#IT LOOKS AS IF SHE'S TWISTING HIS NECK I'M SORRY <3

[snivel1]

[luveline]

Helllloooo :) if at all possible, could I request a fic for when stripper!reader realizes that Spencer actually like-likes her? Maybe he finally makes a real move or plans a “fancy” date to show her how much she means to him? She definitely wouldn’t believe him at first/think she deserves it, but if it could be a happy ending, I’d appreciate it so much. 🥺🥺

🐈‍⬛ thank youuuu

ty for requesting <3 fem

He smells like coffee. 

"Hi!" you say, bending under the weight of his hug. 

"What are you," —he drags his face against your cheek— "doing here, I thought you were," —his hand cups your neck as he pulls away— "going to Moira's for the weekend?" 

"You sound so happy," you say, nonplussed. 

"Yeah I'm happy. Do you wanna stay over? We can go to the movies, or we can get takeout, we can do both." Spencer beams at you. "Sorry, I'm– I'm rushing. I'm just happy. Is everything okay? What happened to house sitting?" 

"Oh, nothing, she missed her flight," you say. "Can I come in?" 

Spencer ushers you inside. His apartment is cleaner than usual. He's actually had time to clean, it seems, the faint scent of disinfectant alive in the kitchen and fresh laundry folded on the table behind the couch. He follows your eyes. "I did the stuff you left, last time. But I ended up with like, three pairs of your socks? How did that happen?" 

"You didn't have to." 

"Why wouldn't I?" He goes to walk off but stops, twisting around to give you another hug from the side. "Tea?" 

Your face feels hot. "Yes, please." 

Spencer takes to the kitchen to make tea, one of your shared routines. He grabs the kettle from the cabinet, two mugs, and two teabags. You don't know why you stay in the living room as he fills the kettle. He's putting it on the stove when he says, "Oh, hey, I got you, uh– you liked my soap, right? The chamomile? So I got you some. It's in my room, and I got you some of your chocolates from Leaven." 

"You did?" 

You fail to hide your excitement. Spencer waves you away without looking. "They're with the soap."  

You laugh to yourself, leaning down to pull your sneakers off of your heels. You leave them by the couch and slip over the hardwood into his room, where your promised soap and chocolate sit on one of his desks. He calls them your chocolates, but you only ever tried them because he saw you looking at them one time and bought them as a surprise. You've been hooked on them ever since. 

You're thinking about what joke you can make to hear him laugh. Something on the nose about him ruining your future career aspirations or a flirty nothing, maybe. You just want me to fall out of shape so I can't work. 

The suitcase on the bed distracts you. Open, half packed. 

"Are you going somewhere?" you ask him, chocolates and soap held loosely to your stomach. 

Spencer takes the kettle off of the heat, bringing it to the two mugs to top them one at a time. "What?" 

"Your suitcase?" 

His shoulders tighten just so. "Well, there's this convention happening but I hate driving in the dark, so I figured I'd stay up there." 

"When, tonight?" 

"Yeah." He picks up the mugs and shoots you a smile. "But obviously I'm not going now." 

Obviously? Spencer rounds the side of the couch to sit down, murmuring for you to come and sit with him. You follow his order without question, setting yourself on the couch cushion beside him, and find there's little resistance in you to leave space between your thighs. He leans into you as soon as he's able and hands you your mug. 

There's something in his eyes. A warmth. A real affection. "I'd definitely rather be with you here than without you there. Even if there's a guest speaker who's actually managed to split shared arteries between conjoined twins while they're still in the womb." 

"You're interested in that stuff?" 

"Just for fun." He doesn't drink his tea. He probably didn't want any, a coffee mug already on the table, but he always makes two cups. You think it might be so you don't feel like you're an imposition. He's that special brand of thoughtful. 

"Can I ask you something?" you ask, your heartbeat a tangible thump under your skin. It's a silly question guided by a stupid thought, but you have to ask. You've always wanted to see other people's hands, so to speak, uncomfortable with the unknown. 

"Anything." 

You've exposed the most private parts of you and still it's hard to be vulnerable. It's easier knowing you're with Spencer, but not easy. "Do you like me?" 

Spencer doesn't do either of you the disservice of pretending he doesn't know what you mean. His voice is measured but shyness creeps in, an almost questioning lilt to his words as he says, "Well, yeah. I thought you already knew that." 

"I thought you… appreciated the aesthetic of me." 

"I do." He looks at your forehead rather than your eyes. "You know you're pretty, and your dancing, it's– it's pretty too. I think you're beautiful, but that's really not the only thing about you. You've been remarkably easy to fall for." 

His cheeks are suddenly red. A blotchy staining under his cheekbones and up over the bridge of his nose. He wouldn't lie, but the blush cements that he's telling the truth. Spencer really, truly likes you, enough to buy you the gifts that sit in your lap and to cancel trips. He'd rather stay home with you and drink tea on the couch than be anywhere else. 

"Spence, if you think it was easy for you, you have no idea what it's been like for me," you say quietly. That draws his eyeline back to your face. You smile at him gently. "No idea." 

He puts his mug down on the table to hug you. "Careful of your tea," he says, his smile audible.

You hug his arm to your chest with one hand. When he kisses the side of your head, you're pleasantly shocked. 

"I didn't realise," you say. "Sorry, Spence, I never–" Never thought you'd like me like that. "I didn't know." 

"I was just waiting for you to catch up." 

[endless-ineffabilities]

So High School (1/2)

Bucky Barnes x f!reader

synopsis : the one wherein the reader and Bucky navigate the initial stages of falling in love, and well, it feels a whole lot like high school <3

themes : friends to lovers, slight jealousy, Bucky and the reader are Avengers, everyone is alive!

word count : 2k ▪︎ masterlist

a/n : inspired by Taylor Swift's So High School - that song makes me so fuckin happy I can't even begin to explain it... This fic is all giddy and warm, kind of like when you have a crush, playfulness and jealousy abound 💙

You are almost certain that you left your beloved leather jacket back on the quinjet.

The mission made you exhausted, like they always do, and you remember taking your jacket off and settling in for a nap on the ride back to the Avengers compound.

"FRIDAY, is the quinjet still at base level?" you ask aloud to the compound's omnipresent AI overseer.

She chimes in straight away, "Yes, the quinjet is undergoing routine checks downstairs."

"Well," you say to yourself, "I could use the walk."

FRIDAY speaks again, unprompted, "There is one James Buchanan Barnes heading to your door right now."

Bucky? "Oh, right now?"

"Yes, he'll be knocking in 3... 2... 1..."

And sure enough, he does.

You open the door to his sheepish, easy smile. FRIDAY would definitely be picking up on your vitals, noting your clammy hands and jumping heartbeat.

You desperately hope that she would shut up about it, otherwise you might just literally throw hands with Tony.

"Hi," he greets. Just that - just 'hi' - and he has you blushing like a schoolgirl. Damn it.

"Hey," you reply. Glancing down, you realise that he has just what you're looking for.

The jacket. You mean your jacket. Mind out of the gutter, you kick yourself internally.

"I, uh, think you left this back at the - "

" - the quinjet."

"Right, and I, well - " he stammers, and you don't understand why, when you're clearly the nervous one here.

"You're... here to give it back to me," you help him out, smiling.

"Yeah," he nods, smiling back at you. Leaning against your doorframe, he stays right in place, and you suddenly feel conscious by the way he's just looking at you.

"Uhm, Bucky?" you break the silence after a while, anxiously laughing.

"Yeah, doll?"

"My jacket?" you hold out your hand expectantly.

"Oh, here," he quickly hands it over to you, and you thank him. But he stays, rubbing the back of his neck, brows furrowed in thought. "Listen, I was wondering if - "

"There you two are!" Sam's booming voice startles you, and you spot him walking down the hall. "Debriefing time, kids, come on."

