Sorii

24 @rinshiver

[vxesori]

reqs open (pls req!)

i post when i feel like it — no schedule.

αη∂у. 𑣲. 23. in the pool , kensuke ushio.

she ˙𐃷˙ her. ۶ৎ Sfw — Nsfw

NAGI SEISHIRO ! (╥﹏╥) mlist. <3 before req

m’y honest reaction after this took a whole hour to do

[inkxyyy]

Shidou’s First (and Last) Good Idea

Charles Chevalier x Shidousister!reader

A/N: ignore the time, idk how to change it (*´-`)

Also reader is lowkey a tsundere SOMETIMES

A/N: these will probably be longer in the future, but I’m lazy right now

part one - part two

[muriscenes]

·˚ ༘ “𝓓𝐔𝐌𝐁 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋.” | ʜᴜɢᴏ ᴠɪᴠɪᴀɴ

Ive been wanting to right something with hugoooo ! I hope you guys love this—I’m also going to start making banners for my stories!! | CONTAINS FLUFF & SMUT

The shrill beep of your alarm clock pierced the quiet of your room, but in your groggy haze, you must have hit snooze one too many times. When your eyes finally snapped open to the harsh glow of sunlight filtering through the curtains, panic hit you like a freight train. The digital clock on your nightstand which read 8:45 AM. School started at 8:00, and calculus was your first period. With a strangled yelp, you tumbled out of bed, your bare feet hitting the cool hardwood floor.

Your uniform lay crumpled on the chair from the night before—a white blouse with the school emblem embroidered on the collar, a pleated navy skirt that fell just above your knees, knee-high socks, and a red tie that you always struggled to knot properly. There was no time for ironing or precision, you yanked on the blouse, fumbling with the buttons until two were slightly askew, giving the fabric a rumpled look.

The skirt zipped up crookedly, and your hair was a disaster. You raked a brush through it hastily, settling for a loose hairstyle that left stray strands framing your face like a halo of chaos. Grabbing your backpack, you dashed out the door, the screen slamming behind you as you sprinted down the tree-lined street.

The three-block run to school felt eternal, your lungs burning with every gasp of crisp morning air. Leaves skittered across the sidewalk in the autumn breeze, and you dodged a group of early birds chatting by the gates. By the time you reached the calculus classroom door, sweat trickled down your back, and your face was flushed a deep red. Your hand trembled as you gripped the knob, steeling yourself for the inevitable scolding. With a deep breath, you shoved the door open.

The bang reverberated through the room like a gunshot. Students jolted in their seats, pencils clattering to desks, and a chorus of whispers erupted. Mr. Hargrove, the stern calculus teacher with his wire-rimmed glasses and perpetual frown, froze mid-sentence, his marker hovering over the whiteboard where he'd been scribbling derivatives. The equation—a tangled mess of x's and integrals—stared back at you accusingly.

“I-I’m so sorry—for being late!” you stammered, bowing so deeply that your hair swung forward. Your voice cracked, already thick with the threat of tears.

Mr. Hargrove's face reddened, his mustache twitching with irritation. “Ms. Y/n! This is unacceptable. How many times must I remind you that punctuality is not optional in my class? You're disrupting everyone—again!” His voice rose, booming off the walls, and he slammed the marker down for emphasis. “No more excuses. Sit down and open your book to page 147. Try to keep up if you can.”

The class tittered—soft laughs from the back, where the popular kids sat, and sympathetic glances from a few kinder souls. But it was the stares that undid you. Twenty five pairs of eyes, judging, amused and pitying. Your chest tightened, a familiar lump forming in your throat. Tears pricked at your eyes, hot and insistent, blurring the edges of the room.

You were too sensitive, always had been—a bad grade, a sharp word, even a misplaced comment could send you spiraling. Mumbling a final “Sorry, sir,” you hurried to your seat, head down, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.

Your desk mate, of course, was Hugo. The transfer student from France, with his striking red hair that caught the fluorescent lights like fire and long lashes. He'd arrived mid-semester, his presence turning heads with that effortless charisma and the thick accent that rolled off his tongue like music—or mockery, depending on the day. For you, it was always the latter. He lounged in his chair, uniform impeccable, tie straight, shirt untucked, a faint smirk playing on his lips as you slid into the seat beside him.

You kept your eyes glued to your notebook, scribbling nonsense to avoid looking at him, but his gaze burned into you. The scent of his cologne—something spicy and masculine, like cedar and smoke—invaded your space, making your stomach twist.

“Ah, don’t cry now, ma chérie,” he drawled softly, his voice a low rumble with that French lilt that made every syllable dance. “It’s not your fault you’re such a dumb girl, running late like always, no?” The words dripped with tease, but to your ears, they were venomous, laced with condescension.

Dumb girl. It stung deeper than the teacher's yell. Why did he always target you? You'd never crossed him, never even initiated a conversation beyond polite nods. Tears welled up fully now, spilling over as you bit your lip to stifle a whimper. The classroom closed in—the whispers growing louder “She's crying already? Over being late?”, Mr. Hargrove's ongoing lecture a distant drone, Hugo's amused stare. It was unbearable. You surged to your feet, chair scraping shrilly against the tile, and fled the room, sobs bursting free as you ran down the echoing hallway.

Hugo watched you go, a soft scoff escaping his lips. He leaned back, crossing his arms, that smirk deepening into something almost fond. “Can’t handle a joke? Quelle fille stupide,” he muttered to himself, tapping his fingers on the desk in idle rhythm.

To him, your sensitivity was adorable—a rare spark of genuine emotion in the monotonous grind of high school. The way your eyes shimmered with tears? It stirred something primal, a thrill that quickened his pulse. But you saw only rudeness, another reason to weave through crowds to avoid the red-haired guy who seemed to haunt your days.

Months had passed in this pattern, his teasing barbs flying your way no matter how you dodged. In the cafeteria, he'd slide into the seat across from you uninvited. “Hey dummy, that sandwich looks as sad as your grades.”

During group projects in history, he'd lean over. “Let me explain it simply, okay? For the sensitive one.”

Even in the library, burying yourself in books, he'd appear. “Hiding again? Afraid of a little chat?”

Each time, his accent softened the blow just enough to confuse you—was it malice or playfulness? But the tears came anyway, and you'd retreat, leaving him chuckling in your wake.

The breaking point, or turning point, came on a Thursday afternoon after school. The final bell had chimed like freedom, and the hallways buzzed with students eager for the weekend. You lingered at your locker, methodically stacking textbooks, your mind replaying the day's minor disasters. A skipped lunch, a confusing pop quiz in biology. In your distraction, you turned too sharply, your water bottle slipping from your grasp. It tumbled, cap loose, and splashed across Rei's pristine khaki pants—the star midfielder of the soccer team, surrounded by his rowdy crew.

