#I'm not saying he's responsible for any missing socks

[sweetlemontart]

nocturnal | choi seungcheol [M]

summary ⇾ tipsy from after-work drinks, seungcheol returns home on friday night to find you asleep. he tries not to look, but his wandering eyes keep drifting over to your slumbering figure, and he knows rest won’t come easy when you seem to be tempting him even in your sleep. seungcheol could resolve his little predicament all by himself, but shouldn’t you be the one to take responsibility for making him feel this way?  

PAIRING // choi seungcheol x fem!reader

GENRE // some fluff, mostly smut, pwp (i mean it, I'm warning u), sub!reader, dom!seungcheol, fiancé!seungcheol

WARNING // 18+, explicit sexual content, established relationship, unprotected sex, somnophilia, consensual voyeurism, male masturbation, slight size kink, oral (m&f receiving), creampie, fingering (f receiving), edging, choking, thigh riding, talks about having kids, cheol is a teasing little sh*t

WORD COUNT // 13k

AUTHOR’S NOTE // 13k of just smut lol btw have yall seen GDA cheol? the all black fit and rolled up sleeves and the dark hair... moving on, happy new year to everyone who reads this, may 2024 bring us endless happiness and love ( ˊᵕˋ )♡.°⑅ do reblog if u enjoy this fic. I'm working on a wonwoo fic that has ten times more plot than this so pls stay tuned for that :) song rec is rock your body - clara la san

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You're already in bed when your fiancé returns home from work, drifting in and out of sleep, wanting to wait for him to come home but unable to fight your weariness. Friday is always the busiest day at work, and the idea of being able to stay in bed until noon the next day only makes you want to wait up for him even more.

Seungcheol must think you're already asleep. It's reasonable that he thinks that way—you're a light sleeper and often go to bed early. He tries his best to stay quiet as he moves around. You had barely heard him enter the apartment, and only faint thuds of his sock-clad feet can be heard as he meanders around the house. 

When Seungcheol enters the bedroom, he's a little sceptical as to why the bedside lamp is still on, casting a dim, yellow glow across the room. His eyes search for you, finding you cocooned under the covers, lying on your left side with your back turned to him. He knows you can't sleep with any light on, but he deduces you must've been waiting for him and inevitably succumbed to sleep. 

Seungcheol moves toward the full-length mirror in the corner of the bedroom. He's slightly tipsy from downing a few beers with his co-workers after work. He feels light on his feet, and his once-gelled hair is no longer slicked back, some unruly strands now falling over his forehead. He hears you shift on the bed as he loosens his tie, but he doesn't think much of it, proceeding to unbutton his dress shirt.

Two buttons in, he hears movement from the bed again, and this time, he looks in your direction in the mirror, taken aback when his eyes meet your bleary ones. He turns his head to look at you, his mouth curling into a lazy smile. "I thought you were asleep," he says in a low voice. 

You say nothing, propping your elbow up on your pillow and leaning your head against it to get a better look at your fiancé. He turns back to the mirror, and you notice the rosy tint colouring his cheeks. You sigh dreamily, admiring him from the bed. Seungcheol is tall—that much is obvious—but those dress pants do his legs wonder. 

When he reaches for his belt, you can't help but stare. His dress shirt is still tucked into the pants, the first few buttons open, baring the soft skin of his chest. Your eyes wander, and you think Seungcheol does notice. The man does not miss a thing when it comes to you. 

The sound of his belt unbuckling makes your legs curl closer to your body, and Seungcheol definitely notices this time because he stops his movement, fingers hovering over the button of his pants. When he turns on his heels, your eyes finally snap back up to look at his face. He doesn't say anything as he approaches, coming to a stop beside the bed, towering over you.

He reaches one hand out to caress your cheek with the back of his fingers. It's a feathery touch, and your eyes naturally flutter close, head tilting into his touch just the slightest. Gentle fingers thread into your hair, brushing it back and tucking loose strands behind your ear.

Your eyes snap open when you feel his thumb against your bottom lip. At first, it's harmless, and he's only dragging the pad of his thumb across your lip, but then he starts to dip further into your mouth. He lets out a soft sigh when your lips part, allowing his thumb to rest against your tongue. Then, your mouth wraps around his finger, suckling at it softly, and his breath catches in his throat when he feels just how warm and wet your mouth is.

It's over before you want it to be. Seungcheol smiles a little too innocently, removing his thumb from your mouth and patting your cheek. "Get some rest, baby. I'm going to take a quick shower."

You don't stop him as he walks into the en suite bathroom, surprised that he hadn't immediately taken his clothes off and taken you right then and there. Seungcheol's self-control has always been immaculate when it comes to sex, but refusing to do it on a Friday night when neither he nor you have work tomorrow morning? You chalk it up to his exhaustion after working overtime, so you lie back in bed, eyes refusing to close even though your body is screaming at you to rest.

Seungcheol emerges from the bathroom not even a minute later, shirtless, belt discarded, pants unbuttoned. He takes off his silver Rolex, carefully setting it down on the bedside table near his side of the bed—as always. To your disappointment, he doesn't spare you even a glance before walking back into the bathroom.

You find yourself sighing, anticipating what seems to be an uneventful Friday night. You and Seungcheol usually spend Friday nights together— going out for dinner or unwinding with a movie on the couch. But if your lover is too tired to do anything other than sleep, you understand. You also have days when you feel too drained to do anything other than lie in bed and mull over your thoughts. Besides, it isn't like you don't have the entire weekend to make up for it—hell, you have your whole life to make up for it. 

Seungcheol leaves the bathroom door open behind him. It's not strange for either of you to keep the bathroom door open while showering. Privacy isn't much of an issue for both of you. 

You fall back asleep relatively quickly, not thinking much about the fact that the shower hasn't started running even though Seungcheol has been in the bathroom for at least five minutes.

You awaken again soon enough to the sound of soft sighs and some rustling from the direction of the couch placed near the bedroom door. At first, you try to ignore it, thinking Seungcheol might just be getting himself ready for bed. Then another sigh follows, and you peek an eye open to take a quick look. What you think will be a quick look turns into so much more. 

Your beloved fiancé sits with his legs spread on the white couch, still shirtless and wearing his dress pants. This time, however, his boxer has been pushed down just slightly, and he's lazily stroking his cock in his hand, his other arm splayed across the backrest of the couch. His skin is pale and milky, glowing in the golden light. He smiles when you prop yourself on your elbow, blinking blearily as if trying to comprehend what you are currently seeing.

He's rock hard, shaft glistening with pre-cum. You and Seungcheol have always loved trying new things in bed, pushing yourself to the limit, testing just how far each of you will go before you tap out. But this... the thought that Seungcheol was touching himself to the sight of you asleep—it stirs something in you. You've always loved waking up with Seungcheol's cock inside you. The drag of his cock feels especially good when you're still drowsy, trying to pull yourself together but failing each time because your lover just feels so good inside you. But this is different.

Seungcheol's hand speeds up, and the way he groans makes you lose your train of thought. The silver ring sits snugly on his little finger—the coolness of it must feel so good on his cock. You don't break eye contact, shifting onto your stomach and folding your arms underneath your head as you watch him. You wouldn't be able to look away even if you wanted to.

Seungcheol grits his jaw when he sees you smile. It's the last thing he expects. You look so sweet, and he starts to wonder about the sight he would be met with if he were to pull the covers away from your body. Are you wearing the sheer nightgown he always loves seeing on you? Or maybe you're wearing nothing, and he'd be able to spread your legs apart and slip himself right into the warmth of your needy cunt.

Seungcheol straightens his posture just a little, cock twitching in his hold at the sight of your smile. You look so at ease, enjoying this more than he had anticipated. He was half expecting to get an earful from you, thinking you would probably scold him for his bizarre behaviour, but this, he wasn't expecting at all, and that makes his cock harden, balls tightening almost painfully. Seungcheol feels as though he's about to burst from the inside. Your smile—as if you're taunting him, teasing him.

"Fuck, fuck..." he breathes out, head tilting back, eyes closing, savouring the feeling of his rough, calloused hand moving up and down his cock. The fact that you're most likely still watching him makes his abs tense up, trying to hold back from finishing too fast. It has barely been ten minutes since he started, but the sight of your smile feels like it's burned into the back of his eyelids. It makes his brain go haywire.

He risks another look at you and immediately realises he has made a grave mistake. Instantly, he's cumming hard, unable to hold himself back because you're looking at him so prettily—slow blinks and a sleepy smile. A loud groan rips from Seungcheol's chest, fist wrapped around the tip of his cock, stroking it just barely, trying to milk everything out. His cum trickles down his knuckles, down his shaft.

The intensity of your gaze, fixed squarely on his leaking cock, spurs Seungcheol to stand up. He rids himself off his dress pants and boxers, using the latter to wipe off most of his release before walking closer to you. Seungcheol stops on the side of the bed, stroking his softening cock almost languidly. He doesn't have to say anything, and you're already sitting up against the headboard, reaching a hand to grab at his wrist to pull him even closer. Seungcheol perches one knee on the bed, watching as you lick your lips at the sight of his cum. You're still fucking smiling, and he feels himself growing hard again.

"Enjoyed that, did we?" he says quietly, trying not to break the peace and quiet too much in case you feel like going back to sleep after his little 'show'. 

"Very much," you reply, voice slightly scratchy from sleep. 

Seungcheol is so thick everywhere, and it makes you dizzy. Your eyes roam over his chest, bulky arms, and firm thighs. Your lover has always been strong and filled in all the right places, and you love it. He has no problem picking you up, tossing you around, manhandling you into different positions. He doesn't struggle with keeping you steady when he's fucking you against the wall or any other surface.

You brush aside his hand from his cock, tongue lolling out to lick at the excess cum on his knuckles, cleaning it off his skin. The salty, bitter taste floods your tongue, and you immediately take him into your mouth. Seungcheol hisses when you do, loving the way your mouth envelopes him. You don't waste any time trying to take all of him in, mouth stretching almost painfully around the heavy girth that's starting to harden again, your thighs pressing together to get some friction. You must look pitiful to Seungcheol, trying to fit all of him in your mouth in your sleepy state, hips shifting slightly on the bed, trying to get some relief.

Breathing in, you look up—right into his eyes—before moving forward until the tip of your nose presses into his lower stomach. He breathes out a chuckle when you gag, throat constricting around his cock. Your eyes fill with tears, but you don't pull away until you're sputtering and the droplets of tears trickle down your cheeks. Seungcheol's quick to cup your jaw, thumb brushing against the pearling teardrops on your cheek. "Easy, baby... I know you're tired. Don't force it..."

Hearing Seungcheol's instructions, you stick to shallow motions, using your hand to stroke the rest of his length you can't fit in your mouth. Seungcheol's hip jerks forward a little when you drag your tongue along the underside of his cock, tracing the veins and circling the tip. Seungcheol mumbles an apology as he weaves a hand through your hair and starts to thrust his hips forward little by little, lost in the feeling of your mouth.

His cock glistens with your spit in the low light, and your eyes fall shut naturally, basking in the quiet noises Seungcheol is making. He doesn't force you to take all of him, pulling his hips back before the tip of his cock can reach your throat. You appreciate his sentiment, even if you feel awake enough to take whatever he gives you. 

Your eyes snap open when you feel the cold air against your bare legs. Seungcheol has yanked the blanket away from your body and is now peering down at your exposed form, clad in his grey shirt and a pair of white panties. Your panties are nothing special, but Seungcheol feels his cock twitch in your mouth when he sees the wet patch on the crotch of your underwear.

He can feel the vibration of your moan against his cock when his finger grazes over the damp spot on your panties. He can't resist using the tips of his fingers to rub over your clothed pussy, teasing up and down the slit, watching the way the drenched fabric sticks to your dripping cunt—thoroughly soaked and ruined before he has even done anything to you. 

When you pull away from his cock momentarily to take a much-needed breath, Seungcheol immediately leans down to capture your lips with his in a bruising kiss. He swallows all your moans, rolling his tongue over yours, dragging it against your lower lip. He doesn't pull away, even as he tugs the crotch of your panties to the side and starts to circle your clit with his fingers, which makes your legs snap shut, trapping his hand in between.

Seungcheol pulls away from the kiss, glancing down at his trapped hand before looking back at you almost expectedly. "Open," he commands. You don't need to be told twice, immediately parting your legs.

"Good girl..."

Seungcheol prods at your hole with two fingers, slipping both in only halfway. They slide in easily, slick from the wetness seeping out of your pulsing hole and the remnants of precum messily smeared all over his cock as he was jerking himself off.

"You got this wet from watching me? Or were you touching yourself before I got home?" Seungcheol grunts, gazing down at the way your pussy is fluttering around his fingers. The squelching sound is obscene, resounding throughout the bedroom. "Messy little thing..." he mumbles quietly, lost in thought as he lets his fingers dip into you right down to the knuckle. 

You gasp, pulling your mouth away from his cock to look up at his face. Seungcheol doesn't meet your eyes, seemingly entranced by the sight of his fingers between your legs. Bending one of your knees, you spread your legs wider. After dating Seungcheol for two years and being engaged for one and a half, you don't feel the need to hide from him nor the embarrassment of presenting yourself to him like you're his to own and use as he pleases. In all honesty, he possesses every part of you—your heart, your soul, every inch of your body. He is yours as much as you are his. 

When Seungcheol adds a third finger, he finally looks back at your face, not wanting to miss how your eyebrows furrow and mouth gape open at the tight fit. His fingers are thick—much more so than yours—but his cock is even more so, and he definitely needs to stretch you out to get you ready, or he will risk hurting you. There are occassions when a little bit of pain is most welcome, but tonight, his main objective is to give you pleasure.

With a trembling hand, you reach up to grasp at his cock, stroking him slowly, matching the pace of his fingers as they dip in and out of you. You know you won't be able to use your mouth properly, not when he's touching you so earnestly and looking down at you as though he hasn't ever seen you in such a position in your years of being together. 

"You touch yourself before I came home, sweetheart?"

You're quick to shake your head, slumping further down the headboard as he continues to play with your pussy. "No..." you whimper, jolting when he suddenly curls his fingers, tips of his fingers firmly pressing up against the spongy spot inside you that sends a current of pleasure darting up your spine. "I got so wet from watching you, Cheol," you sigh out, hips canting up to match the movement of his hand. "I love watching you..."

Seungcheol hums, grinning down at you, pleased with your response. "Aw, my baby always loves watching me, isn't that right?" 

His free hand envelopes the hand around his cock, urging you to keep stroking him. The ring on his middle finger glints in the light—it's the ring you gave him a week after his proposal. It serves as a reminder that no one else but him has the privilege to have you like this. No one else will ever get to touch you, kiss you, make love to you, and fuck you the way he intends to tonight. You're his, forever, and the idea has him grunting out your name breathlessly. 

With his hand atop yours, he guides your hand up and down his length at a pace that makes him hiss. Your hand is much smaller than his, fingertips barely meeting around his thick girth. His skin prickles whenever you tighten your hand around him just slightly every time your hand reaches just under the head of his cock, squeezing him just the way you know he likes it. 

"Fuck..." he exhales, sweat beading down his temple. "So good, sweetheart..."

"Cheol..."

"Hm? Tell me what's wrong."

You glance down at the hand between your legs, feeling short of breath from watching the way your slick seems to coat Seungcheol's fingers, some staining your thigh, some smeared on the palm of his hand. You suck in a big breath, stomach caving in. When you return your gaze to him, you're surprised to find he's already looking at you, the tip of his pink tongue peeking out to rest against his bottom lip. The way he's looking at you makes you feel sweltering hot. 

"My shirt, p-please," you stutter out, feeling suffocated in only one layer of clothing. 

Seungcheol immediately understands what you're asking, but he makes no move to take your shirt off. You whine when he suddenly retracts his fingers from your pussy, leaving you feeling so empty. He peels your hand off his cock, leaving you baffled and so goddamn frustrated. 

"Cheol, why'd—"

He hushes you, lowering himself onto the end of the bed. He grabs both your thighs, pulling you down from the headboard. His cock nudges against the back of your thigh, so close to where you want him the most. 

"Oh, God," you breathlessly pant. "Need you inside me," you tell him, feeling frenzied. You move to pull off your shirt, but he grunts, shaking his head. 

"Don't," he orders, using his grip on your thighs to spread your legs wide enough for him to be able to get a good view of your sloppy cunt, all slick and puffy from the onslaught of his fingers. "I like seeing you in my shirt," he says in a faraway voice, distracted by the sight of your pussy, hole clenching around nothing, almost inviting him to dive right in. 

You groan, propping yourself up onto your elbows, chest heaving. You lick at your dry lips, sending Seungcheol a pleading look, but he doesn't meet your eyes, too absorbed with the mess in between your legs. "Cheol, baby—"

Without warning, Seungcheol leans down, shoving his face into your pussy, mouth hungrily devouring your heat. You fall back onto the bed with a startled shout, jaw hanging open as you try to comprehend the sudden onslaught of pleasure that threatens to consume you whole. Seungcheol is good with his mouth and familiar enough with your body to know how to bring you close to the edge in only minutes. 

He's sucking at your clit noisily, manic with his movements like a starved man getting his first taste of food after days without it. He's greedy and ravenous, offering you no respite—not even a moment to catch your breath. 

You try to tell Seungcheol to slow down, to give you even a second to compose yourself, but only garbled moans of his name come out. By now, sleep is the last thing on your mind—only pleasure clouds it. You're trembling under him, helpless against the relentless assault of his mouth. 

When Seungcheol groans, the vibration on your most sensitive part makes you choke on air, lowering a hand down to grab the strands of his dark hair. When you try to move away from him, he clutches onto your thighs tighter, tongue teasing at your hole, swirling but never diving in. You're still trying to get away, overwhelmed. He notices this, and he brings both his arms around your thighs, hugging your legs close around his head. There's no room to move—he has you locked in. 

"Fuck, please, please, s-slow down! C-Cheol!"

He doesn't, lapping up all your juices, groaning at how your taste coats his tongue and how your smell overtakes his senses. He trusts you to say the safe word if it becomes too much. He also knows that you can take this—he has done far worse things to you before. 

The tip of his nose presses against your clit when he delves his tongue into your pussy, earning a rather rough pull of his hair from you. The pain shoots down his spine, making him slump down onto the bed to grind his bare cock on the bed. All of it makes him so light-headed. Your legs are tightening around his head, trapping him, but he doesn't mind, not even if your moans sound muffled this way. He'll get to hear you later when he fucks you silly into the mattress anyway. 

Tears brim in your eyes. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, dry from moaning so much. It's almost too much—how he is so ruthless with his mouth and tongue. He doesn't let up once, breathing in and out through his nose, delighted to be suffocated between your plush thighs. It's pure fucking torture, but it feels divine.

"Cheol... C-Close," you whisper, hoping he can hear you. 

He doesn't hear you, but he knows you enough by now. He knows the telltale sign of your orgasm approaching, knows how tight you get when you're about to cum, knows how your back arches and your toes curl. He looks at your face and reads your lips, repetitions of his name spilling past it. 

Then he's pulling your legs away from the sides of his head, ripping his mouth from your pussy. Your orgasm is brutally stolen from you, and the sheer frustration that surges through you makes you howl out his name. To make it worse, he only chuckles at you, hands rubbing comfortingly at the side of your thighs. The touch should be soothing, but it only leaves you angered. 

The sheer audacity of this man—

"You asshole," you spit out with all the venom you can muster, chest rising and falling rapidly. Tears of frustration trickle down your cheeks, and Seungcheol thinks the sight would be so lovely if he hadn't just been devouring you like you were his first meal in months. 

"Aw, don't be like that, baby..." he coos sweetly, lips and chin glossy with your juices. He wipes his face with the back of his hand before swiftly grabbing at your soiled panties, pulling them off you and tossing them somewhere in the room. He adjusts your legs, straightening both and letting them dangle over one of his shoulders. Holding his cock in his hand, he strokes it twice and then runs the tip up and down your slit.

"Choi Seungcheol, you're—you..." you trail off, finding yourself drawing a blank, still shocked by how he so meanly robbed you of your orgasm when it had been right at your fingertips. That, combined with how his cock is lightly dipping into your hole, leaves you feeling an untamed emotion, a sensation of chaos where you feel completely out of control, an experience both terrifying and exhilarating.

"Did you just call me Choi Seungcheol? We've been together for years, baby—let's not use full names now," he warns you before he sinks into you in one fell swoop, stuffing you full of every inch of him. There's a brief flash of pain as you try to adjust to the sudden stretch, hands tugging at the bedsheets and eyes rolling back. You hear him chuckle, prompting you to look up at him. You regret it almost immediately because the sight of him makes your hips lift off the bed, a strangled moan leaving you.

Your orgasm crashes into you like a freight train, sudden and jarring. You don't even register it yourself at first, at least not until the overwhelming ecstasy makes you go stiff in Seungcheol's hold, sobbing at the surge of pleasure that has striked you so abruptly. You had not had time to prepare yourself, so you try grounding yourself by grabbing his biceps and clawing at the smooth skin, leaving tender, red marks. 

"G-God, oh God, Cheollie," you whine, pinching your eyes shut because everything feels too fucking good, and you're struggling to bring yourself down from this euphoria and anchor yourself in the present. 

Seungcheol doesn't realise what's happening right away. He feels the way you clench hard around him, walls squeezing him so tight that he can't help but let out a small groan. He's caught off guard when he feels your nails digging into his arms. You're writhing underneath him—quivering, shaking—and finally, it dawns on him what has just unfolded. You just fucking came, all because he had eased his cock into your warm cunt. 

"Oh, baby..." he mutters, snickering quietly to himself. He coaxes you through your orgasm, pressing soft kisses on the side of your thigh. "Shh, good girl, that's it, ride it out for me, darling..." he murmurs against your skin, fighting back the urge to start moving his hips and fucking you through your orgasm. You've never been this sensitive before, and he knows he needs to approach this situation carefully. He doesn't want to overstimulate you too much and too soon, both for your sake and his. 

Seungcheol is equally perplexed and impressed at how little it had taken you to cum. All he had to do was slip himself into you, and you were coming undone under him? He feels his cock twitch at the thought. Seungcheol's only a man, and what you did has inflated his ego tenfold. He thinks nothing could ever top this moment, and he doesn't intend to let you live it down. 

You're not sure just how long it takes you to collect yourself. A gentle palm smoothes down your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear. The soft voice is murmuring your name, pulling you back down, down, down from your drunken daze. 

"I'm sorry," you say, still a little disoriented, gaze unfocused. You see Seungcheol's outline and see his lips moving, but you don't hear anything except the pounding of your heart in your ears. You blink a few times, forcing yourself to adjust and snap out of whatever trance you were momentarily stuck in. "I'm sorry," you repeat after finally regaining your awareness. Your eyes zero in on Seungcheol—you can see him clearly now. 

"Darling, believe me, an apology is the last thing I need," he says, slightly relieved that you seem to be returning to your senses now. He carefully sets your legs to the side, leaning down and hovering over you with a leering smile. He has you caged in his arms, looming over you with his broad frame, making you feel small. "All I need—" he begins, nosing at your jaw, breathing in your smell, "—is for you to beg."

You let out a shuddering breath, feeling the tip of his cock nudge at the back of your thigh. Somewhere in the middle of your orgasm, Seungcheol had pulled himself out of your pussy, knowing he would most likely reach his own climax if you kept clamping down on him the way you did. 

"Beg?" you echoed back, tilting your head up, giving him more access to litter kisses on your neck. 

"Mhm..." He lets his teeth graze over the sensitive skin under your jaw, not biting, just gliding over your pulse point. "Beg me to make you cum again." He ends his sentence with a playful nip on your jaw, loving how you jolt under him in surprise. 

His request isn't unusual or odd in any way. Seungcheol has said worse things to you before—things so filthy and obscene it would make a sailor blush. His words carry an unfamiliar weight this time, provoking a shyness in you that you never anticipated would be caused by his words alone. 

Warmth begins to creep up your neck, and a lump forms in your throat as something akin to humiliation washes over you. The weight of the situation starts to dawn on you. Seungcheol hadn't even had the chance to move before you were creaming all over him like a bitch in heat. The thought of it makes you want to curl into yourself and hide until morning. 

Seungcheol must feel you tensing up because he's immediately pulling away from the crook of your neck, searching your face with his eyes. You avert your eyes to the side, unable to meet his gaze with the wild embarrassment coursing through you. 

"What's wrong?" he asks you. "Look at me, baby..."

You sigh, knowing he wouldn't just let this go. Still, as you drag your gaze back to his, you can't help the shameful furrow of your eyebrows. 

Seungcheol immediately knows. "Are you... embarrassed?" he asks, the corners of his mouth curling up just slightly. 

You groan, pushing at his chest to get him to roll over to his side of the bed. He doesn't resist, moving over to give you enough space to sit up on the bed. "Ugh... 'm not embarrassed," you grumble, tucking your feet under your legs so you're sitting cross-legged on the bed. You feel Seungcheol's hand on your back, palm warm over the shirt you're still wearing as he rubs up and down to soothe you. The gesture only makes you feel even more ashamed, especially since you can hear the quiet laughter he's emitting beside you. 

Seungcheol finds it so endearing when you press your hands to your face, hiding yourself from him. His grin widens when you whine into your hands. "What are you so embarrassed for?" he asks, fully knowing the answer but still baffled about how you're so flustered from doing something that he wants to keep stored in his memory until the end of his days. The way your bewildered face had morphed into one of pure ecstasy as your orgasm washed over you is something he wants to be able to replay in his mind again and again. 

His cock jerks at the memory, and he swiftly hauls the comforter up to the middle of his torso to cover himself up. He calls out your name softly, but you don't answer him, still hiding yourself with your hands. He lets out a small sigh, knowing he'll have to get your attention some other way. 

He soon notices your engagement ring sitting on the bedside table. He knows you avoid wearing it to bed, too worried that it might slip off during the night due to your restless sleeping habits. Then, he comes up with the perfect distraction. 

Reaching over, he swiftly grabs the ring from the table before settling back into his previous position. The movement makes you retract your hands from your face, curiously glancing at him.

Seungcheol is smiling, dimples on full display. You resist the urge to poke at the little dents on his cheeks, still feeling bashful about the incident. Then, you notice the small object he's fiddling with in his hand. He's tinkering with your ring, turning it over with his fingers, fitting it around his index, grinning when it doesn't even reach halfway down his digit. 

Seungcheol's eyes seem to darken when he returns his gaze back to yours. His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he grabs your left hand, fitting the ring on your finger. The way it fits so perfectly around your supple finger evokes something primal within him. How such a small thing can symbolise the commitment and love you both have for each other is such a wonder to him. He knows that no wealth or material possessions could ever encapsulate the depth of affection he holds for you, let alone this piece of jewellery.

