring into a hollow skull. “No. Fantasize all you want. So as long I ruin you in every end.”

You nearly drop your clipboard.

“I could ruin you,” his voice echoes. “I could make it burn. You would dream of me in the waking world, cry for me in the dreaming. A slave to passion, day and night; hardly sleeping, hardly eating, merely breathing…” 

No. Impossible. There’s no way—it can’t be—

Gingerly, you finger the skin over your pulse point. The bruised kiss hisses upon contact; you feel the hummingbird-flutter of your own heartbeat.

“Do you dream?”

You don’t know why you blurt that particular phrase; you suppose it’s more acceptable than “did we almost-fuck in my (our?) dream last night”. Still, you observe the intergalactic space criminal with heightened scrutiny, wishing (now more than ever) he didn’t have that cursed blindfold on.

You never realized just how much is missed from the eyes alone.

If there’s any reaction, he doesn’t show it; his next words are mere remnants of what they should be, like bones atop carcass.

“I do not recall the last I dreamt.”

You swallow, the first needles of paranoia sinking into your spine. That should be answer enough. But you wonder why it feels like a dance between confirmation and indifference; anything but denial. Suddenly, you think you hate him; his archaic, cryptic remarks, his riddles and his ambiguity.

“Not worthy enough for recording?” he cuts through the silence, the cruelty of a half-smile gallivanting across your vision. You realize you’d been spaced out, pen hanging between downturned fingers, and curse.

“...think nothing of it,” you mutter. You deem the passage worthy enough for Jingyuan’s approval (it isn’t) and chuck the pen backwards. It dematerializes into the confines of your clipboard. “I should offer you my services once more, but I’m sure neither of us truly wishes for that. A word of advice—behave yourself, and the general might allow you to roam the cell unshackled for certain hours. I’m sure there’s nothing you want more than a hairbrush by now,” you snort. Blade doesn’t reply.

“Danyin,” you murmur, catching the man by his cuff when you exit the hall; he looks frazzled, as if half-expecting you to return with a missing limb (likely a touch disappointed when you don’t; you don’t consider yourself particularly lenient when forced into this scummy duty). “Do me a favor. I want you to place a recording device outside his cell; one of those high-tech thermal ones that can navigate through the dark.”

Danyin pales. “D-digital recordings—any recording—outside what is sanctioned by the general himself is strictly prohibited! I don’t even have cle—”

You unclasp your wristwatch and replace it with Danyin’s own; the man can only babble out a half-hearted protest when you do, mourning his defeat already.

“I’d do it myself, but I’m not exactly out of general douche-canoe’s radar,” you sigh, tightening the clasp. Danyin mumbles something about hiring an underwriter for his will, to which you offer a sunny grin and a pat on the back. “I’m counting on you, friend!”

He mutters something about you being as shitty as Jingyuan. You pretend not to hear it.

ꨄ︎

“A dream demon?” Tingyun snorts, pushing the newly-gifted sunglasses she’d received from a Yaoqing merchant that served as General Feixiao’s retinue down her nose. “You can’t be serious. Please tell me you didn’t make me cancel my hair appointment to play therapist for your psychotic break. How many times did I tell you to just quit and work with me in—”

You yank down the collar of your dress, having wiped off the excess makeup in the restaurant bathroom prior. “Look.”

“For the love of—oh. Oh.” She tilts her frames downwards, viridescent hues assessing the damage. “You got yourself a suckerfish? Careful with those—one starskiff romp shimmied into your lunchbreak and they think they own you.”

“Actually, my very preventable trauma from waking up next to Dai—Daiqiu? Daiqing? Has rendered me unable to pursue any bedmates since,” you sniff. Tingyun rolls her eyes.

“You sure you didn’t wobble into Inferno after your shift and had a couple shots too many? We all know it’s all south after your third martini. And your impairment the following morning.”

“You and I both know I don’t get off until midnight, and you were there when we both got banned from Inferno!”

“Maybe if you hadn’t laughed at the owner’s son and called him fossilized when he asked for a three—”

“He was at least as old as my grandfather, Ting! Without the Jingyuan-tier looks to make up for it!”

“Jingyuan isn’t that old—wait, do you still have a crush on him? What happened to—”

“That’s beside the point!” You swat her hand off the straw of her mid-afternoon cocktail, knocking her jade bracelet against the glass. The heat of it fogs the hexagons scattering rainbows onto the counter, and you are acutely reminded of the matching anklet that dangles on your left, forever warm and secured to your person. “I know you barely passed history—”

“Hey.”

“—but Foxian history can be traced as far back as the Long’s Scions, can it not? Surely there has to be something you picked up over the years. Maybe some old stories, some superstition…”

“[Name],” Tingyun sighs, “are you seriously asking me if I remember any bedtime stories?”

“So there is? Something, I mean?”

“You’re honestly better off taking that to a Vidyadhara historian or a senior Xianzhou Native,” Tingyun admits, to which your face cripples, because Aeons knows your social life had been reduced to zilch after your recruitment (and there was no way you’d press the matter to Jingyuan; you had no doubt he and Diviner Fu could grapple onto the dirtiest details of your midnight escapades). She swishes her drink with her straw in thought. “Foxian lifespans are but fleeting compared to the stories of our other long-lived peers; what are four hundred years, after all, to rebirth and a thousand?”

It’s said with a twinge of envy; you know Tingyun is not like Xianzhou commonfolk who dread their existence and eventual descent to madness. Life is—will never be—enough for her, never enough wine to drink, men to seduce; never enough jewelry and lost merchandise for Whistling Flames.

“We do, however, have our love stories—love and lust and betrayal and wroth, they’re quite similar, don’t you think? And the tales of the Foxians pale in comparison to none.”

“This isn’t about love,” is your immediate response. Tingyun arches a fine brow.

“Isn’t it, though?” With that, she reaches out to redo the buttons on your collar. Heat creeps up your ears. “Passion… this is something Foxians are accustomed with. We love our wine and jade, men and women all the same; I’m sure you know this,” she laughs, and you feel the fox-carving against your anklet simmer. “You know of the Xianzhou belief of soul partners, do you not?”

“Of course.” You reach down, absently, to tickle the jade that had been gifted (shackled) to you on your graduation day. “There’s the, erm, chosen ones, right? Bosom friends, sworn brothers—”

“That’s right; and they’re referred to as chosen for a reason.” She points the end of her olive stick at you. “It is the highest form of love, for some; philia, at the end of the day, is a choice,” she ignores your grumble of “where was mine”, “though, arguably, many believe these soul partners were predestined to be in your life. We gift our jade to these soul partners, and the Vidyadhara share a similar custom, but with bracers; warmth indicates the wearer’s partner is alive and well, and there is a belief that these gifts will eventually bring one back to the other, in life, death, dreams, or otherwise.” She narrows her eyes. “Though there’s no reason, seeing as I’d rather be caught dead than star in your rogue fantasies.”

“Wasn’t ever an option,” you mutter.

“There is another, more outdated; I’ve only ever heard stories about it, and some say the encounter died since the plague of abundance ravaged the long-lived. It’s less of a choice, more a force of nature; or so I’ve been told. A bunch of rubbish, honestly, but there does exist stories of another kind of soul partner—one that embodies a more… debauched role. I suppose soulmate is a loose term; these stories have long since been discarded, scoffed at as crude; these are the stories of scorned lovers, of passion, bedroom woes and death and betrayal; truly, nothing worth writing home about. I’m sure we’ve progressed enough as a society to leave behind such primal relics.”

Your head spins at the sudden onslaught of information; you inhale through your nose, pinching the bridge between two fingers. Tingyun finishes the contents of her drink, suckling the heart-shaped straw dry. “And what… what does that have to do with…”

“With your suckerfish?” Tingyun grins, dodging a kick under the table. “I’m getting to that. There’s a story—just one that I can remember, at least. My Lady wasn’t fond of me rummaging through those particular texts.”

“No wonder you turned out to be so godless—ow!”

