#i feel like now they maybe meander a bit although there are still moments in them that i use in ch1 & 8 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chr0macide · 2 months

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Orientation Day

posting two things one day wow im on fire

i kinda wanted to write a lil bit about magdalena but this fic ended up being more about purge university and shes kinda just there lol. i didn't put anything about her time in college while i was making her intro post cause i was lazy. i said she made no friends but maybe that was cap, she did meet markus there.

this shows a little bit about what i think purge university is like. it wouldn't be the same for every student but this is more or less what i think it would be like for the impoverished attendee. i write this fanfic as if break in happens in the "real(ish) world" instead of roblox so stuff has to be different. and yeah this is canon to the rest of the fic unless i start feeling like something conflicts with game canon too much.

also im seeing people with like 100 ocs when it took 100% of my power just to make this single one, lmao how are you guys doing that 😂

alright this is like 3300 words divided into 2 chapters les goooo

Chapter I – Ticket to Nowhere

“Purge University, huh? You excited?” asked the taximan.

The girl did not reply. He looked at her in the rear-view mirror and pouted when she simply lay her head against the window. Nobody waved goodbye to her.

Magdalena was the first one in her family to attend college at all—not that her relatives appreciated that—but she had thought she was finally about to leave this decaying urban hellscape. And yet, every request she’d sent to every collegiate and federal financial aid office had returned the same response to her. Denied. Denied. Denied.

It didn’t make any sense. Much to the disdain of her parents, she had studied until the dregs of coffee had long since dried into a rock-hard crust at the bottom of her cup, lest she be stuck in this slum forever, so why was she still here?

The taxi meandered through the streets and over a pothole. There were plenty of those in Magdalena’s neighborhood. She pinched the bridge of her nose as the motion briefly jerked her out of her brooding.

“Sorry. Wherever our taxes are going, it’s not towards the roads,” the driver chuckled. Magdalena rolled her vacant eyes. Everyone knew where the city’s coffers were going. Straight into the pockets of one of the local mafia dons… but maybe she ought not to complain. It was thanks to one of them that Magdalena was going to college at all, although the interest rate on her loan was horrendous and it came with the stipulation that she attended Purge University. Tuition was exorbitant there, not to mention that the place was notoriously corrupt. While Magdalena would admit it was preferable to living in a leaky trailer for the rest of her life, she would rather have gone literally anywhere else. She should have been anywhere else, the girl seethed inwardly. There was nothing she could do about the situation now, but the thoughts had kept intruding ever since she’d opened the acceptance letter.

The crumbling structures in her district became less dilapidated as the car approached the university. The college grounds rested on the boundary between the destitute and the affluent, so the buildings here looked like they actually might be livable on the inside.

The driver pulled into the parking lot outside the residence hall.

Well, some of the buildings looked like they might have been livable.

The driver ducked out of the car and removed Magdalena’s lone suitcase from the trunk. She put a few crumpled notes in his palm.

“Let me help you carry your-”

“No,” Magdelana cut him off.

The taximan looked at her for a moment longer, but she was already walking away, so he shrugged as he got back into his car and drove off.

Magdalena swiped her identification card. The scanner beeped. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, not really minding the odor of mildew. Her home didn’t smell too different.

“You don’t gotta use your card. The lock doesn’t work,” said a nearby voice with a slight accent. There was a burly student sprawled across an entire sofa in the lobby. Magdalena guessed by the color of his ID lanyard that he was a sophomore. She made a sound of acknowledgement and made her way to the front desk, but there was nobody there.

“The receptionist went on break. Beer?” offered the student.

“I’m underage.”

“Nobody in here gives a shit, believe me,” he said as he tossed her a can from the 6-pack on the end table. She caught it in her hand and stared at it for a second.

The student gave her an odd look. “What? Never drank before?”

It wasn’t that. Magdalena had booze a few times when her family’s water had been cut off. Her parents didn’t keep much else in the fridge. Magdalena popped the tab open and took a sip as another student came down the stairs.

“Where’s the RA?” the newcomer demanded.

The sophomore craned his neck to see who had just shown up. “Oh, hey, Isaiah. I think he’s out back. Why?”

“My roommate ripped the fucking sink out of the—is that my beer? I just fucking bought that!”

“Relax, man. I was gonna pay you back.”

Magdalena placed her can on the reception desk sheepishly, but Isaiah wasn’t paying attention to her.

“Like hell you were,” snapped Isaiah as he grabbed the remainder of the 6-pack off the table and stormed out of the lounge.

The lingering student took another swig. “Sheesh. I’d like to tell you he’s not always so bitchy, but… heh.”

The door behind the front desk finally swung open. “ID?” requested the receptionist. The lady didn’t glance twice at the can on the counter as Magdalena handed her card over. She didn’t know whether to be glad for that or concerned that this hall had such lax restrictions.

The receptionist passed a key to Magdalena along with her ID. “Room 217,” she told the girl.

“Hey, we’re roommates,” the sophomore piped up. He chugged the rest of his beer. “I’ll show you where our dorm is.”

Magdalena started towards the elevator as he stood up. His orange hair almost brushed one of the light fixtures hanging from the ceiling.

“The elevator doesn’t work, either,” he advised her.

Magdalena sighed. “Of course it doesn’t.”

The student lifted Magdalena’s luggage with one hand and carried it up the stairs for her. “Name’s Markus, by the way.”

“Magdalena.”

“I haven’t seen you before. You a freshman?”

She nodded

Markus set her suitcase down in front of their dorm. The smell of cigarette smoke clung to the discolored runner. Their neighbor’s door was open. Magdalena could hear pressurized water spouting out from somewhere inside, but Markus didn’t seem to notice as he unlocked their own dorm. “Sorry about the mess. Old roommate left most of his stuff behind.”

Notebooks and stationery were strewn across the desk. There was a backpack and a large folder on the ground underneath it. Even a laptop was still resting on the nightstand. Magdalena’s side of the room looked as if someone else still lived here.

“Did he graduate?” the girl asked.

Markus’s expression hardened abruptly. “No.”

He didn’t elaborate, but his tone warned her not to probe any further. “But they assigned me a new roommate,” he said, gesturing at Magdalena, “so I doubt he’s coming back. I guess you can keep some of his junk if you want. I’ll throw the rest of it out tomorrow.”

If Markus was reluctant to speak of him, it wasn’t hard to deduce what might have happened to the last tenant. Perhaps Markus’s roomie pissed off one of the mob’s higher-ups. Those who talked about it out loud too often were prone to disappearing, but most people knew Purge University doubled as a front for organized crime. Too bad for him, but Magdalena wasn’t one to turn down free stuff.

She moved to the nightstand and opened the laptop. It was greasy. Magdalena wiped her fingers on her coat. There was a password, but she was sure the IT department could deal with that.

“Huh. Almost didn’t think it would turn on,” Markus remarked. Yeah, the thing was pretty ancient. The fan sounded like it was on its last legs and there was duct tape over a corner where the plastic exterior had cracked. “You actually want that old thing?”

“I don’t have my own,” Magdalena told him. Markus’s eyebrows crept up.

“You made it all the way to undergrad with no laptop?”

“Not everyone is rich.”

“No shit. That’s why we’re here,” Markus japed, but it was plain that Magdalena didn’t come from money. Her attire was somewhat ill-fitting. Her luggage didn’t weigh anything, and neither did she, by the looks of her. “For real, though, how did you get anything done?”

Magdalena didn’t answer. She shut the laptop and commenced unpacking her suitcase, but there wasn’t a lot to unpack. With nothing else to do, Markus booted up his own computer. “Quiet type, huh?”

The girl produced a annoyed huff from the back of her throat as she moved the presumably dead guy’s clothes aside and hung up her own in the closet.

“Hey, we’re gonna be stuck with each other for a while. I was just trying to get to know you better. Don’t make shit awkward,” Markus muttered.

Magdalena murmured something unintelligible under her breath—probably an insult—but she humored him. “Used the library computers. Checked out some textbooks when I had to be a home.” She practically lived at the city library, though the administrators eventually put a limit on how long unaccompanied children were allowed to be there each day. The bigwigs had decided they didn’t want street urchins ruining the scenery.

“Sounds like a lot of work for… uh… what’s your major?”

“Mechanical engineering and biotech.”

“Oh, a smart kid? I would’ve taken your lunch money back in the day,” Markus kidded. Magdalena glared at him. “Ha. Sorry. Bad joke. I’m a business major.”

The girl gave him a once-over. “Figures.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Magdalena was silent again as she returned her attention to her suitcase. Markus stuck out his lower lip childishly and turned to his laptop. They both heard a pool of water making its way out of the next dorm and flowing through the corridor outside.

“Does that sort of thing happen often?” Magdalena asked.

“You get used to it.”

Chapter II – Spontaneous Expulsion

“And for those of you who have science classes this year, this is Gearwise Hall,” the campus tour guide introduced.

The freshmen looked up at the building’s hypermodern exterior. Someone had to be power washing those walls on the regular. Magdalena saw through the windows that there was even a sculpture of a DNA strand suspended from the rafters. It wasn’t hard to tell that they were in the rich kids’ part of the university. It was either that or mafia territory. She was seeing a lot of bowties and pinstriped suits.

The guide hauled one of the double doors open and ushered everyone inside. “There are a few students making up an exam, so try to be quiet,” he said in a low voice.

The interior was just as blindingly white as the façade. “Here’s the common area,” the guide told them as he led them across the rounded foyer and into an adjoining room. There were a few students sitting at the tables and poring over their books, getting a head start on studying, Magdalena supposed. The room opened into a terrace whose style was much more gothic than the building itself. It must have been there before the hall was built. It actually looked nice, Magdalena thought, but she noticed the students outside casting unpleasant glares at a student wearing a faded, wrinkled t-shirt. A few of them soon stood up and began hassling the kid until he grabbed his things and left.

Maybe Magdalena’s kind wasn’t welcome at this particular spot.

The guide led them past the many lecture halls and up the stairwell at the end of the corridor. “Freshmen usually only have classes on the first floor, and we’re running out of time, so we’re gonna skip the rest of this place. I need to take you guys to Purge Hall.”

The group mumbled various grievances, but the guide shook her his as they reached the second floor. “Bear with me, guys. Everyone has classes in Purge Hall sooner or later, and it’s really important that you don’t get lost in there and wander somewhere off-limits. Really, really important.” He opened the exit to escort the gathering across the bridge and into the adjacent building.

Magdalena didn’t know what she’d expected, but it didn’t look that different from the other buildings around this here. It was a lot emptier, though, and her footsteps echoed conspicuously. In fact, she couldn’t see anybody else except for the tour group. Magdalena peered over the edge of the entresol. The ground floor was vacant as well.

She was startled by the sound of someone’s phone alarm. It was the end of a class period, it seemed, because students began trickling out of the lecture halls.

Most of them didn’t speak to each other at all. The ones that did were murmuring almost imperceptibly.

“First of all,” the guide began, “that is the Head—I mean, President Purge’s office.” He pointed at the imposing double doors at one end of the pathway. The fancily carved redwood stuck out like a sore thumb from the more contemporary architecture. “Don’t even go near it. And don’t go to any of the basement levels, either. If you’re in the elevator and somebody hits a button for a negative floor, just get out and wait for the… next one… uh…”

The guide faltered. There was a dull metallic clank ringing out from somewhere in the distance, but the sound was getting closer. “Don’t block the walkway, guys. Move up to the wall,” the guide urged, herding the troupe aside. The freshmen were puzzled, but they fanned out and stood against the wall, and Magdalena figured out why when as ground trembled ever so slightly.

A man threw the door open on the other end of the entresol and stepped inside. Well, not a man per se. His “skin” was rough and burnished like steel. Two more followed close behind. Magdalena had never seen the bosses in person before, as prolific as they were. She’d thought Markus was a giant, but these things made him look almost shrimpy.

The one at the head of the trio—Mr. Clockturn, it was—made his way towards the Headmaster’s office without so much as a passing glance at the students, even as they stared at him with wide eyes. His crowbar clinked against the floor as he walked and Magdalena could hear the ticking of his innards when he drew near.

The second one—the only woman; it must have been Miss Gearwise—spared them a smirk. Magdalena nearly had to shield her eyes. She blinked dark spots out of her vision. The light was dazzlingly bright when it glinted on the automaton’s gleaming golden exoskeleton.

The last one flashed smiled at the tour group almost affably, to Magdalena’s surprise. He even winked at one of the ladies. That was kind of gross, actually. He’d strolled off while Magdalena was trying to remember how much older he was than the college students, but his coppery luster denoted him as Mr. Cogsworth.

The university belonged to the mob, certainly, but Magdalena hadn’t expected the Headmaster’s underbosses to show up here so brazenly. Magdalena wondered for a moment why law enforcement had quit raiding this place, but she figured the mob had paid the police department off a long time ago. What would the cops do, anyway? Shoot an ironclad robot?

A cluster of students ahead of them scattered as the three approached. One of them had his back turned to the automatons, however, and he evidently didn’t get the memo. Mr. Clockturn hefted his crowbar. Magdalena looked away.

The student was already out cold when he toppled over the railing. Magdalena heard a loud crack. The people on the first floor shrieked. He hadn’t stuck the landing, apparently. The automata tittered as they peered over the barrier and continued into the Headmaster’s dwelling. It was too dark in the chamber for Magdalena to see much when Mr. Clockturn pushed the doors open, but she glimpsed President Purge’s luminous yellow eyes, corners crinkled as if he were smiling.

The tour guide waited until the doors were closed again before he finally resumed speaking. “I apologize you all had to see that. Y-you never know when those guys are gonna show up. Listen, they take it as, um, rudeness when you don’t move for them. Just-”

“They just fucking killed somebody!” one of the freshmen exploded, motioning vehemently at the spot where the student had fallen from.

The guide shushed the dissident. “There’s no need yell!” he said whispered harshly as he glanced at the office uneasily. “Seriously. You don’t want those things to come back out here right now. As I was saying, that kind of thing won’t happen to you as long as you stay out of their way.”

The guide was clearly trying to remain collected, but to no avail. He fidgeted with the lanyard around his neck as he did a silent headcount of the tour group.

“Let’s just move on to the next building. Most of you don’t have courses here this year anyway.”

He hastily steered the tour group through the entrance where the automata had come in from, and the remainder of the outing passed by in a blur.

Markus looked up from his laptop when he heard the dorm door unlock. Magdalena walked in and dropped her backpack next to her desk. It sagged on the floor glumly.

“Fun tour?” her roommate asked. No response, but he was getting used to it quickly.

He put down the beer he’d been nursing. Drinking in the morning? Magdalena didn’t blame him. She couldn’t think of many reasons for people to stay sober around here. “Aw, I’m just messing around. Someone posted the vid already,” Markus told her, gesturing at his screen. A video of the student splattering against the vinyl tiles played on loop.

“Does that sort of thing also happen often?” Magdalena questioned.

Markus scrolled away from the post before speaking. “Guess that depends on what you mean by often.”

Magdalena stared at him.

“Come on. The Darwin Award is a thing everywhere. Don’t look at me like that,” Markus said.

“This is how I always look.”

“Oh.” He perhaps should have figured that out already. Magdalena was wearing that catatonic expression in the murder video as well. “Well. You saw those guys. The bosses, I mean. You’d have to be pretty stupid to stand where they’re walking, right? That’s, like, natural reflection, or some shit.”

“Natural selection.”

“Yeah. That. Whatever.”

Magdalena collapsed onto her bed and let out a sigh. Markus rested his face on his hand as he observed her through lidded eyes. There was a small smile of amusement on his lips. “Don’t tell me you’re already tapped out. You didn’t even know the guy.”

It wasn’t just the impromptu homicide. It was everything. Magdalena watched a roach as it crept down the cracked drywall. “Maybe I should have gone for an online degree. This university is shit.”

Markus drank to that. “This entire city is shit, babe,” he laughed. “I guess that means you thought you were gonna move away for college…?”

The cockroach made it to the window and squeezed through a gap in the frame, scrambling away to freedom.

Magdalena sighed again. “Yeah.”

“No need to give up just yet. I knew a few graduates who scraped up enough cash to leave.”

“I can’t move away. I owe money to the mob.”

“Oh… yeah, nevermind. You’re fucked.”

“Thanks.”

Markus laughed again. He crushed the empty can in his hand and pitched it at the waste basket. “Nah, you’ll be fine. Maybe. You want some advice from a guy who’s had to deal with this place for a while?”

“Shoot.”

His face grew serious. “Worry about yourself. Not morons flying over guardrails and shit-talkers going missing at night,” he warned Magdalena, looking pointedly at his old cotenant’s belongings. He’d said he’d toss them, but it was starting to seem like Magdalena would have to do it. “No one’s gonna cover your ass for you. We’ve all got our own problems going on, you know? And people who stick their noses in other people’s business don’t last that long.”

What reassuring counsel. “I’ll keep it in mind,” Magdalena replied blandly.

The girl rolled over in her bed. Markus’s eyes drifted back to his laptop screen. They didn’t say another word to each other until classes began.

#roblox break in #break in roblox #roblox #break in 2 #break in oc

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glorious-spoon · 2 years

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For the domestic prompts: buddie and 8, 10, or 16 💕

Thank you! :D

I went with 10: doing laundry. Although not much laundry actually ends up getting done in this. ~700 words, established relationship.

“That’s my shirt,” Eddie says from the doorway.

Buck doesn’t look up from where he’s sorting the laundry. Eddie tends to throw it all in the washer together and let the bleeding colors duke it out in cold water and too much detergent, but Eddie also tends to buy his shirts in three-packs from Target. Like, for example, the blue one that Buck pulled out of the hamper and is currently wearing.

“No it isn’t,” he lies cheerfully.

“It’s a size too small for you.”

“It’s supposed to fit like that.”

Eddie pushes off from the door. Buck tracks the sound of his footsteps as he crosses the laundry room, but keeps his head down to hide his grin. Socks go in the whites basket; Christopher’s favorite green hoodie goes in the colors basket along with Buck’s jeans and one of Eddie’s undershirts. Their laundry is all mixed together, which is an incredibly stupid thing to feel mushy about, but he still does.

That’ll wear off someday. It’s been three months since he moved in and it hasn’t yet, but it will. Eventually. Probably.

“Believe me,” Eddie says, settling against the open washing machine and crossing his arms—from this angle Buck can only see his feet in the dorky socks and slides combo that he wears around the house, but he knows that stance, and Eddie has his arms folded and is wearng that look like he’s trying really hard to be exasperated. It’s one of Buck’s favorite looks on him. “I am aware that you like your shirts to fit like they’re spray-painted on. But that shirt is mine, and you’re stretching it out.”

“Well.” He straightens up to offer Eddie his cockiest grin and flexes a little, because he’ll never be over the way Eddie’s eyes darken when he does that. Will never be over the way Eddie looks at him, now that he’s not trying to hide it anymore. “Sounds like maybe you need to step up your workout routine then, Diaz.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, visibly trying to look unimpressed and unamused, and visibly failing at both. He purses his lips, bites down on a smile, and says, “Give me my shirt back, Buck.”

“Come and get it.”

“Oh, what, you think I won’t?”

“I think you’re—” Buck breaks off, because Eddie pushes off from the washing machine and takes two steps forward, catching him by the hips and backing him up against the wall as smoothly as if they’re dancing. Buck’s shoulders hit the plaster with a thump that is nowhere near forceful enough to knock the wind out of him, but he feels breathless anyway with Eddie’s hands on him, warm and deliberate.

“Hey,” he breathes.

The corners of Eddie’s eyes crinkle. “Hey. I think you were saying something?”

“What?” Buck says. Then, “Oh, the shirt. Yeah, you can have it back, here.”

He reaches back to peel it off over his head with one smooth motion, the sexiness of which is kind of ruined when one of the seams pops open with an audible tearing noise.

There’s silence for a moment.

“Um,” Buck says sheepishly, and Eddie cracks up laughing, catching him by the nape to pull him down into a kiss.

“You’re fucking unbelievable,” he says, and leans back in to kiss the corner of Buck’s mouth, his jaw, lips marking a hot, meandering little path down the side of his throat.

“Sorry about your shirt,” Buck manages.

“I’ll live.”

Eddie's smile presses against his collarbone, teeth stinging briefly before he kisses the spot he just bit, and Buck shudders and turns his head to slot their mouths together again. Eddie goes willingly, laughing into the kiss, pressing into Buck until their bodies are molded together, warm and close. Eddie’s hair slips through his fingers and Eddie’s hands are on his cheeks, and Eddie’s body is sturdy and familiar and still kind of new, in the best possible way. In the way that Buck gets to touch him like this and know that Eddie wants him too.

“You know,” he says against Eddie’s mouth, several dizzying minutes later, “I’m pretty sure that’s actually my shirt you’re wearing, now that I think about it.”

“Oh, you’re so full of shit,” Eddie laughs, but he doesn’t even make a token effort at preventing Buck’s fingers from sliding up under the hem to find smooth, warm skin.

It’s a while before they get around to finishing the laundry.

#911 #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #my fic #prompt fic #they're dumbasses your honor

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valkyrie-night-103 · 1 year

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The one and only anon fan coming at you to ask about terms of surrender

Hello, wonderful anon!! Thank you so so much for your continued support! Like I said before, I am available on tumblr and discord, feel free to DM me or friend me on discord (I’ll put my tag in my bio) if you would like to talk more about fic!

I have been DYING to talk about this one, it’s my main project right now. It went from a concept that I was going to write a little one shot about to a multi-chapter fic that currently consists of 7 chapters of varying lengths, totalling 20,000 words, and is about half done!

It’s got a lot of twists and turns and I really don’t want to completely spoil it for anyone, but if you like the golden lovers, getting-back-together fics filled with domestic fluff, emotional conflict and betrayal that isn’t between the main couple, with a dose of murder, revenge and most importantly, wrestling— this is the fic for you!!