"If this is your way of distracting me so I don't think about what happened earlier..."

Seungcheol rolls his eyes playfully. "You're welcome to forget about it all you want, but it's gonna keep playing in my mind like a broken record whether you like it or not."

You release a sigh but refrain from arguing because Seungcheol's words ring sincere, and you're aware he wouldn't acknowledge your embarrassment anyway. 

He brings your hand to his mouth, tenderly kissing the ring. The gesture is intimate, even if he feels something entirely more carnal stirring in his stomach. "You're so much smaller than me. Could barely even fit the ring on my finger," he comments, thumbing at the small diamond sitting prettily atop the ring. 

Through your blush, you manage a reserved smile. "That's because you're so thick everywhere."

You don't mean the sentence in a weird way, but judging from Seungcheol's booming laughter, he definitely misinterpreted your words. He squeezes your hand once before tugging you down to settle half of your body on top of his. He lets you join him under the covers before cupping your cheek, urging you to look at him. 

"I'm thick everywhere, hm?" he teases you, watching how red immediately stains your cheeks. 

"Don't be gross," you grumble, letting him trail kisses from your wrist, then up to your palm, and settling on your ring. "What's with you and the ring anyway?" you ask him, finding it sweet but slightly odd that he seems so fixated on it. 

"I just had a thought, that's all," he responds, kissing each of your fingertips. 

"Go on." 

"That one day—" he says, eyes burning into yours heatedly, "—there'll be a wedding band beside this one, and you'll finally be mine forever." He says it airily, as if it's the most natural proclamation, with unwavering certainty in his emotions. 

Your heart sings at the declaration. "You're wrong on the last part." You press a fleeting kiss on his mouth, smiling when his eyebrow raises questioningly. "I don't need to be married to you to be yours."

Seungcheol grins, one of his hands skimming down your back, grabbing a handful of your ass over the oversized shirt you're wearing. "You don't know half the things you do to me, do you?" 

"I do, actually, and I plan to abuse that power," you jest, beginning to sit up, throwing one leg over your lover's hips to straddle him. 

Seungcheol is awestruck at the sight of you on top of him. You, all beautiful and celestial, and all his. He wants to worship you, ruin you, and defile you all at the same time. He's not in the right mind to say anything yet, so he only watches, both hands gliding up and down your thighs, getting higher each time, hiking the fabric of your shirt higher up as well. 

He breathes out a sigh when he allows himself to look down. Your pretty pussy is on display, all for him, with remnants of your juices on it and some smeared on your inner thighs. He's about to touch when you grab his wrist, slowly guiding his hand towards where you need him the most. He knows what you're asking of him, and he'd be stupid to deny you your wish. 

You gasp when Seungcheol starts running two of his fingers up and down your slit, coating his fingers in the wetness of your cunt, unafraid to get messy. When he sinks both fingers into your hole, you can't help but mewl, one hand grabbing onto his bicep and the other still wrapped around his wrist. 

"So wet for me, darling... You're fucking dripping all over my fingers," he says once he finally regains his voice back. 

Seungcheol is much stronger than you, and he could easily rip away the hand on your wrist and finger fuck you to oblivion the way he usually does it. This time, however, he lets you guide him, allows you to move your hips to match the rhythm of his movements, and allows you tug his hand closer to reach deeper into you each time he buries the digits. He's still holding the reigns, and he knows that—even if you're the one sitting on top of him—but seeing you try to handle and manage your pleasure all by yourself is so fucking—"Cute."

"Oh... fuck," you breathe out, swallowing hard when Seungcheol folds his free arm and tucks it under his head. He's pretty—bicep bulging and veins crawling up his arms. 

He grins when your pussy tightens around his fingers. "Think you could cum like this?"

"Mhmm..." You sit up straighter, balancing yourself with both hands firmly planted on Seungcheol's shoulders. Slowly, you switch to bouncing on his fingers instead of rolling your hips, wincing slightly at the burn of your thighs. Still, you push through the pain, aching for release, pressure in your stomach tightening at the way his fingers seem to reach deeper inside you at the new angle.

"Pretty, pretty girl," Seungcheol mumbles, more to himself than to you, but you still hear it anyway. It makes you light-headed. You love Seungcheol degrading you during sex, but hearing his compliment brings out a visceral reaction in you. It makes you giddy and scatterbrained—as though every coherent thought in your head simply just... wilts away. 

You bite your lip at his praise, eyelids drooping slightly, a dreamy look settling over your gaze. Seungcheol thinks this is his favourite look on you. You're not saying anything, but your eyes tell a story of themselves. He can see it—the way you're practically begging for him and his cock. 

"Please," you whisper, continuing to fuck yourself on Seungcheol's fingers, moaning wantonly at the mix of pain and pleasure. You're squeezing his shoulders with your hands, nails occasionally digging into his skin whenever the pleasure becomes a little too much. You're so close, and you think Seungcheol knows it as well. 

"That's right, baby. Is my pretty girl close?" he asks, shifting slightly underneath you, cock throbbing at the lack of attention, hard as rock at the adorable sight of you bouncing on top of him. He loves the way you look in his shirt, but he thinks he'd much rather see your perky tits jiggling in his face as you ride him instead. 

"Mhm, c-close," you profess, hands restless, wandering down to his smooth chest before settling around the base of his neck. You don't squeeze, only letting your hands linger as you chase your high. 

Seungcheol chuckles when he notices the delicate grasp of your hands around his neck. He knows you won't put pressure—you're too meek for that. And no, he's not underestimating you. In fact, you might be the only person in the world capable of reducing him to his knees with a glance. But between the two of you, it has always been him who would dare to do such a courageous feat. 

Seungcheol does exactly that. He slips his hand from under his head and clasps it around your neck, watching your eyes widen when he applies the slightest pressure onto the sides of your throat. You always cum so much quicker when he has at least one hand around your neck. 

Your whole body stiffens at the contact, pussy fluttering wildly around his two digits. "O-Oh, f-fuck, fuck!" You let your head tip to the side, eyes fluttering close as you near your high. Your legs are starting to go numb, but that's the least of your concerns when your climax feels like it's looming right around the corner. 

"Attagirl... that's it," Seungcheol drawls, applying more pressure when he feels your pussy squeezing tight around him. At this point, you must be growing dizzy from the lack of air and blood. He's careful not to apply any more force than he currently is. "What a pretty necklace," he taunts, awed by how perfectly his hand wraps around your neck. You're so much smaller compared to him. "Pretty necklace for my pretty girl..."

"Ungh, 'm cumming," you manage to slur out, movements growing more frantic, rhythm getting more sporadic the closer you get.  

"Look at me, sweetheart." 

It takes you a few seconds to register what he is asking. Your eyes drag over to his face. It's torture knowing you could be riding his cock instead of his fingers, but you know he'll want you to finish what you started. His fingers are doing a heavenly job, but the stretch isn't quite enough. You don't say that to him, though, knowing he'd probably give you hell for voicing it. He'd say you're insatiable and edge you until there are no tears left for you to cry. 

"There you are..." he says once your eyes meet his. There's a hunger in his stare—an unspoken promise of the things he will do to you once you've finished fucking yourself on his fingers. Your whole body tenses, cheeks burning when he nods as though urging you to let go. "Can you look at me when you cum? Can you do that for me?"

When Seungcheol adds the smallest amount of pressure on the grip around your neck, you can't help the unadulterated moan that spills past your lips. You're so fucking dizzy, vision blurring on the edges. It's getting increasingly difficult to keep your eyes locked onto his when the world feels like it's about to crash down on you. 

You still have your hands on his neck, and for a moment, you're distracted by how your engagement ring sits on your ring finger. The fat, silver diamond is a stunning contrast to his golden complexion. 

"Come on, don't get distracted now. Cum for me so I can finally get you on my cock, hm?"

You come apart with a broken shout of his name, soaking his fingers with your cum, milky slick trickling down his knuckles and dripping on his stomach. At the height of your pleasure, Seungcheol decides to release his hold on your neck, letting the air and blood rush up to your brain. The sudden surge feels exhilarating, rendering you frozen in bliss as the feeling rips through you. 

"Fuck, sweetheart," he remarks, his free hand coming up to brush back the hair from your face, letting your head loll into his hand sluggishly as it braces the back of your head. You look exhausted, back slouched and chest heaving. Still, he notices the way you're slowly grinding on his fingers. He knows you need more. "That looked like it felt good."

You nod, letting him slip his fingers out of you, sucking in a sharp breath at the sudden emptiness. "So good. Thank you..." Everything feels like it's aching—your legs, your back, and your pussy most of all. You're far from done, but you allow yourself to rest, lowering yourself to lie on top of him, face buried into his neck. You breathe his scent and allow it to root you in the moment. 

Seungcheol wipes his stained fingers on your shirt, tsking you when you whine in protest. "It's literally your cum—why are you so grossed out about it?" he teases. 

"Because..." you say slowly. When you realise you have nothing to say, you pick your head up, blinking at him. 

Seungcheol hums, eyes amused when he looks down at you. "Mhm?"

You don't have an answer, so you kiss him instead. Seungcheol welcomes the kiss, letting his tongue meet with yours in a feverish kiss that makes your hands cling fervently to his hair. You're shifting on top of him restlessly, letting your pussy settle over the length of his cock, sighing heatedly into his mouth and letting his tongue swirl around yours sloppily. 

Seungcheol grunts at the way you let your pussy slip up and down his throbbing cock. Your cunt is hot and so fucking wet, and he feels like he might combust from how good you feel against him. 

Two orgasms should've been enough for you, but you know you won't feel fully sated without Seungcheol's cock dipping in and out of your pussy, leaving it all messy in a mix of your cum. You're not sure whether you can cum again, but you do know you want Seungcheol's cum inside of you, and soon. 

"Inside," you whisper against Seungcheol's lips, not letting him respond before you smash your lips to his again. Reaching down to grab at his cock, you're just about to line the tip with your hole when he shoves you away with a harsh grip on your arm. 

You yelp in surprise, the world turning into a blur, hardly comprehending that you're no longer sitting on top of him. You're now lying on your back, staring wide-eyed up at Seungcheol as he hauls your shirt off, leaving you just as naked as him. 

Seungcheol can't help how his eyes gravitate towards your tits, all on full display for his eyes to feast on. "Fucking perfect," he mutters, one hand jerking up and down his cock as his eyes roam up and down your body, taking everything in. The sight isn't foreign to him, but all the blood still rushes to his dick the same way every time. You're too fucking perfect. If ever comes a day that he ever sees a single flaw in your body, he'll fault his eyes instead. 

When you sigh, it comes out half a moan. "Hurry, Cheollie," you tell him, spreading your legs wider, holding yourself open with two hands on the back of your knees, baring yourself to him unashamedly. You're too desperate for his cock to worry about self-dignity now. 

Seungcheol groans, stomach flipping at the sweetness dripping from your lips when you say his name so endearingly. "Alright, alright..." He presses one hand on the back of your thigh while the other hand grips his cock, running the leaking head up and down your sloppy cunt. "Just don't cum on me too soon like last time, yeah?"

"Why are you bringing that up!"

"Actually... maybe I wouldn't mind. You always shut up so good after you cum." He chuckles at the deathly glare you give him, choosing that exact moment to sink into your awaiting heat, amused when your glare twists into an expression of utter bliss. Oh, he could die happy like this—cock snug in your warm, tight pussy. He allows you a few seconds to adjust, letting his hands travel all the places of your body that he can reach, leaving your skin prickling. 

"Move, Cheol...Please."

Seungcheol smirks at your pleading, watching the way you spread your legs even wider for him—inviting and beckoning him to take you like you're the sweetest and ripest forbidden fruit. "How do you want it, pretty?"

Your eyebrows knit in frustration. Surely , he's trying to tease you, purposely prolonging whatever this is when he could already be fucking you into the mattress by now. Still, you humour him, hoping he will give in. "Any way you want, I'll take it."

Seungcheol nods with a hum, nibbling at the insides of his cheeks as he glances down at the point where his cock disappears into your pussy. "Any way I want, hm?" he echoes back, swiping a thumb at your swollen clit, snickering when your hips jump, causing his cock to slip out, heavy girth springing up to smack against his stomach. 

You reach down with one hand, guiding his cock back to your pussy, desperate to be filled again. "Please, just please." The words come out frantic, almost distraught. "I need you."

Eventually, Seungcheol relents to your pleas. You look so pretty when you're begging for his cock, and that look you're giving him—you look delirious already, and he has barely done a thing.

"Shh, I've got you, sweetheart," he mutters, slipping back inside. Much to your delight, he doesn't dawdle this time. Although he does start off slow, pressing forward until his balls are pressed firmly against your ass each time he sinks in, earning a quiet sigh from you every time. "Pussy taking me so well, princess..."

At this pace, you're able to feel every slide of his cock against your pussy, the way the veins along his length rub against your walls so delectably. "God, f-fuck, fuck, Seungcheol..."

Your lover is watching your face closely, groaning now and then whenever your walls tighten around him, but amused for the most part. He doesn't want to seem arrogant, but he thinks it's incredibly flattering that you still react this way to his cock after years of being together. You're always so eager for him, shivering under his caresses as if you're starved of his touch, as if he has never sunk himself into your tight pussy again and again, only to come back for more. 

Even now, as he hooks his arms around your thighs, pulling you closer to him, you're sighing out his name so exquisitely, the syllables rolling off your tongue effortlessly. Your pussy drips for him, the sweet nectar leaking onto his cock, staining your inner thighs. 

A frustrated groan bubbles in your throat as you prop yourself up onto your elbows, scowling at the man who is currently not fucking you the way you both deserve it. The drag of his cock feels good, but you need more, and you know he does too. "Cheollie," you mewl in your sweetest voice, one hand grasping a handful of your breast, squeezing it in the hope of enticing him to go faster. "Need you to go faster, please..." 

Seungcheol doesn't try to hide his smirk, stopping the movement of his hips entirely. He knows you're trying to lure and tempt him, just like the seductress you are. He would be lying if he said your siren gaze and the sultry lilt of your voice don't make him feel as though he's spellbound. It's hard not to give in when you're looking up at him like you want him to wreck and pillage your body until you are practically ruined for everyone else but him.

When you flash him a saccharine smile, it's as if there is a magnetic pull drawing him down closer to you, mouth hovering over yours. He breathes you in, painfully aware of how his cock twitches inside you when you peer at him through your lashes.

"I thought you said you'd take anything I give you," Seungcheol mumbles, hot breath fanning against your lips. He pecks your lips once, angling his head to the side when you try to lean in for more, rejecting your kiss. He coos when you pout at his rejection. "So take what I'm giving you. That's what you promised me, isn't it?"

Then he swoops down lower to trail kisses down your jaw and neck, nipping at your collarbone. You're scowling at his statement, irked that he's using your words against you. Seungcheol doesn't seem to care about your current predicament, licking his way down to the slope of your breast, biting down on the skin with enough force to make it hurt. 

"Don't you want to feel good, Cheollie? Why are you making this longer than it should be?"

"Oh, don't you worry about me, darling. I'm very much enjoying myself," he murmurs, pressing tender kisses on the side of your breast. 

You're opening your mouth to retaliate but decide against it at the last second. Instead, you press your mouth together, saying nothing as you lie back on the bed. You'll let Seungcheol have his way with you for now. Whatever game he's playing right now won't last long, and his control will crumble eventually—at least, that's what you're hoping. 

When Seungcheol wraps his lips around your nipple, you let his name escape you in a sigh. His mouth is warm as he gently suckles, tongue circling the pebbled bud. You don't need to look down at him to know he's looking up at your face, taking in your reaction. "Feels good..." you pant when he stretches his jaw open further, taking more of your breast into his mouth, teeth skimming over tender skin. 

Your arms wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him in closer as you arch your back. The slight shift makes your brain short-circuit for a moment as his cock seems to burrow deeper inside of you, sending a flash of heat through your body. "Fuck, so big..."

Seungcheol hums against your chest, still sucking earnestly, lapping at your nipple with his tongue, pulling back now and then to look at the way your chest glistens with his spit. After some time, he switches to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment, making sure it's covered in his spit just the same as the other one. 

You're not sure whether Seungcheol realises it, but his hips have started moving again, cock pushing in and out with no precise pattern, only seeking the warmth of your cunt as it sinks in repeatedly. It's addicting but agonising as well because you want more, and you're not sure whether you can hold out any longer. "Cheol," you softly call out, hoping to gain his attention. You don't wait for him to respond before speaking again. "Need you to fuck me, please..."

He pulls back slightly, blowing cold air on your damp chest, making you shudder. "Aren't I already?" he asks as he litters kisses on the valley of your breasts, fucking into you less distractedly this time, the force of his thrust growing harder. 

You nod, breath stuttering when he finally gains speed, not as fast as you'd like but enough for your mind to go hazy. "Y-Yeah, just need—fuck—just need more..."

Seungcheol's laugh comes out a little shaky. He pushes himself back onto his knees, ignoring your whine at the loss of his warmth. "Are you being greedy, princess?" He gathers both your legs together, letting them dangle over one of his shoulders, rubbing his hands up and down your thighs soothingly when he hears your sigh of relief from the switch of position. 

"I'm not being greedy," you grit out, looking up at him, hissing when he delivers a notably hard thrust. "Please, please, just... faster..."

"See, what'd I say? That was you being greedy." Seungcheol admires you from this position, drinking in the quiet sounds you're emitting, savouring the fluttering of your pussy around his cock. 

Your eyes begin to brim with frustrated tears. You love the man with all your heart, but this is taking it a little far, even for you. You're yearning for him, blood pounding in your ears, skin aflame with desire and an insatiable hunger that threatens to swallow you entirely. How much longer do you have to wait? 

"I can't, Cheol," you sniff, tears spilling onto your cheeks. "P-Please, I really can't—"

Seungcheol shouldn't feel so satisfied with how you're crying from how overwhelming it is, but an undeniable sense of fulfilment washes over him at the sight of your tears. This is what he wanted, after all—to test your limit and push you to the edge. "Alright, sweetheart, don't cry, I've got you..."

With a kiss to your calf, Seungcheol finally grants you what you've been begging for all night, quickly finding a rhythm that immediately garners a loud cry out of you. He sighs, cock finally finding relief at the friction. He enjoyed the game while it lasted, but this—it makes him think that maybe he should've given in sooner. You could've been filled to the brim with his cum by now if it hadn't been for his stubbornness to see you pushed to your breaking point. With this thought in mind, Seungcheol fucks into you even harder, trying to make up for lost time. 

More tears escape your eyes, but it's not out of frustration this time. It's incredible how quickly the tiny sparks of pleasure can become something mighty—an unreckonable force that racks through your whole body, vicious and ruthless, almost cruel in a way.

"Still with me?" Seungcheol asks, gritting his teeth at how well you're taking him, his hands squeezing onto your thighs roughly, the hold almost painful. But you're too preoccupied with your own pleasure to care about whether or not his hands will leave bruises. 

"Baby, you still with me?" he repeats. 

"Hmm..."

Seungcheol shakes his head, not satisfied with your answer. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

"Y-Yeah," you respond, breathing in sharply. "With you..." Your words trail off into a low moan, a sound that makes Seungcheol's eyes flutter shut as he ruts into you faster. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin resonates through the bedroom. It's lewd and unmistakable. His balls slap against your puffy folds with each thrust, sending your slick splattering everywhere—on your ass, on the bed, some droplets even landing on his thighs. He loves it when you get all sloppy for him like this. 

Your hand claws at his own, nails digging into his wrist. Seungcheol lets you remove his hand from your thigh, a growl ripping in his chest when he realises your intention. Before he knows it, he has his palm splayed on your breast, one of your smaller hands resting atop his, guiding him to squeeze. He squeezes once, then twice, relishing the way you moan for him when he does. "That's it, always so good for me. You deserve this, yeah?"

"Don't stop, C-Cheol..." When you look up at him, he seems torn between looking at your face or down at the spot where his cock meets your pussy. He doesn't settle on one, letting his eyes flicker back and forth, breathing growing ragged when he notices your eyes on him. 

"Why would I stop, baby?" He lets his free hand settle on your unoccupied breast, kneading gently, enjoying how you writhe underneath him at the contact. Both hands pinch at your nipples, twisting just barely until they harden in his ministrations. "Why would I stop when you feel this good?"

You hadn't been sure at first whether you still had it in you to cum another time after doing it twice in a short span of time, but a single glance at Seungcheol has you disoriented. Something is churning in your stomach, coiling and winding like a tightly wound spring, poised to release if twisted a little further. The more you look at Seungcheol, the less focused your gaze becomes. Tiny beads of sweat trace a glistening path down his temple, and fine strands of hair cling to his forehead—a testament to the strenuous effort he has exerted thus far.

"Cheol..." you whine, tensing your thighs together, arching your chest up into his rough touches. 

"I know, I know... I can feel you tightening around me," he grits out, veins in his neck jutting out as he continues to strain himself through his thrusts, beginning to lose himself in the feeling of being buried inside your heat. He retracts his hands from your chest to grab each side of your hips. This way, he has more control of your body, able to pull you down onto his cock every time he thrusts in, pressing into you deeper. "Shit, you feel so good, princess. So fucking good, taking me so well. You love this cock, don't you?"

You don't know whether Seungcheol knows how much his words affect you, but you certainly feel the tingling shudder lick a path from the base of your back to the nape of your neck. You let him grapple at your hips and move you however he pleases, using you for his pleasure. 

"Say you love this cock, princess."

"Love it—fill me up so well, love your cock..." you slur. 

"That's right, always so needy for it."

Seungcheol has been holding himself back for some time now, his balls heavy, ready for release. With the way your pussy envelopes him so nicely and the way you're moaning and whining out his name, he knows it will only be a matter of time before he finishes. "You close, baby?" he asks you, chest heaving with every laboured breath he takes. His eyes are screwed shut, afraid he'd cum too soon if he catches a glimpse of your fucked-out face and bouncing tits. 

"Mmph, feels s-so good..."

Seungcheol brings one hand down to the space between your legs, slipping his thumb through the tight press of your plush thighs, quickly finding your clit. He doesn't take into account, however, the way your pussy would tighten around his dick as soon as he starts drawing quick circles around the sensitive bud. He doesn't have the time to warn you, only letting out a strained growl of your name as he is thrown over the edge, emptying himself inside you, filling you up in ribbons of cum that seem never-ending. 

Taken by surprise, you can only squeal, wide eyes searching for his as you grab onto his wrist. Seungcheol keeps his hips pressed to yours, balls smearing slick over your ass as he fills you to the brim. You keen at the feeling, toes curling as you savour the warmth of his cum as it paints your walls white. 

He shudders as the last spurts finally spill inside you, his hips rocking gently on their own, riding out the last few seconds. "Fuck, baby," he groans. He's panting, trying to suck in as much air into his lungs as he can with each inhale, the impact of his orgasm hitting more forcefully since he had been unintentionally edging himself for the past hour or so.

He knows you will eventually ask for more, but he's relieved you're giving him time to recover. He leans his head against your calf and closes his eyes, trying to regulate his breathing. It's hard because the thought that you're still in front of him, naked, dripping his seed, makes him feel winded in a way that is obscene. 

"Cheol..."

"Yeah?" he grunts. 

"You okay?" 

He lets your legs fall from his shoulder, gently setting it down onto the bed, easing you to lie on your side. "Mhm... m' fine," he swallows, "just give me a minute."

When he slides out of you, you let slip a squeak that makes Seungcheol crack a small smile. He splays a hand on the back of your thigh, leaning back slightly to catch a glimpse of the mess between your legs. He can't help the stirring of his cock as he watches driblets of his cum leak out of you, seeping into the bedsheets.

Seungcheol finds it difficult to tear his eyes away from the glorious sight of your ruined cunt. He suddenly finds himself in a predicament. He knows he needs to take a breather, even if there is a part of him that aches to bury himself into you and fill you with his cum for the second time tonight.

Finally, he settles himself beside you, positioning himself so that he's spooning you from behind. He brushes his hand down from your shoulder to your arm and then down the enticing curve of your waist. Your skin is soft and supple against his palm. His caresses must tickle because your giggles fill his ears as you writhe away from his teasing touch. "Cheol..." your whine of his name makes a rush of affection wash over him. 

Seungcheol grins, pushing himself up onto his elbow to lean over you just enough to nestle his face into the crook of your neck. When he nips at your jaw, you let out a breathless sigh, and he knows it won't be long until you ask him for more. He would give you more if only he hadn't just finished twice over the course of an hour. He will have to find another way to satiate your hunger. 

Your eyes flutter shut, humming when you feel Seungcheol's lips on your shoulder blade. You don't say anything as you push your lower half into him, which earns a grunt from the man as his sensitive cock comes into contact with your ass. Much to your dismay, his hand immediately flies to your waist, gently moving you away from him. 

"Baby," he rasps, the strain discernible in his voice. He pecks your lips when you tilt your head to pout at him. "Turn over and face me, hm?"

Slightly confused, you do as he says anyway, gasping when he pulls you into him with a hand on your lower back. With your chest pressed into his and face only inches away, you give him a questioning look, circling your arms around his neck and pressing a brief kiss to his lips. "Now what?"

Seungcheol responds by kissing you. His kiss is hard and fierce, stealing your breath as he sinks his teeth into your lower lip, soothing the stinging bite with a fleeting sweep of his tongue. You arch into him, moaning into his mouth when you feel his free hand trail up your chest to settle on the nape of your neck, allowing him to have a better reign. 

Something presses against your aching cunt, and you have to break away with a dazed gasp, peering down between your bodies. Seungcheol has shoved his leg between yours, angling his thigh upward to press against you.

The hand on your back moves to the dip of your waist, encouraging you to roll your hips back and forth. The realisation of what he wants you to do makes you whimper. "Oh, God—"

"Shh, just focus on me, sweetheart. You can be a good girl and ride my thigh, yeah?"

When you try to respond, nothing comes out except a garbled moan. You must look so salacious to him—moving your hips back and forth like a desperate whore, dragging your wet pussy against his thigh, eyes rolling back from the simulation on your clit. You swear you see stars dancing in your vision, skin prickling as every thought in your mind withers into nothing. 

"That's it, I can feel how warm you are... So fucking warm and wet."

You try to kiss him again but find yourself pulling away shortly after, too dazed to keep up with the force of Seungcheol's kisses. His thigh is drenched and sticky from the mixture of your juices and his cum that has leaked out of your hole, but he keeps you stable with a firm grip on the back of your thigh. Whenever you roll your hips, the squelching sound from between your thighs is distinct, and it makes your whole face burn. 