“...like I was saying. There exists a…largely banned text. A bit blasphemous, but more so an overreaction, on the elders’ part; I’ll spare you the details, but the story can be loosely translated as The Foxian’s Obsession. Not the most creative of titles, I’ll admit, though it is fitting; it weaves the tale of a long-lived Foxian’s adoration of a short-lived fisherman. The woes of past society would not permit her to seek out a man of such fragility, and eventually, the fisherman married; the Foxian, hurt, enraged, and heartbroken, would curse the fisherman to an eternal sleep.”

“Sounds like one of those ex nightmare stories on Foxian Lipstick Alley,” you chortle.

“Imagine being so obsessed,” Tingyun snorts. “Anyways, the wife and family of the comatose fisherman start seeing ‘love marks’ on him, find him dead one day, bleeding from the mouth; the wife is put on trial until they discover news of said Foxian having passed in her sleep, coincidentally, with the same comorbidity.”

“What the fuck.”

“Creepy, isn’t it? Now, if that were the case with you…”

“Tingyun!” You screech. The Foxian snickers at your distress. “This isn’t funny! What if this dude’s some creepy old Foxy spirit disguising himself as some space criminal hunk to get into my pants and commit murder-sui!”

“Your drawers are in need of a seasonal refresh…”

“Tingyun, you bi—”

“Aeons, relax,” the amicassador slaps your arm in poor reassurance. “These are mere whispers of the past. The first starskiff hadn’t even taken flight when it was published. Besides, does your dream demon present with ears and a tail? You know that’s our one indisputable giveaway…”

“...no, he doesn’t,” you begrudge, a sigh of relief escaping you. Tingyun rolls her eyes.

“Then there you have it. I’m sure this is just a consequence of your ridiculous work hours—how many times must I tell you stress is bad for beauty? You’re even losing pockets of memory…”

“...you’re right. That must be it.”

“So? what happened to your resignation letter?”

“Don’t get me started—”

You vent the happenings of this morning to Tingyun, who, for the first time, appears rather irked; it’s not a common look for the Foxian, as leisurely and unbothered as a nepo-child of Lady Yukong can be, though you suppose even she has her limits on witnessing you falling victim to workplace abuse.

Throughout the conversation, you concoct the margins of your plan; the cameras should be set up by now, if Danyin is at least half-competent. You touch your now-fading love bites and make a mental note to pick up another bottle of fantasia.

If working with Jingyuan blessed you with any positives, it’s your seasoned thirst for vengeance—and the earlier you act, the swifter (and sweeter) your prize.

Perhaps it was a fluke. Perhaps it was a once-in-a-lifetime, paranormal encounter—but on the off chance it isn’t, well, now you’d be prepared.

Because if he can ruin you, who’s to say you can’t return the favor?

#blade x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #blade hsr #honkai star rail smut #blade smut

[yeoblurbs]

What Once Was

exes to lovers, angst with a happy ending

Pairing: Hansol Vernon Chwe x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: as you navigate a life filled with painful reminders of Hansol, you struggle to move on. then three months later, he shows up at your door. you can’t find it in your heart to turn him away.

WC: 2.9k

content/warnings: angst! vernon picks at his skin & there is a scene dedicated to it (no detail or mentions of blood, just wounds), a few curse words, mentions of drinking (wine), very soft-boy!vernon and doting reader. that's it I think (please let me know if I missed anything)

as of late, you simply feel remnants of what was once so intense. a mere lingering attachment to something you have almost let go of entirely.

but at the same time, you yearn for a day where anger doesn’t override affection. where you feel melancholy rather than rage, or content in missing him rather than the unsettling emotion from such a brutal ending. you ache for days that you wake up feeling whole instead of unfulfilled, getting through life without Hansol as you avoid harsh reminders of what once was.

but you’ll heal; you have to.

that is what you tell yourself, anyway. lately, it feels as though you would never heal. the conflicting emotions that are attached to Hansol Chwe come with a gentle anamnesis yet are taken over by deep-rooted betrayal each time.

you truly hate how emotional he makes you.

you take a sip of the red wine in your hand, eyeing your reflection through the black screen of your TV. it’s 1:00AM on your birthday, and while once upon a time ago you would’ve spent the night with Hansol, you are now spending it alone.

you are having a celebratory dinner with friends tomorrow, but you find yourself missing Hansol when you think about this being your first birthday without him.

usually, he would stay up with you till 12:00AM and shower you with kisses as he murmured “Happy birthday, my love” between pecks, but now you feel the overwhelming emptiness as you sit on a couch that was not purchased for one person.

you wonder where it all went wrong; was it when you got busy with family problems, and couldn’t see him every week? was it when he began making new friends, specifically a girl who would often comment on his posts on Instagram leaving you to overthink on lonely nights? or was it on that cold Saturday evening, when everything came to a halt as you both spewed careless insults toward one another; he had spoken to you as if you were nothing more than a stranger, much less his best friend; his girlfriend.

your ending with Hansol has left you bitter; you often regret loving him in ways he could never reciprocate. how foolish of you to believe anyone would love you back in such a capacity; how foolish of you to believe he could.

a knock on your door pulls you out of your thoughts, head snapping to the sound. your heart drops, eyes glancing to your phone that reads 1:34AM as you go through a mental checklist of who could possibly be at your door at such a time.

you approach the door cautiously, grabbing a kitchen knife on your way as you peek through the hole, before the sight sends you a few steps back.

what the fuck?

you open the door slowly, eyes wide as Hansol stands before you.

your gaze focuses on his clothes, drenched as they cling to his skin, before you look up at his face.

Hansol has always been gorgeous, and that fact was no less true now. it’s been three months since you’ve seen him, and you find that despite the dark circles beneath his eyes and messy hair, he still looks absolutely breathtaking.

you stare at the drops of rain coating his lashes, hating the way your chest claws at you, begging you to hold him close and get him warm and comfortable.

his eyes lift, scanning your face unsure as his black hair sticks to his forehead, water dripping from a few strands. he scratches at his finger, a bad habit he had when he was nervous that you had helped him stop.

but as you stare at the wounds on his hand, you realize he may have reverted back to some of his old ways after your parting.

“Happy birthday, Y/n.”

he smiles crookedly, and the energy leaves your body completely.

you place the knife down on your table loudly, causing Hansol to flinch as you move to grab his arm, pulling him inside. you glance at your window, cursing quietly as you see lightning, and realize you can’t send Hansol away now; not that you would have had it been sunny outside either, but you like to think you’d be stronger than that.

Hansol stumbles inside as you move to cross your arms, “What the fuck are you doing here, Hansol?”

he shivers, smiling tight-lipped. he looks unfamiliar in your apartment, eyes staring at the differences you know he noticed. “I came to see you. And wish you a happy birthday?”

your lips part at his response as you scoff, “Well, I don’t want it. You’re pretty fucking weird for showing up when we haven’t spoken to each other in months,”

his face drops, regret coating his expression as you turn around and walk to your room. he slips his shoes off and follows you timidly.

“And in case you forgot, we aren’t on good terms, Hansol.” you rummage through your drawers, pulling out your largest sweatpants and shirt before handing them to him.

he grabs them with confused eyes as you walk towards your bathroom, opening the door and gesturing him to go in, “Go take a shower, Hansol. As much as I don’t want to see you, you’re dripping rainwater on my hardwood floors, and I know you get sick too easily.”

he pouts, and you realize you’ve barley allowed him to say a word since he arrived.

well, that was deserved you figured, as he had shown up much too late for any sort of kindness from you.

he clutches onto the fabric gently, looking at you with wide eyes before he turns around and enters the bathroom. once the door shuts, you turn around and head back to the living room.

you head straight for your abandoned wine glass and tip the rest of it down your throat, exhaling as you run a hand over your face.

seriously, what the fuck.

-

Hansol exits the bathroom about ten minutes later, causing steam to emerge as it fills up the hallway.

he holds his soaked clothes in his hands, and you grab a plastic bag before handing it to him.

he murmurs a “Thank you,” and you nod back.

you walk into the kitchen, trying your hardest to ignore the awkward silence as you finish preparing two ramen cups. you carry them to the couch, handing Hansol the one you made for him before taking a seat across from where he’s seated.

he seems jittery, “So… How have you been, Y/n?”

he smoothes his palms on his legs, and you ignore the way your heart soars at the sight of him in your clothes. you’ve missed seeing him in your place, in your clothes; with you by his side.

your face stays neutral, “Great; until you showed up. Cut the shit, Hansol. What are you doing here?”

he opens his mouth before you cut him off, “And don’t say for my birthday. We aren’t together anymore, and we’re certainly not friends. You have no reason to come here or wish me happy birthday.”

he’s silent for a moment, and you’re sure if he had puppy ears they would be laying flat on his head.

