#I do need to work on his wardrobe more

[just-a-hooman64]

After Neo Agent 3 defeated Octavio in the crater, he had completely disappeared.

In all honesty the Agent had forgotten about the DJ. He never showed up at any of the Alternan islands. Honestly it was impressive how such a big octopus could vanish without a trace. When Octavio had appeared again in the fight against the bear, the Agent didn't get a chance to glance at him. It was only when they landed back on Earth did they notice the fuzz that was smeared across half of his body. Before they could say anything, the DJ shooed them away as he scuttled to one of the storage crates that scattered the landscape. What a weird guy. When Neo 3 returned to the NEW New Squidbeak Splatoon base, they instantly got bodied with questions from Agent 1 as she shook them back and fourth by the shoulders. With a Dizziness growing in their head, they pointed towards the crate. A large thud emanated from the rectangular vessel when they did, what comical timing. DJ Octavio was in there, and something had happened.

When Callie opened the crate doors, she wouldn't have recognized the Octoling that was sprawled across the ground if she didn't recognize Royal Octarian Emblem that was clearly pinned to the old man's clothes.

Erm.... what the scallop.....

Yall remember that Half Mammalian Octavio design I mentioned... yea.,,,

I'll probably make a proper reference sheet for him soonish since there's a lot about him that are not pictured here, but this was sitting in my files begging to be posted so! Here yall go!

(Ive been super busy recently so I cannot guarantee anything new getting posted SOON soon.. but it'll be soon..)

This whole thing is inspired by Octavio getting completely BODIED by fuzzy ooze when the crater caves in. Unfortunately i do NOT think he would be able to walk that off scott free

Pictured here ^^ (Screenshot is from Jaymoji's Splatton 3 Story Mode video)

That old man got CAKED in the stuff, so I figured this could be something cool to explore. Yes I have a reason why he is no longer perma-swim form, yes I have a reason for his different eyeball, and yes I have a reason for only one of his hands being stained Wasabi green. I'll get around to explaining things--most likely in that aforementioned reference sheet post.

Here is a version without Callie's text and shadow

If youve made it this far nd read everythang,,, thank you !! Octavio has been spinning in my brain for like a full month now and I have had SO many thoughts about him that I can't wait to share! I hope my little drabble wasn't too poorly written lol, I am very rusty to say the least

Without further ado! I hope whoever is reading this has a wonderful day! Stay Freshh!!

[differenteagletragedy]

On domesticating Simon Riley.

Simon knows people, knows how to read them and how to get what he wants out of them, in a general sense. He also knows women, their bodies and how to handle them. How to pick one out that wants the same thing he wants, how to approach them and then how to cut and run.

What he doesn't know is how to stay. How to let someone else know him, even see him. What makes a home.

So you're going to have to teach him.

He has the most minimal wardrobe you've ever seen -- a few pairs of jeans, a handful of t-shirts, a couple of hoodies and one pair of boots. After a few weeks of watching him lace up those boots every time he takes out the trash, you check them for his shoe size then order him a pair of crocs to wear around the house and when they arrive, you leave them by the door, where he keeps his boots.

"The fuck are these?" he grumbles that evening when he goes to grab the boots while you're cleaning up after dinner. They're too big to be yours, but he knows they're not his.

"I got them for you," you answer, coming to stand beside him. "Just something to wear when you need to step outside for a minute or if your little feet get cold and you wanna wear something around inside."

"I don't have ... fucking hell," he says, pointing down to the shoes. "They've got holes all in them."

"That's so you can accessorize!" you say proudly, pulling out a little bag full of charms that you picked out for him.

It's ridiculous. It looks absolutely absurd. But he wears them anyway, because he's learning that when people care about each other, they make little gestures like this, and if there's a way that he can wear your love for him around like a badge of honor, then no matter how goofy it looks, he'll be proud to do it.

Simon chews his fingernails down to the quick, a nervous habit that he's had for as long as he can remember. After catching him with a couple of bloody fingers after one particularly bad evening, you tenderly pull him into the kitchen, wash his hands and dry them, then sit him down at the kitchen table and leave for a moment, only to come back with nail polish.

"Really, love?" he asks, looking up at you with a smirk. "Gonna give me a manicure?"

You roll your eyes, pulling one of the chairs closer to him and reaching out for his hands, replying, "What, too manly to have your nails done?"

"Yeah, that's what it is," he smirks, all sarcasm, then says, "Why though?"

"It's the taste," you explain, shaking a bottle of black polish before taking the cap off and carefully leaning in to start on his right thumbnail. "The idea is that when you go to bite your nails, the polish will make it taste bitter so you stop."

He can't help but smile a little to himself as he watches you work. He doesn't care one way or the other about his nails, but it's cute, watching you so focused on him. Still, something about it nags at him, because while it feels good, having you care, it doesn't quite feel right, not all the way. Not just yet.

"Not hurting anyone with biting them," he says quietly, his eyes on his hands as you finish up.

You give a little sigh, capping the bottle before meeting his eyes, and you tell him, "You're hurting yourself. And that's not ok, not with me."

He doesn't do birthdays, not his anyway. Not in a dramatic "I hate my birthday" way, it's just not something of note to him. He knows the date, acknowledges it to himself when it comes just as a reminder that he's 40 now, not 39, nothing more. The first birthday he has with you comes after you've been together for several months, and you only hear about it after the fact.

"My sweet boyfriend," you coo at him one night in bed, a little tipsy from the wine you'd had with dinner. "My beautiful, beautiful boyfriend."

He chuckles, still marveling at how much you seem to marvel at him. Your hands are on him, gentle and doting, and he hears you giggle as you ramble on.

"Sweet and kind and handsome and strong," you say, running a hand through his hair. "He always watches out for me. He always takes care of me. My favorite person."

"You're drunk," he points out, smiling softly, cheeks red.

"Am not," you reply. "Even if I am, the truth is the truth."

You go on, praising him for everything you can think of. Pretty blonde hair, pretty smatterings of freckles, pretty dimples that only you ever get to see. It's almost unbearable, hearing how much you adore him, but in a good way. Like it's stretching something in him that's been closed for far too long.

You're breaking him in, slowly and carefully.

"Have you ever," you ask him at one point, "ever in your entire 39 years, thought that you'd get a girlfriend as thoughtful and loving as me?"

It's a playful question, but of course he's never thought that. His chest aches at the thought of just how much you've given him, and how much you let him give you in return. So instead, he dodges it.

"Not 39 anymore, sweetheart," he says softly.

Your brow furrows immediately, not understanding, and he laughs quietly, his hand on your stomach under the blankets sliding to your side to pull you closer.

"A few weeks ago," he explains.

"Your birthday was a few weeks ago?"

"It was."

"And you just ... didn't think to say anything?"

You're serious now, almost concerned, and he can't stand it.

"It's not a big deal, love," he says, leaning in to press kisses against your forehead and temple. "Just another day."

"It is a big deal," you argue, pulling back to look at him. "I would have ... I don't know, I would have gotten you something. Treated you special. Thrown a party, something."

"One, I don't like parties. Two, you treat me special everyday. Three, you've already given me more than you know, I don't need anything else."

All those things are true, but it still takes much longer than he'd like to get the frown off your face.

The next day, you ask him to run some errands for you. You need the oil changed in your car, some things from the big grocery store on the other side of town, but you need to stay home and take care of some things that need done around the house. He agrees easily. He likes taking care of you.

When he comes back later that afternoon, he goes for the kitchen, ready to put up the groceries he'd picked up, and there you are, leaning against the counter and smiling at him like you were waiting for him.

The homemade cake on the counter beside you, with candles sticking out and "Happy Birthday Simon" written in icing on top, tells him that you were.

Every time you do something like this, perform some little act of kindness that comes so naturally to you, it feels like something gets unlocked inside him. Like there have always been chains wrapped around his mind and his heart, keeping him tight and cold and alone, padlocks piling on top year after year, keeping all the hurt secure inside. But somehow you have the key, and you take your time, undoing them all.

Undoing him, completely and thoroughly, until he's open for the first time. And it's raw and new, and it hurts, but something in him knows that the pain will give way to something beautiful.

He watches as you step up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning your head against his chest.

"Happy birthday, Simon," you say softly.

He can't say anything, not now, so he pulls you closer to him, strong arms cradling you against him, and you're close enough that he can feel when the corner of your mouth turns up into a smile

Another lock coming off. Another piece of proof that he can be something different, something better, with you.

[tiredandoptimistic]

The thing that I think is most important about Klinger as a character is that he's deeply kind. He couldn't get a section eight because he wasn't willing to commit to making himself a danger to others. His dramatic wardrobe and escape acts never impacted anybody else (other than giving Henry and Potter some extra paperwork on occasion), and he's still a first rate soldier when they need him. He's always in the thick of things carrying litters or donating blood or delivering x-rays. The example I always remember is when he pretended to think he was in Toledo. He wore civilian clothes and talked to Potter as if he were a traffic cop, but he was still doing his job correctly and efficiently. His behavior is a protest more than anything else. It's a statement that he may be acting like a soldier to save lives, but they'll never make him think like a solider; he will do his part to lessen the suffering but he cannot support the war itself.

There's an episode with a guy who actually gets a section eight, and he's so clearly contrasted with Klinger because the other guy isn't just talking to his socks, he's firing into the minefield. Klinger tells Sidney that he hates the war so much because of the death, that he can't stand being a part of all that killing. If he just wanted to go home then he could do it, but that wouldn't actually help anybody. He's a lot like Hawkeye in that way. Sticking around and making it clear how much they hate it while working every day to save lives is the best way to fight "the war against the war" as Hawkeye calls it.

On a less serious note, Klinger is also just a really nice guy. He's even friendly to Frank, who only ever has awful things to say to him. He's surrounded by hate and violence, he's constantly overworked; and yet he shows up, goes above and beyond in his duties as a corpsman and clerk, is genuinely kind to everybody he meets, then spends his free time sewing elaborate outfits and constructing getaway schemes. That's just plain incredible. He never lets his hatred for the war turn him hateful, and instead he makes an effort to brighten up the 4077th with his wackiness.

[paarksunghoon]

resignation | sunghoon

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: desperately need to rant about my life and I’m doing it by way of enhypen 😩 this is a small little chapter and I have no idea if I’m gonna make this a whole thing, but we’ll see. enjoy for now and let me know your thoughts! xx

WARNINGS: none :)

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

***

Like a bird stuck in a metal cage, you feel trapped in an enclosure that’s meant to prevent you from flying away. That’s what it feels like to work at Park Inc., an international venture capitalist firm that serves Asia and the greater North American and European landscape. Your job is boring and meaningless, and today is the day you decided to do something about it. 

Your alarm rings every morning at 5 A.M. on the dot and today is no exception. Since becoming Park Sunghoon’s assistant six years ago, you’ve learned the masterful art of never hitting snooze after hearing an earful from Sunghoon himself when he requested your presence the following hour (you failed to arrive in time and learned to never go back to sleep unless it was your day off). 

This life seemed like a dream at the ripe age of twenty-one. Freshly graduated from college with no real career goal in mind, one of your academic mentors suggested entering the workforce as a personal assistant to gain social capital and learn about different areas of industry that could potentially lead you towards a career. Your measly business degree left you feeling unfulfilled and your parents’ aloof demeanor towards the lack of job offers lining up after graduating wasn’t the kind of news you were ecstatic about. You jumped at the chance to work as a personal assistant with the assumption that it would be the kind of job that you could pursue in the meantime until something else came along.

This position at Park Inc. fell into your lap like some kind of dumb luck. The role wasn’t posted on any job site. Rather, your name had been submitted on behalf of your academic advisor, which got you your first interview. You suppose that must be some kind of nepotism. After six separate interviews over the course of three months, the job was yours.

You’d saved up enough money, working the night shift at a local restaurant to afford a rundown apartment and a new office-appropriate wardrobe from the local second hand stores in your neighborhood. Pencil skirts, fashionable blouses, heels that promised to last a long time, and blazers that looked professional enough lined your closets for future use. It was an exciting prospect and starting your new life after graduating university felt like a different ball park than when you were still pursuing your degree. 

Despite all of that, you feel listless.

Your days begin before the sun rises and ends just after sunset. Anticipating Sunghoon’s needs is seamless for you, to the point where you’re able to think on his behalf without second guessing yourself. He agrees on most days and doesn’t put up much of a fight when it comes to business matters because you’ve been by his side for over half a decade. You’ve picked him up from many late night rendezvous with women who definitely wanted more than he was willing to give, and you’ve accompanied him to events where he couldn’t bother asking somebody to be his date. You’re his assistant, and therefore you’re always available. 

But you’re just the help. You don’t have any real stake in Park Inc., nor does anybody take you seriously unless Sunghoon agrees with your opinion. You know this company inside and out, and you know exactly how Sunghoon envisions this company to succeed. You act like you’re a managing partner without the title because you’re by his side nearly every hour of the day, and it’s gotten to a point where people me either whisper about a silent affair, or look at you with sympathy because Sunghoon can’t seem to function without you. 

It was fun, at first. Learning how to stand on your own two feet while leaving everything you knew behind felt exhilarating. Abandoning your hometown to explore the big city was a dream come true, and you envisioned all of the late night food runs you’d go on in an attempt to explore each neighborhood within Seoul. The beginning was tolerable at best—if you count crying in your small apartment after thinking you’d never get the hang of this job—and Sunghoon knew to delegate tasks to you based on experience level. He had you fetch coffee and take care of his dry cleaning in the first few months, on top of organizing multiple reports until you were ready for more. He was kind like that, and you’re sure his willingness to help you in your career was why you stayed for as long as you have. 

Six years ago, receiving the amount of responsibility you carry felt like you’d reached the top of the tallest mountain after dreaming of the day Sunghoon could trust you enough to let you do your job without much supervision. You could complete a task for him before he delegated it to you, because you understood his workflow and what needed to be prioritized. The both of you worked well like that, and after six years of getting to know each other, many would say you’re both joined at the hip professionally. 

It comes to a point where you learn that the Sunghoon you see is far different than the Sunghoon everybody else sees. He’s naturally funny and a bit clumsy. He’s professional and stoic when he needs to be, but behind closed doors, Sunghoon laughs your ear off about old men who think they can walk all over his business tactics and people who are too rich to see that they’re the problem. Sunghoon is the best boss you’ve ever had, bar none. 

He’s unlike any of the wealthy, stuck up assholes you deal with on a daily basis. Sunghoon hides his witty, flirty personality behind a professional face in the eyes of higher ups and investors who he does business with. He keeps his personal and work life separate, as far as he can, with the exception of occasionally letting women he meets accompany him to select events that almost always end up in having to kick them out of his penthouse apartment the morning after if they haven’t left already. His lifestyle is one you’ll never get used to. Even after six years working beside Sunghoon, you go back to your humble one bedroom apartment, the same one you moved into once you were able to afford living without any roommates. 

It seems as though life moves for Sunghoon. He doesn’t have to do or say much to get people to fall to their knees or grant his every wish. He’s good looking (that’s something you’ll never deny because he’s objectively handsome), he manages to say all the right things, and he’s really good at his job. Sunghoon comes from a powerful and wealthy family that’s existed in Seoul for as long as anyone can remember, and there aren’t many bad things people say about him behind his back. He’s risky but strategic, gambling on chances that would typically slip through the cracks if not for his watchful eye and modern approach to business. 

You’ve learned a lot from him, too. Sunghoon grew into the man he is today. He’s no longer the overly arrogant and cocky person he was when you first met him, and he’s gained a deeper understanding of the company he’s about to inherit once his father transitions his title unto him. There’s much to be said about powerful men who choose to view everybody he works with as an equal, and while you might legally be his personal assistant, Sunghoon has allowed you to partake in the business too. You’ve been his right hand man ever since he realized you knew the company as well as he did. Yet, you can’t help but feel utterly stuck in this endless cycle of work, work, and more work.

There must be something out there for you that doesn’t consist of answering emails and letting your inbox pile up until the stress eats you alive. Being able to travel alongside Sunghoon for business opportunities has granted you a pathway to see the world, but it’s not enough to accompany somebody else. You want to explore the world by yourself and create agendas for your taste and likeliness, not Sunghoon or potential business partners while you sit in the back and take notes during every conversation. You want to live your life without being chained to a desk and learn what it feels like to try something new. 

For the past six years, your life has been dedicated to Sunghoon and only Sunghoon. 

“Sir?” You say tentatively, knocking on his door while pushing the heavy wooden door open. 

“Come in.” 

You know well enough he’s got nothing on his schedule that would impose a distraction. You slip into the room and close the door behind you with your fingers gripping a beige Manila folder behind your back. Sunghoon wears a suit that’s tailored to his likeness and his hair is slicked back like he’s trying to resemble Patrick Bateman from American Psycho. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of an unscheduled interruption?” Sunghoon asks with humor in his tone. He knows you typically keep to your inbox unless something is imminently urgent.

He turns around from looking outside of his window and watches as you hesitantly walk towards his desk. The office space is huge, bigger than your entire living room, and the sudden realization that you’re about to make the biggest change of your life is weighing on your shoulders. Your feet feel heavy beneath you when Sunghoon glances between your face and the folder in your hands. 

“What’s this?”

You don’t hesitate to open it and put it on his desk facing up.

“My resignation letter.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Sunghoon stares at the letter you’ve typed out and notices the large, black signature at the bottom of the page. His eyes flicker back at you as if to detect any lie in your face before he scoffs with a short laugh.

“Right. April Fool’s Day has already passed. No need to keep me on my toes like you usually do, though I appreciate a good joke.” 

You shake your head. “I’m being serious, Sir. I’m quitting.” 

The seriousness of your voice seems to catch him. He takes a seat on his leather chair and pulls himself closer to the desk to fully examine the letter.