With a sigh of his name, you weave your fingers through his hair, tugging when the stimulation becomes too intense for your liking. It feels fucking euphoric—the way his solid thigh feels against your soaked pussy as it drags up, down, up, down—but it's somehow not enough at the same time. 

Seungcheol thinks your moans sound like angels singing in his ears, and he eagerly drinks it all in, watching your face intently at the same time, relishing the way your eyes roll back during moments when the pleasure washes over you in waves. "So cute." 

"Fuck, Cheol, 's not enough..."

Seungcheol's mouth stretches into a grin, letting a few seconds pass in silence as he watches you rut desperately against his thigh, so keen to reach your long-awaited high. "Not enough? You're dripping all over me, though?" To prove his point, he withdraws his thigh from between your legs, shushing you when you whine in protest. "Let's see..."

Two of his fingers swipe at the sticky residue on his thigh. He lifts his hand to your face, showing the glossy remnant on his fingers. To further taunt you, he spreads the fingers apart, allowing a stringy thread of the creamy slick to bridge the gap between the two digits. He doesn't bother concealing his smirk when your sheepish face comes into focus, cheeks red from a combination of arousal and shame. 

You huff when he sticks his fingers into his mouth, tasting the slick that clings to it. The deep hum that rumbles in his chest kindles a fire in you that you know can only be doused by Seungcheol's touch alone. You can only watch, stunned, mind teeming with a flurry of wild thoughts as he finally removes his fingers from his mouth. 

"Now you choose, princess. It's either my thigh or nothing at all."

It takes you a moment to decipher his words. "But that's not fair..." you whine. 

"Just choose."

"I don't wanna..."

"Time's ticking."

You give in—of course you do. Knowing Seungcheol, he probably would stay true to his words. He wouldn't have any problem leaving you high and dry as he excuses himself to the bathroom to clean himself up. Then, he would come back to bed as if nothing had happened, and he wouldn't give in no matter how much you cling to him and beg for even an ounce of his attention. Then you'd have to wait until the morning to finally get some relief, either by his fingers or tongue, because he always insists on fucking you only after he has had his dose of morning coffee. It's infuriating, but it would be a lie if you said you didn't enjoy his pesky games. 

"Fine... Your thigh is fine."

"Use your big girl words."

"I need your thigh, please, Cheol. Pretty please..."

Seungcheol pauses briefly, letting your words sink in before he nods in approval. "Alright, if you insist." 

When he slots his thigh between your legs again, it's as if you've stumbled upon an oasis amid a scorching drought. The pleasure is liberating, and you're sighing his name against the crook of his neck, melting into his touch, going putty in his hold. You're grasping at both his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as the tautness in your stomach gradually builds again. It's slow, almost torturous, but the mounting tension from before has you trembling, and Seungcheol notices. He always does. 

"Breathe," he reminds you, tapping your cheek gently to ensure you hear him. "Take your time and breathe, 'm not going anywhere."

"Unghh, I don't know if I can—"

"You can, baby," he encourages softly.

Seungcheol pulls you even closer by your thigh, hitching your leg a little higher against his hips, spreading you open a little more. He can feel you throbbing against him, and the warmth emanating from between your legs makes him feel heady. 

"Fuck," he cusses, wishing so badly it was his cock that was making you writhe in his embrace and cry out his name so sweetly. "Stay with me. Are you close?"

You sob at the question. "I don't know. God, C-Cheol..."

"Hey, look at me, princess." Seungcheol nods when you finally compose yourself enough to look at him. "Breathe, and focus on me."

The movement of your hips doesn't stop as he mutters his instructions. 

"Uh-uh, keep your eyes on me," he reprimands when he notices your gaze flittering down to the glistening mess on his thigh. "That's right, keep those pretty eyes on me. That's it..."

You're sure you've lost all your ability to communicate effectively or conjure up a coherent sentence. The only word you manage to babble and stutter out is Seungcheol's name. No matter how much you try, you can't help the shaking of your legs or the ragged rise and fall of your chest as you try to gulp in enough air. It feels so fucking good—you want to tell him—but nothing comes out except choked moans and whimpers. 

"Don't worry about anything else. Just focus on the feeling..."

"C-Cheol, 'm close... I don't—I'm—"

"Shh, just relax. It's going to feel so good when you let go," Seungcheol says, hand still secure on the back of your thigh, helping you grind down against him. He thinks he might need a long, cold shower after this is all over. 

When you breathe in, the smell of Seungcheol's tantalising cologne fills your nose, and you can't help but cry out. The mix of patchouli and bergamot combined with the natural scent of his musk makes you tense against him. He smells heavenly. He smells like home. "Oh my God, ungh—"

"It's okay, you can cum. No one's stopping you."

Your eyes drift over his face, focusing on every feature and every detail, no matter how minuscule. Ultimately, it is precisely the look in his dark eyes that throws you over the edge. His eyes have an allure to them—filled with desire and longing that dance wildly in the shadows, luring you into their mysterious depth.  

The pleasure doesn't hit you all at once—it starts from the end of your toes, trailing up your legs, erupting into flurries of flames in your stomach, winding up your spine like an electric current that singes at every nerve. The euphoria builds like a crescendo, like a warmth that blossoms into an inferno and sweeps through your whole being. Your skin burns, but you feel as though you're drowning—chest tight, eyes glassy, mouth agape in a silent shout. Blood roars in your ears, and each heartbeat feels like a drumbeat, pounding against the confines of your ribcage, a relentless rhythm that drowns out every other sound. 

When the pleasure finally subsides, it leaves a lingering warmth that seems to simmer under your skin. It's a pleasant buzzing, one that makes you feel drowsy. You slump against Seungcheol, hiding your face in his bare chest, trying to hide your bashful smile that would give away how blissful you currently feel. You breathe in his perfume, grounding yourself, soaking in the heat of his body as he gently brushes a palm up and down your back. 

Seungcheol tenderly clasps your hand, lifting it delicately to plant a soft kiss on the inside of your wrist. His kisses trail down, mouth caressing each fingertip before turning your hand gently. With utmost reverence, he presses his lips against the glimmering engagement ring on your finger, bestowing it with two tender pecks, a silent promise sealed in each kiss.

"I love you," he whispers against your temple, nosing at your cheekbone. "But do you think you could cum that fast again?"

Still recovering from your high, you struggle to grasp his words. "What do you mean?"

"Like before. I mean, I was barely in you, and you were cumming all over me so fast I almost didn't realise—"

Your loud gasp cuts him off. "You are such a dick! Stop talking about that!"

"Never!" he objects, dimples showing when he grins. "It's going to make for the perfect story to tell to all our friends—"

Deciding your words won't effectively shut his blabbering mouth, you're left with no choice but to resort to slapping his arm instead, not stopping until he seizes your wrist, effectively thwarting your assault on him. 

"Okay, okay," he concedes with a laugh. "I'm just kidding. That story will forever stay with me and me only. I'm sorry, okay?"

"You don't look sorry."

"You're right, it was just so fucking hot—"

"You're insufferable. Break off our engagement right now."

The faux horror that overtakes his face is hilarious. "Alright, I'll stop. I really am sorry. Seriously."

You giggle at the admission. "You're stuck with me, you know? There's no backing out of a marriage with me."

He playfully sighs. "Hm, I'm not so sure about that.. I mean, it's not like we're already married—"

"Nice try, but I've already picked out my dress, and it's non-refundable."

"True, and I've just put a baby in you as well, so..."

You lean back, flashing him an incredulous look. "Again, nice try. Still on the pills, dummy."

"And what if they suddenly just... vanished?"

Snickering, you sit up, feeling unbearably icky and sweaty. "Why don't you marry me first, and then we can try having children. Deal?" You don't wait for his response, pushing yourself off the bed and shuffling your way to the bathroom. You can almost feel his eyes burning lasers into your bare ass. 

"Why don't you start calling me daddy from now on? You know, for practice?"

"Absolutely not."

"What do you think about having four children?" 

"I love you too, Seungcheol."

"Is that a yes?"

"You're cute."

There's a pause. "So, yes?"

"What should we do this weekend?" 

You hear him get off the bed, his thundering footsteps drawing nearer. "Stop changing the subject!"

© sweetlemontart — all rights reserved. ✮⋆˙

[thesacrificialdove]

𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐘, 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 1.8k words puppy boy hybrid x gn!reader — ko-fi | patreon | masterlist | inbox | taglist | home | req. & comms

tags hybrid puppy, breeding kink, knotting, master kink, humping

—📜" As much as you wish that owning a pup is easy, it’s not. You’re going to end up with a headache, missing clothes, and an aching hole at the end of the day. His rut is approaching and—oh dear, this is going to be bad.

When people tell you to get a pup, they don't tell you about the horrid responsibilities you have to go through. 

It's always: 'They're such sweet things! You will always feel loved', 'Very loyal boys and girls', 'It's always going to be a joy around the house', and 'You have to be prepared to give them a lot of love. Ha. Ha. Ha.'

They don't tell you about the burden of actually having a pup.

"Fucking—Atlas! Drop that right now!"

Atlas, your newest pup, is bigger than your average pup. He's also a lot more handful than you imagined. A German Shepherd hybrid is often rare to come across in normal companion shops. Most are already taken by some older chap who wants some protection.

This one appeared at your doorstep. Now, he's currently running around your house with your socks in his mouth.

You groan, almost unable to keep up with him, "What is with you? Why're you so goddamn hyper?"

He tries to say something, though his words are muffled by the pair in his mouth. His tail wags behind him enthusiastically as you continue to miss him when you attempt a tackle.

Fastening out the living room, you try to keep up. "Atlas! Down boy!" He ignores you as he keeps manoeuvring inside your house. He ends up in the storage room, and you corner him there.

When you expect him to cower with nowhere to go, something else catches your attention. Atlas is rushing towards the corner behind some boxes. You peer; he has his old mattress covered in a cloud of your clothes.

"Fucking hell, Atlas," you sigh, "what is this?"

He looks at you like he has nothing to say. "What is what?"

"This? I thought I lost my sweatshirt, but—god, your fur is all over my pants!"

An unbothered look is plastered on his face. He sits on the pile of clothes happily before you start pulling them away.

Rushing, he goes after your cruel hand to take away your clothes. "Hey! That's mine!"

"No, it's not," you snatch your fucking underwear from the pile, "this is all mine, and I'm putting them all in the laundry."

"But what am I supposed to do if you're gone~?" he falls to his back and rolls around. His arms spread to cover all the clothes he could. He's too protective of your dirty clothes and you need to take them away now.

"Guard the house," you say. You kneel down on the mattress, tugging for the shirts. "Seriously, I would guess you're a retriever if I didn't see your papers."

He huffs. "Don't compare me with those sons of bitches." Atlas sits up, defeated. All of his work disappears into your arms. "I'm way better than all of them."

"Yeah, yeah." You need to come back to get the rest. With a grunt, you stand up and take them to the laundry room.

An extra pair of steps follows you there. Surprisingly, you turn to see that he's carrying the leftover clothes. "How nice of you to help for once," you say. "Just separate the whites, okay?"

The two of you fix your laundry. His tail sits low between his legs, a shy blush accompanying his downward ears. He's looking at your clothes like it's his arm—taken away forcefully by some evil monster. Which is you, by the way.

Overcome by his puppy looks, you throw a sweater in his direction. "Keep it," you say, "but if you take any more, I'm making you sleep outside."

He yips excitedly, cuddling the sweater by his chest as he's come alive again. That fucking easy to make this silly pup happy.

"Thank you so much~!" he giggles as he hugs you from behind. Seriously, is he a retriever? Atlas embraces you tight, pulling your body as close as possible to rid the distance between you.

You ignore him as you put your underwear away. "Yeah, yeah. You're welcome, pup."

"My master is the best," he cooes, head nuzzling to your neck. His ears tickles.

Pulling away is impossible. He tightens his grip as he moves the both of you back and forth. "Absolutely the best," he says, his tongue licking under your ear and to your nape.

Suddenly, his innocent movements are not so innocent anymore.

"Y-yeah. Just let me down, Atlas." His embrace starts to become little humps. "Atlas!"

"Master," he breathes out, teeth feathering over your skin. "A-ah… I love Master's scent so bad," he giggles, loopy.

"Good for you, Atlas," with a rough hand, you attempt to pull away. It ends with him whining and pinning you down to the washing machine. "Fucking hell, Atlas..!"

For a fact, you know that his rut is nowhere near. You were planning to neuter him for your safety, and now he's grinding needily on your clothed cheeks. You struggle against his strength. All he does is disapprove of your rejections.

When he growls, it's your time to scold him. "Atlas," you harden your tone, "fix your attitude."

A pained whimper leaves him. Immediately, he backs away. Turning around, you can see his hardon through his shorts.

"S-sorry," he says, pulling down his shirt to try to have some decency. "Master, I'm just really happy to have something of yours. I'm getting really excited."

You can tell. "Yeah, but I'm busy doing laundry right now. Now I got more clothes to wash because of you. See my dilemma?"

For a split second, you can see his cock twitch in his trousers. You sigh. "Sorry," he says, "Can I… fuck, can I just maybe hump you? Please, Master? I'll be so careful."

One thing that they were right about pup boys is that they're needy. And that they're good at giving you those stupid puppy eyes everyone is irresistible to. You feel yourself giving into his whims.

"Fine," you say. His eyes light up like fireworks. "Don't get too carried away. I'm still sore from last night."

Last night: getting stuck on his knot for an hour before having to calm him down when you pull away.

Atlas is back to his excited self as he mounts you from behind. Thankfully, you've placed most of your clothes back in the machines now. He pulls down your shorts, spitting on his hand as he rubs your hole—Jesus.

"Be careful," you hiss, gripping the ends of the washing machine. "Seriously, I'm sore.

"Don't worry," he smiles. "I'll take care of my Master~"

Red rises to your face. Somehow, he makes the simplest thing sound so sexual. You try not to let it sink in but he keeps mumbling your name as he fingers you open.

"So open for me, Master," he moans, rubbing your insides and scissoring you open. He's breathing into your neck and his cock is pressed against your thighs.

The height difference between the two of you is making the angle a bit awkward. He pulls you up so one of your knees lays on top of the vibrating top of the laundry machine. He's breathing hard, turned on just watching your hole clench around his fingers.

A breathy laugh leaves him. "Mmph… I'm sorry, Master. I need to be inside you now—"

"Wait!"

You're not sure when he undressed himself. But he has a leg up as he fucks his cock inside of you. A guttural moan leaves you, overwhelmed by the sudden stretch. Though your body remembers his shape, you're still too sensitive for this.

"Master," he moans, panting as his tongue tickles your neck. "S-so good… You feel so good around me, Master. I wish you could feel it~!"

He puts both of your hands on your stomach, making you feel the little bulge in your stomach. His long pup cock is thick, reaching deep inside of you with the base of his knot already forming. He's too excited and you're sure he's in his rut.

Atlas fucks his cock deep inside of you. He tries to slow his movements as much as possible. Yet, you can feel him whimper and whine as he struggles to keep a tame pace. His mouth is dropped open as he pushes his cock as deep as possible—he has a need to imprint inside of you.

"Atlas," you breathe out, clenching around him. "Just fuck me already, pup. Breed me with your big fat knot."

Your words are immediate. If you could look back, you would see his ears perk up and his tail wag excitedly. Taking your word, he ruts inside of you as if his goal is to put a baby inside of you.

"Yes! Th-… thank you, Master!" he moans, hips slapping lewdly against your ass. "So fucking good, Master. I love it—hahh… I love your sloppy hole so much. S-sucking me in like you want to be bred by me~"

He's manic as he puts a hand on your hips. "So good, so good, so good, so~… good!"

You want to lay your head down. Each thrust hits you deep inside; it rubs against your sweet spot. You feel yourself go crazy as he doesn't care for your own pleasure. He's chasing his own climax, and it makes you clench around him in desperation.

"Maste-e-e-r," he drags out, burying his head in between your head and your neck. "Puppy wants to breed master so bad. Wanna—wanna see you round with puppy's seed. S-so good."

"Breed me, pup," you cry, whining as he's basically only grinding inside of you. You can feel his knot start to attempt to push in. "Get inside of me, pup. Let me have your seed."

"Ah, ah, ah~!" He screams as his knot spreads open your hole—it pushes inside and he's quivering. Your oversensitive hole is being stretched to its last extent. You can barely feel your legs as he's grinding his knot inside.

"So good," he moans. You can feel drool going down your shoulders. "M-master… I'm gonna cum. 'm gonna cum. Puppy's gonna cum inside ofMaster. Gonna-gonna fucking breed Masta-haaah..!"

Waves of his hot cum surges inside you. He's holding you tight; attempting to fill you to the brim, he doesn't let you leave his knot. You're left hanging there to take all of him. When he thrusts inside of you unexpectedly, you can't help the spurt of cum that comes out of you.

He feels you tighten more and groans. "S-so tight," he whines, wiggling his lips as if that would help. "Mmph. Master, you're so nice."

If you were in a better mindset, you would be criticising him. Saying that your compliance is his fault. Instead, you just lay there and take it.

A few minutes in, the haze leaves you and realisation punches you. "You little shit, your knot is gonna be in me for an hour!"

"…I think I'm going into rut, Master. I'll- er… I'll maybe last an hour or more."

"Atlas!"

Owning a pup boy is way too much work. You briefly consider giving him away to some adoption centre. Though he's too attached now, and you might find him back at your doorstep.

UPDATE ! 📢 @wiltedpoison @elloredef @alureasoley

do not redistrubute this work as yours/without permission or feed to AI 📷 art by @ shu_TMX

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Intercorrelated

Miguel O'Hara x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 29: Cream Pie

Summary: You've had a bad day.

A/N: This was meant to be for kinktober 2023 (I'm so sorry).

Warnings: reader has tattoos on their legs, kissing, teasing, p in v sex, cream pie, oral, fingering, swimming pool adjacent smut, reader works at Alchemax, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 2244

You sighed, annoyance bubbling along your veins, threatening to boil over and overwhelm you. Tears pulsed at the back of your eyes, trying to fight their way to the surface. 

It just wasn’t fair. 

The experiment had failed. Fine. These things happened. But Stone giving you a fucking public dressing down and all but promising to destroy every scrap of research you’d gathered? Yeah. Not so fine. 

You pushed open the door to the swimming pool. It was on the upper levels, part of the built-in gym in the Alchemax building. It was always empty this late, everyone who stayed at this time was either working on their own experiments or had accidentally fallen asleep in the carpark. The pool was the perfect place for you to wallow just a little bit. 

The door swung shut behind you, enclosing you in the smell of chlorine, and you were just a few steps into the room when you spotted him. Miguel-fucking-O’Hara. Mister 6 foot-fucking-9 and ‘Oh, I would never have any experience blow up in my face.’ 

You sighed. 

It wasn’t Miguel’s fault that you’d had a shit day. But you’d quite like for him to piss off out of the pool so you could lay down on the seating at the edge of the room and contemplate your life choices so far. 

He was doing laps at a practically insane speed, gliding smoothly through the water. Another thing he was annoyingly good at. Prick. 

As he reached the wall of the deep end he turned, intending to do another lap, but paused when he noticed you standing on the side, just at the edge of the swallow end. 

You swallowed, skin prickling under his gaze. You didn’t want him to think you’d come in here just to gaup at him, but it wasn’t like you could just jump in and swim in your work clothes. Fuck.

You marched with purpose towards the middle of the pool and hastily pulled off your socks and shoes, leaving them fairly neatly on the side, before you rolled up your trousers and sat on the edge. You dipped your feet and calves into the water. Temperature wise it was surprisingly pleasant. 

You assumed that maybe O’Hara would have the common decency to ignore you, continue his lengths until he finished his workout. Something any normal person would have done. 

Anyone else certainly wouldn’t have slowly swam towards you, barely making ripples in the water with their smooth strokes. 

He stood up in the pool, not quite directly in front of you. He didn’t say anything at first, though you could see him watching you out of your perpetual vision. Slowly he ran a hand through his hair, pushing errand strands away from his eyes as droplets ran down his temples. 

There wasn’t much hope that he’d ignore you and your slightly red looking eyes now.

“You okay?” 

Why the fuck was he like this? All calm words, with that stupid low voice of his and big doe eyes. 

“Fine.” 

He hummed, not sounding like he believed you in the slightest. He sank back down into the water a little, lifting his legs up and spreading his arms out so that he could float in a sitting position. 

“Why are you sitting on the edge of the pool, in your work clothes?” He asked deadpan. 

“Why not?” You somehow managed not to grimace at your childish response. It wasn’t like O’Hara would understand anyway, he was oh, so, perfect. 

To your surprise, Miguel smirked slightly at your response. He watched you for a moment before pointing at your leg. “I like your tattoos.” He said matter of factly. 

“Yeah?” A brief smile flashed across your face and you angled your left leg out of the water for him to see it clearer. “You’ve seen them before.” 

“I know.” He nodded and looked closer. “They’re pretty..” 

“Thanks.” You tried to fight down the heat that spiked along your skin. You cleared your throat, “erm, do you have any?” Despite how many times he’d been inside of you, you’d never actually seen him as naked as he is now.

He shook his head. “Not a massive fan of needles.” His stupid little smile was infectious and you couldn’t help but mirror the expression. 

Miguel held your gaze for a moment too long, the action almost hypnotising. There was a slight upwards twitch to his lips for a second before he moved a fraction closer and stood. It was almost as if he wanted you to get a good few of the water running down his smooth skin and- no, you were just being silly now. 

He touched the outside of your calf with the tips of his fingers, a ghost-like touch that made you shiver involuntarily. Lightly he traced the outline of your tattoo, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly in concentration. “What do they mean to you?” He asks softly. 

“Erm,” your voice cracks a little as if you hadn’t spoken for a while and you swallow, gulping down air. “Lots of things…” 

He looks up at you from under his eyelashes, the tips of his fingers still gliding across your skin. 

“This one is… erm, well, sort of a memento mori, I guess.” 

He smirks, one eyebrow raised. “You guess?”

You pull a face at him for a second. “It is.” 

He smiles, going back to looking at the tattoo. “Morbid.”

You’re about to retort back when his fingers slide higher, slipping further up your calf. “What about this one?” He says softly again, his voice low and deep. 

“It’s…” you shiver again as he delicately strokes your skin, his touch maddeningly distracting. In all honesty, you should snap at him, push him away, get him to stop touching you. This was inappropriate, this was unprofessional. But it’s not like that has stopped you before.

“It’s?” He repeats, not looking up at you as he continues caressing higher, sliding up to your knee and over the top of your rolled up trousers to your thigh. 

Your breath catches in your throat, all possible thoughts and words dissolving from your mind in an instant.

Miguel smiles ever so slightly, still looking unwaveringly at your leg. But he can hear the little gasp of air escape your lungs. 

He lets the quiet hang for a moment before he speaks again, his voice even lower than before. “Why do you have so many?” 

“I… I like them… they make me happy.”

He hums again, but this is a satisfied sound. “They’re beautiful on you.” 

You swallow. “Thank you.” 

“You’re beautiful.” He smiles and you forget how to breathe. “And smart, Stone’s a fucking idiot.”

“You heard about that.” You mutter, ignoring the first part of his sentence. 

He nods and hums. “He’s fucking unprofessional. And a dick.” 

That makes you laugh and he smiles. “You ignored what I said.” 

You pause, frowning slightly and his grin widens.

“You’re beautiful.” He repeats, stressing the words. 

You swallow and shift a little, your mind working in overdrive. “Erm… thank you.” 

He chuckles kindly and you wince, putting your hands over your face and groaning.

“I mean…” 

“I know what you mean.” He repeats, he steps closer his hands on your knees and lightly presses as he moves between your legs. 

He softly strokes your cheek, leaning closer as his gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips. 

“You’re beautiful,” You mutter, mesmerised. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, a cheeky edge to his voice as he places a gentle kiss to your lips. 

For a second you freeze, practically forget how to react. But then you press closer, leaning against his wet skin, the water seeping into your work clothes. 

You feel him grin, but it’s not in a slimy self-confidence - it’s happiness. 

Before you really know what’s happening, Miguel has you on your back against the floor, tugging off your trousers and panties and putting them on the side. 

Part of you is sure that you should be at least vaguely protesting. What if someone else walked in? The other part of you is sure that if you’re going to get fired for the failed experiment, you might as well go down a legend as the researcher who fucked by the company pool. 

Miguel sucks your clit into his mouth as he pushes two of his large fingers inside of you, groaning as you arch your back and whine softly. 

“Hmm, god you taste nice.” He mutters, curling his fingers and swirling his tongue around your clit before he goes back to sucking. “Fuck, you’re so wet already.” 

He pulls his fingers out quickly, putting his hands on the side of the pool and lifting himself up and out of the water completely. 

He shuffles you back a little, so that he can kneel between your legs and helps you to pull off your top. The material is barely over your head before he has his thick cock in his hand, already lining up with your entrance. He pushes in gently, even though he knows you can take him now, still as gentle as he was when you first started this little game. 

He grunts in your ear as he bottoms out, sighing as your walls squeeze and pulse. “I didn’t expect to cross the pool off my list.” 

You snort, “You got a list of places you wanna fuck?” 

He grins at you. “Mentally.” 

You giggle, “Nah, you’ve got it written down, probably a spreadsheet somewhere.”

“Who told you about my spreadsheet?” He teases, leaning up a little so that he can rock into you slowly. 

You spread your legs a little wilder, raising your hips to match his rhythm. 

“Maybe I can,” he tries to keep his voice as calm and controlled as possible, but you can hear the strain in it. “Actually take you out somewhere first? We could eat then fuck? In a bed?” 

You bite your lip, trying to match his even tone. Another part of your game. Whoever broke and moaned first lost, and so far, you were on a winning streak. “What, is that on your list too?” 

“I’d like it to be.” He groans softly. 

“Oh, was that a moan?” You grin.

He shakes his head rapidly, “You must be hearing things.” 

“Fuck,” you swallow as he changes the angle, pressing the head of his cock repeatedly against your g spot while he rubs his pubic bone against your clit. 

“Was that a-”

“No.” You give him a look and he grins. 

“Let me make you dinner.” He breathes, the strain starting to show in his voice.

“So desperate to get me to your house?” You tease.

He gives you a soft look, his eyes dark. “You know I am.” 

You falter, that wasn’t what you were expecting. Every time in the past you both fucked, usually in his offices on suite, he’d been light-hearted. Kind, but teasing. This was just a way to blow off some steam, a fuck and see you later. Now he sounded more like… like…

“Come on,” he grins, and sinks wonderfully deep. “How about a wager?” 

You nod. 

