#barely proofread

[zer0pm]

Imagine demanding Luis to unlock your chains. When he doesn’t, you take matters into your own hands.

A/N: DID SOMEONE SAY PART 2 OF THIS PIECE?!

You did and I’m grateful for all the love that has been thrown for my work. So here’s me giving some of that love back. Hope you enjoy 🙏

Warning: SMUT AHEAD. Look away, minors! Look away! Avert your eyes from the sexual content! Shoo! Begone!

Warning 2: It’s quite long so mentally prepare yourself.

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“I still didn’t catch your name.”

The cheek on this guy. Using the fact that he holds the key to your restraints as a bargaining chip to become familiar with you. As if he hadn’t just forced you into a partnership with him already. The absolute nerve. You had more important things to do, such as finding Leon and the president’s daughter. And this Luis Serra was effectively wasting your precious time. Well, two can play this game.

You start by offering him an inviting smile before relaxing your hands until your palms pressed flat against his chest. The man didn’t seem to fully register your subtle movement until you slid them upwards, feeling the fine leather beneath your fingertips. The motion takes him by surprise, his eyes following your touch. He then casts an inquisitive glance your way.

“¿Que haces?” Apparently he wasn’t expecting this, convinced that you didn’t much care for him and thus was taken so off guard that he slipped into his native tongue. He must have remembered himself right after as he repeated the question, making sure that it sounded more direct. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Voice comes out in a low, sultry drawl as you grip the lapel of his jacket with one hand, gently tugging at the material. “I’m about to give you what you want. But I’m going to need you to come closer.”

Once you were certain that you had his complete attention while also making sure that you didn’t lose yourself in the mesmerizing grey of his eyes, you make your move. With your other hand, as best as the chains allowed, you reach for the key that was lodged in the lock of your chains. Disguising your intention, you run your fingers down the expanse of his chest in an explorative manner. This earned an appreciative hum from the Spaniard as he leans his head towards you expectantly.

Too easy.

Mindful not to look down between you two so as to not give yourself away, you lean in as well while also blindly searching for the key. “My name is…” you whisper. His bated breath mingles with yours, the lids of his eyes heavy, grey growing dark in anticipation. Another inch from either one of you and the gap will close. Just as your fingertips touched the end of the key, something warm firmly grips your hand. A sudden chill runs down your spine.

You can hear the reverb of something between a scoff and a chuckle come from Luis’ lips. “Nice try,” he smirks knowingly.

With a strength that catches you off guard, he pushes you away from him. Key in hand. He flaunts the tiny piece of metal before swinging his arm as if he was making a play to toss it aside. In your panic, you jump towards him, shoving him off balance with your shoulder. He breaks your fall as you two tumble down together.

The man curses in Spanish from the sudden pain and you took advantage of this by quickly searching for the key. You spot it a bit of a ways above Luis’ head and use both bound hands to reach for it once more. The chain that links your wrists together are caught by a familiar hand and suddenly pulled down until your hands were restrained between your two bodies once more. You sigh in frustration and the man beneath you clicks his tongue against his teeth.

There is an amused glimmer in his gaze as he speaks. “The stubborn-type, eh? All this trouble over a name.”

You in turn throw him an annoyed glare. “I was going to say the same about you.”

Instead of showing offense, he laughs. “Perhaps we’re more alike than you might think.”

Rather than entertain him further, you try to wrestle against his hold. Luis seemed prepared for it this time, matching your strength, only he had the advantage as he had free reign of his arms and hands. One hand kept your chained hands between your chests, the other gripped at the bicep of your arm, effectively minimizing upper body movement. Out of instinct, you rebelliously wriggle with your hips and legs with the sole focus of getting off of him. However, the man’s longer limbs kept you caged against him and the only thing you managed to do was awkwardly seat your bottom on him, knees bent by his sides.

When you grounded down in your struggle, the man tensed below you. Thinking you have finally one-up him, you repeated the action and noticed he wasn’t nearly putting up as good a fight as he did before. This allowed you to sit upright, dragging his hand with you until his arm extended slightly, and you continued your efforts to be free of him.

Luis’ breath became labored. “Stop.” he commands with gritted teeth, his voice barely above a whisper. When you didn’t listen to him, he moved his other hand from your arm to your hip, squeezing harshly in warning.

“¡Basta! Stop moving!” he growls.

You bark back defiantly, “I’ll get off when you let me get the fuckin-“

That’s when you felt it. Or rather- him. A hardness pressed beneath your nether region. Despite the layers of fabric, there was no mistaking the telling throbbing pushing up against you as if demanding your attention below.

Your throat runs dry but your brain kept sending signals to your mouth. “Ar…. Are you-“

“Sí.” the man had a pained, conflicted look about him, a picture of breathtaking self-control as he kept his body completely still. His eyes didn’t meet yours, gaze locked upon where your hips met as if to keep himself in check and not allow his body’s desires to act out untowardly.

“Surely you know how the human body works,” he tries to sound clinical, face strained in vague distress, “and will not fault me for the involuntary reactions of mine. It already doesn’t help that you’re easy on the eyes.”

You should be chastising him for getting excited when it was neither the time or place and danger was surely around the corner, but bit your lip at your own wave of pleasure upon feeling his arousal pulse. A totally different kind of heat washes over you.

What do you do now?

Neither of you spoke for a moment, a tense silence settling in until Luis breaks it with a forced cough.

“Well, this is- uh, fun.” he says without humor. “Pero, perhaps we can call it even and stop the game here. ¿Sí?”

His words went in one ear and out the other. You were frustrated beyond belief. Fueled by adrenaline and temptation. There was no one around. And you have an impossibly handsome Spanish man between your legs with a hard-on for you.

When you didn’t answer, he spoke up again. “As much as I like this position, I must regrettably ask that you- Whoa!”

As best as you could, you shoot your bound hands straight up in the air. As he still had a grip on the chain link, Luis was dragged upright into a seated position from the floor and his face stopped right in front of yours. The movement caused friction in both of your sensitive areas, mouths could do nothing to stop the groans that escaped them. His eyes open to your heated gaze, confusion and desire swirling in the grey irises.

You breathe, “You talk too much, Luis Serra.”

And it was you who closed the distance. Teeth and tongue clashed in a new battle filled with pent-up energy and lust. Your mind quickly becomes hazy as you allowed yourself to be consumed in his emanating heat and musky scent. A nip at his bottom lip earned you an enthusiastic thrust of his hips, an appreciative squeeze at your bottom rewarded him with a carnal moan from your mouth. The only time you pulled back was for air and the man before you glances between your dazed eyes and bruised lips, hypnotized by your already ruined appearance.

“Are we, uh, still playing the same game?” His question nearly disarms you. You have a feeling he was really asking if you were of sound of mind about this. Your eyes roll reflexively.

“Really going to keep running your mouth?” You then follow up with a roll of your hips, the Spaniard throws his head back with a deep, guttural groan. Dark wavy locks brush against his cheekbones, eyes shut closed. With his thick neck exposed, you steal kisses along his sensitive pulse and stubbled jaw. Another primal groan vibrates from his throat.

“Eres muy mala.” Luis grumbles without a hint of disdain. Rather, when you finally pull back to allow him to look at you, you find him wearing that familiar cocky smirk. “But I must admit, I’m kind of into it.”

A charmer through and through this man is. His next move takes you by surprise.

He shoves you off of him.

As soon as you recover from your initial shock, the dark-haired man grabs you by the chain again and drags you to the far end of the room, further away from the key and exit. Using his strength and your own momentum against you, Luis tosses you forward. Your upper body lands right on top of a wide metal table propped against the dingy concrete wall.

He takes advantage of your momentary state of confusion by forcing your arms to extend towards the wall. It wasn’t until you heard the unmistakable click of metal did you fully regain your senses and look up to see what he did. The arrogant man used one of the wall mounts to lock your chains taut in place. He literally chained your chains. You’re caught in a trap again!

Just as you were about to curse him out, you feel something hard press firmly against your bottom followed by a pair of warm hands settling at your hips and the heat you didn’t realize you were missing came back in throes. You almost wanted to point out how unfair the shift in dynamic was, but all coherent thoughts were thrown out the window when he started grinding into you.

“There,” Luis hums at your apparent silence, “much better.”

Damn him. And he had the gall to say you were bad.

His movements were slow and methodical, like he was testing the waters to see if you were actually fine with this. Your pleased sighs were the signs he needed to continue and go beyond. Next, you feel his curious hands rubbing at your sides over your shirt before he lifts it enough to slip them beneath the fabric. Feeling his skin on yours sent chills throughout your body. His touch wanders, palming at your every curve, line, and muscle and you melted into his hands, encouraging his exploration.

The temperature in the room was becoming unbearably hot. As if hearing this thought, you were pulled up by your torso as far as the chains would allow and felt your back meet his chest. Now, his hardness was at your lower back and you purposefully melded your backside against his straining cock, mentally drawing the length of him. Needless to say, without even seeing it, you were impressed by his size. The man didn’t carry himself confidently without warrant. A soft, almost adoring kiss upon the shell of your ear pulls you from your shameless thoughts.

He whispers hoarsely, “My friend, are you particularly fond of this shirt?”

“What?” you manage to choke out. “Why are you aski-”

The sound of tearing answered your question before you can finish it. Tattered fabric scatters around your feet and the air within the room suddenly felt like soft caresses on your bare torso.

“You didn’t even let me answer!” Your voice sounded more excited than annoyed.

“Lo siento. You were too slow.” Luis presses another chaste kiss to the side of your head. However, you can practically feel his wicked grin. “And frankly, are much too sexy for clothing, anyways.”

Damn, this man was making you feel things.

Despite your skin now bare against the elements, it did little to alleviate the heat building within you. It only amplified when his hands returned to your form, making a slow, sinful journey from your stomach to your upper chest. The pad of his fingers push upon the sensitive buds of your nipples, earning a wanton gasp from your lips. His hips jerk forward at the sound you made, his erection pulsing against your ass, sparking tiny, wonderful jolts of electricity within you. The sensations were making your toes curl.

One hand sneaks back down, his thumb finding it’s way under the hem of your jeans and underwear. His reach teases towards your sensitive spot and you bite your lip in anticipation, wanting so badly for him to touch you where you need him to but your mind too much of a mess to voice it into proper words.

“Mírate,” his warm breath fans against your ear in hoarse, gentle whispers. “Promixa vez… Te quiero llevar a la cama.”

You only manage to translate “Next time…” until the synapses in your brain fire all at once when his fingers began to toy your sex without warning. When his skillful hand deftly undid your jeans, you didn’t know, but at the moment, you didn’t care.

Holy hell. This guy was playing your body like a fine-tuned instrument and your voice eagerly sounded to his ministrations. Your moans and gasps music to his ears. The coil in the pit of your stomach was tightening to the point of snapping as his hand quickened the pace upon your bundle of nerves. He was stroking you graciously while also harshly grinding you into the edge of the table from behind. Your voice was reaching greater heights from the onslaught of overwhelming sensations.

“Last chance, my friend.” Luis growls, barely reigning in his instinct to simply bend you over and have his way with you. “Are we still playing the same game?”

The same question echoes. He asks one thing but really means another. This dashing, infuriating man is asking you if you want to go all the way, past the point of no return. Luis Serra is a stranger. Yet he had the sense and consideration to weigh your feelings in the matter, giving you an choice to opt out even though it would have been so easy to let it lie and let your baser instincts take over. It was almost romantic in a way. You didn’t have to think twice about this.

“Either you fuck me now,” you pant, chains clinking around your wrists, “or I’ll find my way out of these and fuck you myself.”

Luis chuckles lowly in intrigue. “¿Prometes?”

He makes quick work on the rest of your clothing, letting your pants and underwear fall at your ankles. He helps guide you completely out of them. It was probably a strange sight. You completely exposed while he was completely clothed. The only bits of him you can hear rustling is the buckle of his belt and the zipper of his pants coming undone. You were starting to shiver from anxious chills until you felt an arm wrap around you assuringly.

A patient hand gently fingers your entrance, preparing your body for something larger. You eventually move along rhythm of his fingers, goading him to take it to the next level and he acquiesces to your silent request. The heavy heat of his cock that was poking between the gap of your thighs move upwards. Your body instinctively tenses when the head of his member prods against your opening. Luis’ lips pressed against your temple in comfort and finally, finally, he slowly sinks into you. You gasp and he curses.

No amount of foreplay could have prepared you for him. Not all the way in and already you felt so full of him, his cock throbbing against every sensitive nerve inside of you. You whimper in both pain and pleasure and Luis tends to you by wrapping his arms around your middle, planting more kisses along the side of your head right behind your ear.

“Estoy aquí, ángel. Té tengo.”

Like the gentleman he portrays himself to be, he waits for you to relax around him. With great self-control, he pumps into you slowly with a tenderness that could bring tears to your eyes. The initial discomfort soon faded and was replaced by wonderful bouts of sensual ecstasy that has you gasping. Luis keeps up the pace with gusto, nearly pulling all the way out and slamming back into you. The pressure he was piling inside you with every thrust has you screaming to the point that you can feel your voice growing hoarse. Meanwhile, you can hear him moaning his praises for you in his birth tongue. This man wasn’t just talking himself a big game. He knows what he’s doing, fueling his pleasure by ensuring your own. And he was making certain that you chased yours fast.

He pulls out and you involuntarily whimper at the loss of contact. You weren’t left alone for long as he lifts you to lay on your side on the table, your hands forced to rise above your head at this new position. Luis grabs a hold of one of your legs and bends it at the knee over his shoulder, entering your heat once more. Your blood boils fiercely at this new angle, you can see him and everything he was doing to you. And he can see you’re practically rendered speechless with every powerful thrust. At this rate, you weren’t going to last. The fluttering inside your core now popping like firecrackers.

Sweat pours down his handsome face, pupils dilated black with desire for you. “¿Cómo te llamas, ángel? Tell me. And I’ll give you what you want.”

He’s asking for your name again. The catalyst behind this whole affair. “Really bent on that, aren’t you?” you manage to pant out, your lungs barely keeping up with each strong snap of his hips.

“I wasn’t at first, only wanted to tease you.” He groans, his voice finding difficulty to stay level when he’s fucking into you without abandon. “But now- ah! I really want to know. I want to call out your name. ¡Joder! Let me call out your name, mi amor.”

The way he was begging tugged at you deep. Your name was on the edge of your tongue, but your heart was gripped with fear. Fear that if you so much as uttered what he’s asking of you, the spell would be broken and you’d be left unsatisfied. This felt too damn good to risk ruin with sentimentality. So you did what you have been doing best. Prevaricate. And make him want you more.

“Uncuff me. And I’ll tell you anything. Anything you want.”

You feel the vibrations of a laugh rumble deep from his chest.

“Eres tan… ¡Mierda!”

Like a cord finally snapping, the dam breaks and everything building inside spills out with a long, final cry of ecstasy. Stars dotted your vision, for a moment you forgot to breathe as you feel yourself unraveling. Within, you feel him cumming inside as well. Liquid hot ropes painting your insides, leaving you quivering uncontrollably. His hips slow to an eventual stop, his voice coming out in soft, satisfied sighs.

Slowly letting your leg down, Luis pulls himself out and hovers over you, hands flat beside your head. The man peppers your back and shoulders with soft nips and kisses. His stubble makes slow, sensual scratches along your skin as he reaches up to the flesh of your ear, biting onto the lobe affectionately. You turn your head to meet his lips with yours, noting how wonderful his kisses feel. He pulls away slightly to study you intently, varying emotions flashing over his eyes.

“Now,” he started, “about that name.”

Back at this again. You had to admire the man for his tenacity. “Told you already,” you huff once your breath returned to you, tugging at the chains around your wrist. “Remove these cuffs and I’ll think about it.”

His voice cracks in disbelief, “That was not what you said- ¿En serio? After all of that?”

“You’re more than welcome to keep working for it.” The words left your lips before you can stop them and an amused groan escapes from Luis’ own, sending another sinful heat to flow down your core.

“Eres muy mala.” He sighs with a shake of his head. There was no hint of annoyance in his husky tone, a devilish smirk plastered on his face. “Hanging with you- not healthy.”