The dark stain spread like ink, and Rei’s face contorted in fury. “What the hell? Are you blind or just stupid?” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the chatter. His friends hooted, egging him on as he stepped closer, towering over you.

“I-I'm so sorry!” you gasped, dropping to your knees to blot at the mess with a napkin from your bag. Your hands shook, heart hammering. “It was an accident—I’ll pay for it, I swear!”

Rei wasn't having it. He snatched a handful of your hair, yanking your head back sharply enough to make you yelp. The pain shot through your scalp, tears instant and flooding. “Do you know how much these cost? Fucking idiot—apologize like you mean it!” He raised his free hand, as if to strike, his buddies laughter turning darker.

You froze, puffy eyes streaming, accepting the humiliation because fighting back felt impossible. “Please, I'm sorry,” you whimpered, voice breaking.

Then, a voice sliced through the chaos: “I think that’s enough. Are you really going to hit a girl over some water? Pathetic.” The accent was unmistakable and commanding.

You blinked through your tears to see Hugo materializing from the crowd, his hand clamped firmly on Rei’s wrist. His red hair was tousled from the day's wind, uniform jacket open to reveal the white shirt beneath, and his eyes narrowed in quiet threat.

Rei wrenched free, rubbing his arm with a scowl. “Mind your business, Frenchie. This doesn't concern you.” But his bravado faltered under Hugo's steady gaze—rumors of the transfer student's no-nonsense attitude had circulated, and Rei’s crew shifted uneasily.

“Fuck off,” Hugo said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. Rei muttered a curse, shoving past his friends as they dispersed, the hallway emptying around you.

You stayed kneeling, sniffling, mortified that Hugo out of all people had intervened. Wiping your face, you avoided his eyes, the embarrassment burning hotter than the scalp tug.

“Hey, dumb girl,” he said, crouching down, his voice gentler than usual. He hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your face up. Tear tracks streaked your cheeks, and he studied them with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “Stop the crying. Everyone’s staring now. Makes you look even more... pathetic.” Before you could respond, he pulled you up and into his chest, arms encircling you in a hug that was surprisingly tender. His heartbeat thrummed steadily against your ear, a contrast to your ragged sobs.

The embrace broke something in you. You clung to his shirt, crying harder, the rough afternoon pouring out in hiccuping waves. Rei’s anger, the stares, the constant feeling of being too much, it all crashed down.

Hugo sighed, his hand stroking your back in slow, awkward circles. “Quelle honte... Viens, on rentre chez toi.” The words rumbled softly, meaningless but comforting.

You lifted your head, confusion mingling with the tears. “...What?”

He exhaled sharply, a hint of exasperation in his eyes, but his hold didn't loosen. “I said, let’s get you home, dumb girl. We can’t stay like this in the hall.”

Numbly, you nodded, letting him guide you out of the school. The twenty-minute walk to your house unfolded like a dream, the autumn sun dipping low, casting long shadows over the suburban streets. Hugo matched your pace, his presence a solid anchor beside you. At first, silence hung heavy, broken only by your occasional sniffles. Then he started talking, his teasing light but persistent.

“So, what happened there? You always finding trouble, huh? Dumb girl can’t even hold a bottle straight.” He nudged your elbow, a playful glint in his eye.

You shot him a watery glare, but it lacked heat. “It was an accident. And stop calling me that—I’m not dumb.” Your voice wobbled, but the walk's rhythm soothed you, the crisp air clearing your head.

He laughed, a rich sound that echoed off the houses. “Not dumb? Thats debatable. But... it’s cute, how you react. Like a little kitten, all claws and no bite.” His accent wrapped the words in warmth. Making you wonder if there was affection beneath the jokes.

The conversation meandered from there. He shared snippets of France. The crowded Paris metros the smell of fresh corner bakeries, how he'd left behind a big family that argued loudly but loved fiercely. “My mother would say you need toughening up. But you’re lucky I like you soft.” He glanced at you sideways, his expression unreadable.

Emboldened, you opened up too. About your parents high expectations, how a single harsh word from a teacher could leave you reeling for hours. “I know it's silly, crying over everything. I just... can't help it.” You kicked at a fallen leaf, watching it skitter away.

Hugo's teasing paused, his voice turning serious. “Not silly. Rare, thats what. After all you’re human.” He bumped your shoulder again, lingering this time. “And maybe a bit adorable, even if you’re a dumb girl.”

By the time you reached your porch, the awkwardness had eased into something companionable. The house was quiet due to your parents at work—and you fumbled with your keys, hyper-aware of him behind you.

“Thanks for walking me,” you murmured, turning to face him. “And for... earlier. With Rei.”

He shrugged, but his eyes darkened, roaming over your tear-streaked face with new intensity. “If you’re still feeling horrible... I could make it better. Take your mind off it all.” His voice lowered, voice thickening like honey.

Unsure but trusting the odd comfort he'd shown, you nodded. “Okay.”

Time blurred in a haze until you found yourself on the bed, positioned on all fours, skirt hiked up around your waist, blouse clinging to your skin. Hugo knelt behind you, his pants shoved down just enough, his thick cock pressing insistently at your entrance. With a firm grip on your hips, he thrust in without warning—filling you completely in one deep push.

You cried out, the sudden stretch overwhelming, tears springing to your eyes as your body adjusted to his size. He was too big, the burn intense, but slickness eased the way as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward relentlessly. His hand fisted in your hair, shoving your face into the pillow to stifle your loud sobs, the fabric muffling your whimpers into desperate, choked sounds.

“Thaaats it,” Hugo groaned, his voice husky with pleasure, accent slurring as ecstasy twisted his features. Your tears soaked the pillowcase, and even without seeing, he knew the knowledge alone made his cock twitch inside you, arousal spiking at your vulnerability. He pounded harder, the bed frame creaking in protest, his uniform tie swinging like a pendulum with each brutal thrust. “Such a sensitive little thing, taking my cock like you were made for it. So tight, so wet... you love being my dumb girl, don’t you?”

The roughness bordered on pain, his girth stretching you to the brink, but pleasure coiled deep in your core, building with every drag and slam. You clawed at the sheets, body rocking forward, tears streaming freely now as sobs wracked you. He didn't relent, one hand pinning your hip while the other kept your head down, silencing the cries that fueled his desire. Him imagining your puffy, tear-filled eyes only drove him wilder, his pace erratic, breaths coming in harsh pants.