“You moan first, I get to take you home and fuck your brains out in my bed?” 

You swallow down a cry. “What do I get if I win?” 

“What do you want?” He raises his eyebrows at you. 

You pause, lost his expression. “For you to take me home and fuck my brains out?” 

“Oh, very good.” He grins and quickly leans down to nip at your neck, his hips hypnotising as he rocks and rolls, pulling you closer and closer to the edge. 

You squeeze his shoulders, shivering and shuddering as he moves expertly, the pattern to make you fall apart practically embedded in his bones. 

He breathes deeply, pressing his lips close to your ear and then moans deeply at the exact moment he grinds down against your hips. You gasp. 

“Looks like you won again,” you can hear the glee colouring his voice, “Guess I’ll have to try to make you scream at home later.” 

You groan, “Miguel…”

“Oh fuck, that’s it,” he rocks faster, groaning at the wetness between your legs, how your pussy flutters around him and sucks him impossibly deeper. “Be good and come on my cock.” He hisses, his muscles tensing. “Before I fill you up completely and-”

Your back arches as you cry on, pleasure erupting along your nerves as he pushes you over the edge. Colour explodes behind your eyes, dances along your skin as you sink and float at the same time.

He thrusts twice, his moans rising as he follows you into bliss, coming hard and deep and, true to his word, filling you completely. 

He kisses you hungrily as he comes, his hips slowing as he sucks on your tongue and then nuzzles into your neck. 

You both breathe hard as the sweat on your skin cools. “You’re not worried about Stone are you?” He asks softly. 

You shrug, trying to act nonchalant, but it’s clear you are.

“Don’t be.” He kisses your pulse point. “He won’t talk to you like that again.” 

You wriggle a little so that you can look at him fully, Miguel smiles up at you. “How do you know that?” 

“I can be intimidating you know?” 

That makes you laugh kindly, “You’re too sweet for that.” 

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I have my moments.” 

Thank you for reading!

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[artficlly]

smog & spirits: the rat king (mini-series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, physical violence, angst, wound description, threats, some fluff, protective bucky, bucky barnes had issues, cults and religion mentioned, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: hi!! just wanted to say thank you all so much for the love on the last chapter and sticking with me!! i know i hadn't posted in forever with being busy with uni and all so it really made me happy that people still remembered this fic. this chapter (once again) was supposed to cover a lot more but i got carried away lol, so instead i'm posting this half and then the next half soon once i have it properly written up. anyway!! please enjoy!! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love

main masterlist | series masterlist

Gertrude Crowley was a nervous woman.

It was the first thing you noticed about her; her movements were hesitant, as though she feared drawing too much attention. In the dim light, you noticed her face—worn, yes, but not aged beyond her years. Lines of worry etched her brow and framed her mouth. Her greying hair, streaked with darker remnants of its original chestnut hue, was hastily pinned beneath a weathered black scarf, frazzled tufts poking through the holes strewn throughout the fabric.

“Tea, Ms. Crowley?” You asked the woman. Despite your soft tone, the woman jumped in her seat, hand raising to her bosom as she took in a sharp breath.

“I suppose, Dear.” She squeaked in reply

You gave the older woman a reassuring smile, hoping to calm her fears. Her pale blue eyes darted away quickly, revealing a haunted expression. They glanced at you briefly, then withdrew as if frightened by what they might find. She fidgeted with her hands, the frayed edges of her gloves exposing trembling fingers.

“Tea is good for the soul, don’t you think?” You hummed to her softly, your upper half bent over your kitchen table, and you poured the steaming liquid into two cups. You hoped the woman wouldn’t comment on how the ceramic was chipped; the painted flowers faded from years of use. “Always so cold in The Warrens, it warms you up from the inside.”

Ms Crowley nodded stiffly, teacup rattling against its matching plate as she held it in trembling hands. You took a brief moment to observe her, eyes searching her appearance. Her clothing was plain but serviceable—a dark woollen cloak that hung unevenly over her frame, its hem damp and muddied from the streets. Beneath it, a simple grey dress fitted her modestly, cinched at the waist with a cracked but sturdy belt. A brass locket hung around her neck, glinting faintly when she shifted. Though practical and well-worn, her boots carried scuffs deep enough that you questioned if the dark fabric was her socks beneath.

She took a hesitant sip from her cup and looked up at you with a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Thank you, dear.”

You settled into your seat, dragging your cup across the table's woodgrain. “How can I be of assistance?”

Ms Crowley hesitated, her lips thinning into a line as she contemplated a response. You wisely decided to allow her some space, and the steaming liquid cupped in your palm suddenly became the most fascinating thing in the world. 

The older woman stumbled over her words, once, twice, thrice before finally settling on a simple, “I..I have never met a witch before.”

You smiled down into your cup, elbows resting on the table as you slowly looked up at her through a strand of loose hair that had fallen across your forehead. “I think you will find witches are alike most people you would meet—just like any stranger you would pass on the street.”

She peered across the table—as if testing your own words against you. Her tired, pale blue eyes squinting as she examined you from head to toe. “I suppose… I suppose you’re right. And I suppose I should trust you. I ‘ave been told most witches are trustworthy.”

“We are.” You state simply, only pausing to take a sip from your cup. The warm liquid fills your belly, a soft hum escaping your throat as you tilt you head in thought. “We’re salesmen, in a way, sellin’ our wares. There will always be scam artists, a few among the many, but most of us are just makin’ ends meet.”

The older woman contemplates your words. She takes a sip, a long one, then nods in affirmation. “You’re right. I should have some faith.”

“Now, Ms. Crowley, how can I help you?” You query once again.

“Well… I don’t know how this all works…”

“Just tell me what troubles you. From the start, if possible.”

Before she could speak, the door creaked open behind you, breaking the fragile quiet that had settled over the room. The sound was faint, yet it resonated through the stillness like the tolling of a distant church bell. Your breath hitched, fingers tightening around the chipped teacup as a wave of unease swept through you. The air seemed heavier, colder—an unspoken warning curling down your spine.

“Spirit-raiser.”

That voice. Gravelly, familiar. Unwelcome. You sucked in a sharp breath, though it felt as though your ribcage had suddenly shrunk two sizes too small for your organs. The bruises still present across your abdomen ached as every muscle in your body tensed, a tangled knot of shock electrifying your nerves. But beyond that, beyond the anger and disbelief, there was a feeling far more treacherous: relief.

He returned.

Your head whipped around, posture immediately straightening as though your spine was a pole made of steel. There he was—Bucky Barnes, leaning in the doorway like he owned the place, his sharp, stormy eyes swept over you, then flicked briefly to Ms. Crowley, whose face drained of colour. The woman looked ready to bolt, her hands clutching the table's edge as if it might anchor her in place. You couldn’t blame her. A woman already so anxious over the idea of magic she had positively turned green the moment she entered your flat. Now she was face to face with the dreaded Bucky Barnes, the fucking menace of the Sootstone? Many in The Warrens likely hadn’t seen the man in person, maybe at a distance, or knew him through whispered tales. You certainly hadn’t encountered the man until he came crashing into your life, smog and all. 

“Bucky,” you said, his name slipping out before you could catch it. A string of curses nearly left your tongue along with it. How bittersweet could it be that despite all the hurt you felt, you still called him by a name so familiar? Too familiar. The taste of it burned on your tongue. Your heart slammed into a furious rhythm as what could only be described as a smirk graced his lips. How could he act like he hadn’t vanished from your life without so much as a goodbye? 

How could he turn up here and act like all was well and normal?

It had hurt when he had left; yes, that was to be expected. But these past few days, he had avoided you. At least, it felt like avoidance. You hadn’t heard a word from the Smog Boys since your beating at the hand of the Iron Rats, not even a whisper on the sharp winds that rolled in from the dock. Natasha would have told him. In what world would she not have told Bucky that his pet witch had missed the summons because she was trembling, bloodied and bruised on her own floor? 

You had convinced yourself that maybe it was for the better, an escape from Becca’s wrath and escape from the Smog Boys…

“I’m busy.” The words escaped you before you could think.

He raised his brows in disbelief. Your toes curled in their boots, cringing at your own blunt tone. But then again, had he just expected everything to return to normal?

“I need’a favour.” He stepped further into the room, his boots thudding against the floorboards as he surveyed the space with casual indifference. His gait was smooth, gaze unbothered. A morbid part of you wished you could inspect his back and see the damage you caused. It didn’t seem to bother him or impede his movements.

Ms. Crowley made a small, frightened noise, her trembling hands going to her locket as though it might ward off his presence. “I—perhaps I should come back later…”

“What’re you doin’ here?” you demanded, the words sharper than you intended, cutting over Ms. Crowley’s muttering. 

“As I said, I need’a favour.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms as you fought to keep your composure. 

“A favour?” you repeated, the words dripping with scepticism. “After everythin’, you show up here and ask for a favour?”

Ms. Crowley flinched at the tone of your voice, but you couldn’t stop now. Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest crack in his facade of nonchalance.

“Watch it,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t want to push me.”

“And you don’t want to push me neither, Barnes,” You shot back, planting your hands on the table. “You don’t get to leave without so much as a ‘thank you’ and then show up here, actin’ like I owe you somethin’?”

“You say that, spirit-raiser, but…” He sucked on his teeth, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he looked down at you, hands casually tucked into his jacket pockets as he sighed through his nose. “I just spent the last four days cleanin’ up your mess.”

Your brows drew inward, confusion slipping through. The entire time you had spent in misery, licking your wounds and nursing your broken heart, he had been out there defending you? 

A devilish expression crossed his face. “You really thought you could, what? Walk on over to Grimrow unnoticed while under my protection? Do you realise how long it has taken me to talk the Rat King down from marching over the Sootline and wagin’ war ‘cause of you?”

“They crossed the Sootline. They pursued me.” You rebutted, though even your voice wavered, unsure.

“Yeah.” His head tilted, eyes squinting. “You better be praisin’ whatever fuckin’ witch god you follow, 'cause that little fuck up on their end is the only reason why you’re still here playin’ good little spirit-raiser.”

You swallowed. Hard. 

“They hurt me.” You confessed, voice steadying.

“Yeah, I know. Nat told me. Good thing your pretty little face has all healed up. That’s your only fuckin’ worth to me right now after all the trouble you’ve caused.” His words stung; maybe you would’ve believed them true. But you got the sense he was being harsh for the sake of venting frustrations. He wouldn’t even catch your eye as the insults rolled off his tongue. 

For a moment, silence filled the room, thick with tension. You could feel Ms. Crowley’s gaze on you. Bucky’s jaw tightened, his posture stiffening as his eyes finally lifted and bore into yours. His expression was unreadable, a carefully laid mask to cover whatever real emotion raged behind his stormy blue eyes.

Then, to your surprise, Ms. Crowley’s feeble voice cut through the silence. 

“I-I-I should go now—”

You whirled around.

“No,” you snapped, cutting her off before she could rise. Ms. Crowley froze, wide-eyed and trembling, her teacup rattling slightly in her unsteady hands. For a brief moment, you thought Bucky might let her stay, that he’d simply loom in the corner, his presence a warning but nothing more.

But then Bucky huffed a sharp breath, irritation flashing across his face as he shrugged out of his jacket. 

“Get the fuck out,” he said bluntly, his tone leaving no room for argument, his eyes sliding to meet the older woman's as you made a noise close to a whimper. “And keep your fuckin’ mouth shut about all this.”

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, her gaze darting between the two of you. With a frightened nod, she scrambled to her feet, clutching her bag and locket close to her chest.

“Apologies. I ain’t sayin’ a thing. Not a word. I swear.” she stammered, her voice a whisper as she made a beeline for the door.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, you turned to Bucky, a glare sharp enough to cut steel fixed on your face.

“You didn’t have to scare her off like that!” you snapped, grabbing the teacups and stalking toward the sink.

“A waste of fuckin’ time is what she was,” Bucky replied casually, his voice dripping with indifference.

“She was a client,” you shot back, setting the cups into the sink with more force than necessary. “A payin’ client. I need clients, Barnes.”

Bucky leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching you. “You’re actin’ like I don’t pay you triple what they’re offerin’.”

You dipped your hands further into the soapy water, pressing your palms flat against the metal bottom as you sighed, momentarily closing your eyes in exasperation. “You don’t get to decide who’s worth my time. This is my place. My work. You can’t just—”

“I thought Nat was exaggeratin’,” Bucky cut over you, his voice low but carrying an edge that made your stomach churn.

You stiffened, your grip on the cup tightening. “Exaggeratin’ about what?”

“About this.”

Your eyes flew open as his hand caught your chin, tilting your face toward him with an infuriating gentleness. His thumb brushed over your jaw, skimming the faint bruise that lingered there, and his eyes narrowed as they traced the fading split in your lip. A shiver raced down your spine, and you jerked your head away, pulling free of his grasp.

“It’s nothin’,” you muttered, returning to the sink.

“Don’t look like nothin’,” he countered, his tone sharp. “Let me see the rest.”

You froze, your hands hovering over the sink. “No.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” he snapped, moving closer. His voice dropped, carrying a dangerous edge. “I need to see what they did to you.”

You shook your head, your pulse roaring in your ears. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

Bucky let out a low growl of frustration, and before you could react, his hand was on your shoulder, spinning you around to face him. His other hand went to your waist, tugging at the hem of your shirt.

“Bucky, stop,” you protested, grabbing at his wrists. The soapy water made your hands slick, his skin slipping from your grasp. “This isn’t—”

“Quit fightin’ me,” he said sharply, his eyes flashing with something raw and unyielding. “I need to know.”

His words silenced you, leaving you to stare up at him in stunned disbelief. The fight drained out of you, replaced by a reluctant acceptance as you lifted your hands, a trail of water rolling down to your elbows. Your head dipped, staring down at his shoes as droplets dripped onto his boots. With a defeated sigh, you rested your palms on his chest, pressing the wet skin into his buttoned shirt until you could feel the warmth of his body. With a grunt, he tugged your blouse from where it was tucked into your shirt, ripping the fabric upward until it exposed your belly.

The air seemed to leave the room as his gaze fell on the mottled bruises that painted your abdomen, the angry purples and blues. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking as his hand hovered over the worst of the damage, his fingers brushing against your side with an uncharacteristic hesitance.

You heard him swallow audibly, adam’s apple bobbing. A shiver ran down your spine as his thumb carefully ran up to your sternum, then across the band of your brassiere. 

“How many ribs did you break?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

You sucked in a sharp breath as the hair across your body rose on end. Tingles blossomed across your skull as his hand swept down to the waistband of your skirt, tugging it down to inspect the damage still hidden. 

“Three.”

His grunt of acknowledgement was quiet, but the tension dominating his frame was unmistakable. He stepped back abruptly, running a hand through his hair, tongue running over his bottom lip.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” The question gave you near vertigo. 

“I did.” You lie through your teeth

The gangster shook his head, hands resting on his hips as he looked down at you. 

“Bullshit. I’ve seen what you’re capable of. I’ve felt it, doll.” Your gut clenched as he half motioned towards his back. “If you wanted to fight back, they would’ve been dead long before they touched you.”

You pause. He was right. He was entirely right. You hadn’t fought back because you were what? Dejected and defeated? Too swept up in your own pity? Living in your mother's shadow? Or was it just the shadow you had created for yourself?

“You’re punishin’ yourself, aren’t ya? Hm?”

“I’m not lyin’ Barnes—” You begin to speak, voice raising as hysteria begins to bubble within you. Why was he asking you these things? Why was he pretending to care?

“Why?” He cuts over you, 

You turned away, refusing to respond. “I think you should leave now.”

He was silent for a beat. Then you heard the shuffle of clothing as he picked up his coat and swept it over his muscled shoulders. “I still need that favour.”

You sigh, an exaggerated noise as you spin to face him with a scowl. “What now? Can’t it wait?”

“You’re expected. At a meetin’.” 

“Meetin’?” You echoed.

“About what happened. With the Iron Rats.” 

“I thought you said you dealt with it—” You bite back, irritation flaring. 

“Would you just shut your fuckin’ mouth for a second and listen?” Bucky cut over you, voice raised. You clamp your mouth shut in surprise.

“It’s the Rat King.” Bucky meets your gaze. “He wants to meet you.”

—

You would have never described Bucky Barnes as nervous, but the walk to the Sootline almost had you questioning that assumption. Bucky kept his pace steady, though you noticed the subtle clench of his jaw and the occasional twitch of his hand at his side. It wasn’t the demeanour of a nervous man—no, Bucky Barnes didn’t do nervous—but something unexplainable was simmering beneath the surface.

The streets of the Warrens were quieter than usual, the normal hum of life dampened. The sun had grown low in the sky, the usual grey fog warming to a diffused orange and pink glow. The cobblestones were slick beneath your boots, liquids you wouldn’t dare identify, leaving a sheen across the ground that reflected the faint glow of lanterns. You adjusted your coat, tucking it closer against the chill, and cast a sidelong glance at Bucky. 

"Barnes, you alright?" you asked cautiously, breaking the silence. You weren’t one to pry, but the energy engulfing the gangster was strange.

“We’re late,” he muttered, his voice clipped.

You frowned, the sharpness of his tone needling at you. “Well, if you’d told me sooner than five minutes ago that I was needed—”

“And you would have come?.” His words were abrupt, cutting through your protest like a blade. “You do ‘ave a habit of ignorin’ my summons.”

Your jaw clamped shut, a heavy silence falling over the both of you. Further down the twisting, wonky street, you could see streetgoers dashing into nearby stores and homes. Above in the stacked homes that towered above the streets, faces cautiously peeked out, watching as Bucky and you marched past. You observed a group of three children ushered away by their mother, her tightly shutting the rickety window with a grim expression.

“It would be best if you kept your mouth shut during this. Only speak when spoken to. Just agree unless I say otherwise.” Bucky finally spoke, voice gruff.

“Why?” You pry, voice unsure.

“‘Cause I can’t help you if you say somethin’ stupid ‘n end up gettin’ yourself in more trouble.”

Your steps faltered, confusion flashing across your face. “Why do you suddenly care?”

His lip twitched, but he continued with his persistent gait. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“You’re scarin’ me—”

“I have a reputation to uphold, spirit-raiser. Can’t have these rats thinkin’ I’ve gone weak ’cause of some bird.”

The words landed heavily, and you bit back the sting of their dismissal. “What does your reputation got to do with me?”

His stride didn’t falter, but his gaze flicked toward you, brittle and intense. “If I can’t protect you, then what’s to say I can protect the whole of The Warrens, huh? What’s to stop them from marchin’ over the Sootline?”

“So, what’s this, then? You strikin’ a deal, handin’ me over to them, actin’ like you don’t care so they don’t think you’re weak ‘cause of some bird?”

“If I wanted you dead, you’d have been dead a long time ago.” He huffed out in an empty laugh. He stopped abruptly, turning to face you. The weight of his stare rooted you in place. “No, doll, those rats… they fucked up.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as he continued, his voice low and deliberate, every word laced with venom. “I’m gonna get them to bend the fuckin’ knee. Show them whose the real fuckin’ King around here.”

—

The Sootline River separated the two territories like a jagged scar, its sluggish current carrying the city’s filth toward the sea. On either bank, the Smog Boys and Iron Rats assembled in tense lines, a mix of swagger and unease flickering across their faces. The lanterns they carried swayed, casting fragmented shadows on the water as the sun finally slipped beyond the horizon, coating the land in creeping darkness, its coffin-like suffocation only exaggerated by the smoke and ash from the Smokestacks.

Bucky stood at the river’s edge, his posture deceptively relaxed, his hands buried in his coat pockets. His gaze locked onto the figure across the river: Varlan Crey—The Rat King. Varlan was everything Bucky wasn’t—brash, loud, and lumbering, his bulk swathed in a tattered black coat with yellow stitching. His grin was wide, but his teeth were uneven, lending him the air of a predator more accustomed to snapping than scheming. His gang flanked him, a pack of diseased rats, restless and waiting for a signal.

“Barnes,” Varlan called, his voice carrying easily across the water, gravelly and full of mock cheer. “Shame we ain’t meetin’ unda different circumstances.”

“Varlan,” Bucky replied, his tone steady, almost clipped. He didn’t move a muscle, his stance radiating a nearly unbearable calm.

Varlan cocked his head, his smirk widening. “I’m guessin’ this is the bird in question?” He nodded towards you.

You froze under his scrutiny, your skin prickling under the weight of his gaze. The air seemed colder now, and your chest tightened as though the river’s chill had seeped into your bones. 

Bucky gave a single, deliberate nod. “Yes.”

Varlan snorted softly. “A bird from The Warrens, crossing inta my territories ‘n causing a ruckus amongst my boys… you undastand how this looks bad, Barnes?”

Bucky didn’t flinch. His smooth and unhurried tone carried across the water like a blade. “I can. But it weren’t her that was causing the ruckus now, was it? I’m guessin’ these lies you’re tellin’ yourself are why you so recklessly declared war before examinin’ the facts.”

Varlan chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. “Facts,” he repeated, shaking his head as though the word itself amused him. “You’re soundin’ more and more like them fancy wankers up in The Flower Districts, Barnes. Especially in those fine tailored suits a yours.”

A chorus of low laughter rumbled from the Iron Rats side of the bridge, the lines of men with their yellow handkerchiefs grinning amongst themselves. 

“Oh, I can recommend you a tailor, Crey,” Bucky said lightly, his voice laced with faint amusement. “I know one who gives discounts for friends.” 

It was now time for the Smog Boys to stir behind Bucky, muffled chuckles rippling through the crowd. A flicker of a smile ghosted across Bucky’s lips, though his gaze remained fixed on Varlan. With the subtle jab landed, Varlan bristled. His shoulders stiffened, and his smirk turned brittle. He barked a short laugh, more bark than humour.

“Well,” he said, his voice sharper now. “Let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we?”

“Go ahead,” Bucky replied.

You glanced at him, searching for some clue about his thinking, but his expression gave away nothing. Beside you, the Smog Boys settled, hands tucked into their pockets and chests puffed out as they eyed the Iron Rats across the river. Their stillness wasn’t as practised as Bucky's. He held the type of quiet that preceded violence, the kind that made your stomach churn. As you scanned their faces, you noted how young some men were, barely out of boyhood. It might have been a cause for concern, but you knew many sought out Bucky’s leadership out of desperation. Their energy was much better placed under the guidance of someone like Bucky instead of them turning to the streets where their violence and frustration would run rampant. Regardless of their age or status, you had noticed one common theme among the Smog Boys—none were left unfed, and their clothes were always without holes. The same could not be said for other less fortunate souls who braved The Warrens alone. 

“I admit,” Varlan began, dragging out the word with a performative sigh. “That I may ‘ave been… hasty. But ya can’t blame me, not with the information I was told.”

“I guess so,” Bucky replied simply. 

Bucky’s lack of reaction agitated the larger man, a cross expression forming on his greasy face. Then his smirk returned, sly and serpentine. “Well, I am impressed by ya…little investigation. Touched a nerve, did it?”

A ripple of unease passed through you as Varlan Crey lifted his brows, head tilted to match his devious, wide-eyed expression. A subtle dig at Bucky’s involvement—or worse, his attachment to you? You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of both their gazes shift momentarily to you. 

By some miracle, Bucky didn’t react to the provocation. Instead, his voice came low and steady. “I take it you spoke with the witch?”

You felt your face react before you could steel yourself, face scrunching in confusion. Witch? What witch was Bucky referring to? He certainly wasn’t referring to you—you had never met the Rat King before, let alone spoke with him about your misdeeds of crossing into his territories. In retrospect, with the gravity of the situation weighing upon you, it was a foolish assumption to make thinking you could walk into Grimrow unimpeded or unidentified. In recent months, it seemed everyone and anyone knew who you were before you knew them. It was as if you walked your life with a ginormous red hot brand across your forehead that simply said: Bucky Barnes!

“Spoke? Yes,” Varlan said, his voice emerging in a drawl. “Come ‘ere, girl.” 

He turned slightly, and a figure emerged from the Iron Rats’ crowd.

Wanda.

Wanda.

Your chest tightened, bruising squeezing painfully. She walked forward with her usual unnerving grace, her head high, her eyes sweeping the scene before her. Her auburn locks bounced across her white dress, sheepskin draped over her shoulders to protect her from the chill. Coven garb. She was calm. Too calm. The shock of seeing her in the Church of Light clothing almost made you physically recoil. You had never seen the attire in the flesh, but you remembered how your mother had described it—white to symbolise the light and the chosen babe, the Light-bringer. Diviner. 

The voices of the past echoed those names in your mind.

Light-bringer…

Your mother had always been short in her tales, too afflicted by the trauma and illness that had ruled most of her life away from the Coven. She had only spoken of the cruelty and sickness in those temple walls. The white was purity, the end of times, the rapture… but also a symbol of their devotion. The crimson blood of their self-inflicted or sometimes forced punishments showed up best on a fresh canvas. 

How had Wanda inserted herself in your life so quickly? How long had Leofric and his coven of fucking madness been tailing you? And how had Bucky known to bring her? You glanced at him, desperate for a flicker of understanding, but his face remained devoid of emotion.

“It seems my friend, Barnes ‘ere, is obsessed with facts.” The Rat King spoke, pulling you from your confused daze. He wheezed out a laugh, a phlegm-filled cough quickly following as he spat the glob into the filthy churning Sootline.

“Go on then, girl. State the facts.” Varlan instructed with a bark.

Wanda folded her hands in front of her, her voice level and composed. “I invited her to Grimrow.”

A surprised murmur swept over the crowd.

“The Church of Light has been expanding its temple across the Sootline. I was honoured to become the Head Priestess for our new build—”

“Yeah, yeah, cut to the facts, girl.” Varlan cut over Wanda. 

The auburn woman's eyes sparked with something that could only be described as irritation, but it was only a flicker as she expertly composed herself. “I invited her over to celebrate with me, as we have been friends since childhood.”

The word friends felt like a slap. Or even better, a well-placed stab to the abdomen. Your throat tightened as you stared at her, horrified by her ease in lying. How could she say it so smoothly? So convincingly? You tried to form words, but they caught in your throat, leaving you in silence.

“You agree,” Varlan pressed, his voice breaking through your haze, “that you were invited?”

Your lips parted, but no sound came, head spinning. Finally, you forced yourself to speak. “Yes.”

Varlan’s sly eyes narrowed, assessing you. “You say you are both friends but… the bartender and my men witnessed a fight between ya both,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “Why?”

Wanda quickly stepped in, her voice carrying a faint trace of sorrow. “I had expressed my concern. I wished she would stop workin’ for the Smog Boys out of fear for her safety.”