“I just… Listen, okay? I missed you.” his gaze stays on your face intently, “It’s been a while since everything happened, and I’d really like it if we could talk about it. There are a lot of things I regret, and I’ve been dying to apologize to you.”

you sigh at his confession, ignoring the way your heart began racing after he said he missed you. “You want to talk about our failed relationship and apologize to me at…” you check your phone, “2:00AM on my birthday?”

he grimaces, “Well when you put it that way I sound like an idiot.”

“You are one,” you huff out a small laugh, causing him to smile sheepishly.

you sigh, resigning to hearing him out. he was here, clean and dry, and a quick look outside would tell you that the storm hadn’t passed. he was stuck here whether you liked it or not, so you might as well hear him out; after all, the two of you deserved some form of closure. even if it was at an absolutely unreasonable time.

you lean your head on your hand,

“So, talk then.”

he looks startled as he clears his throat nervously. you figure he hadn’t expected you to respond this way, and you would be lying if you said you yourself weren’t surprised with your actions. but you’ve always been a little too forgiving, especially with those you loved; especially with Hansol.

“Okay, for starters, I’m sorry I showed up at such an inconvenient time.” he bites his lip, “I’ve regretted the way I spoke to you last time so much, it’s been eating at me every day.”

you listen with a straight face, even if his words cause your chest to tighten. you ignore it; you realize you’ve been ignoring how you feel for a while now.

Hansol runs a hand through his hair, “I won’t lie, I haven’t been doing so well since our breakup.”

he gazes at you intensely, “I think… somewhere along the way I felt lonely in our relationship, whether that was because I hardly had time to see you or because I felt like you got distant with me.”

you listen silently, arms crossed and mouth downturned. the realization that Hansol felt everything you did makes you want to burst into tears then and there. you're beginning to notice that while you have been selfish and wallowing in self-pity, Hansol has been hurting as well.

“That night…”

the two ramen cups are long forgotten as they sit on the coffee table in front of you; your arms wrap tighter around your torso as you remember the venomous words both he and you threw at one another that night.

“That night I was horrible.”

his head tilts down as he sniffles, picking at the skin around his fingernail as his eyes fill with tears. “I was so seriously fucking horrible and I’m so sorry for everything I said. Me being lonely didn’t give me a reason to take it out on you; I should have communicated, not lashed out at you when you were going through shit too.”

hearing him apologize so genuinely was heart-rendering as you know you’ve hurt him deeply as well.

you can’t help it, you rise from your seat and sit beside him. you grab the hand he was picking at, intertwining your fingers with his as your other moves to his jaw, lifting it gently as your thumb wipes a running tear.

“Don’t do that, don’t put all of the blame on you,” you say softly. your anger had quickly diminished at the beginning of his apology, and while you know you’re letting go of your rage so easily, you figure it was about time you truly healed.

bottling up anger had halted any sort of progression, leaving the wounds from your relationship with Hansol still fresh and painful. this conversation was helping, however, and the notion that Hansol was just as miserable as you, if not more than you, was a comforting thought.

at least you weren’t the only one who was lonely and hurting.

you tuck a piece of hair behind his ear, “I’m sorry too; I said a lot of fucked up things that night as well, so don’t take the full blame for it.”

Hansol sniffles quietly and your heart aches, your hand holding his now caressing the skin gently with your thumb.

“I was lonely too, and I didn’t communicate either. It’s not all on you, it’s on both of us.” you softly rub his cheek as you stare at him fondly.

“There’s no need to villainize yourself. We both made mistakes, and we’ll both learn from them.”

you’ve resigned to the fact that you have an inability to hold grudges when it comes to Hansol. it was simply impossible to stay angry with him, especially when he looked at you with sad wet eyes.

his face crumples as more tears stream down his cheeks, “But, I don’t wanna learn from my mistake and lose you.” he grabs your hand on his face, leaning into it as his eyes find yours.

“You’re it for me, Y/n. Three months without you and I spent every second of it wishing you were still mine. I can’t picture a life without you in it, I just can’t.” he looks devastated, and you understand now that he thinks this is the end.

you give him a watery smile, wanting nothing more than to kiss him silly, even if you knew logically that you shouldn’t jump into things so suddenly.

“You’re it for me too, Hansol. I don’t think I could ever quite love someone as much as I loved you.”

he looks at you with wide glassy eyes, “Loved?”

you bring his face closer to yours, placing a kiss on his forehead, “Love.”

he pulls you into him, arms wrapping around you firmly as he inhales and exhales. you breathe shakily as you hug him back, hands trembling as you wrap your arms around his back and re-familiarize yourself with him.

the two of you head to bed soon after, Hansol sleeping in your guest bedroom; the two of you decided to take it slower for now, and see how things go.

you smile into your pillow as you succumb to sleep; it seemed you no longer had to mourn what once was.

Hansol turns in your guest bed, staring at the wall as he snuggles the pillow beneath him. he couldn’t wait to love you for the rest of his life.

Extra:

“Give me a sec, I’ll be right back.” you kiss Hansol’s temple quickly before standing up and leaving to the bathroom. he touches his temple in awe as he sits on your couch waiting obediently, staring in the direction you just left.

the night had gone better than he expected. when he told you he hadn’t been doing well, that was an understatement. after your breakup, he found it hard to get up on most days, he rarely went out anymore and he had lost joy in things he often loved doing with you.

Hansol had been thinking about your birthday for weeks, unsure how he would handle not spending the day with you. it was a special day to him; the day the love of his life was born, and the thought that you’d be spending it with several people but not him was torturing.

so that was how he found himself in front of your apartment, spontaneously deciding to show up and fully prepared to beg you to hear him out, if that’s what it took.

but you took the news better than he would’ve imagined; though he should have known, you were the sweetest to him, even when you were angry.

he’s broken out of his thoughts when you sit next to him on the couch again, a box in your hands as you lift the cover. he peers over curiously and tilts his head when he sees bandaids and ointment.

you look at him and sigh, grabbing his hand and bringing it to your eye level when he realizes what you brought the first-aid kit for.

his face flushes as you look at the reddened skin surrounding his fingernail. you open the ointment, carefully dipping a Q-tip in the cream before applying it on each of Hansol’s fingers. you finish by placing bandaids on them and smoothing down the sides delicately.

“Sorry… and thank you.” he whispers, still looking embarrassed as you stare at him with a serious expression.

you lift his hand to your face again, this time kissing each finger over the bandaid, keeping eye contact as his cheeks redden. he shrinks into himself when you finish as you break out into a laugh at his shy demeanor.

you leave to throw the bandaid wrappers away and place the box back when Hansol remembers what he’d brought with him.

he hurries over to his jacket, pulling out a small pink neatly wrapped box. he opens it, glancing at the rouge-colored rose quartz necklace. he hopes you’ll like it.

you yawn as you walk back to the living room, rubbing your eyes tiredly as the sun begins to rise. Hansol feels terrible about keeping you up so late, but he needed to do one last thing before you slept.

he grabs your hand as you look up to him in confusion.

“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he repeats, this time placing the gift in your hands gently as you pull back with parted lips.

you smile sleepily yet sweetly at him, “You shouldn’t have, really.”

he shakes his head, “I wanted to. Open it, please. I’m so nervous right now I could throw up.”

you giggle at his dramatic comment as you open the box, gasping when you spot the gorgeous pink stone, looking back at Hansol with sparkling eyes.