“Right back at ya.” The remark earned a swift smack on your ass. You almost yelp out of reflex and shifted your eyes to glare at him.

The way he looked at you, however, tells you that he wasn’t against the idea of going again. And truthfully, you were all for it. Luis leans over to capture your lips once more, sweet and filled with promise, while his hand began to wander your body mischievously. The familiar tingle of heat starts to boil inside-

The alarming sound of inhuman groans down the hall jolts you two from your intimate high. Spell broken and you fully take in your nakedness in this increasingly dire situation.

“Get these chains off, Luis!”

“¡Sí, sí! Right away!”

#luis serra #luis serra navarro #luis serra imagine #luis serra x reader #my writing #resident evil imagines #resident evil 4 #re4 remake #re4 luis #zer0pm imagine #gender neutral reader #reader is gender neutral #it’s been awhile since I’ve written smut so go easy on me #there are no words that can describe luis’ spice level #luis serra smut #this was way longer than I initially planned #hope you enjoy #not a Spanish speaker #barely proofread #so screw it we die like luis #will edit for mistakes as I go so bear with me #it’s like midnight here lol #reader finds clothes eventually #probably steals luis’ jacket #legend has it that to this day he still didn’t catch their name #luis nearly trips over the forgotten corpse in the room while putting his dick away fr fr

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

•·.· anywhere i want, just not home ·.·•

Pairing: Gwen Stacy x fem!Reader

Type: Angst (no comfort)

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: ‘Gwen’s universe dissolves’ AU (may not make much sense but anyway), reader is dead (dissolved along with her universe), use of Y/N (sparingly), some cussing, mentions of blood, descriptions of grief(?)

A/N: hehe I think I’m starting to enjoy killing off the reader in angsty stuff 😌 hey i may not be very good at writing angst but it’s fun to write :D

I think this is set before the events of ATSV or sometime during except there’s no Miles? Idek anymore 🤷‍♀️ whatever feels right to u ig!

So I just realised I didn’t mention her dad at all 😭 just uh pretend that she’s grieving for him too

Look at how my tears ricochet

And I can go anywhere I want

Anywhere I want, just not home

(my tears ricochet by Taylor Swift)

“It’ll only be for a few weeks, at the maximum.”

You were pacing in your bedroom, occasionally pausing to make sure that the girl sitting on your bed in her spider-suit still had enough ice to soothe the sting of her injuries.

“Gwen, I…” You shook your head, throwing your hands up in the air as words failed you - a result of the maelstrom of conflicting emotions whirling around in your head at the speed of light. “I don’t know what to say. Why? Why do you need to do this? You’re putting yourself in even more danger than usual!”

Gwen set the ice pack down on your bedside table, reaching her hand out silently toward you. You sighed and took it, squeezing her fingers gently as you sat across from her and felt the mattress dip slightly under you as you got comfortable.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I don’t like this any more than you do. But Miguel said that this mission’s important and he needs all the help he can get. This anomaly is one of the most dangerous ones so we’ve ever seen so far, we can’t let it run rampant. You understand what I’m saying, right?”

You bit your lip in thought, feeling small tears prick at the corners of your eyes as she leaned over to gently tug your lip away from your teeth to stop you worrying at the skin. Your mind seemed to be spinning in lopsided circles like a broken ballet dancer; like the music box Gwen used to have before she accidentally shattered it one day while sneaking back into her room as Spider-Woman.

“I’m going to be honest with you. I’m terrified. I don’t want you to…” You vaguely gestured with your hands in front of you, catching yourself before you could say the word ‘die’ as if it could somehow jinx it and make it come true. Gwen gave you a small, reassuring smile and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

“I know. I know, sweets. I won’t. I’ll be fine.”

“You can’t promise that,” You mumbled under your breath, folding into her and burying your face in the junction between her neck and shoulder.

Gwen exhaled softly, rubbing your back in the most soothing way she could so that her own uncertainty couldn’t slip through the cracks of her calm façade.

“Hey, don’t think like that. Tell you what, take this. It’ll remind you of me while I’m gone, and then when I come back we’ll order in whatever junk food we want and we’ll cuddle and watch movies, okay?” She reached down into her backpack that lay sideways on the floor and took out two bracelets. Your eyes flitted toward the bracelets and you took in a surprised inhale.

“You kept them?”

“Of course I did. They’re beautiful, like everything you make for me.”

She gave you a grin as she slipped one of the bracelets over your wrist. You examined it - smooth, round crystal beads with your name spelled out in mismatched word beads of different colours.

You remembered the day you had made them, sitting on the ground in the park with your legs crossed and Gwen’s head resting comfortably in your lap as she watched you string together the beads. Giggling and talking and just enjoying each other’s company.

Now that could possibly be the last time that happened. Because despite Gwen’s well-meaning promises and reassurances, you knew. You knew she was struggling to keep herself together, and all you wanted to do was pull her close and never let her go - hell, you would gladly go beat up whoever this Miguel O’Hara was if it meant your girl could stay with you, stay out of harm’s way.

But that wasn’t possible. And she wouldn’t want it either. She didn’t ask to get bitten by a radioactive spider and become a superhero; she just had to make the most of the cards she was dealt.

“Y/N?”

You blinked, bringing yourself out of your thoughts. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

Gwen tilted her head to the side, resting her eyes on your wrist before reaching out to slip the bracelet off. You watched her curiously as she slipped the bracelet that had her own name onto your wrist, taking the bracelet with your name and nestling it right next to her multidimensional watch.

“There. Now whenever you miss me, just look at that.” She leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead, clinking your bracelets together with a smile. “Goodbye, my love. I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye, sweetheart.” You watched her zip up her backpack and put on her mask, leaping onto your windowsill and pushing the window open. Right before she tensed herself to leap out, she paused, turning to look at you. Her mask was on, but you could read her expression behind the fabric easily. She gave you a smile, the corners of the mask’s eyes scrunching slightly.

“This isn’t a permanent goodbye, not by a long shot. I love you. I’ll see you again, I promise. And when I do I’m going to give you the biggest bear hug you’ve ever had in your life.”

——————

She never did.

Never got the chance to fulfill that promise.

She had gotten the news right after finally capturing the anomaly they had been chasing for more than three weeks. She was lying utterly exhausted on a park bench, Pav leaning on her with his eyes closed as they both waited for Hobie to punch in the coordinates for the Spider-Society HQ.

She remembered hearing the little ping that usually accompanied a message from HQ, the way he had momentarily frozen in shock, his border going black and white. She remembered sitting up, ignoring Pav’s grumbles and asking what had happened, because Hobie’s ever-changing border pausing in a monochrome filter was never a good sign.

She remembered him visibly struggling to grasp at words that would soften the blow, finally realizing that he couldn’t, in any way, sugarcoat it.

“I don’t know ‘ow to say this, but uh… another ultra-powerful anomaly fell into the city an’ managed to glitch itself so badly in the process tha’ it caused a dimensional tear in the multiverse an’… your universe dissolved, Gwendy. ‘M so sorry... listen, if you need anyth-”

She didn’t hear anything more after that, didn’t hear or feel Pav’s sharp inhale and Hobie gently squeezing her shoulder; instead she focused her gaze on the bracelet on her wrist, trying to push back against the dark spots threatening to bleed into the corners of her vision like pesky, taunting watercolours.

Bullshit. That had to be false, right? There was no way…

——————

Gwen would’ve given anything for Hobie to have gotten it wrong.

But, in some strange way, she could sense that he was right. Something missing, like a family photo which had been accidentally ripped in half. A rose with half its petals missing.

Red roses, red blood. Blood that was on no one’s hands, really, but felt like it had dried on hers. Her fault, even though the causes were so much bigger than her.

She had been cleaning out her stuff, trying her best to organize her somehow even messier side of Hobie’s canal boat when a small bracelet, nestled under pins and papers and god knows what else, had fallen onto the ground with a soft clink.

It was a miracle it didn’t break, honestly, which would have been cruel but oddly fitting.

She knelt to pick it up, freezing the moment her gaze passed over it. She picked it up gingerly, smoothing her fingers over the beads, her lips forming the word spelled out in beads on the bracelet.

“Y/N.”

At that one word, a dam burst and brought forth months of stubborn denial, steady grief, and then slow acceptance. Gwen braced her back against the wall, silent sobs wracking her body and making her shoulders heave with the force of them.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I… I should’ve been there, I might have been able to do something, or at the very least… I could’ve been there with you.”

She let her forehead drop to rest on her knees, drawing into herself. “I miss you. So, so much… nothing’s the same. Hobie’s looking out for me, but… there’s only so much he can help with. Nothing seems all that happy anymore… everyday I get up and ask myself ‘why doesn’t the sun shine as bright anymore?’ ‘Why aren’t the flowers as beautiful as they used to be?’ ‘Where did all the colour go?’ And then I remember that you’re not here with me.”

Gwen held the bracelet up to the light, letting its colours - so carefully picked out by a loving hand all those months ago - shine as tears blurred her vision and fell like crystals slipping from a shaky chandelier that should’ve broken a while ago, for its own sake.

“I want to go home,” She confessed to the bracelet quietly; the empathetic ear of someone she wished - no, hoped - was listening from the other side of the fragile border between life and death. “I miss the café we used to go to, right after I had band practise. I miss our little dates in the park. I miss seeing you in the front row of all our band’s shows. You were so supportive, weren’t you? Always showing up early, cheering your lungs out, then staying late so you could be the first to hug me. Without fail.”

God, how she missed your hugs. They were ones that she could melt into; surrender herself completely without having to offer anything in return. Ones she could fold herself into while your arms wrapped around her shoulders and squeezed gently, soothing enough for her to relax and sink into the comfort of your presence. You felt like a pair of noise-cancelling headphones and a warm blanket to her - somewhere where she could let down any walls she had built around herself, tune out the world and just listen to your voice.

To her, you felt like home.

And oh, how she wanted to go home.

@l0starl @therealloopylupin2099 @hobiebrownismygod

#⋆·˚ 🌹 ༘ * — 𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗶’𝘀 𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙨! #⋆·˚ 🌺 ༘ * — 𝙝𝙞𝙗𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙨! #barely proofread #might seem kinda rushed #i didn’t intend for it to seem that way i promise #😔 #anyway #across the spiderverse #atsv #atsv x reader #atsv angst #gwen stacy #atsv gwen #spiderverse gwen #spider gwen #gwen stacy x reader #gwen stacy x fem!reader #gwen stacy x female reader #gwen stacy x you #gwen stacy x y/n #spider gwen x reader #atsv gwen angst #gwen angst #angst no comfort

[foxtricksterwriting]

Meeting Reimagined; Keith

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've written for Duality, even though I think about it a lot. And I'm back with a new MC, Tytus!

Tags: @dualityvn

Tytus sighs, annoyed by the cold rain pelting him harshly. As he jogs, he notices the flower shop he’s walked by everyday. He heads that way, figuring that the rain won’t let up for a while still. He dips into the shop and lets out a relieved breath. The floral air invades his nose while he looks around, making him hum in content. He jumps as a soft voice ahead of him says “Pretty bad weather today, huh?”

Tytus looks ahead at the counter, finding a tall blond man with blue eyes. The man gives him a shy and apologetic smile. “Hello, hi, sorry, I was in my head a bit. Yeah, the rain’s terrible right now,” he responds while giving an awkward laugh, “Is it okay if I stick around until the rain’s gone?”

“Oh, yes, that’d be fine. Feel free to look around while you’re here,” the blond cashier nods as he speaks. Tytus nods back, not giving him a second look. He scans the store, looking at the arrangements and other potted plants. After not finding what he’s looking for, he steps up to the counter. “Excuse me, do you have Bat Flowers?” He asks, scanning the cashier and finding his name card on a lanyard around his neck; Keith. 

“I’m sorry, we sold our last two this morning,” Keith says after a minute of thought and checking somethings. Tytus deflates a little, but desperately tries to rein in his reaction. “Oh, okay. Thank you,” He says. “We could take your number and call you when we get more?” Keith offers. “Ah, no thank you. I appreciate the offer though,” Tytus declines easily but he keeps talking, “but I would still like to get a plant. Do you have any recommendations? Preferably something that wouldn’t hurt a cat if it got eaten.” Keith lights up at the question.

“Of course! Spider plants, Echeveria succulents and Bird’s Nest Ferns are all pet friendly. Spider plants are actually notorious for being non toxic to animals. Boston Ferns are another option, but they're a little harder to care for,” Keith continues to explain how to care for each plant while pointing them out. Tytus watches him as he speaks, mesmerized by how outspoken he is. His passion would be obvious to even the most oblivious person. His whole body radiates joy and a bit of excitement. It’s a bit infectious, at least it is to Tytus. The green and black haired man can’t help but give the slightly shorter man his full attention. When Keith is done explaining, Tytus hums before saying, “I’ll go for the Spider Plant. You said they were over there, right?”

Keith nods and Tytus goes to retrieve it. As he carefully sets it on the counter, Keith asks, “Have you cared for any kind of plant before?”

“Yeah, actually. Mostly herbs and cat grass, though. I use the herbs when I’m cooking,” Tytus internally reminds himself to leave out any mentions of spells or potions. No telling how this guy would react, for now at least. He continues, “I used to have catnip, too, but my cat found and destroyed it when I wasn’t paying much attention. I haven’t had many plants that were there to just look nice.” Keith chuckles a little. As Tytus pays for his new spider plant, he notices that the rain has stopped. He looks back to Keith as he picks up the spindly plant. Before he even thinks to stop himself, he says, “Could I have your number?” Wait, fuck, shit SH--”Sorry, that was really sudden. You don’t have to agree to that.” He tacks that on, not sure if he’s already fucked up somehow.

The blond blushes as he registers the question, “Oh, I’m flattered!” His expression morphs quickly into one of sadness, “Don’t take this the wrong way. I think you’re very attractive and you seem like a nice person, but having my number isn’t a good idea.” Tytus’ brows knit together with confusion but he quickly shakes it off and nods. “That’s alright. Thank you for at least humoring me, and for helping me with the plant. Bye,” He says this as he walks towards the door while giving the blond a smile. He ducks out as suddenly as he came in.

Right as he starts walking home, a shiver crawls up his spine, tickling his neck and making him look around. He spares the shop window a glance, seeing Keith through it. He’s looking back at Tytus, but missing the polite smile. And something about his eyes seem……off. I don’t think they were like that before. He shakes it off and hurries away, content to get lost in his thoughts while minding his new plant buddy.

#OC: Tytus #MC: Tytus #duality fanfic #duality keith #Duality vn #fanfic #barely proofread #I might do one for Tenebris later #Not sure yet #CH: Keith

[andmineisyellow]

Can we talk about the comparisons between garvez and polin 👀👀 the mutual pining. The TENSION

Yes! Yes! And yes! I love the pining and the tension, and that their relationships are rooted in friendship. And I think a big reason why they take up so much space in my brain is that I love that they are as similar as they are different.  Let’s break it down, shall we?

I don't know if Luke Alvez is book!Colin-coded because Romancing Mr. Bridgerton was written first, or if Book!Colin is Alvez-coded because I loved Alvez first. Either way, they're both charming, cheeky, and kind, they love British baked goods, and they often have difficulty expressing negative emotions. They’re fiercely loyal to their family (In Luke's case, the BAU) and are incredibly supportive partners. They're knowledgeable and witty in their own right, but they also recognize that their Penelope is the best and the brightest. And they will tell anyone who will listen just how amazing their Penelope is.

The biggest difference, of course, is that it takes Colin quite a bit longer to get to know Pen and develop feelings for her, as opposed to Alvez, who is pretty much smitten the second he meets Garcia. I think you can chalk this up to maturity though. Colin meets Pen when he's a young adult in the books and most likely as a child in the show, vs Alvez and Garcia who are 40-somethings when they meet. But in fairness to Colin, Luke has known Garcia for seven years and has (as far as we know) still not been fully upfront about his feeling. Once Colin realized his feelings for Pen, he made those feelings known.