“Dear Mr. Park, I am writing to inform you that I will be resigning from my position as your personal assistant at Park Incorporated. My final day will be two months from the day I hand you this resignation letter. I am committed to ensuring a smooth transition, and will facilitate seeking a replacement while I complete projects and tasks on my docket.” 

He looks up at you.

“You’re breaking up with me.” 

“No, I’m quitting this job.”

“Which is the same as breaking up with me. You’re my business partner, for God’s sake. You come with me to every meeting and important event that requires my presence.”

“I’m your assistant. There are many people who would die to be able to do that for you.”

He looks at you like you’ve set his office on fire. “I will not let you quit.” 

You tilt your head. “That’s not how it works, you know. Soobin from HR will process my resignation, even if you beg him not to. I’m giving you a two months' notice because that is how much I value my time here.” Sunghoon clasps his hands as if trying to make sense of the matter.

“But why? Why now? You’re impeccable at your job. Is the pay not suitable enough for you? I can give you a generous bonus and pay raise, if that will convince you to stay. Do you want a bigger office or reduced working hours?” 

“I don’t need any of that. I’ve made up my mind, Sir.”

“Why?” 

With a sigh, you sit down in front of him. “I’ve spent nearly every day for the last six years catering to the needs of you and this company. I’ve loved my time here, and I credit my ability to navigate this industry to you and this job. You’ve given me incredible opportunities that I probably wouldn’t have gotten elsewhere, and it’s been fun learning the ins and outs of this business.

“But I don't have a personal life at all. My days are spent catering to your needs. I don’t have many friends aside from the people I see in this building. I don’t travel and I’ve had to miss important family milestones because of work obligations.”

“Is more time off what you need?” Sunghoon interrupts. “You’ve earned your fair share of requested time offs, even if it’s a personal day for no reason. You’re responsible enough for me to know you can handle your workload when you get back.” 

You shake your head. “It’s not just that. I…I don’t meet new people anymore. I don’t make new friends and I don’t date because this job eats up my life. I feel like I’ve been wrapped up in this company and doing whatever it takes to help it succeed while neglecting my own needs. I’ve had six incredible years, but it’s time for me to move on.”

“…Date?”

With a sigh, you respond. “Yes, Sir. Just because you can find women at the snap of your fingers doesn't mean that everybody else can too.” 

“You don’t date at all?”

You scratch the inside of your wrist at his question. “I can’t date. I don’t have the time to.”

“So you’re quitting because you want to date.”

“No. I’m quitting because I want to experience life without being on call for when you need my help.” 

Sunghoon purses his lips and you can’t read his expression. In the years you’ve worked with him, learning his every mood has been critical to maintaining cordial balance between the two of you, and with other people who Sunghoon isn’t particularly fond of. You’ve extinguished emotional fires just by glancing at him, but the way he looks at you is something you can’t seem to figure out. 

While you wouldn’t say you’re exceptionally close with Sunghoon, you’d argue your relationship to him is far closer than other assistants in the firm. He might be hard headed and stubborn, but he’s compassionate and understanding. He doesn’t expect you to stay in the office until he leaves unless explicitly stated (which consists of half the week, but you can’t complain when some of your colleagues are constantly working longer days than you). 

He compensates you well from time to time, buying you new wardrobe for events he’s requested you to be at. You have a drawer full of exquisite jewelry. You’ve had the privilege of accompanying him on international business trips. From the outside, your life looks like one glamour shot that’s been afforded to you through diligent work, which is partially true, but seldom do people see the dark circles underneath your eyes or how many meals you skip because you need to cater to Sunghoon’s needs. 

For as lucky as your career has been thus far, it’s all on company time, and nothing is ever because you want to. You get the perks, but it’s a transaction. There’s nothing you want more than the freedom to choose what time you wake up and what time you go to bed.

“I can’t say I’m too happy with this news,” Sunghoon says as he leans back on his chair. “You and I work together really well. I don’t think I’ve ever had an assistant as diligent and as smart as you.” 

“You had three assistants before I came into the picture.” 

“They were terrible. Why did you think you went through six interviews?” 

“I can train my predecessor to be as excellent as I can be. I can do it in two months because that’s the time it took me to get used to you and your habits.” 

Sunghoon remains silent for a moment. 

“They’ve got big shoes to fill.” 

Part of you thinks he’s accepted your resignation. He doesn’t immediately grab the Manila folder with the papers in it. Rather, he closes it and keeps it shut on his desk with his hands clasped like he’s afraid it’s going to materialize and escort you out of his office.  

“You’re still needed for events and other internal-facing meetings until your time comes to an end.” 

“Of course, Sir.”

The corner of his mouth tugs upwards. “There’s one tonight. I wasn’t going to have you come to this one initially, but given the circumstances, I think it’s fair that we squeeze in as many as possible before you’re off the hook, no?”

You can’t say you’re incredibly excited by the idea, but knowing Sunghoon, he’s either forgotten he needs someone to act as arm candy or one of his many flings bailed on him at the last minute. 

“I’ll have my car pick you up from your apartment at 8 P.M. Don’t worry about checking in early tomorrow, either. Come in at nine instead, and get some sleep tonight.” 

Nine is still early, especially if you’re going to accompany Sunghoon to an event this evening, but it’s better than getting four hours of shut eye before you’re needed the next day. 

***

A section of your wardrobe is dedicated to items Sunghoon has gifted you throughout the years you’ve been with him. They’re far more expensive and of higher quality than the garments you buy for yourself, and the jewelry is far too precious for you to mix in with your everyday wear. They sit in their own designated section, away from your business attire and weekend wear.

Back when you started this position, Sunghoon found it amusing that you refused the luxurious gifts he’d offer for large tasks such as acting as a liaison at black tie events or helping him with projects that required you to look more presentable than remaining in an office. He bought you enough dresses, shoes, and jewelry until you were able to rotate a few pieces so that you’d never have to wear the same thing twice in a row. To assuage your mind about the prices of each item, Sunghoon would tell you to wear it out on a date with a special someone or to important events that required you to dress up a bit.  

When you pull out a sleek baby blue powder dress that hugs your body in all the right places and jewelry to match, the memory makes you laugh. There hasn’t been any time for engaging in those types of things and your life does not reflect that of Sunghoon’s. They gather dust in your closet until you’re needed to make an appearance as his well-trained, capable assistant. His colleagues know to defer to you unless Sunghoon’s word needs to be confirmed, and that’s how the dynamic has been for the entirety of your working relationship with him. 

You don’t put much effort into your appearance tonight. After touching up your makeup and slipping on a pair of black sling backs that match a black Italian clutch purse he had gifted you on your first international trip, you wait for the car to arrive at your doorstep. 

Surprisingly, Sunghoon steps out from the backseat and holds the door open for you.

“…Sir?” 

“Right on time. You look stunning.” 

His compliment flies over your head as you try to make sense of what you’re seeing. You’re used to meeting Sunghoon at the fairgrounds and not holding the door open for you in his personal mode of transportation. The only time the two of you arrive together is when you depart from the office. Sunghoon is a busy man who makes work his priority. He doesn’t escort you from place to place. That’s your job.

“What are you doing here?” 

He beckons you inside of the car. The partition is raised to give the two of you some privacy. Sunghoon slides into the backseat and puts a respectable distance between the two of you when the driver begins to drive away.

“It dawned on me that I rely you on you for so many things, and yet, I can’t seem to take an hour of my day to ride with you to events I’ve asked you to be at.” 

“It’s my job.”

“No, your job is to make sure I don’t lose my head.”

“If letting you work while I drive alone makes your head stay on your shoulders, I think that’s a job well done.” 

He purses his lips. “Still, I don’t think ending my workday early to pick you up will kill me.” You raise your eyebrow at him.

“This isn’t changing my mind, Sir. I still plan to leave the company.”

Sunghoon shrugs. “Worth a try. But I meant what I said about accompanying you. We’re a team, even if your position is just my assistant.”

“Sir—”

“Sunghoon,” he interrupts. “Call me Sunghoon.”

“...Sunghoon.” He smiles.

“That’s more like it.” 

***

will there be a part 2? who knows

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere knight who once was a boy you adored.

A sequel to this

Dead Dove Do Not Eat! MDNI ! TW. Dubious consent, Mentions of non-con (past), forced marriage, isolation, yandere, fem pov, implied Stockholm Syndrome towards the end

You constantly had to remind yourself that there were many worse fates out there for young ladies like you. Ones so lowly they were pawned off to the palace to curry favor with the royal family. From birth, you’d been a lamb made to be thrown to the wolves, and he was the biggest one of them all.

Yandere knight who can't stand being apart from you.

You had to assume that it was something to do with being on the battlefield for so many years. He'd jolt awake screaming in the night, and then he'd murmur apologies for startling you out of your slumber. His arms would wrap around your waist, and he'd sleep like a babe after.

He practically demands that you sit in his study all day while he sifts through mountains of paper work. It must've been quite the shift, from being a mere squire to the hero of the kingdom and a Duke. He learned to read within the palace as part of a basic education, but he often pulls you on his lap and asks you for help.

"Tell me, love, what does this word mean?"

You'd be patient and kind, like any wife should be, and he'd nod and keep you pressed to his side for hours while he worked.

Yandere Knight who refuses to let you leave the estate.

After years of being in service to the princess, you desperately wished to go and actually explore the world a bit. But your husband had already seen far too much to ever consider letting you go.

Yandere knight who tried to sate your growing need for freedom with gifts.

At first, he tried giving you gowns and jewelry worth your weight in gold. They were dazzling things that you had long ago expressed to once wear for yourself after watching the ladies of the court parade around in such finery. Yandere knight who cherished your every word now and back then, and seeks to fulfill your every wish. But he simply refuses to let you out. Not for balls, galas, or a leisurely walk about the nearest town. Nothing. The furthest you are permitted to go is the lawn of the manor, and that is only with his express permission or supervision. It is suffocating, to say the least.

After catching you wandering in the gardens one early morning where you had snuck away, he'd had all of your shoes fit for going outside removed. It was only soft slippers and robes that you'd be positively humiliated if anyone from outside your household saw you in from then on.

Yandere knight who grows more and more desperate to have you love him as much as he loves you.

"Love, why do you avoid my kisses?"

It was such a blunt query that you had to drop your fork. It clattered loudly against the porcelain plate, and you stared with wide eyes at your husband who's face was obscured by candlelit shadows. You stammered and tried to answer, but he sighed, looking almost sad.

"I know that you did not wish for this," he admitted softly, like it was some grave secret. "But I will not have you ruin our happiness."

Yandere Knight who starts to become more demanding with his affections.

He's your husband, so you must do as he says. You know that. You held your tongue when he claimed you so roughly in the carriage. You held your tongue before you cried quietly at night. You held your tongue as he began to fuck you while he worked in his study during the day, but you wondered how much longer you could hold out.

"You will love me," he whispered into your ear, his breath rasped over your ear as he slowly fucked into you. You struggled to maintain composure. It wasn't fair that he was dressed while you were in barely more than a nightgown. He'd been removing even more from your wardrobe until you couldn't bear to be anywhere but in your shared chambers or in private like this.

He had gotten better at writing, even more so while he was buried inside your velvet cunt. You gasped and twitched, tears spilling from your eyes.

"I'm certain of it. I adore you, so it is only natural," he promised, more to himself than anything else. He pressed kisses to the back of your neck, his eyes focused on the paper he was scrawling on. His mind, however, was in a thousand different places. All of them being a nook and cranny of your body, sweet and his to rightfully claim. Honored by the king, honored by the country, so what else could you do besides take it?

Anguished whimpers that used to spill from your tongue gradually faded, and you found yourself leaning into his touch for the first time. He shuddered, but did not make a move to startled you. His hand was splayed over your hip, squeezing gently as he slowly set down his pen and hugged you. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, and you could feel tears of his own start to spill. You could hear him silently whispering 'thankyouthankyouthankyou'. To whom, you did not know. You did not care to find out.

You melted against each other, both wallowing in two different kinds of desperation. Yours was far more nostalgic than you had expected. Perhaps you should have known that there was no other option for you than to seek out his warmth. For the fuzzy, innocent feeling that he had stolen from you. There was little comfort to be found, though.

After all, the boy you'd adored had died at war and now returned a monster, and there was hardly any love you could feel for that.

[twistedpink]

Hii! I saw that the requests are open and I js want to ask a little request, it's been a while since I last did anyway,,

I saw that you —atleast used— to do obsessive love before! So can I request an obsessed! Diasomnia x reader? Tysm :))

Ty for requesting!! Loved this

@bju3c0re

Obsessed!Sebek that’s addicted to your voice of all things- so meek compared to his, and regardless of the volume, he’s constantly encouraging you to ‘speak up’. He won’t quiet himself for you of all people (no matter how many times he imagines laying his head in your lap and letting your gentle inflections lull him to sleep), and so what if he wants to hear you more? It’s not HIS fault your every sound makes his ears prick up and stand to attention,, Do better, human 😒 (before he subconsciously gets gentler)

Obsessed!Silver that can’t stop dreaming of you,, Being whispered to by your gentle lips and getting held in what appears to be your wedding bed seems all but too good to be true- because it is, and he wakes up in the middle of a lecture :( He watches you in an enchanted daze from across the room- and even with his sleep-addled vision, he decides that’s what he wants to wake up to every day.. He’ll work hard to make it his reality- if you’ll have him <3

Obsessed!Lilia that just. Can’t stop smelling you. Not your deodorant, cologne, or shampoo- but you, that sweet-sweat-smell makes him go INSANE. And what’s worse is it’s only yours?? He goes as far as to copy your daily routine in an attempt to,, Adapt your scent himself, but it’s just not the SAME!! So, he steals your favourite shirt, and all is well. (Until he needs another one and you’re forced to move in with him to get your wardrobe back :p)

Obsessed!Malleus is the yearning final boss. EVERYTHING you do makes him go wild with this selfish need to observe, to know every aspect of your life until he can predict your actions with terrifying accuracy- then, and only then may his,, “Idle Interest” abate. All the human habits of doodling and yawning you’ve pushed him into are excluded, of course,, He knows painfully well how unbecoming and childish this is of him, but he can’t seem to stop </3

[suiana]

yandere! malewife who is indecisive and can't decide on whether he wants to love or hate (also love, just with insults added instead) you today.

imagine ur cute lil guy that you love going "you're such a horrible spouse i hate you, go die" out of nowhere then you bring up the divorce card and he goes all ballistic

"ugh i hate this. this is the third sandwich I've made for you today and-"

"let's get a divorce."

"if you divorce me i will fuck up your life so bad, manipulate you into thinking that I was the only good thing you had that you have no choice but to get back with me."

like this guy is actually insane. he will not leave you alone and he will actually commit all the atrocities he threatens to do.

"wow this guy looks hot af"

"who? this random on the internet? you like them?"

"yeah this guy is kinda cute ngl"

"why are you looking at him? i will steal his skin and wear it if you keep complimenting him. you only need me. actually, do you want me to look like him? huh? should i start working out? buy a whole new wardrobe? just say yes and I'll do it all for you."

you actually don't know why you married him if he was going to threaten you for every little thing you did. you can't even talk to someone else without him getting all mad and upset. maybe it's cause you secretly like the way he's obsessed over you.

or maybe he's just cute. you'll never know.

what you do know is that you like providing him with what he needs and being the person he relies on. well, tbh, you're pretty sure he's like some secret underground black market trader or something because he gets money from nowhere. money you didn't give him. but you trust what he says. if he says he didn't do it, he probably didn't, right?

"hey honey how come you have 300k more in your bank account? i haven't sent you your monthly allowance."

"i actually harvest people's organs and sell them in the black market."

"...really?"

"no haha just kidding! i just saved up physical cash that you gave me and forgot to put it in until today❤️"

"oh ok"

yeah, you love your malewife 😁👍

[wandaslovey]

ᴍʀꜱ. ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴏꜰꜰ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴡ

➺ dom!wandanat x sub!fem!reader

word count ~ 7k

authors note: i’m so excited to share this with you guys - this was so much fun to write! i’m planning on writing the first few parts as chapters where one will pick up right after the other and then once i get to a certain point i’ll do random time skips within the same au. oh also! i’m starting a tag list, so comment below if you’d like to be included on the next chapter! enjoy loves! 💕 as usual, this is not proofread.

content warning(s): legal age gap (w=30, n=33, r=23), natasha and wanda being two hot intimidating lawyers (except natasha kinda steals this show in this part, especially in the beginning. don’t worry though, wanda will have her time to shine!), conversation about kinkery and reader knows very little

if you’d like to read the drabble that inspired this series, click here

═════════════

you stand in front of the mirror, adjusting your white button-up blouse for the 10th time. you huff, frustrated that your wardrobe just wouldn’t cooperate with you this morning. as you look yourself over in the mirror—the rest of your outfit consisting of a mid-thigh black pencil skirt, some black nylons and black combat boots—you couldn’t help but wonder if your attire was okay for the interview.

the interview…you can’t believe you landed an interview at thee M.R. law firm. you knew how unqualified you were for the position, so you felt extra pressure to compensate somehow with your appearance.

you turn to the side in the mirror, first left and then right, scrutinizing yourself at every angle. you readjust the pieces of hair framing your face that you pulled out of your bun, before deciding you’d done all you could to look your best.

you glance at the clock on your nightstand in the reflection of the mirror, seeing it was time to go. you grab your knock-off brand purse and slip out of your apartment. when you walk down the stairs and open the door to the outside, the noise from the city fills your ears. the sounds of cars, horns, sirens, music and people all blended together, creating a sort of hum all new-yorkers were familiar with. you step out onto the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding some tourists that were taking a picture in front of the trendy restaurant you lived by. you hail a cab, quickly sliding into the backseat and telling the driver your destination.

now that you were settled in your seat with only the taxi drivers quiet music to distract you, the nerves you’d been attempting to snub out suddenly hit you full force. there was no way you could do this. you were sure you were just wasting your own time and the poor person who had to interview you. you knew your 6 months working as a receptionist at a dentist office nowhere near qualified you to manage things at M.R. law. you mentally curse yourself, thinking you must’ve been half asleep and entirely too desperate when you sent in your application at this place. you needed a job though—urgently. with your roommate moving back home, and no one else taking her place, you were stuck with paying the rent on your own. on top of that, you were still paying back loans for school. you knew you should cut your losses, leave new york and transfer to a much more affordable school, but you really wanted to stay as much as you could help it.

every stoplight you hit along the 20 minute drive only makes you more nervous. the fluttery feeling in your stomach turns into full blown pterodactyls by the time the driver has pulled up to the very tall M.R. building. you pass some folded up cash to the driver, mumbling out a quiet ‘thank you,’ and then step out of the car. you stare up at the intimidating building, the lettering of “maximoff-romanoff law” taunting you—daring you to step inside. you let out a stubborn exhale, squaring your shoulders and walking in with a confidence as fake as grape flavored candy.

you stride over to the front desk, noticing that the only employees in sight are all women.

