#But maybe take a step back and think if you're being reasonable or if maybe you've gone too far.

[aphroditelovesu]

Poison - Aftermath

❝commission: an 'aftermath' type one shot. In part, I'd like to see what happens right after Alexander joins and Y/n in their room. I'd also be curious to see how Roxanna's father would handle the fallout of the attempted poisoning. Idk, I find the idea of an ambitious man like Oxyartes scrambling to cover his ass funny. — requested by 💻 anon.

❝ 📜 — lady l: oh, I confess I enjoyed writing this. If you pay attention, there are slight spoilers for the future of TLQ! I felt bad for Roxanna, I won't lie. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! :))

❝tw: mild angst, mention of attempted murder, mention of injuries, and implied threat.

❝📜pairing: yandere!alexander the great x female!reader.

❝word count: 1,303.

— poison (part one).

Your tent was quiet. The guards outside were silent, but you knew they were there.

Not that you complained. You knew their presence was to protect you, especially after what happened at the banquet today.

Roxanna had tried to poison you.

In a not-so-subtle way, and worse, in front of Alexander and the others. You knew she felt threatened, not only by you but by the babies you were carrying. Alexander didn't know yet that you were expecting twins, but still... She had threatened your life and the life of his child.

And that wouldn't go unpunished.

You heard Roxanna's screams even in your tent and didn't want to think too much about what was happening. You knew she probably would be and was being whipped, since that was one of Alexander's favorite forms of punishment, but you didn't want to think about what that entailed.

It should have revolted you, made you furious and terrified, but... You didn't. You didn't feel bad about it, not when she threatened not only your life but the lives of your unborn children.

Maybe it was your maternal instincts kicking in, but you couldn't feel the slightest bit of guilt or empathy for Roxanna's situation.

She brought this on herself.

Sighing heavily, you sat down on the cot, knowing that you would have to wait until Alexander returned. He had always slept in your tent since your kidnapping and you hadn't complained. You had come to enjoy his company, even love him in your own way and having him by your side didn't bother you anymore.

After what seemed like hours, Alexander entered the tent, his steps heavy and his breathing irregularly, as if he had run a marathon.

"It's done." He said and sat down next to you, looking at your face as if searching for something. You could tell that he seemed worried that you were mad at him.

But you weren't. If it had been a few months ago, you would have been, but now...

"Good." Was the only thing you said and he seemed surprised.

"Aren't you mad?" Alexander asked slowly, taking your hand in his, squeezing it lightly.

"No." You sighed and squeezed his hand back, "Roxanna shouldn't have tried to poison me. She should have known it wouldn't work."

Alexander frowned, surprised and a little apathetic at your indifference. You had changed and he didn't know what to make of those changes.

Well, at least you weren't mad at him.

"I wanted to kill her." Alexander confessed, pulling you into a loving hug, your head pressed against his chest. "But I know that's not a viable option."

You hummed in agreement.

"You're the King but you know that killing your Queen isn't a good thing to do. Not... Not without a good reason." You mumbled.

"And her trying to murder you, our child, isn't that reason enough?" He pulled you away a little, looking at your face with confusion. "How are you not angry about this? You could have been killed!"

You could feel the panic, the fear of losing you in his words.

"She wouldn't have killed me. I'm not that stupid, Alexander. I know she doesn't like me but I don't think you should kill her." You said, kissing his cheek as a way to calm him down.

Alexander took a deep breath and took your lips in a passionate kiss, pouring all his fear and love into the kiss. And by the gods, he was scared.

You pulled away after a few seconds.

"And she's not my Queen." Alexander corrected you, your faces pressed together. "You're my Queen. My only Queen."

You smiled at his words, feeling your heart skip a beat in your chest. You knew you were falling in love, or maybe you were already in love with Alexander and didn't care. He was good for you, in his own way.

Alexander caressed your face and kissed your forehead, murmuring against it, "I guess you were wrong when you told me to marry her."

You bit your lower lip. "Give her time. She's still young."

"You're young too. We're young, (Y/N)." Alexander grumbled, hugging you again. He was shaking slightly and you couldn't tell if it was from anger or fear. Maybe both. "And even so, I never tried to kill my stepsibilings."

You laughed. "You didn't, maybe, but your mother did."

Alexander smiled for the first time since that situation. "Well... I can’t argue with that." He kissed you again gently.

"And I can take care of myself." You murmured against his lips. "Don’t worry. I won't let her or anyone else hurt me."

Alexander looked deep into your eyes and said, "If she tries to do anything to you again... I will kill her. I don't care if there are repercussions. I will do it slowly and without remorse. And I'll enjoy it.''

His gaze softened and you sighed. Maybe you should have been scared or worried, but all you felt was a rush of affection. Knowing that he was so in love with you, that he loved you so much, that he was willing to go against his own laws, his own morals, made you feel warm inside.

It made you feel loved.

"And I expect nothing less." You whispered and let him kiss you again, laying you down on the cot, his calloused but comforting hands caressing your round belly and your sides.

The lit torches cast a glow in the darkness of the tent that mingled with the moans and the sounds of your bodies moving against each other.

You were safe in his arms and that was all that mattered to Alexander. That was what he kept telling himself as he made love to you again and again.

Oxyartes was furious.

He just didn't know if it was with Alexander or with his own daughter. With her stupidity.

Oxyartes stared at his daughter's scarred back in horror. The marks, the scars that the lashes she received would leave, would mark her forever. Blood dripped from the wounds and Roxanna's grunts of pain made him shudder at the barbarity that had been committed against her.

Alexander did this. It was a punishment, a clear warning that any form of conspiracy, of disrespect against him, against (Y/N) and their unborn child, would not be tolerated.

"It hurts..." Roxanna whimpered as one of the servants carefully dabbed a damp cloth over the wounds.

Oxyartes crossed his arms, his dark eyes shining with uncontained hatred. It wasn't just toward Alexander, but toward his own daughter.

"What were you thinking when you decided to try to poison your husband's first wife so blatantly?" He growled each word, his hatred palpable. "Have I taught you nothing?!"

Roxanna's tears kept falling and he grew increasingly frustrated. Sure, he was upset that his daughter had been hurt, but he was more concerned about what this could mean for him, Bactria, and his people.

They had been spared, yes, but Alexander was a vengeful man and he could punish everyone for Roxanna's reckless actions.

There was no limit to what Alexander could do. Not when it came to (Y/N).

They needed to be careful.

Oxyartes dismissed the servants and helped Roxanna to her feet.

She trembled in her father’s arms and he touched her face, his touch gentle, a contrast to the anger that shone in his eyes.

"I-I'm sorry, father..." She whispered, her voice weak.

"It's okay, my little star," He said, caressing her cheek tenderly. "Everything will be fine."

But the way he was looking at her, his eyes so full of anger and disappointment, Roxanna knew that nothing would be fine. She had made a terrible mistake.

One that could cost her, them, everything. And he would have to discipline her properly.

[nikkilouloony]

look I know that the home I grew up in wasn't always what you could consider "clean" but I have been seeing a huge uptick in what looks a lot like contamination fears online and I think it's time we admit that the pandemic personally affected our mental health.

[random-thot-generator]

Ghost decides after one blind date that you're going to be his.

>>>>>

Simon isn't used to dating. A quick hook up in the loo, sure. A drunken one night stand? He's had too many of those to count. But proper courting? Hell, it's been years, maybe a decade, since he's taken a bird out on an actual date.

It's probably going to be a disaster, but he gave Johnny his word he'd go out with his bird's best friend, so he can't back out now. He'll just have to grit his teeth and power through it.

His sour outlook for the evening is forgotten the second he sees you walk in with Johnny's bird. You're no tipsy tart on the pull, like the birds he's used to dealing with. You're a proper lady, dolled up nice for your date with him. It makes his chest feel tight when he gets a good look at your pretty face and nervous little smile.

His usual gruff manner is obviously not going to fly with you, so he quickly tries to recall the mannerisms he's seen his captain use around women. He gets to his feet with Johnny when the two of you reach the table, trying his best to look less intimidating.

Johnny introduces the two of you, and Simon melts inside when he takes your soft little hand in his for the first time. His brain goes fuzzy, dark eyes glazing over, and he's not sure what he says when he greets you, but it earns him a smile.

"It's really nice to meet you, Simon," are the first words you say to him.

Your voice is soft and sweet, and the way you say his name? Oh, he's gonna need to hear more of that, and often.

For the first time in a long time, Simon's worried about what someone thinks of him. He's worried he'll put you off with his harsh manner. So, he minds his words and gentles his tone. He slows his steps to match your pace and tucks your small hand at his elbow to keep you close and safe. He's holding doors and pulling out your chair. He compliments your dress and hair.

And when your heel catches on the sidewalk and you stumble, he doesn't bark a laugh or say something mean, wouldn't bloody dream of it. No, he catches you before you fall, and all that softness in his hands makes something shift in his brain. You're such a fragile little thing, delicate as spun sugar. You need a big nasty mutt like him to protect you, take care of you, and he's more than willing to do the job.

When the date is over, Simon sees you home, and you kiss him on your front stoop. It's not all groping hands and tangling tongues. It's a gentle press of lips, his big hands cradling your face, the sweet intimacy making his eyes flutter shut. He's floating when he finally gets back in his truck and drives himself home.

Instead of going to bed, Simon begins to formulate a plan of strategy. He figures it'll take a few more dates before you invite him into your flat, and several more after that before you invite him into your bed, then eventually into your life. It might take months, even a year or more. That's alright, though. If his years in the military have taught him anything, it's patience.

Simon knows how to play the long game. He'll go at your pace, let you get used to having him around, then make himself indispensable to you. No one will treat you as good, meet your every need and desire the way he will. He won't stop until he is your world, your reason for being. Your everything.

And when enough time has passed, he'll claim you completely as his. He's going to put a ring on your finger and a baby in your belly, then tuck you away safe and sound in one of those cute country cottages he looked up online. You'll be his little missus, and he'll be your tamed beast, keeping his teeth and claws hidden but at the ready.

By the time he arrives at your flat the next evening for your second date, he's already got your engagement ring in his safe at home and the names of your future children picked out.

And when you text him the day after to invite him for dinner, the new name he replaced yours with pops up on his screen.

It says 'Missus Riley', of course.

-

[gyaruhana]

pls write for thanos with hatefucking… like that man has that potential after seeing how he talks to the other contestants

Thanos/Choi Su-Bong - Hatefucking

Synopsis: You and Thanos hate each other and, no matter how many death threats he sends your way, you never listen. So he decides that, if threats don't work, maybe you need to be fucked instead.

A/N: wrote this in like two hours max so it may not be the best but I tried anyway !! I love Thanos so much and hatefuck with him has me thirstyy

Warnings: smut, penetrative sex, blowjob, degradation, thanos is a little meanie and you're sassy

If there was one thing that could be said for sure about Thanos, it's that he was a total fucking dickhead. 

From the very first game you played in this hellhole, he had been nothing but a problem. He skipped around like he owned the place and had no problem with sacrificing a few people. Not to mention, he was loud. So annoyingly loud. 

Unfortunately for you, he seemed to really hate you too. Maybe it was the fact you kept glaring at him like he did something or the way you'd make some sort of sarcastic comment every time he spoke. Whatever the reason, the feeling was mutual. He hated you. You hated him. That was the end of it.

Well, it should've been. 

As if some divine being took joy in your pain, Thanos walked up to you while you were alone with an angry look - clearly having something to say to you. You could guess he was going to try to threaten you into choosing to continue the games next vote since you had chosen not to.

“Yo. It'd be in your best interest to choose the blue button. It's really pissing me off when you keep pressing that red x button every time,” he spoke as he looked down at you from where you sat.

“Or what?” You say as you stand up and look at him with disdain. You weren't about to let this idiot try to scare you into doing what he wants. You weren't his slave. “Or I'll fucking kill you,” he says as he steps closer with a look that seemed like he meant it. Honestly, you didn't doubt that he was telling the truth. He's been killing people since the first game and it certainly won't be any different for you.

“Ooh, scary,” you say sarcastically before pushing past him. You didn't get far before he grabbed your wrist and turned you around, pulling you close to him. “You don't think I'll do it? Cause you'd be wrong,” he says as he looks at you dead in the eyes. You harshly pulled your wrist away from his grip and gave him a scoff.

“You're too much of a pussy to do shit. The only thing that gives you confidence are those dumb little pills you take,” you say as you look at him, challenging him to say something else.

It was quiet as you two just stared at each other, both silently praying for the other's death. He lets out an annoyed huff before finally breaking eye contact to look to the side. Without another word, he pushes past you and walks back to the other side of the room where the rest of the people who wanted to continue playing the game were. If that idiot really thought he could sway you, he'd soon learn you aren't swayed by death threats from high dumbasses.

When it came time to vote, you could feel Thanos staring you down. You turned your head to look back at him with an eyebrow raised and he turned his head away. You could see the annoyance all over his face. 

One by one, each player went up and placed their vote. The numbers were quite even and it was hard to tell who'd end up victorious in this vote. When it was Thanos's turn to vote, he made a point of stopping right behind you before he walked down.

“Remember what I said earlier. I'll kill you,” he whispers before walking past and skipping down towards the buttons. He kissed the blue button before walking over to the corresponding side but he was looking straight at you.

You ignored his hard glare and walked down to the buttons. You raised your hand and, no surprise, pressed the red button. You turned to him and flipped him off with a small smirk before walking off to the other side. 

For a moment, you actually thought you'd get away with that because it seemed that more people wanted to leave now. However, that was not the case as the result ended up being a tie.

Great. You were stuck here for longer. You definitely wouldn't be able to avoid Thanos if you were stuck here till tomorrow. He didn't seem to walk up to you immediately. It was like he was waiting for the right time to strike. All he did was stare at you from across the room as if he was formulating the most brutal way to tear you limb by limb. And, wow, he stared at you for a very long time. 

It wasn't until there were 5 minutes before lights out did he come to you. You were all by yourself in a corner and no one seemed to be paying much attention. They were all so busy in their own whispered conversations.

“Hey, it seems you didn't understand me the first time,” he says as he grabs you by your shirt and pushes you against the wall behind you. “I said I'd kill you if you pressed the red button,” he continues as he looks at you with annoyance.

“Go ahead then. Kill me,” you say as you look at him with a small smirk. He might have already killed a few people but you didn't believe he'd have the guts to kill people outside of the games.

He was quiet. All he did was stare. It was as if he was calculating some thoughts. He looked toward the timer on the wall before looking back at you.

“You're fucking unbearable,” he speaks before he's suddenly slamming his lips against yours. You didn't expect this move. You expected him to stab you or choke you - not kiss you.

You push him away with a glare. You couldn't be kissing this idiot. You hated him and he was fucking stupid. But even with that hate, there was something about the way he kissed you that had you thinking twice.

Fuck, you were doing this. 

You pulled him in by his collar and pressed your lips against his. There was nothing romantic about this kiss. It was pure hate. Just angry, rough kissing as if it would solve anything. His hands were all over your body before they finally decided to settle on your hips with a tight grip. He pulled away before starting to leave kisses along your neck. He wasn't gentle at all. He was biting you as if he wanted to draw blood.

“You're such a fucking bitch. Always acting so smug. I'm gonna shut you the fuck up,” he says as his hand goes to your hair before yanking it back roughly to give him better access to your neck. 

“You're the fucking bitch. Always walking around like you own the place,” you say back and in response he bites your neck hard making you wince slightly at the pain. “watch your fucking mouth,” he spoke as he pulled away and wrapped a hand around your throat. As if on cue, the lights suddenly turned off leaving you two in the dark.

He let out a small laugh as it went dark before he removed the hand on your hip and instead started pulling your pants down. 

“I'm gonna fuck you till you learn you're not in control, I am,” he says before pulling his own pants down. He wasn't going to play nice or take it easy. Not when you hadn't played nice with him. 

“You think you can fuck me into submission? You're way too fucking cocky,” you say with a quiet laugh, finding it amusing how he thought you'd fold once he started fucking you. “We’ll see,” he says, his grip around your throat tightening to shut you up. He pulled his boxers down slightly, enough to let his dick out, before he pushed your panties to the side.

“I'm gonna show you not to fuck with me again,” he whispers into your ear as he lines himself up with your entrance. Without another word, he starts slowly thrusting himself in till he's all the way inside you.

“You're such a fucking whore,” he says as he starts to pull out before thrusting in again with one stroke. He kept a pace of being fast and hard as if trying to make you feel his hate on a spiritual level. 

Well, God you could definitely feel it. He kept leaving aggressive bites all over your neck as he thrust into you. His hand around your neck kept its firm grip, enjoying the way you struggled to breathe. 

He wasn't fucking you for pleasure, he was fucking you to make you learn a lesson. He wanted to make you cum. He wanted to choke you till your vision got blurry. He wanted it to be clear he hated you with every fiber of his being. 

His free hand went down to your clit and he pinched it before rubbing it with a circular motion. He wasn't gentle so it brought a mix of both pain and pleasure. A feeling that brought you closer to the edge of a sweet, sweet release. He could feel you tighten around his cock and it made him let out a groan which turned into a small mocking laugh.

“Fuck, are you- going to cum? Already?” He says mockingly with a smirk. He took pleasure in knowing he could control you like this. Control someone who seemed to hate him. “C'mon, cum on my cock then, whore,” he said before pressing his lips to yours roughly. He forced his tongue into your mouth and he was clearly eager to get you to cum. 

With a slight angle of his hips, he thrusted into just the right spot that had you tipping far over the edge. He let out a groan at the feeling of you coming undone on his cock before he quickly pulled out. 

He released your throat and grabbed your hair instead before forcing you onto your knees. You looked up at him with a glare and he returned it with the corner of his mouth just barely quirked up. “suck my cock so I can come,” he said as he brought his cock closer to your mouth. He really didn't hesitate when you opened your mouth and immediately forced himself in with a groan at the feeling. 

“God.. do you taste yourself on my dick?” He says as he looks down at you. He thrusts into your mouth making you gag and he just laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. “You're such a fucking bitch when you talk shit. I like you better like this,” he speaks as he mercilessly thrusts into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat over and over again.

“I'm gonna cum in your mouth and you're gonna swallow, yeah?” He says before throwing his head back with a groan. It didn't take long before you felt his cum run down your throat. He thrusted a little more as he came down from his high before finally pulling out of your mouth. There was drool running down your chin as he pulled his boxers and pants up before kneeling in front of you.

“Swallow my cum,” he orders as he tilts his head at you and waits. You look up at him before turning your head and spitting onto the floor instead. 

“I think I'll pass,” you say as you look up at him once again with a glare. Tension rose between you two again but this time, it was different. Sure, it was hate, but there was undeniably a different punishment waiting instead of an argument.