And then we have the Penelopes, who on a surface level are quite similar as well. They are both typically the smartest person in any room, which makes them confident (sometimes overconfident) in their work, but can be insecure when it comes to what’s going on in their personal lives. They have an excellent sense of humor and are wildly resourceful when they need to be. Garcia and Show!Pen especially tend to internalize a lot, although neither of them is as good at hiding their feelings as they think they are. Gaining confidence outside of their specific talent, and learning to express themselves in a healthier way, is a large part of both of their arcs.

Overall though, I think their differences are much more significant. Again, Garcia is older than Pen, and she’s living in the modern day, so she’s much more comfortable with her sexuality. She also has a lot more life experience when she meets Alvez. For Pen, Colin is her first and only love, but Garcia has had significant others. She’s been in love before and she had a genuine connection with Derek that completely informs her negative first impression of Alvez. It is because of those past relationships (both good and bad), that she keeps Alvez at arm’s length, something Pen never does with Colin (at least not in their book and not yet in the show, we’ll see what happens in season 3). 

We also have to talk about Garcia and Pen's fashion sense because it tells us so much about both of them. Garcia loves maximalism. She uses bright colors and accessories to distract from the horrors and the trauma she witnesses while working at the BAU. Her loud fashion is an important part of her identity.  Pen hates her bright, neon dresses because they were forced upon her by her mother. For Pen, those bright “happy” colors are associated with her trauma and so she prefers softer and more simple looks when she dresses for herself.

As individual characters, and as couples Garvez and Polin are two sides of the same coin. They’re wholesome and they’re messy. They’re incredibly cute and incredibly hot. They challenge each other in ways you wouldn't necessarily expect.

I don't think I realized how much I missed Garvez until they were back on my screen and I'm so grateful to have them during this Bridgerton drought.

#long post #ask #oh hello #barely proofread #polin #garvez #penelope featherington #penelope garcia #colin bridgerton #luke alvez #bridgerton #criminal minds #criminal minds evolution

[villavineyards]

the sun is setting

it's been a LONG time since i've written for love island... but bruno has relit the crawling embers of creativity within all corners of my mind and i'm SO excited to write this (i tried to keep it in fusebox's humor for bruno but idk its super corny LOL you'll know it when you see it) title is from moonlight by ariana grande

so what we have here is basically a sappy ass reunion for episode 30 but i'm a sentimental bitch and i wanted MORE. most of my oneshots are going to be 'rewrites' aka how i think certain moments should have gone LOL

content ahead: probably out of character but are we surprised, general fluff, happy confessions, tears of joy, open for all audiences

wc: 1.2k

"...Bruno."

You had finally, finally, reunited with Bruno again (it was really barely one whole day) and things could not be better. It was about thirty minutes ago when the recoupling happened, but things happened so quickly after that that the events still felt fresh. Honestly, as bad as you felt for leaving Tom when he'd been so vulnerable, it was nowhere near as happy as you were to just be able to hold Bruno's hand again.

Once everyone had finished up, you convinced Bruno to stay around the fire pit for awhile and squeezed his hand twice so he got the hint. Once you were sure Angie wouldn't be popping out for a surprise anytime soon, you barely got in a single word before you were practically engulfed by Bruno's larger frame.

He wasn't even kissing you, just hugging you tight and nearly popping your back in the process. You hugged him back, of course, fingers dancing over the muscle of his arm pressing out from under his sleeve, before you felt something warm on your shoulder as you processed Bruno was... crying? Crying.

"Babe?" You asked as you pulled away, and sure enough, he was teary eyed and his bottom lip was wobbly. "Is something wrong?" You asked, and he shook his head before swooping you up in his arms again, head buried in your neck as he gathered himself.

"No, I'm just being a melt. You know me, can't even..." He didn't finish his sentence as you started shaking your head, pulling away to wipe along his water line with your thumb wordlessly. "'S okay babe, I get it," You told him, even though you weren't 100% sure, you had a good idea. It killed you to see him like this, but you reminded yourself these were tears of joy (hopefully) and this is such a delicate moment to be apart of.

He smiled at you sweetly, his frosted tips slightly downturned as you two started to feel the heat near the literal flame of the fire pit. He wiped at his eyes with the palm of his hand, about to speak before you cradled his head into your chest, running your hands through his hair and massaging as you rocked back and forth slightly. He hiccupped every now and then, and you felt him press a kiss to your forearm as your ministrations stopped, pulling away to look at you again, broad smile still on his face.

"I missed you." You said first, slotting your hand into his. Your hands fit perfectly together, and his hands were just as warm and soft as you remembered them (two days feel like so much longer in the Villa, doesn't it?). "It was the weirdest thing ever, not sleeping next to you. I didn't even have a dream, and I felt like my side of the bed was so much heavier," You rambled on, absentmindedly talking as Bruno just watched adoringly.

"I know what you mean. I hope you know how much it means to me that you waited for me, MC. I saw how thick Tom was laying it on, and with that fancy candlelit dinner you guys had last night, I was wondering if all our time was out the window.

"But I'm glad it wasn't."

You smiled at him, and finally, finally, kissed Bruno. It was one simple peck at first, the both of you pulling away and smiling nervously, before he cupped your jaw and kissed you with again.

Bruno very rarely took control of the kisses you shared, always too nervous he'd mess up, but for the first time since being in the Villa it dawned on him that you're here now, and he needs to be there too because it could always be gone in a second. He didn't want what happened two nights ago to happen ever again, but incase it did, he wanted to know that the two of you would always have this moment.

When he pulled away, pupils blown and lips shiny and slightly puffy, you took the time to straighten out his collar. "You make me insane, did you know that?" He asked, smoothing his shirt down as he leaned back. You smiled coyly, fixing the bracelet on your wrist before batting your eyelashes at him. "Whatever do you mean, good sir? A delicate woman such as myself couldn't possibly-"

He broke out in laughter before you could finish, not sure what exactly he'd just witnessed but so glad he got to see it.

"I'm so happy, MC. I can't even tell you how beautiful you are to me right now," He started, meeting your eye and not looking away. "I don't think I know the words to tell you what I'm feeling right now, but I know I'm feeling." To emphasize, he took hold of your hand and placed it over his heart. "Feeling?" You asked teasingly, circling your finger to tickle him, and he laughed with you. "Yes, feeling. I don't know what it is about you, but I feel like I'm on 12 whenever we're together." You thought about where his nipple was, but remembered this was a nice moment and you shouldn't be thinking about his nipple. Later. Definitely later. You carefully looked up, and sighed happily seeing his eyes were clear as he met your gaze.

"Maybe it's just your burning desire for me, babes. I have that effect on people,"

He snorted, removing your hand from his chest to hold it in his lap. "Absolutely, I can't believe that didn't cross my mind," He went along, nodding along rhythmically as you laughed with him.

You're not sure when it stopped, but soon all that you could feel was the warmth of the fire, the sweet smell of his cologne, and the buzz of pure joy to be sat with Bruno again. You leaned over again to pull him into another embrace, wrapping both arms around his middle and just leaning your head on his shoulder. You sighed in content, closing your eyes and letting yourself just be at peace as you lightly scratched all around where you could reach on his back.

"I'm so lucky," You mumbled, not moving as you began to lightly massage the best you could at the spot on his lower back. "So lucky to be here with you, Bruno. Thank you for being someone to wait for." You finished, voice crackly a bit as you tried to keep your composure. "I'll always wait if it's you. As long as you want me to, I promise." You added on, and finally let him free from your grasp. He didn't move much, pulling you into him as he leaned back in the bench.

"I promise you babe, you're the only girl for me here. If I say any different, I'm being sabotaged." He said, and you laughed along with him. "Sure, whatever you say. I missed you," You said again, and he put two fingers on your chin to lift your gaze to meet his. He didn't say a word, but pressed one kiss to your forehead before rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. "I missed you more. Never again, MC. I'd rather walk than be in this Villa without you." He said, and you both shifted to stare at the stars above.

You two didn't have to say anything else after that, and a smile was on your face for the rest of the night. He soon led you both inside, and things were perfect; until a distinct text ping went off.

an: WOWWWW it's been awhile since i've typed for a video game character i really want to be more active in this community! i'd say my writing style has changed a little in the past few years but i have LOADS of drafts that i never posted lol. anyways i have a few more things in mind for bruno some are SAD some are happy (1).. we'll see

i wrote this before episode 30 had even been released LOL so now or never right thanks for reading! lmk what you think i love criticism (taurus moon)

#bruno my beloved #barely proofread #no closing comments #just tags #dies #litg #love island #li:tg #love island the game #fusebox #litg2 #litg 4 #litg4 #love island the game season four #love island bruno #litg bruno #reader insert #x reader #self insert #bruno forever

[backup-backdown]

B’s Strawberry Patch [Fic]

[~3k words]

[Rating: General Audiences]

[Wammy’s era, backstory stuff. Fluff and trauma.] 

Uhh. I wrote something. 

Apologies for the minor mention of some unintroduced OC’s. Florence and Salle are students at Wammy’s who we know more about in all of the writing I haven’t posted yet. Because.... I’m lazy. but nevermind that, I finally did a little character study on B. Just a littel taste. Here you go.

“B, my boy, you need to get a hobby.”

The words were at first incomprehensible, then surprisingly harsh– At least, coming from Wammy. While he wasn’t exactly soft, he was certainly known to most of the children as kinder than Roger– You wanted to face him with your questions about uncertain feelings, embarrassing problems, normal things that Roger would treat like the rites of a Satanic ritual when discussed around children. Roger was much better at– and some could argue, relished– giving bad news or reprimands. For this reason, when Wammy was stern, B actually listened. 

“I have a hobby.” B frowned, pulling at the loose thread on his sweater. 

Wammy sighed, smiling softly. “B, you haven’t played the piano in months.” B looked up at him sharply, then back to his unravelling sweater.

“Because I’ve mastered it. Am I to play through a composer’s entire life’s work in order to beat it into the ground?” He was growing agitated, and yanked the thread as he spoke, bunching it up. Wammy laughed. 

“I understand, B– You’re entirely devoted to your studies. It’s admirable, and perfectly in tune with what the program is intended for, but it’s also important that you branch out and explore interests not merely for the sake of academia. If it helps, think of them as extracurriculars. The–” He hesitated briefly– “The staff is, well… They’re worried about you. There’s a very high risk of burnout if you carry on this way, and your education and upbringing should be sustainable. You’re not meant to become a world specialist in criminal justice in a year, or even ten. This will take time, B, and while a full force effort is recognized, it is best saved for when it’s asked of you. For now, we are asking you to pace yourself.”

B snorted, snapping the thread. He looked up at Wammy, squinting at him from across his desk. “Well? What do you want me to do?”

Wammy suppressed another sigh with another long-suffering smile. “Whatever you want to do. I suppose you tend to approach things with the goal of mastering, completing, or otherwise overcoming them, and that’s perfectly fine for academics, but perhaps another approach would be better suited for constructive leisure. Have you given much thought to creative pursuits?”

B contemplated this, slumping deeper into the plush armchair beneath him. “I thought music was creative.”

“Well, generally if you compose your own pieces, then yes. But I seem to recall you vehemently refusing to do so when the idea was proposed, unless you’ve changed your mind–”

“No. It would just be another composer’s work in a different form.” 

Wammy laughed. “I believe by your logic, no books are original, as they use the same letters as Chaucer or Dickens. But I follow what you mean, if partially. What about painting, or sculpture?”

B was silent. 

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to try. I know that Mr. Barnes would be more than happy to teach his skills to someone, Lord knows he’s been burdened with his artistic background quite heavily in his time here, being forced to teach history. He’s been nearly bitter at times about it before. It would be a shame to let his other skills go to waste, perhaps the both of you could benefit from it.” Wammy was half-talking to himself by this point, and B could see the plans already formulating in his brain. 

“No.” B knew he was being petulant at this point, but he didn’t want to be having this conversation. If he simply refused everything Wammy suggested, the old man would eventually get frustrated and let B resume his normally scheduled activities. He didn’t understand why it was an issue, really— At first B is told that he must study and work hard in order to receive his promised rewards, but, oh, now not that hard. What this meant, then, was that they all must have underestimated him. B scowled at the thought. Of course they did. After all, he was number two. Maybe this was their twisted way of keeping him in that position.

“If you’re not going to choose something to do, then I will choose something for you. I thought a creative outlet might allow you to expel your energy in a less exhausting way than studies, but perhaps you need something entirely different.” Wammy gazed contemplatively at B, hands folded under his chin. After a moment’s pause, he smiled. 

“I think both the gardens and you might benefit from some hard work.”

~*~ 

Child labor. Wammy’s proposal amounted to child labor, B was sure of it. He and Wammy stood outside the greenhouse, squinting through the midday sun at the gardens surrounding it. While it wasn’t in shambles, it was clear that the greenhouse had been unattended for quite some time, and the bushes over grew, few blooms to snow despite the time of year. B curled his toes into the dirt beneath him, sulking while Wammy examined the area. Weren’t there laws about this sort of thing? 

“Until you find some other activity you’d rather do, you could work in the gardens or the greenhouse— Given it’s cleaned up some, I’m sure you could find a more academic pursuit in botany, perhaps some floristry. However much effort you put into it is entirely up to you, but I’d like you to spend at least an hour out here a day, save for the first two days of the school week, and weather permitting. It would be entirely yours, with no supervision required by staff, although if you wanted advice from the groundskeeper, I’m sure he would be happy to help. Otherwise, you’ll have to think of something yourself.”

B pressed his lips together, folding his arms tightly around himself. It felt like a punishment, entirely unfair. But B could adapt-- he was excellent at suffering. He’d already begun forming his own ideas as to how he’d manage to make this experience bearable (nevermind the fact that Quillsh had just told him he could think of something else, this was a challenge as much as a punishment and B did not refuse challenges,) musing that this would be a fantastic way to fuck off and do as he pleased during school hours. Quillsh didn’t give him enough credit— B wasn’t all studying, with no play. He would let the others drag him on their adventures, smoke cigarette stubs someone had collected from the ground, and carve out grotesque scenes into fallen tree stumps. He couldn’t really offer those outings to Quillsh as a hobby, though, and to be fair, they weren’t very structured activities. They mostly just ended with someone getting a poison ivy rash, or returning to the house with a lunch sack full of worms. 

This particular task was somewhat more restrictive than simply wandering around the grounds around the house-- He’d be within sight of the orphanage, close enough for other people to bother him. But people rarely did linger around the garden much, the other students instead choosing to spend their time roaming, or at the more closely maintained front garden. When he thought about it, B realized he couldn’t really remember the last time anyone paid any mind to the back garden. It was, even for it’s proximity to the house, a place of solitude. It would be his. He considered having a space to himself. 

In Krasnoyarsk, he rarely belonged, and even rarer were things that belonged to him. His instinctive distrust had melted away the more time he spent at Wammy’s, and when Quillsh told him something was his, he believed it.

He liked it. 

The strawberry patch was his.

When exams season neared, the patch wilted. The more demanding the classwork grew, the fewer qualms B had with simply letting the whole thing decay. But in the early summer, like glorious clockwork, the patch thrived, rising to vibrance under B’s distracted attention. It turned out it wasn’t that difficult to get the unmanaged patch to produce fruit.

It needed a great deal of cleaning out, to be sure. He mostly spent his first few days hacking bedgrudgingly at the waist-high weeds that had taken root amongst the main strawberry beds, plotting his violence vengeance on whatever idiotic staff member had presented Quillsh with their ‘concerns.’ He seethed about the idea that he, the top student who was clearly more well-adjusted (and better at being an actual human) than his competitors, would be at risk of ‘burnout.’ His anger cleared the entire patch of several bins of weeds, the rotted wheelbarrow half-submerged in dirt on one end of the gatden, and a few rotted strawberry plants by the end of the week. 

The next day, he trudged out to the garden, and spent most of his hour sitting. Thinking. Mostly thinking about how ridiculous it was that he was out here, staring at a clean, barren garden, while the boy who could obliterate his name from the pages of history itself sat inside, likely miles ahead of him. He thought of ripping the remaining strawberry plants out of the ground, shredding their roots and small, light grean leaves, abandoning the whole project, giving Quillsh the finger, and kicking A’s ass. Intellectually and physically. 