“hi, i’m here for an 11 o’clock interview,” you tell one of the women behind the desk. she offers you a polite smile, giving you instructions to head into the elevator and up to the 8th floor. you nod your head, thanking her and make your way to your doomsday interview.

as the elevator doors shut behind you, you find yourself all alone in the small space. there was no background music to distract you now. you stare at the floor, noticing a slight glint to the black tiles you were standing on. you listen to the beeps counting up each floor, your eyes dragging up the stainless steel panel when the number reads 8 and the final beep sounds. the doors open and you’re immediately greeted with the sight of more women pacing around the place. some seemed to be in a rush while others were leisurely walking across the floor while chatting with a co-worker. you walk over to the front desk again, repeating what you had told the other kind lady downstairs. she gestures for you to take a seat on the couch in the waiting area, letting you know someone will grab you in a few minutes.

you take a seat on the black leather couch, figuring this piece of furniture probably costed more than the rent for your apartment. you cross your legs, interlocking your fingers together at your knee. you glance around the office, taking in the decor. it was very tasteful, some touches of greenery that went nicely with the black and dark woodsy vibe this floor was going for. you try your best to ignore the bile rising in your throat and the pterodactyls still swarming in your stomach. it was a good thing you didn’t eat breakfast this morning.

as two minutes turns into ten, and then fifteen, you can’t help but feel the urge to just get up and leave. you felt so out of place here; you couldn’t imagine working at this place with all these women who were so obviously out of your league.

just as you were settling on the idea of ditching this interview, you hear clacking footsteps making their way over to you. you didn’t dare look up yet, pretending to be very interested in the tiny hole in your pantyhose just above your knee.

“miss (y/l/n)?” the most heavenly, sultry voice calls out to you. your eyes slowly trail along the tile, up the woman’s legs covered in black slacks, her blouse and matching black suit jacket, and then finally her face. it was her.

thee mrs. romanoff.

mrs. romanoff was the person who was going to interview you? you couldn’t believe your eyes, or the situation. you clear your throat, realizing you had yet to acknowledge her calling out to you.

“yeah, that’s me,” you reply, standing on slightly wobbly legs. you watch as mrs. romanoff’s eyes slowly take in your appearance, her eyes lingering on your frame. you feel a little scrutinized, wondering if you really did mess up with what you were wearing.

“follow me.” she turns and leads the way. you stumble a bit as you follow behind her, not expecting her to have as long of a stride as she does.

“you’ll have to forgive me for the wait—we had a couple meetings run over this morning,” she talks to you over her shoulder, slowing her walk a little when she notices you’re not directly behind her like she thought.

“oh, no worries. i didn’t mind the wait.” that was technically a lie, but it wasn’t the wait that bothered you as much as the fact that you were left alone with your thoughts a little too long.

she rounds a corner at the end of the hall, pausing and gesturing for you to enter in one of the two doors that were side by side on the wall to the right. you walk through the doorframe, stepping into what you assumed was her personal office.

“have a seat, miss (y/l/n),” she says in a low voice, walking from behind you and around her desk to sit in her chair. you sit in one of the two chairs across from her, your heart thudding violently in your chest from being in such close proximity to her.

you adjust your seating position three times before finally settling in place, forcing yourself to sit still. mrs. romanoff humors you, remaining silent and patient through your nervous fidgeting.

“so, i have to say i was a little surprised to see your application come through to my desk,” she starts and you immediately feel your cheeks grow hot, the feeling of being in a place you don’t belong filling your whole body with dread.

she pauses, and you realize she was waiting for you to respond. right. this was supposed to be where you attempt to prove yourself adequate to work in this position.

“yes, um… well, admittedly i myself did think it was a stretch to apply here, but then i figured, i’m a fast learner, i’m very thorough in all i do and i enjoy learning new things. i thought i’d try my hand at something i haven’t done before.” you rattle off an answer that while it was true, it was also something you rehearsed 20 times in the mirror while getting ready before you got here. you were almost positive the slight robotic edge in your voice was noticeable.

mrs. romanoff hums in acknowledgment, nodding slightly at your rehearsed answer. “how well can you handle multi-tasking in a fast paced environment?” her lack of acknowledging your first answer puts a damper on your already fake confidence. you shift in your seat again, finding it harder to maintain eye contact with the sea of green that was her eyes.

“i would say i fare pretty well. i’m usually very good at managing stressful situations.” that was a complete lie—but most people bullshit their way through interviews, don’t they?

“usually?” she echoes, tilting her head to the side. she purses her lips, half attempting to hide a small smirk. she easily picked up on all your nervous antics the moment she saw you. you averting her gaze, walking unsteadily, fidgeting in your seat and the cute rose-y blush currently coloring your cheeks.

you clear your throat, interlocking your hands together in your lap. you notice they’ve already started to feel damp with sweat. “yeah, yeah most of the time i’d say so.”

“well, miss…” she glances down at what appeared to be your application and resume sitting in front of her on the desk. “(y/n)..you don’t sound very sure of yourself.” she sits upright in her chair, crossing her arms and leaning over the desk. your heart beats impossibly faster, the feeling of intimidation settling deep into your bones.

“no, i mean, i am sure—totally 100%.” you try to laugh, but it comes out sounding as nervous as you feel.

“okay, if that’s how you’d like to proceed…” she trails off, looking down at the papers in front of her again. you didn’t know what she meant, but your eyes fall desperately to the same papers she was looking at, as if they could provide some sort of answer to you. “what are your greatest strengths and weaknesses?”

you internally breath a sigh of relief. this was another answer you’d rehearsed in the mirror, it just needed to sound less robotic this time. “i’d say my greatest strengths are, i’m very punctual—i’m always on time if not early—um, i do all things thoroughly, as i mentioned before…i’m very reliable—hardly sick or need time off for family things, and i enjoy a good challenge. my greatest weakness is that i like to be very organized and sometimes i can spend a little too much time completing a certain project before moving onto the next.” you exhale after you finish talking, your eyes flicking across her face to try and get a sense of how she’s taking in your answer.

as you speak, you can’t help but notice that she was watching you so meticulously. it seemed that she was taking in not only your words, but your facial expressions, hand gestures and body language.

she looks at you for a moment as if she’s thinking hard on something. without taking her eyes off of you, she presses a button on her desk, the small ding from an intercom sounding. “joan, please track down mrs. maximoff and have her come into my office right away.”

your heartbeat now thrums loudly in your ears, your breath picking up its pace. you were not only going to be in the presence of mrs. romanoff but now mrs. maximoff too? never in your life had you seen such a powerful couple—and that was only in photos and billboards you’d seen around the city!

“is everything okay?” you ask nervously, feeling the permanent blush on your cheeks travel to the tips of your ears.

“everything’s fine, (y/n),” she gives you a smile but it was anything but reassuring. in fact, there was something about the expression that felt more intimidating with how devastatingly beautiful she was.

she grabs a pen and starts writing something on the paper. whatever it was was brief, but you couldn’t see clearly from your seat.

a quiet knock comes from the door and your posture becomes rigid as you hear who you assume to be mrs. maximoff entering the room.

“you called for me?” mrs. maximoff asks as she walks the length from the door to mrs. romanoff’s side. she walks around your chair and stands next to her wife, placing her palm flat against the desktop and leaning some of her weight on it.

“yes, i wanted you to meet our new interviewee,” she smiles with her lips and gestures to you in your seat. you look between the two beautiful, impeccably dressed women, feeling extremely small and insignificant. mrs. maximoff turns to look at you for the first time, a warm smile gracing her features.

“hi,” she offers simply, extending her hand to shake yours. you sit forward, reaching your arm out to shake her hand across the desk. her hand was incredibly soft and a little cold to the touch, but you wouldn’t expect anything less since the office was kept at such a cool temperature.

“mrs. maximoff is going to sit in on the rest of our interview. is that okay with you?” mrs. romanoff asks, her eyes daring you to object.

you quickly shake your head from side to side, shifting once again in your chair. “no, no that’s perfectly fine,” you reply easily, though you were feeling anything but fine. you notice mrs. maximoff giving her wife a curious glance but she doesn’t otherwise question it.

“let’s move over to the couches so we’re a little more comfortable,” mrs. romanoff stands up and heads over to the long olive green velvet sofa. you follow suit, except you take a seat in the smaller sofa, designed for only one person. mrs. maximoff sits closest to you on the long couch, brushing some of her pretty brown hair behind her shoulder. you watch as she glances back at her wife, mrs. romanoff giving her a certain look that you weren’t sure what it meant.

“so, (y/n), tells us what your career goals are,” mrs. romanoff proceeds with the interview as if the interruption never happened. you find yourself even more nervous to respond now that there were two, hot, older women sitting before you.

“umm…for now i really just need something steady that will simultaneously be giving me good work and life experience.. long term though, i’d like to become a therapist once i finish my masters program.” you bite your tongue once you finish your sentence, realizing this is not the sort of job where you tell your interviewers you’d like to pursue something that has nothing to do with their company.

“what appeals to you about becoming a therapist?” mrs. maximoff chimes in, tilting her head to the side curiously, just like mrs. romanoff had done earlier in the interview.

you lean back in your chair, a little surprised at her interest in your reply. “well, it’s a cliche answer, but i’m very passionate about helping people. it’s impossible to go through this life without getting seriously hurt and dealing with trauma. the vast majority of us have no idea how to cope or process through our experiences, so just knowing what i know, i’d like to try and be of some help for those who need it.”

the two lawyers look at you thoughtfully, mrs. maximoff nodding her head as you speak.

“that’s a very admirable passion. are you currently enrolled in a masters program?” she asks, crossing one of her legs over the other as she gets more comfortable in her seat.

“i am,” you reply with a shy smile. you never wanted to come across as bragging about your education, so you always sought to speak about it in the most humble way.

“you like school?” mrs. romanoff chimes in, leaning forward as she speaks.

your smile turns a bit rueful as you reply. “yes..i do. i know so many young people my age loathe school and all the hard work that needs to be put in, but…i love everything about it. i love taking notes, making flashcards, studying, taking tests, everything about it, i just love. i know it sounds a little crazy.” you laugh once, suddenly feeling more relaxed as you speak about something so genuinely. you feel a little more surprise again as you hear mrs. romanoff chuckle with you, nodding her head towards her brunette wife.

“sounds like somebody i know. this one here was a school addict. i had to practically pry textbooks out her hands just so we could do anything other than study,” she chuckles again, mrs. maximoff joining in with her.

“i won’t apologize for being so pointed about my studies. we both got straight A’s, didn’t we?” she jokes light-heartedly and you find yourself smiling warmly at their light banter.

mrs. maximoff turns back to face you, a smile still touching her lips. “what else do you do aside from school?” her question makes your face fall slightly as you now had to admit you were technically unemployed. you knew that didn’t look good for potential employers.

“right now, not a whole lot. just keeping busy with my studies,” you respond vaguely to which they both hum in response.

the pair of them continue asking you questions, except they become progressively more personal until they don’t attain to work or working at this position at all.

“do you like living alone? or do you prefer living with others?” was one of the questions mrs. romanoff asks you after you had explained you were currently without a roommate.

even though it was strange, you find that the more you talk about yourself, the more relaxed you feel. mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff both noticed it too. they could see more of your personality showing through as the nerves slowly but surely dissipated.

it had been near 40 minutes by the time mrs. romanoff checked her watch and noticed the time. she looked at her wife, mrs. maximoff seeming to sense her eyes on her as she automatically looked to the side. they shared a look, one of them nodding to the other before turning back to face you.

“well, we’ve kept you here much longer than was intended—i apologize for that.” mrs. romanoff says as she stands, mrs. maximoff following suit. you stand also, smoothing your skirt back over your legs. as you stand so closely to them now, you notice how they were both taller than you by a few inches, making you feel small again like you had earlier.

“it’s no big deal. i’m in no rush,” you smile shyly as you look up at the two of them. you extend your arm out, shaking both of their hands before getting ready to leave. they both give your hand a gentle squeeze and when mrs. romanoff shakes your hand, she grasps on longer than her wife, holding your gaze with a certain intensity.

“we’ll be in touch, miss (y/n),” she says smoothly, calling you out by your first name, and for some reason the combination between her voice and her eye contact made your knees feel weak.

you swallow thickly, nodding your head and thanking them both for the interview before turning away. mrs. maximoff leads you to the door to exit and walks you all the way out to the elevators. you pace the short distance in somewhat comfortable silence. when you turn to face her to say your final goodbye, your surprised to see mrs. romanoff behind her. she was following so quietly that you didn’t notice her presence.

“bye! thank you again,” you smile, stepping into the elevator once the doors open. the two women stand side by side of each other, giving you a near identical smile which portrayed some sort of knowing behind it, almost like they were expecting something.

“it was a pleasure meeting you miss (y/l/n),” mrs. maximoff calls out to you as the elevator doors slide closed.

you exhale a breath you didn’t now you were holding, slumping back against the elevator walls.

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

that evening, you cook up a box of mac n cheese, too lazy to try and find the ingredients to make anything else. not to mention, your mind was still a little bit jumbled after your interview with thee lesbian power couple.

mrs. romanoff’s words kept echoing in your head.

”we’ll be in touch” she’d said. but didn’t your interview totally blow? especially at the end. it wasn’t so much an interview but rather more like a conversation where people try to get to know each other better. maybe they were looking for a personality hire? you really doubted that though.

you eat your mac n cheese while staring blankly at the wall, thinking over the whole exchange with mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff. as you mindlessly feed yourself spoonfuls of your dinner, you realize you didn’t even know their first names. you remembered you had once seen them on a billboard somewhere but didn’t remember exactly what they were. mrs. romanoff’s first name was natalie or something similar? you were at a loss with mrs. maximoff. you decide to google them to put your curiosities to rest.

pulling out your phone, you google their names and the law firm. after doing just a little bit of digging, you see their full names: natasha romanoff and wanda maximoff. ah, so you were close with mrs. romanoff’s name. you wonder if they only go by their last names at the office. it definitely seemed like their vibe to have things be so professional.

as you go throughout the rest of your evening, showering and getting ready for bed, you continue thinking about them. the longer your mind lingers on them, the less “professionally” you think about them. you couldn’t help but notice how utterly beautiful they both were. they both carried themselves with a confidence that anyone would find intimidating. there was something so forceful about their presences, but not necessarily in a bad way. it seemed like natasha—mrs.romanoff—was a little more rough around the edges, but you could see she easily held a soft spot for her wife and life partner. mrs. maximoff gave off a much more approachable vibe, but she was still intimidating in her own way.

as your mind continues wandering, you find yourself becoming more tired before you finally drift off to sleep, your brain fatigued from all your analytical thinking.

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

the first thing you notice when you wake up is the light shining through your thin curtains. you blink a few times, slowly adjusting to the light. you blindly reach over to your nightstand, unplugging your phone from the charger. as you unlock your phone, you notice a missed call from an unknown number nearly two hours ago. you shoot up into a sitting position in your bed, suddenly feeling much more awake. it was just passed 10 am. was the unknown number a call back about your interview?

your fingers furiously swipe on your phone, quickly googling the number for M.R. law. you breath a sigh of relief when you cross reference the digits in your phone and the number online, realizing it was just a random unknown caller. you let your body fall back limply on the bed, your leg dangling off the side as you clutch your phone to your chest. that would’ve been humiliating if they called offering you the job and you didn’t pick up the phone.

as you go about your morning leisurely—not having any classes this day—you try to push the two hot lawyers out of your mind. there was no point in dwelling on them if you’d never hear from them again.

you leave your face bare of makeup, not intending on leaving the apartment and you opt for wearing comfy clothes—or “frumpy” clothes as you called them—instead of something nice.

you head into the kitchen, pouring yourself a bowl of frosted flakes cereal. you let it sit there for a few minutes to soak up the milk, as soggy cereal was your favorite. you’d argue with anyone who claimed crunchy cereal was best. as you wait, you power up your laptop, intent on working on some homework.

you’re munching on your cereal, blue-light filtered glasses adorning your nose as you work on your computer screen. you were mid-bite when you hear your phone buzzing on the counter next to you. you glance down at your phone and frown slightly when you notice it looks to be the same unknown number from earlier.

you continue chewing your bite, raising the phone to your ear as you accept the call.

“hello?” you ask, your voice mumbled a bit as you still had some food in your mouth.

“good morning, miss (y/n),” you hear a warm, velvety voice greet you. after almost an hour interview with her yesterday, you’d recognize this distinct voice anywhere.

“mrs. romanoff?” you just about choke on your food as you swallow, your body tensing slightly as you feel much more alert.

“that would be correct.” you hear her chuckle softly into the phone, your tone laced with obvious surprise she must have found endearing.