“Thank you so much! It’s gorgeous, I love it, I really do.” you glance back at the necklace, eyeing the way it glints prettily in the light.

you close the box before wrapping your arms around his neck as he hugs your waist, pulling you close and swaying side to side. he buries his face in your neck, kissing it gently, causing you to freeze before pushing him away with a nervous giggle. he smiles at your timid expression.

he was so glad to have you back.

a/n: well.. another Vernon fic haha … sorry for any typos !

unofficial tags: @scuzmunkie :>

#seventeen x reader #vernon x you #hansol x reader #vernon chwe x reader #vernon x reader #vernon fluff #vernon x y/n #seventeen imagines #seventeen x you #hansol scenarios

[nikethestatue]

Breed Me

Happy Valentine's Day!

A little one shot of pure smuttiness for all of you to enjoy today. Also, blame @tswaney17 for this! She sent me a video in IG of a pink cookie being decorated with the words 'Breed Me'. She said 'Elriel'. I said 'I have to write this'. So here you are.

This is an Elriel and Nessian smut

(Generally speaking a bonus set in the world of A Match Baked In Heave, but is a standalone)

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuckety fuck fuck.

She knew it. She just knew it. She knew that she’d forget. And she did. She even forgot to set the reminder not to forget.

Valentine’s Day.

Their first Valentine’s Day together. 

The only excuse she managed to come up with was that they’ve been together for almost a year now. They began properly dating right around the last V Day, and therefore, it’s been some time and Nesta was allowed to forget. Or so she told herself. But she was the worst girlfriend ever. She didn’t even have a card for him!

The problem was that Nesta Archeron, barrister extraordinaire, successful, beautiful, admired, and well-put together always, did not possess a romantic bone in her body. Romance just wasn’t how she operated. Nesta liked to go to Michelin starred restaurants, she enjoyed good wines, she adored interesting trips, and she got emotional when walking down the streets of Florence overwhelmed by the sheer beauty and history of the place. But romantic, she was not. At least, not in the sense that people came to expect someone to express their romantic side–chocolates, flowers, jewellery, horrid chocolate lava cakes and even more terrifying public marriage proposals with the ring being dropped to the bottom of a champagne flute. If her boyfriend Cassian ever did that to her, she’d break up with him. Though that wasn’t exactly his style–he’d probably propose on a mountain peak, or looking out at some terrifying squall, or, if she were lucky, at night, on the streets of Florence, when no one was looking and it was the two of them.

But, enough about proposals and romantic gestures. 

She’d leave that to her sister Elain. Her other sister, Feyre, had an even less romantic attitude than Nesta, if that was even possible. Feyre was hopeless in the romance department. Good thing her husband Rhysand was romantic enough for the two of them, and then some. If Rhys could gift Feyre the Moon on a string, he would. 

That left Elain. The only one who was a romantic at heart, and per Feyre ‘romantic on steroids’ who adored V Day and began prepping for it in advance, the way others prepared for Christmas. 

Nesta never enquired about Elain’s Valentine’s Day plans, because she was frankly, a bit scared. Though the Archeron girls were all girls, and close in age, they weren’t the types to discuss their sex lives with each other. They weren’t the types to change clothes in front of one another, and Nesta couldn’t remember when she saw any of her sisters naked. That’s just how they were. And Nesta preferred to keep it that way.

But today, she was desperate. And she was close to Elain’s house. 

Unannounced pop-ins weren’t a thing that the sisters did either, but Nesta was always close to Elain and now, she hoped that Elain wouldn’t mind it. Besides, it was only 2 pm. What could Elain possibly be doing?

Just in case, though, Nesta sent a warning text “I am in the neighbourhood. And need to stop by. Are you decent?”

The last part would’ve seemed like an overkill, but it wasn’t. Because Elain, and her husband Azriel, were known to get it on frequently and at any time of day or night. Nesta had to get her eyes bleached by now, considering how many times she either overheard them or walked in on them. Azriel was a damn exhibitionist, who loved semi-public sex, and what’s more, the man’s had some peculiar interests, which made being in their company a veritable minefield of strange sexual encounters. Elain…well, she was in love. She was love-drunk, dick-drunk, and sex-drunk most of the time. 

Nesta hurried down the street, before rushing up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. True to Elain’s character, the white columns beneath the awning were decorated with pink, white and red roses. Love was in the air.

Nesta banged on the door and heard ‘it’s open!’

She entered the foyer, toed off her boots and almost ran to the open concept first floor kitchen and sitting room. 

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” her sister asked, worry etched on her pretty face.

Elain was wearing a pink dress with red flowers and a wide pink headband, which struggled to contain waves of her thick curls. The dress accentuated her growing stomach, which was just beginning to round and pop at 4.5 months. Of course, Elain made the prettiest pregnant woman in the world. Shiny hair, sparkling eyes, clear skin, a wide smile, gorgeous boobs, no weight gain other than in her stomach, and the most perfect pregnancy–no violent sickness, explosive vomiting, sickening cravings or swollen ankles for the middle Archeron sister. 

“I am brilliant!” Nesta put on a fake smile. “Just need a few ideas,”

Elain eyed her with a disapproving look and then said, 

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Ummm, forgot what?” Neta decided to play stupid.

“Don’t play stupid,” her sister snapped. “You forgot about Valentine’s Day and now Cassian doesn’t have a gift, does he?”

Nesta plopped on the stool by the marble bar and announced with pretend excitement,

“No. But that’s where you come in!”

“Oh, is that so?” rolled her eyes and then picked up a pastry bag, and curled over the counter. “Am I expected to get your boyfriend a Valentine’s Day gift?”

“No, no, no,” Nesta assured her breezily. “Nothing like that. Just…ideas. Give me some ideas. I will execute!”

Elain thought for a second, absorbed in whatever she was doing with that pastry bag, and then explained,

“Men don't care about presents. Not for this type of holiday,”

“They don’t?”

“No! Cass doesn’t want a box of chocolates!” she laughed. “He’d just have to work it out longer at the gym.”

“So then…?” Nesta’s voice trailed as her brows knitted in confusion.

“You are hopeless!” Elain sighed. “Romance. Seduction. That’s what he wants. Seduce him…”

“O-kay…As in?”

“I have to teach you how to seduce a man?” Elain demanded.

“I don’t need to seduce him. He is already seduced!”

“Expand your repertoire,” Elain all but ignored Nesta’s reasoning. “Do something you don't normally do,”

“What, whips and chains?”

“Why must you go that far? Unless you want to be chained and whipped?” 

“No thanks.”

Nesta knew for a fact that that was more of an Elain and Azriel thing.

“Then what?” she asked again.

“What about sending him a sexy video?” Elain proposed. 

“I am not sending nudes,” Nesta stated firmly. “If that ever gets out,”

“You think he is going to share your nudes?”

“Phones get hacked. Next idea?”

Elain sighed and then leaned back against the fridge, and crossed her arms on her chest.

“Have you tried introducing some whipped cream? Strawberries?”

“I don’t like mixing sex with food,” Nesta told her.

“Oh god. Well, what do you like?”

“My choices are nudes or rolling around in greasy sheets?” Nesta demanded crossly. 

“Play a game,”

“What kind of game?”

“Like a sex game. You tell him one of your desires, and he tells you one of his, and you both do it,” Elain proposed.

Nesta chewed on her lips, thinking about it. It wasn’t a terrible idea.

“What else?”

“Try having sex in an unusual place,” Elain suggested. “Not in bed or a shower. But somewhere you don’t usually do it in,”

“Hmmm. Okay.”

This was giving Nesta ideas.

“We have a book,” Elain began but Nesta shook her head, 

“No. Please no. I don’t want real-life examples from your sex escapades!!!”

“All I wanted to say,” Elain pouted, “was that if you have a sexy book or a magazine, you can open it to a random page and act out whatever is there…”

“Oh. Hmmm. That’s not bad. You’ve done that?”

“You just said no real-life examples!” Elain reminded her dryly.

“Yeah, true.”

Giving her a meaningful look of pure judgement, Elain added, “wouldn’t hurt if you dressed in something other than your smart clothes and your suits.”

“Lingerie?”

“It’s been known to help.”

In the next moment, Nesta exclaimed, “Oh my god, what is that!?!? Elain?!”

Elain glanced at the MASSIVE bouquet of pale pastel flowers that Azriel had given her earlier today. It wasn’t unusual that Azriel would give her flowers, so she didn’t quite understand Nesta’s reaction. 