Minutes stretched into an eternity of sensation, the slap of skin on skin, the wet sounds of him fucking into you, your muffled pleas blending with his teasing growls. “Look at you, whimpering into the pillow. Can’t even handle a real man, huh? But you take it so well—” He shifted angles slightly, hitting deeper, grinding against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. Sweat beaded on his forehead, red hair sticking to his skin, uniform shirt untucked and damp as he rutted into you.

Your body trembled, overwhelmed, the mix of hurt and bliss pushing you toward the edge. But Hugo wasn't done. With a low curse in French, he pulled out abruptly, the loss making you whine into the pillow. His hands flipped you onto your back, skirt splaying out, blouse riding up to expose your stomach. He loomed over you, eyes locking onto your face—sobbing, red-rimmed, and utterly wrecked. The sight hit him like lightning; tears tracked down your cheeks, lips parted in gasps, and it shattered his control.

“You’re beautiful when you cry,” he rasped, sliding back in with a single, forceful thrust that buried him to the hilt. You arched, fresh tears spilling as he resumed his brutal pace, now face-to-face. He watched every sob, every flutter of your lashes, the vulnerability amplifying his pleasure. “Thats why I call you dumb girl—look at you, falling apart on my cock. Makes me want to ruin you more.”

His thrusts grew frantic, hips pistoning as he chased release, the bed shaking violently. You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, body coiling tighter under the onslaught. The friction built unbearably, his thickness dragging along your walls, hitting every sensitive point. “Please—Hugo—” you sobbed, the words garbled through tears.

Seeing your crying face up close undid him completely. With a guttural moan, he pulled out at the last second, fisting his cock to spill hot ropes of cum across your stomach, painting your exposed skin and the hem of your blouse in sticky white. His body shuddered, pleasure etching lines of bliss on his face as he milked every drop, eyes never leaving your tear-streaked one.

But he wasn't finished with you. Panting, he pushed back inside, the slick mix of your arousal and his cum easing the way. “Not yet, you still need to cum.” His fingers descended to your clit, rubbing firm, insistent circles as he fucked you steadily, drawing out your peak. The overstimulation was intense. His cock still throbbing, filling you again and again, combined with the targeted pressure, it hurled you over the edge.

You shattered, back bowing off the bed, a wail tearing from your throat as orgasm crashed through you. Waves of ecstasy pulsed around him, tears flooding anew as your body clenched and released in rhythmic spasms. Hugo groaned, riding it out, his movements slowing to gentle rocks until you went limp, spent and sobbing softly.

“See? Feel better now?” His voice was soft and teasing as it faded to tenderness. He wiped away the last of your tears, smiling.

[ka1rin]

Too Touchy for Just Friends

vivian hugo x reader

genre: smut , wc: 3k , slight ooc

contains: virginity loss, pervert vivian, no protection sex.

Hugo was your best friend. You two were inseparable, like peas in a pod. You’d been with him since the beginning of his career, long before the fame, before the cameras constantly followed him around, before women started throwing themselves at him every chance they got. Back then, he was just Hugo—your Hugo. The boy who’d walk you home after school, steal fries off your plate, and complain endlessly whenever training got too hard.

You grew up side by side, practically attached at the hip. Sleepovers became normal. Sharing hoodies became normal. Sitting on his lap because there wasn’t enough space became normal. Everything about the two of you felt natural, effortless.

When you were younger, physical affection meant nothing between you. Holding hands while crossing the street, hugging each other after long days, leaning against him during movie nights—it was all innocent. Hugo never thought twice about it.

Until you both got older.

Because as the years passed, the two of you changed.

You matured. Your features softened and sharpened in all the right places at the same time, your body no longer resembling the awkward girl he used to run around with as kids. And Hugo changed too—broader shoulders, rougher hands, a deeper voice, a stronger presence. The two of you weren’t children anymore, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.

At first, he didn’t notice when things started affecting him differently.

Not when you’d casually sit beside him with your thigh pressed against his during long car rides.

Not when you’d throw your arms around his neck from behind after he came home exhausted from training.

Not when you’d wear his shirts around the house, the fabric hanging shorter on you than it used to.

But slowly, those little touches stopped feeling innocent to him.

Your hand lingering on his arm suddenly made his heartbeat stutter. The way you’d absentmindedly play with his fingers while talking made him lose focus entirely. Even something as simple as you laying your head on his chest during movie nights had him staring at the ceiling for hours afterward, unable to sleep.

And the worst part?

You had no idea, or so he thought so.

To you, it was still Hugo. Your best friend. The person you trusted most in the world.

But to him, every touch started meaning too much.

Especially because you were so comfortable with him.

You’d crawl into his bed without hesitation when you couldn’t sleep. You’d fix his hair while talking to him up close, your face inches away from his. Sometimes you’d grab his hand in public without even thinking, and Hugo would have to force himself not to squeeze back too hard, not to think too deeply about how perfectly your fingers fit between his.

He hated how affected he became.

Hated how his mind wandered whenever you sat too close. Hated how protective he got whenever other men looked at you too long. Hated how he started comparing every woman to you without even realizing it.

Because somewhere along the way, you stopped being just his best friend.

And Hugo knew he was completely fucked the moment those harmless little touches—the ones that once meant nothing—started driving him insane.

Hugo genuinely tried to ignore it at first.

He told himself it was temporary. Just hormones. Just stress. Just the result of spending too much time around you.

But it kept getting worse.

Painfully and physically worse.

Because you were still the same with him—completely unaware of what you were doing to him.

You’d plop down beside him after showering, hair still damp, wearing those tiny sleep shorts like it was nothing. You’d steal his hoodies and stretch in them lazily while talking, the fabric slipping off one shoulder without you noticing. Sometimes you’d climb onto his bed and rest your head on his thigh while scrolling through your phone, entirely oblivious to how hard his dick was.

And Hugo hated himself for reacting the way he did.

You were his best friend.

His best friend.

But his body didn’t seem to care anymore.

There were nights when he had to physically leave the room because you had become too comfortable with him. There were also nights when he would lock himself in the bathroom, stroking his dick and clutching the panties he had stolen from your laundry basket as if he were losing his mind. He felt disgusted by his behavior at times, especially because you had trusted him so much.

Meanwhile, you just kept touching him so casually.

Your fingers brushing against his stomach when you reached for something.

Your legs thrown across his lap during movie nights.

Your sleepy voice mumbling his name while half-asleep beside him.

Every little thing chipped away at his self-control.

Hugo wanted you in ways that terrified him.

It wasn’t just attraction anymore. It wasn’t some small crush he could bury under years of friendship and self-control. No—this was hunger. The kind that sat heavy in his chest (and dick) and followed him everywhere, turning every little interaction with you into torture.