“i’m so sorry! i think i missed your call earlier? i didn’t recognize the number- i had no idea it was you, i’m sorry!” you apologize quickly, thinking that if she was actually calling to offer you the job, you might have just ruined it.

“don’t worry about it. i would be surprised if you recognized it given that this is my personal number,” her voice was low and warm. it was entirely too enticing.

“oh.. umm, right. well, good morning,” you stumble slightly over your words, unsure what else to say to her.

“are you normally a late riser?” she asks with humor in her voice.

“what? oh no, not normally no. i just don’t have classes today,” you explain, a little embarrassed at her having called you out on your sleeping habits.

“i see. well, we just wanted to call and ask if you’d meet us for a coffee,” her question came out as more of a statement and you were left wondering why on earth she would want to go out for coffee with you and…wait.. did she say we?

“we?” the words echo aloud from your mind.

“yes. my wife and i,” she reiterates calmly. you look around your small excuse for a kitchen as if the reasoning behind her posing this question was written on the walls.

“like today?” you ask stupidly. of course she meant today.

“yes - today. can you meet us in 15? we’re going on lunch break. i’ll text you the address.” your eyes zip to the digital numbers plastered on the microwave. you only had 15 minutes to try and look presentable, get a cab and meet them.

“ummm..yeah. yeah sure,” you nod your head as if she could see you through the phone. you quickly hop off the stool you were sitting on, walking briskly to the bathroom with the phone still held firmly to your ear.

“perfect. we’ll see you soon.” she hangs up and you all but toss your phone on the bathroom counter, staring down at the device as if it’s offended you. you quickly snap out of it, only having 5 or so minutes to un-hobo yourself. you quickly apply some concealer on your dark spots, powder on a little blush and brush on a coat of mascara in record time. in your haste, you stumble from the bathroom to your closet, trying to find something to quickly throw on. you grab a simple white baby tee, putting it on and then aggressively stepping into some loose light wash jeans. grabbing your belongings, you half jog out the door, nearly slipping down the last two stairs of your apartment.

you quickly get a cab, thanking whatever higher power there is in your head that there was very little delay in one driving by. as the taxi driver takes you to the address you gave him, you sit forward in your seat, gathering your hair in a pony tail near the top of your head. you secure it with an elastic you always keep around your wrist and pull some pieces out to frame your face. you glance in the cab rear view mirror, seeing you looked fairly presentable. you exhale shakily, sitting back in your seat as the same nerves you felt yesterday on the way to your interview were coming back now.

what was this about? i mean, you knew it wasn’t normal to meet with potential employees for coffee. it was especially suspicious because it was mrs. romanoff *and* her wife.

your thoughts are interrupted as the taxi slows to a crawl and he pulls up to the coffee shop. you’d never been to this one before, granted there were hundreds of shops all over the city so there were probably many you hadn’t gone to. your heart leaps in your chest as you see both mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff waiting outside for you.

you pass the driver the money, thank him and slip out of the car. as you step onto the sidewalk, mrs. maximoff greets you with the same warm smile she’d given you when you first met. mrs. romanoff smiles too, though it’s not as wide as her wife’s.

“hello again, (y/n).” your heart skips a beat as you hear mrs. maximoff use your first name for the first time. mrs. romanoff had been calling you by your first name since you’d stepped foot into her office. you liked the way your name fell from both of their tongues.

“hi, good to see you both again,” you smile despite your nerves, making eye contact with both of them in a polite manner.

“shall we?” mrs. romanoff suggests as she opens the door for you, her wife placing a gentle hand on the small of your back to usher you inside. you inhale shakily, the unexpected contact surprising you in a pleasant way.

as the three of you file in behind the small line of people waiting to order, your eyes skim the menu, even though you already knew exactly what you wanted.

“cute outfit,” mrs. romanoff murmurs from behind you. you could hear what sounded to be amusement in her tone but you weren’t sure.

you turn to the side to face her, her being on your left and mrs. maximoff on your right just a half-step behind you. “thank you. i threw it on—literally. i was wearing something a lot less presentable when you first called.” you glance down at both of their outfits. the duality between yours and their outfits was almost laughable. they looked impeccably fashionable and you were just in street clothes.

wanda chuckles lightly at your comment. “what were you wearing before?” she asks.

“just an oversized tee and some biker shorts,” you shrug, crossing your arms casually over your chest. you always felt more comfortable when you had your arms wrapped around yourself.

as the line moves and you’re next, mrs. romanoff quickly stands in front of you, her body moving between you and the counter. “what’ll you have?” she gives you an expectant look, ready to give your order.

“an iced mocha?” you ask a little shyly, her show of putting herself between you and the cash register did something to you for some reason.

she nods, and turns to the barista, repeating your order along with hers and her wife’s. you’re about to protest, wanting to tell her she doesn’t have to pay for you, but you feel mrs. maximoff’s hand return to the small of your back, swiftly maneuvering you away from the line and over to the small cluster of tables.

you sit down in a chair she pulled out for you and you scoot yourself in as mrs. maximoff settles in her own seat across from you.

“you really don’t have to pay for me, you know,” you pipe gently, glancing over at mrs. romanoff who was standing at the counter waiting for the drinks before you turn back to mrs. maximoff.

“of course not, we want to. plus, neither her nor i would ever allow you to pay for yourself even if you insisted,” she smiles winsomely, her eyes gleaming with something warm and bright.

mrs. romanoff returns with all three coffees, somehow handling all three and setting them down in a graceful manner.

“thank you,” you give mrs. romanoff a gentle smile as your fingers interlock around the cup and you drag it closer to you.

they both take a sip from their coffees—which were both hot—before mrs. romanoff clears her throat, her eyes narrowing in on you as she leans forward on the table.

“so, i imagine you’re wondering why we asked you here.” she throws a glance at her wife who was already looking at her speak.

“it may have been on my mind…” you trail off, sounding as innocent as possible.

mrs. romanoff smiles knowingly, her eyes appraising you in a way that made you squirm slightly in your seat.

“it’s not about the job, as i’m sure you might have figured, but rather about offering a different type of position,” she begins. your brow furrows in confusion. what did she mean?

“a different position? like a cleaning job or something?” you immediately go to thinking about jobs that require little to no experience, figuring that might be all they’d have to offer given your background.

they both laugh at your guess, mrs. romanoff being the one to shake her head no.

“no, not a cleaning job,” she pauses, seeming to measure your expression before continuing. “(y/n), have you ever heard the term bdsm?”

your face goes blank and you look from mrs. romanoff to her wife who appeared to be watching you just as carefully.

“um…i think so? i’ve heard the term a few times before.” your legs feel like they’ve turned to jelly, an unfamiliar pit settling into your lower tummy at the abrupt shift in the topic of conversation.

“what do you know about it?” mrs. maximoff chimes in, tilting her head to the side which causes some of her neatly curled hair to fall forward.

you look between the two of them, unconsciously shrinking further down into your seat. this was such a taboo subject to talk about it public; you found yourself already growing warm from just the thought of this discussion.

“well, it’s..sex stuff…right? like being tied down and whipped?” you speak hesitantly in a small voice, throwing quick glances at the strangers littered across the coffee shop.

“those things can be a part of it, yes—if all parties discuss that’s something they like to participate in” mrs. romanoff explains and then continues. “what else have you heard about it? or is that the gist of what you know?”

you shrug, your shoulders slumped forward and your head bowed slightly to try and obscure your flushed cheeks. you suck your bottom lip into your mouth—your nervous habit.

mrs. maximoff pipes in again after noticing your bashfulness. “a lot of people have that imagery in mind when they hear the term ‘bdsm,’ so it’s understandable that that’s your impression. there is so much more to it though. really, bdsm is about exploring people’s sexual interests in a safe space. you learn about your limits, what you like, what you didn’t expect to like, and so much more.” you listen to her explanation intently, your mind immediately wandering and wondering where this conversation was going to go.

mrs. romanoff picks up off her wife’s words. “some people simply dabble in certain aspects of bdsm while others treat it more as a lifestyle—and for my wife and i, it is a lifestyle.”

you nod hesitantly as they both pause for a second, watching you digest this information. you’re unsure how to respond, feeling progressively more restless in your seat.

they both give each other a look before mrs romanoff nods and mrs. maximoff speaks.

“normally, for people who live this lifestyle, they draw up contracts between themselves and the person they want as their submissive.. now we know this is all very forward, but there’s just no other way to put it. we’d like to have you as our new submissive.”

your face turns bright red for reasons you’re not fully aware of. you weren’t quite sure what being a “submissive” all entailed, but you couldn’t wipe the imagery of being helplessly tied down and whipped from your mind. you’re silent as your brain flits through one imaginary scenario to the next. you were so clueless though, you weren’t sure if the things you were thinking up were things people actually did or if they were just shown in porn.

“me…? i just..well it’s just that..i’m-i don’t know if i would be your ideal candidate,” you stumble out, your eyes glued to the table as you avoid looking at either of them at all costs.

“on the contrary, (y/n), i singled you out almost immediately at our interview. i knew i wanted you. that’s why i had wanda join us.” her face softens as she notices your slight uneasiness. being a bit of a sadist though, she couldn’t help but find your innocence and embarrassment so incredibly gratifying. it only made her want you more.

your teeth worry into your bottom lip again as you look between one set of green eyes and then the other. “do you guys normally.. share, uhm..submissives?”

“not always, but we do like to when it’s possible,” wanda shares, a reassuring smile on her face. you purse your lips, chewing on the inside of your cheek as more questions arise in your head.

“how does that work? sharing i mean.” you knew there were people who participated in polyamorous relationships, and you had no issue with it, you just had trouble visualizing the dynamic.

natasha grins wickedly to herself, realizing now how truly innocent and unknowing you were. she suspected a little yesterday at the interview, but had no idea the true scope of your innocence. wanda also found herself undeniably more attracted to you after this conversation. her hands twitch in her lap, thinking of all the things she could do to you that you probably haven’t ever dreamed of.

“it works (y/n), trust me…” mrs. romanoff says seductively.

“we know this is all very foreign to you, sweetheart. you don’t have to say yes today, just think about it?” mrs. maximoff reaches across the table and affectionately holds onto your wrist. your stomach does a little flip-flop at the term of endearment paired with the affection.

there were so many thoughts and feelings swirling around you, but one thing stuck out above the rest. you wanted to learn more. you didn’t want to say no and close a door on something that you might enjoy.

“i want to.. i mean, um, i will think about it,” you clear your throat for the umpteenth time that day, pulling your hand back from mrs. maximoff’s light grasp. it was suddenly feeling like her hand was searing your skin.

“you want to what?” mrs. romanoff presses, her eyes looking at you with intensity again.

“i just meant that i want to learn more..about this,” you reply quietly, peeking at mrs. romanoff through your lashes. you notice her clench her jaw and flex her fingers that were resting on the table, but you weren’t sure what it meant.

“well, there’s a lot to learn, but luckily i’d say we’re both pretty good teachers,” mrs. maximoff grins more wickedly this time, her expression giving you a new glimpse into something you hadn’t seen in her until this point.

“why don’t we meet up again sometime this weekend? we can answer any questions you have—help you learn more about what we’re asking from you,” she adds, to which you surprisingly feel eager to agree to the idea. you find yourself already wanting to learn more, especially if the people who were going to educate you were two of the hottest women alive.

“yeah…let’s do that,” you nod once, your blush slowly creeping off your cheeks though a slight honey glow was still present.

you all begin to gather your things, mrs. maximoff noticing their lunch break was just about up. the three of you hardly touched your coffees, the conversation too intense to take swigs of the drinks.

the two of them walk you out of the shop, mrs. romanoff hailing down a cab for you. you turn to say goodbye to mrs. maximoff and find that she’s standing closer to you than expected.

“i look forward to seeing you again so soon, dragotsennaya veshch’,” she murmurs, reaching to give your arm an affectionate squeeze. you smile at her, unsure what she said but not caring much to know now.

you step closer to the cab after mrs. romanoff opens the door for you. before you can slip inside the car, mrs. romanoff leans down, murmuring in your ear.

“if you have any questions before the weekend that simply can’t wait, don’t hesitate to text me. you have my number.” her voice was a little rough which makes you shiver.

you nod slowly, sucking on your bottom lip again. you give mrs. maximoff a shy hand wave which she mimics with an amused grin. you sink down into the car seat, mrs. romanoff shutting the door behind you.

as the taxi drives away, you can’t help but look behind you as the two women grow smaller and smaller on the sidewalk. as the car turns a corner, the couple remain standing there until you disappear. you sigh and turn back around in your seat, resting heavily against the cushion behind you.

what just happened?

——————————

tag list:

@poppyshuman @wandamaximoffsbadgirl @xenaizogie @ashadash0904 @kittnii @hayeeonn @gh0sstss @beggingonmykneesforher @natashalover3000 @msvenablesbitch @ihartnat @leesromanova @alwaysgoodnight @lowlifejuliett @azaleavolkova @caramelcat123 @daretodream1307-blog @ctrlaltedits @sweetmissnothing @gecko1 @karmasgxrl @marvelwomenarehot0 @elle161989 @waaayoutofline @snazzysprig @simpforlizzie @just4natasha

[dollishmehrayan]

BATBOYS WITH A STYLISH READER ── .✦

a/n: so I tried to base this off of me because I like genuinely LOVE fashion and creativity (my closet is seriously so full rn but I keep buying and buying but soon I’m gonna donate some pieces I never wore/ won’t wear again when i’m like moving in 5/6 months (in April) but anyways yeahh this is requested by the wonderful @luvly_writer (I GENUINELY DONT KNOW WHY MY MENITONS ARENT WORKING TODAY!?!?

tags: (batboys x stylish reader ᥫ᭡)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Dick’s always had a decent sense of fashion, but after meeting you, he realized his wardrobe could use some spicing up.

“Okay, I need help,” he says, holding up his closet of endless leather jackets and dark jeans. “It’s starting to feel like I’m a character in a some main character show..” (this tiktok HELPP here)

You pull together a sleek but casual look for him, fitted trousers, a patterned button-up, and a blazer. When he sees himself in the mirror, he whistles.

“Are you sure I’m not about to walk the runway?”

He loves when you add your flair to his outfits, often saying, “This is why I’m with you.”

Eventually, Dick starts mimicking your style in small ways—accessories, boots, and bolder colors. He’ll even joke, “You’re rubbing off on me in more ways than one.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Jason scoffs at the idea at first. “I don’t need to be styled. My leather jacket and boots are timeless, I don’t need like bags and purses like you.”

But then he starts noticing the way you turn heads wherever you go and how people always stop you to ask where you got your hat or etc from, and he gets curious.

One day, he half-jokingly says, “Alright, fashionista. Make me look less like I just rolled out of a biker gang.”

You have so much fun dressing him in a sharp, dark button-up, fitted jeans, and Chelsea boots. When you suggest a leather trench coat instead of his usual jacket, he raises an eyebrow but ends up loving it.

“I look like a villain trying blow up something in broad daylight,” he says, smirking. “But, like, a hot one.”

Jason doesn’t fully change his wardrobe, but he starts incorporating your suggestions—better fits, fewer holes in his shirts, and maybe a sweater or two. He always claims it’s to “shut you up,” but deep down, he loves how confident it makes him feel when his s/o chooses stuff for him.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Tim’s wardrobe is functional. It’s not bad because there’s a DIFFERENCE, Timothy drake wayne dresses in suits and is high end and chic but regular tim well… tim Is tim but he DOES care about what he wears just not like that serious about it, but it’s very much “guy who spends more time in front of a computer than a mirror.”

One day, he asks, “Do you think I should update my wardrobe? You know, to look… presentable?”

You practically light up, dragging him out for a shopping spree.

He’s a little overwhelmed by how excited you are, but he secretly loves the attention.

You pick out layered outfits—hoodies with tailored jackets, clean sneakers, and pants that actually fit. When he tries them on, he’s surprised at how good he looks.

“So this is what it feels like to be stylish,” he muses.

Over time, Tim starts borrowing pieces of your style. He’ll wear scarves, experiment with glasses frames, and even tuck his shirts in occasionally. You catch him researching minimalist fashion on Pinterest once, and he sheepishly admits, “You’re a bad influence.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Damian has a sharp sense of style already (thanks, Talia and Bruce), but he finds himself intrigued by your unique flair.

“You have a good eye for aesthetics,” he says one day, almost shyly. “Perhaps you could lend me some… insight.”

Styling Damian is like working with a blank canvas—he’s open to trying new things as long as it doesn’t compromise his dignified image.

You help him experiment with layered textures, sleek boots, and subtle patterns. He refuses anything too colorful but surprises you by agreeing to a deep emerald green blazer.

“I look… distinguished,” he admits, staring at his reflection.

He starts taking inspiration from your wardrobe, incorporating more modern and creative touches into his outfits. Every now and then, he’ll ask, “What do you think of this?” before leaving for an event.

Damian also becomes oddly protective of your style. If someone tries to copy you, he’ll say something like, “Flattery may be the sincerest form of imitation, but it’s wasted when done poorly.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Bruce is already a style icon, but when he starts noticing the effortless way you put together outfits, he gets curious.

“What would you do with this suit?” he asks, gesturing to one of his many black ensembles.

You tease him for being so predictable but suggest a few changes—adding a pocket square, switching up his tie, and choosing a dark navy instead of black.

When he steps out in the new look, even Alfred raises an approving eyebrow.

“Now I’ll have to think about my outfits.”

He begins to take subtle cues from your style, occasionally asking for your opinion before galas. You catch him sneaking glances at your Pinterest boards once, and he pretends it’s for “business purposes” (you had to private your pin board after because he keeps buying 10 of each of what you put on your Pinterest board.)

[daiku-hokage]

Snack Time

Synopsis: You're in your second trimester of pregnancy and hormones are kicking in. Cravings hit hard but even harder for Sylus.