But Nesta was staring, wild-eyed, at what Elain was doing, and she saw a whole array of sugar biscuits, which were already shiny with icing, and upon which Elain was writing.

Writing such as:

Lick Me

I Lick You

Butt Play

Toys

Anal

Reverse Cowgirl

Pearl Necklace

Blindfold

Breed Me

Outside

Car BJ

69

And many others, which Nesta couldn’t even make out.

“What the hell is this?!” she cried out.

Elain began to scramble pathetically, trying to turn the biscuits over, but it was too late. Nesta’s seen enough. 

“Elain! What the heck are you two up to?”

“Okay, whatever,” Elain was redder than the icing on the bakes. “It’s a game, okay? We are going to play a game too!”

“What kind of game is this?!”

“I think it’s obvious,” Elain hissed. 

“Not really…”

“My god,” she rolled her eyes and threw her head back dramatically. “It’s a very simple game, Nesta. There is a platter of biscuits–you select one or two, and read what it says. Then you do it.”

Nesta’s eyes bugged out,

“So you are going to do anal?!?! Or a car BJ!?”

“I don’t know!!!!!!!!!!!” Elain screeched, all flustered and red. “Maybe! Maybe we’ll do anal,”

“You are pregnant,”

“You can have anal when you are pregnant. Also, I am not discussing this with you anymore. I’ve given you ideas. That’s it!” she stomped her foot. 

Before the conversation could escalate even further and end up in a potential screaming match, the front door opened and Azriel’s deep, highly masculine and unabashedly sexual voice announced,

“Two jacket potatoes, coming up. Baby, I hope you are naked, because I am fucking gearing up to eat your pussy like a bulldog eats cereal.

“Also, they made me run three sprints today–though I told him that I am an old man with a wonky knee–but per your request, I am still sweaty. So have your way with me, lick it up.”

Nesta made a gagging noise deep inside her chest.

“We are not alone!” Elain screamed frantically.

“Who are we with? The dogs don’t count.”

Elain and Azriel had four dogs. The oldest, who was Elain’s originally, and then he had three sons–Benny, Churchy and John Boy–whom Elain and Azriel also kept. So, the dad and the three sons ran around together, and caused mischief and were four of the cutest dog potatoes ever.

When Azriel stepped inside, holding–by the looks of it–Churchy and Benny in each arm, both of them were dressed in red sweaters, it dawned on Nesta what he meant by ‘jacket potatoes’. Because it was kind of unbelievable that Elain and Azriel would dine on jacket potatoes for Valentine’s Day. Nevermind that Azriel was planning on dining on something else entirely.

“Oh, Nesta,” he muttered, without an ounce of excitement.

“Don’t worry, I am just leaving,” she got up from her seat, scowling. “I don’t need to be hearing about all your perversions,”

“Perversions?” Azriel smirked. “Judgey much?”

Elain was still squirming from embarrassment, but Azriel didn’t seem to care that his sister-in-law became privy to some seriously serious sex talk.

“The boys are knackered,” he announced, dumping the two pugs into their beds. They didn’t even wake up. Both were outfitted with heart-shaped headbands, and red jumpers with white hearts. 

“Nesta, something you need?” he asked, “or,”

“Definitely not! The last thing I need to see is my sister licking your sweat or whatever the fuck you implied she was going to do to you.”

He laughed, while Elain buried her face in her hands.

Azriel was abnormally handsome–in a way that was almost unnatural, and his handsomeness allowed him to get away with a lot of nonsense. 

“Let me guess, you forgot it was V Day and didn’t get my brother anything,” he suggested, stepping behind Elain and wrapping his arms around her.

“Ha! Not even close!” Nesta lied. 

“All right then.” Azriel clearly didn’t believe her. “Then off you go, ice princess. I need to fuck my wife.”

“Az!” Elain moaned helplessly, while Azriel turned her around and cupped her face in his hands.

“What?” he smiled, while his tongue traced a line against her lips. “Let’s make Nessie so uncomfortable, she’ll run out screaming!”

“Already there,” Nesta hissed. 

With Elain’s back to her and Azriel occupied with the kiss, Nesta quickly swiped a bunch of biscuits from the counter and dropped them in her bag. She can play the game too!

“Bye, you degenerates!” she cried out, and ran out, hearing Elain’s soft ‘byeeee’ on the way out. 

-

Nesta and Cassian

“Happy Valentine’s Day, handsome,” Nesta cooed. “Do you want to play a game?”

“Any game you want, sweetheart,” Cassian offered, his voice thick and husky, “I’ll even lose, if you’d like me to,” he promised. His normally bright hazel eyes were dark and satiny, glistening with want and lascivious desire, as they skimmed over Nesta’s stunning lushness, presented to him in all its glory.

She greeted him in their kitchen, when he stomped inside like a big bear, dripping with February rain. He sure didn’t expect to find her there–wrapped up like the perfect candy box of Valentine’s chocolates for him to unwrap. Truthfully, he thought that she’d forgotten about it today–this holiday wasn’t her jam. But, oh how wrong he was. 

Nesta was splayed on the white quartz countertop, dressed in nothing but blood-red silky lingerie, which left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The panties were little more than a piece of tissue paper, covering literally nothing, and the bra, which was tasked with containing Nesta’s lavish cleavage, was hardly anything more. 

The bra was held together by an innocent looking rose, which nestled at the juncture of her soft, plush tits. While the same rose was attached to the top of the panties, just below her belly button. 

“Well, that won’t be necessary,” Nesta assured him breezily, slowly, but intentionally crossing one long leg over the other. To complete the festive look, she wore gravity-defying red Louboutin heels. “I think we can both be winners in this game.”

She slowly walked her manicured fingers down the countertop, to an assortment of heart-shaped biscuits which were laid out in a…heart shape. 

Cassian was a bit shocked. Not just from watching the gorgeous body and the spectacular set that she was wearing, but also from all this wild Valentine-ism that she went out of her way to do. He wasn’t expecting it. This was more of an Elain thing to do.

But he’d lost his ability to speak anyway, so it was a moot point. He was trying to wrap his mind around everything that he was seeing. There were only harsh, primal sounds coming from his gut. Very caveman-like. 

“Pick a biscuit,” Nesta offered, tapping her finger next to each one.

Cassian shucked off his sodden jacket and his brogues, tossing his suit coat on the floor, uncaring. Slowly, like a lion stalking a lioness in the wild, he approached Nesta, trying to appear unaffected.

“What do we have here?” he finally managed to ask, licking his lower lip slowly. Nesta tracked the movement and shifted her body, so that her breasts almost spilled out of the flimsy bra cups, her nipples straining against the transparent lace. 

“A gift for you,” she offered, batting her lashes at him.

“And what will it say?” he pondered, slowly untying the topknot of his long, black hair. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted innocently. “But whatever you pick, you get to do to me…How does that sound?”

“Sounds like I am up to the challenge,” he promised, watching her bite her lower lip. 

His cock stirred within his trousers, while he watched her full lips glisten with a smear of bright red gloss. What a trail it would leave on his cock. The thought alone made him harder. 

Absently, he picked up one of the biscuits and then turned it, to see the message.

“Hmmm,” he hummed, cocking his brow.

Nesta craned her neck to sneak a peek, but he tsked and shook his head. 

“No, no, Miss Archeron, a deal is a deal. Whatever it says, I will do.”

“But what does it say?”

“Something very interesting, and something I am very in the mood to do,” he told her and then slipped the biscuit in his back pocket.

She pouted, but it didn’t last long, because Cassian leaned over her and kissed her. Grasping her slim wrist in his huge hand, he brought it firmly to the swell of his cock. 

“Must have been an interesting message,” she murmured into his mouth, but he wrapped his lips over her soft, pouty mouth and pried the sticky red lips apart with his tongue. Her thin fingers groped his dick firmly, just like he liked it, and a satisfied moan slipped from his lips, landing on Nesta’s tongue. She still sprawled on the counter, but despite the awkward position, Cassian put his big, warm hands on her thighs, travelling slowly over her soft skin toward the gossamer coverage of her panties, until his thumbs traced the warm wet slit beneath the material. 