Varlan’s amusement flickered across his face, but you caught the subtle way his eyes darted toward Bucky. It was a jab meant to provoke. Bucky didn’t bite. He remained as unmoving as stone.

“And what do you say?” Varlan asked, turning his attention back to you.

Wanda’s eyes burned into your own, her chin lifting. You could’ve sworn you saw the ghost of a smirk across her lips as she watched you squirm. You couldn’t claim she was lying, or this elaborate fabrication would fall apart. You couldn’t gauge her motive. Was it to make you feel you owed her and the Church of Light? Was it to protect you? Plant seeds of doubt within Bucky, and make it seem like you had hidden parts of your life from him?

“She’s tellin’ the truth,” you surrender, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue.

“And do you have evidence? Of this letter sent to you to invite you?”

Your stomach dropped further, quickly scrambling to come up with a believable lie. “No… No, I burn all my old mail. I use it as kindlin’.”

“Convenient,” Varlan spat out with a slow shake of his head. “Very convenient.”

“I have evidence,” Wanda interjected smoothly, producing a rolled parchment from somewhere on her person. “It is the reply she sent me, confirmin’ the date.”

Bucky’s shoulders subtly relaxed beside you. Had he known about the lie, or was he being strung along by her games, too? Had the two spoken as well? What lies had she told him? Worst of all was the flare of jealousy in your gut—the thought of him talking with that woman, the idea of him trusting her over you—the weight of betrayal was suffocating. Wanda had gone to unimaginable lengths, forging a note in your handwriting to solidify this ruse.

“You wrote this reply?” Varlan asked, holding the parchment aloft.

“Yes.” Your tongue felt thick in your mouth.

Varlan examined the note for a long moment before nodding. “Well, seems you’re right, Barnes. My men were in the wrong. “

“So, we have an understanding now, Crey?” Bucky asked, his voice steady.

“Believe we do, Barnes,” Varlan replied. “Your woman can walk free.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, his hand flexing at his side. For a moment, he didn’t respond; his cold blue eyes locked on Varlan like a wolf sizing up its prey.

“That’s it?” Bucky asked, his voice low, dangerously calm. “She walks free, and we’re supposed to call it even?”

Varlan spread his hands in a gesture of mock generosity. “What more do you want, Barnes? She crossed into my territory. I’ve agreed to let her go, no harm done. This should be the end of it.”

Bucky let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He glanced down at you briefly, his expression unreadable, before looking back at Varlan. “No harm done? Is that what ya think?”

“She’s standin’ here, ain’t she?” Varlan said, his tone oily, his confidence growing in the face of no immediate retaliation. “No blood spilt, no lastin’ damage. Consider this a…generous gesture from me.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. Without another word, he stalked toward the bridge.

The movement drew startled murmurs from both sides.

“What’s he doin’?” one of the Iron Rats hissed, his hand twitching toward his weapon.

“Hold!” Varlan snapped. “Let him come if he wants.” There was a cool confidence to his tone, a confidence that was likely misplaced. 

“Barnes,” Varlan said, his voice rising as Bucky drew closer with deliberate, measured steps. “There ain’t no need for this. I’ve said the matter is settled.”

Bucky said nothing as he reached the other side. His hand slid into his coat, and when it emerged, he held a knife. The blade gleamed in the lantern light, its sharp edge catching the flickering flames.

The Iron Rats stiffened as if momentarily stunned and unable to make a move.

“Let’s be clear,” Bucky said quietly, his voice cutting through the tension like the edge of his blade. “You think you can cross me, threaten a woman under my protection, and walk away with a few pretty words? Is that what ya think, Crey?”

Varlan stepped back instinctively, his misplaced confidence crumbling as Bucky loomed over him. “Barnes, this is unnecessary—”

Bucky moved faster than anyone expected. His boot struck Varlan’s chest in a brutal kick, sending the Rat King sprawling onto his back. Gasps erupted from the Iron Rats, a few finally thawing out enough to jerk forward, but were quickly off-put their heroism by the crowd of Smog Boys inching across the bridge, blades drawn and faces like jackals.

At some point in the chaos, you had lost sight of Wanda, the witch disappearing into the shadows and fog like a ghost in the night.

Varlan scrambled backwards, his hands raised in a panicked gesture of surrender. “Wait! Barnes, wait!”

Bucky crouched over him, the knife hovering dangerously close to Varlan’s throat. “Ya think this is a game, Crey? Well, let’s fuckin’ play then, huh?” he spat. 

“I—I didn’t mean for any of this!” Varlan stammered, his voice high with panic. “I swear, Barnes. Please!”

“Beg,” Bucky said, his voice cold and unrelenting.

Varlan’s face twisted with humiliation, but the knife at his throat left no room for pride. Slowly, he rose to his knees, his hands still outstretched in surrender but his entire form trembling.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I was wrong. Please.”

“Louder,” Bucky demanded.

“I’m sorry!” Varlan cried, his voice cracking. “You can ‘ave the men, do what ya want with ‘em. Is that what you want? Please… just—”

Bucky gripped his balding head with a firm grip, directing Varlan’s watery, terrified eyes to look across the Sootline at you. You had a sudden epiphany, an understanding that Bucky had never been nervous. No. That strange energy, that twitchiness… it had been pure, unfiltered rage.

“Now, say sorry to her.” Bucky instructed, his voice near seething.

“I am sorry! I’m sorry for me actions. And my mens.” The Rat King cried out. Your gaze lifted to meet Bucky’s as he stared back across the Sootline at you. His grip on the man’s head tightened. “Please!”

“Bucky.” You finally spoke up, your voice soft as the breeze as it carried across the river.

As if your brief speech had broken a spell cast across the gangster, Bucky immediately straightened, his expression calm as he sheathed the knife. He reached out and patted Varlan’s head mockingly.

“Good little rat,” he murmured. “You know, I’m hostin’ a party soon. Maybe I’ll invite you, and you can dance and entertain me like the fuckin’ jester you are.”

Varlan’s humiliation was evident, his men exchanging uneasy glances. Bucky grinned wide, showing all his teeth.

“As for the men,” He said, his tone sharp as he turned to face the crowd of Iron Rats head-on. “The ones who crossed the border. Hand them over.”

Varlan hesitated for a moment, his pride still clinging stubbornly. But the weight of Bucky’s gaze, the threat of what he might do, was too much to bear. He nodded quickly, motioning to his men.

As if not wanting to anger the gangster further, the Iron Rats were quick to locate the three culprits and push them ahead, their expressions ashen with terror. Smog Boys emerged from the mist like spectres, grasping the men and dragging them across the bridge before they could escape and bolt back into the depths of Grimrow.

“Take them,” Varlan said hoarsely, his body sunken in defeat. “They’re yours.”

Bucky didn’t even look at them. He turned and crossed the bridge, hand grasping your forearm as he tugged you along. You frantically looked back, watching through the filthy haze as Varlan Crey stumbled back to his feet, cheeks burning, forehead slick with sweat. His men around him looked dejected, their beady eyes following you as you disappeared into the smog.

“Come,” Bucky uttered to you. “We have business to attend to.”

PART SEVEN

[wethotcrazy]

SYMPATHY IS A KNIFE (vii)

pairing: Yuki Tsunoda x Fem! Driver! Reader

word count: 3715

part 7. WHAT THE FUCK IS A KILOMETER RAAAAAAAAHHHH🗣️🦅‼️🇺🇸 we are now in austin baby (and the rest of the americas triple header), anyways more painfully slow progression for these two

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

The weight of expectations felt different now. YN noticed it in the way young girls' eyes followed her through the paddock, in the trembling voices asking for autographs, in the handmade signs declaring "Future F1 Driver" held by tiny hands. The Singapore podium hadn't just been her victory – it had opened a door of possibility for countless others who saw themselves in her.

During the VCARB fan zone event, a mother approached with her two daughters, both wearing miniature versions of YN's race suit. "They haven't missed a single practice session since you joined F1," the mother explained, her voice thick with emotion. "My youngest even asked to change schools so she could go karting more often."

The responsibility of it all hit YN harder than any g-force she'd experienced on track. These weren't just fans anymore – they were dreams in human form, hope wearing replica helmets and carrying notebooks filled with racing lines sketched in crayon.

Yuki found her later, sitting alone in the engineering room, staring at telemetry data without really seeing it. He didn't say anything at first, just placed a familiar convenience store energy drink on the desk – the same brand they'd shared during their junior racing days.

"Remember what you told me in F3?" he asked, pulling up a chair beside her. "After that massive shunt at Silverstone?"

"That failure only sticks if you let it define you," YN recited, the memory bringing a slight smile to her face.

"Exactly." His shoulder brushed against hers as he reached for the laptop, pulling up their comparative sector times. "So stop letting them define you by one podium. You're here because you're fast, not because you're making history."

The VCARB social media team captured them the next day, filming a segment where they had to teach each other their pre-race rituals. YN tried not to laugh as Yuki attempted to replicate her precise steering wheel adjustment sequence, his fingers fumbling over the buttons.

"How do you remember all of these?" he groaned, accidentally activating the radio instead of the brake bias adjustment.

"The same way you remember your weird lucky sock routine," she teased, earning a playful glare.

"They're not weird, they're traditional!"

The camera caught their natural banter, the way they moved in sync without thinking, years of friendship evident in every interaction. Comments flooded in almost immediately: "The chemistry between these two! 🔥" "Name a better duo, I'll wait 😍" "From F3 to F1, what a journey!"

But it was the other comments that kept YN up at night, scrolling through her phone in her hotel room: "My daughter started karting because of you" "Thank you for showing girls they belong in motorsport" "You're changing the sport forever."

The pressure crystallized during the pre-race press conference. A journalist asked about her influence on young female fans, and YN felt every camera focus on her face.

"I race because I love it," she began carefully, feeling Yuki's supportive presence beside her. "If that inspires others to chase their dreams, then that's wonderful. But I'm not here to be a symbol – I'm here to be fast."

Later, as they walked back to the garage, Yuki caught her arm. "You know what makes you a good role model?" he asked, his dark eyes serious. "You never forgot why you started racing in the first place."

The Texas sun beat down on the Circuit of the Americas as YN adjusted her helmet, preparing for final practice. Through the visor, she could see a cluster of young girls pressed against the fence, wearing her team colors. One held a sign that read: "Future World Champion."

The sight would have paralyzed her with pressure a week ago. But now, as she caught Yuki's encouraging nod from across the garage, she felt something else. Those girls weren't just looking up to her – they were looking forward, to their own futures in the sport. She wasn't just carrying their dreams; she was showing them how to chase their own.

As she pulled out of the garage, the roar of the engine drowning out everything else, YN smiled. The weight of being a role model would always be there, but so would the pure joy of racing, the thrill of pushing limits, and the quiet understanding in Yuki's eyes when she needed reminding of who she was beyond the headlines.

In the end, that's what would inspire those young dreamers more than any podium – the truth that she was, first and always, a racer who happened to be making history, not the other way around. And if her heart still fluttered when Yuki grinned at her through the garage window, well, that was just another kind of racing altogether.

The Austin qualifying session played out like a well-choreographed dance, both VCARB cars sliding through to Q3 with methodical precision. YN could feel the electricity in the air as she pulled her car into parc fermé, the satisfaction of another strong qualifying evident in the smiles beneath both their helmets.

"Not bad for someone who needed five takes to lasso a hay bale," she teased Yuki as they walked to the media pen, their race suits damp with Texas sweat.

"Says the one who claimed to have Texas racing in her blood," he shot back, but his eyes crinkled with that smile she'd grown so familiar with over the years. The one that made her forget about the cameras following their every move.

Race day dawned clear and crisp, the kind of autumn morning that made COTA's sweeping turns look even more inviting. During the drivers' parade, YN noticed how Yuki kept glancing her way, checking her pre-race mood as he'd done since their Formula 3 days. Some habits never changed, even under the bright lights of Formula 1.

The race itself was a masterclass in teamwork. Twenty laps in, running P5 and P6, their engineers' voices crackled over the radio with synchronized strategy calls. YN couldn't help but smile inside her helmet as she and Yuki executed their pit stops within a lap of each other, their years of shared experience showing in every synchronized movement.

"Box, box, box this lap," her engineer called.

"Copy," she responded, already knowing Yuki would be in the following lap. They'd discussed this scenario in the strategy meeting, finishing each other's sentences until their race engineer had joked about getting them a joint radio channel.

The final stint saw them running P4 and P5, Yuki just ahead, defending against a charging Ferrari while YN managed the gap to the McLaren behind. Their pace was metronomic, matching each other sector by sector.

"Yuki and YN, maintain position, great job both of you," their team principal's voice came over the radio on the cool-down lap. "Strong points for the team today."

In parc fermé, they found each other immediately, as if drawn by some invisible force. Yuki pulled her into a quick hug, the kind they'd shared countless times in their junior careers but felt different now under the Formula 1 spotlight.

"Just like the old days," he murmured, quiet enough that only she could hear. "Except now we're doing it in F1."

The media obligations blurred together after that – questions about team dynamics, about their history together, about her continued progress in the sport. But one moment stood out, when a reporter asked about their obvious synchronicity on track.

"You and Yuki seem to have an almost telepathic understanding during races. How much does your shared history in junior formulas play into that?"

YN caught Yuki's eye across the media pen, saw that familiar half-smile playing at his lips. "When you've spent as many years as we have pushing each other to be better, you develop a sort of shorthand," she answered. "It's like having a racing dictionary that only we know how to read."

Later, as they sat in the team's hospitality unit reviewing race data, shoulders brushing as they leaned over the same screen, YN felt that familiar warmth in her chest. P4 and P5 might not have the glamour of Singapore's podium, but there was something special about achieving it together, about proving they could be just as strong as teammates as they had been as rivals.

"Your exit speed through turn 19 was insane," Yuki commented, pointing at a particular segment of data. "Always been better than me there."

"Yeah, well, your sector one was textbook perfect," she replied, nudging his shoulder. "Some things never change."

As the Texas sun set over the circuit, casting long shadows across the paddock, YN realized that success in Formula 1 wasn't just measured in podiums and points. Sometimes it was in the synchronized pit stops, the matched sector times, the understood glances across briefing rooms. Sometimes it was in the way Yuki still remembered how she liked her post-race coffee, or how he could read her mood from the way she adjusted her gloves before a session.

The hunger for success was still there, burning as bright as ever, but now it felt shared – a flame they tended together, pushing each other toward greater heights. And if that flame sometimes felt like it could burn down the careful walls between teammates and something more, well, that was just another kind of race they were learning to navigate.

In the team photo later, standing in front of their cars with their race boots still dusty from the COTA track walk, YN felt Yuki's hand brush against hers, a ghost of a touch that sent sparks through her racing gloves. Some victories, she was learning, didn't need podiums to feel just as sweet.

The evening after the race, YN found herself in her hotel room, the adrenaline of the day finally wearing off. Her phone buzzed with a message from Yuki: "Roof? Like old times?"

It was their tradition, started in Formula 3 – finding the highest point they could after a race, away from the cameras and expectations. Back then, it had been trailer roofs and empty grandstands. Now, standing on the hotel's rooftop terrace, Austin's skyline glittered before them like a circuit made of stars.

"Thought I'd find you overthinking everything," Yuki said, appearing beside her with two cups of green tea – another tradition from their junior days. His race suit was replaced with team joggers and a hoodie, but his hair still bore the marks of his helmet, sticking up at odd angles.

"Not overthinking," YN protested, accepting the tea. "Just... processing."

"Liar." His shoulder bumped against hers as he leaned on the railing. "I know that look. Same one you had after your first F3 win. Like you're waiting for someone to say it was all a mistake."

The city lights blurred as she stared into her tea. "It's different now. Every move we make, every point we score... it's not just about us anymore. Did you see how many girls were in the grandstands today? Wearing our team colors, holding signs..."

"I saw." His voice was soft. "I also saw how you fought through sector two like a demon. How you didn't lift once through turn 15. That's what they were cheering for – not what you represent, but what you do."

YN turned to look at him, finding his dark eyes already on her. In the dim light, she could almost pretend they were back in their early racing days, when everything felt simpler. When the weight of inspiration didn't rest quite so heavy on her shoulders.

"Sometimes I miss when it was just us," she admitted quietly. "Just two kids with dreams too big for our budget racing suits."

"It's still us," Yuki said, his hand finding hers on the railing. "The cameras just have better angles now."

That startled a laugh out of her, breaking the tension. "Remember when we used to practice interviews?"

"And you always made me play the journalist asking about tire management," he grinned. "Look how far we've come."

The night air wrapped around them like a comfortable silence, filled with years of shared memories and unspoken understanding. YN felt the familiar flutter in her chest when Yuki's thumb absently traced patterns on her hand, probably not even aware he was doing it.

"Hey," he said suddenly, turning to face her fully. "About what you said in the press conference today – about having a racing dictionary only we know how to read?"

She nodded, remembering the moment.

"Some things don't need translation." His voice was barely above a whisper, but his eyes said everything his words couldn't.

The space between them seemed to shrink, the city lights and pressure and expectations fading until all that remained was the warmth of his hand in hers and the understanding that had grown between them over countless races and shared dreams.

Racing was about timing – knowing exactly when to brake, when to accelerate, when to take the risk that could change everything. As YN looked at Yuki, at the boy who'd become her best friend and the man who'd become so much more, she wondered if some moments were worth the risk of missing the apex altogether.

The Texas night held its breath, waiting for someone to make the first move in this new kind of race – one where the finish line looked suspiciously like the beginning of something else entirely.

The Mexico City paddock hummed with anticipation as teams prepared for the next race weekend. YN found herself spending more time in the VCARB garage even when she wasn't required to be there, drawn by the comfortable rhythm she and Yuki had developed. Their shared success in Austin had only strengthened their partnership, both on and off track.

During technical briefings, they sat closer than necessary, shoulders brushing as they reviewed sector times. Their race engineers had started presenting their data side by side, noting how their driving styles had begun to complement each other. Where YN was bold through the high-speed corners, Yuki was precise in the technical sections. Together, they were pushing VCARB higher in the constructors' championship with each race.

"Your throttle application through turn 4 is getting aggressive," Yuki noted one evening, pointing at her telemetry data. The garage had emptied hours ago, but they remained, bathed in the blue glow of monitors.

"Says the one who's been taking my lines through the chicane," YN replied, unable to hide her smile. The way he studied her data with such intensity made her heart race faster than any qualifying lap.

The pressure of being Formula 1's breakthrough female driver still weighed heavily, but Yuki had a way of making it feel lighter. He'd started joining her for media obligations, his presence a silent support system. When journalists asked about gender barriers, he'd seamlessly redirect the conversation to her racing prowess, her technical feedback, her contribution to the team.

One rainy evening in Mexico City, they found themselves trapped in the engineering office as a tropical storm passed over the circuit. Thunder rattled the windows as they worked through race simulation data.

"Remember Suzuka in F3?" Yuki asked suddenly, looking up from his laptop. "That rain-soaked qualifying?"

"When you insisted on running slicks because the forecast said it would clear?" YN laughed. "And then it poured harder?"

"Hey, you followed me out on slicks too!"

"Because I trusted you," she said softly, the words carrying more weight than intended.

The silence that followed was filled with years of shared risks, mutual trust, and something deeper that had been growing between them since Austin. Yuki's hand found hers across the desk, their fingers intertwining naturally, like two racing lines converging at the perfect apex.

In their world of precise measurements and calculated risks, this thing between them was wonderfully unpredictable. It showed in the lingering hugs after good results, in the way Yuki's eyes sought her out across crowded drivers' briefings, in how their casual touches had become as natural as breathing.

The pressure of being a role model, of carrying the hopes of countless young girls, still kept YN awake some nights. But now, when the weight felt too heavy, she had someone who understood both the burden and the beauty of it. Someone who saw her not as a symbol or a milestone, but as a racer, a friend, and maybe something more.

The thunder rolled on, but in their quiet corner of the paddock, they had found their own kind of peace – one built on shared dreams, mutual understanding, and the exhilarating promise of what lay ahead, both on and off the track.

The Mexico City podium celebration was still echoing through the paddock as YN made her way back to the garage. P3 felt sweeter than Singapore somehow - maybe because this time, Yuki was right there in P4, both of them having fought their way through the field together. As she rounded the corner, Lando Norris fell into step beside her, a knowing grin on his face.

"So," he drawled, "that was quite the defense you two pulled off against the Ferraris. Almost like you could read each other's minds."

"Good team strategy," YN replied diplomatically, but she could feel her cheeks warming.

"Right, 'team strategy,'" Lando air-quoted. "Is that what we're calling those long 'engineering briefings' you two keep having on the hotel roof?"

Before YN could respond, Charles Leclerc joined them, still in his race suit. "Leave them alone, Lando," he said, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. "Though I have to say, YN, your racing line through turn 4 is starting to look suspiciously like Yuki's..."

The teasing followed them to Brazil, where the intensity of Interlagos only seemed to strengthen their connection. During the drivers' parade, Alex Albon nudged Yuki. "Remember when you used to complain about sharing data with teammates? Now we can't get you out of the engineering room."

Yuki's face flushed, but he couldn't hide his smile. "The team's progress is important," he muttered.

"The team, or a specific teammate?" Pierre Gasly chimed in from behind them, earning a chorus of laughs.

In the garage, their race engineers had started making jokes about their synchronized feedback. "Let me guess," YN's engineer would say when she reported understeer, "Yuki's about to radio in with the same thing?" He was usually right.

The social media buzz was growing too. Fan accounts dedicated to capturing their moments together multiplied overnight. Every shared laugh, every trackside conversation, every celebratory hug was analyzed and gif'd within minutes. #TeamTsunoda began trending alongside #YNSupremacy.

But it was in the quiet moments between sessions that their bond deepened most. After a particularly challenging practice session in São Paulo, YN found Yuki waiting in their usual spot - a secluded corner of the garage with a perfect view of the timing screens.

"The media's getting worse," she sighed, slumping beside him. The questions had shifted from her racing to her personal life, from her achievements to her relationship status. The weight of being not just a female driver but now half of F1's most speculated-about pair was beginning to wear.

Yuki's hand found hers instinctively. "Then we give them something real to talk about - our racing," he said firmly. "Show them why we're here."

They did exactly that in qualifying, setting the track alight with a synchronized performance that put them P3 and P4. In the cooldown room, Max Verstappen shook his head with amusement. "You two are scary when you're in sync like that."

"They're always in sync," George Russell called out. "Haven't you seen their matching coffee orders?"

The race itself was a masterclass in teamwork. Lap after lap, they defended and attacked as one unit, their cars dancing through Interlagos's sweeping turns like partners in a carefully choreographed ballet. When Yuki's radio crackled with a strategy call, YN was already adjusting her lines to complement his movement.

"Your girlfriend's got your back again, Tsunoda," came Lewis Hamilton's teasing voice over the radio after YN perfectly blocked an overtaking attempt that would have compromised Yuki's position.

In parc fermé, with another double points finish secured, they found each other through the crowd of mechanics and media. The cameras caught their embrace, longer than usual, neither caring about the headlines it would generate.

"Did you see Twitter?" Daniel Ricciardo grinned as they walked to the podium ceremony. "They're calling you two the 'Race Track Romance.'"

"Better than what they used to call me," YN said softly, remembering the early days when every mistake was attributed to her gender.

"They call you a brilliant driver now," Yuki said firmly, his hand brushing against hers. "Everything else is just noise."

Later, in their now-traditional post-race debrief on the hotel roof, the São Paulo sunset painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, YN felt the familiar flutter in her chest as Yuki traced the racing line of turn 1 on her palm.

"The media's right about one thing," he said quietly. "We are better together."

"Because we push each other to be better," YN replied, but they both knew it was more than that.

"Remember in Austin," Yuki began, turning to face her fully, "when you said some things don't need translation?"

YN nodded, her heart racing faster than any qualifying lap.

"Well," he continued, his dark eyes intense, "I think I'm tired of leaving things unspoken."

The Brazilian night air held its breath as the space between them disappeared, years of friendship, rivalry, and unspoken feelings finally converging at the perfect moment. As their lips met, soft and sure, YN realized that while making history as a female F1 driver had opened doors for others, this - finding someone who saw her as both a fierce competitor and a woman who made his heart race - was a different kind of breakthrough altogether.

The paddock's teasing, the media speculation, the fan theories - none of it mattered. What mattered was the way Yuki's hands cupped her face like she was both strong and precious, the way their heartbeats synchronized like perfectly matched sector times, the way everything finally felt right in their high-speed world.

They had always been good at reading each other's moves on track. Now, as they pulled apart just enough to share breathless smiles, they realized they'd been reading each other's hearts all along. Some victories, after all, were worth more than any podium.

here are some of the tags: @floweringanna, @hiraethberry, @holendernik, @oooom4arie, @burnhampeaches, @dying-inside-but-its-classy

let me know if you want to be added to the list :))

[mcbeetlebeeb]

Perchance if your requests are open then I would like a modern reader with homestuck characters of your choosing?? If not that's ok you don't gotta if you don't wanna. Have good day

Hii, sorry for the INCREDIBLY late response, trying to remember how to use tumblr BUT YES I shall deliver 👍 thanks for asking question, I'll be doing the main four (ФωФ)

(and- hopefully I understand your question cause I'm ready to do this in head cannon platform- so??‐ 🫂 take it my friend)

⛅️John Egbert🎭

*deep inhale* NERRD

sorry, moving on

seems like the sorta guy to know fnaf lore, like all of it, I can't elaborate further

also he wears totally normal outfits with stupid stupid socks,,

silly socks, the dumbest you could imagine

I think at some point he'd be the mfker with some tape or a bandaid around the middle of his glasses to keep it together

hes a one pillow sleeper 😔

and by that I mean he has one singular pillow on his bed smh

he atones by sleeping with stuffed animals though

mfkin creepy ass light sleeper

and I say that cause I can fully imagine someone trying to get something while he's sleeping or even trying to wake him up

and he just sits up, all the way, no glasses john, eyes open all the way not groggy or confused

get this MAN SOME BROWN EYE CONTACTS!!

FUCK I THOUGHT THATD MAKE IT SMALLER HER FACE IS HUGE

no going back tumblr is already so confusing, sorry anon I tried to be funny now she's here

anyway..lord..

I think he'd forever go to bed at like a super specific time, and if he messes that up he feels wrong the next day

and that's all he'll tell you, "I feel wrong"

touch of the tisim probably perhaps maybe

listen his dad collected shaving cream and harlequins and clowns and stuff-..

I don't think he has freckles but more so little body moles speckled around his body

goofy smile, silly laugh, catch him snorting and slapping his knee n shit

tries to push up glasses with the nose scrunch thing, makes him show of his messes up teeth

an endearing young punster.