Sylus x fem reader

A/N: A mix of fluff and smut. The ramp up to the smut takes a sec but I promise it is there. This is my first ever fic so thoughts are appreciated <3

Tags: fluff, smut pregnancy, after care, comfort

There is no predicting how the outcome of these things go. Morning sickness and active nausea to specific scents overwhelmed you for the first month. 

While you had a knack for snacking,  recent food cravings transformed your snack supply into a bizarre territory. Mangoes dipped in peanut butter, guacamole with Cheerios and Hot Cheetos in instant ramen was even a surprise delicacy to you. Sylus found it amusing but admitted it’s not in his ball park to participate in exploring these foods alongside you. To keep up with the increasing abstract demands he had Luke and Kieran doing daily food shopping to your personal pantry. 

“Your turn today, the Miss is gonna need a restock on cucumbers, queso and lets see…Ah! Hot Cheetos flavored mac and cheese” Luke read from a handwritten note.

“Sweet Lord, I don’t know how Boss still kisses her as she is right now, last week she was eating pickles dipped in spinach artichoke dip. You can’t tell me the wind from her breath or ass isn’t gnarly as hell by now” Kieran shivered with his hands rubbing along his sides. 

“Hey man, that's Boss’s baby growing inside of her, just be happy she hasn’t had a craving for the blood of his enemies as of yet” Luke retorted.

“That’s true…Oh! But if she does that means less work and more days off for us!” 

Both twins high fiving each other.

The second month your body was slowly taking on a new form with new weight along your thighs, hips and of course your belly. Constantly becoming annoyed at how the expansion of your stomach protested against every item in your wardrobe aside from sweatpants. Your breasts were soon following suit as you began to notice a bit more pinching on your sides when putting on your bra. 

The third month however leads you down a far more complex path to navigate, not as simple as avoiding aromas or obtaining more maternal sized clothing. Oh no it was a consistent wave of horniness taking every aspect of you hostage. In reading further online you came across some articles discussing how pregnancy often sparked changes in levels of libido for women. Hormone level changes could cause either a sharp increase or decrease but there was no information available on how to regulate it. You weren’t the type to accept no as an answer though. Back at the hunter association you inquired by the water cooler with Tara. 

“I heard from Meredith when she was pregnant it was non-stop, she said the hormones had her on top of her husband like he was a pogostick for weeks.” Whispering the details to your ear as to not reveal your colleagues details to those passing by. 

“Are you serious?! Oh man this is so damn annoying, is there really nothing to calm this down. I feel like it's just one thing after the other. After patrolling my feet ache; I take 4 snack breaks just to avoid feeling like I'm going to faint from hunger. Now my body wants to go at it like a damn rodeo show, who decides this shit!” you say while blowing hot air and squeezing your water bottle in hopes of releasing some frustration.

“The whole thing is a journey, I get it, but hey chin up! It’s not forever and in a few months you’ll be back to normal”. In the meantime maybe…ya know lean on your husband a bit more if you know what I mean.” Tara trailed off in her words so you could catch her drift. 

Your eyebrows contorted toward each other. “I-I’m not incapable of it, obviously as you can see” waving your hand over your stomach. “It’s feeling more like a burden that I can’t stand the idea of. He is already doing so much to keep up with me and the baby. Body aches/nausea/morning sickness, food cravings, new wardrobe, doctors appointment, all on his already busy schedule. To suddenly jump on him when he has a moment of rest because I can’t keep it in my pants, feels greedy.” You sighed lazily leaning against the wall in a sense of defeat. 

“Well to be honest, him not keeping it in his pants is ssoortttaa of how you both got here in the first place.”

You blew raspberries and giggled at her response “Good point there” *

“Listen the way you talk about Sy, I can tell you want more alone time to care for your new ‘urges’. It wouldn’t be difficult to add to his to-do list. Just communicate with him what’s going on and quit beating yourself up about it” 

You released a deep sigh and dropped your arms to your sides. “Tis very sound advice, thanks Tara.”

The convo you had with Tara stuck with you and her outlook made sense when you reflect the past few months. 

Sylus the man that he is, was always of no complaint to you in your transition through pregnancy thus far. When the morning sickness came he was at your side holding your hair back with one hand and fresh tea prepared in the other. At times when you had sudden craving for the most odd of food combinations he had three more chefs hired to be ready for your request at all times of the day.

Accompanying you to purchase a new wardrobe to compliment your new curves was of a delight to his spirit. He spoiled you with high end attire and quality fabric that in any other circumstance you would protest was far too expensive and unnecessary. This new sex drive on the other hand meant more than what his black card was capable of correcting, it meant him and all of him.

The thoughts sweeping your mind were embarrassing to your consciousness. The sight of the simplest of actions had you driving up a wall.

One evening he had returned with a haul of baby items and decor for the new nursery. He easily could have gotten Luke, Kieran or any of the other employees at the estate to manage organizing the space but he insisted on doing it himself. 

While on a snack run you noticed him lifting and pushing around heavy furniture across the room. A bit of sweat building above his collarbone down to his chest. Not in his usual classy work attire but a work out tank and joggers. You stopped in your tracks at the door watching him cutting boxes open with a knife and his bicep flexing in the motions. You began to fall into a daze as you imagined the bicep around your throat and his massive form towering over you from behind. The day dreaming got the best of you and you forgot the bag of chips you were holding as a few fell crumbling on the ground. Sylus turns around hearing the crinkle of your potato chips to face you.

“Snacking again I see, it might be worth me investing in surgically giving you hamster cheeks so you can store your late night snacks more efficiently and conveniently.” He joked while separating the crib pieces according to the instructions. 

His words broke your fantasy and red began to flood your cheeks and ears as you subconsciously hoped he hadn’t realized the intentions behind your stare. 

“What’s the matter, baby’s got your tongue?” He smirked, leaning back on his forearms giving him  a more interesting view of you from below. 

“If you're not going to rest, you can spend some time here with me to look at wallpaper decals. I was thinking either crow or dove feathers” He gestured for you to come closer to inquire about the sample prints he had for the wall art. 

You felt your body heating up and ultimately your lower half followed suit. You didn’t want to risk where your thoughts began to wander.  Not wanting to risk where your thoughts begin to wander, you stay rooted in the spot, not daring to get any closer. 

“Uummm my butt is aching, I feel like laying in bed, text the vendor I’ll take a look at it later.” Racing away you hurried back to your bedroom to avoid him or risk revealing your secret symptom. 

Watching you rush pass the door and further down the hall, Sylus’ mouth curved into a slight frown as his eyebrow raised in curiosity. 

Cupping one side of his mouth to channel his voice “Don’t fall asleep with the potato chips in your hair again darling!” 

(A few days after your conversation with Tara.)

Sylus just arrived back from his Onychinus obligations ready to settle into a warm bath with you. He looked forward to  you snuggling above him in his tight embrace surrounded by playful bubbles and candles. When he reached near the bathroom entry way he heard nothing, not the sound of water filling the bath or your soft spoken comments about how much bubble bath is too much bubble bath. Disappointment began to settle into his mind as he began to search for his expected company. It had become a bit of a ritual between the two of you. It was a moment for him to unwind from the demanding lifestyle of his work in N109 zone. Even more so it was a time where he could both figuratively and literally soak you in, inhaling your scent and  caressing your soft plush skin. He would listen to your cute quipped stories from your day away from him, transitioning from topic to topic, he’d lose himself in you no matter how ordinary the tale. As of recently your pregnancy disturbed this special time for you both for various reasons. Early doctors appointments, random morning sickness that left you in need of care, an emotional tantrum about your weight followed by water works. Today he knew none of the above could be the case, as Mephisto had been adjusted to be more sensitive when monitoring you in his absence. No such notifications appeared to him prior to his arrival. He soon finds you on the couch in front of the fireplace sorting through paperwork from the association's human resource department. Sylus strolling into the room from behind the couch leaning forward reaches over to grab one of the papers from your hand. 

You gasp from the swift movements and his sudden appearance behind you. 

“Hey! You just get home and start stealing my things, rude much”  Turning your head toward him with a glare for claiming your document. 

“I’d say it was a cheap fee for not finding my adoring partner surrounded by her favorite vanilla scented bubbles upon my arrival.” He teased holding the paper above your head. 

A bit of guilt began to pour into you, you hadn’t forgotten about it, you were avoiding facing your Sylus fever until you built up the courage to talk to him properly about it. You had been running so many scenarios in your mind on how to go about approaching the topic without sounding pathetic. Still you didn’t want to make him feel rejected considering you both had been missing out on this intimate time more frequently than anticipated in the past few weeks. Regardless you had to keep your guard up until you discerned a path you were comfortable with. 

“Oh you know I got so distracted with reviewing some reports I lost track of time, silly me. Not to mention my feet are so achy today from messing around with Mephisto yesterday I thought I would take a breather here first and wait for you to get back.” You gave a slight smile attempting to play off your lie the best you could. Sylus was typically not one to fall for your fibs and had a hunch you were keeping away from the truth for another reason. He’d play along momentarily while he uncovered what he really wanted to know. 

“Such a dedicated woman to her craft, I should have you coaching more of my henchmen in your ways. Care if I take a seat here to rub away these pestering aches while I review–” He paused to take a moment to glance at the paper and quickly scanned the content. It was a notice from the association alleviating you from engaging in patrols until after delivering your baby and completing your maternal leave for recovery. While scanning the document  he took a seat on the couch and grasped your feet into his palms, slowly engaging the knots in your muscles with care.

“Seems like the association is taking proper measures as you enter the second trimester, good. Saves me time from having to negotiate with your superiors.” 

Since the start of your pregnancy Sylus had been insisting on you working remotely. You protested suggesting you were still capable of combat for at least two months into your first trimester. While not easy with your various symptoms you felt obligated to your duty as a hunter. *Out of respect for you he agreed but on his own “Sylus like terms” which basically consisted of  Luke and Kieran following you each day to ensure your safety. You understood and respected the association's policy, deep down you knew the protection of your womb was of the utmost priority at the moment. However, going in person to the office just to file paperwork at least meant some sort of down time from your mind constantly racing about how to undo Sylus’ clothes with your teeth. Working at home meant not only encountering him at all times of the day but being at your peak of sexual frustration. Smelling his scent, staring at the clock wondering when he would be back home, glancing at your esteemed bed envisioning how many positions you could manage in your new size. You were spiraling. 

“I know you have been wanting me to start working from home but still it feels odd.” Your words felt stubborn to agree with you as he worked your feet and you pictured having his massage service every morning. 

“What’s the issue here again, kitten?” He applied a bit more pressure to your heel and locked eyes with you. 

“I just feel like I’ll be bored working from home ya know” You were clenching your swollen stomach avoiding eye contact with your husband in hopes his crimson eyes wouldn’t capture the true intentions behind your disapproval. 

“Boredom, really, when here you have access to the horse stable, personal theater, shooting range and a botanical garden? You fear lack of entertainment?” Sylus snarked back sarcastically while circling the pressure between the soles of your feet and your ankles. 

“Well it's not like everything is here, like my favorite coffee shop…and the bakery! They are right next to the office, I’d miss them during the day” you were scrambling for any avenue you could to redirect the conversation in your favor. 

“Hhmmm oh you don’t say, as for coffee, it is restricted from your usual consumption currently until after our child’s arrival, last I checked. As for this esteemed bakery, I’m aware of your sweet tooth and attraction to decorative goods. Hence the recent new hire from overseas that is award winning and nationally recognized for her pastries on call at the estate. I’m sure her work excels far above, oh what was it called, donny’s dough(nuts)” Sylus retorts in confidence. 

Your brow flinched with nervousness by his usual directness and clear points. You recoil your feet from his grasp and tuck them beneath yourself.  

“Hey don’t discredit donny’s ‘ the donut holes 10 for 3 deal’ those got me through a lot of late night reports with Tara at the office I’ll have you know” Puffing your cheeks and arms crossed hoping to amplify your defense.

Annoyance begins to creep unto Sylus expression. “ something is not adding up here, while I am fully aware of the new physical and emotional changes sweetie, I can’t help to notice your reluctance around me as of recent” 

-Crap, he’s on to me- You shout to yourself mentally.

He slides over closing the distance between you both on the couch, reaching over he places his calloused hands on your thigh. You recoil a bit hoping he doesn’t notice the attention your eyes have on his body and attempting to conceal your thoughts from his intense gaze. 

“See that right there, it’s as if my presence discomforts you these days, actually scurrying away from me like a frightened kitten. You have even gone out of your way to prevent me from seeing you for our typical morning baths. I have to say love, if I were not the handsome man that I am, I’d think you’ve become disgusted of me” 

“What?! Of course not, the complete opposite!” You gasp a sharp breath at the realization of your words. 

“Oh the opposite you say” He reaches over, placing his large hands around your shoulder and other wrapping around under your knees pulling you into his lap. 

“Enlighten me then darling, to what crime did I commit to owe scarcity in your recent lack of affection” Snuggling his face into the dips of your neck with a heavy inhale of your scent. 

“I do all in my power to comfort you during this journey honey and without a need for recognition but here my loving wife leaves her devoted husband, for donut holes, surely I’m more valuable to you than that” 

His words trace over you like a knife ready to pierce you at your vitals. The dam withholding your hormonal waves has now cracked at his swift vulnerability. You are one sudden move away from cracking under the pressure. 

He begins to rub your thighs in a circular motion running up and down between them and your round belly. Lowering his face to your stomach he whispers “you hear that kids, your dear papa may have lost your mother to donny the baker, how cruel your mother can be” Sylus pouts in a mocking tone, followed by a pepper of kisses on your stomach nearing dangerously close to your chest. 

“Dramatics are un-befitting of you” you scoff.

“Oh sweetie, trust me I can take it to ten if need be. Would you like to test it out or care to share with the rest of the family what’s really going on here” His tone low and rough, he craved an end to your avoidance.

You froze, his crimson eyes piercing into you like he could read your thoughts. You could feel the red rushing to your cheeks and ears. Your eyes dart between his hands and lips in turmoil between your body's wants and ego's pride. 

“Talk” His voice stern, the dam has failed. 

“I..didn’t know how to voice it but…as of recently I’ve been facing some new pregnancy symptoms” you whispered delicately beneath your breath, avoiding eye contact and pressing your index fingers against one another like a child confessing in a principal office. 

“Go on, what are these symptoms, is it emotional or physical discomfort? I'm all ears, I’m here for you.” Sylus stares intensely in anticipation of your words. 

“Well…I-I’d say a mix..I have been feeling more determined lately” 

Sylus eyebrows raised, unclear by where your confession is trailing towards.

“Darling I can speak several languages as you know but pussyfooting is not a dialect I have explored, so do us both a favor and be straightforward will you” 

“I want to have sex with you” You responded sharply. There you unraveled before him, nothing to hold back and with that your efforts tossed to the flames. 

Pure confusion flooded Sylus’ face. “Sex, you mean the same art form that I, your husband,  engaged with you to -placing both hands on your belly- make them, that sex yes. Surely, Linkon educational system covered basic reproductive health.” 

“I know how I got pregnant, dummy! What I mean is, I can’t stop thinking about having sex with you. One moment I am folding your clothes and the next I’m inhaling your scent through your underwear ready to ride myself out on the corners of our bed. Even you massaging my feet here I’ve been on edge holding myself back to not pounce on you like an animal. I feel so embarrassed by how often it keeps happening. I’ve been using work at the association to keep from being at home and facing my frustrations….I just feel like such a horny teenager” Just like that your previous efforts to script your confession had dissolved like paper in water. You bury your face in your hands muzzling your last few words fighting back an urge to tear up amidst your confession. 

Sylus pauses and gives a brief exhale before speaking. He wraps his arm tighter around you, he removes your hand from hiding, raising your chin to meet his eyes directly. 

“Sweetie, since you tested positive on your pregnancy test I could not have been more overjoyed. Despite the challenges we both anticipated ahead I took time to take each with care with you in mind. That includes holding myself back as well.” 

You let out a small gasp and dwell on his words. “What do you mean by, holding back” 

Sylus sighs, staring at the ceiling and back down while pinching between the bridge of his nose. 

“At some point in your first trimester you began to…glow in a way I can’t quite put into words. You have and will always be a beauty in my eyes but as your belly began to swell, the way you talk, the way you lay in bed at night, put on dresses with more thought out movements. I found myself capturing each moment and desire building up to take you to bed and ravish you. Your cravings for more hardy foods and bizarre snacks is noticeable filling in various areas in your form, each one taunting me.” He gripped your sides to emphasize himself.

“Why taunting, why haven’t you made a move?” You exclaimed back quickly, eager to decode his words. 

“Similar to you I don’t want to be perceived as a selfish inconsiderate male. To expect sex from you in this new state and at a higher frequency than usual made me feel…greedy. The last thing I would want is your perception of me as a monster hungry only for your body.”

Your chest rises in a quick breath at the realization at what you both were hiding from each other. The pure irony that you both shared a similar guilt of harboring the sin of greed to one another. Now all of a sudden your coy plans to avoid your lover seem pathetically irrational. Had you voiced yourself more freely, this entire misunderstanding could have been avoided. 

You cuff Sylus face in your hands and pull him in for a passionate, long yearned for, kiss. A muzzled grunt from him leaks into your throat as you deepen the connection with your tongue and pull him in closer with your arms wrapped around his neck. His large hands straddle your waist driven to join you closer to him while being mindful of the noticeable bump between you both.

Your faces twist and turn, searching to take in as much of each other as possible, grunts and moans filling the atmosphere with each intentional movement. The tension in your lower sexes elevates to dangerous levels making your desires palpable. You both break free for a moment  for air, leaning your foreheads against each other for balance and exhaling rhythmically in sync with each other.