Nesta moaned into his cheek, biting the skin on his jaw, as she squeezed his shaft harder, working it over with her expert hand. She smelled incredible, her expensive Chanel perfume tickling his nose, as he inhaled deeply, while thrusting his palms under her ass cheeks and palming her hard. He caressed her tongue with his, opening her further up to his kiss, kneading the soft bare skin of her behind. She breathed hotly into his mouth, letting go of his cock and winding her arms around his neck. The loss of her hand on his erection was tragic, but that also allowed Cassian to pull her to him, making her grand tits press into his chest and the warmth of her pussy into his dick. She rubbed against him impatiently, murmuring ‘sorry for ruining your trousers’ to which he replied, ‘feel free to ruin all of me, sweetheart’. 

She nodded, her long leg wrapping around his calves and pulling him even closer. The lips of her pussy stretched around the base of his erection, and she ground on him firmly and confidently.

“What’s my present for V day?” she teased, stroking his long hair and the back of his neck.

“Also a fun game,” he said, dragging his tongue over her mouth, kissing her lazily and with obscene sort of tenderness, indulging in her scent and her taste.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A version of whack-a-mole.”

“Are you the mole?” she queried.

“I am the whacker and the mole,” Cassian told her confidently.

-

Azriel and Elain

“Where was I?” Azriel murmured, watching Elain’s arched body in front of him. “Oh yes,” he remembered, “spreading your legs…”

He was behind her, his scarred palm rough on her hip, as he parted her thighs further. She was panting loudly, and he smiled, caressing her hair lovingly, “my little pillow-biter”.

“Mmm,” was all Elain managed, while the head of his hot, heavy, hefty cock prodded at her entrance, but he didn’t push inside. Instead, his hand slipped under her and stroked her round belly, while he whispered, “he good?”

She nodded yes. “He is good.”

“Ask for my cock, wife,” he then ordered. 

She wiggled her round ass against his groin, the underside of his hard cock landing between her butt cheeks, but didn’t do as he asked. 

He tsked and then slapped the heavy pole over her folds, making her gasp and clutch the sheets harder in her hands.

“Be a good girl, and ask,” he encouraged her, but she shook her head, stifling another moan when he smacked his cock over her pussy. 

“Oh god,” was all she managed, because while it hurt, it also felt so good.

“I am waiting,” he sang, gripping her breasts in his hands and painfully twisting her nipples. 

“Mmm–nooo,” she argued like a brat, shaking her head stubbornly.

Azriel sighed and contemplated for a moment, as he casually fondled her tits, half-seated on her hips. 

“Last chance, beautiful. Ask for my dick,” he told her.

She shook her head and remained silent. 

The thrill of punishment made her even hornier, as she didn’t know what he was going to do.

Flipping her over on her back, he kneeled on one knee over her and cupped his balls in his hand, lazily stroking his shaft. When she made to touch it, he said, “nope. You didn't ask for my cock like a good wife should. Now you are not getting it until I am ready to give it to you,”

He traced his lips with his thumb, while still rubbing his shaft, smearing precum over it, before sliding down and straddling her chest. Gathering her heavy breasts in his hands, he then spit on his dick and firmly pushed her breasts together. “Get ready, sweetness,” he warned, before thrusting his thick cock inside her cleavage. “Now, you are going to take my cock like my good girl, swallow nice and deep, while I fuck your pretty titites,” he instructed, pumping slowly between her breasts. “Tongue out,” he ordered, and Elain stuck her tongue out for him. The smooth head of his cock immediately landed on it, and she burrowed the tip into the sexy little slit, licking on it, tasting him. “That’s a good girl,” he approved, smiling down at her, as he quickly fluffed a pillow behind her head, so that the angle was just right. He squeezed her breasts even harder, and she gasped, especially when he tweaked her nipples, but he didn’t stop thrusting steadily, his movements precise and firm, so that the head of his cock remained inside her mouth for her to lick and suck on. 

“Eye contact at all times, my love,” he reminded her, smiling at her, before pushing deeper in her mouth. Elain watched him obediently, her mouth full of him, her lips stretched around the thickness of the shaft, as she panted loudly around him. He jiggled her tits playfully, keeping them wrapped around his base and his balls. “Now you’ll have my cock in your mouth for as long as I want, naughty girl,” he pinched her nipples, “start sucking, baby.”

Elain submitted, immobilised beneath his weight, sucking scrupulously and hard, as she watched him like he wanted. 

She wanted to be here too, in this place, in his position. She enjoyed being dominated, and Azriel dominated her well. She didn’t crave pain, though when he spanked her, or choked her, or slapped her with his dick, she loved it, but she needed to submit to his desires. She loved taking his cock any way he told her to, loved to serve him in bed, loved to give up control. 

So she sucked sloppily, while he pumped her tits and worked his heavy balls up and down her chest. 

“Is that good, pretty girl?” he asked. 

She nodded, gasping for breath when he pushed his cock deeper. He didn’t stop, and pressed further, whispering “choke on it, beautiful. Come on!”

She sputtered and choked, her eyes pleading with him silently, as tears ran down her cheeks, but he shook his head. 

“No. Swallow. And choke,” he ordered. “Open up. Wider,” and as she did, he plunged further, into her already trained throat. 

After they got married, for three months all she did was suck his cock multiple times a day, learning how to train her gag reflex, learning how to truly suck dick, falling in love with it. 

He released her tits from his grip, and she noticed the blossoming of bruises on her skin, while he propped himself on his arms, before starting  to fuck her mouth greedily and obscenely.

Elain relaxed under the onslaught of his expertly delivered thrusting in her mouth and while he still choked her, she was also enjoying herself. She loved her husband more than it was rational or describable. Azriel fulfilled every dream, every hope, every desire, every need that she had.

Elian hummed against the hard, hot pole in her mouth, which made Azriel feel drunk, particularly when the sound reverberated in her throat, tickling the head of his shaft. He lovingly brushed his thumb over her cheek, watching her bob up and down and meeting every push of his shaft. The noises that she was making–sloppy, wet, explicit–were an erotic symphony in his ear. If he could listen to her gag on his dick for the rest of his life, he probably would.

“You are so good to me,” he whispered. “My Ellie. But, I promised you a gift.”

He eased his pounding of her mouth and resumed his spot on her chest, sliding his shaft back between her breasts. Her breathing eased and she put her hands on his firm, muscle-corded thighs, stroking him slowly, running her fingertips through the nest of pubes around his cock.

His balls tightened and this member twitched next to her sternum, while she squeezed his rock-hard ass cheeks in her hands, digging her nails into his skin. Just like her, he liked a bit of pain as well. 

He pulled out of her mouth just in time for the warm jets of cum to land on her lips, her neck and her chest.

“Mmmm, more,” she finally moaned, licking the familiar salty outpouring from her lips, while he kept coming, until it was dripping down her chest. He scooped some with his fingers and let her lick them off the sperm.

“Beautiful girl,” he purred lovingly. “With a beautiful pearl necklace.”

She laughed and touched her neck. There, beneath the globs of cum, was her new pearl necklace, her Valentine’s gift and the present for her pregnancy.

Azriel collapsed on the bed next to her and then handed her a glass of water. She chugged it down gratefully and he took the biscuit from the nightstand. On it, in pretty script it was written ‘Pearl Necklace’.

Elain got up, amidst his protests and skipped to the bathroom, where she washed off her V Day gift and brushed her teeth.

Then, she quickly returned to bed and collapsed into the embrace of her husband.

“I love you, you know,” he said seriously, spooning her from behind.

“I do know that,” she smiled and kissed his hand. “And I love you. More than you’ll ever know.”

He kissed her shoulder gently and then arranged her against himself, before spreading her pussy with his fingers and nudging his already-hard dick inside. He thrust in slowly, filling her gradually and completely. She sighed contentedly.

“Are you hungry?” he worried.

She shook her head and made herself comfortable on his bicep.

“But I am happy.”

“I am happy if you are happy,” he said to her, and kissed her cheek.

Elain yawned. 