“Then I guess you haven't learnt your lesson,”

[mangostarjam]

you've been touching him a lot since he got back.

itoshi sae doesn't do anything about it — doesn't dissuade you from tugging at his sleeve or sliding his jacket zipper back and forth while you talk. doesn't comment or bring your attention to it.

but he watches.

you've been around him a lot since his plane landed, making up for all the time he's spent abroad, as if your daily chat threads haven't been enough. most of the time it's just the two of you, the way it used to be. sometimes his brother is around, though thankfully it doesn't seem like you've gotten any closer to rin since sae left.

other times there's a group, mostly your friends, a mix of guys and girls who don't seem to know what to do with themselves around him. sae is used to this — fame brings strange things to light — but you treat him as you always have, except for the touching.

you don't touch anyone else.

it makes him think.

sae has his reasons. he's never let your relationship get past that line, drawn in the sand. he's a professional football player on the other side of the world, and you have a life here. you have friends (even though you still call him your best friend), you have a job (that you complain about all the time), you have family (that can't be bothered to ever congratulate you on anything).

it wouldn't be right — to make you leave. to take you away. not when he needs to focus on being the best in the world.

(he is the best in the world. all those years ago he showed the U-20 team in japan the difference between them, the way the most they could hope for was dating a gravure model. sae never cared about that aspect. he already had you.)

he lets you touch him, but he doesn't touch you back. he keeps you at arm's length — where you're safe.

and then you ask him to be your wingman.

someone else — touching you? kissing you? having you? unthinkable. sae steps out of the shower and barely dries off before pulling on his briefs and pants. steps into his room and there you are, sitting on his bed, looking good, if a little sad.

he considers telling you to get your passport updated and catches the way your eyes trail down his form. maybe this conversation would be easier if he's wearing a shirt — your gaze is too heated, too distracting. you probably think you're being sneaky, hiding your feelings as best as you can, but sae knows you.

and your casual touches are ocean waves washing that line in the sand away.

sae walks towards his closet when it happens again. your finger in his belt loop, stopping him in his tracks. "what?"

"you were ignoring me," you say. "i asked if my outfit is okay."

your outfit is more than okay. "i would have told you to change if it wasn't."

"if you're going to be my wingman, shouldn't you hype me up?" you huff.

sae feels his jaw clench at the reminder. "no," he says, and his tone comes out cold. you don't seem to notice, falling back on his bed and testing every bit of self control in his grasp. "this is a waste of time."

he goes to pull on a shirt before he does something drastic. you're saying something, but it hardly matters when his flight leaves if you'll be on the plane with him. you've covered your eyes with your forearm, so you miss the way he pauses at the foot of the bed, teal eyes drinking in your form splayed out so defenselessly.

sae climbs over you silently, knees nudging yours apart, hands planted on either side of your body. "this is a waste of time," he repeats, watching with amusement as you take in his position. a blush sweeps across your face, but you don't push him off. that's a good sign, at least.

"what, you think i'm not worth being a wingman for?" you ask. silly. you have no idea.

and then you reach for his belt loops again, as if that's a totally normal thing to do and not something that drives him a little nuts every time. sae prides himself on his control, though, so he doesn't lean down to kiss you just yet.

"tell me," sae says, "have you become this touchy with all your friends since i've been gone?"

"n-no?"

it's cute, how wide your eyes get. sae leans down a little closer. feels your breaths on his lips. still doesn't kiss you — yet. "then i won't be your wingman. you don't need one."

"why not?"

do you know how breathless you sound? sae considers his apartment in spain, how he'll need to make sure the bedroom doesn't share any walls with the neighbors. the way you sound is all for him and him alone.

"because you have a boyfriend, now."

(companion piece to this)

[plutotheplum]

Resonance

sylus x fem!reader - read part 2!

summary: with the aether core's auction quickly approaching, you're growing desperate to resonate with sylus. fortunately for you, he has a suggestion... even if it is less conventional.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, p in v, fingering, teasing, spit kink, light choking, oral sex, praise kink, slightly ooc sylus?, minor canon divergence

wc: 4.5k

a/n: my first time writing a full fic or smut for that matter! given how many times sylus was trying to hold the mc's hand, i just figured he'd be into it. tried to be strong for zayne, but that didn't work out... sorry zayne. hope you guys like it! <3

also posted on ao3!

You’re starting to regret your plan to sneak into the N109 Zone. From being drugged to nearly being killed, you weren’t exactly faring well in the unfamiliar place. 

A deep sigh escapes you, fingers rubbing at your aching temples. The headache had gotten worse, the band around your head wrapping tighter and tighter. You couldn’t leave though, no matter how desperately you wanted to, not when the Aether Core’s other half was up for auction in a week’s time. Sylus had also been distant. Despite saving you from the night raid, he had hardly come to visit while you were staying at Onychinus’ base. The twins, Luke and Keiran had kept you company though. They weren’t as wicked as you thought them to be, only young men that were intent on working for Onychinus, driven by their own motivations. 

The week was bound to shorten however, and you were growing antsy. Any reservations you had about resonating with Sylus were fading quickly as the auction date grew closer. He was right in a sense, you two needed to resonate, especially after that night raid when the Wanderers had attacked. The auction wouldn’t go smoothly either, you knew that much. Sylus had money, but traitors were lurking everywhere. The shopkeeper’s voice rings in your head, reminding you that Sylus hadn’t been responsible for the explosions. Absolving him of being responsible had been hard enough.  

Plucking at the strap of your nightgown, you’re contemplating whether you should sneak out. Sylus had been accommodating enough so far, and you were tempted to push your boundaries. He had, after all, left a pile of clothes for you. Strangely enough, they were all in the right size, accompanied by Mephisto who had let out a loud caw before flying out, its claws making a playful swipe for your hair. 

A few more anxious plucks at the strap of the nightgown and you’re sneaking out. Feed pad against the floor softly, nightgown swaying as you move through the hallway. You pause when you hear voices, hearing the thud of your own heart as you hold your breath. It’s Sylus and another man. The conversation is too muffled to listen into, incoherent words blending in together.

The door creaks open and you’re tucking yourself behind a pillar, hiding in the dark. The sound of footsteps fades into the distance and the breath you’re holding escapes into a quiet exhale.

“You can come out now,” A voice drawls. Sylus. You hated how he could sense your presence. Stepping out from behind the pillar, your back straightens, walking into his room. It’s dark, just like him. Expensive furniture, books stacked onto a bookshelf and a bed on the other side of the large room. The curtains are open, moonlight flowing in through the windows, mixing with the ambient lighting. He sits behind his desk, eyes trained on you, nursing a cup of wine. “I see you’re wearing my gift,” he says, eyes dragging over the nightgown. You scoff, eyes narrowing at him, “It was hardly a gift, and it’s not like I could sleep in my Hunter uniform.”

He only takes another sip of wine, eyebrows raising. His nonchalance is making you feel irritated. “You’re avoiding me,” you announce, arms crossing over your chest, “is there any reason?”

He laughs, low and deep, “I thought you’d be grateful for the reprieve, or maybe you don’t hate me as much as you think you do.” That has you scowling. You want to wipe his stupid smug smile right off his face. “Relax,” he says, his fingers tapping against his desk as he leans back in his chair “I had more important things to attend to.” That catches your attention. More important things? Perhaps he’d have answers, and you needed answers, about the N109 Zone, about Onychinus, about anything . 

“Private matters,” he murmurs, red eyes keeping you in place “nothing for you to get involved with.”

Your scowl only grows deeper, almost forgetting what you came in here for. Your feet move across the carpet, hands landing on the edge of his desk in an attempt to look intimidating.

“I want to try resonating with you,” you say, deciding to change tactics.

He hums, red eyes boring into yours. “We already tried that, and unfortunately, you seem content on disliking me,” he replies.

A frustrated noise escapes you, “It’s your fault!” you accuse, glaring at him. 

He only stares back at you blankly. You feel like a child throwing a tantrum under his gaze. “Just- please? ” you ask, voice softening slightly. He’s letting out an inconvenienced sigh and your body is moving, red tendrils swooping around your body as he draws you closer to him. “Hand,” he demands. You reach forward, and his hand clasps yours, fingers lacing together. A deep breath gets sucked in through your mouth and your eyes squeeze shut, trying to channel your energy and resonate with him. You think about his stupidly handsome face, his low voice and the times he had saved you. Both of your knuckles are white with how tightly you’re squeezing his hand. There’s nothing though, absolutely nothing. No sparks, no glowing light, no Evol resonance. Letting out a defeated sigh, you let go of his hand. He stares back at you, eyes searching. “There is something wrong with you,” he says, drawing his hand back to take another sip of wine.

“Maybe if you tried being more likeable, this would be easier,” you retort, sending him another glare.

Sylus only laughs, his head tilting, “You weren’t so intent on resonating with me earlier. So much so that you shot me.”

“You shot yourself,” you correct, voice sharp, “and the change in mind is because of the auction.”

He peers over at you, eyes calculating. You can’t tell what’s going through his head, you can never tell. It puts you on edge. Sylus is a dangerous man and you aren’t able to predict a single one of his moves.

“You’re afraid of Wanderers,” he surmises, hands clasping in his lap. 

His chair rolls out a bit from his desk and your eyes are dipping to see his legs spread as he gets comfortable. There’s a stretch in the black trousers as his thighs strain against the material and you’re swallowing harshly, eyes snapping back up to meet his gaze. If he noticed your wandering eyes, he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m not scared!” you protest, feeling exasperated “I’m simply worried that something might happen. We both know that the Aether core might become unstable with energy fluctuations, and who knows what sort of Wanderers that flux might attract?”

“I am more than capable of handling any danger,” Sylus says, his tone dark, “or do you need a refresher of what happened after I saved you during the night raid?”

You wince at the memory. It appears he doesn’t like being underestimated. It’s even worse that you remember. There had been blood and screams when his Evol had eviscerated the men that had been there.

“No refreshers needed,” you reply quickly.

Your plan of resonating with him is ill-thought, you realise. You can’t get your mind to change, no matter how hard you try. Head hanging low, you decide to back off. Sylus is right at least. He would be capable enough of defeating any danger there, but his assurance isn’t enough to quell your doubts. Silence passes over you both, only interrupted by your feet shifting on the spot. 

“There is another way,” Sylus says slowly, a wicked grin spreading across his face, “it is less conventional of course, hardly attempted at.”

Hardly attempted at? Was he planning to put your life on the line? Maybe that would work out for him, weaken you enough to get you to resonate with him and then steal the Aether core lodged in your heart.

“And this way is…?” you prompt, raising your brows. 

His grin only grows wider. Sylus stands up, long legs stalking towards you until he’s standing in front of you, his red eyes staring down at you. His cold hand reaches out, fingers grabbing at your chin to tilt your head as his own head dips towards your ear. You shiver, feeling his warmth breath against your skin. “Sex,” he whispers.

Well, you certainly weren’t expecting that. Your cheeks are hot with embarrassment, gaze averted to the side.

He clicks his tongue, “Why so embarrassed? I thought you wanted to resonate, sweetie .” 

“You’re more insane than I thought,” you hiss, shoving at his chest. 

He lets out a throaty laugh, a smirk spreading across his lips as he stumbles back a bit at the force of your push. 

“You seemed desperate,” Sylus says when he stops laughing, “I was only letting you know of all the options.”

“That shouldn’t even be an option!” you snap, growing flustered by the second. Sex with Sylus ? He was a murderer and completely and utterly unhinged, not to mention the leader of an illegally run gang. You were not having sex with him. Your irritation festers, head falling into your hands as you stand there. He doesn’t say anything, only reaching for his wine and finishing off his cup. 

“Fuck me,” you sigh tiredly, rubbing at your aching temples again.

“Don’t tempt me,” he replies. Your head snaps upwards at that, glaring at him. Irritation has only led to you making a poor choice of words. 

“I’m leaving,” you say forcefully, holding your head high.

You should be leaving by now, storming off back to your room lying a few doors away. You should be, except your poor feet aren’t working.

He stares at you expectantly, a hint of smile on his face as his brows raise.

“I am leaving,” you repeat, voice hardening.

He only nods his head towards the door. Part of you wants to stay, to find out what he means, but the implications are clear and you won’t do that with him. Especially not him.

You don’t get very far though, the door lock fastening in place with a resounding click . His Evol curls around your body, the inky red and black lines tugging you back towards him. Sylus is reaching for you, his hand cupping your cheek. You have half the mind to lean into his touch. “I think we’ll both have more fun if you stay,” he whispers against your ear, arms drifting across your nightgown to wrap around your waist and tug you closer.

He peers down at you, and your breath catches in your throat. Without thinking, you’re leaning into him, body pressing against him.

“I think you want to stay,” he continues, hands sliding up to pet at your hips.

“You- you don’t know what I want,” you manage out, voice airy, “and I want to leave.”

He hums, hand finding your cheek again. His thumb rubs across your skin, and it sets you alight.

“Did you forget?” he murmurs, head dipping to meet your height, “I can see what people desire the most, and it appears you, my dear Hunter, desire me.”

You’re letting out a soft curse. You had forgotten about that stupid detail, about his ability to see what people desired. Squirming in his grasp, you try to get away, but he holds you still, letting out a disappointed sigh.

“Will you not indulge yourself?” he whispers, voice lilting. You think he could be a siren in disguise.

There’s a shuddering breath escaping you. You don’t get a chance to answer, not when he’s smiling against your cheek and pressing a soft kiss to it. Your hands find his shirt, forming fists to prevent your knees from buckling.

“We are the same,” he reminds you, lips brushing across your skin as he backs you up against the wall.

You manage a scoff, “We are not the same. You’ve done terrible things and killed people. You do whatever you want, sacrificing whoever you want if it betters your cause.” 

“Such insolent words,” he purrs, his hand curling around your neck “I have treated you with far more kindness than others that have crossed my path.”

A squeak leaves when he squeezes around your neck, your fingers trying to pry his ones away from your neck. He only tightens his grip, landing another kiss to your cheek and there’s heat between your thighs, a whine escaping you before you can swallow it down.

Sylus laughs, his hand falling away from your neck to grab at your hips instead.

“Caught you,” he coos, and with that his head is dipping, lips pressing against yours.

You whine again, arms wrapping around his neck. You’re too far gone to care, feeling the plushness of his lips against yours. It feels as though he’s trying to devour you, trying to swallow you whole.

The kisses are rough and harsh and his hands are slipping under your nightgown, sliding up the backs of your thighs to grasp at your ass. You gasp into his mouth, scrabbling at his shoulders. He grunts against your mouth, guiding your leg to hook over his hip.

“You are far more eager than you said you would be,” he murmurs, finally pulling away to let you breathe. 

Soft pants escape you, chest heaving as your hands drop from his shoulders, landing against his chest instead. He stares down at you, crimson eyes bright with arousal as they flit about your body.

“You’ve done something to me,” you mutter lamely, a weak excuse for responding so eagerly.

He raises his brows, his thumb brushing across your lips. He repeats the motion, over and over again until you're tempted to press a kiss to the pad of his thumb. You don’t get a chance, not when his thumb is pushing past your lips and meeting the resistance of your teeth. Blinking up at him, you tilt your head.

“You know I haven’t done anything to you,” he replies, “that would be too far, even for me. Now be good and open .”

He has to have done something to you. What other explanation is there for the way your mouth opens, sucking his thumb inside eagerly? Your head tips back as you suck on his thumb, tongue swirling around the digit. He groans, deep and unabashed and it has your hips bucking. “Patience,” he whispers, pushing his thumb further into your mouth. You gag slightly, sending him watery glare. 

Sylus only smiles back, keeping you in place as you suck on his thumb. The ache between your thighs is too hard to ignore, and your hand is sneaking down in an attempt to relieve the ache.

You’re horribly wet between your thighs, feeling your thighs practically slip against each other as you squirm. Your fingers only manage two full circles against your clit before Sylus is letting out a growl, tugging your hand free from where it had snuck into your panties. 

“I- I need-“ you whine, trying to sneak your hand between your thighs again.

“You need me ,” he hisses, eyes hard as he grabs at your wandering hand, gaze locking onto your slick fingers. There’s a sharp gasp that leaves you when his own mouth is enveloping around your fingers, his eyes on yours as he sucks them clean. You feel weak at the sight, a dreamy sigh escaping you. He smirks, forgetting your fingers to kiss you again. You taste yourself on his tongue, feeling the way he licks into your mouth, his hands squeezing at your hips.

He’s picking you up before too long, dumping you on his bed. You hide shyly when he rips your nightgown from your body, his eyes staring down at your bra and panties greedily. The bra goes next and he’s lowering his head, sucking your nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking against the pebbled bud. You don’t know what to do, arms wrapping around his neck to keep him there, trying desperately to seek relief. “So impatient,” Sylus mutters against your spit-slick skin, opting to suck on your other breast as his hand delves between your thighs. “Don’t stop,” you whimper, eyes slipping shut “please, don’t stop.”

He lets out a low laugh, fingers rubbing at you through your panties. “How obedient you’ve become. Squirming under my fingers like a little slut. Didn’t you say you hated me before?” he whispers. 

“I- I do hate you!” you grit out, but your hand is finding his wrist, keeping his hand there as you grind your clothed pussy against his fingers.

He scoffs disappointedly, body slinking down the bed until his nose is pressing against your panties and he’s breathing in. You feel as though you might faint at the depraved sight. His tongue laves across the fabric of your panties and you moan his name, fingers finding their home in his hair.

Sylus sucks at your clit through your panties, licking at the slick that seeps through the dampened fabric. 

“An intoxicating taste,” he comments, pressing a kiss to your thigh “I could do this for days.”

That little comment has you letting out a shuddering breath and words you might regret if your mind wasn’t so stupidly hazy. “I would let you,” you mumble, tugging his face closer to where you want him, feeling the press of his nose against your clit. He grins, red eyes staring up at you, “that can be arranged.” Sylus’s long fingers are pulling down your panties and he’s staring at your cunt, a deep groan escaping him. “Such a pretty pussy,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your clit. 

A strangled noise leaves you and his mouth is latching onto your pussy, sucking and licking like a man starved. Whines and whimpers escape you as you grind your hips against his tongue. He moans back into your cunt, the sound shooting up through your body, thighs twitching. Sylus keeps you pinned down, tongue laving against your wetness, drinking up your slick as it leaks. It’s almost too much, which is why your hand reaches for his. Sylus gives his own hand, fingers lacing with yours. You’re so lost in the haze of his tongue against you that you can barely hear his voice.

“Resonate,” he speaks into your pussy, his hand gripping yours tight. “What?” Your dazed eyes find his, bewildered. “I said, resonate ,” he repeats, sucking your clit into his mouth harshly. 