“Your playing a dangerous game here kitten, as I am right now with you, I don’t know how well I can hold back, it’s been 94 days, 3 hours and 12 minutes counting since I’ve last had you, I might go mad” 

You lay your hand on his chest and lean your lips near his ear. 

“I’m ready to clock in Boss, please take good care of me” 

Sylus’ crimson eyes dilate and his body swiftly picks you up bridal style with no hesitation taking large strides to your bed covered in black silk sheets. Like holding a delicate jewel he places you in the center and hovers over you with your hands cupping his cheeks. 

He bends over just a hair thickness away from your lips 

“I hope you saved your strength, we are likely to be working overtime tonight” He spoke with a growl coated in his throat from his desire and painted with a devilish grin ready to sink his teeth into you. 

You caress his cheeks and flash him an endearing smile “Lucky for you I’m such a well rounded and dedicated hunter, a master of her craft.” You lick his lips playfully to toy with him and set him a blaze. You were ready to have all of your built up passions flood the space around. It had been a considerable time for your track records since you last laid together. Those numbers meant nothing to you at this moment though. The time wasted circling each other in this tense dance was no longer of your concern. What mattered was just you and him diving into one another after denying each other for such an extended period. The thought did interrupt your impulse suddenly as you realized the new challenge of love making with the extra weight on you. Could you manage the same performance you were quite well versed in prior to now. A fear of not seeming as sexy creeped into the back of your throat as your eyes soon become glossy with incoming tears. Sylus immediately catches wind in the sudden shift of your expression. 

“Sweetie, what has suddenly gotten a hold of you. It's ok don’t cry, I’m here, talk to me baby.” He sweeps his thumb across your eyes to momentarily hold back the tears threatening to escape. 

“I-*sniff* what if I don’t feel as good to you, what if you don’t enjoy me as much because of the change” Your voice cracking a bit trying to keep from breaking out into a cry beneath him. 

Sylus lifts you onto his lap with your legs straddled around his hips, he places a soft kiss on your cheek and wipes away any loose tears. Locking eyes with you in a deep tone Sylus whispers over your lips “Addiction isn’t nearly close enough to describing how I yearn for you. Each moment I get to hold you in my arms I fall under a trance and I am a captive vulnerable to your will. Never has it ever crossed my mind that your beauty has been tarnished in any way as you are now than from the day my soul found yours. The sinner that I am can only hope to never desanctify the sacred temple of my goddess. Despite my unholy nature you took in my seed willingly and all of the strife that comes to bearing our proof of existence. I’m unworthy but nonetheless greedy to be your exclusive and devoted worshipper. Darling, believe me when I say my vows remain true, there is no love purer than mine.” 

Your heart skips a beat as you clench onto his words wishing you could etch them into your mind forever so as to never doubt him again. All of the insecurity you felt prior melts away and a sense of longing overtakes you once more as you crash your lips into his. Your tongues dance and lips lock both competing for the upper hand over the other. Roughly inhaling and exhaling through his nose, Sylus tries to keep up with your demand as his body’s need for air becomes a balancing act on the scales of your passion.

Sylus’ hands run over your back and soon find their way to gripping your ass and pressing your lower half to grind on his hardening member. The sensation of feeling his hardness deepens your arousal and you hunger for more. Moans escape from your mouth as you capture his cheeks in your hands. You bite on his lower lip sucking on it while pulling away to draw in his thirst for you, taking the opportunity to catch your breath. In a series of huffs you speak lustfully “Don’t you dare hold back on me.” Before there is even a second to pass at the end of your plea Sylus pushes you down onto the bed with force from a deep throated kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him in desperation and deepen the connection. His hands find the collar of your silk nightgown and in a swift move he tears it right down the middle completely in half to expose all of you to him. You gasp in his throat and pull away for a moment to witness the small display of his strength exclaiming 

“Sylus! Tha-” 

Cutting you off mid sentence speaking gruffly he responds “I promise to buy you a hundred more replacements.” 

Wasting no time he pushes your breast up and lowers his tongue to your nipple. He makes playful circles lubricating the peaks before intaking the entire plush mounds into his mouth to suck on. His other hand twists and tugs on the other triggering a loud moan from you. He alternates between your breasts making sure to provide each with equal attention. The wetness in between your legs spreads seeping through the fabrics of your panties. 

“Oh–fuck, Sylus I—”

In the middle of your cry he sticks his index finger and middle finger into your mouth while still sucking on your nipples with rough slow flicks of his tongue. Your instincts can’t help themselves at this point and you begin to suck on his fingers curling your tongue along their length. 

He pulls them out and traces them from your mouth down your neck all the way to your panties where he tucks his hand beneath the delicate fabric. He presses the two fingers on the folds of your entrance and rubs against it in circles. 

“I see my beloved is eager for more” 

“Sylus please I–I need yo–” 

“Shhh my queen, you need not say more” 

He kisses between your breast, underneath each, down your stomach slowly until he reaches your gates. 

“Allow me to recite a prayer” 

He places a kiss on your wet lips, from the base, he presses his tongue down with a deep long drawn out lick. He finds your clit immediately once he reaches the top, flicking it repeatedly. 

You moan out loudly, one hand gripping the bed sheets and the other at his hair as you feel yourself nearing the cliff of an orgasm. The motions he takes on the clit is relentless, just when you thought he couldn’t be any more intense, he draws an S on your clit with his tongue. Your hips buck up in response but he forces you down in place on the bed with hands on your hips. Languidly he forms a Y, followed by an L, then a U, he spells his name out on your most sensitive area as your thighs tremble in response. 

“Oh—oh my fucking go—”

“Sshhh that's my line, sweetheart” . Ceasing his calligraphy for a brief moment, he wraps both his thumbs at the side of your panties. He tugs them down your legs to provide himself full access to his meal. No longer hindered by any remaining clothing on you, a second wave of vigor ignites in him. Quickly returning to your clit he begins to suck on the tiny bean, chasing this new high he brings his index and middle finger to your entrance and pushes in slowly. Once inside you fully, he glides his fingers around your slick walls before pushing in and out rhythmically. The sounds of your now penetrated cunt fill the room along with a low grumble emitting from Sylus' chest, relaying his delight in your taste. You can’t hold on much longer at the onslaught he is conducting. The pleasure flows through you like a river from the stiff tongue protruding from your mouth to the tip of your curved toes digging into the mattress surface.  You are so close, your thighs press on the sides of Sylus head in a begging call for climax. Sylus, familiar with your distress signal, slurps violently on your clit and raises the stakes of his penetration, slipping in a third finger. At first maintaining his initial speed now with the third digit he soon increases the pace to chase your orgasm. A ripple of heat envelopes you, your voice releases Sylus’ name in a high pitched outcry. Cum spills down Sylus’ knuckles and halts his penetration as your back arches upward. Your body collapses back down in sweet surrender to the moment you had been burning for, for months. Giving one last kiss to your clit he gradually exits your now exceptionally wet cunt. 

“Kitten, listening to you purr like that after so long and seeing what a mess you’ve made. I’m sure this will take more than just one night to properly satisfy us both” Sylus shoots you a smug expression while licking the corner of his mouth where a stray drip of your cum lingered. Still seeing stars from your orgasm you weren’t sure at first whether to protest or encourage his next move. 

“Didn’t you say earlier that you wanted to properly honor my temple.” Raising your foot to meet his hard bulge practically piercing through his dress pants, you playfully massage the tip and shaft. Your touch causes Sylus to groan. As his high relaxes from chasing your climax, his attention now directs to his rock solid cock, commanding to take control. You place your hand on his cheek to redirect his crimson gaze back to you.

“I believe an offering shall suffice.” 

Sylus’ eyes dilate at your words, oh how you drove him mad. Everything about you was like a perfect symphony designed and destined just for his ears alone to indulge. He lets out a low rumbling chuckle at your decree. Raising himself above you he tears open his dress shirt  stained with your essence. Pulling his dress pants off his 8-inch cock flops out in display, slapping itself against his muscular abdomen. 

“Sweetheart, I just can’t hold back anymore, oh please won’t you accept my humble offering” 

He grabs your ankles dragging you a few inches toward himself, he spreads your legs wide open. He takes a moment to admire the image before memorizing your dazzling features to keep securely seared into his mind for safe keeping. A drop of his precum from his tip falls on your stomach, teasing at the load he is bearing. His eyes are hungry like a predator just before making its final moves on its prey. Caressing your cheek with the back of his fingers over your drunk like expression, he breathes out heavily in anticipation. 

“If for any reason you feel uncomfortable, you need to change positions or if I’m being too rough don’t you hesitate to tell me, ok darling. This moment is for us. I won’t allow you to not savor not even a second of it” 

Even at the cusp of his breaking point he upholds your well-being as his highest priority. The man that Sylus is, how could you have ever had reservations of his intent. 

You nod your head in response to his declaration to confirm your needs. Caressing the side of your thighs with one hand, he uses the other to guide his cock to the front of your entrance. He presses the tip in, immediately it becomes soaked from the wetness you have trailing from your recent orgasm. Sylus breathes out a rugged groan and grits his teeth at the sweet familiar sensation that sends electric waves rushing through his veins.

“Do you want it, kitten?” He asks with his voice heavy with lust. Like a reflex to his question you wrap your legs around his hips with an unspoken assertion of your desire. The anticipation of him about to ravish you triggers waves of wetness drowning his tip.

As if profoundly making a binding vow he grasps your hands, intertwining his large rough fingers with yours. Without any further needs for affirmations he drives himself into your fortress. Hissing a curse under his breath at the long awaited reunion with your walls, it fit him perfectly like the heavens modeled your sex’s with precision for one another. Ecstasy washes over him like a thick midst that surrounds a waterfall. Lost in his raw arousal he grounds himself tightening your small hands in his, he plunges into you pulsating his strokes in your core like a war drum. Every collision he executes is explosive drawing you nearer to a second apex. 

“Sylus fu-fuck oh oh god please please har-harder I want it harder, fuck me harder daddy” 

The whine for stronger force intoxicates him and Sylus soaks in the moment of you unraveling before him like a flower in bloom. Your bidding further fueled his ambition to serve both of your insatiable hungers. Sylus releases a hand from yours to take hold of the luxury velvet headboard. Manipulating the headboard allows him to better choreograph his pounding on you. Clinching with flexing muscles, veins all along his arm project intensely. Soon the display of his might is so overt sounds of small cracks in the thick mahogany wood penetrate into the atmosphere. You both are so close. 

“Ah-da-darling fu–you’re so marvelous, my gorgeous wife, matriarch over my soul, please say my name” His strength and momentum of his thrust hit their peak, sweat accumulating all over his chest, a testimony to his labor. Your free hand latches onto his shoulder followed by your nails piercing into the meat of his toned flesh. 

“Mmmmmm yes  Sy-Sylus, Sylus! oh god yes fucking yes yes yes yes don’t fucking stop right there, right fucking there SYLUS!” Exclaiming his name in a loud winded cry you buck your hips upward and in a moment of synchrony collide with his thrust. 

Harmoniously, you baptize yourselves in each other's essence, his seed erupting in your womb like a geyser and the silk of your core outpouring down his shaft. Your thighs tremble violently at the blissful release and Sylus groans your name nearly breathless into your ear. His hand slipping from his previous intense grip on the headboard is lost and his forearms catch him so as to not collapse on your small figure. The expression of your face flushed with red painting your cheeks is dazzling, a display of your fulfillment reached. Your chest rising and falling in union with your racing heartbeat, almost all strength from your body escaped when you climaxed. 

Sylus’ hand finds your cheeks and thumb swipes over your plush lips. Lowering his head he lays his lips on yours softly at first but quickly deepens in it with his tongue to satisfy any last remaining drop of lust.

“Unfortunately I’ll need to pull out of your walls now sweetheart. I’d love to partake in that bath now though, if you’ll indulge me.” He smiles at you sweetly and kisses your forehead. He pulls out of you and the collection of your cum slides out and onto the bed sheets. The departure of his member from your insides leaves you feeling empty but eager to refresh yourself. 

“I gladly accept this additional offering of yours my love.” you respond, laying a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. Sylus rises up above you and off the bed, he picks you up bridal style carrying you to the large bath. You both rinse off in the standing shower. Sylus fills the bath 

with all of the works creating a concoction of your favorite bubble baths and bath bombs. As the piece de resistance he lights a candle and turns off the ceiling lights allowing the candle to magnify its presence. He dips you inside the bath and follows after, placing you in between his legs he wraps around you and rubs your belly in gentle circles. 

“How are we feeling now dove” 

“Mmmmm incredible, it’s like all of a sudden the tension in my body has disappeared.” You hum in delight from your new found relaxation and comfort. 

“Marvelous, I’m glad and pleased to be able to serve your needs so well. Perhaps now we can be in more alignment in our honesty for intimacy moving forward, yes” Lowering his head toward your ear he nibbles just above your earlobe. 

“Hehe that tickles and yes honey, you can count on that. Although granted you don’t mind me as a pillow princess for the next coming months.”

“I’d have it no other way, I’m sure the baby would appreciate it as well” He spoke in a tender tone near your ear while gathering a ball of bubbles along your thigh and stomach. 

Soaking in the bath felt like a long awaited curtain call to finally laying down your guards at one another. During the bath you make playful cat ears on Sylus head with the bubbles while exchanging on topics about the baby and plans to further prepare for them. 

After changing the sheets Sylus big spoons you from behind, inhaling your fresh scent from the top of your hair. 

“You know I would never harm you, either of you, right?” he murmurs. 

“Hhmmm you know good and well how such a thing was not once a fear of mine.” You respond back promptly without hesitation. Turning over on your side to face him you press your forehead against his, tangle your legs in between his and place your hand on his chest. 

“I think a good take away from this morning's exchange is that holding back because of fear won’t serve either of us. I know there are times you battle with the concept of our child viewing you as frightening. I’ve held you on several occasions when nightmares from the past strike your core. Each time they did I was here to fulfill my role too as your goddess, to purify you, banish that which attempts to corrupt your heart and soul from loving freely.” Grabbing his hand and placing it on your stomach “This child serves a purpose too, proving that your devotion is true, proving that your love truly is the purest. I’d choose no other than you to grace my womb with motherhood. You are no monster, you're mine, you are our Sylus” 

His gaze softens from your words of reassurance, his crimson eyes touched with a hint of mist. Placing a kiss on your lips he slides his body down to rest his head on your belly and hands relaxed on your hips.

“I truly do adore you”

..............................................................................................................................

Epilogue 

Luke and Kieran walk through the halls and pause when through the walls they hear muffled noises. 

“Yes! That makes ten this week, I win again, hell yes!” Luke spits out slapping Kieran’s shoulder out of excitement. 

“Uuuhhhhh how the heck do I keep losing, I’m starting to think it’s him jumping on her like a rabbit now. You sure the terms of these bets are even in the same playing field at this point!”  

“Hey man, like they say, don’t hate the players hate the game, and this player just scored as Boss continues to score with Miss hunter. So pay up” Luke retorts smuggling. 

“I hope she ends up with twins now and he pins you with diaper duty.”

-End-

[hoe4hotchner]

Hiii!! Could you do another non bau rich fem!reader where she gave Aaron lots of designer stuff and he starts wearing them to work? Like maybe ties, cuff links, and like an LV duffel bag and the team is just like “??? Woah dude where’d you get that??”

Subtle flex | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x rich fem!reader| WC: 0.9k | CW: nothing

Aaron Hotchner was usually not one for excess. His wardrobe was practical and professional, his tastes minimalistic, and his life, outside of Jack, revolved around efficiency and exuding authority on the job. Sure he had splurged occasionally on a stray high-quality tie here and there as well as his Rolex watch. At least that was until you entered his life.  

The first gift was a tie — a deep navy one in silk with subtle pinstripes. It came in a sleek wrapped box with some designer brand he had never even heard of before. You’d handed it to him with a casual smile, brushing off his initial protests with a light, “Aaron, I saw it and thought of you. Let me spoil you for once.”  

He wore it the next day, paired with his standard black suit, and noticed how it caught the light in the mirror. “Looks good,” he muttered to himself, brushing his hand over it. As hesitant as he had been to accept it, he was thankful for the present and happy that you'd chosen one that wasn't smothered in logos or brand names.

Then came the cuff links. They were sterling silver and engraved with his initials. He opened the box late one evening after you handed it to him over dinner. “You didn’t have to,” he said softly, though his smile betrayed how much he loved them.  

“Of course, I didn’t have to,” you replied, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. “But you deserve nice things, Aaron. You do so much good without even expecting a thanks.”  

And so it continued. A Louis Vuitton duffel bag for his work trips, a black leather wallet that somehow managed to look even more professional than the one he’d carried for years, and a collection of even more ties that were understated yet undeniably luxurious and seemed to multiply in his closet every so often.  

At first, he rotated the items slowly into his everyday wardrobe, unsure if they would draw attention. But one particularly chaotic morning, he grabbed the LV duffel, clipped on the cuff links, and shrugged into a jacket before heading into the office having gotten an urgent notification for a case.  

It didn’t take long for the team to notice.  

“Uh… Hotch?” Morgan’s voice cut through the usual buzz in the conference room as Hotch entered. “Is that a Louis Vuitton bag you’re carrying?”  

Hotch glanced at him briefly, setting the duffel down by the door before striding towards the front of the room to grab the file Garcia was holding outstretched for him. “Yes. Why?”  

Morgan blinked. “Why? Man, you’ve been holding out on us. Since when do you roll up looking like you just stepped out of GQ Magazine?”  

Emily leaned back in her chair, eyebrows raised. “Is that a new tie, too? That’s at least Tom Ford.”  

Hotch adjusted his tie instinctively. “It’s not. It’s Brioni.”  

“Oh, excuse us,” JJ chimed in throwing her hands up and exchanging an amused glance with Emily.  