He couldn’t. Instead, he found a hose, blasted the tiny plants with water, then went back inside for the day. For a few weeks, stewing and watering the plants was all he really did.

Despite this, He was greeted by mid-summer with tiny green berries. He thought at first that some sort of larvae had attached itself to the flowering plants, but was struck with awe when he realized they’d produced fruit. He’d produced fruit, in a way. The sight of actual progress made him forget his plans for vengeance, and the bitterness in his mind was replace with all sorts of ideas for what he could do with the berries when they ripened. He was now motivated partly by the occasional desire to simply get away from the house, and moreover the thought of the house cook’s strawberry rhubarb pie. He became far more troubled with actually getting the patch to produce more fruit than actually managing it, and paid no mind when the roaming plants took root in the tulip beds across the garden. He did eventually clean out the greenhouse, reasoning that he’d need somewhere to store his supplies, and it didn’t hurt that some of the overgrown herb planters were salvageable. 

That old bastard really had convinced him to engage in manual labor, but B had begun to like it. He liked the solitude, the feeling of protective satisfaction with his plants, and the signs of nature shown on his tanning skin in dirt and sweat when he returned to the house for the night. Roger would mutter about hiring a gardener on occasion, shaking his head at the sight of strawberry runners creeping alongside his office window (his office, which was set on the opposite side of the house from the garden, a good ways away from it) and B would pay him no mind. In the long run, both Roger and Quillsh were relieved B had found a less destructive hobby, and they no longer had to worry about finding half-completed, amateurish taxidermied roadkill in the staff’s records room.

As the patch flourished, B flourished in turn. He woke up at sunrise each day, slinking out of the house in his slippers to check the patch, evaluating whether or not he’d harvest today or tomorrow. He was immeasurable ecstatic after his first harvest, proudly presenting a basket of small, red, wrinkly strawberries to the house cook. Considering how ridiculously the patch had sprawled out, it was a rather sad harvest, but B was immensely proud of himself. He tucked away three of the jars of strawberry jam the cook used them for for himself, two to eat, and one to just look at. 

All things considered, B was beginning to grow into a reasonably well-rounded child. More than he’d previously considered himself to be, at any rate. He didn’t want to admit that Quillsh was right, but finding  his life no longer restrained to his studies gave him a certain level of peace. He snapped at his class partners less, and paid less attention to Roger’s lectures. He spent them staring out the window, lips twitching as he held back a smile at the sight of a tiny red berry on the window ledge. He even shared his precious jam with a few of his friends, out on one of their free-roaming adventures. Florence had brought the fancy crackers the cook kept hidden above the refridgerator, and they ate them together in silence, all agreeing wordlessly that it was the best jam any of them had ever eaten. B didn’t like the attention the patch had begun to draw from both students and staff, but it was mostly by reputation. It was a sacred site, and although the younger students still whined at the cooks to make more strawberry crumble, B and the patch itself were mostly left alone. 

His menacing attitude that had previously caused other students to give him a wide berth wasn’t as effective as it once was, and though still not by everyone, he became liked. The cook was particularly fond of him, and although he didn’t mean for it, the ventures with jam and crackers in the forested grounds created a different kind of dynamic between him and his friends. He still got into fights, but more often, it was in defense of someone else-- Not himself. The violence wasn’t really needed in any of the circumstances he found himself in, but Salle in particular, who had a similar appetite for vengeance, but a smaller stature than would allow it, appreciated the thought. He became as protective of his friends as he did his garden.

He found that it was good to be loved, even if the price was learning to love in return. He still did not grant any attention to new students, and still despised certain teachers, but he’d finally found himself on solid ground. He’d given himself enough room for vulnerability. 

He didn’t like it. 

At least, he told himself he didn’t like it. There’d be a day where it all came crashing down, where someone betrayed him, or he was hurt, and he’d have to move again, and he’d return to drifting between places that were never homes, finding barren field after barren field. He knew it wasn’t right to feel as comfortable as he did, but despite his natural instincts, couldn’t dwell on his pessimism for long. B was starting to really believe he’d found a place where he belonged. A home.

The only thing standing in his way was A. 

A had the one thing B did not– Approval. The title, the position, the chance for everything B was working towards. In the grand scheme of things, the strawberry patch didn’t matter. Even his friends, as helpful as they were, did not matter. There was only one thing that really mattered, and he couldn’t afford to soften and let the competition win.

A was number one. He was soaring ahead of B, it seemed, and the staff treated him like some kind of child-angel, like a superhuman being who could cure any disease with a touch of the hand. It drove him insane. Before he saw his own growth, he saw A’s growth. He saw A continuing to excel, to get ahead of him, in front of him, above him. The warmth he felt when receiving praise from the house cook for his progress in their lessons was instantly washed away with a cold jealousy for the reverent silence that overtook the room when A walked in. 

A did not have hobbies. A’s inhumanity, which B had previously regarded as a weakness, was really his strength. A was never told to engage more in extracurriculars to avoid burnout– A was pushed, and pushed, and pushed because he could take it. B couldn’t. That’s what it was. He figured it out one day, two years after his work on the strawberry patch had begun. He was passing by the staff break room; the door was left cracked open, and he couldn’t help but eavesdrop. He didn’t intend on doing so for very long, but the sound of his name made his feet turn to lead.

“Yes, he’s doing well. He’s never cooperated this well with the structure before. Nearly no complaints from the infirmary this month, which is pretty remarkable. It’ll really be beneficial for him, he’s learning skills he might need later to… Well, you know.” A hum of acknowledgement from another voice. “I just don’t think he’ll take it as well as the others would. Like A.”

He didn’t know exactly what they were talking about, but he had a pretty good guess. These weren’t good intentions. They were just being proactive. All of them– the staff, Roger, Quillsh– they weren’t enriching his education.

They were softening a blow.

Florence finds him one afternoon ripping up the strawberry patch. He’s not harvesting, the berries scattered on the ground around him are already mushy and overripe, moldy bits sticking to each other in the sweaty August sun. He was uprooting them, ripping apart leaves, kicking clumps of dirt over his plants. His hair stuck to his forehead, plastered in sweat, a grim expression on his face. His shirt was stained with fruit pulp, and his hands were black from digging in the rich dirt he’d so carefully fertilized the growing season before. He didn’t look at her, and continued to destroy the beds. After that point, and for the remainder of his stay at Wammy’s, the garden remained empty. The plants rotted. The weeds returned.

#im getting used to just. creating again bear with me #i have so many ideas and feelings in my head and no way to execute them well so #sorry :)) #beyond birthday #death note #my writing #Wammy's House #Wammy Kids #writing #also i realized this could read like b's whole reason for going insane and in a way it definitely. contributes. to him going rogue #but this story alone shouldn't be considered as a grand turning point #wammy's house was a neverending well of betrayal and dissapointment #barely proofread

[daisynik7]

Nanami is super into fucking you with his watch on. 

He’ll strip himself completely nude except for his wrist, his fingers massaging your puffy clit until you’re whining against him, already on the brink of an orgasm just from that. He checks the minute hand on his watch, taking a mental note on when you first climax. It’s a fun little challenge he sets for himself: how many times can he make you come within fifteen minutes? Half an hour? A full hour? Sometimes, he takes guesses, and most of the time, he’s right. And when he's wrong, it’s because he makes you come more than he expects you to. Tonight is one of those times. 

He's relentless with his fingers, stroking your pussy up and down, in and out, coated in your arousal. He loves playing with your swollen bud, flicking it until you’re squirming from overstimulation. The slick that gushes out of you is so pretty, all shiny and glossy for him. So inviting for a taste. But no; he’ll resist until he can make you come once more from his fingers. Get you completely soaked so it’s juicy for his mouth. He knows just how much you love coming with his soft lips puckered around your clit, his tongue lapping at your greedy cunt, gaping and desperate to be filled with his cock. By the time thirty minutes pass, you’ve come twice from his fingers, and thrice from his mouth, eating you out sloppily until your limbs feel shaky, body spent but still so needy for him. 

When he finally puts his dick inside you, he uses his watch for another purpose: to edge you so that you can fucking squirt all over him. He pounds into your tight pussy from behind, slamming his hips against your ass, marveling at the way it jiggles with each thrust. You’re moaning from the pleasure, completely fucked out. You want to come again so badly, but he won’t let you. “Not yet,” he growls, turning his wrist to inspect the time. “Be a good girl for ten more minutes, okay? Hold it for me sweetheart. I know you can do it.”

And of course you will, because he’s so encouraging, so sweet, so fucking big inside you, filling you to the brim. When the ten minutes is almost up, he reaches around you, toying with your sensitive clit. You whine, twitching from the sensation, head buried into the pillow, damp with sweat and drool. He leans over you, breath hot on your ear, whispering, “That’s it, honey. Let it all out for me. Make a fucking mess.” 

So you do, spraying him in your juices, spilling onto the sheets below you. He absolutely loves it, seeing you so filthy like this. It’s just what he needs to reach his own orgasm, the one he’s been building up since an hour ago, continuously on the brink ever since your first climax. He comes inside you, stuffing you full of his creamy load only to watch it dribble out slowly as soon as he pulls out. 

His watch is soaked in your essence, but that’s alright. In fact, it’s exactly what he wanted. 

#mdni banner by @/cafekitsune #nanami smut #nanami drabble #nanami kento smut #kento nanami smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami #HELP #I'm so fucking feral for him #I should be asleep but I'm doing this instead LOL #barely proofread so sorry for any typos or errors

[transwrongs]

sorry i hate myself and spent my NYE blocking tons of transphobic people so i’ve seen a lot of BS the past couple hours. (but making posts about them attracts the vocal ones so they’re easier to block) some things i just wanted to note here (this is not discourse or discussion lmao):

terfs are right. terf is not an identity or an ideology. it is fascist rhetoric. it's actually incredibly pointless to view it any other way, i think. the only thing that links terfs together is transphobia and radical feminism. radical feminism encompasses much more than whatever the fuck they've got going on over there. and transphobia is not an identity or an ideology. it is fascist rhetoric. i think we really shot ourselves in the foot trying to view it any other way.

literally co-opting a legitimate movement/organization like (rad)feminism with real legitimate problems like misogyny/patriarchy and pushing blame onto evil scapegoats that are the cause of all their problems ("trans identified males", all and only males). calling for segregation (female separatism). vehement hatred of liberalism, touting it as the cause for all this degeneracy, etc etc.

it's absolutely fascinating that if you call terfism fascist, people will go "how is radfem fascist???????????????????" or "omg no it's not I don't see terfs committing genocide so it's not fascism" because,,, first of all, reading comprehension is severely lacking but second, it is incredibly not a good look that your response to an 'accusation of fascism' is "I'm not doing the WORST things fascism has enabled so, therefore, I am not fascist". truly anti-intellectual brain rot. adolf hitler was a fascist before he came to power. he had fascist thinking before he came to power. he sought and came to power explicitly because he was a fascist.

fascism is meant to trick you, you're not meant to know you're falling into fascism, that's literally all that keeps it alive. fascism tells you that natural progression/change of society is actually the cause of all your problems and if only we could force everyone to just play it our way then nothing would be bad. if only we can make all the girls and boys stop interacting with each other then all our problems will go away.

i think fascism is ultimately a lot about power, power for groups of people (an absolution/abolition of the individual/identity), and the control of power. it is no surprise to me that, now, society(and fascism by extension) evolved to give marginalized people the idea that we too should have access to that power and that some people will leap to the same fascistic conclusions that our ancestors have lept to their death to reach. it's why so many transphobes want trans people in conversion therapy and call for female separatism and hate when men wear dresses (because they could be the evil TRA rapists u see) and care so much about the definition of Woman. transphobic people want to control who has gendered power. you can't call yourself a woman, you haven't earned it. you have to call yourself a woman, you've earned it. it's ok to want to control our behaviors, those behaviors are wrong. being trans is wrong. "we just want you to get the help that will actually fix you".

radical feminism is an especially fascinating breeding ground for this lapse in cognitive function. because again there is a legitimate problem of patriarchy and misogyny and sex-based oppression but transphobic people's heads explode when they see "males" (enemy) being allowed to just "switch sides". there is no "oppress women" gene. there is no "oppressed" gene. we all as a society contribute to and are harmed by patriarchy and misogyny (yes even males i know sweet children you don't want to hear it but you must!). this refusal to acknowledge this in favor of pushing blame onto all and only males is embarrassing to say the absolute very least.

TLDR;;

"define woman"

define god. define love. define hate. define the internet. define sadness. define the color red. define infinity. define nothing. define everything. what the fuck are you people talking about?

fascism doesn't have a concrete definition either. but it's real, yes? not having a concrete definition for sumn doesn't make it unreal and having a definition for sumn doesn't make it real. what does real even mean? natural? tangible? visible? to who? what does it mean to exist? what does it mean to be?

anyways im burning out, TLDR terfism is so sad everybody cry for the transphobic feminists get well soon we're all praying for yall.

#oppression is stored in the chromosomes #i could absolutely go on but i already spent too long writing this #im so tired #not discourse #just my thoughts on tools of fascism #chapter 2389654278356: transphobia #section 928736587: transphobia in feminist circles #almost 20 years of education and this is what I use my writing skills for #not actual school stuff #tumblr posts....... #barely proofread #long post #this is a rambling cosplaying as an essay #leo.txt

[steviesummer]

inspired by and as a direct follow up to this post by @strangersteddierthings:

Eddie is horrified. He remembers the day Steve is referring to, though clearly not as well as Steve does. He calls out as Steve raced up the stairs and hears his door slam.

“Fuck.” He stares blankly at the wall in front of him. He can’t believe things went so bad so quickly. He’s been trying to get to know Steve better, get closer and damn if he didn’t just blow the hole thing. He’d shown up early, told Steve he needed to prepare as an excuse to spend some time with him. Despite everything that happened over spring break, Steve had remained guarded, standoffish no matter what Eddie tried. At least now he knew why. He’d fucked things up before he’d known there was something to fuck up.