"Oh, right," you groan, tossing your jacket somewhere behind you. Shutting your door, you turn to Bucky, "Sorry, Buck, can it wait?"

"Can what wait?" Sam butts in, ears like a bat. He nudges Bucky with his shoulder, and you swear you see Bucky glare at him, while blushing all the while.

"Nothing," he mumbles and the three of you make your way towards the elevators. When Sam becomes distracted by some new panelling Tony installed recently, you catch Bucky's eye, and shrug as if to say - you can tell me later.

He simply nods. When the doors open, you feel his hand on the small of your back, guiding you in. Just for the briefest of moments, but it lingers in your mind.

So much so, that Tony tosses a pencil at you during debriefing when you're spaced out and didn't answer his question.

"Daydreaming, princess?" Tony smirks.

"Leave her alone, Tony," Steve comes to your rescue, ever the considerate leader. "She's tired, just like the rest of us."

"Yeah, sure," Tony shrugs. "Or maybe Bionic Man over there is distracting her with all the staring he does."

"Shut up, Tony," Natasha protests, catching your surprised look.

"I'm not staring," you hear Bucky say.

"Oh, man, you stare all the time. At everything," Sam counters. "Especially at her."

"No. I don't."

"Yes, you do. Doesn't he, Steve?" Sam laughs, twisting around to share the joke with Steve, who just fondly shakes his head, patting Bucky on the shoulder.

Your mouth feels dry, face flushed from the suggestive bickering partially at your expense, and when you ask, "Alright, alright, what was your question, Tony?"

Tony cheekily smirks, and says, "Quick, Barnes, look away."

"Oh, god," you tilt your head back and stare at the ceiling.

It's a collective, "Tony!" that followed, likely from Steve and Nat. Possibly Bruce, too.

Tony asks you again, something about the safety measures in place for the civilians left behind.

When you answer his question, you can't help but feel a certain pair of blue eyes looking at you.

But that means nothing, right? Bucky's just listening to whatever you have to say. The mission had been important, after all.

Five minutes later, in the middle of Bruce's explanation, you feel it again.

So you look to the side, only slightly, catching Bucky quickly turning to draw his attention back at Bruce.

Oh.

"What are you smirking at me for?" you approach Natasha, while tightening your hand wraps. Some of the Avengers have convened for routine combat practice. You've been looking forward to it, mostly being cooped up in the two weeks after the recent mission.

Natasha sports her signature knowing look when she says, "You're paired with Barnes today, milochka moya."

"Bucky? And?" you clear your throat, and you clock Bucky and Sam entering the gym in your periphery. Is it just you or did your voice just crack? No, it couldn't have.

There's no reason to be nervous, no reason at all.

Sure, he'll get all sweaty and he'll have to get his hands on you and he'll get close... very close... pressed against...

"I see I've lost you already," Natasha is quick to note. "And we haven't even started yet."

Wanda joins you, greeting with, "Did you know you'll be paired with Barnes today?"

Oh my god. You exclaim, "Why is everyone making a big deal out of it?"

"Because," is all Wanda responds with.

"Thanks, Wanda," you nod sarcastically. "Thank you both. Can we just get this over with?"

"Guys?" you call out loudly, addressing everyone in the room.

"Yes, everyone. It is best if we start," Vision says, him being the supervisor for training today. Leave it to an all-knowing entity to be well-versed in every fighting art in existence.

He reads off the combat pairings for the day, and their assigned fighting style.

Clint and Nat, krav maga.

Wanda and Sam, aikido. Though to be fair, she doesn't really need to use her fists should it come to that. Wanda's powers were beyond your comprehension. This is mostly just a fun little exercise for her.

And finally, Vision says your name followed by Bucky's, with the fighting style of jiu-jitsu.

That damned close-contact sport. You're well-trained in it, thanks to your job, but it involves a lot of straddling and the opponent heavily breathing down on your face. It wasn't exactly your first choice out there in the field.

But here? Well, it seems like you don't really have a choice.

Well, you do. And would you really choose otherwise?

Close contact with Bucky?

"Hey, doll," he walks right over, all prepped and ready. Clad in a black compression shirt and grey sweatpants. One look at him and you know you're not likely to survive this training session.

"You ready to get your ass kicked?" you cheekily say, as you to walk over to your designated area of the room with him right on your tail.

He smiles, mumbling something which sounded like, " - let you do anything you want to me."

"I'm sorry?" you blurt out, occupying yourself with the control panel for the instructional hologram.

"Nothing," he bites his lip. Oh, he just knows you heard him.

"Okay, so - " The hologram starts right up, showing faceless figures go through a standard combat routine. Ankle sweep. Closed guard. Arm bar. Back and forth until someone taps out. Then all over again.

"Fun," you remark, moving to circle him on the mat. "Give it your best shot, Barnes."

He makes the first move, trying to sweep your leg with his own and failing. You're too quick for that. As long as you don't get sidetracked by that shit-eating smirk on his face, you'll be just fine.

He rushes at you again, but you jump out of the way. You manage you hook your leg around his torso, and use your whole weight to force him down on the mat.

You end up with one knee pressed to his chest, your forearm applying the slighest pressure on his throat. It's an easy position to counter, and he should be propelling you off of him already. Maneuvering your arm out of the way. Something. Anything.

But the man just stares.

You'll be damned, but Sam was right.

"Bucky, come on," you snap.

Instead of a countermove, he hits you with something more disarming. "You look good up there," he says.

"What?"

"I like the view," he only adds, speeding up the rush of warmth to your face.

Your body goes slack, and your pressure on his neck eases. You struggle to think of something nonchalant, something blasé to say in turn, when he takes advantage of the moment and flips the two of you over.

He ends up on top of you, legs caging you in, hands gripping your wrists by the sides of the face.

"Shit," you curse when you realise what just happened. "Well played."

"Thanks," he responds. "I meant it though, you do look pretty. Like always."

"Another trick, Buck?" You attempt to play it cool. Maybe you can play off the obvious flush on your face as physical exertion. Not whatever this is. Not because of him.

He only smiles, getting back on his feet and extending a hand out to you.

"Not a trick," he says, as you both get ready for the next round.

"I'd say I'm flattered, if you weren't trying to beat me in hand-to-hand combat."

"Doll, I think it's safe to say that you won already," he says, his gaze softening.

What is he on about? "Uhh, no, that was barely anything. We're supposed to keep going."

His brows furrow, though his smile stays in place, albeit a bit strained. "That's not what I meant," he exhales, reaching forward to attempt a restricting hold.

His expression turns serious then, steely gaze boring into you, analyzing your every move. He lunges at you, and you block him. But he tries again and again, each move more precise and forceful.

He steps back to take a breath, and you use the opportunity to sweep his ankle, but he sees it coming. In a flash, he pulls your arm and twists you around so that your back is pressed to his chest. You wrangle against him, making him fall on his back, but he keeps his hold on you.

His metal arm encases your torso with your arms pinned to your sides, and his legs wrap around yours. Air rushes out of you in shaky pants, and you move your head to the side, the only part of you still mobile.

And he's right there, the tip of his nose brushing against your cheek. The tension is almost too much to bear, because you feel all of him - the solid planes of his torso, the coarseness of his facial hair growing out - and for the love of all things sacred, you hope you don't accidentally wriggle your ass against his crotch.

Bucky wishes so too. He would never be able to live that down, especially if one of the others would come around and notice.

"Do you yield?" His voice is rough, commanding against your ear. Even though it's nothing more than an assertive whisper, a shiver runs through your body.

"Y-yes," you muster, "I yield."

He keeps his hold on you a moment longer, and before you can ask him if something's wrong, and why he's not letting you go yet, he releases you.