His teeth graze against the sensitive bud and your back is arching, hand squeezing his one back. Your Evol comes much easier this time, light emanating from both your hands as you resonate. The linkage takes place, and it has you reeling, body twitching as you come on his tongue. The light soon fades, his own Evol dimming down. He presses another soft kiss to your sensitive clit. “Some incentive and your body is reacting remarkably well,” he smiles down at you. You could hardly care about resonance at this point, pushing at his shoulders and crawling up onto his lap, lips pressing against his. He grunts at the sudden change in position, but kisses you back, his hands groping at your ass appreciatively. A whine gets swallowed up by his mouth, your hips rocking against his hardness wantonly. Your fingers pull at his shirt and he’s staring at you with spit-slick lips. He tugs his shirt free and you suck in a sharp breath, taking him in. While you do this, your hips pause in their movements and he’s letting out a click of his tongue, using his hands to guide you start moving again. “You resonated with me,” he whispers against your lips. “Hardly,” you murmur back, nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t be like that,” he chastises, “I made you come on my tongue and this is how you treat me?” he pouts mockingly.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” He coos, guiding your hips to move in the way he wants to, “moaning and whimpering for me. Perhaps I should’ve suggested this path from the start.” You try to glare at him, but he’s only gripping your cheeks, prying your mouth open before his tongue is lolling out, dropping a glob of spit into your mouth. “Swallow, baby.” You do so almost immediately, mouth opening eagerly for more. He laughs, almost in disbelief, kissing you messily this time, letting you suck on his tongue. “I need you,” you whisper, pressing his hand against your tummy “need you in me, Sylus.”

His eyes flash and he’s kissing you harder, clothed bulge grinding up into your bare pussy. The drag of his trousers is stimulating, catching on your clit in a way that has you shaking on his lap. “You’re filthy,” he hisses, sucking harsh kisses against your neck “such a filthy slut, begging for my cock.” You whine in agreement, nodding mindlessly. The world is moving then, your eyes finding the roof as he settles between your thighs. He kisses you over and over again, before he’s drawing back, slipping off the bed to pull his trousers down. A loud moan escapes you at the sight, his fat cock bobbing between his thighs. The tip is dark with arousal, veins prominent against the skin. Part of you wants it in your mouth, to swallow his cum and feel the weight of his cock on your tongue, and the other part wants it inside of you, filling you up. Embarrassment forgotten, you’re spreading your thighs in what you hope is an enticing manner, biting your lip and batting your eyelashes over at him. He glances down at your glistening pussy, licking his lips. “In me, please” you sweetly request. He hums, crawling over you. He grasps his cock, tapping the tip of it against your clit a few times. Pre-cum beads at the tip, a fat glob dripping down. Your hand shoots out before it’s wasted, fingers catching the glob. Smiling up at him, you suck your fingers into your mouth, letting out an appreciative moan at the taste. His eyes darken at the sight, fingers dimpling the flesh of your thigh as he squeezes.

“You’ll regret this when you have to leave me,” he warns, “I won’t be there to stuff your pussy full or lick that pretty cunt when you’re feeling needy.” “Then make it count,” you retort, legs wrapping around his hips. He lets out a short laugh, kissing you again. Soft whines leave you when he pushes in, his cock sinking deep into your pussy. You think you might be able to feel him in your throat, his cock stretching you out so deliciously that it has you writhing. 

“So fucking tight,” he breathes out, kissing along your jaw “so warm. I can feel you clenching around me, baby.” 

“Fuck,” you mewl, nails scratching down his back as he thrusts into you. In any other situation, you might be mortified at the sounds.

The squelch of your pussy, his heavy balls slapping against your ass as he fucks you. It seems like his favourite thing to do is to hold your hands, though.

“So pretty for me,” he sighs, hips grinding deeper into your wet heat “such a good girl, hm? My good girl.”

The praise has your heart fluttering wildly, cheeks flushing.

“Oh, you like that,” he murmurs, his lips latching onto your tits again, “my pretty, little slut, all laid out for me. You could’ve had this cock earlier, I would’ve given it to you. I could’ve stuffed you full, or bent you over my bike and pounded this tight little cunt until you were screaming.” 

A hoarse moan leaves you. Your hands are squeezing his, legs tightening around him.

“That’s it,” he whispers encouragingly, “take my cock baby, it’s all yours.”

“Stop- stop talking like that,” you whine, writhing under his body.

“Why?” he responds, “does it feel better than you had imagined?”

“I wasn’t imagining-“

“Hush now,” he whispers, kissing you over and over again. You’re not sure how much more of this you could take.

His cock is pounding into you, punching out the air in your lungs. It feels too good, the throb of his cock and his whispered words against your ear. You hiccup, peering up into his crimson eyes. He stares right back at you, the look behind his eyes startlingly soft.

You shy away, head turning to the side, cheek squishing against the pillow. His hand turns your face back to him, nose nudging against yours gently. He kisses you softer this time, the sound of your kisses drowned out by the drag of his cock in your cunt.

“Come for me, baby” Sylus whispers, squeezing your hand “cream my cock.” 

It’s enough to have you shuddering around him, a whine of his name leaving your mouth as you cream on his cock, just like had told you to. He drinks up every noise, lips working against yours as he fucks into until he’s burying his cock deep inside, letting out a low growl against your ear as hot cum spurts from his tip, filling you up. 

You sigh at the feeling, body feeling limp. Sylus is slumped on top of you, his weight oddly comforting against yours. A kiss is pressed against his cheek and you can feel his smile from where he’s tucked his head into the crook of your neck.

It’s a little uncomfortable though, so you’re pushing at his chest to get him to roll off of you. Sylus does so with little noise and you’re curling up against his side, already missing the stretch of his cock.

“You were being nice,” you say softly, breaking the silence.

“Would you prefer it if I were rougher?” he asks in return, rubbing his hand against the curve of your hip soothingly.

You roll your eyes, pinching his bicep. 

“The auction will go smoothly,” he announces, his hand drifting to squeeze your ass, “we did resonate, after all.”

You had almost forgotten about that. A nod is your response and he’s dragging you closer to give you another kiss.

“Training begins tomorrow morning,” Sylus continues, “I need to see how strong we can be together.”

You’re letting out a groan, swatting his chest and shoving him away. 

“Leave me alone,” you mumble, burying your face into the pillows.

He smiles, arms curling around your waist to tug you back into his warm chest.

“Now, now. You were being so good earlier,” he whispers “I’d be happy to reward you, if you perform well tomorrow.”

His hand smooths across your stomach, hand drifting lower to delve between your thighs. You muffle the noise that threatens to spill out.

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, eyes slipping shut.

“I think you like that about me,” Sylus murmurs, his fingers curling up inside of you, beginning to move at a leisurely pace. 

“You’re the worst, Sylus” you whisper, hips rocking as you try to get his fingers to sink deeper.

“Yet here you are, trying to fuck yourself on my fingers,” he purrs, his arm winding around your neck. You feel him squeeze and you’re whimpering, sinking your teeth into his bicep as he holds you in place, letting his fingers fuck in and out of you.

It’s going to be a long night.

[forlix]

𝐝𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞・b.c.

— incurable playboy turned doting boyfriend was a character development arc nobody saw coming for christopher bang, including (especially) his frat brothers.

words・2.8k pairing・frat president!chris x gn!reader genres・fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, college!au, fuckboy!chris, boys being boys, kissing, implied sex so mdni warnings・substance use, talk of past heartbreak

a/n・here is "nobody believes you're dating" w/chan, requested by none other than my @rachalixie for my 2k event !! anny, i hope u love this fic as much as i love u; thank you for allowing me to write something so self-indulgent <3

In the deafening throes of one of Phi Mu Alpha’s spring kickbacks, Minho finds Jeongin and Seungmin standing in motionless silence by the kitchen counter. Both boys are gaping at something with an intensity that dips egregiously into the realm of creepy. He moves to pour himself a shot.

“What the fuck are you people looking at?”

Seungmin prods a pointer finger in the relevant direction. It takes a few seconds of scanning the scene for Minho to find what he’s referring to. He digs a knuckle into his eye, instantly confused by what he’s seeing. Maybe the gaping is justified.

The windows and doors have all been thrown open to invite the balmy April weather into the foyer of the frathouse. There’s a large crowd of people huddled around a long, foldable table stationed before the stairs; Jaehyun clutches a ping-pong ball between his fingers, singular eye squinted shut as he takes aim. The number of remaining solo cups dwindles rapidly, as does the players’ sobriety.

Something—someone—is missing.

Not to say “beer pong virtuoso” was one of the reasons Chris was elected frat president, but you’d think the guy had a career path in basketball with how he’s given the entire Greek life community alcohol poisoning by courtesy of two or three plastic balls alone. Minho has never known him to miss a shot, let alone miss out on a game.

Today, however, the reigning champion is only spectating, seated above the ongoing match on one of the steps of the main staircase.

A beautiful stranger is sitting beside him, cheek pressed to his shoulder as you peer at the match through the bannister.

You say something inaudible. The laugh it earns from Chris is bright enough to pick up from a few streets down. He leans in to murmur something in return, and you slide your hand over his nape to pull his mouth onto yours, light blush crawling up and over your ears. The way Chris melts into you can only be described as familiar, his eyes slowly fluttering shut, finger hooking delicately beneath your chin, grin going lopsided as your lips part—

“That’s enough,” Minho hisses, tearing his eyes away with considerable effort. “Aren’t you ashamed? Just fucking ogling.”

Jeongin shakes his head, grinning. “It’s dinner and a show. We’d be idiots not to.”

By dinner, he must mean the gallon of chocolate milk he’s been drinking from for the last hour. He now holds out said gallon with the intent to cheers. Seungmin picks up the entire handle and does the same.

Minho sighs, clinks his glass against theirs, and they throw back their respective refreshments in unison.

“Anywho.” Jeongin swipes the back of his hand over his mouth before going on. “You guys know who that is?”

Minho resurfaces with a wince, relishing in the bitter aftermath, then motions for Seungmin to give the bottle back straightaway. He arrived to the function late and he’s not nearly as drunk as he’d like to be.

Seungmin obliges Minho only after another heady swig. “No clue. Probably just another fling, no?”

“Mmm,” Jeongin hums in assent. “It’s Chris we’re talking about, after all.”

"Agreed. Case closed.”

There’s an air of finality in Seungmin’s voice—but Minho isn’t so sure.

Perhaps because he has never noticed that Chris had dimples until now; or because you fold so naturally into Chris' side after your kiss ends, head nuzzling against the crook of his neck and hand seeking out his to hold in your lap; or, most likely, because Chris' eyes seem to return to you when he looks at you, as if his gaze drifting anywhere else is but a momentary departure from where it really belongs. As if he comes home every time you come into his line of vision.

Whatever the reason, the idea coalesces in Minho’s mind, even as inebriation begins to fall over his cognitive faculties like a curtain, that the boys have got it wrong.

Jeongin utters his name, jolting him out of his trance. There’s another shot lifted halfway to Minho’s lips that hasn’t budged in minutes. “Whatcha thinking about?”

Minho looks at Jeongin first, Seungmin next, then back at Chris and his stunning companion. He’s not inclined to answer the question in full, but he can in truth. A coy smile crosses his face.

“Threesome?”

Jeongin laughs hard enough to collapse onto the kitchen island. Seungmin drags a hand down his face. “Come on, man.”

In the corner of his eye, you’ve gone back to kissing again, slow and sweet and secretive. Chris' gentle hold on your jaw shields you from view but fails to hide his lovesick smile. Dimly, Minho thinks that maybe his friend has met his match.

Then, he takes four shots in rapid succession—and stops thinking altogether.

Christopher Bang’s love life is like a horror movie and romcom spliced together: a fiasco of a film to which his housemates have front row seats.

The frat’s upperclassmen live in sets of four-bed, two-bath suites comprising a small common space with a kitchen and a sitting area, sandwiched by bedrooms on either side. It is in that common space that Changbin, Hyunjin, and Jisung often see or hear Chris stumbling home after a night out, entangled with a different attractive stranger every time—so often, in fact, that they’ve come to believe that he’s deathly allergic to anything bigger than a one-and-done hookup.

They can’t judge. In part because they’d be throwing stones from glass houses, but also because the man’s penchant for empty physicality is far from unfounded. His past self gave pieces of his heart to the wrong people, contracted first-degree burns from the guileless warmth he sought out. Now, his version of “intimacy” is less a connotation of closeness than it is a self-contradiction, for it should be impossible for so much distance to remain between two people in a single bed.

Chris hasn’t vocalized any of this. Nor have his housemates discussed it with each other. The knowledge simply exists in the air between the four of them like something akin to taboo, dipping in and out of acknowledgement depending on the circumstance.

This might be the circumstance of all time.

At around 11:40 A.M. on a Saturday, three doors in the suite open at once. Hyunjin and Changbin aren’t coincidence—the latter is coercing the former to go to the gym again—but they lift their eyes to the opposite side of the living room, and the slice of milk bread dangling from Hyunjin’s lips very nearly takes a fatal fall. Changbin manages to snatch it up with an extended hand.

Chris has just emerged from his room as well. Your silhouette follows close behind, your mouth stretching into a yawn as you massage the sleep from your eyes. You’re sporting a mesh green sweater identical to one Chris owns. They find Chris' accessories more interesting than his clothes, though: two hickeys peeking out from beneath his jaw and the base of his neck.

Chris sees Hyunjin and Changbin right away, and his expression goes utterly blank, not unlike their faces as they watch you close his door meticulously. You turn around and gasp.

The four of you stare at each other for what feels like multiple business days. At least, Hyunjin, Changbin, and Chris stare at each other; your eyes dart between the men on the other side of the room and the man next to you, silently pleading for him to say something. He does not for a long while.

Then, he lunges for one of the throw pillows on the couch and flings it at Hyunjin like a shot put. It ricochets off his chest and lands on the floor rather anticlimactically.

“Distraction!” Chris yells anyways, grabbing your hand and tearing towards the exit, wild grin on his face. “Go, go, go!”

Your raucous laughter lingers even after you’ve been hauled away, accompanied by an unintelligible, breathless shout of something along the lines of my toothbrush—and then the front door clicks shut, and there are two.

Changbin and Hyunjin lock eyes, struggling to process what just happened. Hyunjin is the first to move, wandering hesitantly into the bathroom that Chris and Jisung share. Nothing about the place looks out of the ordinary.

“Well, shit,” Hyunjin says out loud.

That is, aside from the two toothbrushes slotted in the holder on Chris' side of the counter.

Something moves in the bathroom window, catching his attention. Hyunjin looks over just in time to spot you and Chris dart out onto the lawn two floors below. Chris has his arm draped over your shoulders, yours wrapped around his waist. Your smile is discernible all the way from here, and Hyunjin sees a perfect mirror of it on his friend’s face when Chris glances at the frathouse over his shoulder. 

Has he always had dimples?

Moments later, Changbin joins him in peering out the window. A high-pitched cackle erupts from the older boy’s lips. “Look at that idiot.”

Standing off to the left is a tiny, astonished Han Jisung, his arms full of groceries, jaw sitting squarely the grass and whites of his eyes on full display as he watches you and Chris stroll away.

Hyunjin laughs with his whole fucking body. Changbin whips out his phone and takes a picture.

When you finally breach the topic, it’s because you don’t think you can physically study for another minute—but also because, after multiple long months of fruitless sparring, your curiosity finally wins.

Your boyfriend is seated in your desk chair, feet kicked up onto your mattress with his laptop propped up on his thighs. His features have rearranged themselves into an expression of intense focus as he pores over his production homework. You can hear music blaring through his headphones from all the way here.

You uncross your legs from below you, scootch across your bed, and lift your hands to cradle his cheeks. He startles as if coming out of a trance, then begins to smile when he reads the words hi, Channie off your lips.

His headphones fall around his neck. He sets his laptop down onto your desk with a dull thunk. The next thing to drop is you when Chris seizes you by the waist and tackles you into the mattress. The somber atmosphere of your study session is shattered by your muted laughter and Chris pressing his lips to every inch of your exposed skin he can. He saves your mouth for last.

“Hey, beautiful,” he answers, but only after kissing the living daylights out of you, the syllables soft and silky with adoration. “Missed me?”

You drag your eyes from his brown irises with blown pupils to his sloping nose, from his disheveled dark locks to his cordate lips, so plush and warm against your own that you swear you still feel them there. You brush a hand over the back of his neck, your head now spinning so badly that you barely remember what you wanted to ask him.

“Always,” you say. “I was starting to feel jealous of your homework.”

He chuckles. “Shit, I’ll drop out of college right now, baby. Just say the word.”

“You’re perfect,” you hum.

“Says you,” he murmurs, nudging the tip of his nose against yours.

Your lips find each other’s again—needless to say, your study sessions aren’t known for their productivity. Some time passes before you come up for air. Even afterwards, Chris doesn’t let you go far, pulling you into his chest by the curve of your waist, nuzzling his cheek into your hairline. You only need to whisper for him to hear your question.

“Can I ask you something?”

“'Course,” he returns, and you’re close enough to sense him tighten with apprehension. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, don’t worry.” You print a kiss to the side of his neck for extra reassurance. “It’s just…I’ve been meaning to ask how your friends feel about me.”

He tightens with something else now: surprise, you’re guessing; you’re hoping. You hadn’t seriously considered that the answer could be negative, but it’s dawning on you now that the possibility of that isn’t zero.

“Where’s this coming from?” Chris inquires, his tone opaque.

You hesitate, mentally reviewing your interactions with your boyfriend’s social circle. Hyunjin and Jisung can’t make eye contact with you when they speak to you. Minho does nothing but make eye contact with you whether he’s speaking to you or not. Jeongin and Seungmin can maintain small talk for about ten seconds before they start looking like they’d rather be anywhere else. Changbin is the only one you’ve held a conversation with, and only because you were going up the same stairs at the same time and the alternative would have been mind-numbing silence.

What is the best way for you to say this?

“Well,” you begin, “I can’t help but notice that they act a little—when I’m around, they’re a bit, uh—”

“—crazy,” Chris offers. “Completely fucking bat-shit crazy.”

“Yes. Exactly that.”

Chris threads a hand through your hair, the comforting gesture doing nothing to assuage your worry. It seems there’s some truth behind your impressions. Your next words are tinged with a quiet sadness.

“I’m not imagining things, then?”

“No, angel,” he sighs. “But not for the reasons you think.”

A beat passes. Chris perceives your silence as a chance to backtrack, to opt out of this conversation if it’s one he’s not ready for. He would’ve leapt at the opportunity once.

But he realizes in that moment, with your voice gentle against his ears and your touch so doting upon his skin, how much has changed since he met you: from the color of the sky to the word home and everything in between, including his cynicism towards love and all the iterations of forever it holds. 

With that epiphany comes another, then another: he wants you to know why his friends are acting insane, wants you to know about him and his past and all the wounds of his you never know you healed, wants you to spend the rest of this forever with him.

His pointer finger dusts beneath your chin, a wordless request for you to look at him, and he nearly liquifies when you do and he finds entire constellations in your eyes. 

“It’s a lot,” he mumbles, though he suspects you know that already; he suspects you know about the other stuff, too. 

You bring your hand to the side of his face, bring your forehead to rest upon his. Your closeness washes over him like a low summer tide lapping over sandy shores, a soothing balm spreading over scorched flesh. 

“It’s you,” you breathe. “I will love it just the same.”

Chris' held breath comes out in shudders.

So this is warmth.

Minho and Felix are watching anime on the couch when a knock comes at their door, unfortunately during a pivotal moment of a pivotal episode. 

Minho hits pause with a ghastly groan. Felix laughs and rises to his feet, dashing into his room to grab the two silver necklaces he’ll be loaning out for the evening. “Coming!”