He feels even worse about calling him a bully. Sure, Steve had looked the other way and even laughed at some of the mean jokes others had made, but he was far from the worst. That dubious award went to Billy Hargrove, but even without him, there was plenty of people who did far worse than Steve did. Especially because Steve is right. He did hit first, metaphorically at least. He can justify it all he wants as trying to protect himself, but that doesn’t make it right. Steve all but admitted that as he said the same thing. He feels nauseous at the realization that maybe he was just as bad as those he decried. That for all his talk about accepting outcasts and defying convention, he was just as prejudiced. Swallowing hard, he heads back to the dining room and looks at the clock. There is no way he is going to be able to run the campaign today. He’s not going to be able to focus or even play without thinking about how things might have been if he hadn’t driven Steve off all those years ago. He grabs the phone and dials Gareth’s number. “Emerson house, Sheryl speaking.” “Hi Mrs. Emerson, it’s Eddie.” Eddie is proud that he manages to keep his voice even. “Is Gareth there?” “Oh, yes! Let me go get him for you.” “Thanks Mrs. Emerson.” Eddie focuses on breathing while he waits. “Eddie? Hey man, what’s up?” Eddie breathes out. “Hey Gareth. Look, I know its last minute, but we’re gonna have to postpone Hellfire. Something came up.” He could hear Gareth’s frown through the phone. “Postpone? What happened, did Harrington do something?” As if he couldn’t feel worse. “Nah. I’ll explain later, but can you call Jeff and Frank, let them know? I gotta call the freshman, too.” “Alright, but I’m going to hold you to that.” “Fair enough. Talk to you tomorrow.” Eddie promises before hanging up. He weighs his options for how to tell the Party. Eventually, he decides on calling Mike, know that the younger teen won’t push too much. He’s dialing the Wheeler home before he can second guess his decision. “This is Mike.” Eddie feels a rush of gratitude that Mike is the one who answered, rather than Nancy or one of their parents. “Hey Mike, it’s Eddie. Listen, Steve’s not feeling great and having Hellfire here isn’t going to help. Can you call the rest of the Party, let them know we’re gonna move it to another day? I’ll keep an eye on Steve.” Eddie knows Mike is a confused, given how adamant he’s been in the past about not canceling or moving Hellfire, but as he expected, Mike accepts what he says at face value. “Sure. Need us to bring anything?” “Nah, I’ve got it. Pretty sure he just needs some peace and quiet so he can rest. But thanks.” They say their goodbyes and Eddie puts the phone back on the hook.  With that done, he checks that the door is locked and faces the stairs. Now for the hard part. He’s not sure what he’s going to say, if there is anything he can say that will fix this, but he has to try. Even if doesn’t change things between him and Steve, Steve deserves at least that much. Every step feels like it takes effort, chest heavy with guilt, but it only takes him a few moments to get to Steve’s door. It’s closed, which doesn’t surprise him. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before knocking. Nothing. “Steve?” If it wasn’t for the quiet sound of Steve’s breathing he could hear through the door, Eddie would think he had left. He glad that he at least didn’t drive Steve out of his own home. He rests his forehead on the door. “I’m sorry.” Eddie hopes Steve can hear how much he means it. “You’re right, I fucked up. I made an assumption and took out my anger at other people on you. And that wasn’t fair and it’s not okay. But I want you to know that I’m sorry. Even if it wasn’t you, I shouldn’t have done that.” He lets out a hysterical laugh as he realizes - “And despite that, you still humor the kids when they talk about D&D and agreed to let us play here and didn’t punch me in the face, which makes you a better man than I.” He falls silent, listens as Steve’s breathing slows. He isn’t sure how long he stands there. He wonders how many other people he hurt this way, without even realizing. Knows he wants to do better, be better. He sighs, feeling his shoulders slump. “Anyway, I canceled Hellfire for today. I told everyone something came up, don’t worry about that. I’ll make up some story, make sure they know its not your fault. And uh,  let me know if you want to hang out again or something. I know I’ve been around a lot; didn’t realize that I was making you so uncomfortable, which is probably another thing I should apologize for. Anyway. Yeah. I’ll see you around, okay?” He waits a moment for an answer, but when none comes, he backs away from the door and walks downstairs to gather his stuff. It hurts, but he knows Steve deserves space and to be the one to initiate contact. He has some thinking to do, anyway.

#steddie #my writing #fic #legit read that fic like 6 times in a row and had to write a follow up #have a handful of extra pieces as well #or thoughts anyway #like steve telling eddie about christopher #and eddie helping steve make a character and play in the future #after lots of talking and eventually getting together #his character is a dwarf paladin named after christopher #i haven't written in forever this felt so good #barely proofread so apologies for any mistakes

[s-brant]

Make It Better

my masterlist (gif: @conradfiisher)

After getting into an argument with his brother, Conrad seeks out the comfort of a close friend.

8k (18+)

Warnings: smut, oral sex (fem receiving), p in v, strong language, and slight angst.

-

For every girl in Cousins, there was something about Conrad Fisher that made them go a little crazy. And for Y/N, a girl who grew up with the Fishers and Conklins next door every summer, it was the fact that he decided to choose her of all people to be with. Even if Belly had him first, it was all worth it to her.

With Conrad, it's all soft-spoken praises, feather light brushes off his fingertips against forbidden places, and sensual kisses. It's all she can see when she closes her eyes to sleep at night or merely blinks during the day. It's hard to keep it a secret when her mind refuses to stop recalling the memories at a constant rate. Still, she has to be on her best behavior seeing that it is the last night they have together before the house is officially sold by Aunt Julia. And to honor their summer house, they collectively decided to throw a goodbye party.

The vibration of the bass thumping within the walls of the house is strong enough to rattle her eardrums as she takes a shot with her arm interlinked with Cam Cameron's. He, of course, is drinking a can of soda, but she was quick to assuage his insecurity when he mentioned it. It was the thought that counted.

She and Cam have been friends since they were in middle school, so, when he joined their circle of friends through Belly last year, it made her happy to have him around in the way Jere, Steven, Conrad, and Belly always were. When he and Belly ended their fling, she was there for both of them. She hugged Cam for a minute straight before letting go and offering to cheer him up with ice cream. For Belly, she told her she did the right thing by not leading him on and told her to follow her heart, wherever it may lead her, as they swam in the pool.

How was Y/N supposed to know it would lead her straight into the arms of the boy she's always loved?

"Okay," Cam rips her from her thoughts as he speaks, shoving his hydroflask filled with ice water into her hands, "You are officially cut off for the night until I see you drink some of this. I think your blood may be fifty percent tequila at this point."

She frowns at him.

"You're no fun, but I appreciate you looking out," she says.

She stays with him to swallow a few generous mouthfuls of water before handing the bottle back to him with a quiet, "Thank you. M'gonna go find Connie and Steven."

The last she checked, the two of them were taking pictures with the Polaroid camera they bought at the store earlier. They called her and Belly over to take turns taking pictures together. One of them all together, one of Y/N and Steven, then Belly and Conrad, and, finally Y/N and Conrad.

It was hard to watch Belly pose with him considering their extensive history together, but he knew that, and when it was her turn to pose with him, he wrapped his hand around her waist and entwined his fingers in hers to give it a reassuring squeeze. This made it extremely difficult for her not to smile too hard as she looked at the camera lens.

After the flash went off, Steven, the only person to know the details of their recent, days-old affair, says, "Wait, one more! One more! You'll thank me later, I swear."

With Belly having skated off, Taylor doing God knows what, and Jere lingering not far from wherever Belly went, they didn't feel too worried when they were directed to hug for the camera. Her cheek squished against his, their chests rising and falling to meet one another like matching puzzle pieces, and the scent of his body wash—the proximity to him was intoxicating.

"Okay, smileee—"

The flash off went off, and they stayed together for a few seconds longer than necessary before reluctantly pulling apart.

Steven handed each of them one of the pictures with a wink before saying, "Alright, Taylor wants me to do shots with her. I'll probably be back soon."

Conrad got the first one and she got the second. They couldn't help how they smiled as they stood side by side to admire them. His was carefully placed in the back pocket of his pants, which then made her realize that she did not have any pockets herself.

"Can you keep it safe for me?" she asked with a bright, moony-eyed expression. Her hands then slid down the front of her dress to feel for any place to store the photograph only to come up empty. "It's my own fault. Shouldn't have worn a dress."

His eyes softened as they looked up and down the length of her body, then settled back on her eyes.

"No," he said before he could stop himself, "it's perfect."

Her breath hitched in her throat, and she was about to open her mouth to speak when Cam and Skye called her name from across the room.

After a second, he spoke again, "I'll catch up with you later, Padme."

When he turned to walk away, he heard her giggle from behind his back at the inside joke shared between the two of them.

As she searches through the house for him now, she smiles to herself at the thought of it. It originated when they were mere children. After finishing a marathon of the Star Wars franchise in release order—the only correct way to watch it according to Susannah and Laurel—one summer, they all became obsessed with playing pretend with sticks as lightsabers. A week later, once it became apparent that it wasn't a fleeting phase, Susannah surprised them with toy lightsabers.

Somehow, they decided amongst themselves who was who, and it just so happened that Y/N was Padme and Conrad was Anakin. Jere and Steven made a deal to take turns playing Obi-Wan Kenobi since they originally both wanted to be him, and Belly, the youngest of the bunch, was so happy to be included that she would play whatever character they wanted her to for the day. The only roles that never changed were Anakin and Padme. Even when they got to the main trilogy in their game of pretend, Conrad played Darth Vader, and Y/N let Belly be Princess Leia while she played as Darth Sidious. One way or another, they were always paired in some way. Fated.

They much preferred playing as the star-crossed lovers as opposed to the pair of evil Sith Lords. It pleased her more than she ever let on that she and Conrad were together, even if it was just pretend. They've always teasingly called each other by those names ever since.

She peeks into every entryway when she walks by in hopes that she'll spot Conrad or Steven, but neither of them appears. It isn't until she steps out onto the front porch after searching the whole lower level of the house that she finds one of them. Well, actually, she hears one of them. Conrad.

"Jere, you know for a fact that I came home every second I could—"

"But it wasn't every day!"

Jeremiah, she notes as she stands with her back against the front door. Neither of them sees her.

"Okay, okay," Conrad retorts. "What do you want? A medal?"

What Jere says next makes her have to look away in the direction of the neighbor's yard, not wanting to see the heartbreak written across his brother's face as he calls him a coward. Her jaw tightens with every vitriolic word spewed at him. It isn't her place to interrupt, but it kills her to stand by and listen.

"You're not someone to look up to. You're not even someone I wanna know."

The universe must have a cruel sense of humor, because the second these words are said, someone trying to swing the door open against her back sends her stumbling forward into their line of vision. The sound of her falling to her hands and knees brings their attention away from one another instantly.

Her eyes meet Jeremiah's first, then they immediately switch to lock eyes with Conrad, and the first thing out of her mouth is, "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop or anything. I just came out here cause I couldn't find you guys. I'll go back inside." Despite her anger at what she overheard, she makes sure to look at both of them when she says, "I'm sorry."

She's already on her feet and facing the front door, abandoned by the guy who tried to walk out only to be greeted with this shit-show, when Jeremiah says, his tone harsh, "Don't. I was already leaving."

This makes her stop in her tracks, her hand frozen in place where it grabs the door handle, and, after she listens to Jere's footsteps gradually disappear, she turns back around.

Conrad is closer now than he was a second ago. Rather than remain in the driveway where he and his brother argued, he stands on the porch with his hands in his pockets. The look on his face...it's heartbreaking. His eyes are glassy, his lips downturned into a slight frown he tries to keep at bay, and knows based on the look he gives her alone that he will never forget what Jere said to him tonight.

She says softly, "Connie," unsure of what else to say to him, but that's all it takes to open the floodgates.

Silent tears start to fall down his cheeks as she closes the distance between them to take him into her arms in a comforting embrace. He bends down a little to allow his head to rest on her shoulder. Her hand cups the back of it to cradle his face into the soft crook of her neck, giving him the shelter he needs from the rest of the party to cry it out. The arms wrapped around her waist squeeze tightly enough to push the air from her lungs, but she never complains. To be in his arms is a blessing regardless of the reason and circumstances behind it.

They remain this way for the better half of a minute before he has the courage to break the silence. The hand on the back of his head brushes through his hair in a repetitive motion in hopes that it will soothe him.

"Do you wanna get out of here?" he asks. "I just"—he shakes his head—"I can't think straight right now..."

She nods.

"We can go to my house."

The Fishers and Conklins aren't nearly as familiar with her family's summer house as she is with theirs, but they have been inside a few times. On days when he didn't feel like being around everyone last summer, Conrad would come over and sit in the chair in the corner of her room, blowing the smoke from his joint out of the window while she cleaned, folded laundry, or read whatever book Laurel had recommended to her at the time. It was domestic in a way that made her heart skip a beat. It made her imagine how it would be in the future if they were together. If they truly ended up getting married as they pretended to when they were children while playing as Anakin and Padme.

She reaches down and entwines their fingers in order to lead him away in the direction of the house next door. It's a short walk over the fence gate that connects their yards. That was Susannah's doing. Five years into her friendship with the kids in her house, she and Y/N's parents agreed to install a new fence with a gate between their two properties to allow their children to play without having to leave the yard.

With everyone busy partying, no one should come back to sleep until way later. It wasn't until after they arrived back from their night at the country club that she remembered where her mom kept the spare key, so the others may forget their plans to sleep there. If they do, she'll shoot them a text in the group chat to remind them rather than allow them to sleep on the floor.

The door is already unlocked from when she went inside to shower and get ready with Taylor and Belly before the party, so all it takes is her turning the handle to allow them access.

She drops his hand once the door is kicked shut behind them and looks over her shoulder to say, "I think there's frozen food in the garage freezer if you're hungry," as she walks toward the kitchen. "And there's still my mom's Diet Coke in the fridge. We could always mix it with my dad's whiskey if you wanna keep drinking."

From behind, she can hear his footsteps on the freaking hardwood floor, getting closer and closer until his hand wraps around her arm to spin her around to face him.

"What—"

The question is cut short by his lips crashing against hers.

Kissing Conrad is something she doesn't think she will ever get used to or grow tired of. No matter how many times it happens, which, so far, has been at least three times since the night they spent at the country club, it takes her breath away the same as it had the first time when they were just children playing pretend.

Her arms are thrown around his neck in less than a second to pull him closer, and she doesn't hesitate to kiss him back. Not even for a second. At first, she is too intoxicated with the thrill of having him touching her to remember why they came here in the first place. Every thought revolves around him—the taste of the alcohol on his tongue, the feeling of his chest pressing against hers, and how confidently his hands find their place on her waist.

A second later, the memory of the fight he and Jere had comes back to her, and she forces herself to push him away.

"Wait," she says with her hands flattened against his chest to create some distance between them. "Wait, Connie."

When he opens his eyes, they're overflowing with concern for her. She already knows that he is assuming he made a mistake or that she doesn't truly want to do this with him, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. In fact, she is the one who is concerned for him.

"Are you okay? You and Jere just..." Her expression softens a little. "I don't wanna do this unless I know you're sure you're alright."

The confusion evident on his face disappears by the time she's finished speaking. In his mind, he anticipated something much worse than her wanting to check in on him to make sure he was okay. As the seconds passed between her telling him to wait and him looking at her, he feared she'd take back everything they shared in the past few days. All the secret kisses, gentle touches, and giggles. He wasn't sure he could take losing another one of the girls he grew up with in that way.

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and stares at her without saying a word. If it were anyone else, it would be uncomfortable, but it never is with them. That's part of what keeps bringing him back to her. Of course, it can't end well seeing that he dated Belly, she's friends with her, and they had such a messy break-up, but what is he supposed to do? Ignore his feelings? Pretend not to want her when he clearly does? He can't do it. He won't. Now that he's already had a taste of her, he can't resist any it longer.

His chest rises with a deep inhale, then—

"I fucked everything up, and I knew Jere must have resented me for it, but I didn't think it was that bad," Conrad says. "I'm sad and angry, of course, but that doesn't mean you'd be taking advantage." He lets the tip of his nose brush hers with how close he comes. His voice is hardly a push of air when he speaks again. "You make everything feel better. You always have."

She doesn't allow him to kiss her again. Instead, she plays with the hair at the nape of his neck and keeps her eyes on his, not giving in even when their noses bump together and the heat of his exhales cloud on her skin. The kitchen table he has her pressed up against digs into her back, keeping her pinned in place exactly where he needs her.

"So, that's what you want?" she asks in a hushed tone even though they have the house to themselves. Every breath they take is pulled from the little pocket of air between their faces, and they can both smell the liquor on each other's breath every time they exhale. The hands on her waist slowly descend until they settle on her hips. "You want me to make it better?"

The moment she says the words, Conrad seems to melt into her touch. That is all it takes to turn him to putty in her hands, and he nods in response with his face pressed against hers.

"Is that okay?"

In other words, is that what you want? Have you been dying to get your hands on me the way I have been dying to get mine on you? It feels like a lifetime since they first hooked up in a secluded room at the country club, but it hasn't been more than a day.

In lieu of a verbal answer, she closes the inch of distance between them and connects their lips in a tender kiss.

He reciprocates with a passion that ramps up the intensity in a matter of seconds, quickly turning it from its initially timid and gentle nature into something more desperate and needy.  Those hands on her hips squeeze hard to keep control and steady her body as he presses her further into the table, making her back arch a little. Her hands wander to explore every part of him now that she knows he wants this again, and she slips them up underneath his shirt to feel his bare skin beneath her palms. But when her hands make contact with his nipples, he shivers.

Their lips disconnect, shining from the saliva they share, for him to murmur, "Cold hands," as explanation before reaching down for the hem of her dress. She helps him shimmy the tight material up from where it gets stuck around her breasts until it is pulled free and tossed somewhere on the kitchen floor behind her, leaving her in only her undergarments. And he is quick to dispose of those too. Nimble fingers fumble with the clasp of her bra for a few seconds, then it finally comes loose around her back.

But, that's the last thing she lets him take off of her before she puts a hand on his chest to stop him.