Incredibly, of all the biscuits that she would have selected, she randomly chose ‘cock warming’--her very favourite thing to fall asleep with. It’s almost like she…cheated.

-

Nesta and Cassian

Nesta rolled her hips, seated on Cassian’s knees. Her own knees were tucked against his thighs, pressing tightly into him, holding him immobile.

“You look delicious, Nes,” he ground, his voice choked, as he ran his thick fingers through her long silky hair, though now it was tangled against her back.

Her pussy was dripping his shaft, each fold splayed prettily to accommodate his considerable girth and he couldn't get enough of the sight. Especially with the red of her panties pulled aside haphazardly, reminding Cassian of how impatient she was with him. 

A lock of hair bounced over her round breasts, still covered by the bra cup, but it didn’t stop him from putting his mouth over her puckering nipple and biting.

“Fuck me, Cassian,” she grunted through gritted teeth, holding onto the back of his neck. She ground down on him, taking him inside her gorgeous body wholly, tempting tits swaying freely next to his face. He bit her nipple again, sucking on it through the material, and her head fell forward, pressing into his forehead.

The wet, hot friction between them was almost unbearable, but Cassian held her firmly by the hips, fucking up into her and making her take all of him again and again. It was pure, glorious heaven.

“Gimmie a kiss, sweetheart,” he told her, as he fucked her with rough, deep strokes. This was his favourite Nesta–weakened and compliant, her lips pink and glossy, when he took her mouth in a messy, wet kiss. She keened into him, allowing him full control of her body, sucking on his tongue like he wanted her to–soft and sighing with pleasure. He rocked her steadily, his thrusts deep and punishing, as he caressed her arched back and the peachy cut of her ass. She took him breathlessly, her mouth forming an almost shocked ‘O’ every time he hit that perfect spot inside of her, angling her body just so and making her cry out loudly again and again.

“Cassian. Cassian. Cassian.”

Her head lolled to the side and she closed her eyes, her grip on his neck and shoulders easing, and he held her closer, allowing her to relax and know that he had her. 

“Good fucking girl,” he murmured into her hair, pressing his thumbs into the divots above her ass. “Letting me fuck and breed this perfect pussy.”

At that, Nesta exploded. The squelching sounds of her dick pushing inside her became a staccato of explicit, sultry melody. 

“GOD. Cassian. I love you,” she squealed, as he huffed and grunted with adoration at her words.

The walls of her pussy squeezed him tightly, holding him in an almost painful vise-like grip, as she climaxed all over him, melting into a loud, needy scream. She fell into his chest, pumped continuously and nestled her face into the crook of his neck, sucking on it with desperation. 

Only then did Cassian let go of his iron self control and came inside of her, letting her milk every drop of his seed.

“Beautiful, Nes,” he babbled in her ear. “Take it all. Finally.”

This was perfection.

The way she gripped him and how her pussy pulsed all around his dick was incredible.

Nesta was severely allergic to any hormonal contraceptives, and non-hormonal IUD didn’t work for her, causing constant bleeding and extreme discomfort. So they practised the ‘natural method’ and he never came inside of her. Until tonight. Finally. It was amaz-

“Cassian!!!” she cried out. “What the hell?!? What did you do?!”

She pushed against his chest and stared at him with a horrified expression.

“What did I do?” he exclaimed, alarmed.

He was in fact, still orgasming inside of her.

“What?!” he repeated.

“You came!” she accused him pointlessly.

“Well, yes,” his brow furrowed.

“Inside!” she stated the obvious, like he wasn’t aware.

“Well, yeah. You wanted me to!” he reminded her, as he kissed her lips.

“What? When did I want you to?”

“Nesta,” he sighed. “I know you are blissed out, baby, but you asked me to,”

“Asked you what?!”

“To come inside of you. Calm down, sweetheart.”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded. 

“Stop freaking out. It’s going to be okay.”

“When did I ask you?!” she repeated again.

“The cookie.”

“What cookie?!?!” she screamed.

“The biscuit. That you told me to choose.”

“What about it??!!!” she wiped her face.

“It said Breed Me.”

She stared at him helplessly, mouth open.

Cassian kissed her again and pumped into her deeper, making everything seem inevitable.

“So I bred you,” he shrugged, looking proud of himself. 

-

Fucking Elain and her fucking biscuits.

#elriel #nessian #azriel and elain #elain x azriel #nesta and cassian #cassian and nesta #elain archeron #azriel #nesta archeron #my fanfiction #nessian fanfiction #elriel fanfic #my writing

[callmelola111]

guilty conscience ☆ part five

 ← part 1 , part 2 , part 3 , part 4 ⭑ 

synopsis: it’s your first year at college and you’re 1,500 miles away from home. you’d feel completely alone if it wasn't for your attractive roommate ellie. will this attraction complicate the already uncharted territory? or will she be the answer to all your problems?

      |✯| pairing & wc: college!ellie williams x roommate!reader. wc: 1.2k

      |✯| cw (by part): 18+ themes (MDNI), fem reader, modern au!ellie, some angst, mild swearing, cat, discussions of cheating, light sexual themes

a/n: sorry to end on a more boring note, i was starting to lose inspiration at the end but i wanted to give y'all a happy ending after dragging reader through the mud these past 4 parts lol. thank you for the support on my first series, it has meant so so much to me. if you like my writing and want to see more feel free to leave a follow!! i have so many ideas in the works and coming to you guys hopefully very very soon. ♡

The sound of Cat’s voice echoed through the now silent bathroom. You and Ellie stood frozen in the stall just feet away from danger. Her hand remained over your mouth as your eyes glazed over with fear. All that bliss Ellie had given you just moments before was quickly ripped from your grasp by Cat herself. You were terrified for what was to come. As much as you hated Cat, Ellie was hers fair and square. She didn’t belong to you.

Ellies thoughts were less rational than yours as she began to picture the potential outcomes. You felt her hands get clammy on your face and the once present confidence vanish. Cat’s voice spoke again and you were both jolted out of your fear responses and faced with reality.

“Ellie, I can see your shoes just come out and-” her voice cut when she spotted a second pair of shoes in the stall along with her girlfriend. It was you. The bitch she was worried about the whole relationship; all of her fears were coming true.

“Ellie, who else is in there??”

With nowhere to run you and Ellie stepped outside of the stall and confronted the angry Cat. Ellie gushed out a string of apologies which you unjustly took offense to.

“You’re seriously saying sorry after I told you all about her little lie??” She already fucked you, the damage had been done, why bother with Cat if you’re the one she really wants? 

“I don’t know, I don't know what I’m doing.” Ellie placed her head in her calloused hands. After everything, she felt so impartial to all of this, just wanting the drama to stop. Cat jumped in, trying to steer Ellie in her direction.

“Els, she's lying. I haven’t said shit to her. She’s just trying to drive a wedge in between us.” Ellie wasn’t even given a chance to speak as you jumped in to defend yourself.

“I’m not, you know I wouldn't do that. Cat’s the one who was mean to me in class before she even knew you and I were roommates.” 

With this new development, Ellie decided to speak up, “You guys have a class together? Why did no one tell me?” 

“I thought your girlfriend would’ve told you, and after a while of you guys dating I decided it best not to bud in anyways.” you explained.

Cat raced to cut you off, “You decided it best not to bud in? What are you doing right now, huh? You’re a liar. Ellie, she's a liar!!!” Ellie stood there dissociating from the “pick me, choose me” competition being held between her girlfriend and roommate. When she noticed the two of you silent, staring wide-eyed for approval, she finally spoke.

“I don’t know who to believe anymore. With all this fighting and drama I think it would be best to not get involved with either of you. I’m sorry…” Before you could say a word, she was gone with a swing of the bathroom door.

You sink down to the floor, letting the cold sensation of the tiles consume you. Cat had already disappeared in pursuit of Ellie but her harsh words had left you less than eager to continue the hunt. It was a reality check hearing Ellie stack you right along with Cat like that. Like you were just as delusional and obnoxious as her. No fucking way. You stayed in that same spot for a few more minutes before finally pulling yourself out of the self-pity thought spiral and going home.