I definitely think if you'd be down, he's 100% the person too have nerf gun wars

something and John Egbert and a foam dart makes sense

and for some reason i connect that with bubbles

rip John you would've loved fruiter aergo

maybe, maybe more low quality photos of it though because idk

he has a strange love for...what's the word...

hmm.. eccentric things

he just holds them dear, think it's in his blood

who knows if that's a good or bad thing

expressive

I think you'd have to be, blind, deaf, mute and impossibly stupid to miss his body language

or just a meanie(?)

regardless not emotionally verbal, or at least not often, or- as much as he should

but physically shows it

like..for example if he was in a crappy mood, you'd be able to tell, and he'd confirm if you asked

and with him being expressive i would think comes with..what's the word again..uh..

responsive?

reactive?

especially to words, or touch

when he gets red, he one of them people to get red EVERywhere.

ears, down to the neck, shoulders, forhead.

dude looks like he's gonna pop a blood vessel any moment lmao

he'd be the person too have like reddened knuckles and stuff, cold hands, will press the cold hands into you for warmth

if he were to smell like anything, vanilla, faintly, all smells on him would be faint I'd like to think

☀️Rose Lalonde🔮

honestly my favorite to draw-

she is wrighting so many silly things for and too you

poems?

happening.

long strangely war letter back home love letters too you

they probably are never shown-

maybe unless you look or perhaps ask

she'd be...the best person to gossip over a drink with

tea, coffee, alcohol, water, soda

I think she'd be a mfker to sleep with socks

it's okay on some level cause they're socks she made herself

I also think not just gossip but she's like- she's a seer of light cmon-

she knows stuff

I think she may not look like it but she, is the ultimate yapper

and silly

silly Rose justice

shes a goofy goober too guys

there would be no way she's not

look at her friends

I think she'd like her hair to be pet sometimes

play with it gently, braid it for no reason

type of person I can see too sit with you on the porch as it rains

reminds me of mist and.. morning dew

chilly autumn mornings

where you can see your breath

shes one of them Halloween people

i just know she appreciates a crunchy leaf

*knits you this*

YOU SIZED OBVIOUSLY

also gloves

why not

stay warm

she'd want you too

she has dimples

both lil cheek dimples

I think she'd be someone to ponder her partner often

like, seeing a candle and going "oh perfect, you've found me here as well!" but she's in the middle of some store lol

or reading something, thinking about that phrase and linking it too you or something like that

something strangely meticulous

carefully, honestly, thought out.

shes the person too either meticulous take the time to paint her nails right

or paint them all fucked up, and then clean them up

leaning more towards the latter

am I saying that right?

she would smell like

mm, cold linen, and books, book smell

🌠Jade Harely🐾

ah yes

doggie

shes a sweetheart though

albeit a clumsy- narcoleptic one

she means well

most times

she has all the hair

everywhere!!

find her brushing herself

maybe???

maybe space powers debunk hair needs

I dunno probably pffhfhh

toothy smile

big toothy grin

I like to think she has braces

convincingly can bark and growl (before and after bec merge thingy)

probably got even more convincing dog bark talents

sit down with her and a good coloring book

entertainment for hours

she'd be up for most anything I bet

would possibly be bored laying around lounging

something tells me she'd have a thing with buttons

all shapes and sizes and materials

just- checks out as a Jade thing yknow

same with silly bands

somewhere there is glitter on this girl I'm convinced

maybe more earth glitter (dirt) than any other

but like, 🤷 I dunno man

can I pet dat dawg?

yes, pet the dog, dog longs for human contact

scratch that

contact

overall

shes just lonely, forgive her lack of "norm" social skills

brotha grew up on a damn island, with her dog, and stuffed grandpa

stuffed grandpa

I'd be a lil weirdo too

anon, I'm gonna tell you this now..

I've never read the books all the way threw, and I own 3 out of idk how many

so forgive me if this...- out of character

dirty nailz..

yknow how some big dogs have that mindset that they are little lap dog puppies?

her

oh you thought it was gonna be a lil head rest?

a lil lean?

no

blanket mode.

snuggle time.

accept it, at least for a minute.

I cannot explain why and I won't but, she gives me road runner vibes

just..yep, that's jade..harely..

what am I doing dude tf

also..don't ask me why, she would smell like pine, dirt, soil if you will, maybe lavender too, or more something..sugary? cinnamon?

am I making sense

⚔️Dave Strider📀

uughhh what haven't I said about this dude

hmm

I'm trying to remember what I wrote before tumblr rudely disrupted my wrighting and made me go back to the beginning

well let's see

eotushuf

here me out

this but on him

and it's soft blonde and and

there's spots that are missing from scars

and they go down to his hand,, and fingers

the hair on the side of the hand, you know what I mean

also has missing little patches

broad..finge nail

chews his nails

hhe.. uu h out of all of the four, probably the best to lounge around with

laying around

what's the word

parallel play?

being able to comfortably do yalls own thing in the same place

without a lot of talking

rhhrrgg

hes the type of person to 100% do the three hand squeeze thing

iykyk... (squeezing someone's hand to wordlessly say, "I love you")

and if you respond verbally, or even just squeezing back

he'll face away and do it back again

epitome of "putting on sunglasses so no one knows what I'm looking at"

you at you

he has..like stupid peripheral vision and uses it to advantage

I cannot say why but, he definitely has funky cool ties

just does i feel it

also, crackley

cracking his knuckles, his neck, back

when he stands it's like fine machinery sounding

clicking and popping in knees and hips

blonde

...eyelashes..

rough palms and scar knuckles

he smells like- a well slept on pillow ina good way- and also maybe

faintly of apple juice, carton apple juice..

guys this is buns, I'm so sorry truly, I'm also..so sleepy..😔

anon i hope this was right, and..to your request, I hope u have a good day (*^▽^)/★*☆♪

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Same as it ever was 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can’t catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: Sorry to those who expected a team-up or simps!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your eyes burn as you rub them with the heels of your hand. It's late, very late, and Pete's not home. He missed bath time and bedtime. You're only fortunate that the sitter fed the kids.

You continue your tedious Excel mission, yawning at the sharepoint file as you sweep your fingers over the touchpad. You sit against the pillows propped against the bed frame and struggle not to doze. You're almost there, you can do it. Yeah, keep telling yourself that and it might even be true.

You hear an engine. You're not much of an automotive enthusiast but you recognise it. It's Pete unnecessary Corvette. The vehicle he convinced you would be the perfect company car. You sigh and hunker down, blocking out the ruckus of his return.

Still, you hear it all. Him unlocking the door, pausing to take off his jacket and shoes, climbing the stairs, at least considerate of the hour as he keeps his steps light. He enters, seemingly shocked to find you awake as his eyes round in your direction. He stretches, pushing his neck side to side in an exaggerated gesture of fatigue.

"Ugh, long day," he rubs his shoulders with a groan.

You don't acknowledge him as you keep your fingers fluttering over the keyboard. It's too late and you're too drained to be any more angry than you already are. You narrow in on the laptop as he hovers at the edge of your vision, undressing piece by piece.

"Big meeting today. Might've found another investor," he talks above the bellowing elephant in the room. "I think we're almost there."

You curl your lip but say nothing. One word and it's over. It will all come spewing out. Between him and your asshole boss, you have a thread of patience left.

He tosses his pants at the hamper and they catch on the edge before falling on the outside. He doesn't pick them up. You wonder why he insists on spending label name money when he doesn't take care of his clothes. Why he wears big names as you're digging through thrift store bins. You blow out a breath, a sigh that fills the room.

"So," he rolls down his underwear, shamelessly naked but for his black socks, "you just going to give me the silent treatment when I worked all day--"

"I'm still working," you snap and still your hands, glaring up at him, "I'd be done by now if you had picked up the kids from Emma's."

"I... you weren't serious about that, were you?"

"Don't," you warn him and lower your gaze back to the laptop, "I have a big meeting in the morning and I'm gonna spend enough time getting this done. I don't need an argument--"

"Relax," he snips, "I'm gonna shower and sleep. You don't gotta worry." He lumbers over to the bathroom door and you roll your eyes, "we both know nothing else is going on in that bed."

You swallow as your eyes sting again. He slams the door and you hiss. If he wakes up the kids... 

You wait and listen for any stirring beyond your bedroom walls. Thankfully, the house is silent but for the sudden scour of the showerhead. You bat away the layer of tears threatening to spill and shake your head. It's not like you didn't try; you put on some old lingerie two weeks ago and he rolled over and went to sleep. Still, you're the problem. It's always you.

You hit save to make sure the sharepoint updates and you take a final look over each sheet. You're done, you think. You hope. You're too tired to care. You shut the laptop and put it on the night table.

You slide down onto your side and flip off the lamp. You lay with your back to the bathroom door and squeeze your eyes shut. Sleep should be easy but your anxiety further jabs the migraine into your skull. You hate this, all of it. How did it come to this? Where did you go wrong?

🗄️

A couple hours of sleep is hardly enough to recover from the hectic day behind you, or the one awaiting you. You get the kids up, packed, and off to school knowing Pete is probably not even awake. You didn't even try to rouse him as he would only add to your list of worries.

You head to the office, your hope of getting in early crushed as you hurry in at your usual time. You fall into the chair, coat still half-on as you jab the button on the monitor. The PC is asleep but not off. You hit the space bar to wake it up.

You finish stripping off your outer layer and hang it over the back of your chair. You swivel in and gape at the sight before you. Every cell is empty. You click through the sheets as your heart plummets. You close and try reopening the file, hoping it merely timed out.

Nothing. It's all gone but how? You can't believe it. You go into the recovery settings and search through revision history. It's all be locked, you can't see any past edits.

You clutch your head as despair and panic and grief swallow you up. Luck has never been your friend but this is a new low. You roll back slightly and fold over in your chair. You have a choice; accept defeat and tender your resignation or hope for mercy and pretend in the meeting that the file was corrupted without your knowledge. 

"You know," your chair jolts as someone kicks a wheel, "there's a very strict security policy around here. All work devices should be locked and shut down before they are left unattended."

You sit up and spin, dizzy from grief and utter dread as you face Mr. Hansen. He smirks down at you, a black button-up under a sleek evergreen jacket. His wardrobe is even more ostantatious than your husband's; probably because he can afford it. You lift your face and deflate.

"Mr. Hansen," you murmur.

"Anyone could just see the budget… they could tamper with it," he watches you smugly, "or even…delete it."

Your ribs rack and your ears tingle. He did this. Is he crazy? You stand up and he stays as he is. The closeness between you is suffocating.

"Mr. Hansen," you repeat, "I had the numbers done–"

"Oh, you do?" He chuckles, "that's great."

"What did you do? Why?" You accuse.

"I told you, honey bun, you owe me," he pishes his shoulders back, "so…" he lifts his arm and checks his watch, gold and expensive. Probably worth as much as your mortgage, "how exactly are you gonna pay me back? First I let you off early," he holds up a finger  "then… I work a miracle and help you recover that pesky budget."

"Sir," you choke out, mortified, "I'll… I'll stay overtime all week. I swear, I'll–"

"Hmph, nah, I got enough soldiers running the ant hill," he tweaks a brow, "overtime… boring. You got kids, they need mommy home to kiss them goodnight."

You clamp your lips together and watch him desperately. He just wants to torture you. You can feel it all slipping away; your job, your husband, and yourself.

"What do you want?" You exhale weakly.

He tilts his head and lets the tip of his tongue poke out, "you know," he wags his index in front of you, "I know this trick on Excel, why don't I show you?" He pauses for effect, basking in his victory, "in my office?"

A stitch dimples between your eyebrows. His office. Why? You don’t let the trickle of suspicion overflow. You’re not his type. Definitely not Kendra. No, this will be worse than whatever disgusting thoughts he has in her direction.

You set your chin and turn your hands out, “alright, fine. Show me.”

You wait, and he hesitates, as if waiting for you to flinch first. Finally, he pivots on the heel of his ridiculous loafers and struts towards his office. You leave your chair facing the rest of the office and follow, pressing your sweaty palms to the pilled wool that strains across your thighs.

He opens the door of his office and you enter behind him. He lingers by the door and closes it as you stop just inside. For all your years there, you’d never actually been inside his office. There was never any reason for it. Thankfully.

He doesn’t say a word as he rounds his desk and sits casually in his tall-backed chair. It’s much better than those out in the bullpen with the worn cushion and squeaky wheels. You wait, patiently impatient, for him to begin. You feel him plotting, measuring his next move.

He rolls closer to his desk and takes the nearly flat apple mouse, moving it atop the leather pad and clicking with a single finger. His eyes reflect the large screen of his iMac and the corner of his mouth curves upward.

He looks at you and beckons with his other hand, “come here. I’ll show you.”

You reluctantly round his desk. There’s something about his nonchalance that both irks and unsettles you. You near and look at his screen. You see the slobbery lips of a teary-eyed woman right before he minimises the window. You pretend not to notice as he clicks onto the excel file.

It’s there. All your work. You squint and see the title in the bar of the window; Copy of… He kept a copy but he destroyed yours. It’s all a trick. You can’t be surprised by that.

“There it is,” he clicks his tongue, “all your hard work. Wow, I gotta say, that’s impressive.”

“You…” you put your hands on your hips and glance between him and the screen, “what do you want?”

“Nothing much,” he snickers, “and I’d say it’s not too different than what you want. What you really want.”

You blink at his vague statement. You bring an arm up across your stomach and stare at him nervously. Men like him just want their ego inflated. You just have to remember how to kiss ass.

“So,” he leans back and reaches for his belt, “we don’t got much time. Meeting’s in a smooth fifteen so–”

“What are you doing?” You hiss.

He stops, keeping his hands over his lap. You see his velvet pants twitch.

“We can play pretend. I don’t mind. You like the whole hard to get thing, I get it, you got class,” he says, “but we both know the old man isn’t giving you what you need. I can tell by the way you keep your ass clenched–”

“Mr. Hansen,” you snarl.

“I’m not asking for much. A quick handy,” he unbuckles his belt, “I just want a little more than you give the husband. I don’t want it to be a chore, alright? You’re not washing dishes–”

“You’re gross-”

“And you’re going to do it,” he opens his fly. Again, your shock is lacking. No underwear, nasty. “Because you’ve been here, what…” he reaches into his pants and pulls his dick out as he talks, “twelve years?” He strokes himself without shame, “and you walk out of here without a single reference and you’ll be lucky to get a job at the McDonald’s drive-thru.”

You focus on his face, horrified. Like most women, it’s not the first time you’ve been in this position. Propositioned in such a revolting way. Put in a winless situation. Yet, you somehow believed those days were over for you. You’d found safety in age.

“You can’t be serious…” you mutter.

“I’m fucking serious and I’m horny. Since you wanna cockblock me, you can deal with the consequences, honey,” he turns the chair towards you, “you do remember how these things work, right?”

You stare at him, almost glaring. You don’t let your revulsion seep through fully because as repugnant as he is, he’s right. You need this job. You’re not young, you can’t just walk away and crash on a friend’s couch until you find something better. You’re a mother and a wife. A wife.

“Is it really cheating if you can’t stand it?” He chortles as if reading your mind.

You take a breath and step forward. He winces at your suddenness. He braces the armrest of the chair as you reach for his rigid length. You grip him, biting down to keep from ripping your touch away. You look past him to the wall as he grunt and lets out a quivery breath.

You pump him and he hisses, “honey, it’s not a stick shift. Be fucking nice. Get some fucking lube on it.”

You tamp down your disgust and pull your hand back. You hold it up and spit onto it, hiding the action as best you can. You’d rather spit in his face.

You grab him again and run your hand from base to tip and back. He chokes and clings to the chair tighter as it shifts beneath him. He groans as you fixate on the framed Harvard Business School degree. Just when you thought life couldn’t slap you in the face again.

He pushes his head back and rumbles as you feel him tensing. He’s like any man. Simple, through and through. 

You feel him trembling and sense the change in his tone. He’s close. You taste bile, sickened by yourself and him. You stop and keep your hand around him.

“Send it,” you demand.

“Huh?” He puffs.

“Send the file or I don’t finish. And neither do you–”

“Honey, that’s not–”

You squeeze, “send the file.”

“Fine, fine,” he reaches over, straining as he taps a few buttons. You watch the screen and he hits share, you wave him away from the keyboard. You type in your email with your free hand and press enter.

“Great,” you pump your hand again, hips aching at the awkward way you have to bend.  

You grasp the chair above his shoulder as you speed up. He growls and plants his feet, rasping through his rising pleasure, “don’t fuck up my suit–”

You angle his dick and cup your hand under the tip. You have to look then. You watch as he explodes, catching the gushing flow in your palm as he quakes and moans out his delight. Your stomach churns as you stroke him until he’s empty and squirming.

You retract your hand and turn to grab a tissue to wipe away the mess. You’re certain to take a healthy dollop from the sanitizer bottle as well, clearing your throat as you try to shake off what you just did. You look at your watch and roll your shoulders.

“I’ll see you in the meeting,” you retreat to the door as his breath peters out.

“Honey…” he sighs.

“Mr. Hansen,” you reach for the door, leaving him with his limpening dick hanging out.

You march out, not looking one way or the other, as you head for your desk. You’re shaking by the time you reach it, nearly collapsing into the chair. What have you done? You are just as disgusting as he is. You’re pathetic, you’re a loser, you’re… a cheater.

[loreandorder]

The Gift of a Puppy's Love ♡

Femdom Wolfgirl x gn puppy sub (mentions of them wearing panties, though thats it)

cw: petplay with hybrid characters (ears, tails and canine senses/instincts), pussy eating, scent kink, domestic bdsm, power exchange, service, a tiny bit of angst, intimacy and romance

a/n: Hello again critters, I'm back with another little story for you all! This one is a bit more soft and romantic than the last, but I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless ♡

Please let me know what you think! And feel free to drop into my askbox if you'd like to see me write something specific in the future, I'm happy to take requests 🥰

~ Miss Lore xo

I heard a small shuffle outside my home office door and my tall wolf-like ears perked, swiveling slightly to hear better. The door clicked open quietly and soft warm light filled the room from the nightlight in the bathroom across the hall. A delicate scent I knew almost better than my own reached my sensitive nose and I spun my office chair around to face the door.

The bright light of the computer screen in the dark room burned into my dry eyes as I watched the cursor blinking away at me tauntingly. The clock on the screen read 2:48AM. I sighed raggedly and put my head in my hands, these reports were going to be the end of me.

I had recently been promoted, much to the annoyance of my new and very misogynistic manager, Dan. He had been an absolute prick to me from the moment I started working with him, but he had very quickly realized that he had the power to dump all his shitty tasks and responsibilities onto me too.

There was nothing I could do about it other than grit and bear it. I had worked so damn hard to earn this promotion, ten times harder than I would have had to at any other company, and it was given to me very begrudgingly. I was the only woman in my field at a male dominated company, and now that I had finally got this position I had no intention of giving them a reason to say “I told you so”.

“What are you doing up Puppy? Is everything okay?” I inquired gently but urgently, focusing my senses to search for any sign of danger in the house or signs of distress from the blanket wrapped figure in the doorway. I had tucked them into our large cozy bed hours ago, and it wasn’t normal for them to be up in the night, something had to be wrong.

“You never came to bed, Alpha…” Puppy’s soft voice had a worried tone that instantly set my heart racing with my own worry. I reached out for them instinctively and they came to me without hesitation, crawling into my lap with their legs hanging through the arms of the chair.

I wrapped one arm around them, fitting their body to mine, and tucked Puppy's head down against my chest. I then reached down to make sure the pup was wearing their cozy socks and tucked the edges of the blanket around them securely to keep them warm in the cool office. I ran hot, Puppy ran cold, and I was forever fussing over them with blankets, socks, and sweaters. In the winter my instincts went into overdrive, and I’d spend the whole season obsessively perfecting a nest in our room to keep my sweet Pup warm and safe through the cold months.

“I’m sorry Puppy, Alpha got carried away with work. Did you have a nightmare?” I rumbled comfortingly and stroked their back with my warm hands.

“Nuh uh,” they replied, nuzzling into the crook of my neck where my scent was strongest. Sometimes, I wondered if my scent was like a drug to them, they could never seem to get enough. I wasn’t about to complain though, I loved the way my little pup was always worshiping the sensitive area with nuzzles or their wonderful little mouth. Oh how I loved their plush lips and the wetness of their delectable tongue.

“No? What’s wrong then Pup?” I asked and returned their affections by nuzzling into the top of their head, breathing them in and enjoying the feel of their soft curly hair.

“I missed you!” Puppy whined and sat up to look at me, “and you’re so tired Alpha! That awful man makes you work too much!” Their whine turned into a fiery little growl that made me smile down at them in adoration.

“Don’t worry My ferocious little guard Pup, Alpha is okay. No more worrying, that’s my job.” I brushed their chocolate curls back from their face and cupped their cheeks. To my surprise their face scrunched up in what I guessed was their adorably pathetic attempt at a stern look.

“Alpha needs to relax and get a good sleep! You’re gonna get sick and then I won’t know what to do to make you all better again!” they barked in their sweet little voice.

I gently squeezed their thigh in warning, “I appreciate the concern little Pup, but you need to watch your tone with your Alpha.”

Puppy flushed pink in the low lighting and dropped their chin in deference, but to my surprise they continued to speak, “Please Alpha, please come to bed now. For me? Pleeeease Alpha?” they whined, and as they looked up at me from beneath their beautiful long lashes I knew my little pup had won. My smart little Puppy knew my weaknesses, and they knew exactly when I was in just the right state for them to use them against me.

I sighed and my body sagged, curling around Puppy with exhaustion. I rested my forehead in the crook of their delicate neck and a few tears slipped from my eyes to their skin. Puppy was right. I was pushing too hard, and as strong as I was I would break eventually. When that time came it wouldn’t only be me that suffered, Puppy would suffer too and that was not something I would ever allow to happen.

Puppy wriggled their arms free from my hold and wrapped them around me, whimpering softly. I squeezed my eyes shut and refused to let anymore tears fall, I didn’t want to concern my pup anymore than I already had. It broke my heart to know that they must have been worrying about me for a while now, I thought I had been hiding my stress and exhaustion well. Apparently I hadn’t done good enough. Then again, where would we be a month, even a few weeks, from now when I finally burnt out had Puppy not noticed?

“It’ll be okay Puppy. Let’s go to bed, okay?” I lifted their head from my shoulder and stroked their cheek lovingly before gently helping them to their feet. I took their hand in mine and led Puppy towards our bedroom. My body was tense and achy from all the time spent hunched over my desk recently and I had a feeling that without the help of sheer exhaustion I would be too tense to sleep.

I stopped dead in my tracks as I entered our bedroom. “Puppy? What’s going on?” I looked over to them in confusion. The bed was made and all of our pillows were propped up against the headboard in the middle of the bed, and I could tell that Puppy had been fussing over the perfect placement. The lights in the room were off, but placed around the room were some of my favourite candles from my collection. The light scents of Lavender, chamomile, sage, and a note of cedar wood flowed over me and I let out a content rumble.

“What’s going on in that beautiful little brain of yours Pup?”

Puppy turned pink again in the flickering candlelight and bashfully fiddled with their blanket, “you’ve been working so hard to take care of us Alpha, I-I want to help you relax. I want to make you feel g-good so you have sweet dreams…”

I cocked my head and smiled at my puppy adoringly. They truly were such a special little creature, I was so incredibly lucky to have found them.

“Are you sure Puppy? Just getting to snuggle up with you is more than enough to make me feel good, you know that don’t you?”

“Yes Alpha, I know… but I want to, I really, really want to. Please Alpha, please let me make you feel good. I need it Alpha, please,” they practically whimpered with the desire to serve and care for their Alpha as they pleaded.

I reached out and cupped their face, stroking their cheek lovingly with my thumb, a massage would be quite heavenly right about now. “okay Puppy, I’m all yours,” I leaned in and pressed a slow emotion filled kiss to their soft lips making them whimper with happiness. “Where would you like Alpha to be for your service?”

“O-on the bed please Alpha, I set the pillows up so they would be most comfortable to prop you up, but I’ll adjust them for you if you need!” Puppy dropped their blanket in a pool around their feet in the doorway as they excitedly went around to my side of the bed. I smiled warmly at their enthusiasm, my little Pup was always so eager to please.

Puppy raced around to my side of the bed and brought my attention to the shirt folded neatly on the edge of the bed. “I got your favourite cozy shirt out for you Alpha! Please put it on and get comfortable,” they said happily as they presented the large oversized sleep shirt to me. It was my favourite, a soft old tshirt I had got at a concert years ago. It fell to my mid thighs and turned me into a shapeless rectangle, but it was my most comfortable piece of clothing and I'd be damned if I let the way it made me look keep me from wearing it. I was very appreciative of my thoughtful Puppy for choosing it.

“Thank you darling.” I said as I took in the sight of my cute little puppy standing at the ready with my clothes. They were wearing a pair of adorable green panties with bows on the hips and a tshirt on their petite curvy frame, their hair was an adorable curly mess from which their floppy little ears protruded, and the look of devotion and joy on their face made my heart swell and eased a bit of my tension already.

I slowly began to strip in the flickering candlelight, not taking my eyes off of Puppy. I could see them trembling with excitement as they watched me, but not once did they falter from her position, waiting patiently with their offering. I unbuttoned my blouse and unhooked my bra with a sigh of relief as my breasts and ribs were set free from the cursed contraption. I set my discarded clothes on the end of the bed and began to slide my trousers down my legs.

I raised an eyebrow at them in question, maybe I had been wrong about the massage. What did my little Puppy have in mind? I could feel myself slicken at the mystery. I complied with Puppy’s polite request and proceeded to slide my underwear down over my wide hips to the floor

“Your panties too please, Alpha,” Puppy said politely.

I stepped out of them and towards Puppy, reaching out for my shirt. Puppy passed the shirt off and began to collect their Alpha’s discarded clothing as I slipped the shirt over my head, closing my eyes in pleasure as the soft comforting material encompassed my body. I sat on the end of the bed and watched Puppy tenderly as they sorted my clothing into the proper hampers in our closet, when they returned to me I pulled them into my arms and hugged their small frame. Puppy wiggled happily in my arms, their soft brow tail wagging contentedly as I ran my hands along their back and sides just enjoying the feel of my love in my arms.

I would have been more than content to lay down and continue the snuggle, but apparently Puppy was determined to have their plans come to fruition because after a few moments they pulled back a bit so they could look into my face.

“I could stay in your arms forever Alpha, but if we stay like this too long I’m afraid you’ll fall asleep sitting up, which won’t be a good sleep at all! I want to help Alpha relax so she has a restful sleep and sweet dreams” they pouted slightly.