Without saying a word, she grasps the bottom of his shirt and starts lifting it up to reveal his bare chest to her. He takes the hint without a second of confusion, pulling it the rest of the way off. It drops from his grasp the second it's off his head and abandoned in favor of aiding her in her attempt to undo his pants with those soft, trembling hands.

In a way, it feels similar to their first time. It was against a wall at the country club the other night after they became bored looking for a place to sleep. All they knew was that they needed to make it quick, so they did. His hand disappeared down the front of her panties to help her along, the pressure of his fingertips rubbing her clit bringing a wetness that soaked the cotton fabric concealing her from view, and that was all the preparation they took before it happened. He asked, voice quiet and low, if she'd done it before when she began tugging on his shirt as they made out, so once she said she had, all bets were off.

The thought of it slows him down for a second.

That time, they had to get it over with quickly. If they hadn't, the others likely would have gone looking for them and found out what was going on in the office room they snuck into. It was rough and quick and passionate, and he liked that, he truly did, but recalling that now makes him want to do it differently this time. Especially considering what happened before they came into this house.

"Slower, slower," he murmurs into her mouth.

The adjustment is made instantly, and she allows him to take back full control of the kiss. With his hands pulling her hips flush against his, he surrenders to the urge to rut against her to relieve the aching of his hard cock through the material of his boxer briefs and unzipped pants. He invades her open mouth with his tongue and kisses her slower, deeper than he had the last time. His teeth nip playfully at her lower lip in the second he takes to pull back for air.

His hands cup her face on either side to keep her in place as he dips down to kiss the underside of her jaw. He doesn't dare to leave any marks behind where anyone could see them, but he does take his time and suck gently on the sweet spot on the gentle slope where her shoulder and neck bridge together. Faintly, they can both hear the music from his house next door over the wet sound of his lips on her neck.

The other day, they didn't have the time to do everything he wanted to with her, but tonight they do. Tonight, he has her to himself for the first time in months, and he isn't going to take that opportunity for granted. Everything with her happened too fast for him to process. Last week, he'd been caught up on Belly, and part of him still is, but, then, Y/N came into the picture in a way he never expected. Despite the fear of ruining their lifelong friendship, to be with her felt as natural a process as breathing.

The hands on her face slip down the sides of her neck and down the front of her body until they find the band of the thin little thong she chose tonight for the sake of not having panty lines through her dress. Part of it also had to do with the possibility of this happening again, but she'd never give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

It appears, however, that he already knows when she finds the end of his mouth tipping upwards in a slight smirk as his fingers hook around the fabric. Seeing that they just hooked up yesterday and that these are a decent step up from the boy-short panties patterned with flowers he saw her in before, it isn't too difficult to put together.

Conrad sinks down onto his knees to tug it down her legs, and before her cheeks can begin to burn with embarrassment, she warns him, "Don't even."

This draws a giggle from him, his head tilting back to let him look up at her. Even in the midst of their playfulness and laughter, the sight of him kneeling before her makes her go weak in the knees. The strands of hair hanging in his eyes frame his face with an effortlessness she has envied him for her whole life. His beauty is classic, statuesque, even. He is the specific type of attractive that never falls out of trend or becomes less shocking over time. At least, not for her.

"I didn't say anything."

She counters, still laughing, "You didn't have to!"

At this point, she is grinning from ear to ear, and it's difficult to be self-conscious about being laid bare in his presence when he's looking at her like that. Her left leg is lifted off of the ground for her underwear to slide off of her ankle, but he doesn't put it back down. Instead, he turns his head to kiss her sensitive inner thigh, leaving her with nothing to do except watch while the anticipation of what he plans on doing eats her alive.

Unlike her neck, he has no qualms about marking up her thighs. It may be mildly uncomfortable to forgo wearing shorts in the summer heat, but it's doable. She can wear some of the bottoms she has stored in the dresser upstairs to keep the others from seeing if need be. His other hand grips her right hip to keep her steady while his other has her bent leg propped over his shoulder. Soon, his kisses have made a path up the length of her thigh, and she can't help but breathe heavier when she feels the heat of his exhales at the apex of her thighs.

"Connie..." she breathes out.

This brings his attention up, eyes fluttering open from where they'd been closed as he inched closer and closer to where she wants him most. And when she finds him looking up at her, pupils dilated and lips swollen from kissing, she can hardly breathe.

He asks, "You nervous?"

Words fail her. All she can do is nod.

"Don't be," Conrad whispers, the hand on her hip reaching to take hers in it for the sake of comforting her. "It's just me."

To this, she chuckles a little and tries not to shift in place with the sheer discomfort of the need she feels for him in this moment. No one has ever done this specific sexual act with her before, so the nerves are strong, but not quite as strong as her curiosity or desire.

"That's exactly why I'm nervous."

Her free hand comes down to brush the hair out of his face, and he leans into the touch like a cat brushing up between your legs. His eyes shut again for a second to appreciate the sweet gesture before looking up at her again, a slight grin begging to come to fruition on his face.

"Let me make it better, then," he says softly, in that charming, distinctly Conrad way that could take any girl's breath away with ease.

The first flick of his tongue against her is gentle, a mere glimpse of what's to come, but it stuns her all the same. Never having experienced this before, she is extremely sensitive to anything he does to her, and she finds that she's far more sensitive when it's his mouth pleasuring her as opposed to his fingers. Every soft brush of his lips against her in teasing kisses makes her hips press forward into his face in a silent command to continue without her noticing that she's doing it. He is quick to notice it, though, and he doesn't continue to tease her any longer.

This time, when he spread her open on his tongue, he gives her what she wants.

Sparks of pleasure shoot through her the second she feels him lapping at her aching clit, soft and gentle at first until he feels her grinding herself forward against his face for more. With her soft sighs and stifled moans as encouragement, he dips his head between her legs and eats her like a man starved. The remaining leg she stands on is quickly guided over his other shoulder, and his hand slips out of hers in favor of taking hold of her hips. The supple flesh of her ass is soft where it is squeezed beneath his fingertips and used as leverage to bring her as close as possible.

"Mm," she whines, "Fuck..."

The ability to speak evades her in the heat of the moment, but they both know how much she's enjoying this without her having to come out and say it. If the sounds she's making weren't enough, the hand she has gripping the back of his head to keep his mouth on her would prove it.

She knew from conversations overheard between the boys that Conrad was no stranger to this kind of thing. It may have made her heart sink into the pit of her stomach to hear it back then, but, right now, she's thankful for his experience. Every lick, kiss, and caress is placed exactly where she needs it as though he's able to read her body without having to open his eyes. The pleasure he's giving her far outweighs the jealousy she feels when she remembers that he's done this with other girls, one of them possibly being Belly.

The taste of her arousal, slick on his lips and tongue, has him humming in contentment into her as though he is the one being pleasured by this. In a way, he is. There's something intoxicating about being surrounded by her in every sense like this—her weight on his shoulders, her hands in his hair, and her thighs clamped shut on either side of his face. His dick strains against the fabric of his underwear as well as his unzipped pants, pulsing with the desire to sink into her and find his release.

She cants her hips to grind down on his face in pursuit of something closer, something deeper that they can't manage like this. And it isn't long before she starts to pull gently at his hair, reaching down and trying to pull on his arm to get the message across.

Conrad's lips part from her soaked pussy with a wet sound. When he looks up at her from between her thighs, she can see how his lips and chin are smeared with her arousal. It glistens under the moonlight coming in through the kitchen window. In seconds, the moment is already gone. The hands gripping her hips slide down to take hold of her thighs in order to guide them off of his shoulders, and when he sets her back down onto the ground, her muscles are trembling.

He's standing back up at his full height with his body slotted perfectly between her legs in the time it takes her to blink. Their next kiss is hungrier, much more aggressive in nature, than the last they shared, and she can taste herself on his lips.

In the gaps between their fervent kisses, she says, breathless, "I know you wanted to go slower this time, but I can't." His tongue invades her mouth again, pushing past her soft lips to allow the taste of her lip balm to blend with the semi-sweet taste of her pussy. It's only when his tongue retreats to give him the chance to bite down on her bottom lip that she can speak again. "Please," she whines and juts her hips out until she feels him hard against her. "We can go again after, I just want you now."

This sends him into a bit of a frenzy.

He has had his fair share of hook-ups—not nearly as many as Jere but plenty—yet there's something about her that thrills him in a way few others ever could. No girl has ever said anything like that to him. With Belly, it was her first time, so everything was tender and experimental due to the nature of the situation. With Y/N, it's different in the sense that they cannot be fairly compared. How could anyone compare a gentle, sweet first time with what may end up being the best fuck of his life, surpassing the quickie at the country club that left them both breathless and weary.

Conrad is panting for air when their lips part, their mouths hanging open and brushing as he hefts her up onto the table with little effort. Beneath her hands, she can feel his biceps flex with the quick lift. Taut muscle contracts and pushes back against her fingers before relaxing again once her ass is planted on the tabletop, but if it weren't for her hands gripping his arms for support, she wouldn't have noticed it had any effect on him. It's strangely arousing. She never gave his casual strength much thought until he utilized it in this context for the first time. A thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead when he had to keep her lifted against the wall at the country club as he thrust into her, but he didn't struggle.

Please. He hears her whining the word on a loop in his mind as he aids her in shoving his pants and underwear down his lean thighs. We can go again after. She wraps her hand around his length and pumps a few times despite the fact that he's already hard enough for it to ache. All the while, he's still stuck on the things she said. We can go again after. Not only does she want him now, she already knows she'll want him again. I just want you now. That crucial part gave him the answers he'd been seeking for the past twenty-four hours since he pinned her to the wall at the country club and fucked her hard enough to make the framed paintings shake on their hooks. I just want you now. It was life-altering for her too.

As he angles his hips just right to guide the broad tip of his cock into her, his fingers dig into her hips so hard, she'll be shocked if it doesn't bruise by tomorrow.

She uses the legs wrapped around his hips to push him further into her, and they both gasp at the sensation it brings them. Her heels press into the backs of his thighs, urging him to take whatever he wants from her whenever he wants it. It doesn't matter that the stretch she feels the further she urges him inside of her almost makes her have to bite down on her lip to contain a wince. Nothing matters to her except for getting as close to him as physically possible.

He lets out a low, drawn-out, "Oh fuckkk," under his breath as he sinks the rest of the way into her.

Their noses bump with every slight movement made or breath taken in, and she refuses to look away from his eyes. There's something inherently vulnerable about holding unwavering eye contact with him while he is buried in her to the hilt. The hands on his biceps slide up slowly until both of her arms are wrapped behind his neck to keep him from shying away from her at any point. This is the closeness she craved more than anything. Nothing else would do, not even having him on his knees for her.

It's a wonder that he doesn't come right away with how tightly the soft, warm walls of her pussy are squeezing around him. And when she bucks her hips up in a wordless request for him to move, he shakes his head.

Eyes clenched shut, Conrad murmurs, "I just need a second."

He feels her nod against his face, her nose nudging his cheek. For the next thirty or so seconds, he remains as still as possible. It's torture for him to stay this way and resist doing what comes naturally. Although it's for his sake, not hers, he struggles to keep a firm enough hold on his self-control. He keeps his eyes shut because he knows that if he looks at her, he won't stand a chance.

It isn't until the fire that blazed in the pit of his abdomen has calmed that he allows himself to look at her again. When he opens his eyes, she's already watching him. Her fingers twirl strands of his hair absentmindedly, and when she sees him open his eyes again, she closes the gap between their lips again.

This time, as his lips slot against hers, he draws away from her, pulling out until it's only his tip inside of her.

"You don't have to be gentle," she murmurs. "I can take it. I won't break."

His response comes in the form of him snapping his hips into her until he's gone as deep as she can take him. Despite her urging him to get rougher with her, she still gasps at the sudden intrusion and looks up at him with a wide-eyed stare of disbelief. Her past hook-ups were meaningless and unfulfilling. It happened during her freshman year at Trinity College while Conrad and Belly were dating. Considering what was going on at the time, she didn't plan to talk to either of them about it afterward, and, once it was as over, she didn't want to.

It was horrible.

It was the polar opposite of her first time with Conrad. Not only was it with an uncaring frat boy she met at a party her roommate dragged her to, it was uncomfortable. He didn't do anything other than get himself hard and stick it in, and with her nerves being so bad, it was already hard for her to get aroused. But it couldn't be any more different now. It couldn't be any more different with him.

It's rougher than it was initially, yet still slow and sensual. The hands on her hips guide her into a cadence to match his movements each time he thrusts into her, stifling the sound of his own low moans by smearing his mouth against hers. It's a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Their tongues brush, saliva coating their lips, and he makes sure there isn't a single part of her left un-worshiped tonight. Whether it be her neck, her collarbone, or her jaw, he pays every part of her the attention it deserves, partly for her sake and partly because he cannot help himself.

Their lips pull apart with a loud smacking sound, and he keeps his forehead pressed to hers as he looks into her eyes, head tilting just slightly to the side. One of his hands abandons its place at her hip to slide up the length of her torso. Her stomach flinches inward at the contact of his knuckles brushing her skin on the way past, but it's when he lets his hand flatten over her breast that she lets out a shaky exhale, He doesn't spend too much time there, though. After teasing her with a gentle squeeze, his hand wraps around the back of her neck for the sake of having control of where she looks, and, right now, he wants her to look at him as he admits something to her.

"I've dreamt about this," Conrad whispers.

He delights in her slack-mouthed expression when he ruts into her a touch faster and harder for the sake of seeing the expression on her face shift.

Somehow, she finds her voice and manages to stammer out, "I"—she is interrupted by the need to take in a sharp breath of air—"I thought..."

The hand on the back of her neck squeezes harder at the implication of her unfinished statement. It isn't necessary for her to continue the thought, he already knows what it means. I thought you dreamt about Belly. He did. He dreamt of Belly every night last summer, but it was Y/N who he dreamt of first.

She was the one who awakened these feelings within him for the first time. Being the oldest alongside him, she was the first to develop, and he didn't know what to do with the feelings that surfaced the summer she came back looking less like a girl and more like a woman. She was the first person he kissed, albeit for a game they played together, not Belly. Surely, he thought she had to know that it meant something to him too, but when he looks at her now, it's clear that he thought wrong.

His brows pinch together at the sensation of her tightening up around him, but his eyes are soft. Tender. Honest. He shakes his head. Just once.

"You were first," he says it so quickly, she almost misses it. "It was you."

That doesn't mean what he had with Belly meant nothing. In fact, it means the opposite. What he had with Belly was unlike anything he experienced before, but so is this. There is no way for Conrad to compare the two because what he feels for them is so solid yet different.

With Belly, he knew what he meant to her. He knew she put him on a pedestal her whole life and believed every word he said, so it was difficult not to feel an added pressure to live up to that standard. His heart broke when he ruined prom for her, but he did it because he thought he didn't deserve her.

With Y/N, they've always mirrored one another. Both the eldest in their respective families, gifted children, and sensitive in a way that troubled them more than most of their siblings and friends. Where everyone else misunderstood Conrad, she understood him. And it was never something that had to be acknowledged out loud or spoken of. It was a law of existence.

The summer before last, when Conrad got into reading as a result of Laurel gifting him a few of her favorite classics, he ended up insisting that Y/N read Wuthering Heights shortly after he finished it. Never having read for pleasure before, she thought she'd find it difficult to devote herself to it, but she should have known. She should have known that if he wanted her to read it, there were good reasons for it. Belly and the boys were having dinner with their moms when she finally got to his favorite line.

It was underlined in red ink, she noted, not pencil. Never to be erased or undone in any way. When she read it, she knew immediately that he'd done it for her. On the page, it read, "He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same," and that was the moment she knew she loved him.

Right now, as he kisses her and reaches down with the same hand that held her neck to rub her clit, it's all she can think of. So, she says it. She takes the vulnerable confession and offers one of her own in return.

"You were first for me too," she says breathlessly.

The contact of his fingertips brushing her most sensitive spot has her jolting against him in equal parts shock and pleasure. It instantly makes the feeling of him rocking into her at a steady pace all the more gratifying. What she said is fuel to the fire for him. It urges him on, chasing the weightless, stirring feeling inside of him with reckless abandon. He decides to trust what she said about being able to handle him not being gentle, because, truth be told, he can't control himself.