Outside, Chris is standing alone, hips and thighs accentuated by a pair of tight-fitting dress pants, sculpted chest and collarbones framed by a thin, cream-colored shirt with the top three buttons undone. Most of his hair has been pushed off his forehead, leaving a few locks free to fall over his right eyebrow. He’s rolling up his sleeves when Felix opens the door, veined forearms flexing as a result of the effort.

“Well?” He asks. Minho cranes his neck to look past Felix.

Both boys start to holler and whistle like excited macaques.

“What in the Calvin Klein is this?” Felix shouts, spinning Chris around by the shoulders. “You look insane, bro. Holy fuck.”

“What’s the occasion, young man?” Minho inadvertently sounds like a gruff uncle. “Where are you going dressed like that, huh?”

Chris' laugh comes easier nowadays. What’s more, it comes in a way that reaches the rest of him, that ends in a tiny, high squeak that you really have to look for in order to hear.

Felix and Minho can't help but replicate his smile. Those clothes look good on him, yes—but happiness looks better.

“You guys are silly,” Chris giggles. Dimples indent his cheeks as he accepts the necklaces from Felix. “Thanks, man. I’ll give ‘em back tomorrow.”

“No rush,” Felix replies, grinning. “Have fun, yeah?”

“We will.” Chris starts to retreat down the hallway, hands moving to clasp the jewelry around his neck, but not before he blows the both of them a kiss.

“Be back before ten!” Minho hollers; Chris laughs again, turns a corner, and disappears.

Felix closes the door. His smile falters fast. Minho has brought his face mere centimeters away, his expression thoroughly humorless.

“Tell me only the truth, Lee Yongbok,” he deadpans.

“O-okay—”

“Is Chris in a relationship?”

“—oh.” Felix frowns. “Well, yeah.”

Minho blanches. “How—how long?”

“One year, give or take? Anniversary’s today.”

Minho is stunned. Felix is stunned that Minho is stunned.

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[beloveds-embrace]

Fuck it, we ball, I hope that disrespectful anon gets hemorrhoids and they can't get them removed until next year, AND that their insurance doesn't cover it. I'm here thinking about your Omega idea where omegas normally do the pursuing, but with a slight twist; the boys being the omegas. An alpha who is for sure down bad for the boys, but thinks "ah, theyre out of my league, I should be aiming lower, manage my expectations". Only 141 is just as down bad for them, and they're doing everything just short of screaming "PICK UP ON THE HINTS, COME INTO OUR HOUSE AND BEDS AND LIVES AND STAY FOREVER PLEASE"

Johnny is about to say fuck decorum and just show up in reader's house wearing nothing but a ribbon and a tag that says 'free to a good home' (your home is the good one, please keep him, there is no receipt so you can't return him).

Price has the brain cell normally in terms of trying to gently coax you into getting you to say you're into them, he has a 15 step plan that may or may not involve using his various contacts to get you spending more time in close proximity to them. Also he for some reason is always baking, he always comes over asking you for sugar? (He'll take any kind of 'sugar' you're willing to offer, he loves making a variety of cream pies)

Gaz is always gently inviting them to attend 'friend' things, things that could be a date but that he can excuse as 'well we're coworkers/friends/neighbors, we should get along :)'. It's just a coincidence that various other people seem to bail except for any of the other boys, now why don't you sit beside him so you guys can share popcorn at the movies (you both always seem to be reaching for it at the same time, if your fingers touched anymore you might as well be holding hands)

Simon is chasing off any omegas he thinks are a threat to them getting reader, that is THEIR alpha, paws OFF (rip to anyone reader was halfheartedly going on dates with, this man is gonna become those people's sleep paralysis demon)

Hope you enjoy!! :3 💕💕 i lovedddd writing this sm omg

See, the thing is, you’d always thought of yourself as a decent Alpha. Not overbearing, not egotistical, not a demanding freak- just capable and steady. But you weren’t extraordinary. Not the kind of Alpha Omegas like them would look at twice. And so, while you worked alongside the men of Task Force 141 you convinced yourself to be content with just admiring them from a distance.

You couldn’t help it. They were perfect, as far as you were concerned. Perfect, and fully out of your league.

Surely, Omegas like them would want someone better. Someone stronger. You’d told yourself that so many times it was practically your mantra, the only way you’d be able to stop yourself from pursuing them. They deserved someone more charismatic, more confident- an Alpha who could match their brilliance. Not someone like you, fumbling through conversations with them, struggling to keep your feelings in check.

But they’d already decided. They didn’t need a flashy Alpha or someone who tried too hard. What they wanted was you. The only problem? You didn’t seem to realize it, no matter how obvious they made it.

John took the lead, naturally. He knew you were cautious and perhaps a little insecure when it came to relationships (it was fucking visible in you, silly Alpha. He scoffs each time you draw back, frustrated), so he made it his mission to draw you in- slowly and subtly. His plan was meticulous: get you comfortable, build trust, and create opportunities for you to spend more time with them so you’d see that they only want you.

Maybe then you’d break out of that stupid shell you’ve put yourself in.

He’d started baking regularly, a habit you hadn’t even known he had. At least once a week, he’d show up at your place with a tin of cookies, a loaf of fresh bread, or a perfectly golden pie. “Thought I’d share,” he’d say casually, though the slight smirk tugging at his lips told a different story. He peers at you, letting his scent coil just a bit more. “I hope you don’t mind the amount of cream. I happen to like cream pies a lot.”

The way to an Alpha’s heart is through their stomach, and all that.

If he wasn’t offering you baked goods, he was asking for your help to make said baked goods. “Ran out of sugar again,” he’d sigh, handing you an empty container. “Mind sparing a bit?”

It was ridiculous, downright unbelievable how often he supposedly ran out of baking supplies. But his visits became a highlight of your week, and the lingering looks he gave you left your heart pounding long after he was gone.

The one time he’d handfed you, watching you lick the syrup from his fingers with half-lidded eyes, still lives in your mind rent-free.

Kyle took a softer, more personal approach. He wasn’t above using the pretense of friendship to spend time with you, often inviting you to casual dates- grabbing coffee, going to the movies, or just walking through town and shopping. Every invitation was framed innocently, but there was always a little extra effort behind it. He’d pick a movie he knew you’d like, suggest places he knew you’d find interesting, and ensure that others you unfortunately knew joined just enough to make it seem less like a date.

Somehow, though, those other people always mysteriously canceled. It was never anything dramatic- just a sudden cold, a scheduling conflict, or a “something came up, sorry.” Eventually, it would be just you and a very smug Kyle, sitting close enough that your knees brushed or reaching for popcorn at the same time. Once, right as the bowl emptied and you both reached for it, Kyle simply thought fuck it and held your hand.

On one occasion, you both shared a bowl of spaghetti and ended up with the scene from the Lady and the Tramp.

It was so painfully obvious to everyone.

Except you.

“It’s not a coincidence,” Kyle muttered to Johnny one evening after you left, both of them sitting in the spot you were in, bathing in the leftover warmth and scent. “How can they not notice?”

Speaking of Johnny; he’s barely keeping himself together. Subtlety in missions are a must sometimes, but he doesn’t want to that with you anymore. He was just so, so, so frustrated with your obliviousness. What more does he need to do to show you that he- that they- want you?

He’s been dropping so many hints; half-jokes about Omegas waiting begging to be swept off their feet, suggestive winks when you compliment him in that lovely, adoring tone of yours. Once, while watching a romantic tv show, he’d sighed loudly and very pointedly said: “If only someone would claim me.”

“If ye don’t figure it out soon,” he growled at the others one night, pacing back and forth like a wild beast and probably on his way to leave a dent in the carpet, “I’m showin’ up at their doorstep with nothin’ but a red bow, like some bloody Christmas prezzie, I swear to god.”

John sighs, rolling his eyes. “You do that, and I’m leaving you on their porch.”

“That’s exactly what I’m askin’ for!”

Simon took the quietest but most direct approach. Just not exactly direct towards you. While the others worked to get closer to you, Simon focused on eliminating what he saw as obstacles: other Omegas who thought you were free for the taking. It didn’t matter if they were serious or just someone you’d gone on a casual date with- Simon saw them all as threats.

He didn’t have to say much to scare them off. A single cold glare from across the room, sharp bursts of his scent, or a low, menacing comment was usually enough to send them packing. He didn’t care if it was excessive.

You were his Alpha. You were their Alpha, and no one else had a right to you.

But even Simon softened when it came to you. He couldn’t put all his thoughts, all his feelings into words, so he did them with his actions. Quiet protectiveness, gentle, careful touches. Moments of fleeting vulnerabilities shared between you and him.

He was always there for you. Even if you didn’t know you need him with you.

Still, despite all their efforts, you remained convinced that they weren’t interested.

In the end, to no one’s surprise, it’s Johnny who snaps. Johnny, so close to his heat, so absolutely done with your obliviousness and the Omegas that aren’t them talking with you when you should be only focused on them.

He doesn’t care; leaves the carefully made nest with your stolen shirts and none of the others stop him when he just. Drags your surprised self to the nest.

“Johnny! You-“

“I want you.” He hisses, bares his teeth all sharp and desperate. “We want you. And damn it, we will have you.”

And well, who are you to even say no when this is all you have wanted?

[shaisuki]

SHAI

How about a bully gojo and geto take shy chubby darling to their room (for some reason/excuse)?

OR

bully jjk men taking chubby darling to their room (for maybe a project?)

Love ur works! Byee!!

🥹🫶

❝SHOULD WE TAKE IT ON PRIVATE? ❞

FEATURING. GOJO SATORU, NANAMI KENTO, GETO SUGURU, TOJI FUSHIGURO

CONTENT WARNINGS. dubious consent + nonconsensual moments + bullying + derogatory terms + yandere themes + possessiveness + jealousy + exhibitionism +

SYNOPSIS. jjk men taking you on private just to get a taste of you.

GOJO SATORU

“there you are.” said in a sing-song voice belonging to the white-haired boy that have been hot on your tail since you've tutored him in a subject that he didn't need of being taught. he passed that exam without difficulty and with flying colors. before that you have doubted that he needed you. he can play dumb all he wants but he's smarter than what you think and you shouldn't have accepted to tutor him. there was no need for it and the sessions where just filled with unsolicited advices and he wasn't even listening half of the time. only mustering a yes or no or a whine that he's bored. you just wasted your time on him and he was just waiting to get a rise from you.

clutching the books tighter closer, you let out a shake of your head to clear your thoughts and try not to look obvious glancing at the now empty hallway. you looked at him and in a clear voice you asked him. “do you need anything, gojo?” he only grins at your question before responding. “glad you asked. honestly i need you to show me something.” your brows scrunched up at what he said. “what?” taking a step back to gain a few distance from him and using your books as shield.

noticing your flighty behavior towards him. “there's no need for me to explain.” he suddenly grabs your wrist in which you pulled from him but he persisted. his smile turning into a annoyance at your resistance. “we don't have long and it will be done once you listened to me.” is what he reasons and since he won't get out of your hair you followed him.

“so what now?”

twisting the lock in his door and confidently strutted to where you stand in his vast dormitory room. “we're studying.” he says to you. sighing you just can't believe how you were easy to be fooled by him. there's nothing comes good getting caught in his whims. “you're just fooling me. you know what i'm done.” you say grabbing your books and began to stalk towards the door when he grabbed you.

“wa—” your voice died down as you got knocked straight to his bed while he puts his legs besides your plush hips. icy blue eyes stares down at you. his lips curling in a smirk. “you're smart but you lack common sense. i'm going to teach you.” his smirk turning wider.

you began to thrash but his grip remains tight to your wrist that you began to worry that it will leave a bruise. “the fuck you are doing!? get off me, gojo!” squirming as you move your body. the asshole didn't even budge at you. “relax, (y/n)-chan. you'll feel good i promise.” his words dripping with amusement and you curled your lips into a frown. disgusted at the way he called you.

it did feel good just like he promised. incredibly good.

hating how your body betrayed you as he lays between your legs. his tongue taking a long lick in the seam of your cunt that was dripping with your juices from the repeated assault it had taken from his tongue.

“g-gojo, stop!” your voice quivered as your thighs shake from his ministration. his white hair peeking from between your thighs. a mmm can be heard from him. “you're sweeter than you look, (y/n). should have tasted you sooner but whatever. softer too.” he added. his large palms are splayed in your creamy thighs before diving back. keeping you pinned down with his strength. he ignores your pleas.

your hands finds his hair. threading them with your chubby digits before fisting them as you unconsciously grinds your hips to his face. was your pussy that good? you can hear him moaning. the vibrations of his humming adds the pleasure down to your core.

fuck him and fuck his tongue. you never felt so good as you feel his tongue lick and his lips suck your clit. he even used his tongue to fuck your hole. wiggling inside as your back arched from the intense pleasure. you are so close.

a breathy moans escaped your lips. biting your finger to muffle the moans that was threatening to spill and your impending orgasm threatening to burst at any moment.

“sato—nhhh, c-close” you were so close and that's when he stopped. emerging as he sit, putting your legs besides his waist. “can't have you cumming on my mouth, such a shame you were sweet but it needs to be on my cock.” licking his upper lip with his tongue, drenched with your slick.

“it needs to be on my cock, sweetheart.” and then he grins.

NANAMI KENTO

“just one more page.”

he mutters. blissfully seated in his chair while you warm his cock. a faint hue of blush dusting his cheeks as he groans. the tight wet heat of your cunt hugging his cock like it was made for him.

the tip of his cock nudging the entrance of your womb. throbbing and leaking with precum. stretching your walls to accommodate his length. every second feels like torture as you deliciously impale yourself in his cock without moving.

nanami was enticed with you. took a liking to his favorite blockmate and there you are, reading the workbook of the course. you had been at the same page. repeating the same paragraph. your brain is too occupied with the feel of his cock rather than absorbing the general knowledge needed for the upcoming exam.

he needed the relief and what's best was the comfort of your fat pussy and your body pressed in his. what fatigue resting in his body slowly dissipates the more he's closer to you.

“doing good, darling.” laving your rounded shoulder with kisses. a whimper escaped your lips. unintentionally clenching around his length. tears clumping at your eyelashes. “it won't be long, okay? just want to feel you and i'll move.” he assures you. his hot breath fanning behind your ears. grunting as he feels you tightened around him.

he knows he shouldn't torture you this much. considering he lured you in the confines of his private room to warm his cock and relish to the comfort of your body. you're too good to be ignored and nanami was willing to spoil you after this.

“nanami—” a breathy moan call of his name and he almost loses it. cursing under his breath and he holds your plush waist. his palm splaying on your round belly. “i know, i know.” he repeatedly mutters. it was becoming difficult to ignore it now.

“i got you.” he shushes you and he moves. a whine leaving your mouth and then he began thrusting his length inside you. “that's it. good girl.” he praises you and that was the last thing you heard him say before you lost in the pleasure.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

the library's quiet except for the secluded part. muffled whines and the obscene loud squelches of his thick fingers stuffed in your cunt.

“stay quiet. you wanna let them catch you being fingered, hah?” toji drags his tongue to your round cheek. leaving a wet trail of his saliva. you shaked your head. your back arching in his lap like you were trying to get away from him but toji remained relentless pumping your fat cunt with his fingers.

he got a grip on your throat. a strength enough to make you lightheaded and briskly cutting your air supply without choking you. he got you half-naked after a session of you tutoring him as if he'd care for his academics when all he wanted was to be alone to you.

some light groping and convincing, he landed you on this position. turning the goody two shoes into a bumbling dumb hot mess. flipped skirt and unbuttoned school uniform. oh, he did like this look on you. how much more you can be dumber if he got you bouncing on his cock but first he need to prep you.

“you like that?” he murmurs. the scar on the corner of his mouth twitching as he curled his lips in a smirk. “you like being stuffed with my fingers into your cunt?” the pad of his thumb rubbing firm strokes to the bundle of nerves. “you want to cum in my fingers, babe?" he chuckles at your breathless and then his pace turned rougher and faster until you came undone in his thick digits.

“that feels good, huh?” his smirk stretching wider as you catch your breath. “see how you can handle my cock.” toji commented. holding you up. pulling his zipper down to grab his cock before aligning it to your cunt soaked with your release. “try to keep silent.”

is what he said before fucking you dumb at the library.

GETO SUGURU

the sound of skin to skin slapping echoed in the vacant room, only you and suguru were there. exchanging spit and sweats as he fucked you into oblivion. the chair where he sat and where you are bouncing on his cock.

keeping him close as you move your hips up and down. getting that delicious stretch of his fat cock rearranging your guts. “sugu.....” you moaned out. his black nails digs at your soft skin as he held your hips to guide you in using his cock as you please.

“i know, i know. you missed me.” he cooed. it was a lie. he just grabbed you and dragged you to this vacant room. it may seem that you were the one who orchestrated this whole thing, that you were the needy one but geto misses you and the thought of you made his cock twitch in his pants.

“i have classes.” you manage to say in between moans as your body jiggled. repeatedly bouncing on his cock. “just let me fill this tight pussy of yours and i'll let you go, hmm?” gripping your jaw as he crashes his lips into yours. swallowing your moans.

it didn't take long before he's releasing his cum inside your pussy. just when you're about to stand up and watch his cum leak out of you. dripping down your thighs. it didn't happen. he only kept his grip firm on your plush waist. the flesh spilling fast from his fingers.

“sugu... you promised.”

he only smiles at you. his bang falling down in his face. giving you a closed eyed smile.

“change of plans.” he says before flipping you into your back. his cock still hard inside you twitches. “i'm not done with you anyways.”

[sincerelyneo]

golden hour | l.mk

“i’ve got a really big problem…”

💿now playing: golden hour by mark

❯ summary: Mark’s got a really big problem; you. The pretty neighbour that shares a bedroom wall with him. You’re a night owl and you’re so loud and are you…listening to his music whilst masturbating…? Fuck now he’s hard. Guess he’s got two really big problems.

❯ pairings: mark x fem!reader

❯ genre: neighbours, smut

❯ words: 2.3k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, masturbation, mark’s a loser for the plot, very explicit details of sexual fantasies, reader uses she/her pronouns and female gendered terms, literally just mark being horny whilst reader gets off to his song.

Mark needs to move out. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take the old run-down building his apartment is located in having no working elevator. If you’d have told him two years ago when he signed his dream music contract with a real record label that he’d be climbing six flights of stairs after a long week of work he’d have called you a liar. But that’s what happens when people aren’t listening to your music. 

Maybe he's overreacting; the building isn’t that terrible. It has its perks—like the pretty view. And it’s usually quiet—well, it was until his lively new neighbor moved in. Mark might have thought of you as a perk when he first saw you, considering you’re exactly his type, so fucking beautiful. But you’re also so fucking loud.

You always seem to have something going on—plans, hobbies, parties, meetings, friends. Mark knows because the walls between you and him are thin, and you’re never quiet, never still. At first, he thought it was kind of cute, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realises he’s been so distracted by how attracted he is to you, he’s been letting your noisy lifestyle slide.