Because you were so unaware.

So soft with him.

And Hugo was starting to lose his mind over it.

Sometimes he’d catch himself staring for too long. Watching the way your lips moved while you talked, the way your shorts rode up when you curled beside him on the couch, the way your body fit so perfectly against his whenever you hugged him. His thoughts would spiral instantly, filthy and relentless, before he could stop them.

He started clenching his jaw constantly around you.

He detested how every time these moments end and he returns home, he begins stroking his cock, fixated on the events that transpired.

Looking away whenever you bent over near him because he knew if he kept staring, he’d think about things he absolutely shouldn’t.

But it didn’t help.

Nothing helped.

Not when you’d absentmindedly sit on his lap like you used to as kids, completely oblivious to the way every muscle in his body immediately locked up. Not when you’d wrap your arms around him and press yourself close without hesitation, your warmth sinking into him so deeply it drove him insane afterward.

And God, your voice.

The sleepy little tone you used with him late at night nearly ruined him every time.

There were moments where Hugo genuinely thought he was going to snap.

Like the night you crawled into his bed after a nightmare, wearing one of his old shirts. You climbed beside him without a second thought, pressing close to his chest like you always did. Your leg tangled with his instinctively, your fingers curling lightly into his shirt while you mumbled his name sleepily.

Meanwhile, Hugo was fixated on the ceiling, his entire body on fire. He was worried you might notice the pent in his shorts.

Because all he could think about was you.

How warm you felt.

How good you smelled.

How easily he could wrap an arm around your waist and pull you impossibly closer.

He felt pathetic for how badly he wanted you.

Sometimes he’d leave after being around you and immediately feel consumed by guilt, because no matter how hard he tried, his mind always wandered somewhere dangerous. He started having to avoid touching you for too long because even the smallest contact affected him now.

Your hand on his chest.

Your nails dragging lightly across his arm.

Your thighs brushing his when you sat too close.

Everything made his thoughts turn dark and needy.

And the worst part was that you still trusted him completely.

You’d smile at him so sweetly while he sat there internally fighting himself apart. You’d look at him with those soft eyes while he struggled not to think about kissing you senseless. Sometimes you’d lean into him so naturally that Hugo had to physically hold back a groan.

He wanted you so badly it made him irritable.

Other men touching you suddenly made his stomach twist violently. Hearing you talk about dates or flirting jokingly with someone else put him in horrible moods for the rest of the day. He started standing closer to you unconsciously, touching your waist without thinking, glaring too long whenever someone looked at you in ways he understood all too well.

Because he knew exactly what they were thinking.

He thought the same things every single day.

And it was getting harder and harder to pretend he didn’t.

Hugo was close to exploding at this point.

Months of suppressing everything he felt for you had hollowed him out completely. Every little thing you did affected him now—your touches, your voice, the way you smiled at him so easily. He was constantly tense around you, constantly fighting himself, constantly trying to stay the version of Hugo you trusted.

Your best friend.

That evening, he was sitting on the couch, lazily scrolling through his phone while trying to ignore the restless frustration sitting heavy in his chest. The apartment was quiet except for the faint sound of traffic outside.

Then the front door opened.

Hugo barely reacted at first, You always barged in without knocking anyway.

But when he looked up and saw your face, everything in him immediately sharpened.

Your eyes were glossy with tears, lips trembling slightly like you’d been trying not to cry the entire way there.

He sat up instantly. “Hey. What happened?”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you walked straight to him before climbing into his lap without hesitation, arms wrapping tightly around his neck as you buried your face into his shoulder.

And fuck.

Hugo nearly lost all coherent thought right there.

Your body pressed fully against his, warm and shaking from quiet sobs. He could feel your thighs against his hips, your chest rising unevenly against him while your fingers clutched desperately at the back of his shirt.

Meanwhile, his hands froze at your waist.

Because even now—even while you were crying—his body reacted to you automatically.

“Talk to me,” he said quietly, voice rougher than usual.

You sniffled against his neck. “I’m so embarrassed…”

His jaw tightened immediately.

“What happened?”

“There was this guy,” you mumbled shakily. “I thought he actually liked me and then I saw him with another girl today and…” your voice cracked, “I feel stupid.”

Something dark twisted inside Hugo’s chest.

A guy.

Another fucking guy.

And somehow you were here, crying in his lap over someone else while Hugo had spent years wanting you so badly it physically hurt.

His hands tightened unconsciously against your waist.

You didn’t notice.

You just kept clinging to him, pressing yourself closer for comfort while he sat there struggling to breathe normally. Your cheek brushed his neck softly when you shifted, and Hugo had to shut his eyes for a second because he genuinely thought he might snap.

“You’re not stupid,” he muttered.

You gave a weak laugh through your tears. “You have to say that. You’re my best friend.”

Best friend.

The words hit him like a blade.

Because he suddenly couldn’t do it anymore.

Couldn’t sit here pretending this was enough. Couldn’t keep letting you touch him like this while acting like he didn’t crave more. Couldn’t keep listening to you cry over men who didn’t know you the way he did.

He looked down at you.

Really looked at you.

Your watery eyes. Your flushed cheeks. Your lips parted slightly as you breathed shakily against him.

And something inside him finally broke.

Before he could stop himself, Hugo grabbed your face gently and kissed you.

Hard.

Like he’d been holding it back for far too long.

For a split second, he expected you to shove him away.

Instead, you kissed him back immediately.

And that completely ruined him.

Hugo let out a shaky breath against your lips, one hand sliding from your waist up to your jaw while the other pulled you impossibly closer against him. The kiss turned messy fast—years of tension and restraint unraveling all at once.

You made the softest sound against his mouth, fingers tightening in his hair, and Hugo genuinely felt dizzy from it.

Because you were kissing him back.

Actually kissing him back.

All those years of wanting you, trying not to want you, trying to bury every filthy thought he’d ever had about you—and now you were melting into him like you’d wanted this too.

He kissed you deeper before he could think better of it, completely consumed. Every suppressed feeling poured into it at once: jealousy, frustration, longing, lust.

His forehead rested against yours when he finally pulled back, breathing unevenly.

And the way you looked at him afterward nearly destroyed what little composure he had left.

Your bodies pressed close as you two kissed again. You could feel his desire intensifying, and you knew he wanted more. You also knew that you were ready.

He pulls back, his eyes searching yours, "Are you sure about this?" he asks, his voice soft. "We don't have to rush into anything. I've waited this long, I can wait longer."

You smile, your heart filled with warmth and affection, "I'm sure, Vi," you say, your voice steady. "There's no one else I'd rather do this with. It's only ever been you."