Content warning for self deprecating thoughts, depression, just general emotional burnout.

Disclaimer, mobile formatting is awful.

Below the cut is a sneak peek of the first chapter! There is a prologue but I think the first chapter gives you a better assessment of the story direction, whereas the prologue kind of lays the groundwork and gives context for chapter one, but is not strictly necessary. This way is more exciting!

Chapter One : the road to ruin (and we’re starting at the end)

The segment goes as planned, for the most part. He tells the fans he’s going away for a while. That he needs time to recover, to recuperate, to finally rest. When they’re off the air, he embraces both Matt and Nick, an arm around each of them. He holds them at arms length, and smiles at them warmly. He hopes it reaches his eyes.

Naturally, Cole encroaches on their little moment. He opens his arms for a hug, but Kenny has already stuck his hand out for a stiff and awkward handshake before he can step closer. Cole’s barely concealed annoyance at the blatant snub makes him feel a little bit victorious, and he’s kind of in need of that right now.

Cole’s grip is tight as they shake, other hand also clasped around Kenny’s. He makes direct and prolonged eye contact, and though he’s probably not aware that Kenny finds eye contact awkward at the best of times, it still really annoys him.

Although, there’s something not quite right about those eyes. Adam Cole has always had bright blue eyes, but in this light they’re almost glazed silver. They’ve looked different since they brought him back, he’s noticed. Even when he laughs, there’s something menacing there.

Kenny had known even at the time that he was an amateur at anything spiritual, Cole was bound to come back a little bit wrong, but right now it’s so stark and obvious, staring him in the face in the most literal sense. It just gives him the creeps, and some part of him feels like he should have listened when Malakai said every ritual has a consequence somewhere down the line. That he shouldn’t have put the warning in his face down to his generally menacing presence.

“I’ll see you guys around.” He says, a lie that he knows will come back to bite him. It just feels right, like he’s meant to say it.

He takes a few steps back, not wanting to look away, before finally finding the courage to turn and go. Once he starts, he can’t stop, and though his dodgy knees protest with every step he walks faster and faster until he’s running, and then he runs, far enough away to breathe again.

He pulls out his phone and books the flight on his way out of the hotel. He waits to board, and he looks through his chat history, scrolling through old conversations. It’s nostalgic in a melancholy way. Time moves so strangely, he feels like he’s lived a lifetime since leaving to start AEW.

On the journey, he tilts his head back and tries to relax. Sleep is off the table, but maybe relaxing is a more attainable goal. His mind wanders and meanders, he feels like he’s chasing nothing, searching for something he’ll never find.

He goes through the motions after touching down, and he already feels like he’s come home. Japan has been his home since he first flew out there to wrestle for DDT, some 15 years ago. He remembers it so clearly, and sometimes he wishes he didn’t, because it hurts to recall a time where he believed in himself, owned who he was and would never trade it for anything.

He’s not really thinking about where his feet are taking him, but he doesn’t need to. He knows where he’s going.

As his mind often does when unoccupied for any period of time, he wonders what Kota thinks of him now, just as that sign had asked.

When Kota is alone, looking out at the skyline of his hometown, does he think of him fondly? When his name is mentioned, does his face twist in irritation or soften with fond familiarity?

Either way, it’s a little late to be having these doubts on the man’s doorstep.

#aew #all elite wrestling #wrestling #kenny omega #kenny omega my beloved #golden lovers #kota ibushi #aew ask game #fic ask game #aew fic ask #aew fic #wrestling fic

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epitomees · 9 months

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Thank god Yomenaido bookstore was open today. It was his girlfriend's birthday today and he couldn't meet her at Aiya's empty-handed, aside from paying for an extra large beef bowl and anything else her enormous appetite craved. It was all on him. He still had quite a lot of money left from last year.

Yu entered the store and browsed through the various books lined up until he reached the manga section. Now, given Chie's bubbly personality, it only made logical sense to pick something adventurous and fun to read through. Finally, after a few minutes of careful consideration, he found one: Akame Ga Kill, featuring a female protagonist with a strong sense of justice.

He's sure that she will at least find it enjoyable. He paid for it in no time, asked the clerk to wrap it up nicely, and quickly made his way to the Chinese restaurant where it seems that she best him to it.

"Sorry I'm late." He looked apologetic for a moment and sat down beside her, planting a quick peck on her cheek. "Happy birthday, honey bun. I'm treating you today and I also got you something nice to read." He handed over the mystery book with a smile. "It's a long one, but I hope it's to your taste."

Somehow, Inaba's well-known steak skewer and Topsicle combo tasted much better with it being her birthday. Tough, chewy meat combined with the sweet, icy flavors made for one very happy brunette. Her second lunch was complete, and after waving goodbye to the counter clerk Chie made her next pitstop...right next door. Aiya's couldn't be missed on this important day, and this time she expected a guest to accompany her for this meal.

Although...she didn't see a familiar grey bowl-cut hair anywhere inside, not that many people were currently lounging or eating up their fill of noodles. By the time dinner came around, the scenery would drastically change. Nevertheless, she asked the teenage waitress for a two-person table, then patiently sat with her line of sight in perfect view of the door. He didn't forget their meetup. Yu wasn't like that. Friends and family always came first for him. Perhaps he was putting the finishing touches on his birthday gift to her?

Whatever the case, the brunette hunkered down and kept herself preoccupied browsing the presents in her current stash. Of course, she took a few nibbles of some store-bought sweets and homemade candies from the other shops in the area, just to snack on in preparation for her third lunch. It's after she finished a piece of mochi her chocolate brown eyes casted towards the doorway, hearing the little bell sounded the arrival of her wonderful boyfriend.

"Over heeeere!!" Her shouts carried over the customers' heads and the clattering sounds of a working kitchen, just to get his attention. Once he meandered towards the table Chie rose up quickly to embrace him tightly, complete with an eager smile and light giggle. "My sweet, sweet kitty is finally here, heehee~. Don't feel bad about being late, I was already checkin' out some of the swag I got from Yosuke." She pressed her lips against his cheek, returning his affection in kind and releasing her tight hold. "And I see you brought me something too, riiiiiiiight?" It's snatched away already, paper flying in every direction since someone couldn't hold their excitement in much longer. Friend gifts were special, but a boyfriend gift had that little extra bit of love in it.

"Oooooooooh, I've heard of this one before...but I never had the chance to start reading it." Chie didn't read too far into the pages, only briefly skimming the first chapter then setting it aside. It's a thoughtful gift, and one fitting the brunette's own tastes too. "Maybe I'll start reading it tonight after we party! Heehee~! I'm glad you wanted to spend some time with just me today, though." Oh she couldn't help herself! Screw sitting across from him!

Chie took the seat aside Yu, immediately locking lips with the boy and letting her arms drape over his shoulders. Did they make a bit of a scene? Ah, she didn't care! "I love you, sooooo so so much, you know? I probably told you that a zillion times now but...it's true." Her nose briefly brushed against his, and she let their foreheads gently rub together.

"I love you a whoooooole lot. You being here has already made this birthday the best I can ask for..."

#ic #Chie #fatexbound #Better Days - Post P4 Verse #Chie's Birthday 2023 #((THEY'RE SO STINKING CUTE!!!#love me so good wholesome yuchie <3))

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lgwilt · 2 years

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Unconventional writer ask game: answers

It took me a while to get around to this, but here we go! Thanks @knuckleslove for the fun questions and @dewdropreader for the tag!

How long have you been writing fanfiction?

I’ve been writing fic on-and-off for quite a while now (since 2016-ish!), but I only started posting earlier this year.

Do you have a favorite word? (One that you love. Doesn’t necessarily have to be one you use all the time.)

Mellifluous (although I can’t say I’ve used it in a fic yet)

Share a favorite run-on sentence that you’ve written?

I’d never really thought about it before, but I actually don’t think I have any examples of run-on sentences! Not even when writing about characters spiralling into panic or on the verge of a breakdown - which is a bit surprising, since my internal monologue is essentially one giant over-excited and/or meandering run-on sentence.

I do write plenty of LONG sentences though (complete with flagrant overuse of parentheses).

Share a bit of a scene that you’ve written that still gives you FEELS.

Sad feels from On a Wing and a Prayer (there’s lots of comfort in this fic, but this scene was the first one that sprang to mind):

Loki’s voice was hard and unforgiving, but it was beautiful, just as rich and musical Mobius remembered. If he just agreed to talk, maybe the nightmare projection would turn back into his Loki, use that silver tongue to murmur soothing lies until he finally drifted into an unbroken sleep… Maybe the illusion of comfort would be better after all.

What is your favorite kind of character interaction to write?

*deep breath* where to start?

Interactions between characters who who mask/repress their emotions (often in very different ways). Stoic and self-controlled characters showing cracks of vulnerability or dramatically breaking down after being pushed to their emotional limits is my all-time favourite fictional trope!

See also: mutual unspoken longing. I love writing dialogue where what’s left unsaid carries more emotional weight than the words themselves.

Drawing out parallels and shared experiences between characters who (at first glance) seem completely different from one another, or between characters on opposing sides (I love a compelling Best Enemies dynamic). I never get tired of exploring the moral ambiguity of ��good” characters, or the potential for characters cast as villains to deviate from their assigned roles.

Self-doubt + reassurance ❤️

Friendship, devotion, loyalty

Do you have a hyper-specific genre?

Hmm I’m not sure about a hyper-specific genre, but I’ve yet to write a fic that doesn’t include hurt/comfort - or hurt + moments of mutual understanding and emotional connection, at the very least!

Any personal or frequently used tags?

The classics. Angst, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending.

Share a joke or funny moment that you’ve written that still makes you laugh.

I’m not sure I’d call these jokes as such, but here’s some dialogue I had fun writing:

From On a Wing and a Prayer (Lokius):

“It was heroic,” Loki insisted heatedly. “Mobius, they were torturing you. And your body is weak and mortal.” He gestured at Mobius to make his point. Mobius chuckled fondly. “For a minute there I thought you were gonna compliment me.”

From The Man Who Wasn’t There (nostalgic Life on Mars/Doctor Who crossover):

“I’m sorry,” Sam interjected incredulously, cutting off the stranger mid-ramble. “Did you just say… my wife?” “I know. That was my reaction too,” the stranger confessed, as though he and Sam were on precisely the same wavelength. “Never thought of you as the marrying kind.”

Best editing tip?

I second @insert-witty-user-name-here and @dewdropreader's pro tips about coming to your own work as a reader. Anything that helps trick your brain into seeing what you’ve written like you’re reading it for the first time, e.g. taking a break for a few days, changing the font, reading on a different device, reading quickly to get a sense of how the narrative flows as a whole (not being able to see the wood for the trees is definitely a thing, at least for me!)

What drives you to write?

I’ve always loved writing, and I’ve always wanted to try my hand at writing fiction. For fanfiction specifically, I write because I’m continually falling heed-over-heels in love with fictional characters and worlds and I need an outlet for all those “what if?” scenarios that won’t stop crowding into my head!

Share something about your writing that you have wished someone would ask you about.

“Is that semi-colon really necessary?”

Where do you draw inspiration?

All over the place! One consistent source of inspiration is that I almost always have favourite quotes to hand that help set the mood of a fic or resonate with the themes. Sometimes these quotes make it into the story itself, if I can figure out how to weave them in organically, e.g. my Gallifrey fic Silver Lining.

What is your immediate reaction when you receive a new comment on a fic?

Pure, unadulterated JOY! Smiling, dancing, throwing confetti!!! I’m always so touched when people take the time to leave comments, and I’ll never not be ridiculously excited to see a new comment pop up in my inbox.

What is your biggest challenge in writing?

My inner critic looking over my shoulder while I write

Falling into the trap of obsessing over sentence structure/individual paragraphs at the expense of the story as a whole (I’m trying really hard to train myself out of this – I’d love to be able to write FASTER and in a more relaxed, “stream of consciousness” way, at least for the first draft)

What story or scene are you most proud of?

I’m proud of completing my Lokius story On a Wing and a Prayer, the first fic I’ve posted chapter-by-chapter. While it isn’t all that long in terms of the overall word count, the real breakthrough for me was that I started posting before I’d completed the later chapters, which meant I didn’t have my usual “safety net” of obsessively editing the story as a whole before sharing it. My draft for Chapter 6 comprised “they escape - something bad happens”, so I was excited that I managed to work out the nature of the “something bad” and write that chapter from scratch over a fairly busy fortnight (which for me counts as record time!!)

1-2 sentence preview from your current WIP?? (Only if you are willing.)

Saving this one for last. I’m cheating a bit with my answer as I’ve currently got three “active” WIPs on the go. My focus right now is my Lokius fic Variation On a Theme, but I definitely plan on finishing the others (eventually)!

From Variation on a Theme, Chapter 3 – in which Director Mobius meets President Loki:

Loki smiled, sharp and sudden, white teeth gleaming. It was the same smile Mobius had seen in the reels from the Sacred Timeline (mischievous, beguiling, utterly irresistible), and yet it wasn’t the same. The spark of joy dancing in those mesmerising eyes had vanished, replaced by something steely and dangerous. Loki’s expression was cold, his smile slightly unhinged. Not for the first time, Mobius wondered how much of this “teetering on the edge of sanity” façade was a construct, a calculated intimidation tactic, and how much was genuine. Right now, he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to find out.

From The Man Who Wasn’t There, Chapter 3:

“Are you trying to tell me,” said Gene slowly, with an exaggerated patience that Sam knew from experience didn’t herald anything good, “that my DI is a Martian?”

And lastly… the conclusion to my little series of Good Omens fics (just two very short fics so far, but the next instalment will be longer). Title = A Twitch Upon the Thread:

“No, angel. Nothing like that.” Crowley sat up, tried to smile. “The fire and brimstone stuff is mostly for show. The worst thing about hell is that it’s got no style.” “Tell me truthfully, Crowley. Is that really the worst thing?” Crowley’s expression changed suddenly, like a mask had fallen away. “Not even close, angel.”

Please link your profile so we can admire your works!

AO3 profile: lydiagwilt

Also tagging @insert-witty-user-name-here @cha-melodius @blackbirdofasgard @mirilyawrites

#unconventional writer ask #fanfiction #tag game #lokius #best enemies #thoschei #life on mars #big finish gallifrey #good omens #ineffable husbands

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junghelioseok · 3 years

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clandestine. | 06

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 7.4k [6/6]

notes: we’ve reached the end at last!!! thanks for sticking around through all the sporadic updates, and i hope you enjoy this final chapter!

warnings: some soft, soft smut.

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

The day before your scheduled return to Seoul, your parents decide to throw a joint party with the Jeons. From your bedroom window, you can see the plastic tables and chairs scattered across your adjoining lawns, the tarps and poles that will soon become makeshift pavilions lying in the grass. Though a row of low bushes divides your property, a small stone footpath weaves between the green leaves. You watch Mr. Jeon make his way into your yard, joining your father to unfurl a sign that’s emblazoned with Bon Voyage, {Name}! in bright blue print.

“Noona!” Jimin bursts into your bedroom with zero preamble, the door slamming into the wall behind it. You jump at the sudden intrusion, and flinch when he bounds across the room in two steps and grabs you by the shoulders.

“Ow, Chim,” you grumble, trying and failing to push him away. “Knock much?”

“Help,” he whines, trying to pull you to your feet. “I put too much salt in the marinade, and I just spilled Coke all over the counter. Please come help me.”

You sigh as he casts you the most pathetic look he’s capable of mustering, complete with a quivering bottom lip. Wiggling out of his iron grip at last, you grab him by the wrist and drag him out of your room. “Fine,” you tell him as you pull him downstairs. “You’re lucky I like you sometimes.”

“Love you too!” Jimin singsongs. He swoops in to plant a too-wet kiss on your cheek, and when you squirm in disgust he just giggles and blows you another.

The kitchen, upon your arrival, is empty. “Where’s Mom?” you ask as you grab a rag, tossing it over to your brother so he can clean up the spilled soda.

“She left a few minutes ago,” he replies, sopping up the mess and flinching when some splashes down from the counter onto the linoleum floor. “I think she went to the store to pick up a few things.”

“Food things?” you ask dubiously, eyeing the sizable pile of vegetables and meat on the counter. “Is this not enough? Is the entire neighborhood invited to this thing?”

“You know Mom,” he replies, shrugging. “Just let her have this. She misses having another girl in the house when you’re away. Says Dad and I gang up on her.”

You chuckle. “That sounds about right. On the bright side, though, she only has to deal with you for a few more months.”

“Jeez, that’s weird to think about.” Jimin sidles up behind you and settles his chin on your shoulder. “We’re going to be at the same university soon.”

“Yeah, because you’re a little copycat,” you tease, reaching back to flick him on the forehead. “What’s next? Are you going to start following me around the sandbox again? Come crying to me when someone’s mean to you?”

“Yeah, right.” Jimin steps back and puffs his chest out dramatically. “I’m going to protect you from all those weird college guys, remember? Who else is gonna do it if not me?”

In an instant, your mind goes to Jungkook. Your throat goes dry, and thankfully the jingle of keys in the front door saves you from needing to respond. Jimin’s attention is diverted when your mother steps through with an armful of shopping bags, and you take a moment to shove away all thoughts of your neighbor before following after your brother to help her unpack.

You haven’t seen much of Jungkook since your impromptu sleepover in his room. As your time at home winds to a close, your parents have been increasingly adamant to spend as much time together as possible. Family game nights became routine, and although Jungkook has joined you on a couple occasions, Jimin has seemingly made it his personal goal to ensure that you don’t spend a single second alone with your dark-haired neighbor. Certainly, you’ve texted a bit, but Jungkook’s been picking up more shifts at the restaurant lately and you often see him through your bedroom window returning home after a long dinner shift.

Jimin’s voice draws you out of your thoughts. “Huh?” you ask, blinking, and your brother shoots you an unimpressed look.

“I said, I’m going out back to help Dad with the grill,” he repeats. “Can you bring the cooler out?”

“Oh!” You glance over at the cooler on the ground, filled to the brim with beer and soda. Jimin has a bag of ice in his arms, and you quickly follow him out into the backyard, wheeling the cooler behind you. Together, the two of you push it into an unobtrusive corner of the back porch, and Jimin curses when he upends the bag of ice into it and spills nearly a third in the process.

“Smooth,” you remark.

“Like you could do any better,” is his reply.

It’s just after one o’clock, the sun beaming bright in the cloudless blue sky, when people begin trickling into the backyard where your father and Mr. Jeon have started grilling. You spot Taemin and Minho from where you’re perched on the porch steps, and grin when they wave and begin heading in your direction.

“Heading back to the big city so soon?” Minho asks as he comes to a stop, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “We’re gonna miss you around here.”

“You know you’re always welcome to visit,” you tell him with a smile. “Besides, I’ll be back. I do like to see my family every now and then, you know.”

“When exactly are you leaving tomorrow? Taemin asks curiously.

“Bright and early in the morning,” you reply. “I want to have plenty of time to get settled before I start interning on Monday.”

Minho gives you a squeeze. “You’ll kill it. I know you will.”

“Thanks,” you tell him. You’re about to say more—ask about the rest of their summer plans, maybe—when you spot a familiar dark head of hair exiting the back door of the Jeons’ house. Jungkook is wearing a collared shirt the color of sunshine, the sleeves rolled to his elbows to expose vascular forearms and the silver watch on his wrist. His faded jeans have a rip in the left knee, and you swallow when your gaze automatically trails down to the defined muscle of his thigh, a peek of skin visible through the denim.

Across the yard, your eyes meet. He raises a hand in greeting, his watch glinting in the sun, and you wave back. Everything else seems to fade into the background—Taemin and Minho, the hubbub of the partygoers, even the sizzle of the grill. Jungkook is walking in your direction now, and your throat goes oddly dry at the thought of talking to him face-to-face after nearly a week of intermittent texts and occasional glimpses. Your fingers itch to run through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and your body craves the feeling of his skin against your own. You’d even settle for a simple kiss—the press of his mouth and the slick of his tongue, his palms settling on your hips or looping around to the small of your back to pull you in close.

Needless to say, it’s been far too long since you and Jungkook last slept together. You wonder, vaguely, if there’s any way the two of you might be able to sneak away from the party and head somewhere a little quieter. One last handsy makeout session in his backseat, and one last chance for him to breach your walls with his cock. One last fix of the drug called Jungkook, before you return to your life in Seoul and try to forget the boundaries you’ve crossed in the last few weeks.

Because at the end of the day, Jungkook is your brother’s best friend, and therefore is off-limits. And as if Jimin himself is listening in on your thoughts, your little brother comes bounding out of nowhere, intercepting Jungkook on his path to you and dragging him away to help make more meat skewers for the grill.

The party continues. More people arrive, and you do your best to converse with everyone between bites of food. Many family friends have come out to wish you well, most of whom you haven’t seen in several years, so you put on your best smile and weather the innumerable comments about how much you’ve grown up since you last met. Off in the distance, you spot Jungkook chatting with Junghyun, who has driven in from downtown Busan. The elder Jeon brother has already wished you good luck with your internship, pulling you into a friendly hug when he first arrived, and you would’ve had to be blind to miss Jungkook’s penetrating stare as you hugged him back.

You’re returning from a bathroom break, easing the back door shut, when you are assailed by a tangle of limbs and excited cries. You end up with a faceful of strawberry blonde hair, and laughingly groan as you extricate yourself from the hug, offering a beaming Chaeyoung, Jisoo, and Lisa a grin. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Lisa grabs you by the shoulders and gives you a little shake. “You’re leaving tomorrow! When will you be back again?”