It’s not like he wants to knock on your door and ask you to keep it down; he’s too worried you’d think he’s some kind of loser. Even at twenty-five, he still craves female validation like he’s a high schooler—so he’s been putting up with the sleepless nights. Another reason why he needs to move asap. 

The lack of sleep, combined with the endless stairs, has left Mark drained this past month. He can practically hear his sofa calling his name, can taste the cold bottles of beer that sit in his fridge as he reaches the top step. He may be a tad out of breath and a little sweaty but he’s got the weekend off and that’s all he can think about. But unlike you, Mark’s life is boring. The most exciting thing about his weekend is the idea of not having to climb his complex’s stairs until Monday. 

Meh. He could dwell on the mundane schedule of his life for hours but he gets distracted. Distracted by his pretty little nightmare neighbour. 

You're all dressed up in a tight gold dress that clings to every inch of your body. Your hair falls down your back as you lock your door, tucking the keys into the tiny clutch hanging from your shoulder.

That’s when you notice him too.

“Oh, hey,” you greet him softly, offering a bright and friendly smile. 

Mark returns it, his chest swelling. There's no denying you’re a beautiful girl. And although he’s overheard your phone calls about parties through the thin walls, and the hum of your hair dryer as you get ready for nights out, he’s never actually seen you in anything other than jeans and a t-shirt. He’s never been given the opportunity to see you so dolled up, to notice the little love handles he can all of a sudden imagine himself gripping. He clears his throat and smiles wider.

“Hi Y/N…you look nice!” He compliments kindly, fingers fiddling with his own keys. 

Nice? 

The word replays in his mind. He’s spent endless nights thinking about how beautiful you are and now he’s finally got to feed his craving of seeing you in tight clothes but the only word he can muster up is nice? Oh he hates himself. 

But then he sees you blush at the comment, and he loves the way you purse your lips, trying to hide a shy smile. A part of him is annoyed that you’re blushing over something so simple—he thinks every man should be showering you with compliments, and you should expect more than nice. Still, there’s something about the way you squirm from his words that has his cock throbbing.

He wonders if it’s because you’re attracted to him too. It’s not completely out of the question. You know who he is, of course you do. You see each other in passing a lot but you’ve also spoken on the day you moved in. Mark remembers it like it was yesterday. 

He could hear you panting and cursing in the hall, hauling boxes up and down the stairs before he came out to help. You didn’t recognise him at first, not until he was in your apartment setting boxes down.

That’s when you turned to him with wide eyes and a breathy, “oh wow, aren’t you the dude that sang ‘Golden Hour’?”

Mark started blinking at you like a deer in the headlights. He’d never encountered a fan in person before, he had a small community online, but his music hadn’t exactly been taking off like he planned. So you can imagine his surprise when his new (extremely attractive) neighbour knew one of his songs. 

“Thank you,” your soft voice breaks him from his memory, and moves his focus. “Just a night out with the girls, been a long week,” you sigh. 

He wants to hear all about your long week, wants to be the one to make it better—maybe convince you to skip the girls’ night and spend it with him instead. But he doesn’t. He doesn't even let the thought linger for more than a moment before he’s nervously tapping his key against his thumb.

“Well have fun, and be safe,” he settles on tenderly. 

You nod with a small smile, giving a gentle wave before turning to leave. He watches you until you’ve rounded the corner, only then unlocking his door and kicking off his shoes with a sigh.

Mark grabs a bottle of beer from the kitchen, kicking the fridge door closed behind him. His entire apartment is dark and it reminds him of the loneliness he’s been feeling for the last six months. Mark never really thought about love and relationships before he met you. Sure, he likes to fool around as much as the next person, but he’s always been fine with being on his own. But you remind him of the lonely. 

He’s never longed for love and friendships but a secret part of him craves a woman by his side… craves the woman next door.

He wonders what it’d be like for you to be cuddled into his side as you watch a movie. Wonders if you’d laugh at certain parts and crane your neck up to pepper tender kisses to his soft lips. Mark squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, tries to rid the thoughts of you from his mind.

But it’s proven a little more difficult when he moves from the couch to take a shower and the water is running down his tense and naked body. He struggles to not think about you on your knees, touching his thick cock and kissing up his thighs.

He has to swallow back the lump in his throat and blinks away the urge to touch himself to the thought of you. He refuses to be that kind of guy. He’s not that kind of guy. So he gets out the shower and does the only thing he likes doing — music. 

Mark tries out new melodies on his guitar, humming broken lyrics and soft tunes he’ll be sure to show his producer on Monday. After a while he catches sight of the clock on the wall and it’s already a little past midnight. After locking his doors he’s crawling into bed and ready to sleep; but then he hears something. 

A soft giggle muffled from the wall behind his head. 

Mark’s fully aware the two of you share the same wall for your beds, rooms mirroring each other, but he’s never heard this kind of sweet giggle fall from your lips so late at night. He tries not to let the sound affect him, but there’s only one reason why a girl like you could be giggling at this hour after a night out. 

You’ve brought someone home? But Mark can’t hear a man’s voice, not even the slightest grunt or groan of male muttering. He can only hear soft giggling slipping from his favourite pair of lips.

And then he hears a robotic voice announcing that the Bluetooth is successfully connected and he knows he’s about to hear your fuck playlist. The thought sends a thrill through his body and he knows he’s unlikely going to get any sleep tonight.

He’s about to get up, to move to the sofa in the living room, to not be disrespectful and a perv by listening to you getting off, but he hears a familiar hammering of drums and a guitar muffled through the paper-thin walls and his eyes are bulging.

“Give me my A course, ice is so big like a glacier” 

You’re giggling again and he can hear your body fall against the sheets of the bed – the bed that’s very clearly pushed up against the same wall his is. It creaks under your weight, and Mark feels the wall tremble slightly as your bed frame knocks against his wall.

He’s tried so hard not to be that guy, but his hand finds its way in his boxers before he can fully comprehend what he’s doing. He’s rock fucking hard, red and veiny and he takes off his boxers, leaving him sprawled on his back, completely bare.

He hears your soft whimpers, can hear you hum in appreciation even over the buzzing of your vibrator and the thumping of his song. He doesn’t know what’s turning him on more; the fact that he can hear you getting off and moaning out, or that you’re listening to him while trying to cum. 

Either way, his hand is wrapped tight around his thick length, thumbing over his oozing tip. He thinks of how you must be, how you’d look completely whilst naked and sprawled out on the bed for him. Mark imagines himself on top of you, kissing your perky tits he loves to think about and wrapping his lips around your swollen nipples. His mind feels like it can taste you on his tongue, can feel your dainty fingers tugging at his hair as he laps you.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp loud enough for him to hear.  

It makes him imagine your eyes rolling back when he finally fucks himself inside your tight little cunt, he visions the look of ecstasy on your face when your jaw would become completely slack and your body quivers for him. He knows you’d feel him deep in your stomach. He knows he’d be so big for you. 

“Fuck,” he slips out in a desperate pant.

He’s completely breathless, tugging at his dick, spitting down on it to get it all wet for you. He knows you’re so much wetter on the other side of the damn wall, and that he’d rather be sinking into your wet pussy but his spit would have to do. 

He throws his head back in his pillow, eyes shut tight, allowing his mind to work over time. 

“Fuck, Mark… I need it.”

Everything feels surreal, like he’s in his own personal heaven with a touch of hell. You’re crying out for more, for him, begging for it deeper, harder, and he finds himself fucking into his fist just as desperately. Like his soft palm is your silky pussy.

Mark can’t focus on anything other than your sweet fucking cries that sound otherwordly against his song. It makes him think about how much he’d love to record your moans, use them in his next song. But then he’d never be able to release it — because they’re his to hear. 

It’s when the bridge starts that you really let yourself go, filthy fucking moans, the speed of the vibrator increasing, and God he wishes he could watch you right now. See you trembling and begging as the instrumental plays out loud and hard. 

He can’t handle it.

Gruff moans are slipping past his lips and he does nothing to try and conceal them. The muscles in his arm are burning but he fucks his cock harder, imaging what it’d be like to feel his balls slap against your ass as he pounds into you.

He can feel the coil tightening in his stomach, the way his cock starts to twitch. His imagination grows wild and filthy, every single fantasy he’s tried locking away to not be that guy now flooding his mind because you’re that girl. 

That girl that’s using his music to cum. That girl that wants to hear his voice as she gets off. That girl who’s doing it with no shame, no guilt. That girl that’s using him. 

The thought takes Mark’s mind to sinful places. “Take it,” he can hear himself seeth through gritted teeth. He imagines you begging for his cum, taking it like the good fucking girl you are.

“Ugh, fuuckk I’m cumming!” Mark cries out gruffly through strangled moans and he hears your screams follow.

Your bed is creaking louder than before and he knows your thighs have got to be trembling as you cum around your vibrator. Mark’s hand and thighs are covered in thick ribbons of white arousal and when his eyes flutter open, through his blotched vision, he imagines seeing you kneeling between his thighs and licking it up.

He’s completely fucked as he hears his song mellow out and you aren’t moaning anymore. Instead, he can hear  breathless little pants. He stays where he is for a second, eager to see what else he can hear. But there’s nothing — only complete and utter silence.

Mark doesn’t sleep the entire night. He can��t. He’s kept awake with the guilt of listening to his pretty neighbour. Or is it with the thrill of knowing it was his voice that got you off that's making him so restless? 

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Guardian Angel

CW: Stalking, people breaking into your apartment (Arkham Knight and others), people brushing off an obvious issue, and violence. Be warned, there are no angels in Gotham. ~2.2k words

You have a stalker. Probably. Maybe. If you do, they're so good at covering their tracks that you're starting to believe you're just paranoid.

But it's the odd events, the trinkets moved slightly out of place, that have you checking over your shoulder.

There wasn't even any evidence at first. Your day had been completely normal. All you were doing was cooking dinner, when your nerves went on end, and goosebumps rose on your skin. The feeling of being watched, of being prey set in.

It didn't make sense, didn't have a reason, but you closed your curtains and triple checked your locks nonetheless. (The bat you keep by your bed slept next to you that night)

You would have forgotten about the incident entirely if, a week later, the same feeling crept up your spine while you walked home. You'd never walked faster to get to your building. You'd practically sprinted up the stairs to your apartment, and slammed to the door behind you.

Even within your home, it took almost the whole night for the feeling to fade.

Two times could be a coincidence, but then things started getting stranger.

You could have sworn you left your keys on the counter the night before, so why, why did you find them on the coffee table?

It makes you uneasy, almost sick, but you're already late to work. So you do the only thing you can, you brush it off.

Until it happens. A thing you can't brush off.

You knew you had used the last of the sugar yesterday. Knew it because you had made a mental note to pick some up the next time you went to the store.

But there's sugar. It's not a lot. Just enough to get you through a few days. Enough to make you think you might have just missed the last of it.

You know you're right. You know you were out of sugar and even if your coworkers laugh and tell you to get more sleep, that having an angel that refills your sugar can't be that bad, you know someone's been in your apartment.

You set traps, set cameras, get your locks changed, take note of everything. You don't get any evidence.

But you notice that your window doesn't squeak anymore when you open it. Your shower doesn't rattle when you go to start it. Your oven actually heats up to the temperature you set it to.

It's been like this for months now. And you're starting to believe that Gotham does have its own set of angels that go around trying to make your life a little easier.

That is until, you meet him.

You'd been unlucky. Gotten grabbed and dragged into the alley by your apartment by some haggard looking man waving a gun. It wasn't the first time you'd been mugged in Gotham, and you doubted it would be the last.

You had reluctantly pulled your wallet and phone out of your pockets and handed them off when an armored-clad person dropped between the gun and you.

At first, it was a relief. Being saved by Batman or Nightwing is practically a rite of passage in Gotham.

But then you watched the would-be mugger hit the ground with a sickening crunch of his arm. Then you watched your savior turn to face you, and you knew it was him.

You didn't have an explanation, you didn't have proof. You'd never even seen a glimpse of the helmet that hid his face before. But you knew. He's the one that's been following you. He's the one that's been in your home.

No amount of good deeds can overshadow how violating it feels, to know he's been watching you, observing you, doing things for you. You instinctively step back.

He only matches the distance you tried to create with a step of his own.

"Who are you? What do you want," You snap, sounding braver than you feel.

He doesn't answer at first, just tilts his head like he's studying you. You think it might be because he's never seen you think close before.

"I saved you," he says instead, completely avoiding your question. You wonder if he's expecting to be treated like a hero, if he's looking for your praise. It makes your stomach churn.

"You've been following me. You're the one who's been in my apartment," You protest, eyes darting.

You half expect someone to come help you. With the way he's dressed, with how he's carrying himself, he has to be some kind of new villian you missed on the news.

He straightens out at your accusation, "Have I?"

You almost falter, almost do chalk it up to paranoia, but you just knew. Every fiber of your being knows, "Yes," You breathe out instead, "You have."

He nods slowly, then turns his back to you. A part of you wants to run, to try and escape and scream and get as far away from the man who feels like he could make you disappear without a trace.

He bends down and scoops up your phone and wallet before turning back to you. You freeze when he walks closer, each step steady and measured, then extends your belongings to you. Your hand shakes when you snatch at them.

You half expect him to yank them away, to make you beg, but he doesn't. He only keeps his grip tight on them, forcing you to be connected while you tug helpless at your things.

He watches you with his head slightly cocked before speaking again, "And if I have?"

He's easy, robotic cadence makes your blood grow cold, "Then you should stop," You retort, voice as cold as your veins.

"And if I won't," he prompts, finally releasing his hold on your things.

"I'll go to the police," You threaten, stuffing your wallet and phone back into your pockets.

"They can't help you," he warns. It makes you uneasy, that he makes no attempt to keep space between you. Even if his body language doesn't seem dangerous, everything else about him does.

"They can contact Batman," You try instead.

He laughs. It sounds humorless, empty, "He can't help you either."

You lose your nerve then, when he pats your cheek, and the guns holstered to his side seem to glint at you. "Get home," he tells you, and it makes you feel like you're some kind of pet.

And then he's gone, leaving you to an alley empty of anything, save for you and the mugger crumpled to the ground. All you can do is go home. Sleep doesn't come for you that night.

He's sloppy, now that he knows you know. You can tell it's on purpose.

Flashes of glowing blue outside your window, your things carelessly shifted about your apartment, the broken fan that hasn't worked since you moved in left on and spinning when you come home from work.

The only place he hasn't seemed to touch is your bedroom. You're not sure if it's because he's showing some slightest form of respect or if he's simply too good at hiding his tracks for you to notice.

Both options make you feel anxious, and you constantly comb over your things for proof of his presence.

You rack your brain over it, lose sleep over it, but you can't come up with one idea of who he is and why he's doing this.

There's nothing on him in the news, nothing on the internet, not even a whisper on the streets.

It feels like it's all one big, sick game to him when your favorite flowers start showing up at your door, when your gas tank fills itself.

When you tell your coworkers, in a near panic, about your rent being mysteriously paid, they tell you it's harmless, it's kind of sweet, really.

Shouldn't you just be grateful that someone's doing all that for you? Shouldn't you be thankful to have an angel looking out for you in this city?

But you know it's not harmless. You know he's capable of so much more. You know he's no angel.

The sound of the mugger's arm snapping still haunts you.

But you don't know what to do. You're stuck, on edge, and slowly coming to terms with having to live like this forever.

That is, until your bad luck seems to get even worse. You were in your pajamas, already half asleep as you're lounging on your couch, when your world gets thrown into chaos.

There's a click in your apartment door's lock, and you have the terrifying realization that tonight's the one night you'd forgotten to throw the deadbolt.

"I told ya I could get the keys to this floor. And barely anybody lives in this building afta what happen ta Murphy," the heavy Gotham accent fills your apartment and three men file into your living room like they own it.

They freeze when they see you, and you don't hesitate to sprint for your fire escape.

You've just managed to throw your window open when one of them grabs you around the middle and hauls you back, throwing you to the floor. Your head knocks against the ground, and everything spins.

You think you whimper as they start bickering. "You said no one would be here!"

"They weren't supposed ta be! It's all supposed ta be empty," one of them snaps back. It only makes your head pound and your vision swim.

You try to push yourself off the floor, but a boot lands at the center of your back and forces you back to the ground, "We have to kill them."

Murmurs of reluctance fill the room, and for a second, you think you'll get to live.

"They saw our faces," You hear the telltale sound of a gun clicking off its safety, "I'll do it."

You flinch with the shot sounds, but no more pain comes. The weight comes off your back, and a body collapses to the floor next to you.

You lift your head just enough to see a familiar blur of blue charge at the remaining two men.

It's not so much of a fight as it is an execution. It's a struggle to keep your eyes open, but anything you can't see you can hear.

There's no mercy in his actions, all wrath and fury, and you want to laugh because, in a way, he is your guardian angel. An avenging angel, pummeling the people who threatened you into something unrecognizable.

You're sure how long it lasts, how long you hear his fists connect to their flesh. But eventually, your apartment goes quiet. The sound of fabric shuffling reaches your ears, and calloused hands carefully help you move until you're sitting up.

Warm palms press to your face you realize he's taken his gloves off. You force your eyes to open, morbidly curious if he's removed his helmet, too. You're not sure why you're disappointed he hasn't.

"Saved me again," You mumble, words almost slurring.

"You're not safe here," he says softly, and his thumb runs over your cheek like he's trying to comfort you.

"They didn't think anyone lived here," You supply, but he apparently doesn't find that very reassuring.

"Let's get you out here," he says instead, and you blame it on your head injury for being impressed at how he doesn't show any signs of struggling when he picks you up and cradles you to his chest.

"Don't have anywhere to go," you say weakly, mentally trying to do the math on how much a safe hotel would cost at this time of night.

The moonlight seems to give his helmet an odd shine as you stare hazily at him. It almost looks like a halo.

"I have a place," he tells you, already carrying you out of your apartment window.

That snaps you out of your thoughts. It makes you frown, even in your dazed state, you know you don't want to go with him. That even with the trick of the light, he's no angel.

You start to squirm, "No– no, wait–"

"You need somewhere safe to recover," he says, and he doesn't seem to notice your fidgeting. Your heart leaps to your throat, at how securely he's holding you. With anyone else, it would have felt like a promise of protection.

"I don't trust you, you're not safe," You stumble out, head growing heavy with each step he takes from your apartment.

"No one's safe. But I don't have any plans on hurting you," he murmurs, seemingly more occupied with getting you to wherever he's planning to take you.

"But you could," You exhale out, and your voice sounds weak even to yourself.

That makes him pause, and his helmet tips as if he's focusing on you, "Maybe, but I wouldn't like it."

You want to argue more, demand he set you down. But your brain feels so foggy, and you're so tired and drained that your head just kind of finds itself on his shoulder.

"You can sleep," he says, and your eyes fall shut at how soft he sounds, "I'll keep watch."

You really do want to protest, but his shoulder is surprisingly comfortable. You can't help but think, as you drift off, that your angel might have fallen far lower than you can handle.