And it doesn't bring you relief, surprisingly. Almost as if you just want to go right back into his embrace.

As you two get back on your feet, Vision's sudden appearance almost makes you keel over, startling the living daylights out of you.

"That was good," Vision comments.

"What the - Vis!" you place a hand on your chest to calm down. "Maybe announce yourself when you show up please!"

"But I've been standing here for approximately 37 seconds," he expertly says.

"Okay, well - "

"You both did not notice me," he goes on, matter-of factly. "Perhaps it might have something to do with your sheer focus on one another - "

"Okay, Vision, thank you," you attempt to intervene, to no avail.

" - which is good. In combat, you do need to stay hypervigilant. Although, might I comment, that the sudden increase in arousal hormones is not really conducive to battle - "

"Vision!" you and Bucky exclaim in unison.

Thankfully, Wanda notices and comes to your rescue, "O-kay, Vis, why don't you come and check mine and Sam's progress, hmm?"

"Of course," Vision complies immediately and they walk away hand in hand. Must have something to do with his undying penchant for Wanda.

Wanda throws you an apologetic shrug, before her eyes get drawn downward to something else near you, and she has to bite her lip to hold back a giggle.

You feel Bucky's hand take hold of your waist, ever so gentle, and everything else is quickly forgotten.

"You okay?" he asks, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

He stands close, and you catch a hint of his scent, sandalwood and mint, layered beneath a musk that can only be undeniably Bucky.

You hum in affirmation. Shaking you head, you respond with, "Vision was just being... Vision. Can never keep his observations to himself." His thumb moves, caressing lightly at your waist, the movement seemingly instinctive for him.

"Yeah, well," he smiles to himself, before reaching up and tucking back a stray lock of hair from your face, "the thing about that droid is... he doesn't lie."

He steps back, rolling his shoulders, getting ready for another bout of combat. As if he didn't have you subdued already.

"He wasn't lying about me, at least," he smirks, before getting into a stance and putting his arms up.

Feeling brave, because there's no way you're going to come out of this interaction as the only one flustered, you respond with, "He wasn't lying about me, neither."

Bucky doesn't expect that, used to being the suave and cockier one out of this dynamic. His fighting stance loosens, and he barely croaks, "What?"

Gotcha.

It doesn't take long for you to sweep him off his feet.

When you're left straddling him once more, you hit him back with, "I like the view."

He bites his lip, and then laughs, flushed and impressed.

Still on the ground, staring up at you, he decisively ends the match, the final blow too much for you to bear. Because he settles for saying, "Still doesn't beat my view, beautiful."

After more than an hour of fidgeting around your room, clothes strewn everywhere and music blasted to calm you down, you were finally ready.

Bucky had asked you what you were doing for the weekend, and you said you didn't have anything in mind, but asked him if he wanted to watch a movie in the common lounge with you.

He eagerly agreed, before you two were interrupted by Sam mentioning something about new upgrades to Red Wing.

So you didn't get to clarify what the nature of the plan was. Likely it was just another hangout. It wouldn't be the first time you and Bucky watched a movie together, went on excursions on your motorbikes, or headed out to grab some sushi.

Save for Natasha and Wanda, he's the one you spend the most time with.

And none of those times ever was a date.

But you feel nervous as you walk down the hallway. You've been nervous all the while you spent getting ready, unable to choose the right top, and eventually settling for a V-neck cobalt blue shirt that he once said he liked on you.

You're nervous because tonight could be it. You've taken it upon yourself to finally ask him.

Ask him what exactly? Whether he likes you as someone more than a friend? Whether there is a reason to all that staring that he does?

Whether he wants to kiss you as badly as you want to kiss him?

So, something along those lines.

He's standing right around the entrance to the common lounge, and you immediately think at how sweet it is that he's waiting for you.

Until he broke the news.

"Doll, I - " Bucky says, right after you come into view. "Oh, wow, you look great."

Smiling widely, you look down like it was nothing, like you didn't just spend the last hour worrying. "Thanks, Buck."

"Uhh, I have something to tell you, actually. You remember Yori? The man from - "

"Of course I remember him," you nod, now confused at what he's getting onto.

"Yeah," he hesitates, not sure he wants to speak further. All he wants is to spend the night curled up in the lounge with you, but all that is gone when he continues, "he kind of set me up on a date."

"A date?" your stomach sinks.

"With Leah. You know Leah? The girl who works at the restaurant that we go to sometimes with Yori?"

"Yeah," you shrug and look away, hoping your expression doesn't give away too much, "I know who she is. So you have a date, huh?"

"Tonight," he confirms. "I didn't... didn't even ask her, really. But last night at dinner, Yori asked and she heard and said yes - "

"She's really lovely. This is good, Buck."

"Yes, but we made plans, and I didn't want to - "

"No, don't worry about it." you put your palms up, as if to show him that you take the situation lightly. It was no problem, after all. He has to go on this date. You can watch movies together any time.

"Doll," he sighs. "I was actually thinking that, since we had plans already, you could come with me? I'm sure she would understand - "

"Bucky," you laugh dryly, "I am not crashing your date."

"But - "

"No buts," you have to affirm. "You have a date, so it has to be just you and her."

He purses his lips, nodding. He tries to gauge your expression, whether you're pissed at him or anything, but he's only met with a reassuring smile.

"What time is your date?" you ask.

"In about 40 minutes," he replies, giving you a good once-over again, taking you in fully. You really looked good, and he wants nothing more than to just stare at you the whole damn night. If only he wasn't so polite. If only he had the guts to just turn Leah down.

His face falls when you say, "I guess you better go," with a hint of enthusiasm, not knowing that it's your attempt at putting on a brave face.

"What will you do?" he asks.

"I don't know," you shrug. "I'm sure I'll find something. The others are mostly around so - "

"Hey!" Steve rounds up the corner, still clad in his riding jacket, having returned from outdoors.

"Going somewhere, you two?" Steve asks, his signature congenial smile in place.

"Not me," you respond, smiling back. "But Bucky here has a date actually."

"A date?" Steve says, taken aback. Did Bucky not tell him about this? He looks between the two of you, trying to put things into place, "Do you mean - ?" He trails off, gesturing at you.

"No!" A nervous laugh bubbles out of you. Of course, not with you. You wish.

"Really?" Steve makes a face, like the thought of Bucky going on a date with someone else was ridiculous, but he quickly collects himself. It's none of his business, for now. But he'll surely grill his bestfriend on it later.

"Don't you have to leave, Buck?" you turn to him. "You don't want to keep Leah waiting."

"Yeah, I suppose I should. I'll, uh, talk to you later, okay?" He says, taking a few measured steps back. Not wanting to turn away, and have you out of his sight.

"Sure," you smile, but it's weak and you know it is. Watching him walk away, you can no longer hide the disappointment you feel.

Bucky is still within earshot when you turn to Steve and innocently ask, "Are you busy, Steve? Care to watch a movie in the lounge?" Steve of course agrees, and lets his arm drape around you.

Bucky knows that you and Steve are just friends. Steve has gotten a hint of how he feels about you, and far be it from him to take his friend's girl.

But it doesn't quell that sinking feeling, when he looks back. He sees you smiling up at Steve, as the two of you disappear into the lounge.

It's going to be a long night.

[2millu2]

The Visit- Sanemi Shinazugawa

ఌ Ft.Sanemi x Hashira reader

Synopsis: Your previous encounter with Giyuu was caught by the eyes of Sanemi the way you where with Giyuu he wanted that he needed that.