“Winter, definitely,” you promise. “Maybe the summer too, if I don’t have anything else going on.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Jungkook again. He’s looking in your direction, his gaze flitting between the half-eaten burger in his hand and where you’re standing on the back porch with the girls, as if he doesn’t want to get caught staring. The party has been underway for nearly two hours now, and you haven’t even come close to having a conversation with your dark-haired neighbor. It seems as though anytime Jungkook comes within speaking distance, he’s interrupted by friends, family, and at one point, even his family’s dog. Gureum has been a part of Jungkook’s family for as long as you can remember, and though he’s getting rather old, he’s still happily meandering around the yard today. You’ve already given in to his pleading face twice and offered him a bit of food from your plate, and you’ve watched plenty of others do the same. A quick scan of the yard reveals that the little white dog is now fast asleep in a sunny patch of grass, and you chuckle to yourself before your gaze finds Jungkook again. Your eyes meet, just for a second.

“{Name}, honey, can you come here for a second?”

You turn at the sound of your mother’s voice. “Sure,” you tell her, excusing yourself from the group of girls to follow her inside to the kitchen. “What is it?”

Your mom hands you a pile of small paper plates and plastic cutlery. “I’m bringing out the cake,” she says. “Can you put those out for me?”

You nod, watching as she picks up the cake. It’s an impressive two-tiered confection, frosted pale purple and decorated with pink cherry blossoms and the words Bon Voyage! in flowing white script. You make sure to hold the door open for your mother as she exits the house on your heels, and duck your head in embarrassment when a few of your neighbors start clapping at your arrival.

The cake is cut and distributed, and you take your piece over to a shady spot beneath the awning of one of the pavilions your father has assembled. Jimin joins you, wiping a frosting-covered finger on your nose, and you squeal and wipe at it furiously with a napkin before taking revenge. Slowly, the afternoon progresses into early evening, and the party begins to wind to a close. Friends and neighbors begin to trickle out, wishing you well before taking their leave. At the far end of the yard, you see Jungkook talking to Chaeyoung, and wonder what the two could possibly have to say to each other before Taemin and Minho draw your attention away.

“We gotta head out,” Minho says, coming to a stop before you and pulling you into a hug.

Taemin nods, tugging you into an embrace as well. “We’ll see you again soon though, yeah? We’re definitely going to come up to visit you guys at some point.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you tell him. “You’re crashing at Jimin and Jungkook’s though. I’m not taking you in.”

“Cruel, but fair,” Minho says with a laugh. “See ya then, Noona.”

“See you.”

The two depart, and you begin gathering up your used utensils and plates, seeking about for a trash can. You smile at your dad as he walks by, and scratch a sleepy Gureum behind the ears as you pass him. Just as you’ve finally found a trash can and dropped your garbage inside, however, a voice stops you in your tracks.

“Hey, Noona.”

Your heartbeat quickens. Slowly, you turn around, coming face to face with none other than Jungkook himself. His dark hair is ruffled by the breeze, and his silver hoop earrings glint in the late afternoon sun. Tentatively, you offer him a small smile, and he hesitates for a moment before smiling back.

“Hey.”

“You said that already,” you point out, trying to quell the sudden nervousness in your belly and swallowing down whatever moisture is left in your mouth. “Fun party, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Jungkook nods. “Really fun. And the food was great.”

You chuckle. “Yeah. We have our dads to thank for that.”

“Definitely.”

A beat of silence passes, and then two. Jungkook is scuffing his heel against the grass, one hand darting up to scratch his ear, and you are just beginning to wonder at his uncharacteristic awkwardness when he suddenly pulls a bag from behind his back.

“Here,” he says, practically shoving it into your hands. “I—I mean, we—got you a gift. From my family. And me.”

Blinking, you peer down at the green tissue paper peeking out of the top of the bag. “Oh, wow. You… you guys really shouldn’t have.”

“It was my mom’s idea,” Jungkook mumbles, looking anywhere but at you. “You can open it now if you want, though.”

You do. Peeling back the tissue paper reveals two items inside—one of which is a lovely leather-bound planner, complete with a calendar and to-do lists and pages for notes. The other is a small canvas, and your mouth falls open when you see what’s painted across the surface.

It’s the lake house. Behind it, you can see lush green hills and trees, all bordering the rippling expanse of blue water. Jungkook has captured the scene at high noon when the sun is at its peak in the sky, glinting off the lake like diamonds. Off to one side, you spot the canoe roped to the dock.

“Wow,” you breathe, awestruck. “Jungkook, this is beautiful. I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s no big deal,” he says, shrugging and scratching the back of his neck. “I had to rush it a little, between work and all. It could’ve been better.”

“It’s perfect,” you tell him, running a fingertip across the canvas. You’ve always known that Jungkook has a talent for drawing, but you’ve never seen him use paint as his medium of choice until now. “Really. I love it, Jungkook. I’m going to hang it up in my dorm as soon as I get back.”

“Back,” Jungkook echoes. “Right.”

And before you can reply—before you can even inhale to speak—he’s pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms looping around your waist and settling there.

“Good luck with everything,” he says once he’s pulled back. And then he’s turning on his heel and walking away, and you’re left to wonder whether these past few weeks were simply a passing tryst after all.

///

As it turns out, your internship is more than enough to keep your mind from straying toward a certain dark-haired young man. Two months after Jungkook left you high and dry, you’re working harder than you ever have in your life. Your mornings are early and your afternoons run into evenings more often than not. “At least you’re getting paid, though,” Namjoon points out, glancing up from where he’s sitting on the couch when you stumble into your shared dorm one particularly late night. “You could’ve been one of the unlucky bastards who got stuck doing unpaid labor at their internships.”

“Oh, good. At least they’re working me to the bone ethically,” you snort, accepting the wine he hands over. Trust Namjoon to have an extra glass at the ready. Your suitemate, despite his flaws, always seems to know when you need a pick-me-up, and you suppose you can forgive his clumsiness and messiness for that. If he keeps it up, you may even start looking past the heart attacks he causes you every time he enters the kitchen and so much as looks at a knife.

Namjoon chuckles and tops off his own wineglass. “So now what? You hungry?”

“Starving,” you admit. “What are you thinking tonight? Pizza? Chinese?”

“Thai? I’ve been craving it lately.”

“I can do Thai.” You lean in closer as he pulls up the delivery menu on his laptop, pointing to what you want before sitting back and letting him place the order. “Can you get me an iced tea, too?

“Two iced teas, coming right up,” he replies. “You wanna start thinking about tonight’s feature presentation?”

Flopping onto your side, you reach into the bag you dropped on the floor and fish out your own laptop. You select a film from Netflix as Namjoon fetches his wallet to pay for your food, and the two of you settle in to wait as the opening credits of Disney’s Hercules roll.

“I’m not a good singer,” Namjoon cautions as the Muses begin their introductory monologue. “I just want you to know that beforehand. But out of all the Disney films? This soundtrack is unmatched.”

“Damn right,” you reply, clinking your glass against his. “Best soundtrack ever. We’ll both sound like dying cats, and I for one can’t wait.”

Namjoon laughs and leans over to flick off the lights. The room goes dark and the music begins, and you’re both singing along before you even hit the chorus. Spending time with Namjoon is comfortable, and though you’ve already lived together through the entirety of your first year of school, these past two summer months have strengthened your friendship tenfold. He’s almost like a brother by this point, and you wonder, vaguely, whether Jimin would get along with him anywhere near as well as you do.

As if summoned, your phone goes off. Jimin’s name lights up your screen, and you frown curiously at it before unlocking the device and swiping open the message.

[7:56pm] Chimchim: miss me yet? 😚

[7:56pm] You: no way, weirdo

[7:57pm] You: what do you even want anyway? sure you’re not the one missing me?

Immediately, your phone buzzes with a response.

[7:57pm] Chimchim: seriously? offensive

[7:57pm} Chimchim: orientation’s in less than a week or have u forgotten already?? good thing i’m reminding u

Your heart skips a beat in your chest when you realize that you had, in fact, forgotten. You remember your own college orientation vividly—a jam-packed weekend filled with building tours and ample opportunities to talk to current students. Several of your friends, you’d first met that weekend as you all tried to navigate a new chapter of your lives—Namjoon included. It’s how the two of you ended up living together—jammed into a suite with two others who thankfully meshed perfectly with the both of you. Neither Hoseok nor Jennie are here for the summer, but you’ve kept in touch while apart. Both of them poke relentless fun at Namjoon for opting to take summer classes, and you never hesitate to join in on the lighthearted teasing.

[7:58pm] You: oh yeah lol

Your response is casual and calm, but your heart rate is anything but. Jimin coming to orientation means Jungkook is coming too, and the thought of seeing him sends an anxious flurry of butterflies aflight in your stomach. You remember texting him the day after you came back—just a simple photo of his painting, hung proudly on the wall above your desk. He responded with a string of thumbs-up emojis, and that had been that. You’ve barely heard a word from him since, and Jimin’s occasional texts and social media posts are the only reason you know he’s still alive. Hesitantly, you type out another message, thumb hovering briefly over the send button before hitting it.

[7:58pm] You: you and jungkook are driving up, right?

[7:59pm] Chimchim: yep! road trip

[7:59pm] Chimchim: still not convinced jk’s car will make it all the way tho lmao

You think back to Jungkook’s beat-up sedan with its sputtering engine and scratchy seats, and the ominous way the passenger side window sometimes rattled if you slammed the door too hard. Can’t blame you for having doubts, you write back, earning yourself a hearty LMAOOO in response. And then:

[8:01pm] Chimchim: i’ll probably have to do most of the driving anyway

You frown, brows furrowing. Why’s that?

[8:02pm] Chimchim: just a hunch. jk’s been weird lately

[8:02pm] You: …weird how?

[8:02pm] Chimchim: just weird. a little distracted, maybe? he doesn’t answer me when i ask him whats wrong

[8:03pm] You: how long has he been weird?

[8:03pm} Chimchim: idk 🤷‍♂️

[8:03pm] Chimchim: 2 days, maybe 3? i think he might be worried about orientation or college or something. either way i don’t trust him to operate a motor vehicle rn

Your bottom lip finds its way between your teeth as you consider your brother’s revelation. It’s perfectly natural to be nervous about something new, but you still can’t help but wonder if Jungkook’s strange behavior might have anything to do with seeing you again. But before you can dwell on it more, your phone buzzes again in your palm.

[8:04pm] Chimchim: i mean srsly he didn’t even hit on mina when we ran into her at jin’s the other day. do u remember her? the girl from the bbq place we went to for grad dinner??

[8:04pm] Chimchim: but on the bright side, it looks like he and chae made up. about time, tbh. things were really awkward for a while

[8:05pm] Chimchim: wait u knew about them, right? they dated for a while?

You take a deep breath before responding, the gears of your brain whirring as you fight to process all of the information he’s dumped on you. Yeah, you write back. Chae told me. They’re okay now?

[8:06pm] Chimchim: yeah. i think they talked at your going away thing

The memory of them chatting in your parents’ backyard resurfaces, and a rush of relief follows it. Even though your conversation with Chaeyoung at the mall confirmed that she was no longer angry with Jungkook, the guilt of sneaking around with him continued to linger in the back of your mind. You’re definitely going to buy her a box of cookies from Kim’s Kitchen as an apology the next time you see her. Maybe even two.

After a few more texts, your conversation with Jimin peters out. He signs off, citing a house party he has to start getting ready for, and you settle back in to watch the rest of the movie with Namjoon, smiling reassuringly when he shoots you a curious look and mouths, everything okay?

Everything is okay, you decide. Jungkook’s weird behavior isn’t your problem, and there’s not a whole lot you could do even if you wanted to, considering how little you’ve spoken in the last eight weeks. That doesn’t stop you from opening up your messages and scrolling down to Jungkook’s name, though. It doesn’t stop you from opening up the last conversation you had—something about a particularly annoying customer at Jin’s restaurant—and scrutinizing every word.

Later that night, just as you’re brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed, your phone buzzes again. The name attached to the text immediately sends your heart into your throat, and you shakily towel off your hands before swiping it open.

[12:25am] Jungkook: i mis s yuo.

Drunk, the little voice in your brain whispers. He’s drunk. Belatedly, you remember the party Jimin had mentioned, and realize that Jungkook must be there as well. Alcohol has clearly loosened him up, enough to instigate this unexpected sentiment, but you are painfully sober. At a loss, you stare at his message until your screen goes dark. Irritably, you wake it up again, unlocking the phone so you can stare some more, and after what feels like an eternity, you type out a response.

[12: 28am] You: drink some water, jungkook

He doesn’t respond. You wait for five minutes, and then ten, but your phone screen remains obstinately dark and devoid of new notifications. Climbing into bed, you check one last time, but there’s still no response from him.

A resigned sigh leaves your lips as you turn off your bedside lamp and plug in your phone to charge. Sinking down into the mattress, you push away all thoughts of Jeon Jungkook as you close your eyes and wait for sleep to come.

///

On Friday night, you once again find yourself working late. Thankfully, Jimin and Jungkook aren’t due to arrive until later in the evening, so you still have plenty of time to change into comfier clothes and eat something before you have to play host.

Or at least, that’s what you thought. When you swing open the front door of your home, however, you’re greeted by two extra pairs of shoes—one of which is a certain individual’s signature black Timberlands, scuffed and worn from years of use. “Joonie?” you call cautiously, toeing off your loafers and skirting around the corner to poke your head into the kitchen. “Are you home?”

No reply. You wander a little further, entering the living room, and that’s where you’re greeted by the sight of your suitemate, his sheepish grin flanked on either side by two very familiar faces.

“Noona!” Jimin is grinning from ear to ear, and immediately skips forward to smoosh your cheeks between his palms. “We got here early!”

You slap his hands away and poke your fingertips into his ribs. “I can see that,” you retort. “What I don’t get is why you didn't bother to tell me.”

Jimin shrugs. “Surprise?”

You sigh and turn instead to Namjoon, who’s watching your exchange with an amused smile. “Thanks for getting them settled in,” you tell him gratefully. “You should’ve called me, though. I would’ve tried to get off work early if I’d known.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Namjoon waves you off. “They got here about half an hour ago, so it wouldn’t have made much difference, anyway.”

“Still, let me thank you,” you insist. “Dinner’s on me tonight, since I have to feed these heathens anyway. Do you want to order something in? Go out?”

“I’m okay either way,” Namjoon says, shrugging, and you turn to Jimin and Jungkook questioningly.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Jimin says. “I think we’re both pretty tired from the drive, so staying in might be nice.”

“Anything’s fine.” Jungkook is staring down at his right hand as if he’s trying to crack a secret code etched in his fingerprints, and when he speaks, his voice is soft. “Whatever you want, Noona.”

You haven’t forgotten about his text from a few days ago, and judging by the way he can’t even look you in the eye, neither has he. It’s strange seeing him here now—wearing ripped jeans and a black t-shirt like he so often does, his feet encapsulated in plain white socks. His hair has grown out since you last saw him, leaving only the barest glimpse of his silver earrings visible beneath the dark, shaggy locks. You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to run your fingers through it, but quickly quash that train of thought before it can progress any further.

The group eventually settles on ordering pizza, which you order and pay for on your phone. Conversation flows easily as Jimin, Jungkook, and Namjoon get to know each other, and when the food arrives, Namjoon pulls out his collection of board games. The remainder of the evening passes in a haze of pizza and game tournaments, and it’s only when midnight has come and gone that you decide to call it a night. Jungkook and Jimin settle into the two empty bedrooms—Jungkook in Hoseok’s and Jimin in Jennie’s—and you bid everyone goodnight before retiring to your own bed.

You don’t miss the way Jungkook’s gaze lingers on your retreating figure, but he doesn’t say anything and neither do you. He’ll be busy with all the orientation events scheduled tomorrow, and you’re planning to spend a good chunk of the day running errands that you don’t have time for on weekdays. The question of why he’d texted you that night remains on your mind, but you don’t want to ask. And you especially don’t want to ask why he’d never responded after that first message. Confrontation has never been your style, and with any luck, you’ll be able to avoid spending extended periods of time with him altogether.

With any luck, this weekend will pass with no further incident, and you’ll be able to spend the remaining few weeks of your summer in peace.

///

It’s just after two o’clock in the afternoon when you return to your dormitory, a grocery bag clutched in each hand and a tote bag draped over one shoulder. You’ve finished up with all your errands for the day, and even managed to get some reading done for one of your upcoming fall classes. Dropping your bags in the kitchen, you stretch your arms overhead lazily before starting to unpack your groceries. Namjoon is holed up in the library working on an essay, and Jimin and Jungkook don’t appear to be around either. A moment of rare quiet is welcome in your normally hectic life, and you take the opportunity to put some music on and change into your comfiest shorts and a tank top.

You’ve just finished popping some popcorn and are settling onto your bed to watch some Netflix when someone clears their throat from your doorway. Startled, you look up, your eyes locking on Jungkook standing there. He’s wearing a loose gray sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, and you swallow when you see the way he’s rolled up the sleeves to expose vascular forearms and the silver watch on his wrist. Jungkook blinks at you silently from behind his dark fringe of hair, and a beat passes before he clears his throat and speaks.

“Hey.”

You straighten up into a seated position, crossing your legs and plopping the bowl of popcorn in your lap. “Hi.”

Jungkook hesitates, then shoves both hands into his pockets. “Can… can we talk?”

“Sure.” You incline your head. “Talk.”

Your curt tone doesn’t go unnoticed by him. Awkwardly, he shuffles his feet for a moment before scratching behind his neck and ruffling his already tousled hair further. “My phone died,” he says, and you blink confusedly at him, twice, before responding.

“What?”

Jungkook winces but presses on nonetheless. “My phone,” he explains. “It died the other night. I was going to charge it before the party, but I forgot to plug it in and then it was too late. I didn’t—” He sighs. “I would’ve texted you back, otherwise.”

Belatedly, you realize he’s talking about his text from a few nights ago and why he never responded. His reasoning is relatively sound, at least, but you still have an unanswered question. “Why?” you ask, your voice soft. “Why did you text me that night? I don’t hear from you for weeks, and then you message me that out of the blue? Why?”

“Fuck, I know.” Jungkook takes two steps into your bedroom, before he seemingly thinks better of it and takes a step back. “I shouldn’t have done it. I should’ve texted you more, or earlier, but—” Another sigh, and this time he rakes his hands through his hair and sends his dangling earrings tinkling. “I’m sorry. I really am. I was being a coward, and…”

Jungkook trails off, and you see that his attention has flitted elsewhere. He’s staring at the painting of the lake house, still displayed prominently above your desk, and you see the gears in his head whirring before he speaks again.

“You… you still have that hanging up there?”

You glance at the painting before looking back at him. “Well, yeah. Of course I do. It reminds me of home.”

It reminds you of him, too, but you don’t voice that particular thought aloud. Instead you turn your attention back to your increasingly fidgety companion, leaning back on your hands and regarding him with your head tilted curiously.

“What were you saying about being a coward? What are you afraid of, Jungkook?”

Jungkook rubs his jaw and sucks in a deep breath. “You,” he finally answers, after several beats that feel like several lifetimes. “I’m afraid of losing you. And I feel like I already might have, especially since we left things so weird at the party. I should’ve…” He shakes his head. ”I should’ve said something sooner. I should’ve told you how I really feel, but I was stupid and scared and I just couldn’t find the right time to do it.”

Your breath catches. Your mouth goes dry and your chest feels tight, and when you try to speak, your tongue feels like sandpaper. “I—” you begin, and it’s all you manage to get out. Jungkook is murmuring your name in a voice so gentle that your heart skips two whole beats, and when you look at him again he is much, much closer than before.

“But I guess late is better than never, right?” Jungkook breathes. Stopping at the edge of your bed, he drops to his knees, and you don’t protest when he takes your hands and cups them protectively between his own. “It’s you, {Name}. It’s always been you. I tried to forget about my feelings when you left for Seoul—tried to convince myself that it was just a stupid crush—but nothing I did worked. I couldn’t forget about you. And then you came back, and I just knew.” Gently, he traces a fingertip across your knuckles before looking up and meeting your gaze in earnest. “I’m in love with you, {Name}. I’ve been in love with you for years, and I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. And… and I really hope that I haven’t fucked everything up by telling you this now.”

“You—” Your voice sticks in your throat, and you swallow thickly before trying again. “You haven’t. I… I like you, Jungkook. I like you so, so much, and I think I owe you an apology for trying to push you away so much. It’s just that these feelings… they’re so new. And I—well, I don’t know if I love you yet, but I think that I definitely could.”

“Then that’s good enough for me,” he replies, his face stretching into a wide, crinkly eyed grin. “As long as you agree to be my girlfriend, and let me have the chance to make you fall for me.” And when you nod, giggling, Jungkook leans in and presses his mouth to yours.

The kiss is soft and sweet, and lasts several moments before a sobering thought enters your head. You break away, frowning, and Jungkook’s brow furrows as he takes in your expression.

“What’s wrong?”

You bite your lip, worrying at the delicate skin. “This… thing. This relationship—what if it doesn’t work? I mean, god, you’re Jimin’s best friend in the entire world. What if we have an argument? What if—what if we break up?”

“We won’t,” Jungkook replies confidently, lacing his fingers with yours before leaning forward to nuzzle his nose against yours affectionately. Instinct has you leaning into him, seeking out proper contact, and you feel his lips curl into a smile as he indulges you with yet another kiss.

“You can’t know that for sure,” you murmur when you break apart, but your voice is readily lost in the huff of laughter that escapes your companion.

“Maybe not for sure,” he says. “But I’ve loved you since I was about eight, and I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon.”

This time, when your lips meet, there’s a bit more heat behind it. Jungkook curls a hand around your nape to draw you in close, and licks sweetly into your mouth when you part for him. He’s quick to press you down onto your mattress, and you sigh as he trails down your body and takes the straps of your tank top with him. The material falls off your shoulders, leaving just enough room to tug the rest of the shirt down to your waist, and he groans when your bare breasts are freed.