“I’m sorry,” Spencer Reid piped up, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Are those cuff links monogrammed?”  

“Okay, seriously,” Morgan said, crossing his arms. “What’s going on, Hotch? You win the lottery or something? Cause if your salary is high enough for those purchases Imma have to talk to Strauss about a raise.”  

Hotch, shrugged lightly as he opened his case file. “No. My girlfriend has… a habit of giving gifts.”  

The room fell silent for a beat before Emily’s jaw dropped. “Wait, girlfriend? You’ve been holding out on us in more ways than one!”

"Who is she I need details," Garcia cut into the conversation, her excitement starting to bubble over.

JJ smirked. “Are you telling me she just gives you designer gifts casually? I agree with Garcia, who is this woman?”  

Hotch allowed himself the smallest of smiles as he glanced up from his paperwork. “Someone who insists I deserve the finer things.”  

“Damn,” Morgan muttered, shaking his head. “Where can I find one of those?”  

“Maybe start with charm school,” Emily teased.  

As the team bantered, Hotch’s phone buzzed on his desk. A message from you:  

Miss you already. Hope you’re putting the cuff links to good use. Dinner at my place when you get back?

He smiled quickly at his phone before typing back a quick reply.  

Always. I’ll bring the wine.  

When he looked up, the team was staring at him, curious. “What?” he asked, his tone amused, knowing fully well that they wouldn't stop bothering him about you until he eventually agreed to let them meet you.  

“Nothing,” Emily said, though her grin suggested otherwise. “Just trying to imagine Aaron Hotchner in love with a rich fashionista.”  

“Not just a fashionista,” Morgan added, gesturing toward the duffel. “An angel sent from the heavens, apparently.”  

Hotch shook his head, lifting his file up in the air in a quick and smooth motion as if to remind them why they were there. “Focus, everyone. We have a case.”  

A few days later, when you saw Aaron again, he mentioned the team’s reaction with a mix of exasperation and amusement.  

“I think they’re more interested in my wardrobe than the case,” he said, loosening his tie as he sat beside you on the couch.  

You laughed softly, running a hand through his hair. “Let them wonder. They’ll get used to it eventually.”  

“I’m not sure they ever will,” he muttered, leaning into your touch.  

“Good,” you teased, leaning in to kiss him. “I like keeping them on their toes.”  

[chevroletdean]

Welcome Home

nsfw prompts, send in a character + a number

PAIRING: Dean x Fem!Reader GENRE: Smut (18+ CONTENT) TO NOTE/WARNINGS: mentions of (healed) injuries, PWP, established relationship, (guided) masturbation, dirty talk, sex toys, fingering, not proofread WORD COUNT: 2.8k PROMPT: 10) finding their partner’s sex toy/toys and making them play with it in front of them A/N: based on an anon's request, ty! CREDIT & LINKS: dividers by cafekitsune ─〃★ join the taglist ─〃★ Dean Masterlist

You were sitting on the bed, legs crossed, compact mirror in one hand, mascara wand in the other. Maybe it was a little silly, but you wanted to doll yourself up extra nicely today.

Dean’s been away for two whole weeks, working on this super complicated case several states over. You, on the other hand, had been stuck at the Bunker thanks to an annoying injury for the whole duration of his absence. A busted ankle rendered you bed-ridden for a while and Dean, ever the worried boyfriend, was strict about your healing process.

Thus, you stayed behind, unable to do much except twirling your thumbs and calling him every day.

Fourteen lonely days, every single one feeling like torture.

Even though your leg’s been fully healed since a couple of days, Dean insisted that you should take it easy. Restless as you were, however, you offered to tag along, join him after all.

His response you couldn’t have anticipated.

“I’m on my way home already,” he said through the phone, the curl of his lips audible. “Surprise, sweetheart.”

You immediately dropped everything.

That thick novel you’ve been reading? Shoved back onto the shelves. Your warm cup of tea to comfort that empty feeling in your chest? Left behind to cool entirely. Blanket? Who needed that when soon you would have your boyfriend’s arms back around you!

You nearly tripped over your own two feet as you rushed to your wardrobe. If you’d manage to break another bone in the process of exchanging your pyjamas for something nicer, Dean wouldn’t let you hear the end of it.

However, in your giddiness you could not be bothered to care.

Dean informed you that he’d be at the Bunker in an hour or two, which was just enough time to prepare everything. Like cleaning your room and making yourself presentable.

Absorbed in your own world, you hummed along to your playlist as you did the finishing touches of your makeup. Though, when your door creaked open, you squealed— half surprised, half flustered.

“You’re early,” you huffed, though the wide smile and the brightness in your eyes belied your attempt at scolding him.

You jumped up from the bed, practically flinging yourself into his arms. His eyes almost appeared greener than you remembered, or maybe you just missed the color so badly that seeing it again made your heart flutter even more than usual.

“My bad,” he played along with a chuckle and the deep rumble of his voice sent your pulse skyrocketing, “Want me to leave again and come back later?”

“Don’t you dare, Winchester,” you retorted, grin still wide on your tinted lips. Before he could even think about abandoning you again, whether in jest or not, you pulled him into a kiss, the familiar taste of him melting your heart right away.

Despite being worn down after a long drive and an even longer hunt, Dean soaked up your excited welcome, mimicking the effortless smile you wore.

“I missed you,” he mumbled against your mouth with a relieved sigh.

“Missed you too,” you whispered back, connecting your lips with his in another chaste kiss.

“I can tell,” he grinned, leaning back only to scan you up and down. You had picked one of his old Metallica shirts, paired with a denim mini-skirt. One that left him no choice but to whistle.

“Two weeks without me and you turn into a caveman,” you quipped teasingly. Still, that look of approval and desire caused your skin to tingle.

“Can’t blame a guy for appreciating his pretty girl,” Dean shrugged, boyish grin plastered across his face. “You look like a work of art.”

“And the canvas isn’t even done yet,” you chuckled. “Can you grab my lipgloss from the bathroom real quick?”

Dean didn’t respond for a second, too busy taking in the sight of you. His hands lazily trailed up and down your sides, testing the material of his shirt, the fabric old and worn and falling softly over those irresistble curves of yours. You were asking the impossible of him—no way did he want to pull away from you for even just another minute.

“What’s the point if I’m gonna kiss it off that pretty mouth anyway?,” Dean tested, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

“Hold your horses, Cassanova,” you clicked your tongue with that flustered grin of yours, shyly shoving at his shoulder to nudge him towards the bathroom. “It’s the cherry flavored one, your favorite.”

Dean’s eyes lit up to match the flirtatious sparkle in yours, both thanks to the heavenly sound of your laugh and your little promise.

“Should’ve said so sooner, sweetheart,” he hummed with that wide, giddy grin of his. Though he did not let you off the hook that easily — giving you another peck, along with a well measured squeeze of your ass that had you yelp and giggle again — he turned on his heel and retreated to the bathroom.

“Gotta freshen up a bit anyway,” was the last thing you heard him mumble.

As for you, you swiftly finished the last bits of preparations. The moment you learned he’d finally come home, you knew just how to welcome him back properly. Microwaved popcorn, some slices of greasy pizza, one or two of Dean’s favorite old Western classics.

“Steve McQueen or John Wayne?,” you called as you were shuffling through the DVD collection in the box, which usually sat under your bed. You’d found it pulled out already and, what can you say, sometime’s not tidying up immediately has its perks.

And sometimes it’s a bulletproof set-up for failure.

Dean returned just then, though it’s the rasp of his voice that grabs your attention rather than the steps of heavy boots you expected to appear behind you.

“Wanna tell me what this is?”

Curious, your head turned to him. Your gaze fell on his frame first, much closer than you thought he’d be and half-naked. He’s washed the grime off his skin, which thus was slightly damp and smelled like the perfect blend of citrus and spice.

Once finally managing to peel your eyes off his broad chest, your eyelashes flickered upwards. Though your heart sank right to the bottom of your stomach as you realized what he was holding might’ve been pink, but it definitely wasn’t your lipgloss. Instantly the shade of your cheeks matched the silicone toy he waved around.

Your Satisfyer. Of course, you’d just cleaned it in the bathroom and forgot to put it away. Hence that box not being stashed away yet either.

“I can explain,” you muttered shyly, almost timidly and tense, though your defensive response earned you just a smirk from Dean.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he hummed. “Didn’t say I was mad.”

He turned the small vibrator in his hands, once, twice, eyeing it with curiosity. Not anger. Not disgust or any of that.

“Didn’t know you owned one of these,” he spoke, casually, as if he didn’t just jumpscare the shit out of you by wiggling your sex toy in front of your face.

You’re not sure what prompted you to even attempt defending yourself: “I only use it when I miss you too much…” While justifying why you had it, that explanation certainly didn’t make you feel any less exposed.

A thick silence followed, so heavy between you you could hear your own blood rush through your ears. The blush crept from your face to your neck, darkening into a tomato-red.

Dean stared at you as if you’d grown a second head, and you couldn’t possibly maintain eyecontact with him anymore. Although, when you averted your gaze, he lifted your chin up again, looking down at you with an intensity that overwhelmed you.

“When you miss me,” Dean echoed, voice low and laced with something dangerous. Something proud. Like the secret you just revealed equated to you handing him a trophy.

Shyly, you nodded. Barely.

“You’re thinking of me when you’re touching yourself, sweetheart?” His words had you shudder. And swallow. Thickly. Though your throat remained dry and you didn’t trust yourself to speak up just yet.

“Hmhm,” you hummed quietly, nodding again. Wasn’t it self-explanatory? Of course you were. It was always him you imagined in those moments. It was always his touch you wished would explore you. His hands, mouth, thick cock—

“Show me,” Dean spoke, holding the item out for you.

Bewildered, you blinked at him, unsure if you understood correctly.

“Wh-what?”

He took a step forward, towering over you in a way that made you feel small, but desired all the same. Instinctively, you staggered backwards, until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, causing you to sit down.

“Show me what happens when you miss me, sweetheart,” Dean elaborated, placing the toy in your lap and then pulling back.

Your eyes, wide with shock, never left him as he pushed a chair over to the bed and made himself comfortable, sitting there leaned back and ready to enjoy the show.

“But I— You…”

Dean tilted his head, one hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “What? I wanna see my girl make herself feel good. Just do it like you normally would.”

It’s not that you were uncomfortable with the idea, knowing he’d never push you to anything you don’t want. It’s rather that his request made heat pool at your core, so fast that it made you dizzy. He couldn’t possibly hold you getting so flustered against you.

This felt like a damn ambush, one that made your brain short circuit.

Hearing the gears turn in your head, Dean leaned forward, supporting his elbows on his knees and tilting his head. “Not your cup of tea, sugar?”

Damn bastard knew what he was doing, letting his wolfish eyes roam your body like you were some frozen-in-the-headlights deer. The low rumble of his voice was enough to make you instinctively squeeze your thighs together.

“No— I mean yes? Just…,” you stuttered, making a complete fool of yourself. This was uncharted territory. You knew your body and how to explore it. Dean knew your body and how to explore it. But in this constellation, the alignment of stars painted a new picture.

While you didn’t want to admit how awkward you felt, not wanting to sound lame, Dean understood without you having to spell it out for him. He got up from the chair and settled on the bed instead, making himself comfortable right behind you.

Biting your lower lip, you let his arms circle around your waist and pull you closer until your back was pressed flush against his chest. The heat of his skin seeped through your clothes and you relaxed into his embrace right away.

“This okay?,” he whispered, the gentleness of his voice contrasted only by the brush of his stubble against your cheek. As his fingertips slipped under your shirt, erasing the tension from your middle, you leaned back into him even further.

“More than okay,” you answered, voice soft but sure.

You felt the smile tugging at his lips against your neck, along with the kiss he placed there. Slow and deliberate. Reassuring you while his fingers made quick work of your skirt’s button. He unfastened it, helping you lift your lower half to slip the denim down and taking your panties right with them.

Both items discarded onto the floor, you shifted into a more comfortable position. You settled between Dean’s legs and slowly spread your own, following the guide of his palms that stroked the plush of your thighs.

“Show me, please?”

The way he asked for it had your heart and pussy flutter in tandem. That desperate edge to his tone, the subtle twitch of his fingers against your inner thighs — as if he was itching to touch you himself, but wanting you to do it instead.

You bit your lower lip and pressed the toy’s switch, its soft buzz making both yours and Dean’s breath hitch.

You guided the vibrator to your slick folds, your center already throbbing with anticipation. Dean’s chin settled on your shoulder, eyes glued to your ministrations. Having him watch you at your most vulnerable, such a private moment suddenly so intimate, it drove you to the brink of insanity.

“You’re tellin’ me this is what I’m missing every time I’m gone?,” Dean huffed through a clenched jaw, absolutely mesmerized by the sight in front of him. You, all splayed out for him, letting yourself fall apart, unwavering trust behind your actions.

A whine left your lips as you shook your head shyly.

“No?,” he hummed, hands still tracing lazy circles over your thighs, occasionally lifting your oversized shirt out of the way.

“Mmh, ‘s different when you’re here,” you replied in between ragged panting.

“Different how?”

“Better.”

You had no idea what those words did to him. Or maybe you did, judging by the way you arched your back and pushed your hips back, just to feel the tent in his boxers.

“What’s it like when I’m not here?” Maybe Dean was pushing his luck, asking you to share the most scandalous of your thoughts, wanting a glimpse of your fantasies. Or maybe he was pushing your buttons in just the right way, relishing in the flush of your cheeks and the tremble of your lips. “What’re you imagining then, baby? Bet you wish it was me touching you, right?”

The moan bubbling from you was broken but beautiful, accompanied by another nod of yours.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

You angled the toy up slightly until the ring suctioned right over your clit, pressure and friction so delicious you sobbed softly.

“Wish you’d fuck me, keep thinking ‘bout your cock filling me,” you rambled to your own surprise.

“Keep it up, and I might,” Dean chuckled lightly behind you, his only reward for now another kiss to your flushed skin.

Eager to please him, more than pleasuring yourself at this point, you turned up the setting. Though your thighs twitched, you kept chasing the feeling. Your hips automatically bucked into the smooth surface of your toy. It was practically drenched already, glistening with your essence.

“So fucking pretty,” Dean rasped, large hands holding your legs open from behind.

You whimpered, throwing your head back against his shoulder as the pressure between your thighs became nearly unbearable. Dean used the opportunity to plant wet, hot kisses across your neck, burying his nose in the curve of your shoulder.

“Doing so good, baby,” he whispered. “Just a little longer, can you do that for me?”

“Dunno, ‘m so close,” you cried, coil in your lower stomach so damn tight, so damn close to snapping.

“’s alright,” Dean purred, his own hand maneuvering their way between your legs. You yelped softly as you felt his fingers collect your wetness and run right through your slit. “Almost there.”

Overwhelmed, you almost squirmed away, but his grip on you was iron, his words whispering sweet affirmations into your ear. How pretty you looked. How good you felt. How perfect you were. And the best part about it? He was actually, really, right there—not some flicker of your imagination, not the ghost of his touch or the memory of his voice.

Dean slipped one finger inside of you, then added a second one. His thrusts were steady, a welcome scratch to the itch you could never quite manage on your own. A soothe to your nerves only Dean was able to accomplish. He was making you sing and curse and worship his name with your voice.

“Let go for me,” Dean spoke, talking you through it as all that you managed were moans and slight thrashes.

He pushed you over the edge with ease, catching you all the same in the storm of your orgasm. The intense crash of heat washing over you caused one of your hands to grasp his wrist—you weren’t entirely sure whether you were trying to make him slow down or asking him to keep going.

Dean slowed his movement, the pulsating of your heat subsiding gently until all that was left was you, sweaty and shaking in his embrace.

“Good to be back,” Dean quipped jokingly, sealing your long awaited reunion with another lock of your lips.

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[yellowbrokenblue]

I fucking own you | RAFE CAMERON

You’ve been working for the Cameron’s for a few months, and a while ago you made the biggest mistake of your life- you slept with Rafe Cameron. And now, it was about to happen again. You were in too deep, and you fucking loved it.

cw: smut, rough sex, bondage, rafe is feral, dirty talk, degradation

“I asked for a drink half an hour ago. Where is it.”

He came closer and closer to you, his eyes dark and filled with pure annoyance. It wasn’t that you went out of your way to disobey Rafe’s orders, but when you had as much on your plate as you did- it became easier and easier to slip up. People have this idea in their head that being a housemaid is a simple job- but when you work for the Cameron family, it’s nowhere near simple.

“Raf- Mr Cameron. You know that my job is not to run around fetching you food and drink whenever you feel about it. I’m here to look after the house, not you.”

He scoffed.

“Talk to me like that again, pogue, and I’ll get you fired.”

Rafe had been threatening to get his father to fire you ever since you made the biggest slip up of your entire life. You prided yourself on being a smart person who always made good choices- but then one night you ended up tangled in the sheets of Rafe Cameron’s bed- and that does not happen to people who make good choices.

After that night you vowed to avoid him as much as you possibly could. You couldn’t afford to get him so angry that he’d rat you out to his dad and loose this job.

But your biggest problem was that no matter how hard you tried to stand up for yourself, you’d always cave in front of him. You’d always end up getting him that drink even though it wasn’t your job, you’d fetch his dry cleaning before your shift simply because he asked you. And worst of all, you let him fuck you.

But it would never happen again.

“I’m sorry, Mr Cameron.” You apologised, nodding your head.

“Good.” He said, before lowering his voice, “Now go and be the nice, obedient girl that I remember, and get me a Scotch.”

You swallowed, nodding.

With shaky hands, you make your way to the bar cart in the corner, placing some ice in the glass and pouring the shot. You might not have had eyes on the back of your head, but you could feel his eyes on you- his gaze was burning into the back of your head.