Warnings: Smut, PwP?, Oral (male receiving), penetration, dirty talking, fem reader, cumming inside, unprotected sex, slight nipple play, groping, doggy style, missionary, swallowing cum, cream pie, slight spanking, rough sex

An: The waited part 2 and I was thinking of making part 3 with giyuu and Sanemi, Threesome??? Wc: 2.5k words

Part one: Tantalizing Smell - Giyuu

:::: Flashback:::::::

You trailed idle, trembling fingers over the twitching muscles of his powerful back, mapping each ridge and scar as you cradled him against you. The touch was electric, igniting sparks that danced across his skin. When he finally lifted his head, spent but glowing with satisfaction, You cupped his stubbled jaw and brushed your lips over his in a soft, reverent kiss.

Their mouths melded together in a languid, sensual exchange, all urgency faded into a tender intimacy. As they parted, Giyu's eyes finally got back to their normal dark blue and he finally caught his breath. "I'm s-sorry, I don't know what came over me," he says, his body looming over yours, eyes filled with regret.

Y/n smiled reassuringly. "Hey, it's alright. It wasn't really your fault, and I'm not mad that it happened." Giyu's face turned bright red as he regained his usual composure. He then helped you put on your clothes, the air thick with an unspoken understanding.

Meanwhile, hidden behind a nearby tree, a man watched the scene unfold, his cock in hand, filled with his seed. "Shit," he muttered, tucking himself back into his pants. "Who knew she was a fucking slut, doing it with that bastard Tomioka." The unknown man's face twisted with jealousy and disgust before he quietly ran off.

:::: End of Flashback ::::::

Later, as you relaxed in a long-awaited bath, there came a loud knock at your door. Wrapping a towel around your body, you got up to answer, wondering who could be calling. "Um, hey, do you need something?" You asked nervously as she opened the door to find Sanemi standing there.

Sanemi, always so harsh and angry, fixed you with an intense gaze. "Yeah, I need to talk. Mind if I come in?" His tone was gruff, but there was an underlying tension that piqued your curiosity. You hesitated for a moment, clutching your towel tighter, before stepping aside to let him in.

"Uh, sure, come on in," you said, your heart racing. Sanemi walked past you. Once inside, he turned to face you, his expression unreadable. "Alright, let's cut the crap. I saw what happened with you and Tomioka earlier." His words were blunt, cutting straight to the chase.

You felt a flush of embarrassment creep up your neck. "Look, I don't know what you think you saw, but it's not what it looks like," you said, your voice wavering slightly. Sanemi scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Save it. I know exactly what I saw, and I gotta say, I'm not impressed." His eyes narrowed, and you could sense the underlying tension simmering beneath the surface. "So, what, you're just some kind of slut who spreads your legs for the first guy who comes along?"

Your breath hitched as Sanemi's rough fingers traced the delicate lines of your jaw. His touch was electric, igniting a spark deep within you that you couldn't quite extinguish. "I-I'm not a slut, Sanemi," you stammered, trying to maintain your composure in the face of his intense gaze.

Sanemi's lips curled into a grin, his eyes darkening with barely restrained desire. "Is that so?" He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your neck, and you shivered at the sensation. "Because from where I'm standing, you look like you're just begging to be claimed."

His hand slid down the curve of your neck, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin, and you had to fight the urge to lean into his touch. "S-Sanemi, w... what are you talking about," you stammered, your heart racing.

Sanemi chuckled, the deep rumble of his voice sending a delicious shiver down your spine. "Don't play coy with me, sweetheart. I saw the way you were with Tomioka. The way you touched him, the way you kissed him..." His hand drifted lower, tracing the edge of your towel. "I want that. I want you"

You felt a flush of heat spread across your cheeks, your body betraying you even as your mind raced. "Sanemi, this is... this is too much. I can't-" your words were cut off as he pressed a finger to your lips, silencing you.

"Shh, you can, Y/n." His voice was low and sultry, laced with a primal hunger that made your knees weak. "You know you want." His hand slipped beneath the towel, caressing the soft skin of your thigh, and you felt a wave of desire wash over you as you pressed your thighs together feeling your wetness starting to build up.

In that moment, you knew you was helpless to resist him. Sanemi's touch was rough and firm. And his lips crashed against yours in a bruising kiss, you surrendered yourself to Sanemi.

Your heart raced as Sanemi pushed his tongue inside your mouth his tongues fighting for dominance and Sanemi obviously winning, this was all happening too fast. But deep down, you knew you wanted this ever since you became a Hashira - you couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

You’ve had always been drawn to his raw power, his unwavering determination, the way he commanded a room with his mere presence. And now, with his strong, hands caressing your body, that buried attraction surged to the surface, overwhelming your senses.

Sanemi's hand gripped your ass under your towel pushing closer to his body, you feel his hard bulge press against your abdomen. You bite your lip as you begin to palm his hard bulge. "That's it, sweetheart," Sanemi growled against your lips, his voice dripping with raw desire.

"Give in. Let me show you how a real man takes care of you." His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of your neck as you grip his bulge as making him emitting a low groan as he bucked his hips into your palm.

"S-Sanemi..."you breathed, your voice thick with need. "I... I want you." The words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them, and in that moment, you knew there was no turning back.

His lips curved into a smirk as he pushed you down on your knees “first show me what that pretty little mouth can do” he says smirking tangling his hand in your air as he look down at you with his darken purple eyes that you always loved.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the waistband of Sanemi's pants, your heart pounding with anticipation. She could feel the weight of his hungry gaze upon

You, making you even more needy as you feels the wetness on your core.

Slowly, you tugged the fabric down, making his massive cock spring out and almost hit you in the face. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight, and you couldn't resist the urge to wrap your delicate fingers around his cock, stroking him with a featherlight touch.

Sanemi let out a guttural groan, his hips bucking slightly. "Fuck, sweetheart, you've got such pretty little hands," he growled, his voice dripping with lust. "Why don't you put that mouth of yours to better use?"

You felt a flush of heat spread across your cheeks, but you didn't hesitate. Leaning forward, you parted your lips and took his massive cock into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock. Sanemi hissed through clenched teeth, his fingers tightening in your hair as he fought the urge to thrust deeper.

"Goddamn, that's it," he rasped, his grip tightening. "Suck me like the good little slut you are." He groaned as you took him down as far as you could down your throat gagging a bit.

Y/n moaned around his cock, the vibrations eliciting another strangled groan from Sanemi. You bobbed your head, taking him deeper with each pass while your hand pump the rest your mouth couldn’t reach, your eyes locked with his, silently pleading for more.

Sanemi's control was slipping, he thrust deep into your throat your hands gripping his thighs as you try to balance yourself, tears start to sting at your eyes at his brutal pace, his cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly.

“Aww your crying already, I forgot how your a delicate flower” he smirks but it quickly slips away as he feel his climax approaching g. "Fuck, Y/n, I'm gonna-" His words were cut off by a guttural growl as he spilled himself down your throat, his grip on your hair almost painfully tight.

You swallowed every last drop, your tongue lapping at him greedily. When you finally pulled away, a thin trail of saliva connecting her lips to his still hard cock cock, Sanemi's eyes were dark with unbridled desire.

"You're full of surprises, aren't you, sweetheart?" he purred, his hand cupping your cheek. "But I'm just getting started with you."

In one swift motion, he swept you into his arms, placing you onto the bed. You let out a surprised yelp, your heart racing with anticipation as Sanemi moved on top of you, a desire and hunger filling his eyes.

"Now, let's see what other tricks you've got up your sleeve," he growled, his fingers tracing the curves of your body. "Because I plan on making you scream my name all night long."

Sanemi's positioned himself between your thighs, the tip of his massive cock teasing your slick folds he moved his hips thrusting his cock against your clit repeatedly making you whine and whimper and clench around nothing “Sanemi, please” you whined desperate to have him inside you.

"Look at you, all spread out and ready for me," he growled, his voice dripping with lust. Slowly, he began to push inside, a low groan rumbling in his chest as wet cunt enveloped him. "Fuck, you feel so goddamn good."