“No bra? Fuck, you’re killing me.”

You arch beneath him, huffing out a breathless little laugh when he seizes the opportunity to envelop a nipple into his mouth. His fingers find the other—squeezing and rubbing and tweaking until you’re quivering in his grasp. “Jungkook,” you breathe, waiting until he lets out a soft hum of acknowledgment. “Jimin—he could come back any minute. Maybe we shouldn’t do this right now.”

Jungkook glances up from where he’s exploring the underside of your breasts, tracing the soft swell of delicate skin with his lips and tongue. “Jimin,” he says, “is at a special session for his major. He won’t be back for hours, so why don’t you relax and let me make you feel good, hmm?”

And, without even waiting for an answer, he drops down to his knees and digs his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts. Your legs are dangling off the edge of the bed, and Jungkook easily tugs the material off them, taking your panties right along with it. Tossing them aside, he doesn’t hesitate to spread your legs and slot himself into the newly created space. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips, and your breath hitches when you glance down the length of your body and see the ravenous glint in his eyes.

There’s no doubt in your mind that you’re wet enough to take his cock right now. You can feel the slick gathering between your legs, and the smirk on Jungkook’s face tells you that he’s noticed it too. Teasingly, he presses an experimental fingertip to your clit, watching in satisfaction as your hips buck off the mattress at the flare of pleasure. Then he’s sliding down, sinking a lone finger into your entrance and curling upward to find the soft spot that he knows will unravel you in a matter of minutes. A gasp escapes you when he finds it, your hips rising again, and he soothes you with a warm palm on your thigh and a sweet kiss to your hipbone.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly Jungkook is able to build up your orgasm, but then again, you suppose you shouldn’t be surprised. He’s always been a quick study, and you’ve never been sure whether it’s stubbornness or determination that drives him to excel at his passions. Here and now, with two of his fingers buried inside your cunt and a third teasing its way in, you don’t even care which it is. All that matters is the pressure building in the pit of your belly, and the way Jungkook keeps murmuring your name and encouraging you to cum for me, princess. It’s enough to push you over the edge, your back arching off the bed and your lips parting in a moan as you ride out your high.

“So pretty.” Jungkook circles your clit with his thumb, his fingers still sheathed within your walls. “You always take my fingers so well.”

“Think I’d rather take your cock instead,” you reply breathlessly, sagging back against the mattress and reaching for him. Jungkook takes the hint, gritting out a hoarse curse before crawling up your mostly bare body and crushing his mouth to yours in a searing kiss. You grab the hem of his gray sweatshirt, pulling it up and over his head, and are more than pleased to discover he’s not wearing anything underneath. His sweatpants soon follow, Jungkook impatiently kicking the material off his ankles, and you sigh out his name when he wraps you in his arms, skin against skin.

“I’m not going to last very long,” he warns you, his breath a puff of hot air against the shell of your ear. “Promise I’ll make it up to you later. Just wanna feel you right now.”

“Go on, then,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “How do you want me?”

Jungkook groans, no doubt having a furious internal debate with himself, before reaching down and taking his cock in one hand. “Just like this,” he decides, gazing down at the way you’re spread out on your back for him. Deliberately, he settles between your thighs, giving himself a few pumps before positioning himself at your entrance. “Wanna kiss you while I fuck you. Wanna kiss you for the rest of my life.”

He’s pushing forward then, stealing the breath from your lungs along with any thoughts that may have crossed your mind at his last sentiment. Jungkook sinks into you until you’re gasping at the fullness, his hands grabbing at the meat of your hips and pulling you against him with every thrust. He fucks into you with reckless abandon, hoarse praise and gritted curses falling freely from his lips as he uses your body to seek out his own high. Every now and then, his mouth seeks out yours in a sloppy kiss, which you happily indulge as his rhythm falters and becomes increasingly erratic.

Jungkook floods you with his warmth, his arms gathering you up tightly as his cock slowly softens within you. His lips find yours, and this kiss is a simple, tender one—an affectionate press and a crinkly eyed smile that has you automatically smiling back.

“I don’t know why you’re so happy,” you tease, poking him in his slightly sweaty chest. “Jimin’s going to throttle you for this, you know.”

“Worth it,” he replies cheekily. “Anything’s worth it as long as you kiss me better afterward.”

“Gross,” you tell him, laughing. “You’re so lame.”

“But you still like me,” he says with a shrug. Then he grins. “The real question, though, is whether you like me enough to help me move in the fall.”

You hum, hiding your smile. “Depends. What’s in it for me?”

A positively wicked grin spreads across his face and settles there. “Why don’t I give you a preview?”

///

A few weeks later -

Jimin hums softly under his breath as he strolls into his new dorm, a cardboard box cradled in his arms. There’s a growing pile of boxes in the middle of the living area already, and he’s only just found an empty spot to drop the latest when he hears an odd noise coming from the bathroom. A wet, smacking sound, kind of like—

“Jungkook, you dog,” he snorts, throwing the cracked door open. “Get your ass out here and help me unpa—“ He stops in his tracks.

The scene before him doesn’t make sense. Jungkook is standing in front of him with wide eyes and fear in his expression, but that doesn’t make sense. At least it doesn’t until he sees you in the reflection of the mirror over the sink, your clothes disheveled and your lips swollen.

“Wait, we can explain,” Jungkook begins, following the trajectory of Jimin’s gaze and waving his hands in a fluttery panic. “I swear, Jimin, it’s not what you think—“

“That’s my sister,” Jimin says, his voice dangerously calm.

“Yeah, but—”

“You put your hands on my sister,” Jimin continues matter-of-factly, as if Jungkook hadn’t spoken at all. “I’m going to fillet your dick with a dull knife and serve it over rice.”

And before you can catch your breath and open your mouth to stop him, Jimin leaps forward, his fingers aimed directly for Jungkook’s throat.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts fic #kpop scenarios #brother's best friend au #lia writes

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embrassemoi · 3 years

Text

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✸ 43

PAIRINGS: Sirius Black, F!Reader, Remus Lupin

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

NOTES: I missed writing this so much! Anyway, I’m trying to get back into the groove of writing this series again so I apologize if my writing is a bit off. And I'm working entirely off of mobile so if there's more errors than usual, ignore it.

MASTERLIST ✷ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✷ AO3

CHAPTER 43 ✸ And Now I’m Bleeding

Change is inevitable.

It was — is an indisputable fact; instinctive and spontaneous. Although, how could it not be? Change occurs every day. The Ministry of Magic updates laws regularly; prerequisites for professions are added, advancements in life-altering Muggle and magical medicine are discovered while new magical techniques are created.

However, it’s on us to adapt and evolve or there’s no alternative but to be left meandering with the rest of the poor witches and wizards that refuse to do so. But it’s understandable why adapting to change, especially depending on the severity of it, is difficult to face.

Nobody likes change, not initially. Nobody enjoys being thrown into the unknown with little guidance or warning. With no way to prevent change, to halt it or slow it down, we can only stand frozen in place as it barrels towards us like a spell.

It should be noted that during cases of change, it can be so traumatic or abrupt that it shocks the body into a fight or flight response. For the other half of the Marauders, they were not exempt from it. They froze in place, instantly turning to stone as the spell barreled towards them.

Remus heard and felt the way the room immediately stilled and hushed the moment he stepped into their dorm that night.

With Sirius.

Together.

Any instinctual behaviour or rational thought was futile to the Marauders’ minds as they processed and dealt with their change.

James became motionless; the Quaffle he toyed with plummeted to the floor. His usual rich and warm skin greyed so quickly that Remus thought momentarily that his rather large statement had killed him.

Peter acted similarly. The carefully crafted house of cards he made out of exploding snaps, suggested by the name, collapsed and exploded on itself.

Remus would have laughed because that’s exactly how he felt.

All attention was drawn from Sirius to Remus as he cleared his throat and threw his bag onto his bed. Awkwardly, he made his way over to the dust-covered, hardly touched bed hidden away in the far corner of the room.

With the thunder of hundreds of voices shouting in his ear, Remus pushed Sirius’ bed to join the rest of them, closer to his own.

A step in the right direction. Small steps — paw steps, he thought.

Nobody was more pleased than Peter who was elated over their (on-going and attempted) reconciliation. He couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear, no longer feeling tense or the need to go behind the group's back to talk to each other. However, what became surprising to Remus was that James refused to cave and accept Sirius again.

Or maybe it wasn’t considering the lengths James had gone through to avoid Sirius over the past few months. James was too stubborn, too loyal and hurt.

He didn’t say anything directly to the rest of the Marauders or to Remus, which made matters worse. Remus wasn’t sure how to approach the conversation. It was already tricky enough to sort through his own emotions as it was.

Childishly, James would run off before Remus had the chance to invite him to join the rest of the Marauders, often using Quidditch or prefect duties as an excuse. However, James spent all his free time with Y/N now, more than ever, and therefore, Lily and the rest of the women. They became a clique.

And their feelings were crystal clear, the way their gazes burned the back of Sirius’s skull. And Remus saw the way it wore him down.

Lily was the mediator. She had no desire to be a part of the drama and had no real link to what happened that night of the prank. It was easier for her to have an objective lens. She was able to ignore the tense body language, the sudden addition of James, him and Y/N sticking to each other like glue and their shared heated whispers.

Remus often saw Lily walk up to Sirius discreetly when no one was watching, hugging him from the side and frequently starting small conversations. It was easy to forget that they were friends.

James confided in Y/N, which in Remus’ opinion was bloody fucking hell. She was a safe keeper of secrets and refused to spill.

“Moony!” She yelped when he grabbed her wrist, pulling her into an empty classroom while she was walking to her next lesson.

“He hasn’t talked to me about Black,” he rushed out. “Please tell me what he’s been saying.”

“I won’t —”

“Whiskers!”

“Moony! Quit it!” She said, annoyed. “He’ll tell you when he’s ready.”

“Okay,” Remus sighed, finally giving up and shifting his weight on his feet. “What about you then?”

“What?”

“Where's your head with all of —” he made a large hand gesture, “— this?”

“You want my opinion?”

“Very much.”

She looked at him for a while, only shaking her head before pulling him into a hug.

“I’m not going to pretend I’m thrilled about your choice or begin to phantom why you forgave him. But don’t worry about me,” she reassured. “... If this is best for you, do what you need to do.”

Remus would have been a little more bothered by the lack of answers had oddly he hadn’t been left trying his hardest to ignore the way his heart leaped into his throat when her fingers brushed along the back of his neck, fiddling with a few strands before pulling back with a sweet, reassuring smile.

“And I’ll make sure I’ll do what’s best for me. The same with Prongs.”

Deep down, Remus understood everyone’s reluctantness. It was a hard adjustment. It was difficult re-involving Sirius in their lives, almost as difficult as it was to remove him. Even he wondered if he had made the right choice. But it was still worrisome to an extent and put James' motives into question: who was James mad at? Himself, on Remus’ behalf, or at Sirius?

Perhaps it was a mixture that was surrounded by deep guilt and lingering anger.

But it was safe to say that rekindling friendship with Sirius Black was uncomfortable.

He had gotten Sirius to join him along whenever he went. Whether that be to the dorms, in the Great Hall, walk to lessons or around the castle. Being seen with each other added another pressure and spotlight onto their reconciliation. It fueled mass speculation and spread like a house on fire.

It was amusing at first, hearing the rumours and speculation until they sprawled and became overwhelming. He locked himself away in his dorm where the rumours and prying glances couldn’t reach him for the time being.

But escaping could only do so much and wouldn’t hide him from Sirius, which was increasingly difficult to do as much as talk to. When they spoke, a censor was placed over Remus in fear, or maybe protection.

Unfairly, he snapped at Sirius; dismissive and curt. He couldn’t help the annoyance that flared through him, sending a dozen signals in his head that told him to scream. And it never failed to make him wallow in guilt afterwards.

However, Sirius wasn’t a fool, he never had been. It was a pity that he was able to sense his apprehension. Then again, Remus did a poor job hiding it.

Whenever they were alone together, the two estranged friends focused on rebuilding their fragile relationship. It fell silent mostly as they struggled to find the courage to speak. It was as if their magic knew too, often clashing together to form a pestilential curse on themselves.

But Sirius ought to be happy — must be now that he was given a second chance that he knew very well that he didn’t deserve.

Truth be told, Sirius was more afraid than joyful over being forgiven. There was an added level of cautiousness placed onto him.

Sirius’ mind churned, spinning with a dozen thoughts piling on top of the other. It was taxing, leaving him afraid and alone.

He was afraid that he’d never be happy, to live a fulfilling life, that he’d continue to remain and grow into someone he hated.

He was afraid of his mind. Someone like him, tainted by his blood — it called to him like a mantra — to inherently be evil.

He was afraid to fuck up again. He was afraid of himself, the things he’s done and able to do — to further add salt to the open wounds that have yet to close.

Sirius was silent on the matter. Now certainly wasn’t appropriate to direct focus onto himself, but rather repairing the damage done.

But forgiveness felt as draining as it did when everyone was ignoring him. He had always assumed that words hurt more than actions, but he was sorely wrong.

Words stuck — caused as much damage as a hex or curse, especially if it was from those he loved. But actions left microscopic scars that built over time. They were invisible and only were able to be seen once the damage was irremediable.

Sirius tried to ignore Remus' forced smiles or the way his fist and jaw would clench whenever he spoke. He tried to ignore James and Y/N who he didn’t doubt would want him dead.

Marlene was his only source that held no judgement, simply because she was unaware of what he did. Sure, she asked what exactly had happened, but Sirius never spoke on the matter and she eventually gave up.

Strangely, Sirius began finding comfort in professor McGonagall.

He never had to speak to her directly, she already seemed to know. All he had to do was knock on the door to her study and she would simply let him walk in, fetch a cuppa and give him a reassuring hug.

Sirius would rather be caught dead than to admit it, but McGonagall had morphed into a motherly figure.

But what was one of the most difficult things Sirius had realized he had to do was resisting distracting himself with all the wrong things. He no longer dove for the warmth on someone’s lips, to stomp the craving of getting rise that pleasure had given him. Shagging held no real meaning and left him feeling nauseous, marked with the anguish and loneliness that consumed him.

Besides, those lips never did feel warm anyway, but it was hard to resist it.

Sirius never wanted to love and be loved so much in his life. For once he wanted someone to care for him, not for the looks or the money people thought he still had.

Love, he thinks. It was a nice thought, one that constantly played in his mind.

Then the urge to get knacked until he tripped and stumbled over his own feet was overpowering. To smoke was influenced by Remus.

Sirius had consumed so many detrimental substances that he desperately wanted to put an end to it. The pranks… or rather bullying of first years were dwindling from amusement. Then how he addressed people… birds… he felt sick for using it.

And Remus noticed.

He noticed every movement, every word said. It was as if the prank had snapped something deep within Sirius; rewiring the gears, colour coded all the wires.

It was a contrast from the Sirius he once knew. But that’s what betrayal did; no matter how big or small the change was from the fracture, it was evident and blunt.

He was still Sirius. Dramatic as ever, a lot to handle, but toned down.

Overall, burdens were lifted from Remus’ chest. Freeing himself of so much anger and resentment made him feel lighter in every sense of the word. Having such deep hatred, concealed and accumulated, was beginning to hurt himself.

The relief was like snow melting under the burning sun; filled with exhilaration and liberty.

However, the question lingered: would he ever be able to forgive or forget?

Forgiveness was too black and white — clear-cut and straight. It felt as if someone controlled your every movement; told you when exactly was the right time to forgive someone, when it wasn’t, how to experience it.

As if your fate had already been dictated and out of your hands.

Realistically, grudges or severe mistakes with accusing tongues took all sorts of directions before settling and meeting where paths would cross again. For them, it would need a lot more than just a few sorrowful words or good deeds.

Forgiveness came in stages for Remus, and he was currently stuck between step 4, determining if he was truly ready to forgive Sirius and step 5, repairing what was lost.

They wouldn’t be the same for a while, he doesn’t think they ever will be, but at least they knew with work and patience, they could have a sliver of what they once had. And they were willing to put in the effort.

━━━━━━━━━༻✷༺━━━━━━━━━

“Hi,” Sirius said nervously, fiddling with his rings. He avoided looking directly at him, too scared to see any traces of disappointment or disgust that lingered on his features. “M — Remus,” He quickly corrected himself.

Remus closed his book. “It’s fine,” he said calmly, “Moony’s fine.”

“Moony,” repeated Sirius. The words came out funny, jumbled almost as Sirius had never said the name before.

Returning to his book, Remus awkwardly patted the seat next to him on the couch and he eagerly sat down.

“I — er brought you something,” he mumbled, pulling out a pouch of berries. “It’s just that I know you like them and since you haven’t been going down to the Great Hall as much, I thought you would be hungry. But it’s fine if you don’t want them, I get it. You can give them to Lepus. Just make sure to —”

“Padfoot,” Remus interjected, chuckling light while taking the bag from his hands. “Thank you. Now shut up.”

A hopeful shimmer returned to Sirius, shining brightly amongst the dull crowd. That signature snarkiness and charm was slowly returning.

While things between them were mending together, James still chose to ignore Sirius.

A few days before Gryffindor’s Quidditch match against Slytherin might have been bad timing considering the stress James was under, but Remus was done waiting to confront him.

With slumped shoulders as he seized James’ arm, he dragged him to a secluded area.

“This is getting ridiculous. You have to give him a chance,” he said, “If I did then you can too.”

“Where did this come from?” James questioned stubbornly. “I thought you hated him.”

“Never mind that.”

James opened his mouth to scoff before he saw the look on Remus’ face and promptly phrased his sentence. “You just gave him a chance?”

“Yes.”

“Like that?!”

“Clearly.”

James pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Rubbish! Tell me why!”

“I have my reasons,” Remus said sharply, refusing to elaborate. “I suggest you do too. You’re best friends.”

“Was until he tried to mur —” “James.”

“Lupin.”

“Crikey! Don’t start this now.”

“I hate him.”

“No —”

“Yes, I do!”

“No, you’re mad on my behalf. Which I appreciate, but I don’t.”

“To betray you the way he did is the greatest dishonour a friend can do.”

Remus wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

James then shook his head, leaning against the nearby wall. In a split second, he turned sharply, made a few grand hand movements and proceeded to push his glasses to sit higher on his face.

“You!” He exclaimed. “I — argh! You’re so confusing!”

James strut, slamming the door to their dorm open. The force shook the walls as Sirius and Peter jumped from the sound.

“Stop, James — OW!” James withdrew his fist back and punched him in the shoulder. Peter, shocked, gasped and Remus was about to step in.

“The… fuck?” Sirius pained, clutching his shoulder.

“That’s for Moony.”

Another punch to the other arm.

“OW?!”

“Prongs!” Peter yelled.

“That’s for Whiskers.”

James launched himself onto Sirius afterwards, squishing him into such a tight embrace that made Peter and Remus wince just from looking at it.

“You blubbering idiot,” James whispered into his ear, squeezing him tighter. Sirius began to blink rapidly. “I swear if you ever do something that dumb again… I’ll hit you with a Beater’s bat.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Sirius wheezed, face turning red from the lack of oxygen but made no move to pull away; pleased he was finally noticed.

He hugged him tighter.

“Fuck me,” Sirius rasped again.

James finally pulled back, an awkward smile on his face as he pushed up his glasses.

“Let’s reschedule? I’ve got a Quidditch game to win.”

Sirius grinned clumsily.

Sometimes change is good. Sometimes it's desperately needed to grow. But it depends on what you do with that change, how you handle it, is what makes it useful.

And that was that. Hopefully.

NEXT CHAPTER

ANSWERING FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS I GOT WHILE I WAS TAKING A BREAK

✩ why haven’t you updated in so long?

life got crazy. seriously. if you really want to know all you have to do is scroll through my blog.

☽ do you have a posting schedule?

no. this info can be found on the SBTMAS masterlist.

✩ are you going to take another break like this again?

oh 100%. sorry :p

☽ do you plan to finish this series?

yes. no matter how long it takes, i intend to finish this. i love this series more then anything. it would have to take a lot, and i mean A LOT, for me to consider discontinuing this.

✩ is this going to be poly?

no. this can be found in the general tags on the masterlist.

☽ who is the MC going to end up with?

… doesn’t me telling you defeat the whole purpose? quick reminder - THIS IS A SLOWBURN FIC! IT WILL SPAN OVER YEARS

✩ how long will this series be?

idk, over 130 chapters? probably even more

TAGLIST

@glassgirl5 ✸ @poony-madfoot ✸ @doodlesmxm ✸ @marvelschriss ✸ @bxtchimtired ✸ @poppinjin ✸ @yourmumssoggytits ✸ @nbee-baguette ✸ @princess-jules47 ✸ @the-silent-poet ✸ @notminniie ✸ @kaqua ✸ @vampirestrawberries ✸ @aboukie ✸

comment if you want to be added to the taglist

You can also follow @mavawrites and turn on notifs. (This acts as my general taglist)

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live-the-fangirl-life · 3 years

Text

A Starlit Swim

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Skinny Dipping Oneshot

Aelin shows Rowan to a lovely, secluded spot.

Written for Rowaelin Month 2021. Day 14: Skinny Dipping

Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Rowaelin Month Masterlist

Warnings: Language, Lightest NSFW

1547 words

*******

“Shh!” Aelin hissed through a giggle, too loudly to be an actual reprimand.

Rowan snorted and kept a firm grip on his girlfriend’s hand as she pulled him through the woods towards what she insisted was a nice secluded spot.