He treated you like shit, it’s not as if you were unaware of it. Sometimes you got worried about the fact that occasionally it made you want him more.

You turn around, and try to give him the glass. He noticed your shaking hands and smirked. This man has evil written all over him.

“I change my mind, sweetheart.” He said, his tone rude and condescending, “I want my drink in my bedroom.”

“Can’t you just take it up, I-”

He scoffed, “You’re what? You’re telling me to do your job because you’re worried about being next to my bed again? Are you really that weak, pogue?”

Your heart was beating uncontrollably.

“Of course not.” You reply, “I’ll take it up to your room right away.”

“That’s a good girl.”

You leave the room and follow the, what feels like endless, stairs up to Rafe’s room. His section of the house was bigger than your entire apartment on the other side of the island. When he says ‘room’ he really means entire suite. The living area opened up into a huge bedroom with an en-suite, and he even had a small kitchenette to the far left with different cooking appliances. The microwave itself was probably worth more than your entire wardrobe.

You placed the glass on the small table next to the couch, when you heard the door open, close and then lock.

You turn around, rapidly, to be faced with Rafe’s face already only inches away from yours.

“Don’t look so worried, sweetheart.” He said, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling your body against his, “You know I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Rafe, we can’t do this again. I need this job, you know that.”

Instead of a reply, he lent down and attached his lips to your neck, making a b-line for the sweet spot that he must’ve remembered from last time.

You used all of the strength in you to stop yourself from letting out a moan, but then he pressed his crotch against your stomach, and the moan slipped out.

“I knew you wanted me.” Rafe said, pulling away and holding your face with his hands, “I could see it in your eyes, they just scream out how desperate you are for my cock.”

Rafe’s hands reach for the buttons of your blouse, looking at your face, waiting for a signal that it’s okay for him to continue. He wasn’t a good guy, but he had enough good in him to make sure you were okay with this.

You gave him a quick nod, and he made quick work of taking off your blouse, throwing it on the floor.

“The shit my dad makes the help wear is fuckin’ ugly.” Rafe said, “I much prefer when you look like this.”

His hands raked over your body, and over your bra.

“How would you cope if I worked naked every day?” You joked.

“I wouldn’t.”

Before you knew it, your bra joined your shirt on the floor, your tits spilling free.

“Pants off. Lie on the couch.” Rafe demanded, taking a step back, waiting to watch you undress. “I have plans for you before you get my dick. So, be a good girl and do as I say.”

You bite the side of your cheek, unbuttoning your pants and kicking them off.

“Panties too.” Rafe said, “I want to see all of you.”

Once again, you done as he said, peeling your underwear from your body, leaving you completely naked lying on his couch.

It was intimidating lying like this with him watching you while he stood fully clothed. But then again, every time Rafe looked at you there would be some sort of intimidation involved.

“Now,” He said, slowly unbuttoning his white shirt, “I’m gonna tell you how this is gonna go, and you’re gonna listen.”

He took his shirt off and lifted the glass of Scotch.

“You’re gonna lay there nice and still and well behaved, understand? And while you do that, I’m gonna have some fun.” He says, moving his arm so that his glass of liquor was hovering above you, before tilting it and letting the liquid drip over your stomach.

It was ice cold, yet the feeling made your head fall back. The anticipation was killing you, and he knew it. Rafe was taking his sweet time simply just to torture you.

You watched Rafe sink to his knees, dropping the glass on the floor, ice spilling everywhere.

“You’re gonna forget who the fuck you are when I’m done with you.”

His mouth attached itself your breasts, his tongue licking up the alcohol that had dripped onto them, before slowly making his way down your stomach, licking and sucking at every trace of liquor he could find.

Most of the liquid had pooled around your belly button, and as he got closer to that area, he gripped your thigh to steady his body, making sure to purposely brush his fingers over the aching heat between your legs, enjoying the soft moan you let out.

You couldn’t help but groan as he sucked harder at your skin, his tongue all over your stomach. You wanted that tongue sucking at your tits, in your mouth, between your legs. You wanted him everywhere.

“You’re desperate for me. I can tell.” Rafe said, using the grip he had on your thigh to spin you around, so that you were sitting facing him on the couch.

Arousal was dripping down your legs as his hand crept further and further up your thigh.

“I was gonna take my time with you today, sweetheart. But I think you want my cock right now, am I right?”

You nod, desperately.

“Words.” He demands.

“Yes.” You plead.

He shakes his head, “I know you remember the rules. Yes, what?”

You swallow.

“Yes, Sir.”

Even in the bedroom, Rafe had to remind you that you would always be beneath him. His superiority complex would never die, yet your sheer desperation could look past that.

The power dynamic was unhealthy, it’s not as if you were unaware. Technically you were still on shift working at his house right now. But you allowed yourself to look past it simply because of how badly you wanted him.

How badly you needed him.

Next, he told you to go and lie on his bed- and he followed you into the bedroom area but instead of joining you on the sheets he opened the door to his closet, rifling through until he pulled out a long black tie.

“I think you need a reminder today of who is in charge.” He says, coming closer to the bed.

“You.” You whisper, “You are in charge.”

“You’re right,” He said, “But I need to be really sure that you underhand that. So give me your wrists.”

He takes your hands and wraps his tie tightly around them, before guiding your arms to the headboard of the bed, where he looped the tie around and secured your wrists to the bed.

“Tell me if it’s too tight.” He said, a slither of genuine humanity showing through his words.

“It’s fine.” You reply.

It was somewhat exciting, to be here tied up for Rafe. He could do whatever he wanted and there wasn’t much you could do about it. But at the same time, it was nerve wracking.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, so you have to try to be a little less tense, alright?” Rafe said. His words were genuine, but it didn’t come off as such.

He unbuckled his pants, pulling them off and pushing them aside, leaving you staring at him in his briefs.

“Where do I start.” Rafe says, placing a hand on each of your thighs, spreading your legs apart.

“Look how fucking wet you are.” He said, running a single finger over your folds, “I didn’t realise what a desperate whore you were.”

Rafe’s patience thins- his solid erection paired with your dripping wet cunt is driving him crazy and he can’t wait any longer. He quickly flips you over onto your stomach and pushes your ass into the air, keeping your legs spread so he can access.

“Are you still on the pill?” He asks while he massages his cock. He needs to be inside of you. Right now.

You nod. “Yeah.”

With the anticipation, that one single word is all you can croak out of your mouth.

With no warning, you find Rafe’s cock pushing into you with a speed you can’t quite comprehend.

“Your tight little cunt.” Rafe moans, splitting you open, “I bet no one’s fucked you since the last time you had my dick, huh? You keep this pussy just for me?”

You moan, your face pushed into the sheets as you take the full length of Rafe’s dick.

“Agh!” You cry, “You, Rafe, just you.”

He’s thrusting into you with no thoughts in his mind. You knew Rafe fucked rough, but this was a new level of feral you hadn’t seen before- and you were kind of loving. You tugged on the tie restraining your wrists while you cried his name.

“I own you.” Rafe says, “I fucking own you, you understand?”

You moan loudly, his dick still pounding into you.

“I said do you fucking understand?”

“Agh! Fuck!” You cry, “I’m yours, Rafe. You own me, you own me.”

You were so close to your orgasm, clenching on his cock while he thrusted deep inside you.

“I’m close.” You tell him, pushing your head into the mattress.

“Don’t fucking cum until I say so.” Rafe said.

He sped up, reaching for his own release.

“Cum with me.” He growls, his speed reducing as he cums inside of you.

You cry out, your long awaited orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave as you coat Rafe’s cock with your cum.

You might regret this tomorrow, but right now you didn’t have a care in the world.

[casuallyanidiot]

I actually need a part two to Yandere sugar daddy or I will die

Yandere sugar daddy who loves to spoil his baby.

MDNI!

Tw. Yandere, power imbalance, isolation, captivity, NSFW themes

What do you want honey? A new pair of pretty shoes? A designer bag? A car that costs more than your left leg? He'll give it to you with a snap of his fingers.

Yandere sugar daddy who loves becoming your main source of income. You shouldn't have to trouble yourself with anything hard like boring paperwork or stupid board meetings. That's for him to worry about. No, the only thing you should be concerned about is spreading your legs and murmuring understanding words when he comes home from a stressful day at work.

And sure, you've been kind of whiny and bratty ever since he started to limit the time you spent outside, but can you blame him? Yandere sugar daddy hates even thinking about you wandering through the big scary world without him there to guide and protect you. You're supposed to be his responsibility, so don't go thinking you can just run around without his explicit permission.

Yandere sugar daddy who likes to hide little gifts for you around the penthouse. It's like a little game. He likes sending you messages randomly throughout the day. Go check the third drawer in the study. It's a good way to make sure you haven't snuck out on him, but he also just loves it when he finds you with a new pretty gem settled on the column of your throat.

Yandere Sugar daddy who takes you on crazy, all expenses paid for vacations to tropical islands, different cities, and dream destinations. You'll have the best hotels, best views, best wardrobe as long as you sit pretty and snuggled up to him while you're flying first class.

Yandere Sugar daddy who shuts down any kind of arguments you might have about silly things like 'Why can't I see my friends' or 'Where is my passport and my credit card?' He just hands you stacks of cash or his own cards and tells you to go wild. Don't worry about all of that. Just go to the shopping outlet with the security guards he hired to keep an eye on you and have lot's and lot's of fun spending his money.

Yandere Sugar daddy who finds a way to blacklist you from the industry you used to work in. No one in their right mind will give you a job even if you wanted one (Not that he intends to even let you think about living life away from him). He's never, ever going to let you have even the slightest chance of being independent.

Though, he's sure that he'll feel much better when he can finally slip a ring on your finger and make this little arrangement more official.

[gatorbites-imagines]

I had this idea, because I was doing some crochet.

A reader who had made a lot of crochet stuff for all the X-MEN (most of it was requested from them to the reader) and Logan noticed everyone had something handmade except him. His bratty side kicks in and he wants something from the reader. (though the reader can make him a cardigan cause he is a grandpa or like a glove that has holes for his claws so he doesn't reap them apart) you can go feral with it 👀

Scott Summers, Kurt Wagner, Remy LeBeau, Robert “Bobby” Drake, Logan Howlett

Headcanons

Theres too many x-men, so I just,,,added my faves *blush blush* I also decided to write a little thing for everybody, like my CoD posts.

Crochet was your passion, something to do in your free time when mutant-kind wasn’t in danger. And with online shopping, it was so easy to get all the yarn and different hooks, patterns and recipes you might need.

So, of course you also feel the need to make stuff for all the people you care about. After filling your own room and wardrobe with all the stuff you could crochet, your yarn empire started to fill your friends closets and rooms too.

Scott Summers

For Scott you end up crocheting a couple of hats, and multiple pairs of gloves. Some you already had laying around, and just decided to throw into the pile.

What could you say? You were scared he was gonna freeze his ears when he went around in his visor. This meant you crocheted different hats depending on if he wore his visor or his shades, hats that wouldn’t get too in the way.

It was a little hard for Scott to be a leader in the colorful creations you made, but everyone knew it was just your way of showing you cared. So, it made sense for the leader of the team to get the first gifts.

After a while Scott will wear the things, you make even if it isn’t too cold outside, even working it into his everyday outfits if he needs a little bit of accessories. Sometimes a hat really helps with the look, you know?

Kurt Wagner

For Kurt you make a scarf. It was a crochet of the moment. You two were on a stakeout, which took way longer than planned, in a pretty cold place. So, you pulled out your crochet stuff and started going at it.

Before you knew it, there was a comfortable scarf in your hands. You had been smart enough to dress correctly for the mission, but Kurt hadn’t, so of course the scarf when around his neck. You may also have scolded him a bit for not dressing right for the mission.

Kurt absolutely loves the scarf, and will wear it whenever its even just a little chilly outside. It makes you want to make him even more, especially when he starts getting sad about the first one fraying apart.

In the end he has as many scarfs as Scott has hats. One for every weather, in different colors, so he can match them with whatever he’s wearing.

Remy LeBeau(and Anna Marie)

For Remy you end up making him a hoodie, in his usual colors. It had mainly been a spur of the moment creation on your end, since you just had a lot of yarn in that color laying around.

It hadn’t even really been made with Remy in mind, but our beloved Cajun was quick to swoop in and take it off your hands when you weren’t sure what to do with it. and you, just wanting to make stuff for others, are more than happy to let him.

He wouldn’t wear it every day, but you do see him snuggle up in the warm yarn hoodie whenever it starts to get chilly. Hes also more than happy to use it as an excuse to snuggle with Anna Marie, using it as some kind of silly flirt.

In the end you make Anna Marie a matching hoodie, making it a little too big for her, as well as making it the same colors as Remy, so they can switch hoodies whenever they want. Its kinda like getting to hug Remy, in a way, so Anna Marie enjoys it.

Robert “Bobby” Drake

You make Bobby a blanket, it’s as easy as that. You actually end up making him multiple blankets. You didn’t really have an understanding if his mutation made him even able to feel cold, or if it made him feel extra cold?

So, the first blanket was placed by the door to his room, since you didn’t wanna invade his privacy. Bobby may not feel cold, but he loves the blanket anyways, especially since you try your best to make it in his favorite colors, or featuring different stuff he likes.

Its actually Bobby that asks if you can make him a second blanket, since he needs to wash the first one and has gotten so used to having the heavy yarn blanket on top of his other blankets at night. And you, being the great person you are, immediately get to work.

He ends up with a bit of a collection of blankets over the years, though most of them stay in his closet since he can’t really use all of them at once. He does pull them out when the x-men are doing movie nights and stuff like that though.

Logan Howlett

It took a while for Logan to realize he was the only one who hadn’t been given anything you crocheted. And… He’s not mad obviously, why would he be, it’s just crochet. He’s maybe a little jealous though, somewhere under all that gruffness.

He wouldn’t say anything, Logans way too proud for that, but he does start hovering around a bit whenever you crochet, just to look… nothing else.

There are also of course some jokes from the others about how he hasn’t been given anything, so you must not like him, or it’s because he’s always coming and going as he pleases so he’s never there at the right time to swoop in for the kill (whatever you made).

Of course, he denies hating you, or wanting anything you make. But the jokes just reach you, and it horrifies you somewhat. What if Logan really thinks you hate him? That would be the worst, because of course you don’t. the only reason you hadn’t made anything for him was because he wasn’t in front of your face, and you were a little scatterbrained when you made stuff.

You didn’t want to be too obvious about your plans, so you try to subtly get his measurements, and just kinda go off of that. Luckily the x-men system has some stuff you can use noted down. In the end you make him a nice grey cardigan, with those big pockets on the sides. It does not go above your head that it’s the kinda stuff you’d see a grandpa wear. But you think he would like it anyway.

Logan finds the cardigan by his door, like you leave all your gifts. And no, he doesn’t jump up and down or cheer, but he does give a more positive sounding gruff noise than usual.

He may also have been preening just a little the next day when he wore it, just because it felt nice to be thought about, okay? Nothing else.

It also just makes you happy to see him enjoy it so much, so you end up making him some other stuff too. Who’d have thought he would love blankets and throwpillows so much. It ends up in his “not a nest” bed pile. He also enjoys the gloves with holes for his claws too, so they were worth all the hard work.

[applecidersugar]

Just had the thought of 141 with very feminine partners. In all different ways mind you, but still feminine.

Price fell in love with a girl who bakes and cooks alot, very kind hearted. Volunteers everyday for the community. He wears her pretty floral dresses as her hair is usually in a braid. She mothers 141 like her own babies and spoils them rotten. The boys always have a place to sleep with "Ma" (Soap called her that once and it stuck). Price doesn't know what he'd do without his 'pretty girl.' She is literally the reason he is not both homeless and/ or in jail for not doing his taxes or taking care of his property.

Gaz probably goes for a dark feminine kinda girl. Think Morticia Addams. Elegant outfits, glamorous makeup. Gaz doesn't care if people judge him or question their relationship. He's the one sitting on a vintage velvet couch drinking red with his wife while she explains why Frankenstien is a literary masterpiece. She has long coffin nails, and Gaz frequently comes to work with a black or deep red lipstick stain on his cheek or collar. Dude gets a whole wardrobe makeover because he used to dress like Adam Sandler on his days off. Now he looks like Gomez Addams with the nice shirts and pants. People have asked if they are a mafia family. Bonus points if his wife is taller and he's shorter.

Ghost and a Lolita girl. He unironically fucks with the dresses and the heels and the cute bonnets and hair pieces. Man learns how to do hair and actively buys her COORD and will 100% hold her bag whenever she needs to do something. Woman has her wallet and his heart in the palm of her hand. Ghost has frequently come home with new pieces from abroad (he has begged Nikolai to take him to Japan far too many times now) without his partner asking. Builds her a custom rack for her dresses with a neat compartment for her shoes. It's also very fun for him that people are more drawn to his girlfriend than him, considering he's used to people bugging him about the mask. Now it's just his partner getting asked a million questions on her outfits.

Soap with a pink pilates princess girl. He was just heading into the gym, saw a pilates class, met his girlfriend, and fell in love. She insists on making him protein lattes and makes sure he eats enough calories. Everyone noticed when Soap got a girlfriend because this man shoes up with the most girly lunchbox alive with his pink Stanley, and the dude is not bothered. A recruit tried to bully him over it, was immediately hit with 'it's lunch my wife made me. Cause I actually have one.' Does skincare with his girl. Man glowed the fuck up from this woman he keeps putting in the work alongside her. He also does pilates and has the best endurance and body athletic wise out of all of 141. Stares at her ass in leggings, and stares at her chest in cute tops. Touchy man does not stop at gym. He is all over this woman like butter on toast. Save her. She just wants to do her set in peace!!

Idea for Ghost having a Lolita partner inspired by @readgoods. Look at her art, it's honestly gorgeous. Writing this at work because I'm bored as shit.