Conrad, lost in the haze, starts sucking at her neck after he leans down to kiss it. Everything outside of this house no longer exists to either of them, so it doesn't occur to them that they'll have to answer for the marks left behind on her come morning. No, all he can think of is what he feels for her and how he can possibly show her the full extent of it without telling her. This is the only way, he thinks. When he talks, he fucks everything up, but she has to know how he feels through this. After all, she's always had a sixth sense when it comes to him. Why should it be any different now?

Her fingers card through his hair and tug gently on the soft strands as she tips back her head and arches her body into him, gasping into the dark, empty kitchen. Even when he kisses his way back up to her lips, he remains trapped in the trance she put him under, taking every part of her for himself. It takes her crying out in bliss at the combined sensations of his fingers on her clit and the smooth, wet drag of his cock inside of her for him to meet her gaze again. This time, he doesn't dare look away. Neither does she.

Their eye contact never wavers as she murmurs, face twisted in pleasure, "Fuck, I think—"

Her sentence can't even be finished before she's coming undone from the next caress of his fingers against her.

The arms wrapped around the back of his neck pull him in as her body tenses up with the onset of her climax. Not only does he watch and listen as the euphoria washes over her, he feels it. He can feel her spasming around him, clenching and unclenching, through every powerful wave.

Her jaw has fallen open in a gape that allows every beautiful moan, gasp, and whine to escape into the space between their lips. And it's the sensation of her coming around him that threatens to send him over the edge, but he holds out for as long as he can. Both for the sake of helping her ride it out and prolonging his own orgasm.

He pulls out quickly out of fear of finishing inside and withdraws the fingers that were rubbing her clit to wrap them around his cock, stroking himself once, twice, three times until he comes with a breathy moan. Watching it drip down her trembling stomach heightens the swift pulses of pleasure, and when his body jerks involuntarily from how good it feels, the next rope of cum lands across the hickeys on her inner thighs. It's downright filthy, but he'll be damned if it isn't the most erotic thing he's ever seen in real life.

For a second, time is suspended to allow them both the chance to catch their breath and enjoy the comfort of each other's embrace. Her arms are still linked around him, trapping him in, and he lets his face fall forward onto her shoulder with a tired sigh. It's impossible for either of them to find words in the midst of their post-orgasmic bliss, so they don't bother trying. Much like how it has been for their lives preceding this moment, the silence is comfortable. There is no misunderstanding, awkwardness, or trying to fill the space with meaningless small talk.

Once the rapid rise and fall of their chests have evened out, Conrad pulls away from his cherished spot in the crook of her neck and kisses her one last time before coming back down to earth.

He's already pulling his pants back up before moving to get a few paper towels from the kitchen counter, telling her, "Stay there, I got it."

The sound of the tap turning on reaches her ears, then vanishes as quickly as it appeared, and it isn't long before Conrad is back in front of her. Every swipe of the damp wad of paper towel is gentle on his skin, carefully minding where she's particularly sensitive in the aftermath of what they did. As he wipes his release up from her stomach and thighs, he folds the towel in half to clean her again, then, once he's finished, he leans down with one hand cupped underneath her thigh and presses a kiss to one of the marks he left behind.

Her face burns hot at this, but she tries not to let it rattle her brave face.

"You're lucky I like you so much," she says, tilting her head to show him her neck, "cause this is gonna be impossible to hide."

He can't even stop the smirk from crossing his face at the sight of her freshly bruised skin. Yet, he doesn't answer right away. He simply continues to smile to himself and walks around the island she's perched on, digging in the freezer for something for the next moment or so. When he returns, he's holding up a bag of frozen peas as though it is a coveted trophy.

"This will help," he says and gently presses the cold bag over the spot on her neck. "Thank you, by the way."

She blinks at him.

"For what?"

His shoulders pull up in a shrug as he tries to find the right way to word it without it sounding like he's only talking about the sex.

"For everything." He says softly, rubbing the edge of her jaw with his thumb. "Sometimes, I feel like you don't know what you mean to me."

The room has been plunged into silence since they stopped moaning, panting, and joining their bodies together. All that can be heard over their voices is the music next door, as well as loud voices speaking in the back and front yard. In here, though, it's just them, and he can hear how her breath hitches in her throat at what he said.

"It was confusing last summer, but ever since you underlined that part in the book you gave me, I've known. At least to some extent," she admits. "I knew you did that for me."

He nods.

"I did."

There's a long pause, then—

She breaks her gaze with him and looks down at the floor, smiling like an idiot at the thought of what has transpired in the last forty-eight hours. Seeing her clothes in a pile on the floor prompts her to take the frozen peas from him and jump down from her seat on the counter.

As explanation, she says, holding the bag to her neck, "We should probably get back to the party before anyone notices we're gone."

He casts a quick glance to the counter where they fucked for a second before looking at her again.

"And probably clean that."

A giggle escapes her when he says this.

"Yeah, we definitely should."

-

Hello! Finally wrote a Conrad fic! If you enjoyed it, I'd love to hear your thoughts. If you want to be added to a tag list for future Conrad fics, let me know as well. Thank you.

#conrad fisher #conrad fisher smut #conrad fisher x reader #tsitp s2 #fanfiction #barely proofread this lmao

[sinfullyrosey]

(Pussy) Slappin’ Them Fins

Floyd & Jade Leech X GN!Reader

Warnings: Dubcon, Bondage (technically), Fingering, Pussy Slapping, Forced Orgasms, Dom!Reader (again technically), The Twins got Pussies

I’m uno reverse carding all those reader insert fics where the Reader gets violated by the tweels by having Reader violate them.

You’re welcome.

All Characters are 18+

Going to the beach with the Leech twins after they managed to convince (note: threaten) you wasn’t looking so bad right about now. The weather was actually rather sunny and nice, not to hot nor too windy. It was the perfect time to take a dip in the sea, maybe built a sandcastle or two and collect some seashells.

But it was neither of these reasons that changed your mind on the whole matter. Rather, it was the sight you found after taking a brief nap and finding the twins missing. You had called out to them, only to be met with silence. It wasn’t until wandering around a bit more and picking up distant sounds of chirps and gurgles growls that you followed to a hidden rock pool, where you proceeded to find the two missing brothers in their eel forms.

They had managed to get themselves ensnared in a fishing net, something only squabbling, little elvers would manage to get themselves into, yet here they are. You don’t know how they got like this nor did you care.

It was probably Floyd’s fault anyways, the troublemaker.

You decided to stand back to see if they needed any help. You noted that both were stuck in the rocky area but were still slightly submerged in the water, so no risk of drying out or drowning, thankfully. The net had wrapped itself around their tails, torsos, and heads, but didn’t seem to be constricting any vital areas, just kept them in place and prevented them from moving around as freely. They did appear to try and cut the rope with their claws and teeth, but to no avail.

Maybe the nets were merfolk proof? Would make sense as you could picture these two, specifically, stealing some poor fisherman’s catch by cutting the nets and snatching the fish for themselves. Still doesn’t explain why it’s on the beach though. Washed up on shore perhaps? Bet Floyd tried throwing it at Jade as a prank and only got them both trapped.

Probably. Most definitely.

Actually… now that you think about it, this is the first time we’ve ever seen either in such a situation, so now you had the perfect opportunity to get a better look at their merforms without the fear of them trying to drown or bite you…

Hm.

You had always been curious about their anatomy and how it varied from humans’. Specifically, you were curious about the slits located lower on their bodies. They didn’t have any visible genitalia, and yet, had that thin line near where one’s genitals would be.

The twins have never respected your own personal space before and had even poked and prodded at you while swimming and vulnerable, trying to get a peek or two. "They were only curious." they would say. "Just wanted to learn how you and they differed." they claimed.

Well, you were just as curious, and they were just as vulnerable in this moment. So, why not do some prodding of your own?

You approached the tangled twins, eyeing them, looking for that special spot on them. Floyd was a lot more tangled up than Jade, having struggled more fiercely due to hating being restrained. He was huffing and snorting in his native tongue, spitting sounds you could only surmise to be swears. Jade, in contrast, was more calm and calculating, trying to keep the struggling to a minimal as his brother’s movements only served to tighten the ropes around both of them even more.

He looked at you with a hint of relief and slight sheepishness, knowing how unbecoming the two of them look to you, but believing you were there to (begrudgingly) help them. After all, you were always cleaning up NRC’s messes and aiding other students without anything in return. It was just rather embarrassing that this was the situation they needed your help in.

You bent down next to them, seemingly looking for where best to cut or unravel the net. At least, that’s what they thought you were doing.

You gently placed your hand onto Jade’s tail, making his pupils dilate then constrict down to slits in response. He stiffened and followed your movements. Searching. Getting closer. Then you did the same to Floyd, who jumped and flopped his tail when he felt something suddenly touch him in his already volatile state. Both twins were watching you now, following along to where your hands were wandering to.

Mismatched eyes leered as both hands landed right next to a pair of thin, almost unnoticeable lines. Neither move as you studied the spots curiously, fingertips softly pressing down on the surrounding area. Floyd’s tail tip lashed agitatedly back and forth as you continued your prodding.

It wasn’t until you carefully used your fingers to spread open Jade’s slit slightly that the two finally had enough and attempted to strike.

The two tried snapping at you with razor sharp teeth, but the nets held them back, acting as a makeshift muzzle they had issues biting into. This sudden movement from both of them startled you back, but also managed to tighten the net around them enough that neither could barely move.

The ropes dug into their scales, not enough to cut through, but enough to hurt and squeeze those diamond-shaped patterns into their slippery bodies. Floyd began thrashing again but stopped, finally, when Jade bellowed out a gargled snarl at him.

You surmise he told him to stop as his struggling is what was tightening their binds and would only make things worse for them. Both huffed and turned their attention back to you, still gazing down at them.

They were completely at your mercy now.

Too bad you didn’t have any left to give.

Your fingers went back to grazing along the thin slits, making Jade jolt and trying to carefully curl his body away, but couldn’t. Your other hand did the same with Floyd’s earning much of the same results from the twin. You continued your exploration, finger pads feeling the smooth slickness of their openings.

Both twins were tensing up at your prodding, quiet, throaty gargles and hisses escaping passed their lips as you rubbed circles against their sensitive entrances. Both were starting to open up more under your treatment and even leak this clear, sticky liquid. Honestly, you were expecting to see two long cocks slip out, but no, this was all they had it would seem.

You smirked as the two troublesome twins became puddy in your hand, squirming and writhing as you worked at their aquatic pussies. The both of them were chirping up a storm, tails occasionally lightly thrashing in pleasure.

Your fingers slipped in with ease as you began to pump your fingers into them, feeling around along the entrance. The two started to croon and purr at the light intrusion. You chuckled to yourself as their walls squeezed around you, much like how their tails would around prey.

“Cute. Never seen either of you so docile before.” You teased.

That earned you a hiss and two squirmy eels trying once again to get out of their bindings and make you their shared chew toy, only for the cruel reminder to dig into their soft flesh once more.

But you weren’t having any of it and frowned.

It was Floyd’s attempt to lung at you through the net barrier against his brother’s warnings, that caused you to land a quick swat to his sensitive, little slit. The sharp and sudden pain made him yelp and yield back. You quirked a brow at the reaction and proceeded to swat at him again, harder. This time, he let out a gargled moan as his pussy twitched from the pain.

Huh. Interesting.

You turned your gaze over to Jade whose pupils were now blown wide as he stared you down, just daring you to try anything.

And try something you did.

Just like with his brother, your gentle touches turned into harsh slaps to his vulnerable pussy, earning you the same exact reaction out of Jade.

Oh.

Well now, this is interesting.

Without any warning, you proceeded to relentlessly slap both of their pussies with the palms of your hands, sending wave after pleasurable wave of pain straight to their core. Floyd and Jade could only squirm helplessly as their slits became more and more puffy and red from your spanks. They pleaded helplessly in their native tongue for you to stop or slow down and to just let them cum already, please.

Before long, both reached their peaks and crashed hard, their orgasms hitting simultaneously and sending them overboard. Their walls clenched around nothing; holes squirted out their messy juices as you continued to harshly slap them through their orgasms.

You finally relented when both twins gave out and slumped in their spots, trying to come down from their highs as their pussies fluttered and twitched. You chuckled at their blissed-out expressions, eyes nearly rolled back into their skulls and mouths hung wide open, panting and wheezing.

You hummed in satisfaction, gently patting both of their tails in praise.

“Aww, you both did so good and even came together like the good, little sea whores you are!” You chirped.

They only glared at you, but quickly lost any remaining malice and started chirping again when your fingers returned to rubbing at their entrances, once again breaching inward and pumping in and out of them at a slow pace. You chucked as their bodies resumed their needy squirming from before.

“Let’s see if mereels have a sweet spot too, hm?~”

#Twisted Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland Smut #TWST #TWST Smut #Floyd Leech Smut #Floyd Leech X Reader #Jade Leech Smut #Jade Leech X Reader #GN!Reader #originally wrote this on my phone before transferring it to my laptop so it's barely proofread sorry

[astaroth1357]

Demonic Adjustments:

Content Warning: (fantasy) body dsymorphia

Lucifer: Had to get used to the extra weight on his skull added by the horns. His head would keep tipping from side to side for several days after the Fall as he worked out how to unconsciously keep them balanced. Dia thought it looked hilarious. He also kept getting wing cramps because he unconsciously raised them whenever he was anxious or irritated.

Mammon: Thought the straps over his shoulders and chest would dig into him too much so he'd just walk around completely bare-chested until Barbs made him stop. Discovered that if he got scared by something, he'd squawk REALLY loud. He had to task Belphie and Levi to pop out at him from around corners until he could get it under control.

Levi: Felt like his newly extended tongue was going to choke him if he kept it in his mouth, so he'd let it just droop out for the longest time. He'd have to wet it down to keep it from drying out too, so he would literally do the snake-tongue thing until Asmo got onto him for how creepy it looked. He had no idea how to sit on things with his tail so he would either sit on the floor or sideways in his chair until Barbatos coached him on big-tail etiquette.

Satan: Had a straight up baby giraffe moment when he first can into existence. Couldn't figure out how his limbs were supposed to work and flailed/flopped around for about ten minutes while growling and hissing at anyone who tried to help him.

Asmo: Originally had a scorpion tail, but it horrified him so much that he begged Lucifer to ask Diavolo to remove it for him. Dia eventually relented and ordered Barbatos to remove it and replace it with wings afterwards because that's what he's more used to having. Keeping the wings small and cute looking was Asmo's idea, of course.

Beel: Constant. Buzzing. He had restless wings when he first fell and being around him was like standing next to a buzzsaw. He eventually discovered that exercise was a good way to expend his body's extra energy and burn through his anxiety, so Barbatos set up a gym in the Castle for him. The buzzing stopped shortly after that.

Belphie: Would regularly wake up wrapped up in his own tail, so he took to clutching onto it in the night to "keep it under control." He had the hardest time walking/lifting his head due to the size of his horns. He would regularly get his head stuck in things because he would fall alseep in odd places and then his horns would get caught whenever his body shifted.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #“passing thought” #“barely proofread” #avoiding reading ulysses for class #bear with me #tw: body dysmorphia #tw body dysmorphia

[foxtricksterwriting]

Folksaga MC; Anastasius

Author's Note: Boy's making me realize that most of my characters are some flavor of cottagecore....