Your back arched, a strangled moan escaping your lips as you felt him stretch and fill your aching cock as he slowly pushes inside you you could feel every vine and throb of his cock . You clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you fought to adjust to his sheer size of his thick cock.

Sanemi paused, his brow furrowed in concentration as he fought to maintain his control. "Easy, sweetheart," he rasped, his thumb brushing over your nipple trying to distract himself from just shoving himself all the way in. "Just relax and let me make you feel good."

Inch by agonizing inch, he sank deeper, his movements agonizingly slow and deliberate. Your eyes fluttered shut, a whimper of pleasure passing your lips as your body accommodated him.

"That's it, just like that," Sanemi murmured, his hand cupping your breast, kneading the soft flesh. "You're doing so good, taking me so well." He looked down on saw his cock bulging from your stomach he groans at the sight as he fought control to remain at a steady pace.

But as your inner walls fluttered and clenched around him, his control began to slip. A guttural growl rumbled in his chest, and suddenly, his hips were snapping forward the base of his cock right against your cock, he would deep inside your cunt making you moan loudly as you felt him reach deep inside you your hand squeezed the sheet under you.

"Fuck, Y/n," he groaned, his pace quickening, pulling out than thrusting his cock right back deep inside your walls stretching you out even more your eyes closed shut as you take in the pleasure. "you feel so goddamn amazing. I can't hold back anymore."

His thrusts grew erratic, each one more powerful than the last as he chased the precipice of ecstasy. You cried out, your nails raking down his back as you met his every movement moving hire hips with every thrust of his hip, your body burning with pleasure.

"Sanemi, please, don't stop!" You gasped, her voice dripping with need. "I need you, all of you!"

Sanemi's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers surely leaving bruises as he pounded into you relentlessly. "You've got me, sweetheart," he growled, his forehead pressed against yours. "Every goddamn inch of me is yours."

The coil of tension within you threatened to snap, your body trembling with the force of your impending release. Sanemi's lips crashed against yours, swallowing your cries as you shattered, your inner walls clenching around him in a vice-like grip.

Sanemi's rhythm faltered, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge, spilling himself deep within you with a guttural roar. You clung to each other, bodies intertwined, as the aftershocks of your shared ecstasy rippled through both of you.

Sanemi's primal hunger was far from sated. he pulled out of your trembling body and, in one swift motion, flipped you over onto your hands and knees.

"Did you really think I was done with you, sweetheart?" he rasped, his hands gripping your hips as he positioned himself behind you making you arching your back. "Not a chance in hell." He says memorized by your plump ass he grips it as he align himself with your wet aching cunt.

Without warning, he surged forward, his cock slamming inside you once more. You cried out, your fingers clutching the sheets as he began to pound into you with a relentless, punishing rhythm.

"Fuck, you feel so goddamn good," Sanemi groaned, his hips snapping forward with bruising force. "Taking my cock like you were made for it." He slaps your ass as he watches it bounce as he fucks you

Your body rocked with the force of his thrusts, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you fought to keep up. The sound of skin slapping loud in the small room, as you begin to fuck back onto his cock.

"That's it, sweetheart, take it," he growled, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. "Take every inch of me like the greedy little slut you are."

Your vision blurred with tears of pleasure, your mind reeling from the sheer intensity of the sensations coursing through you. You pushed back against him even harder, meeting his every thrust with a desperate need.

"Sanemi, please, I'm so close," you gasped, her voice dripping with unbridled lust. Your hands move down to your clit rubbing it faster as you feel your release approaching.

Sanemi's pace grew erratic, his control slipping as the coil of tension within him threatened to snap. With a guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt, his seed spilling deep inside you.

But he wasn't done yet. Pulling out, he quickly pressed his fingers against your swollen, sensitive cunt, pushing his own cum back inside your quivering cunt.

You let out a strangled whimper , your body trembling with the force of your release. Sanemi watched, transfixed, as you shattered beneath his touch, your inner walls clenching around his digits.

"That's it, sweetheart," he growled, his voice low and rough. "Take it all, every last drop. You belong to me now, do you understand?"

You could only nod, your mind still in a haze, as Sanemi slowly withdrew his fingers, a trail of their combined essence glistening on his fingers. He brought them to his lips, sucking them clean with a satisfied hum.

"Mmm, delicious," he purred, his gaze burning with possessive hunger. "I think this is the start of a beautiful partnership, don't you agree?"

[raysrays]

Fatal Attraction Chapter Three (NSFW)

18+ MDNI‼️

CW for the entire story: Breeding, Size Difference,Size Kink, Jealousy, Scent Marking, Age Difference, Vaginal Sex, Possessive Behavior, Angst, Twisted, Creampie, Angry Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Hair-pulling, Biting, Master/Pet, Light Dom/sub, Violence, Knotting.

Chapter One, Chapter Two,

Content disclaimer: This story is inspired by the amazing artist @PammyJammy117 on Twitter/X. I in absolutely no way own or claim the idea of the “Cryptid Rengoku” character. Please give credit to the original artist who inspired the story.

(If you want to be on a tag list for up coming chapters just let me know <3)

Sneaking out of a monster's den wasn't how I planned to spend my morning. My body was so sore that walking was nearly unbearable. The only reason I managed to escape was because I noticed Rengoku had a slight hearing problem.

Despite his large, pointed ears, he often asked me to speak up or claimed he couldn't hear what I was saying.

He must have been exhausted from last night too, because he didn't react to my footsteps. This "escape," if you could call it that, was likely a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

I tried to recall everything that had happened, but my mind remained hazy. I remembered the pleasure, the pain, and I remembered him saying something to me, but I was too wrapped up in the moment to grasp his words.

But none of that mattered now. The only thing that did was getting back to Tamayo to explain why I never returned with the firewood.

As I neared the edge of the woods, I could see the camp in the distance. My head started to spin again, and my vision became foggy.

I squinted and saw someone running towards me.

"Y/N, Y/N!" a voice called out.

Is that Yushiro?

That was my last thought before everything went black and my head hit the ground.

I was out.

—————————

When I woke up, the warm light was practically burning into my eyes. I knew exactly where I was.

As I slowly sat up from the bed, I saw Tamayo sitting at a desk in the corner of the room, appearing to take notes.

"You should lie back down. Whatever got you, got you pretty good," she said calmly.

She put down her pen and walked over to me, sitting at the edge of the bed.

"How are you feeling? What hurts?" She gently placed a hand on my forehead.

This was unusual. Tamayo typically gave me the "tough love" treatment, even when I was sick. So why was she being so compassionate now?

“I feel... surprisingly okay.” I moved my body slightly, not feeling nearly as bad as I had when I first made it out of the woods.

She smiled and nodded, pulling out another pen and a pad of paper. “That’s because of the medicine I gave you. You should be back to normal very soon.” Her smile was warm and reassuring.

“Are you feeling well enough to answer some questions? I need you to tell me everything you can remember about what attacked you.” She looked at me with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

I couldn't tell her about Rengoku. By the time he wakes up, I'm probably already in enough trouble with him as it is. I definitely don’t need to add to that.

I bit my bottom lip slightly as I scanned my body. Bruises and cuts covered my arms and legs, and even more were on my chest, according to Tamayo.

I looked up at her apologetically. “I’m so sorry, Tamayo, but I really can’t remember much. Everything happened so fast.”

She sighed, then her gaze stopped at my neck. “What about that?” She gestured to her own neck. “What happened there?”

I reached up and touched my neck, feeling the outline of teeth marks.

Thinking quickly, I decided to go along with what Tamayo believed. “I remember a little bit. It was large with sharp teeth, and it moved quickly. While I was collecting firewood, it ambushed me. It must have thought it had killed me and ran off.” The lie flowed out smoother than I had expected.