Expectedly, you didn’t see or hear from Ellie after that. Your next few days consisted of school and Dina only. You pushed through your academic afternoons and then went straight to hers where she coached you through your heartbreak with movies, snacks, and music. Dina was the best friend you could’ve ever asked for. She let you talk shit and gush about Ellie as much or as little as you wanted. She learned all the ins and outs of your desperate love story and slowly realized it isn’t a lost cause just yet. Being a 3rd party bystander gave her the advantage to see a perspective you couldn’t. And seeing you hurt so much, she was willing to do whatever she could to aid the pain.

Dina quickly collected the evidence she needed and headed to talk to Ellie herself. She was determined to make this right. You had earned your happy ending and she was going to give it to you. 

After asking just about everyone, Dina finally located Ellie who had been staying at her bandmates house. She was hesitant to talk at first but Dina had a way with words and soon enough they were deep in conversation about you, her, and the whole unfair situation. Dina came with receipts from the night of Ellie’s first show. Her texts showed you talking about Cat being there and being from your class. It was solid proof, not that you should have to prove yourself, but Dina gave Ellie the benefit of the doubt. 

“I feel so stupid. This whole time I’ve been dating some bully when I could’ve been with Y/n.” Ellie explained, regret lacing her voice. Dina could tell she was caught up in her head about it all and urged her with advice. 

“There’s still time for a happy ending Ellie. Do something now and feel sorry later.” She was blunt but right.

Ellie shot into action with a new sense of justice to her. Before you knew it she was standing in the door of your shared dorm bearing gifts and an apologetic smile.

“Ellie?” your eyes welled with salty tears. You didn’t think you’d be seeing her again so soon. And as she saw you stand there breaking she opened her arms welcoming your vulnerability. You accepted her embrace and buried your head into her chest as she used her palm to smooth your hair. 

Ellie whispered into you, “I choose you Y/n. It’s always been you.” 

“But… Cat…” you whimpered. Ellie squeezed you in tighter at the sound of your insecurity. 

“I’ve liked you since day one Y/n. The only reason Cat ever came into my life was because it was easy. I knew if I was honest with my feelings about you I’d be susceptible to the pain that comes along with it. I didn’t wanna lose you. My fear of being alone took over and I picked to be with someone I knew I could never feel something real to avoid any actual hurt. It sounds so stupid when I say it out loud, but it’s true”

“It’s not stupid Ellie. I get it.” She crumbled with your words of reassurance. You felt a sense of safety within her arms and Ellie felt the same. She finally pulled back to retrieve a bundle of wild flowers she picked especially for you. 

“Please, be mine, and I’ll be completely yours. Let me make up for all the lost time.”

Your expression softened, “Of course I’ll be yours Els.” She pulled you in by your waist and planted a long awaited kiss to your blushed lips. Forbidden love all of the sudden felt so overrated as you showered your new girlfriend with affection. Ellie wasn’t scared anymore and neither were you. There was a sense of peace and belonging that the two of you shared that day that no one could interfere with. It was love.

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@machetegirl109 @gold-dustwomxn @menatoia @ximtiredx @robinismywifee @elliepricefield @alexpritch @jokirxmae @slaysksmska

#ellie williams #wlw #ellie williams fanfic #ellie smut #ellie tlou #ellie williams fan fiction #ellie williams series #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie tlou2 #tlou 2 smut #tlou dina #tlou part 2 #the last of us #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie x you #ellie x y/n

[m1ssunderstanding]

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day Seven

Okay if anyone is super well-versed in the whole northern songs drama, I would LOVE your insights. I haven’t really looked into it, so all I know is they lost it right before the divorce meeting. What happened? What the hell is this? -- “Which includes Paul and John,” “Just about.” “What does that mean?” “No comment.”

The scouse getting thicker and thicker after “Carolina moOOn?” What can I say? I’m a sucker for it.

Paul’s absolute sugar-cookie heart-eyes when George walks in and then Ringo’s high-pitched “Hi Georgie!” Guys. Tone it down! I know you love him. But you just saw him yesterday, and you’ll see him again tomorrow. Oh wait . . . is today the day he quits?

John. If you look at your boyfriend like that while he’s being an attention-whore, he’s going to keep being an attention whore. So just. You know. Keep in mind what you’re encouraging here.

OMG they’re KISSING! (Live George reaction)

Paul. If you give your boyfriend what he wants while he’s being an attention-whore, he’s going to keep being an attention whore. So just. You know. Keep in mind what you’re encouraging here. (but literally, John just becomes a maniac, dancing and shouting, the MOMENT Paul goes to talk to George, and Paul’s instantly like “George, what george?”)

This Paul/George fight is, boiled down, literally just Paul being paranoid and anal and George trying to reassure him. “It’s not passe, it’s just a chord . . . yeah, but some drainies suit different occasions.”

“You need Eric Clapton.” “You need George Harrison.” John wasn’t here to be cute when George walked in, so he’s making up for it now.

“If you vamp, then it takes away from his vamping.” He says to the lead guitarist. Rolling my eyes so hard right now. See, the problem is, Paul loves George. But he’s IN love with John.

Literally, a montage of them raw-dogging it on the ground would be less gay than this insanity.

Poor baby. I would’ve quit a long time ago. Good for you.

I love John’s angsty guitar and torn-up vocals post-george.

And the minute her number one hater is gone, my girl gets on a mic! Way to be, honestly. And here’s the thing. Paul and Ringo (and obviously John) love it! There should’ve been a Beatles-Ono colab on a helter-skelter type track. Would’ve killed.

Paul swinging around on that scaffolding and me doing cartwheels in the bathroom between LSAT sections. ADHD besties!

John when George quits: “If he doesn’t come back by Tuesday we get Clapton in” (which he obviously doesn’t fully mean) VS John’s reaction when Paul misses one session: sprinting down the road and climbing a wall and screaming at him

Yoko sure does know how to cater to a fearful-anxious attachment. “John, John, John, Joooooooohhhhhhhnnnn!”

Literally Mo, marry me immediately! My kingdom for a kiss! She’s literally soo beyond gorgeous, I’m dying. Okay sorry I’ll be done now.

Men are the WORST! But who is making her laugh like that? Ringo? Is she looking off in the direction of the band? I can’t tell.

Another rare Paul feminist moment! Woop! “A7, D7, G7. Get ‘em off over the weekend and you’re in.”

“So, cats and kittens. What we gonna do?” . . . “Catch up! Cats and kittens. Don’t get left behind.” ???? There have got to be so many secret jabs on RAM for John to hate it so much that we just don’t understand. Is this one of them? Was this a saying of theirs?

Okay, good job. Now that the band is here, Mo isn’t being fucking mean-girled out of the circle. Also, Ringo sits by his wife, John by his girlfriend, and Paul by his daddy. As they should.

“The maresey beat awords for the best coople of the yeeuh.” Everyone studiously ignoring him. He’s so embarrassing.

I really really love Mo, though. Like I know I’m biased because she’s pretty, but her cute little “Yes!” when Paul jokingly suggests they do it at the cavern. She loved those days. The fact that she’s an og? God bless her, literally.

“Location isn’t really our main problem at the moment.” George Martin. “It’s breathing, actually.” said in the most casual voice possible but meant with the most wounded heart. Gosh, that one hurt. And then look how George Martin looks at him. His best boy is going through it.

The huggle! Ringo initiates it with Paul, of course, turning to him and gently gripping both biceps as he forces deep, direct eye contact. But then as Ringo’s pulling away, Paul leans into him and holds him there, talking. And as Ringo’s nodding, he looks to John, who basically pounces on both of them, head bowed, arms aggressive, pulling them all in, tighter, tighter until it’s a three-way head-bonk. Ringo’s hand at John’s waist now, and Paul’s fucking iron talons clenching desperately around his bicep. But still, John manages to pull away from Paul’s grip as Yoko inserts herself between them where, really, she decidedly does Not belong. It’s got to be the most painful non-hug ever recorded on camera. Nobody knows what anyone wants, let alone how to give it to them.

Why did the gayest one also have to be the saddest one though? I guess the Lord gives his hardest battles to his gayest soldiers, smh

#Very image-heavy this time #Pictures just spoke louder than words I guess #paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #get back