“Aelin,” he shot his free hand out to steady her waist as she stumbled over a fallen branch, before righting herself and sending a quick smile over her shoulder. “Aelin, I didn’t say anything. That was all you.”

She either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore his point as she kept leading him down a path that only she was aware of.

The soccer team at Terrasen University had just won the championships, and as a Co-Captain, Rowan was very much to thank for that. He and the team set up a bonfire down by one of the lakes to celebrate. But what originally started as the team, their significant others, and friends, soon devolved into a full-on rager the moment some idiot posted a video on Instagram. Now, the entire lake and woods a couple of miles outside campus were crawling with excited, drunk college kids who were all celebrating the victory.

Rowan had been happy standing by the large fire with Aelin leaning into him, her back pressed to his chest with his arms looped her waist and his chin resting on her head. Lorcan and Elide were next to them, standing similarly, although Elide had to stand on one of the logs in order for Lorcan’s chin to reach her hair. Fenrys danced around handing out more drinks to everybody, while Lysandra and Aedion were somewhere in the group of people dancing by the speakers. Rowan had spotted more of his teammates around and recognized a couple of faces of people from classes in the hordes of partygoers, but he was perfectly content being with his small group of friends by the fire.

Until Aelin tugged his arm, urging him to lower his head so she could whisper into his ear. She’d said she knew of a hidden spot a little further into the woods, and that they should sneak off while everyone else was distracted. He almost argued, saying he was fine right where they were, but then she turned in his arms and kissed him in a way that had every coherent thought flying out of his head. He could only grin and nod as she pulled away satisfied and grabbed his hand.

So, now, Rowan was following Aelin as she maneuvered through the trees to this supposedly special spot.

They’d walked far enough that Rowan could no longer hear the music or voices from the party.

“Aelin, where are we going?” He hissed as he nearly tripped over another tree branch.

Aelin only giggled and shushed him again. A moment later she told him, in a horrifically bad haunting accent, “I’m luring you into the woods to kill you. No one will find your body.” Her laughter decimated the fake threat.

Rolling his eyes, Rowan snickered, “Nah, you like me too much to kill me.”

She looked back, almost tripping again as she winked, “I guess.” He caught her lip twitch as she unsuccessfully fought a smile.

“You guess?” he grumbled.

Aelin stopped abruptly and Rowan nearly sent them crashing to the ground before he stopped moving. She turned to face him and the next thing he knew, she was kissing the living daylights out of him. Rowan reacted instantly, the slight haze from a couple beers making him feel even lighter. Aelin pulled away before they got too carried away and ended up rolling in the leaves and dirt.

“Okay, maybe I do like you too much to kill you.”

Rowan laughed and Aelin grinned before spinning around and resuming her mission of pulling him through the woods to wherever she was imagining.

“Seriously, Fireheart,” he asked again as the trees slowly thinned out around them. “Where are we going?”

Instead of answering, Aelin’s giggling filled the air again.

Rowan chuckled under his breath; this was three-drink Aelin escorting him, then. It hadn’t taken Rowan long to notice Aelin’s varying drunk personalities. One-drink Aelin was affectionately named The Megaphone, the buzz of alcohol making her yell and shout. Two-drink Aelin, The Instigator, believed her purpose in life was encourage their friends to act on their ridiculous, sometimes insane, plans. Three-drink Aelin, this Aelin, was The Giggler because for whatever reason she found everything absolutely hilarious.

Rowan was also familiar with four-drink Aelin: The Horndog, who wouldn’t be dissuaded by a party full of people when she’d straddle his lap and practically jump him right there on the spot. Or, five-drink Aelin: The Francophone who gave up all use of their language and spoke solely in French. He wasn’t sure what six-drink Aelin was like—none of their friends were—but once, Rowan had witnessed seven-drink Aelin, forever deemed The Queen, because she’d insisted everyone call her Your Majesty and Queen Galathynius (Lorcan had quickly dubbed her Fire Breathing Bitch Queen much to her utter delight) and, just Rowan: Milady.

Aelin giggled again as she swayed trying to duck beneath a branch and Rowan gripped her hand tighter as he reached above her to push the leaves aside. It took him a second to take in what he was looking at. Aelin had led him to the edge of a small lake hidden within the forest. The sky was visible through the small openings between branches that stretched across the width of the lake, allowing Rowan to see the stars that were normally invisible by the lights of the city.

“How…” he trailed off, facing Aelin again to see her watching him with a rare, tentative expression.

“What do you think?” She asked hopefully.

Rowan stepped closer to her, pulling her into his arms. “Its beautiful, Fireheart. How did you ever find this place?”

She smirked and giggled again. “Magic.”

He raised a brow, amused, and waited.

Aelin sighed dramatically and tipped her head back, “Fine, Buzzard, if you want the boring answer it’s that I was out on a run one day and got distracted and lost and accidentally stumbled onto this place. It doesn’t look like anyone else comes here. Not that I’ve noticed, anyway.”

Rowan’s grip tightened around her waist, pulling her against him and grinning at her breathless gasp. Leaning down so his nose brushed her ear, he asked, “No one?”

She pulled back and flashed him a wicked grin. “Nope. You know what that means right?”

When all Rowan did was return her grin, she slipped out of his arms and stepped closer to the edge of the water. Aelin held his gaze, winking again, and she slowly lifted her shirt and tossed it aside.

Rowan crossed his arms, leaning against a nearby tree and smirked, content to watch the show his girlfriend was giving him. His gaze never left hers as she reached down to unbutton her jeans before rolling those down and throwing them into the pile with her shirt.

When she was standing there in just her underwear and bra she paused, raising a brow at Rowan.

“Well are you going to join me, Buzzard? Or are you just going to watch?” Her smirk told him there was only one right answer.

He slowly stalked towards her, his eyes darkening as she bit her lip while she watched him. When they were almost chest to chest, he gripped the back of his collar and pulled his shirt over his head, smirking at the way Aelin eyes roamed across his bare chest.

Once his pants were off, he grabbed her hand and made to lead her towards the water. Aelin followed without hesitation, only stopping once her feet hit the water.

“What?” Rowan asked, wading into the pleasantly warm lake and raising an eyebrow at his girlfriend still standing on the bank. “I thought you wanted to swim.”

She smirked, her eyes glinting in the reflected starlight. “Not exactly.”

Before he could ask what she meant, Aelin’s hand flew behind her to unclasp her bra, quickly pulling it off before slipping her underwear down her and throwing them into their growing pile of clothes.

Rowan practically growled as Aelin strutted into the water without a shred of clothing. Before she even reached him, Aelin watched as Rowan tossed his sopping wet briefs across the water and heard them land with a slap on the dry rocks.

When she got close enough, Rowan’s hand wrapped around her wrist and then her waist to pull her body flush with his. Aelin wove her wet fingers through his hair and wrapped her legs around his waist as their lips came together in a fierce kiss.

After a few minutes they pulled away, breathing heavily, and savoring the feeling of swollen lips and the other’s arms wrapped around them.

“Have you ever been skinny dipping before?” Aelin asked coyly, looking at Rowan through her eyelashes.

He ran a broad hand down her back, “Can’t say I have.”

She grinned, already having known his answer. “Then allow me to show you how fun it can be.”

By the time Aelin and Rowan meandered out of the woods, the hazy light of morning was just peeking through the trees.

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @surielandiareendgame @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @moodymelanist @angelic-voice-1997 @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog @the-regal-warrior @rowanaelinn @thestoriesyoutell @autumnbabylon @sunflowermoonshinewrites @maastrash

#rowaelin #rowaelinmonth #rowaelin month #aelin #Rowan #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #aelin and rowan #rowan and aelin #aelin galathynius x rowan whitethorn #rowaelin fluff #rowaelin fic #rowaelin Oneshot #skinny dipping #throne of glass #tog

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silky-stories · 3 years

Note

Hi!! Maybe headcanons or some kind of literature with either vampire garcello x reader or mermaid garcello x reader?? You could do both or one or the other. You're the one writing it after all. Thanks!

Oh. Ohohohohohohoho, now we’re talking >:)

Anon I am going to let you in on a little secret, so anyone who isn’t anon look away >:(

...okay now that it’s just you and me, one of your suggestions kind of predicted a oneshot I’ve been working on that I’m going to be posting soon. So because of that I’ll be going with the other option. Hope you enjoy ;3

———————————————————————

Parched. {Vampire Garcello/Reader}

Genre: Suggestive

Words: 2027

Related Song: Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know { slowed + reverb}

Summary: When your boyfriend gets home from a long day, it’s only polite to fix him a drink, don’t you think?

Disclaimer/s: Steamy content, swearing, blood

Notes: Garcello speaks in red this time, Reader speaks in blue ;) [Also, monster character x reader or character x monster reader is my absolute jam, feel free to send in requests like this more often-]

———————————————————————

Your boyfriend was, to put it lightly, a little bit on the odd side.

He work dark clothes on hot days, didn’t like the sun very much, had an uncanny sense of smell and hearing, and liked his meat pretty rare. To the outside world he was a weird shut-in that was probably goth, but you knew a hell of a lot more than that.

The two of you had met late at night in a rougher part of the city. You were on your way home from picking up a few essentials at the nearby 24-hour convenience store when you heard some rustling coming from an alleyway. Then some banging. Then some yelling. Then silence.

Well that was ominous as hell.

...

Time to investigate.

You made your way down the dreary alley, groceries in hand, preparing yourself to see a murder scene or something of the like and...

...you honestly weren’t that far off.

You found yourself watching as a man pinned a guy to a wall, his head lowered to his neck. At first you felt yourself getting embarrassed, figuring that you had walked over and unintentionally interrupted a passionate moment. You quickly realized that wasn’t the case when you watched the guy go limp in the arms of the larger man.

After a few moments of you being the quietest you’ve ever been in your life, standing and staring in shock, not knowing what would even be the right course of action for a situation like this, he pulled away. The guy that had previously gone limp slowly slid down the brick wall, deep red trickling down his neck and pooling in the crook of his shoulder. The aqua-haired man let out a sigh as he wiped his mouth with his gloved hands, still unaware of your presence.

Your mind was blank when you spoke up, it had to be for you to do something so bold yet stupid.

“Is he dead?”

The man flinched, hard, and whipped around to lock eyes with you. You were met with two bright red dots staring back at you, stunned, you began to unintentionally study his face.

The dark crimson that you had seen on the possibly-dead man’s neck was also identifiable as a smear on this guy’s face, starting at his lips and trailing off along his cheek where he had tried to wipe it off. His lips were slightly agape, revealing a set of sizeable fangs, as well as other teeth that seemed sharper than a regular human’s teeth should be. Looking down further you noticed that his gloves were fingerless, presumably to allow the sharp claws of nails that he had to stick out.

Other than all of that though he looked like a pretty normal guy. A pretty normal guy with very pale skin, but normal nonetheless.

“I... huh..?”

You were so busy taking in his clearly inhuman appearance that you actually forgot what you had initially asked for a moment, but restated your question when it came back to you.

I mean, what was there to lose at this point? It’s not like running seemed like a very smart option.

“Him. Is... is he dead?”

You pointed at the man that was currently almost falling over in his slump to emphasize your point. The man in front of you took a double take between you and what may have been a dead body before responding, clearly taking in the absurdity of the situation, similar to you.

“He’s... no he’s... passed out I...”

He paused, blinking a few times as he tried to process what was even happening. You took the moment to look at the body a little more critically and, surprise surprise, noticed that he was actually breathing.

“I didn’t... I didn’t take much so he’s just...”

Didn’t take much?

...

Oh.

Oh shit.

Suddenly the whole ordeal just clicked in your brain as you finally understood what it was that you were looking at.

“You’re a vampire!”

The words left your mouth before you could stop them, shocked and questioning, almost accusatory as your eyes went wide.

He didn’t seem to like that though. His brows pulling together tightly in sudden concern as he frantically looked around for any other possible witnessess. When he reinitiated eye contact he appeared quite a bit more panicked than before, more like someone that had been caught doing something arguably wrong. He looked threatening for the first time throughout the encounter.

“You... what do you plan on doing..?”

Plan on doing? Like what you were going to do after this? Knowing that vampires did in fact exist and at least one lived in your city?

“Do you... ever kill them?”

He shook his head warily.

“Then... I don’t... think I care?”

He was surprised to hear that, to be fair though, so were you. You figured you would care more about catching a literal vampire in the act but... he wasn’t killing anyone so was it really any of your business?

“You... you don’t care that I just drink some of his blood???”

“I guess not?”

You let out a chuckle of disbelief at your own statement, any ounce of a threatening or intimidating expression had left his face.

“He’s not gonna, like... turn into a vampire or die of disease or something later, right?”

“No that’s uh, not how it works...”

“Then just like... I don’t know, make sure he gets cleaned up and home safe and this stays between us I guess.”

He let you know that that’s what he did on a regular basis and after a few more awkward moments you were on your way.

That definitely wasn’t your last interaction though.

He didn’t trust you to keep your word, you honestly couldn’t really blame him, and you ended up catching glimpses of him watching you from alleyways or tops of buildings at night. It was kind of worrying at first but eventually it got to the point that you would just smile and wave if you saw him.

Eventually he would wave back.

Sometime down the road and you learned his name. Months later and you found an odd friendship forming, starting with you asking him to come in on a particularly rainy night.

Even later and you found yourself developing feelings, getting to know who he really was. His personality, his struggles, his fears. He really wasn’t a bad guy, he just had no other choice since regular food did nothing for him.

After half a year of your strange friendship you found yourselves together, he had happily moved into your apartment and you had started to acquire blood bags for him to use instead of people. That didn’t stop him from drinking straight from the source every now and then... although, the source he used had definitely changed.

“I’m home.”

You leaned out of the kitchen to smile at Garcello, he returned it with a warm grin, shucking off his coat and tossing it to the side to land on your shared couch.

“Welcome back! How was your day?”

You greeted him with open arms as soon as he meandered into the kitchen, he swiftly took up your non-verbal offer and swept you into his strong arms. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and inhaled, sighing deeply through his nose as he melted into the embrace.

“It went fine, certainly not my job of choice but I think the interview went alright.”

You hummed in acknowledgment and nuzzled your head against his, pleased to have him back in your arms after half a day without him.

“I made sure to get bread and milk like you asked.”

You chuckled as you spotted the brown paper bag he had set on the counter.

“Thank you.”

He continued to hold you like that, peppering your cheek and jawline with a few kisses as he told you more about his day. Although, there seemed to be a shift in his attitude somewhere along the way. He suddenly went from sweet and giddy to much quieter, giving shorter answers when you asked him a question as he let you lead the conversation.

You decided to bring it up, just in case there was something wrong.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Hmm?”

“You just... you went kinda quiet so I just wanted to make sure.”

He was perfectly silent as he thought over his answer.

“Yes, but... are you... working on anything right now?”

His tone was anticipatory, eagerly awaiting your response. You found yourself suspicious of his intentions.

“Well, no, I was just putting away some dishes that I was washiNG-!”

You were caught off guard by his tongue dragging across your neck in a smooth motion, tightly taking hold of the back of his t-shirt as he did so. You felt him smirk against your neck afterwards.

“That’s good... you see, I have a bit of a problem.”

“Y...y-yeah...?”

“Yeah...”

You flinched as he brushed one of his fangs against the top of your shoulder.

“The thing is, I’ve had a bit of a... craving today.”

One of his claw-like nails came up to trace along your sternum...

“It’s been just... driving me mad.”

Your collarbone...

“Itching the back of my brain...”

Your sternocleidomastoid muscle...

“Funny, right?”

Stopping and hovering just above one of your carotid arteries.

“Yeah... f... funny...”

His smirk grew in response to your reactions, nuzzling your neck affectionately with a huff.

“I guess what I’m trying to ask is...”

He tilted his head up to whisper in your ear.

“...would you mind if I had a little taste?”

Your eyes fluttered shut as you leaned into him, not even having to speak for him to know what your answer was. He had waited for that cue though, just like usual he would never drink from you unless he was certain that you were fine with it. Even then, you both had a very clear safe word that you had used in the past if anything went wrong or you changed your mind.

You didn’t really have to worry about that though. You knew you were safe in his hands.

He purred in response to your willingness, slowly walking you back and gently pinning you to the wall.

“God you smell good right now...”

He lowered his head back down to your neck, finding the spot that he had traced up to and licking a small stripe along it, pinpointing the location of your pulse.

“...bet you’d... taste even better though...”

He was gentle as always when he bit down, it only felt like a pinch until the aphrodisiac kicked in, immediately erasing any sense of pain you had. Being guided by one of his hands that had tangled itself in your hair, your head lolled to the side as he drank from you. A gentle moan erupted from your lips as your grip on his shirt went slack, your arms falling limp beside you as bliss took hold of your thoughts.

“F... fuck...”

He purred louder as you gave clear indication of your enjoyment. The hand that he had propping himself up against the wall fell and came to rest on your hip, gripping tightly as the hand he had on the back of your head made soft contact with the wall instead.

He cut himself off a little bit sooner than usual, pulling away just enough for you to watch him lick his lips and fangs clean.

He chuckled as the hand that raked through your hair slid down to cup your cheek.

“...I was right, you taste amazing...”

His expression didn’t lose it’s smugness though, usually when he was done he would take a much softer turn and patch you up immediately.

“Although, I think I might have put a little too much aphrodisiac in your system sweetheart...”

He was right, you felt like a rag doll right now, nearly putty in his hands as the only thing keeping you standing at the moment was his grip on your torso. Your eyes had glazed over slightly and you were practically panting at this point.

“...let’s do something about that, hmm~?”

#garcello x reader #fnf garcello x reader #garcello #fnf garcello #x reader #self insert #suggestive #request #one shot #garcello but with a little spice #i hope i did alright with this one #i don’t write for vampires very often haha #panic anon

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reidyoulikeabook · 3 years

Text

Invisible String

Ship: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: None, this is just fluff.

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: You and Spencer Reid don’t know it, but you’ve almost met quite a few times. What happens when you do?

A/N: This is potentially a bit on the wrong side of the cheesy line, but I was listening to invisible string by Taylor Swift and couldn’t get this idea out of my head. Pls bare in mind I’m from the UK and my only understanding of the US college system is from Google searches, so pls be forgiving of any misunderstandings about that.

November 6th, 2007

Dr. Spencer Reid. As you sat, thumbing through the article he’d written about the formation of ionic compounds in a chemical whose name you could not for the life of you spell or pronounce, you couldn’t help but resent the man.

Sure, the paper was very well-written and as cohesive as possible given the complex subject matter. But Dr. Spencer Reid, whoever he was, was the current source of your resentment at selecting chemistry to make up your science credit. Highlighting the name of a substance you’d have to look up later, you sighed. It was getting late but you had to hand in a critical summary of the paper on Friday.

It didn’t help that Dr. Reid was: a) a triple doctorate holder by the age of 22, or b) that your chemistry lecturer was none other than his old chemistry lecturer from Caltech and practically glowed with pride whenever he got to bring him up.

You chew on the end of your pen, having now distracted yourself from the notes. Not that you were particularly focused anyway.

In another life, maybe you’d have been a budding chemist who could describe an ionic lattice off rote. In this one, however, you’d just have to settle for slogging through the list of chemical processes and hoping you understood it well enough to please Dr. Reid’s biggest fan.

***

April 16th, 2008

Spencer hated flaking on commitments. It caused him a great deal of anxiety, the feeling of disappointing someone. He didn’t have much choice in this circumstance though.

Diana had taken ill over the last weekend. Nothing serious, some stomach bug or other. She’d become severely dehydated though, and had been hospitalised as a precautionary measure. Truth be told, he might not have gone if she hadn’t caught him on the phone. He was already feeling guilty for not having visited since Christmas. He wrote her letters everyday, yet still felt like he was neglecting his duties as a son. Rubbing his hands over his face, he lets out a deep sigh. Then takes out his laptop, to send another email.

Dear. Dr Abraham

I sincerely apologise again for my last minute cancellation. Excluding any unforeseen circumstances, myself and SSA Hotchner will be available to present the lecture on May 12th.

Yours sincerely,

Dr. Spencer Reid.

***

May 12th, 2008

Considering this was your third year on campus, you sure were bad at finding your way around. In your defence, they were doing maintenance in one of the main buildings, meaning that lectures got shuffled around and relocated. You probably had a higher change of attending the right lecture by accident than on purpose.

It doesn’t help that you’re running a little late this morning. You rush into Room 203. A lot of the seats are taken, you have to meander your way past quite a few people until you end up sat almost directly in the middle. Only moments before the lecture starts.

“I’m SSA Hotchner, and this is SSA Reid. We’re members of the BAU which is based at FBI quarters in Quantico. Today, we’ll be talking to you about profiling.”

This is not your forensic linguistics lecture.

Panic hits you, hot in your gut. Scanning the room anxiously, you suddenly become conscious that you’re drawing attention to yourself when you feel the eyes of the man who is not SSA Hotchner on you. Fuck.

There’s no way for you to escape now, not without disturbing half the lecture hall.

So you sit back in your seat, resigning yourself to sit awkwardly in the lecture you’re not supposed to be in and hoping nobody notices.

But then, it’s really interesting, actually. The work that Dr. Reid does sounds similar to work you’ve done in forensic linguistics, analysing patterns of speech and minor phrase formations that can give things away about the perpetrator. By the end of the seminar, you’re sat leaning forward. Enraptured by almost every word coming out of their mouths.

It seems to be the general mood: everyone is enamoured. People are clammering to speak to them at the end. After a brief inner battle, myou decide that you should talk to them too.

What’s the harm?

You’ve decided that you’ll speak to Dr. Reid, since he seems to share more of a field focus. However, as you’re heading down, you spot him. Dr Adams, your chemistry lecturer from last year. Oh shit, it’s that Dr. Reid.