I watched as she scribbled my words on her notepad, making note of the beast’s appearance.

I fed her small snippets of false information about the supposed monster that attacked me. It hurt to lie, especially to someone who had always been so kind and patient with me, but what other choice did I have?

She tucked her pen behind her ear and set down her pad of paper, her gaze now fixed on me.

"Y/N."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I owe you an apology," she began.

“An apology? For what?”

"Last night, when you didn’t return with the firewood, I grew frustrated. Remembering your reluctance to travel up north with us, I thought you had grown tired of monster hunting and just ran off."

She sighed and shook her head.

"So when Yushiro recommended sending a search party to check on you, I told him to forget about it."

My eyes widened at the implication.

"I’m so sorry, Y/N. If I hadn’t been so dismissive, you probably wouldn’t have had to suffer through the night alone in the woods."

She took my hand, squeezing it gently.

"I’m so sorry. Please forgive my negligence," she said, looking at me with genuine sorrow.

My heart ached seeing her blame herself for my "attack." I wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault and that her life's work on monsters wasn't a waste.

But I couldn’t, because I’m selfish. Despite how much Rengoku scares me, I have strange feelings for him. I don’t want to see him captured and tested on.

“It’s fine, Tamayo, really. You don’t need to feel sorry,” I said with a gentle smile. “Besides, the medicine you gave me has almost completely taken away the pain. I feel fine now!”

She smiled and pulled her hand back. “Well then, if you’re feeling so much better, you can accompany Yushiro to the next village to gather more supplies.” She stood up and walked back to the desk to gather her paperwork.

And I’m back to work…

“There are some clothes for you over there,” she pointed to a small wardrobe in the corner of the room.

“Okay, thank you.” I cleared my throat slightly.

She nodded and exited the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

As I stood up to get the clothes, a sudden ache started in my stomach, the same nausea I felt when we went up north. The side effects of disobeying a cryptid, disobeying a mate.

He must be awake now.

Maybe running into town wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. It would keep Rengoku from looking for me. He wouldn’t show his face in town.

I dressed quickly and left the small infirmary room. As I walked by, a few fellow monster hunters gave me only a cursory glance.

Stepping outside, I saw Yushiro standing near the door, absorbed in a list. When I approached, he looked up, his usual scowl replaced by an expression of concern and relief.

As I reached him, he diverted his gaze back to the list, avoiding eye contact.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked softly.

“Yeah, is there a lot we need to get?” I replied.

He started walking, and I fell in step beside him. He handed me the list of supplies Tamayo had given him. I scanned it briefly—mostly food and medicinal herbs.

I handed the list back, and he slipped it into the pocket of his vest. We walked in awkward silence for a moment.

“How are you feeling?” he finally asked.

I glanced at him, but he kept his eyes forward.

“Oh, I’m fine. Thanks for getting me inside and taking care of me,” I said, offering a faint smile.

He didn’t respond.

“That bite looked pretty nasty when I found you,” he said finally, glancing at the bandage on my neck.

“It wasn’t that bad,” I said, trying to downplay it. Reflecting on it, the pain hadn’t been intense—perhaps my body was still in shock, and the adrenaline had dulled the sensation.

We walked in silence until we reached the village. Once there, Yushiro pulled out the list, and we divided the tasks between us to save time.

I was responsible for gathering herbs and bandages, while Yushiro took on the rest. We parted ways, and I headed towards the market.

The market was bustling today, crowded with vendors and shoppers. After being shoved around more than I’d have liked, I finally reached a stall selling medical herbs. I quickly gathered what I needed and paid the elderly woman at the booth, then tucked the small pouch of herbs into my pocket and moved on.

Suddenly, a sharp pain flared in my chest and stomach. It felt like I might collapse. Rengoku’s influence seemed to be intensifying.

He must be really upset that I left. It wasn’t as if I planned on disappearing forever. I intended to return and visit him tonight, to show I could manage both him and my team without issues.

I gasped, clutching my chest as the pain grew more intense. It had never hurt this badly before.

I stumbled into a secluded part of the market, struggling to catch my breath and regain my composure. As I focused on the ground, a shadow fell over me, prompting me to look up.

A tall man stood before me, his muscular build evident through his clothes. When my gaze reached his face, my heart skipped a beat. His yellow and red hair, falling to his shoulders, forked eyebrows, and amber eyes were strikingly familiar. But something about his eyes was different—more intense.

“What are you doing all the way out here, little human?” he asked, smiling down at me.

My breath caught as the realization dawned.

“Rengoku?” I whispered.

He smiled wider, revealing his sharp teeth, and his eyes briefly flashed red despite his now human-like appearance.

My heart raced furiously. Even as a monster, he was alluring, but as a human, he was just as captivating.

He grasped my face, his smile fading into a look of displeasure.

“Why was it, when I woke up, that my human, my mate was gone? Especially after she pledged her loyalty and life to me?” His voice dropped dangerously low.

I was disoriented by how strange this all felt. His voice no longer had the echo I was accustomed to, and the clicking sound I had grown used to had vanished.

Am I hallucinating? Is this some side effect of Tamayo’s medicine?

His grip on my face tightened, jolting me out of my thoughts.

I struggled to find the words under the intensity of his angry gaze.

"I-I'm sorry, Rengoku. I didn't mean to make you come looking for me. Really, I intended to come back as soon as it got dark," I said, smiling nervously.

He tilted my head to the side, examining the bandage on my neck. His eyes turned back to their usual red.

"So, not only does my mate try to escape, but she also hides my mark, my claim," he growled.

He was furious, but I didn’t have time for this. If I didn’t leave now, Yushiro wouldn’t know what happened to me.

I gently lifted my trembling hand to cover his, still holding my face firmly. I needed to calm him down.

"Rengoku, please don't be upset. I had to leave, or no one would have known where I’d gone. They would have searched for me."

Oh, the irony...

He scoffed, releasing my face only to grab my wrist instead.

"They never would have found us. I would never let anyone take you away from me." He pulled me close against his chest, leaning down to whisper in my ear.

"I told you, no matter where you ran, I would always come find you," he murmured, his voice echoing briefly.

I shrank back slightly.

"You're coming back home. There's no point in staying around these humans when your mate has a perfectly fine nest for you," he said, his eyes narrowing.

Before I could respond, I heard someone calling my name.

I turned to see Yushiro approaching with a basket of supplies, his face back to its usual annoyed expression.

Instinctively, I tried to pull my wrist away, but Rengoku's grip tightened painfully. I glanced up at him, his eyes filled with a deadly intensity.

As Yushiro drew nearer, Rengoku pulled me closer. I could see the confusion on Yushiro's face.

"Y/N, who’s this?" Yushiro asked, looking Rengoku up and down.

"Oh... this is just a friend of mine. We were just catching up," I said with an awkward laugh and forced smile.

Rengoku's body tensed beside me. I knew I was in trouble once this was over.

Rengoku's gaze shifted from me to Yushiro, and he practically towered over both of us. I could see Yushiro looking a bit intimidated by his size and presence.

Then, to my surprise, Rengoku's murderous look softened into a kind and friendly smile as he faced Yushiro.

I held my breath as Rengoku extended his hand to Yushiro in a seemingly friendly gesture.

"I'm Kyojuro, Kyojuro Rengoku," he said, his closed-mouth smile almost charming despite the anger radiating from him.

"Yushiro," Yushiro replied reluctantly, shaking Rengoku's hand. He was clearly uncomfortable.

Rengoku smiled as he stepped back, wrapping his arm around my waist, his hand digging into my hip.

"So, Yushiro, how do you know Y/N?" Rengoku asked, his voice calm but his grip on my hip bruising.

Yushiro looked confused but didn’t comment on the physical contact.