He looks at you, his eyes filled with surprise and happiness, "Really?"

You nod, "Really.”

He grins, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you closer, "Then what are we waiting for?"

He starts to unzip his pants, but his hands are shaking slightly, betraying his nonchalant facade. He pauses, taking a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

You watch him, a soft smile playing on your lips. "Vi," you say, your voice soft, "It's okay. We don't have to rush."

He looks at you, his eyes filled with a mix of desire, fear, and disbelief. "No, I want to," he says, his voice hoarse. "I've wanted this for...fuck, I don't know how long. I just...I don't want to mess this up."

You cup his face, your thumb brushing his cheek, "You won't. We're in this together, remember?"

He leans into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. When he opens them again, they're filled with determination. "You're right," he says, his voice steady. And with that, he finishes unzipping his pants, his eyes never leaving yours.

He pulls you closer, his hands gripping your hips as he positions himself at your entrance. He looks into your eyes, his expression serious. "Are you sure about this?" he asks, his voice soft. "There's no going back after this."

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. "I'm sure, Vi. I want this. I want you."

He takes a deep breath, and you can see the slight tremble in his hands. He's nervous, you realize. He's been waiting for this for so long, and he's nervous. The realization sends a warmth spreading through you, and you lean in to kiss him softly.

He responds immediately, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that surprises you. He pushes into you slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size. You gasp at the slight pain, but it's quickly replaced by pleasure as he begins to move.

He starts slow, but it's not long before his desire takes over, and he begins to move faster, harder. You can feel the heat building between you, your bodies moving in perfect sync. You can hear his ragged breaths, his moans of pleasure, and it only serves to heighten your own pleasure.

"Fuck" he groans, his voice hoarse. "You feel so fucking good."

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, whimpering in his ear.

He reaches between you, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in circles as he continues to move inside you. You gasp, your body arching against his as pleasure courses through you.

"Cum for me, sweetheart," he growls, his voice low and commanding. "I want to feel you come apart around me."

His words push you over the edge, and you cry out, your body convulsing with pleasure. He follows soon after, his body tensing as he finds his own release, groaning your name.

For a moment, you both stay like that, him still inside you, your bodies pressed together, your breaths ragged. Then he pulls out, gently lowering you onto the bed beside him. He turns to you, his eyes filled with a softness that you've never seen before.

"Chérie" he says, his voice soft. "I...I don't know what to say."

You smile, your heart filled with happiness and contentment. "You don't have to say anything, Vi. I know how you feel."

He raises an eyebrow, "You do?"

You nod, "Because I feel the same way."

[vxesori]

uuuh guys can yall help me… i have a boyfriend and all weve been together for almost 9 months but lately hes been feeling really distant idk i tried to talk to him abt my mental health because it went downhill since monday and he kind of brushed it off , i said i wasnt feeling good he said “possessed” (???) and i met a girl slightly younger than me, like two years younger but she’s reallu sweet and all and i don’t know if it’s the fact she cares about me and always texts me ect ect but i really feel seen with her and idk if i’m falling out of love with my bf or that i just like how she treats me and prioritise her bc of that but i feel like my relationship isnt good help lord 🫩🫩 cause she calls me sweet girl and everything and i love it because idk i like nicknames like that and all and we say goodnight to each other and talk wayyy more than me and my bf do soo… idk??

[bonniebird]

I do not give my permission to be posted to any third party sites!!!

You can also read these Fics here:

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Imagines: All my imagines for Jojen Reed

.

+    Jojen saves you from marrying Ramsay

- Requested by: Anon

-  Jojen Reed  x Fem!Reader

- Summary: The boy you see in your dreams keeps you going as you survive your captivity at the hands of Ramsay Bolton, until dreams are no longer enough.

.

+    Resurrecting Jojen

- Requested by: @officialjazzystyles​

-  Jojen Reed  x Fem!Reader

- Summary: Jojen wakes only to find that you, Meera and Bran have gone against his visions and brought him back.

.

+   Not talking to Jojen

- Requested by: Anon

-  Jojen Reed  x Reader

- Summary: When you and Jojen get separated from the group, you need to take a moment to survive the night.

.

+   Being forced to marry Joffrey but your ex-husband Jojen saves you

- Requested by: Anon

-  Jojen Reed  x Fem!Reader

- Summary: When the young king decided that he wanted you, your parents did all they could to have you matched with him after your first husband, Jojen seemed to have abandoned you. You do all you can to survive.

.

+ Growing up at Greywater Watch

- Requested by: ​@teengirlparadise

-  Jojen Reed x Fem!Reader

- Summary: Knowing he will be leaving soon, Jojen tries to cut off all his feelings for you. But it’s difficult when you’re so in love.

.

+ Being forced to marry Jojen

- Requested by: Anon

-  Jojen Reed  x Fem!Reader

- Summary: Despite your best efforts, you find yourself slowly falling for the man you’ve been betrothed too. 

.

+   Being forced to marry Jojen (Part Two)

- Requested by: Anon

-     Jojen Reed x Fem!Reader

- Summary: Despite your best efforts, you find yourself slowly falling for the man you’ve been betrothed too. 

.

+   Being forced to marry Jojen (Part Three)

- Requested by: Anon

-  Jojen Reed xFem!Reader

- Summary: Despite your best efforts, you find yourself slowly falling for the man you’ve been betrothed too. 

.

+   Being forced to marry Jojen (Part Four)

- Requested by: Anon

- Jojen Reed x Fem!Reader

- Summary: Despite your best efforts, you find yourself slowly falling for the man you’ve been betrothed too. 

.

+   You catch Jojen leaving the camp

- Requested by: Anon

-     Jojen Reed x Fem!Reader

- Summary: Still unable to trust Jojen you follow him as he leaves the camp.

.

+   Jojen talking about you

- Requested by: Anon

-     Jojen Reed x Fem!Reader

- Summary: Jojen talks to Bran about you and your powers, despite Osha’s wishes that he would leave you alone.

.

+   Jojen confessing you are the reason he was looking for Bran

- Requested by: Anon

-     Jojen Reed x Reader

- Summary: Jojen claims that he has been looking for Bran, but to Osha’s distress, he’s really been looking for you.

.

+   Realising you’re meant to be with Jojen

- Requested by: Anon

-     Jojen Reed x Fem!Reader

- Summary: Bran believes you and Jojen are star crossed lovers, but you and Jojen are to in love to notice.

.

Oneshots: All my Oneshots for   Jojen Reed

.