Speaking to SSA Hotchner will just have to do instead.

----

“I’ve been majoring in forensic linguistics and criminal psychology,” You tell him, “Do you think ... I mean, I know it’s a pretty exclusive team to get on to. But is that the kind of thing that could maybe get me there one day?”

Hotchner nods, “Forensic linguistics is something that comes in very useful in the investigative aspects of cases. The FBI is always looking for new angles and perspectives, those are both good subjects to study if you were thinking of signing up to the academy.”

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner,” You say, suddenly a little bashful as you notice the queue of people lingering behind you, “That was a really interesting lecture. It’s definitely something I’ll think about.”

“You should talk to Dr. Reid if you have a particular interest in the linguistic aspect of profiling. He’s more specialised in that area than I am. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to discuss any research you’re conducting at the moment and suggest materials that might be helpful in furthering your understanding of the area.”

“Thank you,” You smile, and he nods at you again.

Stepping away from Agent Hotchner, you look to your right. Dr. Reid is still engaged deeply in conversation with Dr. Adams. You glance at your watch. There was time before your next class, you supposed, so you could wait. It couldn’t hurt to find out more, could it? It wasn‘t like you were getting your hopes up or anything.

It’s then that you feel a pair of arms around your waist, a familiar scent of cologne.

“Hey!” You whip around to see your boyfriend, grinning widely.

“Hey,” You reply, “How’d you find me?”

“I was walking past when I saw you talking to that FBI agent. Seriously, FBI?” He asks, with a disapproving quirk of his eyebrow, “You want to grab a coffee before Psych?”

You want to say no. But he’s got his hand on the small of your back, leading you out of the room before you even get a chance to reply. You glance back over your shoulder, making eye contact with Dr. Reid for all of two seconds before you’re swept away.

“Seriously though babe, FBI?”

Unsurpisingly, you don’t mention your potential change in career path to him.

***

March 8th, 2009

“Come in,” Hotch calls. He looks up from the paperwork on his desk to see Spencer entering the room, clutching a report in his hand.

“That last case we were on. I was doing some more research, just for future reference about linguistic patterns. Have you read this?” He asks, sliding a copy of your paper across the desk.

Hotch gives it a cursary look over, nodding, “Yes. It’s interesting. She’s signed up as an NAT. I believe I actually spoke to her at one of our lectures last year.”

"Her work is really impressive for somebody whose only studied this at a master level.”

Hotch almost smiles, “Yes. That’s exactly why I’ve recommended to the bureau that she signs up for profiling classes. Her work shows a lot of promise. They’re sending over a copy of her completed thesis, if you’d like to read it.”

“Yeah, I’d like that, thank you,” Spencer says, struggling to conceal the smile playing on the corner of his lips.

“I’ll email it to you as soon as I receive it.”

Spencer nods, smiling properly to himself as he leaves the room. It wasn’t unusual, exactly, for him to share new research that was relevant to cases. It was important that they all kept themselves fresh and acquainted with new theories about the field. Hotch, however, didn’t miss the excited way Spencer had presented it to him. Talking about how impressive you were, as if to subtly hint. He thinks it’s quite typical, actually, that Spencer could take such an interest in someone he only knew via an essay.

Although Spencer’s response does get Hotch to send a follow-up email, inquiring about whether you’d agreed to the classes. If Spencer was this impressed with your work, it must be good.

***

June 1st, 2009

The Metro that morning is packed. It doesn’t help that you’ve not been living here long, and don’t exactly know the route from your flat to the station off by heart yet.

You'd also had to make a detour to the post office. Your, firmly ex, boyfriend had mailed over the last of your things. Really, it was good riddance. His hounding you about your choice in job had only worsened. The relationship had been hanging on by a thread long before you’d moved away last month. You were more than a little grateful that it was finally over, that you could draw a line under it all and focus on your career.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t stopped you having a little cry to yourself on the way over.

Rushing, you make it onto the Metro just as the doors are about to close, falling against the railing on the left side. You grip onto it for dear life.

On the other side of the carriage, Spencer notices someone hurrying for the train. He had been buried deep in the paper he's reading, but the bustle had pulled his attention. Your back is to him, and there’s a scarf at your feet. He wants to say something, to try and get your attention, but he can’t from where he is.

“Miss, I think you’ve dropped something,” The woman you’re standing in front of says, gesturing to the scarf pooled at your feet.

You meet her eyes, sniffling slightly, “Thank you.”

Spencer watches as you pick it up, back still to him. Crisis averted, he turns his attention back to what he's reading: the published copy of your thesis Hotch had emailed him last week.

***

September 2nd, 2009

"This is SSA ____, the newest member of our team. She’s recently graduated from the academy and has an excellent knowledge of linguistics that the bureau feels will be a great advantage to this team. She’s had her induction and now will be joining the team on a probationary basis. She’ll be spending a little time with each of you in between cases to make sure she forms well-rounded knowledge of all aspects of what we do.”

It’s a little overwhelming, having everybody’s eyes on you.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Emily is the first over, offering her hand for you to shake.

“You too, it’s really nice to meet all of you,” You say, shaking hands in turn with her, Morgan, Rossi, J.J, and Garcia.

“Hi,” Spencer calls from behind you.

You turn around to face him. You remember what Hotch had mentioned to you about him being a bit of a germaphobe, so you keep your hand by your side.

“Hi,” You say, “Dr. Reid, right?”

“You can call me Spencer,” He says, a little bashful, “I read your thesis, the study about you did about the construction of passive clauses as an indicator of guilt in adolescent offenders. It was fascinating.”

You feel yourself getting a little warm under his gaze, “Thank you. I'm surprised you’re even aware it existed.”

Hotch interrupts then, “Reid, do you want to sit with ____ while she goes over the case file? It’d be useful if you could go over how you’d go about constructing a linguistic profile.”

That’s how you end up spending much of your first day: with Spencer, huddled up over case files as he explains his profile-building process to you. Spencer’s an incredible teacher, you think. He explains his thought process without ever being condescending, leaving little gaps for you to answer.

You’re incredible, Spencer thinks. You seem to grasp exactly what he’s saying, filling in the gaps based on the clues that are actually in front of you, not letting yourself be guided too much by bias.

***

October 29th, 2009

Spencer loves everyone at the BAU. They’re all the family he never had, and he has relatively good friendships with all of them. Just, they aren’t quite the same as they are with you.

He struggles to put his finger on it, exactly. It’s a unique relationship. He shares very familial bonds with a lot of them: he and Morgan are brotherly, Rossi is fatherly, Garcia’s somewhat like an overexcited little sister.

The friendship he has with you is special. You always listen to him, even as he rambles on about inane things that anybody else would tell him to shut up about. In fact, sometimes about the exact things that they do tell him to shut up about. Just last week, he was rambling on about Star Trek when Morgan told him, not altogether unkindly, to “give it a rest, kid.”

“What was that you were saying?” You’d asked, sidling up to him, “I’ve never watched Star Trek but I thought the quote was beam me up Scotty.”

He’d looked at you, considering you for a moment, “You don’t have to-”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know Spence. You think I’d ask for a 15 minute lecture on Star Trek if I wasn’t interested in it?”

A warm feeling flooded his chest. The look on your face was so genuine, and you’d perched on the edge of his desk as he gesticulated, getting deep into the lore and how the misconception had come about. He still didn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, until he got to the end of his spiel. And then you asked him a question. You asked him a question to make sure you understood what he was talking about. You were listening the whole time, and you genuinely cared about the point he was making.

It's then that he realises, it was hard to pinpoint because it wasn’t friendship. He likes you. Shit.

***

November 2nd, 2009

You like everybody at the BAU. They’re all quite patient with you, really, happy to walk you through how they do things. Morgan’s taught you quite a bit about the tactical side of things already, and Rossi has been working with you on your interrogation techniques. Emily’s generally just a great mentor, always happy to listen and support however she can. She’s more experienced, but still relatively new to the team too, so you feel like there’s a certain understanding between you.

However, you’d definitely be lying if you said the person you hadn’t learnt the most from, or spent the most time with, was Spencer.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of the team, either. You seemed to gravitate towards one another, forever sitting side-by-side on the plane. Sharing a line of thinking that usually led to devolved rambling, and scribbling, until you came up with something coherent.

It isn’t until November 2nd that you realise you have feelings for him.

You’re sitting at your desk, filling out a case report that Emily had promised to go over with you before she left for lunch.

“Hey,” Spencer’s familiar soothing voice comes, as he sidles up to you, “I got you something.”

Looking up, you notice the coffee cup in his right hand, “You are my caffeine lifesaver.”

He hands it to you, smiling a little nervously, “It’s actually not that.”

“Oh?”

His other hand is tucked behind his back, and he pulls it foward towards you, brandishing a red sweatshirt.

“I know you uh, left your red sweater behind at the hotel on the last case. And I know it was your favourite one, and I was shopping yesterday and I saw this and...” He trails off, embarassed, “It’s not the exact same, but it’s the same kind. I just thought you might like it.”

You swallow, hard, “Spencer that’s so sweet. C-Can I hug you?”

He nods. Standing up from your desk, you wrap your arms around his frame.

“That was so thoughtful.”

He squeezes you a little, really leaning into the hug, his face pressing against your shoulder. His tousled hair tickles your nose a little and you smile, clinging onto him, relishing in the feeling of safety and warmth.

It hits you then. When you realise you don’t want to let go. When you realise he makes you feel fuzzy. Loved. Cared for in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. Eventually, you have to let him go, and it’s in a daze that you return to your desk. You’re so concentrated on your overwhelming realisation, you don’t realise how reluctant he is to let you leave his embrace.

***

December 22nd, 2009

Driving Spencer home from the office was really just an excuse to get some time alone with him. You’d said something about the Metro being busy, one of the services being cancelled. He hadn’t factchecked you on that.

The BAU had tentative plans for boxing day, with the caveat being that no emergent cases arrived in the meantime. It was only really four days you wouldn’t see him, but that was longer than you’d ever gone without seeing him in all the time you’d known him. You worked together everyday, and it was unusual for you to go a full weekend without seeing each other. Recently, you’d got into the habit of going out for Sunday brunch together.

Pulling up outside his house, you hear him sigh.

“I know it’s only four days, but I’ll miss you.”

Smiling, you turn to him, “I’ll miss you too.”

Something in you changes then. He’s looking at you. You may be relatively new to profiling but you can see something behind his eyes, feel the charge of unsaid words electrifying the air.

“Can I hug you?” He asks.

“You can always hug me,” You reply, undoing your seatbelt and opening your arms for him.

He embraces you the way he always has: tightly. Like he doesn’t want to let go, couldn’t imagine ever letting you go. His face nuzzles to the crook of your neck, and then you feel his thumb brush your chin. Tilting your head down.

You exchange a look. His eyes flicker from your eyes, to your lips, and back. You nod your head, just slightly.

He kisses you then. Tender. You melt into one another, lips moving quickly as you drink one another in. Kissing each other breathless, your fingers intertwine in his hair and his hand comes up to cup your cheek. Nothing has ever felt so right.

***

June 10th, 2011

Neither of you have ever really believed in fate. It’s hard to - especially in your line of work - to want to interpret the workings of the universe as deliberate. Maybe you’d think a little differently though, if you knew about all the near-misses. All the times you could have met. But fate knew better. She waited until you were ready.

And as you exchange vows, promising each other your forever, you both know you couldn’t possibly deny that this was meant to be.

------

Taglists: @takeyourleap-of-faith @sassiest-politician

(let me know if you would like to be added to/removed from this list!)

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #imagine spencer reid #criminal minds x you #imagine criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagines #pls like this it took me so long

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yanderart · 4 years

Text

He caught you when no one else did; defeated you when no one else could. Whether you liked to admit it or not, Eraserhead had clearly proven his worth.

So why didn't you prove yours, little villain?

Another portrait for my POV yandere series, this time of Aizawa. Got a few people requesting me to draw/write for him so hopefully y'all enjoy it 🖤

Below the cut, as customary for the series, is a longshot one-shot that delves further into the backstory (Aizawa x Villain Reader, nsfw, dark themes, 8k).

TWs: dub-con, graphic smut, Bad Bondage Etiquette, degradation/humiliation, brat (villain) taming, cumplay and slight bimbofication. Scumbag Aizawa is real.

— — —

The day you met Eraserhead, looking back, saying your worries had been misplaced would be an understatement. With not being apprehended and losing street cred at the very top of your list, it was decidedly easy to skip over any of the other big red-lettered warnings.

You first felt the tickle in your nape while you carried your acquisitions across downtown Musutafu, accompanied by the familiar presage of someone watching your every movement. The city around you was bustling, as was the norm, as loud and meandering in its complaints as a chronically diseased elder, yet the alleys you took as shortcuts grew quieter and quieter with each step.

It was eerie, alarming, and a platitude of other adjectives you shamefully chose to neglect.

“So this is the great V/N in the flesh,” the lazy cadence of someone calling out your alias froze you mid-step, the way his owner dragged each syllable telling you he hadn’t yet decided whether you were worth wasting his breath on.

Your body was responding before you even had a chance to properly process the threat, running on instinct and muscle memory as you twirled to face the mysterious man and prepared to...

“Cute dress, kid.” Eraserhead in the flesh stood barely a few feet away, glowing scarlet orbs illuminating his preternaturally blank expression and transforming it instead into a visage of pure intimidation. “Didn’t pitch you for the frilly type.”

The growing panic in your chest put a hitch in your breath as you stared back. Yet you couldn’t help but still try, fruitlessly hoping—hands clenched, nails puncturing your own flesh as you tried to force your dormant quirk awake. And all for naught, considering your efforts were only repaid by the hatchet of your sinking realization being buried even deeper.

Although, the Pro-Hero also appeared to notice your meager attempts, taking a few steps closer to your form with a condescending gleam in his otherwise somber features.

Before you were conscious of what you were looking at (and before you had half a mind to attempt a quirkless attack on the hero), you observed the weapon wrapped around his neck unfolding fluidly, the extensions of fabric reaching out to envelop you in a forceful embrace that left your arms tucked to your sides and your back uncomfortably straightened.

“Better to trap you before you get any wild ideas. It’s your fault you’re in this position in the first place anyways,” he was taunting you, prodding you and poking you as you found yourself completely at his mercy, uselessly struggling much in the same way many of your victims had surely felt in their last few moments at your hands.

"Eraserhead," his pseudonym resembled an insult on your tongue, your rage and resentment making for rather colorful enhancements. "Don’t you have anything better to do than trapping helpless girls with this weapon of yours? Didn't peg you for a pervert."

Usually, you managed to reign in some of your nastier attitudes, channeling them into your quirk and the violence you could inflict with it…

But tied up and under the influence of his own ability as you were? All you had was pettiness.

"You can dress up as a civ all you want. Won't be fooling me." He took several steps, closing the distance between you two with barely the hint of a smile morphing his stern expression.

You could see the faint stubble on his handsome face from this up close, blood-shot eyes that refused to blink as they studied you in ample detail. Could even see the scar carved onto one of his cheekbones, a textured promise of the fight he had survived and now wore as a medal.

Such was your luck, that the Pro to finally catch up with you had to be this rugged scumbag.

"I'm not even engaging in any criminal activities, Eraseridiot." Your insult was terrible, but you were never much of a verbal sparrer. Not when you could use your fists instead. "What are you gonna send me to the pigs for? I know my rights."

And you did. So when the condescension on the lazy hero's face turned into a full-on expression of mockery as he approached your "bag of acquisitions," you audibly gulped. Goddamn stalker couldn't have been following you for that long? Could he?

If only you knew.

"Then," he held up the bag with an indolent brand of interest, the contents dangling tauntingly from his clutch. "How do you explain this over here? I reckon even dirt like you knows what stealing qualifies as." His other hand dived for the contents and before you could voice any protest, cheeks blushing furiously, a slow hint of a chuckle was bobbing his adam's apple. "It would be a fun thing to peg you down for, though."

That damned weapon of his didn't give out an inch as you started to furiously struggle, becoming instead impossibly tighter with each futile attempt at freeing yourself.

"You fucking psycho, is this your sick way of trying to pick me up or something?"

But your quip did not deter him at all (if anything, it spurred him on). The hand inside the bag tensed for a moment before he was retrieving the sole object inside. To say mortification was written all over your face would be an understatement.

A dark pantyhose now hung from Eraserhead's nimble fingers, not a second being wasted by the Hero before he proceeded to bring it up to his face, carelessly stretching the garment until you could see every single one of his features through the sheer material. The way the moonlight caught in it, bouncing off and bathing his patronizing face, made for uncomfortably intimate imagery.

(Yet a part of you, one you would never admit existed if further questioned, also could not help but notice the striking attractiveness of it all, making you want to squirm for completely different reasons while the man continued to exert his quirk on you through the fabric of your fucking lingerie.)

"Gotta say, didn't take you for a pantyhose kind of gal either. Girls like you…" He uttered the last part more like an afterthought, tossing the bag aside before his hands continued toying with the tights absentmindedly. "Are suited for something like fishnets much more."

By that point, you were sure he was just playing with you. You were such a harmless joke, restrained and showcased like a prize for his viewing pleasure.

"Reckon you must own quite a few pairs, uh?" He continued egging you on when you failed to give a timely enough answer.

(Perhaps the fact that he so easily guessed that detail should’ve been your first real warning, too.)

Yet you couldn’t help how his condescension and the downright dirty way he stared at you sent dark shivers up your spine, the threat he represented turning strangely alluring under the dim street lights illuminating you both.

As a villain, you had robbed, murdered, set people ablaze, and even stolen a popsicle or two from some crying kids. So why were Eraserhead's words having such an effect on you? Why did, a part of you deep down, seemed enthused by the awful way in which he was speaking to you?

"You don't have any proof I stole them. I just threw away the receipt after I bought them. Very environmentally unconscious of them, too, when electrical ones are a thing."

Now you were just rambling. What an adorable sight.

"Hmm, never thought I'd hear "environmentally unconscious" being uttered by a two-bit criminal." He stopped stretching the lingerie for a moment, thoughtfully scratching at his incipient stubble with his free hand instead, "Are you really trying to sell me the good samaritan angle?"

To his credit too, he seemed genuinely puzzled by your approach for an instant. Guess even an experienced pro like him still had room to be shocked.

"I'm not trying to sell you anything, imbecile." The snobbishly controlled tone of yours was back, the shaking of panic subsiding while you held onto your only hope of leaving this confrontation unscathed. "And my rights clearly state you need proof to apprehend me. Need causality to exert your quirk on me, too, or you would be the one breaking the law."

Now, Eraserhead wasn’t annoyed per se. You could tell from what little he had already spoken (and from the myriad of cautionary tales you had been told) that little could rattle the man at all, but your comment definitely appeared to intrigue him. It made you feel like an animal being studied, pinned down, and ready to be dissected for his own morbid curiosity.

"Isn't this just rich?" His tone was almost lethargic, words dragging on with a faint rumble. "Are you going to run off to the police, then? Tell them how a Pro trapped you and tried turning you in for a very obvious act of theft?", his eyebrows were raised, eyes more awake despite his monotone voice carrying on. "Be my guest then."

Because of course you were all bark, no bite and he was more than willing to call you out on your shit. So instead of continuing down that route, you decided to veer for a new approach, switching from your assortment of insolent tactics.

"Do you get off on this, then?" Your voice morphing into meekness while you adopted an expression of distress, bottom lip jutting out with the sparkle of thinly veiled sarcasm glimmering in your eyes. "Do you like thinking of yourself as the Big Bad Hero, maybe?" And you could tell by the way the incipient smile froze on his lips that your question had caught him off guard. Made you wanna press even harder, "Do you like the idea of taking a defenseless little girl into an alley and showing her just how bad you can be? Maybe planned on teaching me a lesson, is that it?"

His frown mimicked yours now, no longer any hints of cruel enjoyment on his part. His eyes still glowed red, but he was now squinting ever so slightly, zeroing in on you not only due to the limits of his quirk but also due to the words rapidly continuing to escape your impudent mouth.

"Does Eraserhead like to fuck his lays into being law-abiding citizens? Is the power over someone else what really gets you off, perhaps?"

It was like a spell was cast on the both of you. He couldn't drift his attention, his eyes couldn't stop scanning your face — quickly flickering from the hatred coloring your gaze to the slight quiver of frustration shaking your lips. The hand which he still used to grab your stockings was now a closed fist, knuckles growing pale from the poorly contained strength.

"Bet you plotted this entire thing, you creep. Wanted to take me behind an alley and show me my place." Your taunts were becoming increasingly more risqué, the anger blurring your sense of preservation—and the hint of something else too, a secret excitement you were unwilling to recognize. "Wanted to have me all submissive and obedient under you, surely. Show me what a scary hero cock can do, is that it?"

But instead of earning another entertaining grimace, you had a first-row seat to the rapidly darkening expression on his face. Eyes squinted at the same time that the bandages settled even tighter around you, cutting off your breath for a moment before relenting just enough not to suffocate you.

And that's when you first felt it for the first time, just when your jests died on your lips and you drank on his foreboding reaction. The grip of Eraserhead's quirk, more constricting than any ropes, wavering faintly around the prison he had constructed around you; the distinct buzzing in your hands returning for a mere instant before flickering out again.

Now that was interesting.

"Should watch what you're saying," the pro-hero sounded gruff, voice tinted by a new kind of intensity.

Like a shark smelling the smallest whiff of blood, you couldn’t help your instincts urging you to dial down.

"Always knew you hero types had a hard-on for the power trips. Bet you were using all of this as a decoy. Is this when you strip me and hold me down? When you plow me into the floor of this alley and tell me to "behave or else"?"