Jason's Side

[randomshyperson]

Hesitating Hearts - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: Between you and Wanda, love has been kept a secret for too long. It's time for one of you to be brave. | This brief story is based on the Brazilian song "Medo Bobo".

Warnings: mild angst of mutual pining, drunk confessions, very fluff, friends to lovers, some kissing | words: 2.572k

A/N-> Hey, there’s a line here from Anne with an E. Also, I wrote this because I’ve been a Marvel fan for years, and it was only after WandaVision that I actually saw Wanda. I need this angst.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Song-Based Collection

-&-

For the first time since she met you, Wanda was being selfish. Not only that, but she was truly determined to be selfish. And to be honest.

And to be heard.

Yet, seeing you cry change her words or tone to something less of a statement and more of a question. An hypothesis. To picture you both in a world where there was time and courage, instead of fear and missed opportunities.

“What if…” She started that from the kitchen counter where she was sitting. Unlike yours - which also happens to be the reason you're standing at the open fridge - her glass was full. 

You hum out of curiosity, wishing for her to continue and hoping she would choose a lighter subject now that you were done pouring your heart out in that old compound kitchen. But Wanda takes a shaky breath, and you nearly miss her hesitation while you're leaning down to grab more wine from the bottom drawer. “What if I tell you that I have feelings for you.”

You chuckle. Naturally and immediately, because it's certainly a joke. To ease your nerves and soon to turn your sad tears into laughing ones. A talent that Wanda always seemed to have.

But you turn to your friend - Is that what she is now? Colleague. Work partner, drinking buddy maybe. The girl next door. The temperamental witch you share training schedules with. The strongest Avenger.

Wanda is looking at you, expectantly. Vulnerable.

You frown.

“What?”

You don't mean to sound so surprised, not really because mainly, you're sure she's joking. You're also drunk, the wine making it a little harder to put the thoughts in order. And Wanda is giving you this kicked puppy eyes and you're not understanding anything.

She swallows hard, but her gaze doesn't flinch.

“What would you say to that?”

You laugh again, dryer than before, somehow hurting your throat a little. The wine bottle stared at you from the counter but you don't feel like drinking anymore.

“Wanda, what are you…” you stop mid-sentence, reaching for your face to rub your eyes. You really shouldn't be drunk for this conversation. But then again, why is this conversation happening in the first place? “Why are you saying this?”

Wanda knows you're drunk, knows you're hurt. So she doesn't mind you're not taking this seriously. She gets up but doesn't move closer.

“Maybe I'm just tired of listening to your whining about your terrible partners.”

You cross your arms, pouting as soon as you mutter “I don't whine”. But Wanda is moving closer now, slowly walking past the counter and towards you.

“Or maybe I just meant it.” She whispers, green eyes nearly hypnotizing. “I am right here. I've always been. Why can't you see me?”

The question is too close to your lips, suddenly it's too real. 

This is Wanda fucking Maximoff. The most incredible, world-changing amazing person you know. 

Her cheeks grow a little pink and it's her time to giggle.

“I'm flattered.”

You huff, looking away. “Don't read my thoughts.”

She doesn't pull back, gaze searching yours even though you don't look up. “How else would I know what you think if you never tell me?” She challenges, but your head is spinning, and Wanda's perfume is not helping. You step away, putting more distance and a counter between the two of you again, and it works a little.

“I don't understand why you're doing this.” You declare, suddenly serious. You sound hurt and Wanda hesitates immediately once she catches the tears forming in your eyes. “I know it is not fun, having to endure my drunk nights. But you're the only person that stays so I thought…” You take a deep breath, Wanda shakes her head. She's gonna clarify that she didn't mean it that way - she was not complaining about your company at all - but your rambling shuts her out. “I know I'm not an easy friend. I can be self-centered and absent. And I'm so terrible at feelings. But we have known each other for so long, and it took us years to get here. Just to have comfortable silence. I don't have this with anybody. So, I'm sorry if I'm being too much but please, this kind of teasing… I really don't like it. You're… not the type of friend I can have this kind of joke with.”

Some part of her is hurt by that: She recalls how often you would flirt and joke with your other friends, most of them to be honest. Sometimes, even playful touches, that would make Wanda's blood boil. 

Hearing this kind of joke is not for her hurts. But Wanda is not sure if it is a bad thing.

“I wasn't joking.” She insists, but you chuckle before stealing her full glass and the wine bottle.

You change your tactic because Wanda changed hers. It has always been this way between the two of you, a never-ending push and pull with a never giving up side.

“So you're obviously drunk. I'll take this.” That is what you say before grabbing the items and moving to the living room.

When the compound is empty and quiet like this, it's almost like a normal residence. The way things are arranged now, one could be fooled into thinking that was a normal living room in an old house instead of a high-tech secretive environment for superheroes.

Wanda takes a deep courage gathering kind of breath once she's alone in the kitchen.

Those feelings have been asleep, pushed back for way too long. Now that she said them, she's simply incapable of numbing it again.

“Why is it that the idea of me liking you sounds so absurd?”

She's not being sweet anymore - just like her feelings, she's demanding. Craving for validation and correspondence.

You chuckle during a gup and there's wine falling down your chin. Wanda let out a shaky breath at seeing the drops across your chest, exposed by the poorly bottom-up shirt, and you chuckle again when you catch her staring.

“Don't give me those eyes.” You sneer, as hurt as before but somehow, angry. The bottle is tightly grabbed in your left hand, but you finish Wanda's glass before speaking again. “This whole thing is ridiculous. You are drunk.”

“I'm not drunk.” She retorts, arms crossed when she stands in front of the couch you're sitting. You smile but it doesn't meet your eyes. “How could I be drunk if you have my glass?”

You grimace, putting the item away on the small table. Your head is hurting and Wanda gives up trying to read your messy thoughts.

“If you're not drunk, you're mourning.”

She raises her eyebrow at your audacity, but then, she catches the near despair in your eyes and takes a deep breath again.

Instead of cursing you, she uncrossed her arms and knelt down on the carpet to have your eyes at the same height as hers.

“I'm not running away from any of my feelings. It's quite the opposite.” She starts softly, hands moving on your things to take the bottle away and find your fingers. “You said yourself. We have known each other for so long. Why is it so hard for you to accept that I love you?”

You let her hold your hands but only for a second. Then, you take your bottle back.

“Of course you love me, Wanda, I'm your only friend.” It's not meant to be hurtful, not the way she thinks so. Yet, there's a form of venom in your words that leaves her speechless. You pull back to rest completely against the couch but Wanda doesn't move an inch. You try to laugh but it's almost a sob. After another long sip, you point at her. “I'm the only one who really understands you. And your silly jokes and your questionable morals. And because of that, you think you have to thank me somehow. That's why you're saying all of this love bullshit. You don't really mean it.”

She takes a peak, deeper this time, at this painful life-changing memory that you have of a first relationship. Hurtful and toxic behavior that traumatized you for life and would never stop coming back whenever you found yourself a good partner.

Wanda doesn't say anything at first. She gets up and decides that maybe you really are too drunk for this conversation.

There's a glass filling itself with water when she offers her hands for you. This time, to help you to your feet.

But you hug the bottle and give her a sad look.

“Just leave me here. I'm not being a good friend right now.”

“You're an amazing friend, sweetheart.” She retorts immediately, a sincere smile on her lips. “You're snarky and clever and loyal. And you're so fun. You're my favorite person. I wish you could believe me when I said it.”

You hide your tears from her, there were too many tonight. Wanda grabs the water floating in her direction and waits for you to look up again to give you the item.

The wine bottle flies away in colorful red sprinklers when you make the exchange.

“Can I take you to bed?” Her question is innocent in every aspect, but you grin and her cheeks warm up.

“One love confession doesn't make me that easy, Maximoff.” You retort playfully and she smiles while this time, you accept the help to get up. The wine glass is forgotten because Wanda's powers do the job of taking everything to the right place in the kitchen, perfectly washed if needed.

The walk to your bedroom is silent, excluding familiar guidance of “watch your step” or “let me help you with the zipper” when Wanda helps you off your work clothes to pajamas.

Those are things you have done together a dozen times now, but not quite like tonight. Wanda never took off your shirt after saying she had feelings for you. She was never in your bed after you didn't believe her words.

There's a tense silence now, while you're lying next to each other.

She tussles around before suggesting “Maybe I shouldn't sleep here tonight.”

You sigh deeply before it's your turn to tussle around and look at her.

“You never sleep away when we are drunk.”

She turns her body in your direction, using her hand as a support for her face.

“Well, I am not drunk. And it's different now, darling. Tonight is different.”

You hide your grimace against your pillow. Wanda smiles. 

Her fingers move up, to play with your hair and she takes some pride in how she can catch some of your reactions: the blush, the shudder, or the hard shallow.

“What's in your head?” She risks it very quietly.

You look up just a little from the pillow and almost lose the ability to form a coherent thought with such pretty eyes looking back at you.

“As if you can't tell.”

She smiles at the impolite answer, never moving her fingers away from your hair. It's such a lovely and comfortable gesture that you're struggling not to fall asleep.

“Despite what everyone thinks, I'm not willing to read every mind I come across. It's often overwhelming and also disappointing.”

You smile at her, pulling the comforter up a little, nearly enough to cover your face. Wanda wishes you wouldn't do it, if there's something she likes to do is to look at you.

“You gotta admit there's fun in knowing what everybody thinks. What keeps them up at night, what's stealing their attention, and who they are thinking about. How they feel, what they fear.”

She gets a little closer, to count your freckles. To see your honesty.

“Is that what you want me to do with you? Read your every thought, know your fears, know your feelings?”

You swallow, look down at her lips but then pull back, gazing at the ceiling. Wanda just keeps looking at you.

“I don't understand why you're doing this.”

She's ready to start another argument, maybe even tell you to go to sleep so that you can talk in the morning, but you keep talking and she decides to keep listening.

“We were never like this. I'm a fucking mess and you're a fucking mess too, and I had James, and we both know how shit that went.” You continue with a tearful voice. “Then I had Natasha and fuck me, that was even worse. And you had Vision and Simon, and that is probably a lifetime of bullshit. So I don't….” You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. You end up giving a sad chuckle. “What I think I mean is that we have been around each other from the start. And I never saw you. Not like this. And it sounds fucking ridiculous that I just stand there, next to you for years, wasting my time with everything else instead of looking at you. And seeing how perfect for me you always have been.” There's this crack in your voice and Wanda really wants to kiss you but you don't look at her, not even when your tears start to fall on the sides of your face. “Now I'm so scared. It's like you put on the lights on this thing that was going on in the dark, this precious and special thing we have. And I am terrified that it could end as bad as any other relationship I had, because you're not like any other relationship I had, Wanda. You're… fuck, I can't even-”

She gets closer, enough to touch and to take your face into her hand to make you look at her.

“I wish I knew sooner too. We would have saved us so much time and heartache. But you can only know something when you know it. And I know this now, I'm certainly of it. How much I care for you, how important you are. And I think we have wasted too long being scared.” Her forehead falls to yours. “Maybe it is time we are brave together.”

You kiss her first. Wanda has this memory of your eighteen-year-old versions hiding from Avengers training with cigarettes and shared headphones, making stupid jokes that were ridiculously funny. She recalls the teenage hormonal urgency she used to push down right at this moment, how your breathy sighs cause her head to spin, or how every little sound sends a straight wave of heat towards her body.

But she also tastes the wine and pulls away with the same accelerated breathing and dark eyes as you have.

“You shouldn't have drunk that much.” She whispers against your lips, ignoring your attempt to chase her mouth as she gets up. She knows her willpower wouldn't survive another round. “See you tomorrow, dekta.”

Just like this, she's out of the room. 

You pull back at the bed with a huff and a silly smile on your lips. Every bit of skin Wanda touched, especially your lips, tingled. Your chest was as warm as your heart, and you were sure it had nothing to do with alcohol.

You may be just as drunk as you were the countless times your past relationships started and ended. But this time you are sure it will be different, the person means too much to you not to be. You will make sure it is better.

[kalims]

⊹ giving them flowers

premise. no plot we are just giving them flowers cause guys deserve some too <3

content. fluff, mini scenarios, azul turns into a silly nerd (affectionate)

featuring. jamil, sebek, riddle, azul.

note. actually accidentally posted this yesterday and got a heart attack (also an actual consistent posting schedule...?)

jamil gives you a look.

he spares a long stare at the bouquet you clutch between your hands, wearing an awfully cheeky grin that's chipping off the scold in his throat. "how many times have I told you this?" he deadpans.

but from the obvious fact that you're holding it. it's not like jamil can do anything about it.

"you don't buy flowers for yourself," he says firmly. I'm supposed to be the one getting them for you. he would like to add.

"they're a waste of madol?" you tilt your head.

he answers immediately. "no, just—" jamil's eye twitches like he's trying his hardest to keep something. "don't,"

perhaps he's being a little too blunt but it makes him upset. is he really messing up in gift giving to the extent where you have to buy something for.. yourself? and jamil is pretty sure gifts are called as such for a reason.

and that they're from, or gifted to another person.

you chuckle in your fist, but he continues to ramble; "also it's hard to care for flowers when you don't know much, i don't want you to—"

"jamil hon, my baby, the apple of my eye, the love of my life, they're for you,"

you say simply, and watch in amusement when his moments stutter before they stop to a complete freeze.

a furious wave of heat crawls up on his back but he's praying frantically. now is not the time. he seethes.

... he just tripped over his words.

jamil reluctantly accepts the flowers after you've finished laughing your ass off, and the only thing in his mind is the love.

okay maybe he should pick up a book about caring for flowers. do they even survive in the harsh conditions of scarabia?

whatever he'll make it work.

you should've expected this.

despite your arm honestly starting to tremble under the stress of holding it out for about 2 minutes straight now, you still attempt a smile—although strained. wouldn't want sebek to find it an unfriendly gesture.

even though he probably already thinks that anyways.

you don't want to color sebek in a way that shows that his only personality is being suspicious to everyone, and of course. the dearest young master he adores. (seriously though it's a little concerning, and you're kinda jealous.)

sebek stares at the bouquet in your hand with scrutinizing eyes, as if to say non-verbally: 'what is this'.

you sigh when he just stares at it like it's a bomb. "it's flowers." you deadpan.

sebek pursues his lips, looks away before looking back. "I can see that!" he says like he wasn't wearing a face that made you think you had to explain. but he just crosses his arms and falls silent with a huff. "for the young master, yes?'

he pauses. "I can atleast acknowledge your gesture, human!"

was that supposed to be good? you weren't given the chance to explain because he continues again; "though I will have to make sure that these aren't anything the young master is allergic to." he nods to himself, as though proud for being so thoughtful.

your eye twitches. you're a little surprised that he didn't even imply that it could be possibly a bomb inside to try and assassinate them.. but you notice a slight tense-ness to his demeanor.

you know cause he's huffed about 5 times in the past 1 minute, he's looked away and he's very clearly sneaking peaks at your hand.

—then he huffs to himself! then it repeats.

"I will take them to the young master at once!" he announces with his loud volume, stepping forward to grab it from you but you ultimately beat him. you're just praying he doesn't find you 10x more suspicious the moment you had wrenched it back to yourself with surprising strength you didn't know you had.

even he looked surprised!

"no, sebek.." you heave. "they're not for malleus, they're for you."

he didn't have the heart to correct the way you addressed the young master before he dutifully exploded.

he's shaking away from you with a wobbling, agape mouth. he could only open and close them dumbly, not beir capable to let a word out.

you suppose he was too speechless because he didn't even say anything when you happily pushed the bouquet to his chest like nothing happened.

for someone who's most diligent in studying, you'd think riddle would be able to catch on easily on the gist of your actions.

but he just blinks when you hold out your hand. pretty gray eyes trained on the bouquet of red roses in your grasp, then onto your face with inquisitive question apparent with the raise of his brow.

"we have plenty of roses in our gardens." he says, as though like giving him... these is the most bizarre phenomenon in his life.

it seems like he feels the need to add. "we grow them."

you smile, the sweet thing awfully tight on your face. "they're for you," you explain. a little perturbed that you need to in the first place, but it's riddle so you sorta understand?

riddle squints. "why?"

you blank. "like... like a gift, for you? you know. cause I want to."

then as if the slowness of the processing going on in his brain gradually speeds up. it's obvious he's probably realized the implications of your little gift from the jolt, then widened eyes who stare in disbelief.

riddle gulps. "for, me?" he asks stupidly.

your raised brows say yes.

it's almost hilarious when he accepts them gratefully and stares at them like you just sprouted a literal white rose from the ground, wrapped it in some fancy plastic, and then handed it to him with a smile.

silence ensues again. riddle notices, screeches in his head to do something about it except he can't, cause his mind seems to be broken right now and he can't exert any words but a stammer.

and he'd really like to relearn how to speak because you're fidgeting on the spot, clearly nervous by his silence.

"sorry," you chuckle. "um.. it's just red roses, not white, or blue, or pink—"

"no!" he blurts out far too quickly. hands stretched out in the air a little as though reaching out to stop you but then stiffly staying by his side. riddle clears his throat. "I mean... this is... very important to me."

you look like you don't really believe him cause he was going off about roses in his dorm before.

he flushes, away from your gaze. "because its from you."

you can barely see azul.

or gauge out his reaction if it's supposed to be good or bad, because you can barely even see his eyes from all the sudden sheen of white over it. did all the smoke in the room just gravitate over his glasses conveniently or something?

you can spot the joints in his fingers twitching but oddly enough he remains stiff in front of you. uncharacteristically silent, which wouldn't really lead to good things.

"hello?" with your free hand, devoid of any flowers with the power of freezing a person. you wave it in front of his face which seems to have done a pretty good job with snapping him out of whatever trance he's in.

the glasses slip down the bridge of his nose but he fixes them at record speed. admittedly with clammy fingers.

azul coughs. "thank you very much." he clutches them tighter, pursuing his lips.

"I know octavinelle is not the best place for warmer places," he starts and a flash of confusion on your face is something he misses. "but I will manage it and find an accommodation for these, around 34 or 35 degrees."

your brows furrow. what.

"hmm yes... a nice vase, I'll use the most pure water there is." he rants. "then I'll fill it up with two thirds of its container and make sure it lives healthy."

that's... concerning.

"I'll have jade clean it regularly." he says and you're honestly more scared for the flowers. "I cannot trust floyd either so I'll trim it by two centimeters at the right angle occasionally when it dries."

he says all that, with a pink face.

you awkwardly stand there taking in azuls apparent plans on how to ensure the lifespan of your 'thoughtful' gift will be extended as far as he can help in to commerce your honor.

[district4loading]

Blonde

Twice Sana x Male Reader

6K Words

Content Warning: angst, mentions of cheating, hate sex, possessive sana, breeding kink

Minors DNI

A/N: I've been wanting to write something about THIS^ Sana for a while now but I didn't really know where I wanted to go with the plot. That is until anon requested an interesting kinda angsty and toxic dynamic between reader and Sana.