+  Dreamless

- Requested by:

-  Jojen Reed  x Fem!Reader

- Summary: Jojen and Meera seek out a young woman who Jojen has been seeing in his dreams, hoping to track her down and save her. But the longer it takes Jojen the sicker she gets.

.

Prompts: All my Prompts for  Jojen Reed

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+   I don’t think you’re supposed to pass out

- Requested by: Anon

-  Jojen Reed x Reader

- Summary: It’s your turn to cook, which meant preparing the rabbits that Jojen had caught. 

.

+  We’re snowed in

- Requested by: Anon

-  Jojen Reed x Reader

- Summary: While seperated from the group you’re trapped inside an old building and running low on firewood.

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+  Let it snow. Let it snow. Let it snow.

- Requested by: Anon

-  Jojen Reed  x Reader

- Summary: Jojen tries to ease your worries as he and Meera try to find a way to survive the icy cold.

Tv show Masterlist

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[roryradz]

here, there and everywhere ⋆˚✿˖° thomas brodie sangster

“there, running my hands through her hair…” *ੈ❀

warnings : fluff, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, thomas in his mid 30s), alcohol consumption

pairing : thomas brodie sangster x female reader

word count : 1.8k

summary : coming home after a night out with your boyfriend and his friends

authors note : i don’t think you guys understand how obsessively, completely and utterly in love i am with this man. can’t believe i’ve never published something about him before. currently praying this fandom is still alive.

⋆˚𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

the door clicks shut behind you, and the muted sound of london rain fades, leaving only the soft creak of the hallway floor beneath your feet.

you’re both a little tipsy, warm from the pub’s dim lights and laughter, your cheeks flushed from wine and from him.

thomas reaches for your coat before you even think about undoing the buttons. “let me,” he murmurs, his voice low, steady, the kind that always makes your shoulders relax.

you let him slip it from you, his fingertips brushing your arms deliberately, like he’s in no rush to stop touching you.

“you’re soaked,” he says, hanging the coat on its hook.

“you’re soaked too,” you counter softly, and before you can add anything else, his hand finds your waist, pulling you closer, just enough that you feel the heat of him.

“i don’t mind if you don’t,” he says, lips grazing your temple.

you smile against him. “i don’t mind.”

he kisses the corner of your mouth like he can’t help himself, then the proper thing, full and slow.

you taste rain and the faint sweetness of the whiskey he’d had earlier. two years together and it still makes your chest ache in that same first-night way.

“kitchen?” he asks when you break apart, but his hand doesn’t leave your lower back—actually, it slides lower, over your hip, settling casually against you like it belongs there. “i’ll fix you a drink, if you want?”

you nod. “just one.”

he doesn’t let go as he guides you into the kitchen, fingertips pressing gently at the small of your back, occasionally slipping just slightly over the curve of your ass.

it’s natural. familiar. this is how you are with each other now: comfortable enough to move like you’ve always known each other, still always new enough to want to.

the kitchen is dim, golden light from the single overhead lamp making everything softer. rain streaks down the window, city lights blurred beyond.

thomas lets you go only to reach for glasses. you stay close, leaning against the counter beside him, watching his hands.

“wine?” he asks.

“mm,” you hum, then tease, “but only if you pour a big one.”

that earns you a quiet laugh. “cheeky.”

he pours, sets your glass in front of you, then steps in between you and the counter. “two years and you’re still trouble,” he says, but he’s smiling.

“two years and you still love it,” you reply.

“i do.” he presses another kiss to your mouth, slower this time. his hand slips to your hip, pulling you against him until your legs bump his. “you really are something, you know?” he murmurs again against your lips, “but most importantly, you’re mine.”

you kiss him back, and for a moment the rain and the city outside disappear completely.

after a moment, you pull back and lean your forehead against his. “your friends were nice tonight,” you say softly.

he grins, running his thumb over your cheek. “they like you.”

“you know, its weird. they’re older than me,” you begin, “but they don’t make me feel like a kid. i like listening to their stories.”

“they wouldn’t dare,” he says seriously, then adds with a smile, “but you know that already. you hold your own better than you think, love.”

you squeeze his hand, warmth settling deep inside you. “i know. but it still feels nice to hear.”

he kisses you again, gentle and steady. “you’re my partner. always.”

you settle onto the couch, your drink still in hand, but you’re barely paying attention to it. thomas drops down beside you, close enough that your knees bump.

the house feels quiet except for the distant hum of the rain against the windows, a soft background to the heat between you.

you take a small sip, set the glass on the table, and before you can lean back fully, he’s already there—his arm around you, pulling you in.

“you’re warm,” he murmurs against your hair.

“so are you,” you whisper, but the words dissolve when he tilts your chin up and kisses you.

it starts slow, like it always does—gentle, careful, almost lazy. you’ve kissed him probably two million times, maybe more, but it still makes you lightheaded, still makes your fingers reach for him automatically.

his hand moves from your shoulder down your back, resting at your waist. you shift closer, practically between his knees now, your knees pressing the edge of the couch cushion.

he kisses you deeper, but it’s not hurried. there’s no rush here. just him, his palm firm at your side, his thumb tracing circles, the taste of wine still lingering between you.

when you finally pull back for air, you’re both smiling. his forehead presses to yours, and for a second, neither of you speak.

“you’re staring,” you tease softly.

“i’m allowed to,” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear.

you laugh, and he uses that moment to kiss you again, this time with a little more insistence.

your hand finds his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric, and his slides lower along your spine, grounding, steady, until it rests easily at your hip.

the wine sits forgotten on the table.

you break the kiss just enough to breathe, still close enough to feel his lips graze your cheek when he speaks. “come here,” he murmurs, and you’re already there, climbing fully onto his lap now without really thinking about it.

he exhales like he’s been waiting for that all night, hands settling firmly around your waist, the metal of his watch feeling cold against your skin.

you kiss him again, slower this time but deeper, and the room feels warmer, smaller.

he keeps one hand at the small of your back, the other just barely skimming your side, holding you close like he doesn’t want any space between you.

there’s no talking now, not really—just quiet sounds, soft breaths, and the rain outside.

the kisses slow eventually, not because either of you want them to, but because the warmth in the room is making your eyelids heavy.

you stay there for another few moments, your forehead resting against his, listening to his breathing.

“bed?” he asks softly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your cheek.

you nod.

he helps you to your feet, fingers lacing with yours as he guides you upstairs. the house is quiet except for the soft creak of the staircase and the rain outside.

in the bathroom, the two of you fall into a familiar rhythm. you start taking off the earrings he got you last christmas while he reaches for his toothbrush.

“you tired, sweetheart?” he asks, voice muffled around the foam.