I chuckled at their adorable determination, and leaned in to rest my forehead against theirs. I smiled softly at them, “alright my Pup.” I pressed a loving kiss to their lips before unwinding myself from them and turning to crawl up the bed. I swished my long, silky golden tail as I went, giving my puppy a teasing glance at my nakedness and smiled mischievously at my pup’s eager whimpers. When I made it to the top of the bed I looked over my shoulder at the small pup and wiggled my butt, widening my stance slightly to give them a better view of my wet slit.

Puppy trembled and whined, “Aaaalpha!”

I chuckled at them, “what is it pup? Isn’t this what my little pet wanted?”

“No! W-well, you know I always want that, but that’s not what I planned for t-tonight… unless that is what you want instead of course Alpha!” Puppy was getting increasingly flustered.

I smiled softly and decided to give the poor little thing a break, I flopped onto my back and sank into the heavenly plushness of the pillows letting out a sigh of contentment. “No Pup, Alpha was just teasing. You look oh so pretty in that shade of pink! Now, what is it you’ve got planned, my sweet pup?”

Puppy briefly hid their face in their hands in embarrassment much to my amusement, before seeming to work up the courage to crawl up onto the bed and settle between my legs. Almost instantly Puppy's hands were absentmindedly trailing upon my skin, touch was a very important connection for the two of us, and whenever we were within arms reach of each other the urge to be in contact with the other's skin was instinctual. Puppy kneeled there between my thighs, looking at me shyly and I waited patiently for them.

“A-are you comfortable Alpha? I can adjust the pillows for you!” they asked enthusiastically.

I smiled and reached out to brush my fingers against theirs, “it’s perfect Pup, I’m so comfy, thank you my good pup.”

Puppy wiggled happily at the praise, their tail thumping lightly against the mattress. “I’m glad! Are you ready Alpha?” their hands began intentionally exploring higher up my thighs pausing to fiddle with the edge of my shirt as they waited for consent.

I nodded, “yes Puppy, Alpha is ready for your sweet service.”

“Thank you Alpha!” Puppy yipped quietly with joy and continued their exploration. They pressed their fingers more firmly into my tense muscles as they slowly pushed my shirt up to my tummy exposing my neatly groomed pubic mound and glistening slit. I watched as their gaze fell upon me, and the need that always filled their eyes when they looked at their Alpha like this made warmth spread throughout my body. So that was their plan then.

“Enjoying the view Puppy?” I asked them with a grin.

“Uh huh!” they replied and their tongue lolled out of their mouth as they panted excitedly. Puppy’s fingers danced across my skin back down towards my cunt and I exhaled with a soft moan as they softly pet the fur there reverently. “My Alpha is so beautiful! Puppy is going to make Alpha feel so good! Yes, yes, yes, she is!” they cooed.

Oh, my Puppy must have really needed this too, I could already tell from the slight change in their speech that they were sinking into that special headspace of theirs at a rapid pace. I was in for a real treat tonight.

Puppy's soft petting turned into sensual caressing of my thighs, hips and pelvis with occasional dips back down to play with my pubic fur. I leaned my head back against the pillows and closed my eyes, sighing with pleasure at the love and affection in their touch, but the heat was building in my core and I could feel even more wetness pooling between my thighs as the tension began to leave my body. I knew my sweet pup wasn’t teasing though, just taking their time in their endeavor to make their Alpha feel good. They were already doing such a good job.

I felt them shift on the bed and then felt a warm breath against my pussy. Puppy nuzzled against my public mound and whimpered, “you smell soooo good Alpha, and you’re so drippy already!” The desire in their sweet voice was almost palpable and I opened my eyes to peer down at them. They nuzzled against me once more before settling down on their belly and looking up at me devoutly from between my thighs.

I held their gaze and reached down to stroke their soft hair, giving them a little scratch behind their floppy ear, “you look so incredible between Alpha’s thighs, you’re such a good little puppy,” I crooned.

Puppy’s eyes glazed over dreamily at my words and their tail wagged happily behind then. They basked in the praise for a moment, then lowered their gaze from mine to look down at my dripping sex hungrily, and then Puppy’s hot little mouth was upon me. I dropped my head back to the pillows and gasped out a moan, my fingers digging into Puppy’s curls at the sudden sensation of their tongue lapping against my folds. Puppy moaned back at me and doubled their efforts, burying their face in my cunt enthusiastically without a single care for the wet mess they were getting all over their face. I knew Puppy loved having their Alpha’s juices smeared all over their skin, my deeply sexual scent would linger on my pup for days and they always wore it proudly. I secretly loved it too, and the thought of it made me gush even more, my hips jerking up against Puppy's face involuntarily.

Puppy flowed with the jerk of my hips, using one hand to stop them from fully dropping again and took advantage of the new angle. They lapped against my entrance before stiffening their tongue and burying it into me as far as they could. They explored with their tongue, looking to get as close to that special spot inside me that they were oh so talented at finding with other parts of their body as well.

I writhed at the feeling of their hot tongue working its magic inside of me, “Gods Puppy, you’re such a good pup!” I panted. My exhausted body yielded to the pleasure my pup was bringing me and melted into the comfort of the bed. Puppy took their time fucking me with their tongue, drawing out my pleasure, their tail wagging happily behind them the entire time. Everything felt so perfect, everything except my throbbing and now neglected clit.

“Puppy,” I eventually all but sobbed as I tugged on Pup's hair, “you’re doing so good, but Alpha needs your mouth somewhere else.”

Puppy withdrew their tongue from my body and whimpered with delight as I tugged on their hair forcing their mouth to my clit instead. Their lips latched on greedily and they began suckling at my clit. My body tightened at the sensation and my back arched as a carnal moan ripped from my throat. Heat was building inside me and I threw my head back, rocking my hips up, grinding desperately against Puppy’s face chasing the orgasm I could feel building quickly inside me.

Puppy moaned into my pussy in response, and when they suddenly slipped two fingers deep inside me it almost stole my breath away. My observant little pup knew I was getting close and they were eager to push their Alpha over the edge into bliss. Puppy curled their fingers inside me rhythmically as they worshiped my clit with their mouth and I could feel the telltale tingling that always spread through my body in warning of an oncoming release.

“Fuck! Good Puppy, you’re so good, you’re gonna make Alpha cum all over that pretty little face,” I praised as pressure built inside me. Puppy immediately upped the ante by increasing the speed and pressure of their fingers while flicking their tongue deliciously against my clit, finally pushing me over the edge.

I moaned euphorically, fingers tightening in Puppy’s hair as I rode their beautiful little face and fingers through my orgasm. When it had finally subsided my body turned to jelly and I released Puppy from my grasp, melting once more into the mattress with half lidded eyes. Puppy slid their fingers from my dripping cunt and crawled up my body, straddling my waist and settling their weight on me like they knew I loved. I looked up into their beautiful eyes that were alight with pride and joy and stroked Puppy’s soft hips lovingly.

“Did I make you feel good, Alpha?” Puppy asked eagerly and I chuckled.

“You did indeed my sweet little Pup, and I made quite the mess of you in the process. Come here,” I reached up to the back of their small neck and pulled their face down to my own, flattening my tongue I licked the side of their face and reveled in the taste of myself on my pup.

Puppy whimpered and wriggled, “A-Alpha!” they squeaked in embarrassment, but from the way they rocked on top of me I could tell they loved it.

“As if you don’t love when your Alpha licks you clean, you silly little thing.” I pulled them into a warm kiss despite their sticky face and with my other hand I forced Puppy's hips to roll against mine, grinning against their lips at the wet cotton that ground against me. Releasing Puppy’s neck I gently cupped them through their panties, Puppy moaned and covered their bright red face in embarrassment as they humped needily against my palm.

“Thank you for taking care of Alpha, my dear Puppy. Tomorrow I’m going to take a sick day and show my Pup just how much their Alpha appreciates then, how does that sound?” I continued to lovingly stroke my fingers against them through their panties, and stared up at my adorably squirmy Pup.

Puppy began to hump even faster against my hand and tummy, “Y-you’re welcome Alpha, thank you for letting me serve you,” they gasped above me as their motions became more frantic, “please, that sounds perfect, I promise I’ll be so good!” they whined when I placed both hands on their hips and stopped her needy movements.

“I know you will Pup,” I lightly smacked their bottom, “Now go clean up and bring me a washcloth too please Puppy.” Puppy’s disappointment at the loss of friction was quickly gone and replaced with a delighted eagerness to serve despite their current predicament. Gods I loved how much my puppy craved any opportunity to serve me, they were so perfect in every way I could think of.

Pup leaned down and nuzzled into my neck before they were gently climbing off me and scurrying to our ensuite bathroom. My eyes quickly dropped shut as I lay there contentedly and listened to the sounds of Puppy washing up. I hadn’t felt this relaxed and utterly blissed out in what felt like forever now, and I was so grateful for my intelligent and loving little Pup. My mind began to drift off towards unconsciousness, but I kept her ears locked onto the sounds of Puppy in the other room. They were quick with their task and were soon enough padding quietly back into the room, and while I registered their arrival it was like my eyelids weighed a tonne and refused to open. Puppy didn’t seem to mind though as I felt them crawl onto the end of the bed followed by the damp warmth of a washcloth between my legs. Puppy took great care in gently wiping my over sensitized skin and down my thighs with the wet cloth and then patted me dry with a second cloth I hadn’t realized they brought.

“Thank you my darling Pup.” I said softly as I felt them retreating, they dropped a kiss on my inner thigh in response. When I heard them return I forced my eyes open and then sat up to help get the bed ready for sleep. Once we had reorganized the pillows and pulled back the blankets the two of us settled in together, me on my back with Puppy laying on my chest, one of their legs hooked over my thigh, blankets tucked cozily around us. As Puppy nuzzled into my chest I stroked their back soothingly and kissed the top of her curly head.

“Goodnight my precious Puppy, Alpha loves you.” I said quietly in their floppy little ear.

I closed her eyes, and with my Puppy held safely in my arms and a warmth in my heart I finally drifted off into a much needed sleep ₊˚⊹♡

Puppy squirmed against me as if trying to get closer to me than was physically possible and placed a kiss on the underside of my jaw, “Night night Alpha, I love you too.”

[deardo11]

|| 𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑰𝑶'𝑺 𝑩𝑨𝑪𝑲 ||

THIS IS MY FIRST POST ON HERE

Words; 1,259

Contains;

Smut | Violence | Swearing | Drugs | Addictions | Alcohol | Non-Con/SA | Adult/Mature Themes

|| 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑶𝑵𝑬 ||

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You wake up, curtains shut and the bedroom a mess. you groan and roll over to look at your clock on your nightstand. You've slept in, and missed breakfast. So in a hurry, you get out of bed. No time to make it, your sheets and blankets are everywhere. You rush over to the corner of your room and pick up some clothes for you to wear.

Vaggie was upset you were always late for work (As in front desk at a shitty hotel no sinner in all of Hell could care for). Charlie's hotel is a place for sinners to be redeemed and have a spot in Heaven. The only person who supports and even encourages her fantasies is her girlfriend, Vaggie.

You put on a white button-up collared shirt, and some black leggings. You wiggled your feet into your socks and then popping some black heeled boots on. After dressing yourself, you made sure to brush your hair and teeth. Once done, you walked out of your room. To say it was a mess in the hotel would be an understatement, it was chaos. Angel Dust (The Porn Star) was walking around complaining about his job and how annoyed he was, or some crap like that. Charlie was having some intense thoughts about daily activities and trust exercises next to her bulletin board. Vaggie was comforting Charlie, of course.

But, there were some new guests. A winged cat with a top hat behind the bar, a small and fast girl cleaning up the hotel and killing any bugs around with red hair and a singular eyeball. The last guest that had caught your eye was an extremely tall man in all red, with a large smile plastered across his face. He was dressed way too properly for JUST a hotel in Hell, it made you suspicious. You made your way down the long and almost never ending staircase and right to where you should be, the front desk of the hotel. The man with the wide smile then came up to you.

"Hello there!" He said with a grin, tapping his cane against the floor.

You put a smile on your face as you said, "Hello, how can I help? Would you like a room here?" You asked.

With a radio-y laugh the man replied, "Haha! I suppose so. As I'm going to be managing the hotel I must have a place to stay, shouldn't I?"

That's when you frowned. You didn't like the look of this guy, something really seemed OFF. He's completely different from any other sinner in Hell, that much is obvious.

"Come now, Dear! You should be smiling! You know you're never fully dressed without one!" He sounded so cheerful, it irked you. Made your stomach feel like it was in a knot.

"Yeah." Your response wasn't formal or polite, and if Vaggie heard you, she would have been pissed. But you didn't care, this guy was bad news and you were certain that he would be the downfall of everyone in there. "Here's your key, your room number is on it." You said, rolling your eyes.

It seemed he didn't catch your eye roll or the 'tude' in your tone, "Thank you!" He cheered, grabbing the keys from you and walking off with a smile.

As soon as he walked off though, you marched right from behind the counter to where Charlie was.

"Hey, Charlie?" You asked, waiting for her to gather her thoughts as she was still at the bulletin board.

"Hey (Y/N)! What's up? And you've done a great job today, keep it up!" Charlie cheered you on, but it was funny. Charlie didn't even know you had slept in and just started your shift of the day. You had barely done any work. But she was too busy to know that.

"Who's the creeper with the large smile? He said he was gonna be managing the hotel." You questioned, hoping for her to ask who you're talking about. Of course you can only hope.

"Well... that's The Radio Demon. He would like to help us and our hotel." She sounded almost nervous saying that.

"Oh." You had nothing else to say so you just walked off.

It was hard to believe that ꓄ꃅꍟ ꋪꍏꀸꀤꂦ ꀸꍟꂵꂦꈤ was going to 'help us and our hotel'. You'd never seen what he'd look like before, you've heard that he was horrific and to be wary and careful around him. That he'd broadcast his victims screams on his radio show. But what you had seen was nothing more than a clown, a pathetic one. The place he wants to come to after 7 years of absence, is this hotel. The Radio Demon is going to fuck everyone over.

After a few boring hours of waiting at the front desk for anyone else to arrive, you decide it's time to head back to your room. As you begin to walk up the stairs, you hear static in both of you ears. To the point it's all you can hear, it's just now flooding your brain. You cover your ears in an instant and begin to rush up the stairs and down the hall to your room. You ran into your room, ripping the door open and slamming it shut. That's when the static began to die down, finally it was silent. You took a deep breath, sliding down and against the door, you just sat there.

An hour passes and you're knocked out, still propped up against the door. Suddenly, there's a knock at the door and then a long waited pause. Soon after, a black shadow comes up through your floor in front of you and stares at you with a wide smirk. It then signals someone to come in. The shadow sinks back through the floor as one of the dual doors is opened. Alastor, The Radio Demon peaks in and sees you against the opposite door. He nudges his way through, and with the snap of his finger you're in your bed and under your covers. He pauses, wondering if he should stay and wait or leave. Eventually, he turns around and leaves, making sure to be quiet when shutting the door.

You're now in a black abyss, standing in the middle of nowhere. It's empty and dark. You begin to walk until you see someone in front of you, with their hands crossed behind their back. You walk closer and closer, until you see Alastor. He turns around and grins. He stretches his arm out as a green chain appears in his hand. Chains are now wrapped around your neck as you fall to your knees and clutch at your neck. It feels bruised and tight, it's hard to breathe. Then suddenly your vision goes dark.

You wake up, gasping for air and clutching at your neck, your hands flinging to your throat as you sit up in a panic. It was just a nightmare, you hardly ever had any. When you calm yourself, your arms drop to your sides and your breathing slows. You were just sitting against your door and now you're in bed, why? Why is all of this happening to you, you think. Lifting your hand to your head as now you have a pounding headache. You wonder if somehow The Radio Demon was the cause of your nightmare, seeing as he was in it. You roll back over and lay down, curling into a ball and bringing the blankets more over yourself. Something has to be done about him.

[gilverrwrites]

I'm not a skeptic anymore

Axel Walker/Rogue!Reader, 2.5K words How Axel unexpectedly bagged, and probably fumbled the girl of his dreams. Warnings: Unhealthy relationships, vouyerism, somno, crime, swearing, general crudeness, DUB-CON.

“You don't know what you've got until it's gone.” “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” “Yada yada yada.” Axel had never cared for that sentimental crap, and would never have agreed with anyone who did, until your fake name showed up in his visitor log.

After years of pursuit, apparently, his incarceration was what finally tipped the scales in his favour. You missed the million text messages he sent you each day, even the borderline pornographic ones. You missed the way he shamelessly backed you up in any fight, even when you both knew you were wrong. You missed his laugh, and the feel of his metal finger poking your soft bits whenever you’d get lost in your own head. You even missed the stupid pranks he pulled on you; sure it was annoying when he stole your clothes or messed with the thermostat, but it's become so commonplace in your life that it felt almost wrong to go a full day without uttering his name like a swear word.

You just missed him.

And you tell him as much, with your hand pressed to the glass, eyes all big and hopeful. The lacey blue top is a nice touch too. If he wasn't still locked up, he'd think he'd died and gone to heaven.

Even though you're here, professing your love to him, you're still a little taken aback when Axel’s immediate response is; “Marry me.”

It’s not a romantic gesture. Okay, maybe a little. He'd be lying if he said he hadn’t fantasized about sweeping you away to Vegas, putting a ring on your finger and getting you pregnant, but there's a whole lot of parental trauma he's not ready to unpack before he ties you down like that.

Nah. This is about getting his dick wet.

Len has promised they'd break out together when the time is right. Rogues never serve longer than they deem appropriate for their crimes, but Axel has no idea when that time would be up, however.

And you. You're sitting there all dolled up for him, saying all the things he's waited years to hear. He can't wait for an undetermined amount of time to get you naked. To hear you call his name while he finally gets a taste of your juices. To feel your tight pussy clenching on his cock.

He hasn't worked out the how yet, since you're a wanted criminal, but if the two of you get hitched he can apply for conjugal visits.

It takes some convincing, but the moment you give him a hesitant “Yeah… okay. Let’s get married.” he's already picturing how hot you’ll look in a pretty white dress, and how much hotter you’ll look when he’s fucking you out of it.

You don't visit much during the planning phases, too high-risk an’ all, but you write and you send photos. Nothing incriminating, just pictures of the engagement ring you bought with a stack of cash Axel stashed away in an old hideout. Snaps of things you think he’d like; cool graffiti, a vandalised Flash statue, his initials still ranked #1 on Asteroids at the arcade.

But without a doubt, or an inkling of shame, his favourites are the more risque Polaroids you send. Before he even reads your letters he rifles through the envelope looking for new material to add to the bundle he keeps stuffed in his pillowcase. He has an order to them, from most to least clothed and without fail he goes through them every night, slowly palming his dick in even strokes as he uses the pictures to envision you giving him a strip show. Buildings tempo as you get progressively barer and dirtier until he spills his hot, milky cum all over the last picture of you; smiling at the camera, completely naked and sprawled out on his bed sheets.

The only exception is a snap of you in nothing but a pair of mismatched knee socks and his dark blue duster. He keeps that one pinned to the wall beside his bed. You're covered just enough that he doesn't care if his bunkmate sees it. It's the last thing he sees every night and the first thing he looks for every morning. It keeps him smiling.

It’s a couple of nights before the ‘wedding’, that an opportunity arises. Len would be pissed at him for breaking out without him, but that's a problem for another day.

Sure, he could sit it out, stay locked up, get married, but then what? Play the good inmate in hopes of being granted a couple of days with you every few months? Nah, he’ll take his chances if it means unrestricted access.

He has just enough time to grab his photos before he, his bunkmate, and a couple of guys from the same wing bounce. He splits off as soon as he can and heads for the closest Rogue safe house. It’s an old bunker, lost in the woods. His plan is to dig out some cash, an old prototype arm, and a burner to call you on. He’d swap into less conspicuous clothes, maybe fill his belly with whatever is left over before reconnecting with you, but it’s immediately apparent upon arrival that the place has been picked dry by someone.

He forages a can of out-of-date beans, and some old, moth-bitten clothes but there's little left by way of money or tech. All he has to work with is an old surveillance system that should feed into some of the other safe houses if he can get it working. No, he will get it working, he's good at this kinda crap, he’s just gotta keep his fingers crosses you're in one of them.

Good news, he gets it up and running, cobbled together with scraps, not bad for a guy working with one arm and there's even signs of life. Bad news, you’re nowhere to be seen.

He's about to give up hope when he remembers he also connected some of his webcams to this thing on a different channel, and he knows you’ve been sleeping in his bed, you said as much in one of your letters.

If he can just remember… if they're still working… BINGO!

You’re there, on the second to last live feed. He knows exactly where you are. He might not be able to reach you before you head out to the wedding that isn't happening, but if he picks a couple of pockets he can definitely scrounge a bus ticket that will have him there for when you get back. If he leaves now. Right now… Soon. He’ll go soon.

Right now he's glued to his seat, unable to take his eyes off you. You’re wearing one of his shirts, it doesn't quite fit right but it looks sexy as hell. There's stuff on your face too, something gooey, like a face mask, probably trying to look good for tomorrow. As if you needed any of the crap, as far as he’s concerned you're already the hottest woman he's ever met in real life. The thing that's really got him gripped though is that your legs are spread wide open. Two fingers buried deep in the slutty little pussy he's been dreaming about every night since you met, and your other hand is going at your needy clit like it’s the last chance you’ll ever have.

Shit, he wishes he could be there in that moment. Your mouth is hanging open and he bets you're making the sickest, hottest fucking sounds. You'd said you liked his bed because it reminds you of him, because it smells of him but he’d bet anything right now that the whole room reeks of your pussy. Bets you're so fuck soaked that the wet slap of your fingers plunging in and out of your cunt can be heard through the whole fucking building.

This could never beat the real thing, but he'd be damned if he was gonna pass on the opportunity to watch you fuck yourself like a bitch in heat.

He finishes in minutes, almost spewing his load the moment he digs his hand into his pants. He barely manages a few uneven strokes before he blows, making a mess of his pants before you've even finished. Imprisonment away from your goddess of a fiance can do that to a guy.

Luckily, he has it in him to go a second round by the time you finish. He stays to watch you get cleaned up and settle for the night. Ironically, he falls asleep watching you sleep.

Between the unplanned slumber, traffic, and a series of other unexpected delays, it's almost a full 24 hours before he makes it to you. He'd wanted to greet you when you got back, but yo’re already fast asleep. The only signs that you'd gotten up at all were your wedding dress and your smudged make-up. Drippy mascara stains your cheeks, from tears? Had you come straight back here and cried yourself to sleep? He could see how being stood up at the altar might do that. Gee, he hopes you don't stay mad at him. Once he'd explained it to you, you'd see how this was better in the long run, how you could be together-together instead of lying and jumping through hoops.

Fuck it, if your heart’s really set on a wedding he’ll take you to Vegas. You'd be down for that right? You’re cool. You could say your vows in front of Elvis, then he’d take you back to the honeymoon suite and you’d have nasty sex in a heart-shaped bed, or a hot tub, on the floor, on the couch. All of ‘em. Yeah, he’ll just wake you up and explain it, you’ll understand.

Only when he reaches for you, he can't help hesitating. All this time, no matter how ecstatic and excited he’d been, there was always that little niggling doubt in the back of his brain. How could you, beautiful, smart, badass you, want him? A part of him wondered if this whole ‘romance’ was a bit and that one day you’d pull the rug out from under him, revenge for being a pain in your ass, for chasing you down and nipping at your ankles like a forlorn puppy dog all this time.

Yet here you are, all puffy-eyed because of him, because you thought he'd rejected you. As if.

You're like some kind of picturesque, romantic fantasy and wet dream all wrapped in white just for him.

Maybe he can leave you to rest rest just a little bit longer he thinks, even as he runs his thumb across your parted lips. He doesn't have it in him to feel badly for further messing up your lipstick, the dishevelled look just does it for him too much. When your tongue darts out and licks his fingertip he's done for.

He'd toyed with the idea before, feeling you, playing with your body while you slept. He'd even snuck into your bunks while you slept a few times in the past and jacked off into your used underwear while watching you sleep, but he'd never crossed the line and touched you before, hadn't been brave enough. You're his girl now though, even if you dump him for leaving you at the altar, you're still his girl until the words leave your lips.

Those soft, pretty lips.

His only regret is that you're not awake to hear him jokingly whisper “You may kiss the bride.” before he places a chaste kiss on your lips, testing the waters to see how you’ll react. You shuffle around, humming sleepily until you're on your back and smack your lips together a few times but you don't wake, so Axel goes in for another, this time deeper, longer. He frights when your arms wrap around him, and your lashes flicker, but you still don't wake.

He shakes off your heavy hands as he works his way down to your neckline, leaving sloppy kisses in his wake. Sucking harsh, dark hickies where everyone can see. You reach for him a few times during, moaning so fucking sweet and obscene for him that it almost makes his eyes roll back, and it definitely makes his cock throb.

He's deathly careful as he inches down the neckline of your dress and bra, also white, so cute.

Your tits had looked unreal in the pictures you'd sent but he’d burn them all if it meant getting to look at the real thing, fucking stunning.

His mouth is watering as much as his dick is dripping pre-cum. He wastes no time digging it out of his pants and pressing the leaking head to one of your nipples until it shines with his slick.

They're sensitive, he can tell. Not just because he's ingrained the mental image of them pebbling through the fabric of your clothes in all sorts of temperatures, but because with every tiny move of his cock, you purse your lips and whimper for him, trembling under even the lightest touch. He wonders if you love having them played with, if you'd like him sucking and biting his teeth into them or if you get whiny and stubborn about it. Fuck. That’s gotta be one of the first things he tries when you're awake.

For now, though, he’ll settle for watching your serenely strained face while he ruts into the crevice between your tits.

He's gonna need two hands for that though.

He's quiet and careful as he starts searching the room for one of his prosthetics. It doesn't take long, he finds one in the bedside cabinet. He certainly can't remember ever putting one in there, but as soon as he notices the cloudy, dried substance all over the fingers he immediately knows what you've been up to. Filthy girl. His filthy, needy girl.

Readily equipped, he snaps back into action, Running both hands under the layers of fluff and lace that is your skirt until he grips your thighs and delicately starts manoeuvring your limp body to the centre of the bed.

“Axel?” His blood runs cold when he hears your strained, sleepy voice. “Axel, is that you?”

Your eyes meet, his wide, having been caught with his hands in the cookie jar. Yours still glazed with sleep, trying to piece together the sight before you.