"Y/N and I work together. We're here on a supply run," he answered plainly, then furrowed his brows in confusion. "I'm sorry, did you say your name was Kyojuro Rengoku?"

Damn. Of course Yushiro would recognize a cryptid's name.

I quickly jumped in before things could escalate. "As nice as it is to catch up, we should probably get going, right, Yushiro?" I said, pulling the small bag of herbs from my pocket.

"Yeah, we should go," he agreed.

As I started to walk toward Yushiro, Rengoku grabbed my arm, stopping me.

"Y/N, we rarely get time to talk like this. I'm sure your friend wouldn't mind returning without you so we can catch up a bit more," he said sweetly, with a hint of warning in his voice. I had no choice but to comply.

He took the small bag from my hands and tossed it to Yushiro, who quickly caught it.

"You don't mind, right?" Rengoku smiled at Yushiro.

Yushiro looked from me to Rengoku before finally agreeing. "Yeah, it's fine. I'll let Tamayo know you ran into someone you know. She’ll be happy to hear you're not completely isolated," he said, then turned and walked away.

I silently pleaded for him to stay, to not leave me with Rengoku like this. But he vanished into the crowd, leaving me alone with him.

————————

Rengoku remained silent as he dragged me out of the village and into the woods. His anger was palpable, and I was too scared to try and fix what I'd done.

Once we reached a small clearing, he let go of my arm and turned to face me, still in his human form. I should have been terrified, but he looked undeniably good.

"So, we're just two friends catching up, are we?" The usual echo in his voice suddenly returned, and his eyes changed from amber back to their glowing red.

"I didn't mean it like that. What did you want me to say? I wasn't going to expose you right then and there," I defended myself.

He stepped closer, his face angrier now.

"You shouldn't have run off in the first place if you were worried about something like that," he growled.

I bit inside of my lip slightly. I guess he was right in a way, but that wasn't the point.

He suddenly grabbed my jaw, forcing my head to tilt to the side. He ripped the bandage off my neck, revealing his mark on my skin.

Pulling me close, his face inches from mine, he said, "My mate will never cover my mark again. Is that clear?" His echoing voice had a threatening undertone.

I nodded profusely, hoping he'd let go. But he didn't. His red eyes locked onto mine, filled with desire and something else...

"Did I not please you enough, human? Was our binding session not sufficient for you?" he asked, puzzled.

"I suppose not if you were able to get up and walk away without my notice," he growled lowly.

“I’m sorry, Rengoku. I swear, everything that happened today was just a misunderstanding. I was never going to leave for good,” I tried to make it not sound as bad, but it really wasn’t working.

“A misunderstanding, I see,” he said, his tone dark.

“Well then, my sweet little mate, let’s ensure there are no more misunderstandings…” he purred in my ear.

“Wait, what are you—?”

His hand tangled in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my neck.

“This time, I’ll make sure you don’t have enough strength to get up and walk away from me,” he purred, licking up my neck.

I blushed intensely, embarrassed by my position.

“R-Rengoku…” I breathed out shakily.

His hand moved to my throat, squeezing lightly.

“Kyojuro,” he corrected firmly. “Address your mate accordingly. I won’t tell you again.”

I gasped for air.

He didn't squeeze hard enough to restrict my air flow, but it was still painful.

He squeezed harder, his other hand moving between my legs. He began to rub me through my clothes, his movements slow and teasing.

I struggled to breathe, but my body was already reacting to his touch. My hips instinctively bucked towards him, desperate for more friction.

He chuckled at my desperation. "So needy for someone who ran away from me, aren't you?"

My body was trembling with need. My breathing grew labored, and I was finding it harder to hold back.

I needed him, and I needed him now.

He removed his hand from between my legs and released his grip on my throat, allowing me to gasp for air.

Grabbing me by the collar of my shirt, he led me to a nearby tree, shoving me against it roughly.

He quickly tore up my clothes again, leaving me exposed. He then tore off his own clothes, discarding them on the ground.

I stood frozen, taking in the sight before me. I knew he was strong, but this was beyond what I had imagined. He was attractive as a monster, but his physique as a human was just as perfect.

His body was muscular and defined. I felt my core grow wet, and my clit throbbed as I gazed at his naked body.

"Are you ready, mate?" he asked, his eyes glowing bright red.

"Y-yes," I stammered, nervous and excited.

He stepped forward, his lips colliding with mine. I melted into his kiss, his tongue invading my mouth, tasting every inch.

His hands explored my body, groping my breasts, pinching and twisting my nipples.

He broke the kiss, his mouth moving to my neck, biting and sucking on the sensitive skin.

I moaned, enjoying the sensations. His cock, still just as big and thick as I remember twitched, the precum dripping onto the ground.

"You're mine," he growled against my skin.

His hands gripped my thighs, lifting me off the ground. My legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

He pressed his cock against my slit, rubbing the tip up and down.

"Do you want me, mate? Tell me how much you want my cock inside you," he purred, his eyes blazing red.

"Please, Kyojuro," I moaned.

"Say it. Say that you belong to me, and only me," he demanded, his voice echoing.

I'm yours, Kyojuro. Only yours," I whimpered.

With a growl, he slammed his cock inside me, his claws digging into my thighs.

I cried out as the pleasure consumed me. His cock was huge, filling me to the brim.

"You feel amazing," he groaned, starting to thrust.

My back arched as he pounded into me, his cock stretching my pussy.

He fucked me hard and fast, his pace brutal and relentless.

I could tell he was taking his anger out on me, the rage he felt when he realized I had escaped. But I didn't care. I needed him just as much as he needed me.

He panted and groaned, his body covered in a sheen of sweat. He was fucking me so hard and fast, I thought I might break.

I screamed out in pleasure, my orgasm approaching.

"Cum for me, mate," he purred.

His cock throbbed inside me, his seed spilling deep inside. The sensation pushed me over the edge, and I came, crying out his name.

He groaned as he continued to thrust, prolonging my pleasure.

“Y/N,” he growled my name into my ear.

“Yes?” I panted softly, still trying to catch my breath as I came down from my high.

He grabbed my chin, pressing his forehead to mine.

“If you ever leave our nest to go off with some other man again, I’ll kill him where he stands.”

His threat made my blood run cold, but I was so lost in the moment, consumed by pleasure, that I didn’t register how sincere he was being.

He finally pulled out, setting me back on the ground. Exhausted and sore, I could barely stand.

He looked down at me, his eyes primal with need. His anger was slowly dissipating, but I knew this wasn’t enough for him. After all the trouble I’d caused, I could tell this was only the beginning.

“We will return to our den now, and we will continue this… bonding.”

I watched as his body shifted back into its usual form. The monster I was used to. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to this a little. He bent down and picked me up as if I weighed nothing.

His smile returned, and his ears perked up, but I could tell I wasn’t forgiven. So, I decided to silently agree and hang on to him while he carried me to this “new home” of ours.

Next>>

[frenchkisstheabyss]

⛧ 𝙽𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝙱𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝙸𝙸 ⛧

⛧ Pairing: poly!slasher!minsung x chubby!fem!reader

⛧ Genre: slasher au/horror/angst/smut

⛧ Summary: It's Halloween 1996, you've just broken up with your toxic ex, and there's a killer on the loose. When you go to the local video store to find your next distraction, you run into your longtime crushes who have their hearts set on looking after you. But you must be careful. Not everyone's who they appear to be.