From anon - "hear me out POSSESSIVE POWER BOTTOM SANA WITH A BREEDING KINK BUT WONT LET IT SHOW BECAUSE SHE’S A FUCKING BRAT AND YOU HATE HER BUT NOT HER BODY"

apologies to anon because I went a tad bit off script..

-

She's fucking blonde.

-

You don't know how you could ever allow Minatozaki Sana to ruin your life.

She's only five foot four and just a little over a hundred pounds but the heavy weight of her presence always seems to anchor you and keep you in her grip. You're broken up, you've been broken up for three months now. You made the decision to go no contact and completely cut her out of your life. It was the betrayal, the lying, the manipulating that acted as the final nail in the coffin, killing and burying any real love you had left for her. Now it's all bitter hatred.

It's taken you a while to get where you are. From thinking about her every day to only thinking of her maybe once a week. From not being able to listen to the songs you used to listen to together to merely flinching when they played on the radio. You weren't going to let memories of her turn the once normal parts of your life sour.

That's what you think right up until your doorbell rings.

You quirk your eyebrow and look up from your phone, wondering who could be at your door at five in the afternoon on a Wednesday. Package? No. Doordash? I wish. A friend? Maybe. You begin thinking of the possibilities as you walk the short distance from your computer to your front door. First you look through the peephole but you're only able to see your neighbors door. "Did I order something?" You mutter to yourself, checking your phone for a moment to see if you missed any emails.

Then you finally unlock your door and open it when you see that there was no email. You look down then you poke your head out, looking left then.. right. Your lips part and your eyebrows furrow as you try to process what the hell you're seeing in front of you right now. Or rather who. It takes you a minute to recognize that it's Sana and that's because something about her is different.

She's fucking blonde.

You're at a complete loss for words because you haven't seen or talked to her in months and now she's in front of you, staring into your soul with a fucking smirk on her face. She notices your gaze, full of confused awe and she thinks it's a good thing. "You like it? I did it for you" Her bottom lip juts out as she looks into your eyes.

"What..What are you doing here?" You begin to stammer as you ignored her question, having to remind yourself to breathe. She's just a girl.

"Are you saying I need a reason to visit my boyfriend?" She crosses her arms and you almost scoff, having half a mind to shut the door in her face. But you don't.

Instead, you make a face and shake your head "We're not together anymore Sana" She steps forwards and touches your hand and you almost immediately recoil and step back into your apartment "Don't touch me, I don't know where you've been." Sure it's a bit immature of you to say but after what she did to you, even feeling her hands on your body made you hostile. You want her nowhere near you.

"Seriously? It's been three months Y/n, get over it." She begins to get upset as if she had any right to. "I made one mistake and now you want to punish me for it forever! Listen he came on to me and-"

"You let him" You finish her sentence off coldly, your jaw clenching as the pain comes flooding back. That distinct ache in your chest, the turning in your stomach, she brought it all back and all she had to do was show up at your door. Your words stop her from talking and she gets this annoyed look on her face but before she can say anything else you actually gain a bit of strength and move to shut the door in her face. Sana puts her foot in the door before you do and stops you from closing it. "Listen, Sana I have a lot going on right now and the last thing I want to do right now is talk to you, just go"

You can't bring yourself to make eye contact and Sana sees it, she sees right through you. She's smart like that, she knows you like that. So she pushes herself through the door to enter your apartment because you'll let her. "Oh please, what else would you have going on besides jerking off?" She says it in that arrogant, sarcastic tone of hers. You open your mouth to protest as she walks in but then you close it and instead you exhale a frustrated huff.

"Why's that the first thing that comes to your mind?" You ask, moving to shut the door as you figured you could maybe say some hurtful things to her—get in her head and make her hurt like she made you. So you stand in the middle of your living room, keeping a good distance as you waited for her response.

"Well, you're a man and you haven't fucked in three months. You must be so pent up, baby" She uses that sweet, sultry tone to finish off her sentence, purposely pouting with those perfect lips right when you manage to take a glance at her face.

Fuck

If there was one thing about Sana? She was fucking sexy. The sexiest girl you've been with in your entire life. Now she has bleach blonde hair and you hate to admit it, as a matter of fact you wouldn't ever admit it, but she looked even hotter. It was such a shame, such a waste that her personality was awful. That she couldn't be trusted.

A little after you ended things you wondered what went wrong and you even tried to make sense of why she would do such a thing because you thought everything was going well. The intimacy was there, you saw each other all the time, there was never a day that went by where you didn't tell her you loved her and more importantly, the sex was hot.

You were ultimately perplexed until you had a good friend sit you down, slap you in the face and then explain to you that cheaters will cheat no matter what and that's probably when the hatred started.

If only he could see you now

A chuckle escapes your lips as you take a few steps forwards, tucking your hands in your pockets "What makes you think I haven't fucked in three months?" You give her a look, one thats calm and collected as if you had no care in the world, as if your heart wasn't beating out of your chest right now and this time, you get yourself to look at her. You watch as her cocky relaxed demeanor turned damn near rigid upon registering what you just said.

"But you haven't" Sana says the words in this matter-of-fact tone like she's expecting you to nod your head and confirm, but you don't. You almost laugh out loud, watching a vein nearly pop out of her neck at the mere thought of you with someone else.

Ironic isn't it?

You stay silent to build the tension, feeling a small boost in your confidence now that hers was noticeably shrinking. Now you can tell that her minds working and that's when you know you've struck a nerve. You try not to smile cause she's staring, watching every one of your moves like a hawk as you take a few steps closer to where she's sitting, right up until you're facing her. You manage to ignore her death stare and you only shrug "And if I have?"

That's when you actually get to appreciate her eyes. They're blue--or at least the color of her contacts are--and she's just staring. "Why the fuck are you playing with me?" She asks blatantly, the curse word leaving her mouth so aggressively, so seriously. Then you begin to lose your cool a bit, having a sort of flashback when you first found out about everything and that distinct feeling of betrayal came back.

The fucking entitlement was getting to you.

"You can't seriously be mad right now" You scoff bitterly and you cross your arms.

Sana stands up and you step back "Who?" Is the only word she utters and she's seething, visibly getting angrier the longer you make her wait.

"Sana, I want you out of my apartment. Now, or else I'm calling the cops" That's all you say before you turn around and walk off in the direction of your room, hoping she'd find her own way out.

You think that'll do it, you think that acting like you don't care and alluding to the possibility that you've fucked someone else would've did it for her.

You're wrong, because instead of leaving like you expect her to, Sana follows behind you closely "You mother-fucker, answer my question" You feel her small fingers wrapping around your arm and you wince when her nails nearly pierce the flesh.

You turn around to face her, yanking your arm out of her grip roughly. Then the annoyance on your face goes away and you freeze. Everything goes away because she's so close and her hand has found it's way on your arm again. She's mad at you, that's very obvious but she looks incredible and you notice how soft her hand is. "Who did you fuck? Tell me" She asks it again, more specifically this time.

"Sana-" You try to step back and the moment you do, your back hits the wall--because of course it does--and Sana doesn't miss her chance to corner you.

"Who?"

At this point you're looking into her eyes and you hate how pretty they are—how pretty she is. Then there's that familiar feeling in your belly. It's back, she still gives you butterflies. "I.." You start, and your words fall short almost immediately and just like that the power dynamic has shifted. All she had to do was get close. "No one" You relax your body, not noticing how tense you were until your shoulders dropped.

It's the truth, you haven't been able to do anything with anyone else since the breakup. It wasn't like you couldn't get laid, you had options but the attraction just wasn't there. Not for any other girl.

Her hand loosens on your arm, but she still keeps it there and her eyes sort of soften. "You're such an asshole, fuck" She hits your arm then huffs like she'd been holding a breath forever, stepping back from you to run her hand through her blonde locks.

"Oh really? Now imagine if I actually did fuck someone else? It would've felt really shitty wouldn't it?" You ask, that bitterness still so prominent in your tone. You couldn't help it, the irony of the situation is just too perfect.

Sana just glares at you and crosses her arms. For some reason you still can't bring yourself to move. You're still stuck there. "Will you ever be able to forgive me for that?" She asks and her demeanor stays the same. But you look into her eyes and you can see that she's genuinely asking like she wants you to forgive her, like she recognizes the pain she's put you through and she wants to fix it.

I don't know

"Sana...you fucking cheated on me, I've only been good to you... I just can't... why would you do that to me? How could you do that to me?" You ask the question that's been in the back of your mind for the longest time.

She comes closer and you allow it. You allow her to take your hand in hers as you stare into her eyes, waiting for an explanation, a reason. You need to know if it was your fault, if you could've changed anything, if you could've done something. "I was dumb and I wasn't thinking, baby" Her hand roams, reaching your face and she cups your cheek in her hand.

Shamelessly, you lean into it and it feels so warm, so soft. You hate it, you fucking hate her for doing this to you. The way she calls you baby makes those butterflies come back and you don't know how to feel. "Sana" You sigh and before you're able to say any words she's dropping to her knees in front of you. "What are you..." You start, but the words get caught in your throat when you realize what she's trying to do.

"I should show you how sorry I am" Her fingers hook over the waistband of your sweatpants and you let it happen.

Sana pulls them down, then your boxers go with it and you're soft. "I know you've missed me" She looks up at you as she takes your shaft into her hand. You exhale and look into her eyes but you don't respond to her. It's like you're outside of your own body, watching yourself in third person and you just can't bring yourself to do anything but watch.

Her soft hands are stroking you and it doesn't take long for you to get hard--less than a minute actually. "Sana" you whisper as she holds her fist at your base, then she opens her mouth and sticks her tongue out. When the warm, wet muscle comes into contact with your tip the pleasure overcomes you. "Fuck" your eyes are hooded and your mind's going blank.

You can't think of anything else, not even what she's done to you, nothing but her tongue lapping at your precum. She swirls it around then it's eventually in her mouth and her lips are so soft, pressed up against your shaft. You close your eyes and allow yourself to feel every filthy suck, slurp and lick. The sounds begin to echo in your hallway as everything gets sloppier.

Sana begins twisting her hand around the shaft jerking you at the base while she handles your sensitive head with her mouth. It feels amazing. She wasn't wrong, you missed this so fucking much. Off of pure instinct your hand is in Sana's hair and you're threading your fingers through the silky blonde strands. "That feels so fucking.. good" You bite your lip then take a sharp breath through your nose.

There's an eager humming sound that Sana makes but it's muffled as she continues to stuff you deeper into her mouth. She's going faster now, bobbing her head like she's hungry for you, like she's missed this too.

She moves her hand just so she can have your entire shaft inside and it slides down her throat so easily, no resistance as her lips touch your base. Sana holds it there and her eyes begin to water as she looks at you through her eyelashes then she fucking swallows. Your vision goes blurry for a moment and a guttural moan forces it's way out from your throat.

Then Sana drags back and it slips out of her mouth. She takes a breather, wrapping two hands around your shaft one after the other and she begins to stroke up and down. "I want you to fuck my mouth with this big, thick cock" She leans forward and flicks her tongue on the tip, catching more precum. she takes one hand and massages your balls throughly "Use me, and don't you dare fucking stop until you dump this load down my throat." She squeezes your balls for emphasis.

Your jaw almost drops "Sana" then she prepares herself. She opens wide and tilts her head back slightly. So inviting. Then she allows you to take your cock into your hand and out of hers. You guide the tip into her mouth and push your hips forwards using both of your hands to hold her head in place. It's probably not the best thing to do but you can't control yourself, not when she looks like this. Especially because she's asking for it, offering you her mouth to show you just how sorry she is.

You have to admit, it's one hell of an apology.

"Your mouth is fucking... insane" You grunt as the tight warmth of her throat squeezes your cock. She gags and you let it stay there for a bit, she's struggling now that you're in control but she won't tap out. Not like this. It takes a moment until she's breathing through her nose smoothly and that's when you begin to move your hips.

You pull out, then right back in, almost losing it at the wet sound it makes. You lick your lips then you actually start fucking her mouth, using it just like she told you to.

It feels so incredible that you don't miss a thing. Especially her occasional gag when you accidentally lodge yourself too deep. The sight is one for the books too, she keeps her big eyes open as you use her. What Sana can't say, her eyes will. They're so inviting, telling you to keep going, keep using, keep fucking—everything.

It's so subtle that you barely notice it, but Sana begins to undo the button on her jeans. Then she pulls the zipper down and she circles her clit slowly. She moans softly, eyes squinting as she touches herself while you use her throat. You expected it sooner or later because it's what she usually did when she sucked you off.

"Ah" You moan, feeling the heat build up in the pit of your belly "You have no clue... how ready I am to dump this fucking load in your throat. She only looks at you because she can't even nod her head, your hold is too tight. She moans a little and you try to control your breathing. It's getting erratic and every muscle in your body is burning up. "Yeah, just keep letting me use this... fuck i'm cumming" You give her a warning right before it happens.

You hold her head extra firm as you slide your member all the way in, her nose touching your base as your cock pulses and throbs. You're completely filling her mouth with it, painting the inside white with your hot seed while you grunt through your teeth. The feeling is only extraordinary and pleasureful and when you finally come down, you slide your cock out.

She loses her balance, leaning over as she gasps and chokes and holds herself up with her hand. You allow her to take a second to breath and when she's okay, you watch as she slides the other hand out of her pants and sucks on her fingers. Then Sana gets up on her two feet and pushes you against the wall again, she kisses you harshly then uses her hand to stoke your hard cock "Sir" She uses the term that never fails to drive you crazy, it's the implied authority that gets you "I want you to take this cock and fucking use me until you're done. It's my apology to you"

If you weren't completely blinded by lust, you'd push her off of you and tell her to leave because what she did is unforgivable and she can't just fuck for forgiveness. But her gaze is way to powerful and you're not strong enough to push her away. So instead you nearly growl and grab her wrist to pull her into your bedroom. You fling her forwards and she catches herself on the bed, climbing onto it as you pull your shirt off.

You walk towards the bed and yank her jeans off, then her panties and you motion for her to take her top off as you get into the bed and in between her legs. She's looking at you like she fucking needs it, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth in the sexiest way. As you go to line yourself up, you stop when you remember something. You may have lost your mind but you still have enough sense to reach into your nightstand and grab a condom.

"What's that for?" She gives you a look as she watches you tear the package open with your teeth. You don't answer her, you just continue on to put it on. Once it is, you prod her entrance but Sana pushes on your lower abdomen to stop you. "Y/n" The look in her eye is serious, like it's unfathomable that you're trying to use protection right now.

"Sana"

"Take it off, I don't have anything" She blinks "and you should know that" You can tell she wants to hit you right now, but she refrains from doing so.

"It's not cause of that, I just don't want to make any mistakes" You shrug when you know that there's no true reason other than to punish her. "Now it's either you move your hand or you get the fuck out and you never see me again."

Just like you expect, she moves her hand. "but I can't - it'll be harder for me to.. you know"

"You told me to use you and that's what i'm going to do. I don't give a fuck if you cum or not"

The words sound so coarse leaving your lips and it causes Sana to shut her mouth. Her lips quiver a bit and her eyes start to well up but she holds her glare. You never liked being mean to Sana and quite frankly if you're being real with yourself it's a blatant lie. No matter what you want to have her cumming, creaming and squirting on your cock until she can no longer think.

But you won't let her know that

You slide in and the first thing you feel is this unfamiliar pressure that squeezes around you tightly. It's something you're definitely not used to but you'd bare with it because you have to. Then maybe you'll think about it.

Sana exhales a pleasureful sigh before grabbing you by your arms to pull you in and you lean over her and begin to move your hips. She's so wet and warm, so slippery that you can just glide your cock in and out of her cunt without any resistance. Almost perfect. 

There's also this noise that you can hear, it's the obscene sound of her slick coating the latex each time you bottom out in her weeping pussy. You can feel it just enough that it has you biting your lip to stifle your own noises.

She's moaning heavily under you, although she said it'll be harder for her cum you know that she's still feeling the wide stretch that your thick cock faces her with. She's got her eyes closed and her hands clutching onto your arms as she wishes she could feel you bare with each vein scraping against her insides. It's something she's missed, but still something she'd have to earn back.

"Fuck - your cock.. it's so fucking -" A long whine follows and it's like she's completely forgotten whatever she was going to say in an attempt to tell you how good you're fucking her. She clenches and you feel it, almost shuddering when you do. Sana pulls your body down, slowing your movements as she gets her lips on your neck.

She sucks hard and you know she's leaving marks where she shouldn't be, you shouldn't let her but her lips feel too perfect on your body. It's all fucked up and you hate the fact that she's leaving deep red or purple marks on your skin. It tells you many things, one of them being that she still thinks you're hers and that you'll be hers forever. 

The thing is, she might be right to think that way because you don't move or flinch. You can't tell if you hate her or love her. "Sana" You murmur, feeling her cunt begin to squeeze you wildly, like it's trying to suck you in deeper. She's stopped the assault on your neck by now and your mouth is right by her ear so she can hear every grunt and moan you let slip. "This pussy feels so fucking perfect wrapping around me" You kiss her cheek and let your jaw hang open, your teeth scrape against the soft skin and you get a taste of the sweat that's built up on her cheek"

"T-The best you've ever had... right?"

You almost lose yourself and say 'yes' but you stop right before. She gets off on that, she always has. So you keep quiet and you quicken your pace. The moment she begins to react to the change in speed is absolutely priceless. Her high pitched moan, her mouth hanging open, the look of pure devastation in her eyes, everything. "Shit - please, please, please"

You hum and she wraps her legs around your waist, ankles pressing into you lower back. "Aw look at you. You're getting so close, Sana" You say it in a smug tone, hot against her ear. "What happened to having a hard time cumming?" 

"I'm - I'm - I'm - I - Fuck" She sputters "Don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop" A crackled whisper escapes her lips and you have to bite back a smirk. Does she seriously think she has any power right now? Is what you ask yourself before doing something so villainous, you think she might actually cry or curse you out.

You slip your cock out of her wet heat and the guttural sob that escapes her throat is nothing short of perfection. The raw emotional grief in her voice makes you feel all too powerful and it might make you even more fucked up than she is. "Fuck you!" Her legs loosen around your waist and she kicks her legs at you and you stop her by grabbing her legs, laughing a bit in response. "I fucking hate you" She huffs.

With a smirk on your face, you grab her by the hips and in a swift motion you flip her over. You straddle the backs of her thighs, remembering just how much she loved to be pinned and fucked like this. With her face buried in the sheets and her body being forced through the bed. So you slide your cock past her warm ass cheeks and back into that sopping cunt. "Fuck" She drags out as you push yourself to the hilt, knowing that this angle never failed to fuck her up. "You better fuck me hard, fuck me and make me fucking cum on your cock. I fucking need it"

"Not even a please?" You snicker while you prepare to actually wreck her. Despite her crude language you can tell she's so fucking horny and needy for you. Ready to cum all over your fucking cock and be used until you release your load anywhere you want. 

Definitely not inside

"Fuck y-" She can't even curse you right because you've decided to shut her up by completely bottoming out in her cunt. What cuts her insult short is nearly a scream that could probably be heard by everyone on your floor.