“Uuuhhhh… Yeah. Hiya, babe.” He cracks a smile to try and lighten the situation. “Sorry I uh, missed the wedding. I-”

He struggles to come up with a funny quip. Dog ate his suit? Went to the wrong prison chapel? Bad hair day? Doesn't matter anyway.

Before he can form the words, you’re clinging to him, using him to pull yourself until your lips are locked together. The kiss is hard and urgent, the kind neither of you want to end so you keep sucking in air between brushes of your lips before continuing with twice as much tenacity than before.

As you pull apart he starts to believe that maybe he'd over estimated how pissed you would be aft- SMACK!

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Batch Family: The Second Day of February

A peek into Beth's life on February 2nd through the years.

Part of my AU "The Batch Family" [Collection Masterlist]

Word count: 2k | Batch ages: Multiple

Note: The sections don't necessarily follow any sort of pattern or theme, I just liked the concept of seeing what's going on on the same day each year. It's also very Beth-centric, even though the section headers are the boys' ages. And I teased a lil somethin-somethin for her future at the end 🫢

5 months old

"Are you sure you're up for it?" Beth asked, cradling the receiver between her cheek and shoulder as she fiddled with papers strewn across her desk.

"Girl, you couldn't pay me enough to get out of this house," Arla sighed on the other end of the line.

As if on queue, a baby started crying in the background. Beth shook her head, grateful she was far from having such chaos in her home. Granted, if her friends saw the mess of portfolios and proposals her internship had her up against, they'd probably say the same thing.

"Sheeka, too," Arla said calmly through the wailing. "You know she had the audacity to say we're co-parenting her brood? Like bitch, I didn't get the IVF quadruplets. My Echo's enough to handle on his own, thank you. Yes... yes he is... oh he's just one big cute handful isn't he..."

As Arla's voice devolved in high-pitched coos, the crying quieted down into mere fussing. Beth hardly noticed her friend was no longer paying attention to their call; she really wasn't either. A lot had changed in all of their lives. Pretending to carry on their nightly phone conversations was a thin and desperate thread holding their friendship together.

"Well, let me know if anything changes," Beth eventually said. "I could really use the extra night to prepare for this presentation."

There was a raspberry sound, possibly from Arla though it could've also been from her baby. It was hard to tell. "Oh, and I'm the one that needed to be convinced to take a night off. I see how it is."

"I'm just saying, if your babysitter falls through, or Sheeka changes her mind, or..."

"Beth. Put down the paperwork. Step away from the spreadsheets. We're going out drinking and that's final."

The line clicked and Beth sighed, though she wasn't mad. She missed her friends. It would be good for them to get out and have fun, like they used to before all these adult responsibilities. She just hoped she wouldn't have to hear about yet another baby story....

- - -

5 years old

"Hun, get your feet off the table."

Beth swooped through the living room, whisking up toys and shoes and even a piece of pizza crust. She couldn't even remember the last time they'd had pizza.

"My feet aren't on the table, my socks are," Hunter said.

Beth decided to ignore the comment as she was already halfway down the hall.

"Stop it!" Crosshair whined as Beth popped into the first bedroom, depositing one set of shoes and picking up another.

Wrecker only giggled as he continued batting the stuffed animal in his brother's face.

"Stoooop!" Crosshair pushed at him a bit. Wrecker stumbled back dramatically.

"Moooom, he pushed me!" Wrecker wailed.

Beth snatched away the stuffed toy, adding it to the collection of odd items in her arms. It's not like she bought them a bunch of things. Money was tight and she never wanted them to have too many possessions to take care of. But there were five of them, so the quantity still added up whether she liked it or not.

"No hitting. No pushing," she said before leaving.

The next bedroom was worse than the last. Bedding on the floor, toys on the beds, a pile of sticks in the corner. Where had those come from? She hadn't let them outside all day.

She dumped the items from her arms onto the nearest bed. She'd have to deal with all this later.

"Where you going, Momma?"

Tech shuffled behind her down the hall. He kept pulling up his pants. Great, she must've accidentally put him in Wrecker's again.

"Bathroom. Please don't follow me."

"That's unfortunate."

Her eye twitched. He said that phrase all the time now.

She hurried into her room and Tech stopped at the doorway. They didn't always obey that one house rule of Mom's room being off limits, so she was always surprised when they did choose to stay out.

Beth closed the bathroom door and let her head rest against the wood. She was losing it, she could feel it. She'd made it through the sleepless nights of infancy, the tantrums of the terrible twos, the scariness of their first day of school. But right now, for some reason that may only be a symptom of PMS-ing, she felt more overwhelmed than ever. She had so much to do, constantly. The boys were everywhere. She felt like she barely connected with them outside of commands to stop doing things. When had she become this person? When had she stopped being a good mom?

She took in a few measured breaths. Something had to change. She wasn't sure what, or how, but she was determined to turn this ship around.

- - -

10 years old

"Pardon me for the intrusion."

Cody gave Beth a nod as he stepped into the kitchen. She looked up from her recipe book in surprise.

"Your boys invited me to scope out their spot for the tree house. Hope you don't mind."

"Of course not!" Beth gave an easygoing smile. "I'm so glad you're helping them with this. I'm afraid my carpentry skills don't extend past IKEA bookshelves."

Cody laughed. "Well, your boys are more eager to learn than mine. I'll make sure they get some useful skills out of this, and stay safe."

"I appreciate that."

Cody looked like he was about to continue the conversation, but then Hunter and Tech tugged on his sleeves and pulled him reluctantly away into the backyard to join the others. Beth shook her head in amusement as she watched them through the window. They skipped about as they explained their plans, talking over each other, desperate for his attention. Cody remained calm and directed their energy easily.

Beth felt a little twist in her chest. Not for the first time, she wished she had a man. Not Cody specifically, of course. But someone strong and kind and capable of handling all the things she failed at. Someone the boys could look up to. Someone she could lean on.

She quickly shook herself. No, dwelling on those thoughts would only make it worse. She had to make it on her own.

"It is what is it," she muttered, flipping to the next page of recipes and pretending dinner plans were the most important thing to focus on.

- - -

15 years old

"Excuse me, do you have the time?"

An elderly woman paused by Beth's cart with a friendly smile. Beth pulled out her phone to check

"Ten 'til four."

"Thank you, dear."

The woman's squeaky wheel kept moving down the aisle and Beth returned to her comparison of two protein powder brands. In the back of her mind, she couldn't help but rattle off her boys' schedules.

Ten 'til four on a Tuesday... Hunter and Wrecker in driver's ed. Echo at debate practice. Tech with his study group. Crosshair walking home.

At least, that's where they all should be, and she felt it to be true even though there was always the possibility of a teenage boy doing his own thing without her knowing. She didn't mind them having their freedom, but she also preferred to still picture them as her perfect, well-behaved boys.

She finally settled on one of the protein powders and pushed her cart along. She turned the corner toward the registers and tried not to grimace at the excessive displays of Valentine's food and flowers. It was barely February and the stores had had this crap out for weeks already. All the same, she did slide a box of heart-shaped chocolates into her cart. No one else would be buying her any.

Just as she found a register with a short line, however, came a commotion from behind her. The old woman from earlier had collapsed into a display of conversation hearts. Beth abandoned her cart and rushed over to her.

"Ma'am, are you okay? Can you hear me?"

Beth cradled the woman's head and checked for a pulse. Her eyes fluttered open and cast about in confusion.

"I... I don't know what happened..."

Others in the store were hovering, looking to be of help. One crouched beside Beth and caused her to do a double-take. It was her neighbor, Commander Wolffe.

"Ma'am, are you hurt anywhere?" he asked in his rough, deep tones. Beth instantly felt flushed and nervous, as she always did around the man.

"I... just wanted some candy... for my grandkids..."

"I'll call for help," Beth said, taking out her phone.

Wolffe shook his head and began helping the woman up. "I'll take her to the hospital in my squad car. You'll be alright, ma'am. We'll make sure you're taken care of."

"But..." The lady, leaning heavily against Wolffe, pointed at the fallen candy display. "I get them every year...."

"How many grandkids do you have?" Beth asked.

"Five."

Beth smiled. She quickly grabbed five boxes of the conversation hearts and handed them to Wolffe, looking over at the store manager who was standing nearby.

"You can ring them up with my cart," she said and the manager nodded in agreement.

Beth watched as Wolffe slowly walked the woman out the doors. She glanced down and noticed he'd left behind a basket of items. She scooped it up.

"And this, too," she said to the manager, who ushered her over to a register.

Wolffe reminded her of the boys she'd grown up with. Jango, with his quiet and serious demeanor, and Boba with his rugged assuredness. He intimidated the hell out of her. She wasn't sure she could ever be with a man like that, but she felt like at this point in her life, she might owe it to that little voice in the back of her mind, that suspiciously sounded like a combination of Arla and Padme, to at least be open to the idea. They'd been neighbors for a few years now but rarely interacted. Maybe a door would open by taking him his groceries.

- - -

20 years old

"Well? Shadow or no shadow?"

The man in bed beside her mumbled as he rolled over and rubbed at his eyes.

Beth sighed. "Shadow."

"And what does that mean again?"

"Six more weeks of winter."

He groaned and she joined him. She tossed her phone across the bed and wiggled in closer to him. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.

"What are we going to do with these six weeks, mm?" he hummed against her.

Beth dragged her finger through the hair on his chest in thought. Things were so different now. Two decade of madness, trying to keep up with her boys and all their activities. She'd still worked, had some of her own hobbies and passion projects. But never this much time to do with as she liked.

And never with a partner.

"What if..." There was one thing, one dream she'd always had but never actualized. Maybe there was a way the two of them could finally figure out how to make it happen.

"Go on," he encouraged. She could feel his lips smile against her forehead.

"What if we got a cabin in the mountains somewhere? Like, a B&B, or maybe Padme knows someone who'd let us rent for a few weeks? We can invite the boys. I know they all have their things now, but even if they stopped by for a few days, whenever they had the time... I don't know. Maybe it's a silly idea."

"No. No, no, no." He pulled away to cup a hand along the side of her face. He was grinning. "That sounds fantastic!"

"Really?" she asked. It still felt strange for her to voice what she wanted, and to have someone so readily support it. "We'd probably just be doing the same things we'd be doing here at home..."

"But it'd be in a cabin so it'd feel more special," he nodded, as if he was finishing her sentence. "I'll teach you how to snowboard, we'll get fires going in the evenings, we'll wear nothing but flannel... it'll be great!"

His smile was infectious. Beth grinned in return. She leaned forward to kiss him but he was already shimmying out of bed.

"No time to lose!" he beamed. "Call Padme. Let's make this happen."

Beth fell back on the bed with a huff. She loved her husband, but sometimes he could be just as much a handful as her sons.

Every Story Tag: @dangerousstrawberrypie, @sleepycreativewriter, @cw80831, @cdblake1565 The Batch Family Tag: @kaijusplotch, @marvel-starwars-nerd, @lackofhonor, @flowered-bicycles, @techie-bear, @skellymom Cannot tag (please update your blog settings to allow tagging or notify me of a name change): @the-stars-ar3-with-us, @horoscope-misreader96

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[clownery-and-fuckery]

More!!!! Nemec, Fireball and Howzer content brought to you by yours truly ✨️ I'm so devastated by the pain I'm inflicting upon them.

Rex and Echo found Nemec and Fireball in a bin after they defected. They were homeless, jobless, all the lesses and preparing to sell their limbs for food

Fireball bit Echo because he thought he was a threat. He claims Echo tasted awful all the time. Echo blames living with Hunter and the others on that

But really, Nemec and Fireball weren't doing well at all- they had abandoned their squad, after they defected, and when their brothers didn't join, they were hunted down. They were half dead when Rex and Echo found them in that bin

Fireball hasn't really gotten over it, yet, he's unintentionally aggressive and always keeping them stocked up so they never end up where they used to be

Nemec says he's over it, but he isn't. He's just quicker to put others ahead of himself, because he doesn't want others to go through the things he did. It wasn't fair, and he won't leave another behind

That being said- the rebellion is hard. It's not safe, they're jumping from mission to mission, base to base, they're tired. They're suffering. They find joy where they can

That's why Fireball enjoyed learning from Gregor how to cook. He shadows him whenever he can come around, follows every recipe he leaves for him- when they can afford it, Fireball gives them the best homecooked meals.

They work well together- Nemec looks UP to Rex. Working with him is a dream come true. He tags along with Rex all the time, like a shiny, and even copied some of his older moves once (gave Rex a RIGHT fright. He wasn't ready for Nemec to throw himself off a wall)

Howzer loves his brothers. He misses his squad- but he loves his brothers. He's always making sure they know it, too. He's always shadowing them, hovering- he trusts them, he understands they are trained soldiers, they can handle themselves.

^^ he's always with them. He's always protecting them. He would lay down his life from there.

Nemec and Fireball are among the youngest clones in the rebellion- at least, the youngest allowed to fight- Echo debated hiding them like the shinies who hadn't any real experience and Nemec and Fireball BEGGED. i mean on hands and knees. It freaked him out, honestly

They thought they were ready- they were, kinda.

Freeing Howzer was basically him realising it was just the war all over again. Because that was a child. Why is a child freeing him? (Ignoring he's only like a year older....)

In happier(ish) times, Nemec liked to slide alone cruisers without his shoes on, gliding through the halls in socks because he got around faster

^^ hes crashed into so many things. He once crashed INTO the medbay while going in for a slide-related injury.

Fireball thinks its the best mode of transport- he does it all the time

Howzer thinks its a hazard. They laugh at him and slide away.

Fireball always said he'd get a cool scar like Commander Cody one day, and Nemec often told him he wasn't gonna hold his face together if something like that actually happened.

^^ he would. In a heartbeat.

Nemec only has the one scar from the war- and it wasn't because of any battle. He fell during his scout.... his chin has a scar. Fireball told everyone it was a separatist droid he fistfought

(Howzer didn't believe him....)

Greer is like that one cousin they don't see often, but when they do its to go smoke space weed while Howzer, Rex and Echo plan their next move

(No, he doesn't actually give them the weed... he doesn't think they can handle it)

Samson and Greer are the sound siblings that let the others blast tunes and fuck around when is their turn on watch- they're only responsible when they're on perimeter. Inside patrol?? Crank the radio up. The ones outside will handle things

Samson helped Nemec and Fireball repaint their helmets when they joined to welcome them (and he also punched Nemec because he forgot he was there... that bunk had always been empty, okay?)

I have more... always, but take these :)

[iwaoiness]

Where he belongs

One of the things Iwaizumi loves most is hugging Oikawa. He likes how Tooru's body fits so well in his arms, how their hands find their place, how their hearts beat over each other, how his bangs tickle him, how Tooru's voice sounds softer and shy and sweet near his ear. And he also likes the way Oikawa hugs him back, how he wraps his arms around him and pulls him close against his body and snuggles in like a kitten.

Hugging Oikawa is synonymous for home and security and love. It's something that brings Iwaizumi calm when his nerves are eating him up inside, that relieves his stress when the day has been a real shit, that fills him with tenderness when he wants cuddles, that recharges him completely when he come home exhausted, like now.

"I'm home" He mutters as he walks through the door, locking it with the heel of his foot as he drops the keys on the front cabinet.

"Welcome home, Iwa-chan!" He hears his reply from the living room and smiles despite the tiredness building up in his eyelids.

He changes his shoes at the genkan, leaves his backpack on the step and walks into their home. He finds Oikawa stretched out on the couch's chaise lounge, with his Mac balanced on his thighs, wearing his ridiculous neon yellow socks with UFO prints and a frog headband tucking his bangs back. His big round eyes sparkle behind the crystals of his glasses when sees Iwaizumi and he gives him a wide, toothy smile, closing the laptop before leaving it on the decorative little table next to the sofa.

"Your dark circles under your eyes are worse, Iwa-chan. You really don't want to try the caffeinated eye contour I bought? This is the last chance the great Oikawa-san gives you." He says with amusement, opening his arms to invite Iwa-chan into a recharging hug.

"I’m honoured by the privilege you grant me, great Oikawa-san" Hajime plays along, shuffling his feet to the couch, "but no thanks, I have my own method" and with a final smile, he plops down on Oikawa unceremoniously, delighting when the other squeals and protests with a you're so brute, Hajime!

But Tooru's arms soon wrap around him in a hug that smells like grapefruit. Hajime wraps his arms around his torso in return, and he feels himself breathing for the first time since he began his 48-hour ward at the hospital, his body immediately melting and cuddling into the warm, old sweatshirt Oikawa is wearing (which was actually Iwaizumi’s and miraculously retains the Godzilla silhouette print in the top corner).

"How was your shift? Did you get any sleep this time?" Tooru's voice sounds soft and delicate, one of his hands settles on Iwaizumi’s hair and begins to stroke it tenderly.

"Mmh" He hums in response, closing his eyes.

"Is that a yes or no, Hajime?" his laughter reverberates against his ear and he smiles lazily.

"Mmh" He repeats, just to tease. "I missed you" He adds, low, just because he wants to.

"If hospital shifts make you more affectionate, you can work every night" Tooru jokes, a shy tinge coating his voice, and Iwaizumi snorts with fun, enjoying Oikawa's fast heartbeat.

"Are you sure? Because I remember on my first guard you missed me so much too that you came with the excuse of giving me dinner."

"How ungrateful, Iwa-chan, I really did bring you dinner!"

"It was five o'clock in the morning."

"I brought you breakfast!" He corrects with a pout in his voice and Iwaizumi continues to tease him just a little bit more, with Oikawa's hand still stroking his hair with parsimony and affection and their legs entangled on the couch.

Here, Hajime thinks, levitating between sleep and consciousness, warm against the body of the person he loves most in the world, here is where I want to be.

...

u can find this and other fics on my ao3 🌻

[ceekbee]

This is hilarious!!

He’s nailed it…😜😂😂

1. When one door closes and another door opens, you are probably in prison.

2. To me, "drink responsibly" means don't spill it.

3. Age 60 might be the new 40, but 9:00 pm is the new midnight.

4. It's the start of a brand new day, and I'm off like a herd of turtles.

5. The older I get, the earlier it gets late.

6. When I say, "The other day," I could be referring to any time between yesterday and 15 years ago.

7. I remember being able to get up without making sound effects.

8. I had my patience tested. I'm negative.

9. Remember, if you lose a sock in the dryer, it comes back as a Tupperware lid that doesn't fit any of your containers.

10. If you're sitting in public and a stranger takes the seat next to you, just stare straight ahead and say, "Did you bring the money?"

11. When you ask me what I am doing today, and I say "nothing," it does not mean I am free. It means I am doing nothing.

12. I finally got eight hours of sleep. It took me three days, but whatever.

13. I run like the winded.

14. I hate when a couple argues in public, and I missed the beginning and don't know whose side I'm on.

15. When someone asks what I did over the weekend, I squint and ask, "Why, what did you hear?"

16. When you do squats, are your knees supposed to sound like a goat chewing on an aluminum can stuffed with celery?

17. I don't mean to interrupt people. I just randomly remember things and get really excited.

18. When I ask for directions, please don't use words like "east."

19. Don't bother walking a mile in my shoes. That would be boring. Spend 30 seconds in my head. That'll freak you right out.

20. Sometimes, someone unexpected comes into your life out of nowhere, makes your heart race, and changes you forever. We call those people cops.

21. My luck is like a bald guy who just won a comb.

🤣🤣🤣

[brick-a-doodle-do]

I will def be sending more but a lil tied up atm so here is the first one I thought of.

Why is it that Humans always end up with odd socks?

Could it be that perhaps a small tiny finds humour in watching the Human bend over backwards trying to find the missing sock?

(You can do any characters but I think a tiny Tommy stealing socks to prank people would be hilarious! Or maybe even tiny bench trio stealing everyones socks :3 go wild Brick!!!)

ahhh becky thank you! this is a very cute idea :D i'm tackling all the fluffy ideas first because it's easy to keep those short dsfjfsfjd

(might make this a multi-parter or an au because i think i jumped the gun with how quick tommy was found. lmk!)

i'll be unclean, i'll be obscene

cw: swearing, brief panic

wc: 784

—–—

One, two, three, four, five, ah, so on—he's bored now.

Point is: he's doing good. While his little sock-stealing hobby had begun when he'd simply needed the material, he had lived through the humans' frantic responses to when he took only one, and he found the scene to be rather amusing, which immediately struck up an urge to do it just purely for the hysteria it caused.

Now, five months down the line, he's got a healthy stash of mitch-matched socks that sit in unused hallways until he's ready to give them back. His decision to is always spiritic; one day he may decide to toss it somewhere, another day he'll return it to it's exact place, and occasionally he'll keep it to give into his greedy urges.

Tommy usually only does it because a human pisses him off. He can't say he particularly knows the human he's housing with, and he can't say that he can tell them apart all of the time, and technically, he doesn't really know their names apart from an occasional yell that's too incoherent for him to make out, (Techno? That couldn't be right), but he does know who irritates him: all of them.

Living in a house with a middle-aged man and two young adults drew a tough situation; things were either too messy to be considered his time, (Seriously, how is he meant to make a beeline to the thing he wants if it's blocked off by fucking mountains of clothing and trash? Gross as shit.), or too tidy to be able to be hidden in case of an emergency.

Which is why they get on his nerves, hence why he doesn't find it harmless to steal a few socks every now and then!

As of late, a human had obscured his view of the house with a shopping bag, (Which he used for safety), , but not for food—for clothing. The tall one. Wil? Wilba?

So, off he went, down the ramp leading to his spot in the walls and straight through the dim walls, where he followed the path from muscle memory, (The brown-haired human pissed him off a lot), until he saw an opening.

He steps out, smothered by half-darkness and half-light. The hole in the wall was under Wilbur's bed, hidden behind where Wilbur usually kept his guitar.

It was risky, but the stand was enough to keep it hidden, and plus, it was easy to scale up it and find footing on Wilbur's nightstand, which led to the windowsill, which led to a series of shelves, which led to his dresser.

So, he follows that path, digging his nails into the foamy texture of the guitar stand and making a determined move to the nightstand.

He traces the length of the tabletop, then pulls a hook from his cloak and gathers the rope attached to it, winding it carefully and making sure his shot would be easy.

Tommy moves his arm back, then throws the hook overhand. It catches onto the end of the windowsill and he tugs, before moving closer so he can start climbing. His arms lack good strength,(Although at this point they really shouldn't), and he struggles to get up.

He curses out as he slips, but catches onto the windowsill before falling any further. Tommy pulls himself up and gathers his hook from it's spot in the wood, then continues on. He climbs up to a shelf with practiced ease, then jumps down to the dresser.

Sock drawer, next stop. Fortunately, it was the highest drawer in the thing, next to another one that he had little interest in. Socks were his expertise.

He shifts to kneeling down, where he peers over the edge at the handle, which is positioned down, as it often is. Ah, well, he can pry it open.

Tommy does simply that, putting a hand in the crease of the drawer and using all of his strength to creak it open. It's a slow and agonizing process that leaves his arm screaming from the usage, but it gets him what he needs.

Fucking prick will think next time before leaving clothing in the kitchen.

He climbs in, making a quick glance to the door as he does.

Unfortunately for him, as he makes the gesture, a large and impending shadow is bestowed upon his thievery, and he's left gazing up, and up, and up, and...

Ohfuckingfucktheresahandcomingrightforhim—

He yells out as two fingers pinch at the back of him, holding him up by the hood of his cloak as the brown-haired human stares at him in mild disgust, brief curiosity and seeping amusement.

"Ah, you're a pesky fucking thing, then, aren't you?"

—–—

[bringbacktim]

Reposting this on here because I just re watched season 11 of taskmaster and I love Greg Davies so enjoy I guess (feel free to request any greg Davies fics)

Dressing room- Greg Davies

Warnings: use of degrading words(slut, whore , cockslut etc) , dom and subs, use of the word pussy )

Not edited or proofread

Wc: 706 words

It was a well known fact that Greg Davies and Y/n Y/l/n were dating , so when it was announced she was going to be a contestant on taskmaster everyone knew it was bound to be invasive and hilarious

The contestants alongside her this season were : James Acaster, Mike Wozniak, Sarah Millican , and Joe Thomas. ( my absolute favourite contestants + a few)

Y/n was excited to see her boyfriend pretend to be mean on TV ( it turned her on let's be honest)

She had been a little bratty towards Greg these last few days and it was definitely going to show in this episode

They barely spoke backstage before going onstage which was unusual, and she knew she was going to pay for it later

After all the introductions and weird/funny monologue that Alex does it was time for the prize task , this episode it was 'sneakiest thing' and she thought it'd be funny to bring in something of his from their house just to see his reaction

James brought a dog mask with his new book 'James Acaster's guide to quitting social media' hidden behind it for publicity. This earned him 4 points

Mike Wozniak brought in a pen which he got Greg to sign a piece of paper saying "Well done for your five points", telling Greg that it was for Tseikna Engsith doing well on a test. It was then revealed that the pen Greg used was a spy pen and recorded Greg reading the sentence out loud. It was then revealed that Tseikna Engsith is an anagram of "Sneakiest thing". He received 5 points

Sarah brought in a knock knock joke with parts of the answer hidden in people's pockets: Sarah in Greg's pocket, Pinhead in Mike's pocket and Millican in Joe's pocket. She also got Alex's wife to mail her two of Alex's socks which she was wearing. She also received 4 points.

Joe brought in a fake Oxford Dictionary containing a Pearson's Mini Dictionary. He received 2 points.

Finally , Y/n brought it in a pair of trousers from his dressing room , which backfired because he knew they were missing. Earning her a single point for the idea

"This is so unfair, how could you of possibly known" she sulked

"I'm the boss , people tell me things" he said with a serious face

"Just be glad I didn't bring what I was originally planning to" she said with a devious smirk

"I already know what you're talking about and I'm so glad you didn't"

The first few tasks were shown on screen and the couple shared a few little arguments and banter between them , as Greg said his farewell to part one he went back to his dressing room hoping for her to be there as well

He was in luck as he pushed the door open and there she stood

"You think you're so funny , don't you?" He said clearly angry

"Probably because I am" she said back like a school kid

"Don't think you'll find it funny when you can't walk after the break because I've fucked you silly over this vanity" he said taking a stride over to her

"Is that a promise?" That was the last straw before he grabbed her hips in his hands and roughly bent her over the vanity and stared at her through the mirror as he stripped them both of their trousers

"God I forgot what a whore you are for my cock " he said feeling how wet she was as she hummed in response knowing if she opened her mouth a moan would come out

"Your pussy is so greedy , always wanting my cock pounding you , don't you?" He questioned already knowing the answer

"Yeah that's what I thought, now you're going to stay quiet like the cockslut you are while I punish you"  he said hoping this would be over quickly so they wouldn't get caught