Tags: @folksaga-if

Other MCs:

Eir | Fritz

Name: Anastasius █̨̛̥̖͉͓̤̥̭̣̬͚͍̞̮͔̫̬̯̏́͆̓͒̉̑ͬ͑̍͗ͨ͂ͣ́̚͟█̳͔̼͎͙̜̝̼͇̍͑ͯ̉́̊█̛̯̕█̡ͮ█̶̶̨̹̫͔̜͎̯̠͇̮̱̘̦̦͍̟̝̯̣͇̰̱̰̖͔͕̪̈́̾̐ͦ͐̌̃ͦ͊ͭ̀͛̆̂̎̈ͣ̿̈́̈̎̎̑͐ͣ̿͊̔̈̆̅ͫͧ̊̈̊͌̕̚͢͟͝͝͠█̴̵̶̢̢̨̛̤̭̘͎̯̖̦̣͇̻̺̳̫̟̮̲͍͖͈͖̺͚͙̻͈͇̦̜̯͙̱̟̈́ͮ͒̀͐͂̏́̂͒̋̒͛̇̽ͦ͐͑́͗̐̎̂͊̀ͬ̅̐̂̏̉ͯ̓̐̽̎ͬͮ̈̆͜͟͡͡͝█̸̷̵̸̸̢͈̻̺̘̠͖̫̜͕̥͙̤̯̰̱̤͉͖̖̱̲̩̙̯̱̜̼̼̯̣̺͉͑͑̑͌ͣͣ̈́̀͆͌͌̿̂̂ͨͫ̈́ͩ̋͋ͦ̓͐̊͋̽̆̑ͣ̿́̓́ͣ̕͜͢͜͝͡͡͡█̵͙͚͂̇ͪ͒̽͌͑͟█̸̙̠͓͔̗ͧͣ̒̀͋̈́̂_̨̪̗ͤͬ̑̏̈́͛Ι("Ahahah! Heya, I'm Anastasius! I'm so, so glad that I met you!!")

Alias: None ("Please don't call me Ana.....")

Gender + Pronouns: man + he/him

More About Him: Loud and out there, Anastasius is just happy to be here. He's excitable and overly friendly, like a puppy running up to every new person it meets. He's airheaded and bubbly, laughing at the dumbest things. He gets side tracked very easily and rarely feels shame or embarrassment.

Anastasius doesn't like being alone and yearns for any kind of lasting relationship he can get, even if it hurts him in the long run. He loves easily too, often falling victim to love-at-first-sight. Because of this he's gotten his heart broken over and over..... and still hands his heart to potential lovers on a gold encrusted platter. Truly a recipe for disaster.

Fun Facts;

Pinterest here

Playlist there

It was admittedly hard for me to differentiate Anastasius' style from Fritz at first, but I think I got there in the end.

OMFG I wanna include Anastasuis' height compared to Magni, it's hilarious! I love it so much. I'll put that at the very end.

Speaking of heights, Anastasius is 4'11 ft or 149 cm.

Anastasius is simple, personality-wise. For now, at least. I need time to develop him more.

He enjoys painting and hiking in his free time. He also still knows how to play his violin. He seems reluctant to play it, however.... ("NO! No! I, uhm, can't...... e-even if I do it'd be absolutely terrible! No one wants to hear me butcher a song!")

Loves flowers, specifically white daisies.

Here's the height comparisons; one with just Magni then one with everyone else.

#MC: Anastasius #Folksaga IF #interactive fiction #barely proofread #MC

[nomazee]

"Ranpo. I'm falling asleep, man."

Your complaints are met with Ranpo's own disgruntled mumbles pressed into the damp skin of your neck. "Don't call me man. I'm trying to kiss you and that's what I get?"

"Trying to kiss me while I'm trying to sleep. Can you wait for the morning?"

Apparently, he can't, because he stays in his position on top of you. Every line of his body is pressed into yours as his arms stay wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you in and keeping you locked. You don't hate this, truthfully, but you are falling asleep. The only thing keeping you awake is your annoying partner who you love but also want to kick out of the bed for the night.

Ranpo trails innocent open-mouthed kisses along the soft part beneath your jawline before moving up to the corner of your mouth. He sighs a content little hum into your skin and you have to fight back a shiver. He's awfully good at this. You know he's not trying to do any more than kissing—he never does when you're both bone tired and swaddled in bed—but his incessant gestures are inching you more and more to full consciousness and you really need to get a full seven hours of sleep tonight.

"I need it," he tells you, earnest in the way he always is when the exhaustion starts to make his clever brain fuzzy. He's always a little more mushy with you past eleven PM, words and thoughts and actions slurring into one barely cohesive jumble. "Just a little. Won’t you do it for me? 'Cause you love me 'nd all."

He needs it. Good god. He’s gonna kill you with that one day.

Whatever smart response bubbling on your tongue immediately fizzes out when he covers your lips with his own. Hot and slow breaths puff between the both of you as he moves his mouth against yours in slow, pliant motions. You're far too weak for him and far too awake now, so you let him take you apart just for a moment, just to take the edge off his spontaneous neediness.

"Yeah, sure. Love you and whatever," you manage to squeeze out between his perpetual line of kisses, now spanning across your lips and to your cheek and the spot right beneath your eye, close enough to let you feel the way his soft breaths flutter against your eyelashes.

"One more," he tells you—but it's more like he's telling himself. Like a goal, a promise, a self-fulfilled prophecy. "Just one. M'kay? Then you can fall asleep all early like you're a senior citizen."

"This senior citizen is letting you kiss them, baby. Don't complain."

And, oh, isn't it such a delight, hearing the way his breaths turn shaky for just a second after the nickname leaves your mouth. Every time you call him baby he goes shaky and bashful, too embarrassed to say anything smart. It’s his weak point and you’re too addicted to be good about it.

“If you wake me up early,” you tell him, finally able to pry his face away from yours with the help of a firm hand cupping his cheek, “I’ll make you breakfast. And you can kiss me again. I’ll even walk to the store and get that good jam that you like.”

“You’re a good bargainer.”

“Comes with the job. Will you let me go to bed now?”

He makes a contemplative noise, a hum that buzzes through your fingertips from where you hold his face. “I said one more, right?”

Indeed he did. With a sigh, you let him press a big stupid kiss on your lips, complete with an obnoxiously loud mwah! sound effect from him that you roll your eyes at. What a man-child.

(You still walk to the store for him in the morning. You’re weak at heart, really.)

#ranpo x reader #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #ranpo edogawa x reader #edogawa ranpo x reader #bsd drabble #ranpo drabble #bsd x you #bungou stray dogs x you #ranpo x you #quick drabble i wrote while actually in a haze last night #i barely proofread… i cant promise that this is legible… #i should be finishing up the chuuya request in like 2 days #and then the other requests will follow #i’m so excited omfg #send more in if u want guys i’m ready and willing and able

[deathshallbethelastenemy]

what you see, i see (1)

TEEN!gojo x FEM!reader (soulmate AU)

TW⚠️: teenage gojo is mean, angst, mentions of death

This is a repost in regular font bc people couldn't read the first! There are some changes but they are very minor.

Whenever she closed her eyes she would see where he would go, and see everything he would see, and if she focused she could hear his conversations, and yet only the voices were ever clear while everything in his line of sight was always obscured, tinted dark. Her soulmate was never not wearing sunglasses, but it did nothing to shield her from the horrors he witnessed everyday.

She didn't know what they were- monsters, creatures, or curses (curses is what he called those things) that he saw on the daily basis. She used to worry about him. She would spend sleepless nights wondering if he was okay, but now, she resented him for it. Her mundane life that was full of ordinary things had been turned into an inescapable nightmare.

She could not see those creatures with her own eyes, even when she concentrated on her surroundings. The city was noisy and loud but never terrifying with monsters lurking around every corner and alleyway, but then, she'd close her eyes. Not intentionally, never intentionally anymore, and see a world hidden within her own.

His world. He was unafraid of it and she was deeply afraid of it - the abandoned buildings, the dark alleyways, fighting, blood, ichor, and death; she frightened of it all. She supposed he was brave for being able to face those horrors at all. She knew she could never be able too.

Her world, she wondered, if he thought it was boring, or if it brought him some sort of comfort seeing her life be so normal. A regular routine of school, friends, homework, exams, watching television, going to the library, internet browsing, running errands for her parents bakery, and coffee shops.

No, Gojo Satoru, did not find her world comforting. He did, indeed, find it to be incredibly boring. He was matched with a weak soulmate that couldn't even see curses, much less defend herself against them. How tiring his life would become if he ever met her - always having to save her because she was just so weak. So he never paid her any mind after he realized that. Never searched for her, never even let the thought of her linger for too long on his mind. A weakling like her doesn't have the right to have any of his attention.

Geto Suguru would call him a pompous and narcissistic jerk for not seeking her out, for belittling her, especially when she was right here in Tokyo.

"It's an honor, Satoru," Suguru would tell him, "fate trusts you to keep her safe from harm."

Everytime Satoru would simply fake vomit at his best friends sentiments.

"Do you know how many sorcerers wish for a soulmate?" Suguru would say, "and you're just not going to bother."

"Jealous," Satoru would smirk, "or lonely? You can have her."

She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but she was glad she had. She did her best to keep her eyes open after that conversation. If she wasn't worth his time, then Gojo Satoru wasn't worth hers either. Instead, she buried herself in school work, in running for class president, in multiple clubs, and volunteering in shelters, and cleaning up trash in public spaces. Her school transcript would be so stellar, so perfect she would be able to go to college abroad.a place so far away that the chance of ever running into him would be next to impossible.

It was a late night for her again and this time, she blamed her soulmate. She didn't care that he had made a building collapse in itself two days ago, or that middle schoolers were fawning over Satoru as they, clearly, didn't know he was rotten on the inside, and she, absolutely, did not care that he was having a fun beach day. She cared that he hadn't slept in three days, and now, she was a victim of his insomnia.

Why couldn't he go to sleep already? She was tired of closing her eyes seeing common beige hotel walls as he remained ever vigilant on his surroundings. She was seeing too much and nothing, all at the same time; it was exhausting. She didn't know when she fell asleep, but she did, still she didn't dream. All she could see was a dimly lit hotel room and a brief darkness everytime he blinked.

It was a miracle she woke up on time for school in the morning. Her eyes were heavy and it was a struggle to focus on any of her lectures but she refused to rest her eyes. Her stupid soulmate would not get any reprieve from her. Not when she was deprived of basic rest last night.

Of course, she would naturally blink only to see him cheerfully chatting on a plane. Whatever, her class was far more important. Anything in her life was far more important than he ever could be.

She tilted her head up to look up at the clock.

15:00:00

Class was almost over.

She blinked.

Satoru was complaining about having to take care of a 'brat'. She rolled her eyes and focused on the chalkboard at the front of the class.

15:02:08

She blinked again.

Blue had overtaken her vision as it pulled cobblestones and buildings into the vibrant cool hued color - forcing the buildings to collapse in on themselves as nothing but ruin was left around Satoru.

She opened her eyes. It didn't matter, she knew one thing about him for sure, he never loses.

15:02:15

She stilled. A dark chill consumed her as her body began to become numb. She continued to copy down notes from the chalkboard but she couldn't feel the pen in her palm. She dug her nails into her palm next and still, she felt nothing.

Her eyes widened. Death, this was how she imagined death would feel like. A silent sob went raked through her body - she hadn't noticed it before, how her heartbeat had been mirroring Satoru's until now. An aching emptiness filled her like a part of her had been ripped from her.

She covered her mouth in an effort to stop her cries. Her vision blurred with tears and one right after the other, they fell, seeping into her notebook and smudging the black ink.

Could Satoru see her now in his final moments? She sucked in a harsh breath. What about the girl he was protecting? She had only seen her briefly but she needed protection, did she not? That's why he was there to keep the girl safe.

"______" someone was saying her name, and then, a soft, gentle shake, "______, what's wrong? What happened?

Soulmates were so rare, so so so rare most people didn't believe in them. They would call her crazy, a liar, an attention seeking romantic, so she forced herself to wipe the tears from her cheeks, and said: "My mother just texted me," she hiccupped, "my grandmother died." She turned to face the teacher, "I'm sorry for disrupting class."

Then, the bell rang - loud and piercing, and the day had continued onward as if nothing had happened. As if her world hadn't just been turned upside down, as if the cold, icy grip of death wasn't looming over her - watching her every move, until the grim reaper, finally deemed to snuff her out one day as well.

A hot summer day and she was shivering cold.

Part 2: where you go, i go

Part 3: you know i adore

Part 4: i'm crazier for you

Part 5: baby, you're the life of the party

Part 6: something's made your eyes go cold

#gojo satoru #jjk #jujustu kaisen #teen gojo #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #hidden inventory arc #spoilers for hidden inventory #gojo is mean but barely makes a cameo #so does geto #part one??? #probably the only part #have fun reading #this is not proofread #jjk soulmate au #soulmate au #gojo soulmate au

[daisynik7]

Remember when I said Nanami is super against PDA? 

He gets so angry at you for teasing him during dinner with friends. The way you glide your palm along his inner thigh, flirting dangerously close to the bulge in his slacks. How you spread your legs beneath the table in that slutty dress he likes so much, brushing your knee with his, letting the hem ride up. He knows you’re not wearing any panties tonight because you fucking told him on the way to the restaurant, as casual as if you were talking about the weather. You knew it would rile him up as soon as he heard it, knew how it would be the only thing on his mind the rest of the night. At the table, he’s quieter than usual, jaw clenched, fists tight by his sides, doing everything he can not to rip that dress off and fuck you right there in front of everyone. 

So, when they suggest karaoke afterwards, he’s inclined to reject the invitation, hoping to bring you home as soon as possible to fuck you senseless. But no; you just have to torment him a little bit longer. You agree to meet them there, and on the way to the car, as if you haven’t teased him enough, you flaunt your ass at him, completely aware of the erection strained in his pants, begging for release. 

He's had enough of your antics. He hauls you into the backseat, sitting you right on his lap, you facing forward. He unzips his pants, pulling his hard cock out, hoisting the hem of your dress past your waist, erection pressed between your ass cheeks. “You think it’s funny, teasing me like this?” he huffs in your ear. He spits loudly on his hand, reaching between your legs, wet fingers flicking your clit rapidly. “My naughty little slut, seducing me in front of all our friends. You’re going to pay for this. Going to fucking regret it.” His voice is low, sinister, and so fucking sexy. 

His fingers work overtime on your bud, squelching lewdly with arousal as his other hand grips your knee, keeping you spread open for him. He kisses the nape of your neck, sucking hard on your skin to mark you. The tinted windows begin to fog up from the heat emitting from your bodies, and soon, your skin is dewy from sweat. A few more strokes and you’re coming for him, pussy fluttering around nothing, begging to be filled. 

He chuckles, unrelenting as his fingers continue to rub circles on your swollen clit. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it sweetheart? To be punished.”

You nod, tongue lolling out of your mouth, still electrified from your orgasm. 

“You’re going to take this cock like the greedy slut you are, got it?” 

You nod more erratically, whining, “Yes, fuck me Kento, fuck me!”

So he does, guiding his cock inside you slowly, stretching out your tight pussy until he bottoms out. His hands are firm on your hips, rocking you back and forth on his lap as he thrusts up into you, growling, “Touch yourself while I fuck you. Make a fucking mess on my cock.”

You lean back against him, eyes closed, drool leaking from the sides of your mouth as your fingers caress your clit while he pounds you from behind. He kisses you sloppily, swirling his tongue around yours, lapping at your saliva. You orgasm for him once more before he pumps his cum deep inside you, moaning your name, replacing your hand with his to massage your puffy clit between his fingers. “You’re going to keep my load inside you the rest of the night. Got it?” he whispers, kissing you passionately, catching his breath. “This is your punishment for being a bad girl.”

~~~

“What took you two so long?” Gojo asks with a brow raised, eyeing you and Nanami suspiciously when you enter the private room at the karaoke bar. “You’re thirty minutes late.”

Nanami’s hair is matted to his forehead, sticky from perspiration. His pants are wrinkled after riding him, tie crooked from when he loosened it during your fuck fest, trying to find relief in the sweltering heat in the backseat. You’re no better, makeup smudged on your face, legs squeezed tightly together, clenching your pussy to prevent his cream pie from leaking down your legs. 

Nanami fixes his collar, blushing from the neck up, muttering, “Sorry, got a little lost along the way.”

#mdni banner by @/cafekitsune #oops I did it again #part 2 of my PDA headcanon #nanami smut #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami kento smut #kento nanami smut #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x you #kento nanami x you #nanami x you #nanami drabbles #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #barely edited or proofread sorry!!