You knew your jabs were going too far, getting too brazen… yet as much as you enjoyed making the Pro visibly uncomfortable, once he decided to close the distance between you two there was little you could do to stop yourself from flinching. A fire inhabited his expression, the vivid brightness emanating from his stare not only intimidating, but downright frightening too.

"Are you trying to rile me up?" His hand gripped your face with force, bandages shifting until they were enveloping your neck, holding you up and forcing you to reciprocate his glare, "What do you think will you achieve by antagonizing me even more, V/N?"

You just looked at him through your eyelashes, still somehow managing to play up the innocent act through the layers of fear settling in. And as expected, it only served to further his irritation, calloused fingers digging even deeper into your cheeks and coaxing the claws of terror to continue trailing their nails all around you.

"I’m just trying to understand you, Eraserhead." The way you smiled at him was defiance personified despite it all, your tongue wetting your lips while you caught his eyes following the movement. There was the slightest give of his quirk again, a fluctuation in his concentration informing you that you were finally on the right track. "And I think, given the fact that I haven’t been cuffed yet, that we can both still come to a mutual agreement."

Fingers twitched around your jawline, muffling your words while your sides were squished together harshly. But even manhandling you, the Hero couldn’t hide the spark in his eyes, an interest you foolishly believed to be ignited by your former comments.

"So you are indeed trying to rile me up then." It was an assertion, not a hint of doubt in his leisure intonation.

Instead of replying this time, you just slowly blinked his way, observing your imitation of meekness reflected in a gaze that refused to abandon yours. It had been so long since you last tried to play coy, so long since you needed to depend on anything besides your own strength and ruthlessness. You couldn’t help the thrill you got from playing the role.

"Think you’ll get me distracted enough to break away, I bet." He was whispering directly against your skin after getting dangerously closer, the heat from his cushioned lips provoking an involuntary shiver. "Do you believe nobody else tried this approach before, little villain?"

You gulped, feeling caught before you even had time to properly set the stage.

"I wasn’t..."

"Weren’t what, trying to seduce me?" There was a sense of levity hidden somewhere under his timbre, stored between words that kept dragging on in a mantle of aloofness. "Or did you not mean any of your words?"

When you didn’t reply, you could feel the cruel smile resurfacing against your earlobe.

"If I lift your dress right now, do you think I’ll have my answer?" His question sounded almost casual, as weightless as your alias had been when he first called you out.

Your heartbeat sang in your chest, an anxious hummingbird trapped inside your ribcage. Because you knew the answer, you both did.

When the hand still clutching your bunched hosiery came up to press the fabric against your thighs, you could not help the gasp that escaped you.

"I bet all those things you were just saying…" His tone drifted off as the stockings were slowly guided up the vastness of your legs, fingers barely grazing you through the thin layer of the stolen undergarments. He was thoroughly teasing you, enjoying the manner in which your expression contorted in response. "You just want me to do them to you, don’t you?"

Even if you would’ve wanted to object, the pressure of his nylon-covered digits finally reaching your dampened panties was enough to kill any possible refusal. He traced the outline of your slit, soft touches running across it with deceitful lightness, and your mind became positively staggered as you were rendered overwhelmed by his actions.

You didn’t have to worry about his next move for long, either, because barely a moment’s notice passed before his entire palm was eagerly covering your crotch. And the new way in which he groped you was demanding, the heel of his wrist putting just enough pressure to drag a shamefully loud mewl from you.

The douchebag even had the gall to laugh at your reaction, the sound of his mirth prompting you to writhe even harder as he continued to feel you up through your rapidly soaking underwear.

"Knew you’d be a slutty one." His breath was hoarse against the side of your face, the stubble on his jaw scratching against your skin in a way which made you wonder how it would feel pressing elsewhere. "So fucking wet, it must hurt being this eager."

He didn’t specify what exact kind of pain he meant, whether your growing need for release or the insufferable blow all of this represented to your pride. Somehow, though, you had an inkling that he was referencing both.

"Wanna show me just how needy you are?" His words echoed with each laboured breath of his, one of the few signs you had that he was clearly very much into the whole affair despite his detached demeanor. "Maybe you could show me more of your adorable little cries."

As Eraserhead rutted his palm against you another time, you found your hips lowering down to chase the feeling much to your own chagrin, more moans making their way out of your panting mouth while he coaxed you to sing the notes of his preferred melody.

It was true that you hated his guts… but another fact was that you hadn’t had action in a long while either. Even with the threat of imprisonment hanging over you, you could not deny how desirable the idea to get to cum against that veiny hand of him was, to grip those muscular shoulders as you reached the perdition he was so tantalizingly offering.

Decidedly forgotten was your plan of you being the one distracting him. For fuck’s sake, you really were a needy whore.

"Why not show me how you cum for me in this alley, if you’re really that desperate?" His words kept getting cruder, his tongue tracing a languid stripe from your earlobe down to the side of your neck, a beautiful path of distractions threatening to dip your sanity even lower. "Be the dirty little villain that I know you are, doll."

But just as soon as the stimulation was hitting you a second time, so it suddenly disappeared. One second fingers were flexing against your tender flesh, coated by your arousal through the layers of fabric separating you and fluttering with the promise of an impending release, and then the very next instant you were left to whimper (a villain like you, actually whimpering!) in the unbearable wake of their absence.

When your eyes searched for the Hero’s again, in his blown out pupils you could only dare interpret part of the enjoyment he was getting from watching you scram for his touch, beautifully bold handwriting spelling out arousal for all to read.

Watching you so easily betray your own ego after all of your lip service? More than simple music to his ears, it was an entire sonnet.

"But, now that I think of it, you were the one trying to walk away free from this. So why should you be the one getting pleasured?"

Even in your precarious situation, you couldn’t help rolling your eyes.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Apparently, your discomfort at being denied was enough to forego your better senses.

The bindings contracted around you in quick response to your insolence, your neck being craned even further and your arms mishandled until they were behind your back instead of at your sides, a sharp pain blooming from your shoulders as you struggled to adjust.

Treated like this, he really did make you feel like a helpless little doll. (Goddamn, that thought alone was enough to have your juices gushing again, the trails of your excitement starting to make a mess of your inner thighs.)

"You don’t get it, do you?" He asked in a despondent voice, unblinking eyes still refusing to abandon your face as he elaborated, "you should already be on your way to some second-rate villain prison, cuffed and muzzled and someone else’s problem."

At his reminder of what you believed to be your impending fate, the mocking pout on your face transformed into a retelling of real horror. Because your spotless reputation was the one trick in your book that had managed to give you a sliver of notoriety over the rest of the unremarkable criminals, much more significant than any quirk or grandiose crime.

So for someone like you to lose that? You might as well hang up the villain costume and retire, for all anyone would care. (And yes, you had been called an attention whore a lot throughout your life, but who could blame you when you couldn’t help but thrive on it?)

Sensing your spiraling thoughts, the Pro raised his eyebrows in an almost pitiful stint, as if he was truly empathizing with the agonized look of your face.

"I know you don’t want that, doll." As his declaration dragged on, the grip that had been steadying your jaw was swapped instead for the peculiar feeling of damp fabric —your pantyhose being pushed against your cheek and spreading your own juices around, all while Eraserhead intently studied the new wave of disgust coloring your features. "So why not show me that even a villain slut like you can behave? Give me a reason to believe that and..." The slickered garment was now pressing to your closed lips, your eyes starting to water with the weight of the humiliation you were being made to endure. "Maybe then I’ll consider letting you go."

You knew he was lying, had every right to doubt the sincerity of his promise and, in its place, conclude he just meant to take advantage of you in your desperate state and then leave you for the pigs to find anyway.

You knew all of that, and yet you still opened your mouth and allowed him to do as he pleased. When he worked the pair of soiled stockings inside, you had troubles recognizing the pathetic sight being reflected your way from the wild hue of his gaze.

For someone who had always prided herself in being a predator, you had never looked more like prey.

"Fuck, that’s it, doll." He pushed the piece further with his fingers, forcing you to stretch your lips until your jaw started to hurt from the strain. His fingers swirled inside, pressing the soaked material against the flat of your tongue and instructing you to eagerly lick it.

You had never felt as debased in your entire life, being forced to choose between savoring your own arousal while tied up in an alley or ruining a reputation you had fought so earnestly to maintain.

(And yet your thighs were pressing together now, attempting to create some meager friction to alleviate a yearning that did nothing but shift, demand, grow.)

"Look at you cleaning up your own mess," he almost sounded proud of you as you kept dutifully sucking, his other hand brushing your hair away from your shoulders in a strangely consoling way. "Seeing you all obedient like this, one could be fooled into thinking there is yet hope for reform."

By the time the Hero finally took his hand away, bunching up the stockings before fitting them into one of the hidden pockets of his dark costume, you thought you could discern a mocking smile through the clouds of tears.

"But now, now, doll… are you gonna keep crying or do you wanna try and take proper care of me next?"

Not finding it in yourself to raise your voice again, you instead opted to wet your lips hesitantly as you awaited for him to elaborate further. There was a question dying to be asked, struggling somewhere alongside the myriad of insolent retorts and insults you wished you could swing the Hero’s way without being harshly reprimanded.

"I wouldn’t call that proper exactly," a chuckle reverberated from the back of his throat, gravely and dark as he misrepresented your movements. Fingers still slick from your saliva caressed your bottom lip, massaging it in a way which played straight into the undermining tilt of his words. "Although I’m sure you must be dying to wrap your pretty lips around my cock. Would give you a good reason to stay quiet, uh?"

You really had been intending not to fall for his obvious goading, not trying to give the Pro anymore reasons to be harsh with you (or even worse, give him an excuse to leave you alone and to a fate worse than his company ever would be).

Had tried so hard too, but the cocky villain in you could only take so much degradation before it snapped.

"Goddamn it, are you trying to fuck me or bore to death?" As for the slight quivering in your voice, you dearly hoped he wouldn’t pick up on it.

Predictably enough, that slip earned you another harsh tug from the capture weapon, your whole body pulled back until you thought you were about to be snapped.

"I was just about to praise you for being all sweet for me, V/N." The switch from his pet names to your alias felt like a bucket of ice being dumped on you, voice a slow drawl while he tugged once more from your bottom lip, but this time harsh enough to have you wincing. "I’m trying to teach you how to be a proper girl, so don’t make me regret it. Or would you prefer to go take a prolonged vacation in a holding cell?"

He already knew your answer judging by the way his eyes coldly studied you, unearthing the secrets you uselessly attempted to hide with an ease that unnerved you (and, as much as you loathe to admit, fascinated you).

When he tugged at your mouth again, nails sinking just enough to be noticeable, you knew he was expecting a verbal answer. And a nice one, at that.

"Then fucking get on with it…" Words slurred at the end, caught up in the increasingly somber aura of your captor before you swallow thickly, quickly adding as an afterthought, "Please."

At that, his scowl receded enough for some satisfaction to find its way back into his grimace.

The more you struggled, the sweeter your surrender became.

"Not perfect, but better," he conceded with a thoughtful hum.

If you had properly studied just who he was beyond his active Heroism, then you would’ve understood just how accustomed he was to insubordination. If anything, your act only served to make him feel more at home.

You had barely any time to wonder about whatever he had planned next though, because in an instant that damned contraction of his was moving you around once more, twisting you until you were facing the brick wall of the alleyway with heaving breaths.

Your legs were now maneuvered until you were forced to keep them apart just a smidgen, the new inviting space between your thighs surely a most intoxicating promise for the sick man manhandling you. And your back experienced pain afterwards too, harshly pushed until you had no option but to allow yourself to be pressed against the dirty walls; As a result, you found yourself with your ass backed up and for the world to see, the frilly skirt of your dress caught somewhere between all the movements.

Yet even being roughed up as you were, when a hand reached out to tug your ruined underwear away you couldn't help greedily rutting into it, too worried by the fire gathering in your lower belly to care about maintaining a semblance of the reluctance you would later claim to have experienced.

It was almost comical for the Hero to observe the pathetic image you were now serving up on an ornate platter —especially when compared to the list of deviant crimes and horrors your spreadsheet of accomplishments preached. For all intents and purposes, you really were a horrible, messed up individual…

So it was a wonder why his mind had kept supplying him with the same descriptor ever since he first saw you, the same sweet little word that he thought might as well be written all over your skin for how accurate it described you.

A cute little doll (soon to be his cute little doll). Despite believing himself to be a fairly responsable Hero, the man had never wanted to play with anything as much as he did with you.

The sound of a zipper being lowered was alarmingly loud in the emptiness of your surroundings, as loud as a wail to your sensitive ears. When you squirmed below your restraints, nonetheless, you could no longer pinpoint whether it was from unadulterated fear or a sick sense of anticipation.

How easy it had been to break you, even if you would never recognize it openly.

"Knew you were into it, and now watch your ass trembling in excitement for me." He was chuckling again, not pretending like the cruelty coating his words had any other intention but to degrade you further. It had been just his luck, to find the one villain who just so happened to enjoy it. "I really hit the jackpot with you, didn’t I, doll?"

When the lewd sound of one of his fists pumping his cock reached your ears, you didn’t even bother disguising the whines of complaint refusing to be contained any longer.

"Stop..." Words spilled from clenched teeth, growled out with an annoyance that no longer sought to defy, "Fucking..." but to demand instead, "Teasing."

"Hmm, that’s cute. Why don’t you try begging me though?" His cadence was growing as bated as his breath, littered by intermittent curses as his eyes dined on the sight of your glistening core, held up and offered up for him to do as he pleased. "Beg for me to use you, and if you put on a good enough show I might just let you off."

Another shiver rampaging it's way through your body, an exhilaration that could not be entirely pinpointed.

"Please…" You started, rough intonation dripping with venom —But Eraserhead didn't seem to mind the sardonic nature of your pleading though, not as you heard the litany of damnations being spilled from his lips. Your shameful excitement, your bitterness, your hatred… he would feast on it all and do it gladly. "Get on with it, bastard. Didn't anyone tell you never to toy with your food?"

A low murmur was your only response at first, followed by the lewd sound of his pre-cum covered cock being harshly jerked.

"Hmmm, aren't you being a bit too demanding…" His steps echoed again behind you, his unoccupied hand coming up to massage your ass with a rather firm grip. "Even with the begging, I don't think you've learned your place yet."

When he planted a slap in the same place he had been eagerly caressing before, sharp and flaring up your nerves with the sting of pain and humiliation, you couldn't stop your scream from turning into a wanton little moan halfway through.

Even if he was hitting you, it still meant he was touching you, and so enticingly close to the place you actually needed tended to.

"Do it…" your breathing was too heavy to speak in full fluid sentences, body flushed and mind filled with the buzzing of desire. "Do it again, fuck."

You were still not begging him like he asked, but it seemed like your choice of words still greatly pleased him. Another slap rained on your ass, his big warm palm massaging the same reddening spot right after.

And he kept going, the spanking echoing through your body and sending both pain and pleasured shivers up your spine—lewd sounds mixing in with the increasing pace of his other fist pumping his cock. Even without directly touching you, your pussy clenched and weeped with each firm hit.

"Damn, it's my first time meeting such a masochistic whore." Punctuated by his most painful slap yet, the globes of your ass left trembling and a furious shade of crimson to match his lust-filled eyes. "I can see why you've managed to stay free for so long, little villain." The debasement, paired with the pain of his firm strikes, had you moaning even louder. You couldn't even recognize your own sounds, nor the thrills you felt at this entire fucked up ordeal. "Wonder how many other Pros you showed this beautiful sight to."

Even through the fog of sensations impeding you from being wholly coherent, though, you still couldn't help but want to set the record straight.

"None, fuck…" Words merging into another expectant whine when you felt his hand gripping your flesh again, only this time he was kneading you in an oddly tender way —Urging you on, fingers creeping closer to your needy hole. "I'm not… usually in the business of fucking Heroes. Shit, I hate this…"

But you didn’t, and when you were surprised by the warmth of his naked erection barely grazing the sensitive outer lips of your cunt, you couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped you.

"Goddamn, V/N, even while you're an ill-mannered brat you still manage to know just what to say."

And then the older man was sliding his cock in the juncture of your thighs, teasing your core by pressing against it while grunts began to escape him. You thought you could cry from having him so close yet still not where you wanted him, but then his shallow thrusts against your legs proved to be much more stimulating than you first expected.

The fat head of his cock even managed to somewhat stimulate your puffy clit with its movements, pushing in its direction as your essence continued to leak out and cover you both. And It was so absolutely debauched, to think a Hero was using your thighs like a fucktoy while you were tied down and unable to stop it....

But it felt so good. Even without him actually in you, you had never been this turned on before.

"More… ughhh," you were now screaming with the side of your face pressed flush against the disgusting brick walls, needy sounds filling the night and making it privy to your descent into madness.

Another thrust, this time angled just precisely enough not to caress your pleasurable areas. Punishment, you feverishly thought while you attempted to wiggle your ass, eager to force more of that delicious friction you were quickly becoming hypnotized by.

"Now, V/N," his gruff voice had adopted a mocking tone of reprimand as he continued to rut against the soft skin of your thighs. "Haven't I taught you anything, yet? If you want something…" The hand returned to your heated skin, digits underneath you both spreading your pussy enough for the chilly night air to send shivers straight to your core. "You gotta say please."

And say please you did. Screamed it even, so eager for more and already far beyond feeling any embarrassment.

He didn't fuck you, not like you really wanted, but suddenly his thick shaft was sliding between your lips as his capture weapon aided him in angling your body just right, pulsing against your hole while he found a new rythimn. When both of his hands returned, one of them held you back to make the process even easier while the other swiftly joined his cock in tending to your eager pussy.

So lost were you in the new raw excitement seizing you, in the knowledge of just how messed up you both were for engaging in such debauchery —so distracted that you didn't even notice the faint buzzing returning to your arms, the vibrancy of an old frequency being reactivated and allowed to encapsulate you again.

(You didn’t notice, but fuck if it didn’t made your orgasm all the sweeter.)

You were cumming like that, your moans resembling squeaks, your body feeling closer to a used fucktoy than a human being. The hero kept rutting against you, the joint efforts of his cock and hand mercilessly continuing to abuse your spasming cunt while your cries filled the space with their decadence.

You felt dirty, guilty, maybe even a little ashamed as the orgasm briefly gave you a clarity of mind your arousal had clouded.

And yet, despite it all, it had been the best you felt in years, possibly ever. As the Pro now tugged your hair, forcing you to wrench your neck just enough to look at him over your shoulder, you couldn't help licking your lips in expectation of what he had in store next.

"You're gonna show me your face next time you come, little villain." He gave you just enough time to nod, eyebrows drawn as your pleasure got impossibly dragged out by the stimulation he still bathed you with. "And you're gonna keep begging me, keep showing me why you deserve to stay free, okay?"

It was commendable, how collected he managed to sound while thrusting into your thighs like that, the sounds of skin slapping against skin driving each of his words home.

"Yes, fuck, whatever you want…" Despite your senses shortly coming back earlier, you were still too far gone to rethink your poor choices. You just knew you wanted more, and so you asked for it. "Just give me more, please."

So fucking obedient. If your parents could see you know, their failure of a villain daughter being all proper and learning to beg for what she wanted? Well, perhaps saying they'd be proud was a stretch, considering you were also the one getting fucked in the middle of a filthy alley.

What you hadn’t expected, however, was just how well your begging would work.

Because the next thrust of his shaft was not between your legs, but aimed to finally breach your needy cunt instead, easily filling you up in one go with how utterly soaked in both of your juices you already were. The girth of him had you already clenching with renewed vigor, his hand stopping his assault on your clit just to give you enough time to truly savor the new intoxicating sensation.

And when your eyes found his again, so drunk on the waves of pleasure you were that you also failed to notice the lack of scarlet coloring the orbs boring into yours, now inescapable voids of dark desire and a type of intense fixation you thought hadn't been there moments ago.

(Or maybe it was always there, and you had been too busy with your own turmoil to notice the clues being left by your so-called enemy).

"Want me to stuff you properly?" His guttural question hit you at the same time as his sharp movements found your tender spot with experienced ease, walls tightening around him while your entire body struggled to continue holding yourself upright, relying more and more on the capture weapon to keep you from toppling over.

The binds still hurt from how tightly they wrapped around you, bruises sure to be left on their wake, but by that point you weren't so sure anymore the sting was an entirely bad thing. If anything, it just made the pleasure all the sweeter by comparison.

"Want me to fill you with so much cum that you reek of hero cock for the rest of the week?" He laughed while he regurgitated some of your words from earlier, the hand pressing against your lower stomach caressing you with a distinct sense of ownership as he elicited another loud moan with a sharp movement of his hips.

Noticing you reacting not only to his actions but to his quips, you could practically hear the self congratulatory smirk as he spoke next.

"Bet the other villains would love knowing how much of a cockhungry whore you turned into too, doll. Talk about fraternizing with the enemy."

And he was right, in a way. Because what would your fellow villains think, seeing you being wrecked by one of the most infamous Pros in the business, lowering yourself to pleading and screaming as he rearranged your insides.

Would you get called a disloyal whore or just a plain traitor? Not only would your spotless reputation and the myth you had fought to build collapse, but from its ashes your eternal shame could be erected.

A shame that would tower over you, looming around you while the eyes of your peers followed you everywhere. You could even picture the jests veered your way, the looks of utter disgust and ridicule...

Somehow, the idea of anyone finding out only made your screams grow louder, impossibly more fervent.

"Fucking… get on with it."

However, his rhythm was rapidly interrupted after your jab, his cock pulling out almost entirely as your core convulsed with the sudden staggering emptiness it was left to grapple with. More whimpers, struggling against the set of eternally unforgiving ties encasing your body.