“a little,” you admit, rinsing your face. “but i don’t want tonight to end.”

he spits, rinses, then smiles at you in the mirror. “it doesn’t have to. we’re home. we’re together. that’s the best part.”

you can’t help but smile back.

you remove your makeup gently, wiping away the last traces of the evening, while thomas moves around behind you—hanging up his shirt, setting his jewelry on the dresser, pulling back the duvet in the bedroom.

by the time you join him, your face is clean, your hair is loosely tied, and you’re in one of his soft t-shirts. he’s already in bed, sitting up with the lamp still on.

“it’s cold in here.” you mumble softly, yawning.

“well c’mere, then.” he says, holding out a hand.

you climb in, and he pulls you right against his chest. the second your head finds its place beneath his chin, his arms wrap around you like they’re meant to stay there.

“better, love?” he asks quietly.

“much,” you whisper, your fingers brushing lightly over his side. “you’re always warm.”

“good,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss into your hair. “you really are freezing.”

“not anymore.”

you lie like that for a while, listening to the rain. he traces slow, absent-minded shapes on your back, and you feel yourself drifting.

he reaches over, switches off the lamp, and settles back with you still sprawled across him.

“my girl,” he whispers into the dark, and then he’s quiet too, holding you as the rain continues outside.

for a while, you just listen to each other breathe. then he speaks again, voice low:

“you okay, sweetheart?”

“mm-hm,” you murmur, fingers tracing a line along his shirt. “just sleepy.”

he presses a kiss to your hair. “good. you should sleep.”

you close your eyes, your body sinking heavier against him.

“thomas?” you whisper, already drowsy.

“yes, darling.”

“i love you.”

his lips touch your forehead. “i love you too. go to sleep, yeah?”

you mean to answer, but the warmth and steady rhythm of him make it impossible to stay awake. it takes all of five seconds before you’re out like a light.

thomas smiles softly at the sight, pressing one more kiss to your cheek before closing his eyes as well.

[yourlittlefries]

Fuck. They caught on.

[vxesori]

im gen running out of ideas and im bored to write smut

anyway i’ve been into game of thrones and the maze runner lately

also can we talk how fucking pretty thomas brodie sangster is?? like goddd

[lostbookreader]

Imagine: Newt Confesses He Can't Sleep Without You

Tonight was the first time in the last couple days you have actually left the Medjack hut since getting injured. Being a runner definitely has its downsides that's for sure. You're side aches as you make your way over to the bonfire, not wanting to miss out on the monthly tradition of celebrating the new greenie. And you missed Newt.

Alby dragged him away from your bedside earlier because he claimed the second in command should be there for this. Which you encouraged of course but you were still upset with having to send him. Minho yelling at you drags you from your thoughts.

"There she is! Everyone's favorite runner makes a reappearance!" He rushes over, throwing his arm over your shoulder.

You flinch at the pressure on your side but still smile. "How much have you drank shank? You reek of it!"

Pushing him away, he stumbles acting hurt but still comes back and gives you a kiss on your cheek. Which makes all the boys holler but you just roll your eyes. High fiving a few of the boys on your recovery. Yet your eyes are searching for a certain pair of brown eyes.

A hand grabbing your hip from behind you is your answer. Turning around and smiling when the honey brown eyes appear.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Newt asks with his eyebrows furrowed.

You try not to think about the hand that is still touching you or the thumb that's tracing the bandages over your broken rib. Ignoring the goose flesh that breaks out across your skin at the faint touch of his fingertips.

"I didn't want to miss out on the festivities." You say with a small smile, "Plus Clint gave me the go ahead to start moving around. Just had to promise not to break another rib."

Newt lets out a small scoff but smiles along with you. "Okay I guess that's fair. At least now I'll have someone fun to talk to tonight."

"Hey! I was keeping you plenty entertained to keep your mind off her." Minho interjects.

Newt shakes his head and leads you gently to your guys normal log. "Sure you were Min."

You gently lower yourself down to the ground to lean against the large log and let out a small breath at the pinch in your side. Newt's eyes are on you the whole time and you can't ignore the way he runs a comforting hand down your back.

"You don't have to watch me like I'm going to shatter into a million pieces you know." You mutter, leaning your head back to look at the stars.

"Course I do. This is what? Your eighth injury just this month from the maze?" He counters, looking up at the stars with you.

"It has not been eight injuries," You scoff, looking over at him and your breath catches when your eyes meet his.

"Yes it has!" Clint calls out from his spot not far from you and you break the eye contact with Newt to glare at Clint.

"It definitely has." Newt confirms, "I should know. I've lost way too much sleep without you since you've basically moved into the Medjack hut."

"You have not," You counter, jabbing him in the ribs. "You've probably gotten better sleep without me laying on you."

Newt laughs at your actions of poking him and grabs your hand to stop you as he laces his fingers with yours. Glancing at your interlocked hands before looking back at you.

"I honestly haven't." He admits, his eyebrows furrowing once again and looks towards the stars. "I can't explain it but when your around I sleep so much better. It's like my mind quiets and can ignore the fact we're stuck here in the Glade."

You're heart pumps a little faster at his confession but its the same for you. It's always been something the Gladers tease you two about but you and Newt have shared a bed for as long as you two can remember. It just started happening.

The first night was when you went through a period of not sleeping because of nightmares. Being too scared to close your eyes to deal with the terrors your mind came up with after your first griever encounter. So Newt offered to try laying with you to see it helped. Which it did.

For him, it started when he climbed the wall and broke his leg when he tried to end his life. It freaked him out more than he admitted to the other Gladers but he couldn't keep it from you. After that, you two just decided to share a bed. Protecting each other from your own minds.

"But," He continues, looking back over at you. "It is nice not having to fight someone for the blanket."

Now you turn your glare to Newt this time. "I do not hog the blanket. I actually have to try and fight you for it."

You both burst out laughing and argue about who is more of the blanket hog until your breathless.

"Okay fine. Maybe I do hog the blanket." Newt admits as he throws his arm around you and pulls you into him so you can lay your head on his chest.

"Ha! I win." You smile, nestling your head into the crook of his neck where you normally lay.

"I only do it so you cuddle me more." He whispers into your hairline and you can feel the smirk on his face.

"You do not."

"I do!" He places a kiss on your forehead and you can't help the smile that cracks. "Makes me feel like I'm protecting you more."

"Maybe I let you hog the blanket so I have no other choice but to cuddle you." You mutter, eyes fluttering shut as you listen to his heartbeat. Noticing how it starts beating faster at your confession, but you can't fight the urge to sleep. So you don't get to see his face and how red he got at it as you drift away into the blissful sleep.