You lean over and plant your fists in the mattress for better leverage. It allows you to plow into the soft cushion of her ass so easy, your cock angled perfectly to jab into that spot that can turn her dumb in no time. Her moans go into that higher pitch and you watch as her hands search recklessly for something to grab. The sheets do just the right job.

"Sana..." You grunt "This cunt is fucking creaming for me" You look down, just to see how the condoms been completely painted white with her sticky substance. 

Her walls start to convulse and clench erratically and she's right there, just so close to letting herself go. You keep your pace, deciding that you'll be nice and let her cum because this'll be a day she'll remember for years no matter where she ends up, or rather who she'll end up with. 

Cause it can't be you, right?

You don't think about it too much, you're focused on the mindless murmuring that you can't even begin to make out because she's doing it with her face pressed into the bed. Her back arches and her ass raises into your thrusts and that's when you know it's happening. "Already sweetheart? we've just switched positions" You snicker and she doesn't even have the brain power to curse at you because she's right fucking there.

Sana gasps and her upper body presses deeper into the mattress while her ass just chases your cock, like she needs it deep forever. "Cumming - I'm fucking - God" She groans and shudders through the remainder of the orgasm. Her entire body is feeling the waves, the shocks, everything as she cums and that's how you just know it was good.

She stops and her body lays flat on the bed again so you begin to move your hips. "Now it's my turn" You grunt as the heat builds up in the pit of your stomach "Where do you want it Sana?" There's nothing she says, she just moans weakly into the sheets "Want my load on your back?" No response "Want it in your mouth?" Nothing "Want it all over that pretty face of yours?" You continue and it's almost as if she doesn't really care where you cum. 

Or thats what you think until "Or... do you want me to pull this condom off and fuck my cum deep into this raw cunt" She clenches tight, and you almost lose it right then and there.

"Where... ever - fuck - you want" She does her best to turn her head and look up at you, those eyes telling you that she wants to be bred and claimed by you. But she doesn't say it, it's like she can't bring herself to. Or she just won't. 

Either way, you're not giving her what she wants.

It takes you a few more strokes and just a bit of concentration because of the condom but you're just about ready to burst. You think about it for a moment, getting careless and fucking a baby into her. Maybe you'll raise it together, maybe it'll mend your broken relationship. You seriously think about it, knowing that she probably isn't on any birth control and you could actually breed her, right here, right now. This pretty thing thats under you, writhing and moaning would be tied to you forever if you had a kid together.

"Fuck" You gasp as you pull out with swiftness, peeling the condom off before struggling to get to where her face is. Sana opens her mouth weakly and you get your cock into your fist the moment it all happens. You're cumming, almost keeling over when the ectasy hits you like a brick. You look down and it's absolutely covering her, some getting in her mouth. You make sure to pull the rest of it out, smearing the last bit of white on Sana's face.

She swallows what she caught in her mouth and gives you a smile "I hope you take it into consideration, what with my apology and all"

"Take what into consideration"

"Taking me back"

Yeah right, Hell no

-

Maybe you aren't to be taken serious, maybe no one should ever take you serious because you obviously can't even take yourself serious. It's only been a month since that day with Sana. How the fuck does she keep ending up in your bed, every. fucking. night. 

She's like a fucking disease, you can't get rid of her.

You tell her you hate her, she giggles and says she hates you more. You tell her to get out, she stays and you end up fucking. You tell her you don't love her, she kisses you. It's like she knows you're full of shit, like she knows you. 

Each day she shows up at your door she proves that theory right. 

It's no surprise that you're in love with her, you've come to terms with that recently. But somehow, this new look of hers has really been wrecking you. It's the way she rocks the bleach blonde hair with such confidence. Like she knows whenever she walks into a room, all eyes are on her and they don't stop staring until she isn't present anymore. 

She loves the attention and it kills you. You first witnessed it when she convinced you to take her out a week ago. The waiter couldn't keep his eyes off of her and it didn't help that she wore a dress that had her tits practically spilling out. Instead of telling her to cover up, you ended up punching the guy right in his face.

Then you took Sana home and fucked her on your couch cause you were too impatient to make it to the bed. You needed her to know she was yours in that immediate moment.

It wasn't always like that before. When you could actually trust her you couldn't give a fuck about what she wore or how she wore it, cause you knew that nobody else could have her.

Now that that's not so clear anymore, you need to make her aware of it every time.

It's maybe one in the morning and you're fucking her again. You've got her bent over, on her hands and knees in your hallway. Again, you couldn't make it to the bedroom because when you got here you pushed her against the wall and began kissing her. Then you had her pinned as you fucked her into the wall and somehow you both sunk to the floor.

"You've been such a good fucking girl for me lately" You mutter as you bring her to the brink of her next orgasm "Keeping yourself all nice and untouched for me"

"All for you sir.. I'm yours I'm fucking.. yours" There's a shudder in her voice and in no time "I'm gonna fucking - fuck!" She warns, her needy body meeting each one of your thrusts. It's like you've got her addicted to you and she can't help but need your cock deeper inside.

A harsh slap lands on her ass and she yelps "Do it Sana, cum for me" You grunt and it takes a moment for her to get through this one because it hits her like an 18-wheeler. The way she freezes like a deer in headlights then falls apart like she's having a seizure. She's cumming so hard that you think of asking her if she's alright. But she's more than alright, the way she fucks her cunt on your cock tells you that much.

You're not wearing a condom and you know it's stupid and reckless but you went through all of them and when you reached for one, there weren't any left. Sana looked all pouty, telling you that you could always just pull out while also reminding you that she's been good and that she's just so fucking horny and needy for you that nothing else could satisfy her that wasn't your cock going so deep down her cunt that you hit her cervix. Maybe not literally, but you catch the drift.

Anyways the idea of pulling out starts to seem more and more impossible as you allow yourself to enjoy the feel of her velvety walls. The way they squeezed onto you all slick and wet and warm. It felt almost too good. You have to slow down, cause if you keep going at this rate you might... 

That's not good

"Gonna cum soon" You announce and you don't even know where. There's only one thought in your mind. Fill her, fill her, fill her. It tells you and your entire body begins to tremble. "Sana, be a good girl and tell me what you want" You hunch your body over hers because if you're going to do this, you need to hear it from her. She presses chest into the floor, now she's face down ass up. She doesn't say anything and you're only getting closer so you fist a handful of those blonde locks. She moans loudly but that's not enough "Say it Sana, or else you're not getting fucked for a month"

You know that'll be just as much torture for you as it is for her but you're hoping to God that of all things she knows about you, she doesn't pick up on that. "Fuck okay! I want you to fucking breed me... need your cum deep in my fucking cunt" She finally breaks and just like that your cock begins pulsing. You loosen your grip on her hair as you use her cunt and fuck your load deeper.

She clenches like she's trying to milk you for absolutely everything you've got "Thank you" She whispers.

-

"So.. you came in me"

"Yep"

"And all of a sudden you actually want us to try again? No bullshit"

You nod your head, trying to make sense of it all in your own head. You don't know why exactly you're taking her back, nor do you know why you're climbing into bed with her. "All I know is that... despite what you did to me, I still love you. I love fucking you, I love cuddling you and I love waking up next to you" You sigh cause you know it's pathetic and she doesn't deserve it but the way she holds you and runs her fingers through her hair has those butterflies coming back.

Maybe you do know how you allowed Minatozaki Sana to ruin your life

[oceantornadoo]

(simon riley x f!reader, same rank!)

violence, cod inaccuracies, reader is a badass

simon riley never calls you baby

until he does.

you tell him it has to stay hidden. you can't be known as "the girl fucking the lieutenant", no matter if you're the same rank as him, the same sweat and tears put into the job. it scares you, the thought of losing decades of hard work over some stupid fling with a man they call ghost. a man who brings you tea on your sick days, a man with soft eyes and a listening ear, the only man who's ever brought you to orgasm. the push and pull of your autonomy and your love is ever growing, that bone deep fear rooted in your marrow.

simon's scared too. scared of waking up and it's all a dream. scared that his enemies will find out, scared that it'll show he isn't so dead after all. he's been a rotting thing on earth for nearly four decades and he's comfortable with it; no matter how alive you make him feel. his hand on your waist feels right, but he can't bring his heart into the light.

so you call each other "lieutenant." maybe "riley" when he pisses you off, just to get under his skin. "dove" is rare, but it warms you up just the same, gives you an unbidden vision of hot chocolate and snow days. mainly its "l.t.", remnant of johnny, the respect and friendliness woven together sweetly. you murmured "babe" to him once, in the early morning when he sneaks out, and felt his shoulders bunch, the weight of it too much to bear. that was the end of pet names, or so you thought.

--

it's a foggy day on what becomes the worst night of your life. the mission is at a standstill, the intel outdated. you were supposed to be taking out a terrorist organization, blowing up the base of their operations, but instead the building is damp and abandoned, echoes of life the only sign they were here. price is in your ear, telling you to clear one last room and retreat, simon already on his way out. you nudge your way into the room with caution, years of practiced steps coming to you on instinct. for some reason, you don't catch the glint of a stranger's eye in a hidden corner. you don't see the rope in his hands, the knife between his teeth. the next thing you see is the floor, fog seeping over concrete as rough hands gag you and mutter promises of ungodly harm.

something's wrong. "price." simon murmurs soft and low, crossing out of the building to the tree cover below. "where is she? s'pposed t' be out by now." he's scanning the building through his scope, looking for that figure he knows so well, could find blind. "copy. 'er tracker says she's still in the buildin'. let's-" there's a piercing scream in the air. the ravens take flight from the trees. dark wings, dark words. "ghost-" "goin' in." a sigh on the other end. he can practically feel price's hesistancy but he doesn't care, heavy feet already moving back into the building. "you're goin' in blind, radar's jus' gone out." he swears under his breath, clearing hallway after hallway as the building falls back into silence. just as he comes upon a 4-way split, you scream again, the sound far away and to his left. "'m comin' dove, hold on." there's no gunfire, no sounds of fight. it's so eerie he thinks he might have dreamed it, his worst nightmare come true. his instincts lead the way, some knowledge of your location hidden in his blood. pop. finally a gunshot, and if he squints hard, he tries to imagine it being from your weapon. he's close, nostrils expanding at the scent of you, memorized even without your favored perfume.

there were four of them. you still can't believe you missed them, the thought in the back of your head as you fight for your life. scrambling from the rope one tries to force on you, becoming an eel as you slip out of their grasps. this is what you do, what you're trained for. until someone stomps down hard on your ankle, the force of it cracking straight through. you scream, can't help it, searing pain blinding your vision for precious seconds. they take advantage of it, gloved hands tying your own behind your back in a tight knot. you can't reach your comms so you scream again, this one out of frustration, desperation that your team, that simon, might not find you.

the big one shuts you up with a hand to your throat, a bruising grip that leaves you unable to speak. they aren't well trained, fumbling hands and shaky grips, and you're finally able to reach your holster, shooting the first between the eyes before you can even glimpse his face. now you're in your element, adrenaline covering the pain of your ankle as you fight back, shooting one after the other, digging out your knife for close combat. it's over in a blink, the men no match for your skills, and once you double check they're dead, you collapse in the corner, the pain of your ankle roaring. that's when you hear it.

"baby?" it's him (but it can't be). he's never called you that. you pretend not to see when he whispers it into your neck as you feign sleep, when he murmurs it in a grunt as he's deep in your cunt. he's never said it to your face. "baby!" it's definitely him, that gruff voice cutting across the fog. you whine out of frustration, your throat too sore from your attacker to call out. instead, you limp to the door, almost running into simon as he comes crashing into your own personal hell. he sweeps you into his arms and you let him, grabbing his shoulders to make sure he's real.

"y' hurt?" he takes a look around the room, at the carnage in your wake. "my brave girl." you're sobbing, unsure whether its from frustration or relief. still can't believe you got caught, feeling like such a stereotype to have your knight in shining armor rescue you. "handled them all y'rself, hm, baby?" he's all sweetness and it hurts, seeing his eyes swell in pride as he takes in the four dead men, gunshots and a knife sticking out of one's eye. "why- why are you calling me that, simon?" he's ushering you out, your arm around his neck as you limp towards freedom. "proud of you." he says it simply, eyes trained on potential threats, not watching your reaction.

"aye, i told you, gaz. ye owe me a drink." soap's voice crackles through the comms. they were on. which meant your team heard the whole thing, heard simon practically claim you, knew you were together, thought you were a slu- "she's too good for him. i don't believe it." gaz's voice replied. "bugger off." simon grumbled into the mic, the sounds of them snickering loud and clear. "good?" he turned back at you, stopping you before you approached the clearing where your team waited. his eyes told you something different, that he'd walk out of here right now if you wanted. the cock of his head meant he'd follow you anywhere, live off the lamb for decades if you wanted. that was all you needed to know. you nodded and pushed forward. "yeah, i'm good, baby."

--

this is SO CRINGE but it's been in my drafts forever and needed to start paying rent

[delphi-shield]

SAY IT BACK ↪ letting them leave without an ily

finishing up some smaller things from my wip folder before i buckle down and work on the big stuff again. here's this doofy little fluff piece.

characters included: chris redfield, leon kennedy, jill valentine, ada wong

content: fluff. just fluff. established relationship. mildly ooc behavior for the sake of fluff (also known as being in a relationship and acting stupid)

You found it on TikTok - or maybe it was Instagram, or Facebook - doesn't matter. One of the media conglomerates had given you a horrible idea about how to tease your loving, devoted partner.

It's simple - when they said 'I love you' before they left for work, you just wouldn't say it back. What could go wrong?

Chris Redfield ↪

Did not notice. Secure. In his lane. Unbothered. Probably not moisturized. (Get him a nice oil, fragrance free. He'll like it more if you massage it into his muscles for him, spend a little extra time smoothing along the curve of his spine, up and over the tightness of his shoulders.)

If you're at the point with Chris where he's saying “I love you” in place of a goodbye, he doesn't need to hear you say it back. He's confident in your relationship. Hearing it is just a nice bonus.

You're going to get your own feelings hurt here. Sent yourself into a spiral. Like, damn, does he not listen? Does he not care? What the fuck is his deal?

Chris is legitimately confused when you bring it up to him later. Doesn't get the point of the whole thing. “Why wouldn't you just say you love me?” Head cocked to the side, so puppy-like you can practically see the velvety ears flopping over.

Really doesn't do the whole social media thing. Even when you show him videos as an example, he's just shrugging. "I'm pretty sure those are skits, honey. No one really reacts like that."

If only he knew. Hey - at least now you know that Chris is perfectly content in your relationship and won't let anything silly like this bother him. It's just a sign to ramp up the pranks - more practical jokes, less subtle, harmless emotional manipulation.

That's what you thought, at least, but when Chris flips the light off that night and sidles up behind you in bed, strong arms slipping around your middle and tugging you back to him, his voice rumbles in your ear - "You gonna tell me you love me, or is this gonna be a problem?"

And Chris is really good at extracting confessions. How badly do you actually want to get some sleep tonight?

Jill Valentine ↪

Doesn't seem to have noticed that you ignored her. Walked right out the door without missing a step, didn't even glance back. Her car pulls out of the garage, her sunglasses on - she seems entirely unbothered.

Oh, she’s bothered.

Jill Valentine is Not Petty™️. And she does not pout when her partner doesn't say ‘I love you’ back. She's in a pissy mood at work for a completely unrelated reason. She's not returning your texts because she's busy at work, not because she's trying (and failing) to give you a taste of your own medicine.

She definitely doesn't carry that storm cloud all the way home with her, doesn't rain on your parade when you cheerfully announce that dinner's ready and on the table.

You're trying everything you can think of to cheer her up. Asking about work got you a noncommittal shrug. You'd offered to draw a bath for her - or (preferably) for the both of you, but she'd dismissed the idea, talking about how it would take up too much time.

She didn't have the heart to shrug you off when you started massaging her shoulders. Despite your silence in the morning, you were clearly intent on taking care of her. Maybe nothing was wrong. Maybe you just hadn't heard her.

Her palm presses against your cheek, turns you to face her. She searches your eyes for a moment, her gaze unreadable. "Thanks for dinner. I love you."

Nothing. Fucking nothing. "You're welcome."

Jill knows that look on your face, that shit-eating grin that you're trying to cover up by glancing down, by pretending to be flustered. Her hands grip your hips. She manhandles you into her lap, chair scraping against the floor to make room for the both of you.

"Okay - spill. What's up with you?"

Once you explain, she's not mad about the whole thing, not really. But you can't help but notice that she's been withholding kisses lately, and-- wait.

Fuck. Now she's turned the tables on you.

Leon Kennedy ↪

Keeps finding new and inventive ways to double back inside the house. He's not going to outright ask you what's up - that would make him look desperate, which he’s totally not. He’s definitely not concerned at all that you didn’t complete your morning ritual and send him out the door with an ‘I love you’. He’s a big boy - this isn’t high school, this is his very mature, very adult relationship.

Excuse number one: “Sorry, forgot my keys,” as he makes a show of dropping his keys out of his pocket, onto the living room floor. His eyes are on you when he reaches to grab them. Leon tosses them in his hand, making as much noise as he possibly can. “All right, love you.”

You hold strong. Still no ‘love you’ back. He’s gone for all of 60 seconds when he comes back with excuse number two: “Ah, damn, forgot my badge. I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached.”

His badge is attached to his belt. You can literally see it. When you point that out to him, he makes a show of being relieved, goes so far as to press a kiss to your temple, and says, “God, what would I do without you? Love ya. Have a good day.”

But you hold strong. Until excuse number three:

“Babe, have you seen my gun?”

You laugh, which only makes him laugh - and then he hits you with ‘no, seriously’ while he leans against the doorway, hip cocked. He’s got you figured out by now, knows that if he can make you laugh then you’re not doing this because you’re mad at him or anything. He can't even be mad when you explain it to him. He can only warn you:

"I'm gonna get you for this. Now, c'mon - say it."

Ada Wong ↪

I don't know why you would do this to her to be honest. She just said ‘I love you’. You should be marking your calendar and turning this into a holiday.

She doesn't say it often, at least not while you're conscious. Whether she presses her sentiments into your hair while you sleep against her, drooling against her collar bone, is up for debate. You have no hard evidence and she'll deny the allegations.

It simultaneously is and is not a big deal. She didn't say it because she craved the validation of having you repeat it to her. She said it because she meant it. There's so few concrete truths about herself that she can share with you, but that was one of them. Does it sting a little not to have it returned? Maybe.

She turns the moment over and over in her head, letting it haunt her. You had given her time, she thinks, why can't she give you yours? But your silence is a specter that tinges every moment. It creeps at the edges of every thought, it–

“Hey, you forgot your coffee.”

She turns to see you in the door of your apartment, hanging from the frame with one hand, her cup extended to her in the other. She clicks back to you in her stilettos, and your press a kiss to her cheek when she claims her drink. The guilt of it all ate at you before you could let her leave your sight. “Love you. Be safe.”

She'd spiraled before she even got down to the parking lot. Total loser in love.