"But you're making me do all the work, little one" Another slap shook your entire frame as it landed heavily on your still pained cheeks. You were so sore, both from the previous set of hits and from the sheer exhaustion starting to set in, muscles tight and resentful from the awkward positions your body had been manhandled into. "If you really want to continue this, how about you start doing some of the heavy lifting, uh?" Just like before, his palm started massaging the tender spot he had just smacked, fingers digging into your supple flesh being as close to comforting as the Pro seemed capable of. "Show me just how good you can be."

And you could've argued, truly, could've even attempted to hold onto the last vestiges of your pride…

You could’ve done a lot of things, but the truth was that when his weapon relented its hold at last, retreating from the underside of your knees and giving in just a smidge for the first time since you had been captured, you didn't waste any seconds before you were chasing after your high with renewed vigor.

Greedily sinking into him with an obscene sigh, you audibly marveled at the curve of his member being deliciously imprinted in your insides. While you copied the cadence the Hero had previously employed, his grip on your lower belly fluttered, almost like he couldn't decide whether to take control back or allow you to humiliate yourself further with your own zealousness.

It seemed like the later prospect won him over in the end though, because he remained almost impassively still as you did all the work needed to bring you both deliriously close to your peaks.

The sight must've been spectacular, watching you, renown villain V/N, so thoroughly broken and willing to heed his every command. Impaling yourself on his cock, moaning and continuing to beg him for something you were already taking for yourself.

If he died right then and there, he doubted Heaven wouldn't have as much appeal as the scene still unfolding before his eyes. (But again, considering his actions, Heaven wouldn't really be the right place for either of you.)

You were just about to reach your second orgasm, toes curling inside your shoes, fists clenched and a face that spelt poetic extasis. Angling the way you took his cock, every single movement driving him painstakingly deeper, slamming against a spot that made you imagine the stars falling from the sky all around you, their light being the one bathing you instead of the malfunctioning street lamps.

So goddamn close…

Only to have him pull out again, this time completely. You were clenching against nothing, all stimulation stolen from you, and the bitterness of a ruined orgasm promptly dragged curses and complaints out of you before you could even think to stop them.

Eyes searched his, urgently seeking an explanation for his withdrawal only to find his glare fixated instead on that same dirty pair of stockings that had started it all.

Eraserhead must have taken the garment out of his pocket sometime while he fucked you, unfolding it from its scrunched up state until the crotch was visibly presented for both of you to admire, dark sheer fabric still stained from a mix of your arousal and spit.

When the Pro looked at you again, a beautifully dark smile topped his attractive face. He looked painfully content, the way he studied your own mortified expression reminding you of an artist studying his masterwork.

"Only the truly obedient ones get their cunts filled." You noticed then how his other hand was jerking him off again, erection rubbing against the nylon undergarments in a most obscene depiction. Too bad you were too frustrated to appreciate any of it. "I don't think you've… hell, you haven't earned it yet, V/N."

You didn't even notice you were tearing up from the annoyance until it was too late. And maybe that was what finally did it, seeing you actually crying at his refusal to breed you like the slut you both knew you were, writhing in exaggerated despair as you found yourself feeling jealous of a stupid pair of tights, because not long after your pathetic reaction the man was letting out a pained groan of his own and spilling himself all over the damned garment.

But instead of rubbing your wailing in your face after he came down from his own delicious high, last few spurts of cum slowing down to a halt, you were surprised instead by the weapon that had been binding you for the longest time finally retreating.

As expected, you unceremoniously collapsed to the floor, feet now unprepared for supporting your weight and your entire being wholly exhausted after enduring the roughest fuck you had ever experienced. It hurt all over, although you weren't sure whether your still present longing wasn't what pained you the most.

When you looked up to the Pro again, trying to find an answer to the new freedom you were experiencing, you were surprised by having the cum-dripped stockings thrown in your face.

And quite literally so, the still wet seed dribbling down your cheek and into your trembling lips, all before you collected enough wits to grab the offending item and pull it down with an expression of unadulterated disgust.

"Sorry, doll, but you were pouting so irresistibly," The Eraser user actually laughed, this time the sound coming with an untroubled merriment you did not think he was capable of.

He actually looked worn out while he tucked himself back into his costume, accommodating the pieces of clothing until all hints from your ravenous affair disappeared. The bandages were wrapping themselves around his neck once more, looking more like an extravagant scarf than the most precise set of inmovilazing gear you had ever endured.

However, something about his attitude had you forgetting all about his newest slight, much too worried by a new cause of worry.

"Hold on..."

Eraserhead looked down at you from his place after you raised your voice, urging you to continue as he finished getting himself presentable. The air of nonchalance around him was almost more intimidating than any of the actual threats or vulgar comments he had voiced prior. Almost.

"Are you…" you swallowed the sudden lump in your throat, voice still raspy and hoarse after what had just transpired. "Are you really letting me go?"

The man just raised one of his eyebrows at that, eyes crinkling for the first time and looking strangely amused.

"Doll, I stopped exerting my quirk on you while I was still teasing you good and proper," he declared bluntly. When his orbs glimmered again, you now felt like an imbecile as you finally realized they had completely lost the reddish hue to them. "So you know what? I thought you deserved to get an out of jail free card for behaving yourself… even if you still need to work some more on your manners."

To call your shocked expression dumbfounded would be a disservice.

When his now bottomless eyes bore into yours for one final time, all you could do was stare back in dazzled shock. Your quirk was back, the Pro himself had just confirmed it, and yet you were still nailed to the spot, still anticipating his next words without even thinking of attacking him in the meantime.

One little tumble and you were already his brightest pupil yet. He was now so glad to have waited that long, it only made the outcome all the more fulfilling.

"You don’t need to be so surprised, Y/N, we'll be seeing each other soon,” He kneeled in front of you for an instant, both hands reaching out to hold up your face in a gesture more resembling a lover than… well, whatever the hell you two were. So entranced you were then, that the use of your real name barely even registered. “It’s been difficult to keep you away from trouble thus far,” his acknowledgment reverberated in the alley, its meaning something else lost to you as you couldn’t help but become entranced by the new peculiar softness he addressed you with, “but getting you like this now, seeing you break so easily… fuck, I’ll mold you right back up, doll, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about anything else.”

And just then, for the first time you realized, the Hero’s lips were brushing against yours gently, uncharacteristically careful as he kissed you slowly. Even his hands were tender while they guided you, treating you as if you truly were a doll that could just be snapped with a mere wrong movement. As if he hadn’t just been treating you like a dirty hole for him to use and abuse just short instants ago.

But at least he did not seem to care about the mess that was your face at the moment, about the cum stains or the still damp trails of tears. And, for whatever reason, you found yourself returning the gesture in kind, melting into the oddly affectionate touch of a man you were still halfway sure you loathed.

Even after he left you, alone and a mess still toppled over on the floor with the shadow of humiliation cloaking your shoulders, your fingers couldn’t help but touch your lips with a bizarre mixture of bewilderment and horror.

He told me I would see him soon, your mind supplied as you found yourself irreparably fixating your stare on the pair of now completely ruined tights you were still holding onto. The fact that you felt any type of excitement about the notion did not fail to mortify you.

God, even for villain standards you were fucked.

But it was okay, because misery loved company and, with time at his disposal and the right amount of coaching, Shouta was sure he could teach you to properly crave his soon enough.

— — —

And, 8k of foul smut later, if y’all read through that whole thing... drop by my ask to recieve your congratulatory gold stars! ⭐ (jk but I do appreciate hearing y’alls thoughts, it’s what keeps me halfway productive 🖤)

Last but not least, very special thanks to my best pals @reinawritesbnha, @snappysnapo and @drxwsyni (who actually proof read this and helped me out immensely with her Big Brain Feedback. A TALENTED ANGEL).

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pascalpanic · 3 years

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F*ck Around and Find Out (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Sequel to Fooled Around and Fell In Love

Summary: Your former fling and now boyfriend, Javier Peña, had a shitty day. Instead of soft comfort like last time, you go for something a little rougher.

W/C: <3k

Warnings: SMUT (18+), oral sex (m receiving), handcuffs, bottom!javi if you squint, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it babes), creampie, also lots of language but that’s a minor concern here lol

A/N: Well, I fucked around and found out. and it led me to this.

This is a sequel to Fooled Around and Fell In Love (linked here and above), but you can definitely read it as a standalone too!

Javi had another shitty day. Working for the DEA is a fucking grind, to say the very least. His weeks normally consist of at least one shitty day, but this one takes the cake for the entire month.

He could’ve really used your calming touch, a kiss on the side of the face, something just to ground him, but you were busy. No matter how hard it was for him, Javier would not admit defeat. He would not ask for the tenderness he knew you’d so eagerly give, he couldn’t. He didn’t know how. So he didn’t, he took his anger out as he furiously wrote a report on the typewriter, smoked half a pack more than normal, and drank at least two pots of coffee from the break room.

When the day ends, the clock striking 5:30, he pulls on his jacket with no hesitation. “Where the fuck are you going?” Steve asks as Javier shoves his shit in his briefcase.

“Home, Murphy,” he snaps. “I’m getting the fuck out of here before I strangle Stechner until that balding head pops,” he grimaces.

Steve’s eyes widen. “Well. Get some rest, maybe get laid. Get that shit outta your system.”

“Don’t you fucking talk about my girl like that,” he threatens.

Steve raises his hands in defense. “Just… saying that you need something to get that anger out. Have a good night, Javi,” he says and gets up from his chair, going god knows where. Javier couldn’t give less of a shit if he tried.

Javier then proceeds to drive over to your apartment. He pulls out his brick of a sat-phone in the car and calls yours. You pick up after a few seconds. “Hello?”

“Hey dulzura,” Javier says with a sigh.

“Hi, where are you? You could’ve just found me,” you chuckle, crossing your legs. You’re sitting on the edge of your desk, where Javier could’ve easily known you’d be if he had a single brain cell left that wasn’t being roasted by his hotheadedness.

“I’m headed home- well, to your apartment. If I spent one more fucking minute in that place…” he trails off, anger fading to exhaustion. “And I just want to spend some time with you. Maybe slow dance in the kitchen again.”

You smile, hugging your free arm tight around yourself. “Of course, babe. You can get comfortable in my apartment, have a drink or something. I’m gonna be about an hour or so before I’m home. Fuckin’ Limón left a paper trail in Medellín and we’re trying to wrap it up.”

He sighs. He’s already waited this long, but he doesn’t know how to ask. He doesn’t know if he can ask, if he can tell you that he needs your love right now or he might burst. “Okay,” he says, nodding.

His voice is so tired. So sad. You pout a little, looking over at your own cluttered desk. “Or… I suppose Limón can wait until the morning. He’s not going to do something crazy overnight, right?” You chuckle.

There’s a small smile on Javi’s face now. “If he does, I will personally take over whatever you’re doing.”

You smile at the words. “Maybe I want him to do something crazy now,” you tease for a moment. “Well, I’ll head home now. Meet you at my place in a bit. I love you,” you tell him honestly.

“Love you too, baby. See you in a bit,” he says and hangs up. He lets out a deep sigh at the relief of your voice, of the way just talking for you with less than a minute can take all of his stress away.

He parks outside of your place, unlocking the door with the spare key you gave him. He sets his briefcase on your kitchen table. He finds a bottle of wine in your refrigerator and pours two glasses, sipping one and setting the other down for you.

Javier looks around your apartment, smiling softly. There’s a photo of the two of you on the end table by your sofa. It’s a shitty print of the two of you smiling into the disposable camera, faces washed out by the flash. Javier picks it up and chuckles. You’re grinning ear to ear, exposing your teeth and pressing your cheek to Javi’s. He may not show it, but he feels the same, although his smile is significantly smaller than yours. Closed lipped. His brown eyes show the weight of his joy.

He sits on the couch and watches the TV with half of his attention. His anger from the day sinks back in, making him forcefully breathe slow to remain calm. She’ll be home soon, he reminds himself. She’ll kiss your skin and wrap her arms around you and tell you how much she loves you. You know she will.

But Javier can’t wait. He gets up, pacing around the apartment. It’s only a short drive from the embassy to your place, but you probably had to put away some files and shit. He’s in the middle of his third lap from the kitchen to the living room when the doorknob rattles.

He opens the door and sees your smile, and he wastes absolutely no time in cupping your face and kissing you deeply. You giggle at first, taken aback, before wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing back. You walk him backwards into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind you and slipping off your heels. “Bad day, huh?” You ask between kisses as the two of you meander to your couch.

He breathes out a confirmation and you frown softly. “We better fix that,” you tell him, pressing your forehead to his.

“I think we’d better,” he nods and kisses you again hungrily. Hard. Desperate, his tongue pressing against the seam of your lips.

You break away as you reach the couch, sitting next to him and pulling him down with you. “Can I take care of you tonight?” You ask him, running a hand through his tobacco-brown waves.

He frowns a little. “What do you mean take care of me?” He asks, his head tilting to the side with his confusion.

You smile. “Treat you right. Mainly in bed, that was kind of my plan,” you chuckle.

“Oh really? Is that what you had in mind?”

You nod and press a soft kiss to his face. “You deserve it. Let me take the lead for once,” you mumble, kissing his jaw and his neck. “If you’ll be good for me.”

“What happens if I’m bad?” He mumbles, his head tilting to the side. He pulls you onto his lap, angling his head so you have better access.

“Why don’t you fuck around and find out, hm?” You ask teasingly, nipping at his skin. He gasps in surprise and smirks.

“Do your worst, baby girl,” he murmurs, and you kiss him again desperately.

Your lips cling to his, arms pulling him as close as you can get. You don’t care that you’re still in your work clothing, you straddle him and palm him through his jeans. He groans and you push your tongue against his, moaning softly.

The two of you stay like that for a little bit, your hand palming Javier’s hardening dick in time with your lips against his. He’s straining against his jeans, bucking into your hand when you pull away.

You get off of him and stand, hands on your waist. You examine his belt, searching for one of the tools you know you can always find there. He’s about to ask if you need help unbuckling it, like the sarcastic asshole he is, before you lean down and grab the handcuffs with a grin. “I told you, I’m gonna take real good care of you. Now let’s head to bed,” you tell him, grabbing his hand and pulling him up.

He’s stunned, really. He’s never been anything but dominant in bed, always taking the lead, always putting in the heavy efforts. Even when you ride him, he’s the one thrusting up into you. But you jingle the handcuffs in front of you while you walk him to your room, and he thinks he’s already seeing stars.

“Fuck,” you sigh as you walk into your room and Javier squeezes your ass. You turn around, stripping your blazer and unbuttoning your shirt. “Take off your clothes,” you order him.

Javier obeys, smirking. “I think I kinda like it when you boss me around,” he teases, eyes widening in lust as he sees the curve of your breasts when your shirt falls to the floor.

“Then you’re going to have a very good night,” you assure him teasingly, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Is this okay? I know normally you’re the one doing this.”

“This is fucking perfect,” Javi laughs as he pushes down his jeans and then his boxers. “I’m excited to see what you have in mind. You know I’m down to try anything once.”

“You ever been handcuffed?” You ask, holding them up now that you’re in just your bra and panties- unintentionally matching today, a dark silky black.

“No,” he admits.

You raise an eyebrow. “I kind of expected someone like you would’ve, Peña,” you tease, pushing him down onto the bed. “Hands above your head. Got it?” You ask.

“Yeah,” he mutters out breathlessly, putting his hands against your headboard. He positions himself readily for you, already rock hard and ready for you to do whatever the fuck you want.

You smirk at the sight, tracing your fingertips over the line where your bra meets the flesh of your tits. “And you don’t get to touch tonight,” you tell him with a smirk, “but I promise it’ll be all about you.”

He smirks too. “Get over here so I can kiss you, at least,” he asks, and you nod, straddling him and bending down to kiss him where he lays, flat on his back. You grind your panty-covered slit across his dick, and he shudders as he can feel your wetness through the cloth. “Baby,” he mumbles.

You pull away and look down at him, hands tracing over his body. “You’re so fucking hot, Javi,” you chuckle, fingers splayed out against his abs. “I am so lucky that I get this whenever I want it.”

“Whenever,” he nods in agreement, sitting up and kissing you again softly.

“And I have never been one to take what I have for granted,” you murmur as you press him back down into the bed and kiss at his collarbones, his pecs, his abs and stomach and down to his hips. You leave soft marks across his skin, tasting every inch of it. “So fucking hot, Javi. God, you make me so wet whenever I even think about this.”

“Missed you today,” he breathes out as you slowly pump his dick, twisting your hand around him. “Needed you. Some love.”

“Yeah? You could’ve come and got me,” you chuckle, pressing kisses around the base of his dick. “Asked me.”

“Didn’t know how,” he admits breathlessly, grunting as you lick around the base slowly. “Didn’t wanna bother you.”

You pout up at him, stopping for a second. “You can always come get me, baby. You know that.”

He nods. “Doesn’t matter now. Just… oh fuck,” he shudders as you take the tip in your mouth, shivering at the sound he makes. “So good, Goddamn.”

He won’t last long at all tonight, but that’s fine by you. Tonight, you intend to get your pleasure through his, to put him first and treat him to a night of relaxation. Your hand pumps the base of his dick slowly, making him cry out and tug against the restraints of his hands, as your other hand pulls off your panties.

“Javi,” you murmur with a devious smirk. “Good boys don’t tug.”

Even when you’re the one in control, Javier still holds the power. He can still make you do whatever he says. “Good girls don’t tease,” he flirts right back and it goes straight to the pooling heat between your legs.

“I’m the one in control here,” you remind him, even though it’s weak. You both know it’s Javier pulling the strings. You rub his thigh softly. “Just relax for me, baby. Let me take the lead, just let it all go. I’ll take care of you like you take care of me.”

His thick adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “I’d relax better if you were riding my dick.”

“God, Javi, you’re so impatient,” you whine and look up at him. “I was getting there.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckles. “Take your time then. I’ve got nowhere to go,” he shrugs, clanking his handcuffs around as a reminder that it’s not only a joke but literal.

You shoot him a glare and he gives an apologetic little smile that makes you giggle. “God, have I mentioned how much more I like you when you admit you love me? You’re not so intense in bed, even though you still can be. You can even be… cute.”

“I am not cute, dulzura,” Javier frowns.

“Yes you are! Look at that cute-ass pout you’re giving me,” you laugh. “You are adorable, Javi. Especially when you make those noises when I go down on you.” You take the tip in your mouth again, swirling your tongue around it.

Javier holds back the noises, now trying to prove a point. He’s nearly silent for the next few moments as you work him just the way he likes it with your mouth. You pout and pull away. “Will you let me hear those noises again if I get on your dick?”

Javier’s panting but he smiles and nods. “Maybe I’ll even listen to you and relax.”

You grin and bring your lips to his, kissing him deeply. “I think you will, because I have a surprise,” you murmur.

“I thought the cuffs were the surprise.”

“Just one part of it… I want you to cum inside me tonight. Raw.”

Javier’s breath catches in this throat. “Fuck, you’re sure?” He asks, desperate to touch your sides and grope your breasts in that gorgeous black bra.

You nod. “I’m protected and clean.”

He nods back. “I am too, now please, baby-” You waste no time and sink your hips down over his, shuddering at how good it feels. “Javi,” you whine as you push all the way down, his thick cock bottoming out inside of you.

Javier’s already on the verge. “Fuck,” he grunts, biting down on his lip. Your hands rest flat on his chest, pushing him down into the bed. He can’t roll his hips up into you, can’t try to control the movement. It’s all on you. “Please, cariño,” and he’s already whining for you. Needy, desperate.

“Yeah baby? What do you want?” You ask flirtatiously, hovering your breasts in front of his face. Your hips wiggle teasingly on his, making him groan from the friction.

He pulls his head up to bury his face in your cleavage, tracing his tongue around the warm flesh of your tits. “Take it off for me. Please, baby.”

“No,” you say forcefully and lift all the way off of him, leaving you feeling achingly empty inside. “I’ll stop like this if you don’t behave.”

“I’ll do anything, dulzura,” he nods, hooking a leg around yours. “Please, just-”

“Good,” you practically purr as you line yourself up on him and sink down, moaning. “God, you’re so thick. Feel so good inside me Javi.”

He throws his head back into the pillow, your incessant teasing making his dick ache with tension. “If you keep fucking edging me, I’m gonna die,” he chuckles.

“Oh baby, this isn’t even real edging,” you murmur into his ear. You finally give in, putting your hands over his on the headboard, bouncing up and down on him. You kiss around his neck, working soft marks into places the shirt can cover tomorrow. “How does it feel?”

“So good,” he groans. “You feel so good on top of me, get me so deep inside of you,” he shudders, hips wiggling a little but stopping the motion as it makes you slow your pace.

“You’re a quick learner,” you mumble as you lick a hot stripe behind his ear. “You gonna cum for me?”

“Yeah,” he nods frantically, shuddering. “Please?”

He said please. Javier fucking Peña just asked you for permission to orgasm. You could get used to this. “Yes, come on baby, cum inside me,” you tell him and he follows your command. He thrusts up into you once, desperately, and the friction leads him to spill his hot seed inside of you.

You whimper at the feeling, biting your lip. “Good job,” you mumble as you work him through it. It’s pure bliss for him, the feeling of your walls clenching around his bare dick and your slick soaking the hot skin there.

As he’s done, you slow down and roll off of him, grabbing the key to the handcuffs from the nightstand and unlocking the cuffs. His hands immediately find their way to your sides and pull you on top of him, kissing you hard. “That was so good, baby.”

“I thought so too,” you chuckle. “Maybe next time you can stop being such a stubborn bastard and give in for me.”

He nods. “I do like that. Although, I won’t lie, I like destroying you more,” he teases, fingers tracing down to the aching clit that never got an orgasm tonight. His own cum mixes with the wetness dripping from you in anticipation. “Mm, you need to cum, don’t you?” he groans and bites his lip. “Let’s fix that, baby.”

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