[ssseashell]

[my-little-universes]

i like to think that the glade's version of "ill kms" is "ill run in the maze"

[em-ontv]

Heyy, I'm obsessed with your writing, so I was wondering of you could write some more about Newt from the maze runner? Anything really, I love your style of writing and i'd love to hear more about a charcter I love! Thank you, <3

Hey there, thank you for liking my writing <3! And yes, I will write more newt because he is an absolute sweetheart. Hope you like it ◡̈ !

Fix me up.

Pairing: Newt x medjack!reader

Summary: Newt got hurt when the new greenie accidentally dropped a garden-hoe that scratched him and he only wanted you to patch him up.

Warnings: mentions of injuries, Newt being a bit dramatic, a few Glader language?, use of y/n, English is not my first language, mistakes should be present, apologies beforehand

Word count: 552

———————————————————————————

It was another normal day in the Glade. The familiar hum of activity filled the air as the boys went about their routine tasks. As you got up for the morning, Frypan waved you over from the kitchen area, a heap of fresh vegetables in front of him.

“Y/n, mind giving me a hand with these?” Fry gave a smile, gesturing at the pile while you walked over.

Although you were a Medjack, you often found yourself helping around in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables and stirring up pots by Frypan’s side – he really enjoyed your company, since you knew how to handle food with decency instead of almost burning the whole kitchen down like the greenie he tried to train two months ago.

You picked up a knife and started chopping, the rhythmic sound of the blade hitting against the wooden board created a comforting background noise.

But suddenly, a commotion broke out near the garden. Raised voices and loud chatters made you look up, and without a second thought, you dropped the knife and rushed towards the noise.

As you neared the garden, you yanked past the small crowd of boys that surrounded the person in the middle – Newt. You were greeted by the sight of him, clutching his arm as blood slowly bled through the gaps of his fingers.

“If you’re wondering, the greenie dropped a hoe and scratched him,” Winston gave you a nudge, his eyebrows raised slightly.

“That doesn’t look like a scratch to me, where the shuck is Clint and Jeff?” you shot Winston a glare after seeing the hint of amusement in his eyes.

“They’re–” Winston started but got cut off when Newt caught sight of you and immediately let out a dramatic groan.

“Ughhh… it hurts!” Newt groaned again, his eyes flickering to you every couple of seconds, making sure that you paid attention to his… uh, ‘pain’.

Newt started wincing and grimacing, exaggerating the pain of his arm. Clint and Jeff were there long before you, and they attempted to approach him once again, to try and help him with his injury. However, Newt kept swatting their hands away, shooting them glares and complaining loudly about the pain.

“Stay back, you’ll only make it worse!” Newt declared, throwing in a loud sigh for good measure. It rendered the two Medjacks speechless.

“Oh, the agony! The absolute agony!” he clutched tighter on his arm.

To be fair, the cut was bleeding pretty badly, but you didn’t expect a whole outburst followed by a meltdown from him. What did you expect? Perhaps more maturity from the second-in-command. And if the greenie wasn’t already klunking his pants, he sure is now.

“Alright, move… move.” you pinched the bridge of your nose and finally decided to step in.

Newt sighed in relief, visibly relaxing and letting his guard down. “Finally, somebody who knows what they’re doing.”

Clint and Jeff exchanged an amused look, some of the boys standing around rolled their eyes and chuckled before scattering about, returning to their tasks now that the theatrics were over.

“Come on, let’s get you to the Med Hut,” you shook your head while Newt started repeating a bunch of ‘ow, ow, ow, ow’ over and over again, seeking your sympathy. Hiding a little victorious smirk from your sight.

[vxesori]

hiiii!!! sorry havent been here in a while, im really sick rn idk what i have but ive been coughing really badly, big ass headache and even for the last few weeks i was busy w exams and stuff, apologies!

I also wanted to say im going to london soon C; my mom told me to come with her because she wanted to give me a break

[vxesori]

me and rin with Indochine, this was so fun, thanks to my mom 🥹 i loved tonight <3

[vxesori]

Bunny Iglesias opening up to you!

Tw: child abuse, abandonment

(only a headcanon theory i saw on twitter)

Bunny was touching his scar before you got home. The small hand mirror in his hand, the soft plush digits touching the cross-like scar, almost as if he was ashamed of it. When you pushed the door open, he didn’t hear it.

After stepping into the luxurious apartment, you pulled your soaked coat off of your shoulders, hung it on the coat-hanger and then took your shoes off. “I’m home Bun.” You greeted as you looked up at him. The way he quickly hid the mirror in his pocket and the fact you saw him move his fingers away from his scar like it burned them, that didn’t go unnoticed by you. Usually he’d greet you with a soft smile, saying something along the lines of ; “welcome home darling.” But there wasn’t a single word that got out of his mouth, only the pained way he looked at you with his red eyes, looking at you like he wanted, no, needed to say something but he didn’t think he was allowed to.

You stepped up to him, pushing a strand of hair out of his face. “What’s the matter darling?” You asked when he looked at you like he was a monster. “Do you ever think my scar is disgusting?” He asked after a beat of silence. You remained frozen, why would he think of such thing? “No. I’ve never saw it as disgusting. At first I thought it was odd. I’m curious about it, not disgusted.” you reassured him softly, the words hitting too close to comfort. He laid down against your chest and played with the soft ends of your hair. “I think I need to talk to you about it. Promise me you won’t be scared or anything.” He asks, the words carefully picked out before he even said anything. “I promise.” You murmured against his hair.

It took him quite a while to figure out how to explain it. At first, he was sure just throwing some random words to explain would do, but he really wanted you to understand him, to understand what he went through. “I was abandoned when I was a child.” He started. “I got sort of adopted by the church, and since nobody knew my name, they called me bunny, because I jump high.” He said, looking up at you from your chest like a tiny child wanting comfort. You wrapped your arms around him with a chuckle, now understanding the name.

“And the last name ‘Iglesias’ means church. I’m a foundling.” He tried to find the words, wanting to explain everything to you. “Foundlings were usually treated harshly. And since they thought I looked odd, I was an easy target. Everyone was disciplined physically, never a good education. That’s why I was scared when you kept raising your voice or putting your hands up. I kept thinking I was gonna get disciplined.” He murmured into the soft fabric of your shirt. “That’s what happened before I was able to leave that living hell.”

Your breath hitched as you held him, you pressed him tighter against your chest and kissed his forehead. “I’ll never let you go back. I’ll never act like that. I’m here Bun.” You comforted, kissing his head all over like a lovesick puppy. And he smiled. really smiled.

[fandomcentralsstuff]

Oh