⛧ Word Count: 2.k-ish

⛧ Warnings: If you don't like horror turn back now. This isn't graphic by any means but there are horror elements! Slight sadomasichism, full blown yandere vibes, mentions of toxic ex, mention of dead body w/ tame description, shallow knife wound (you don't get stabbed. no worries), knife/blood play, a lil smut because there's kissing/fingering/nipple play, pet names (babe, baby) a threesome happens but is only referenced, slasherfucker reader, reader's kinda losing it

⛧ A/N: This is part 2 in a series. I linked the first part in the summary. Part 1 was dark and fluffy while this one is really dark and angsty. There's still romance but said romance is kinda psychotic. For the record, I'm in no way encouraging you to go out and have sex with two psychokillers. But if they're Minsung hot? I meaaaaan....

💀 <<< Rewind to Tape 1 or Keep Going to Tape 3 >>> 💀

Han laughs, bringing his arms around your waist, “Oh but sweetie, we’ve played your game. Don’t you wanna play ours now?”

Street Fighter is a game. Monopoly is a game. Minho forcing you to hold a knife to his throat in the middle of their kitchen? This is unlike any game you’ve ever played before. Against your better judgment, you throw caution to the wind and ask the million dollar question.

“And what are the rules to this game of yours?” 

Minho clicks his tongue, delighted at your morbid curiosity, “It’s simple really. If I can make my lips touch yours without the blade slitting my throat open I get a kiss.” 

“And if he doesn’t—” Han muses, “I’m down a roommate I suppose.” 

“Kiss or death, baby” Minho says, leaning into the tip of the blade so that it's agonizingly slow to witness. He stops when it pricks his skin, a scarlet drop of blood rising to the surface. Your fingers tremble around the handle of the knife, your body running ice cold at the realization that this is actually happening. 

“You’re both fucking psycho!” you shout, twisting free of them with reckless abandon. You stumble backward into the kitchen counter, the blade still in your hand. When you regain your footing you notice tiny droplets of blood decorating the white tile floor. You trace their source to the much larger cut in the side of Minho’s neck.

Han stares at you with a Milky Way galaxy of stars dancing behind his eyes, “So she does have it in her.” 

Time itself seems to come to a halt when you register what you’ve done. You hadn’t meant to do it but, accident or not, you did it. “Oh god, no, I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry. I…I…” you stutter, tossing the knife into the sink. Minho takes a deep breath, running his fingers across his wound as he approaches you. “It’s okay. I’ll live” he smirks, applying blood to his lips like some luxurious lipstick, “Now about that kiss.” 

Minho’s close enough to you that you can feel his shallow breaths against your face. His bottom lip brushes yours and your mouth falls open without hesitation. The voice of the girl you were before you came here whispers for you to run—leave this place and never come back—but it’s far too late for that. Minho locks you in a kiss, metallic and sweet, that makes you a stranger to yourself. 

It’s not you hungrily kissing Minho, blood staining his collar as he takes greedy handfuls of your plush body. It’s not your cheek that Han cups, tilting your head to the side to steal kisses and taste that last bit of blood on your tongue. Only…it is you and you’re loving every second of it. So much that when Han unbuttons your jeans, slipping a hand inside to tease your clit, you’ve already managed to soak through your panties.

“Aah, I knew it” he whispers, lightly stroking your entrance, “I told you she was the one. That she was special.” You moan into Minho’s mouth when Han’s fingers sink into you, your cries of pleasure echoing within his cheeks. “It’s true. You’re our special girl, aren’t you?” Minho hums, his thumb circling one of your nipples through your shirt. 

The praise goes to your head in the worst way, setting a once cold body ablaze with lust. Your walls contract with every mention of how special you are—of how long they’ve waited to have you here. Han’s never had his fingers this drenched before, his mind’s already running wild with thoughts of licking your juices from them once you come. The noises you make are so melodic, so splendid, that they'd burn them into their memories if they could.

Minho’s sharp eyes lock onto yours, fingers toiling away at the delicate hooks of your bra. “Can we keep you?” he asks like a demon masquerading as a child. Innocence with something darker lurking beneath, waiting to tear you to pieces. The answer comes easily, driven by your thirst to be devoured.

“Yes,” you moan, exhaling at the relief of being freed from your bra, “I’m yours.” Han licks up the side of your neck, softly nibbling at your earlobe as his fingers pick up speed.

“All ours,” he whispers, “Forever.” 

Grainy black and white dots dance across the TV screen, casting a white glow across the bed where you lay naked cuddled up beneath the blanket with Han’s childhood teddy bear. It’s 3AM and Camp Counselor Sleepover Murder Party 4 ended an hour ago. Not that you were paying an ounce of attention to it. Your focus was placed entirely on being bent into a series of unholy positions by the two men you expect to see when you open your eyes. But when you finally do—limbs still tingling from your last orgasm—they’re nowhere to be found.

Yawning, you force yourself up in bed, squinting at the light from the TV. Holding your hand up to shield your eyes, you notice the dried up blood on your fingertips. The events of the night come back to you gradually like a fuzzy radio signal sorting itself out. Your mouth is saturated with that same metallic taste from before, the sweetness of it having long faded. Finding it too nauseating to tolerate, you retrieve your underwear from the floor and set out in search of something to wash the taste away.

Stepping out into the hallway you find yourself in near pitch black darkness. The only guiding light is the glow of a lamp from the bottom of the staircase at the opposite end of the hallway. “Minho!” you call out, taking slow cautious steps down the hall. You extend your arms out on both sides, feeling around for anything you might bump into. You hold your breath, listening for even the faintest sound of his voice but it never comes. Finally reaching the staircase, you grab onto the sides and make your way down.

You call out again, this time trying another name for good measure, “Han! Where are you guys?” It suddenly occurs to you that this is the moment in slasher movies where the girl wanders downstairs and gets sliced up by some masked psycho killer. You stop halfway down the stairs, glancing up at the darkness you left behind. “Fuck that” you huff, jogging the rest of the way down the stairs to find safety in the light.

Finally you’re back in familiar territory. To your right you spot the kitchen and your heart jumps at the thought of the Halloween candy left untouched on the table. But your tooth rotting dreams are derailed by the sound of whirling somewhere to your left. You turn to spot a heavy wooden door left slightly cracked. It’d look like any other door if not for the two deadbolts drilled into the frame. Off to the side sits a black garbage bag, the kind contractors use on construction jobs, and it’s stuffed full of…something.

Hearing the low chattering of voices, you drift towards the door whispering to yourself the whole time. “Why are you freaking out? Nothing’s wrong. They’re probably just taking out the trash. Don’t be so—” You choke on your own words as you stare down into the trash bag. It is full of trash. There’s pizza boxes, empty soda cans, and crumbled up chips bags all from last night.

And then there’s something else.

The tip of something red poking out from between the pizza boxes. You lean in closer and make out deep wrinkles carved in plastic. Pinching the end of it you pull it from the trash and you feel even more nauseous than before. It’s a mask. Not just any mask. The same mask your ex had on when you saw him at the video store. A chill runs down your spine, making you let out an unexpected squeak that brings all of the background conversation to a halt.

“Hello?” Han’s voice rings out, seemingly from beneath you. You crack the door a little more, peeking in to find another set of stairs leading down into the basement. “Everything okay up there?” Minho asks, his tone oddly suspicious of you. You clear your throat, tucking the mask back into the trash bag, “I’m—I’m fine. Just got a little snack craving is all. Are you guys good?”

You’re met with silence reminiscent of the moment before Minho forced you to cut his throat. “Why don’t you come down?” Han insists, bubbling with joy, “We have a surprise for you!” You pull the door open all the way, shuddering at the creaking sound the old wooden stairs make when you step on them.

“A surprise? What kind of surprise?”

“One you weren’t supposed to see yet” Minho pouts, “But you’re here now so whatever.”

Minho’s adorable tendency to whine gives you the sense of normalcy you needed to get you to the bottom of the stairs. But when you reach it you wish you hadn’t. The basement is nothing like the welcoming warmth of the rest of the house. It’s pristine and white, the polished floor icy against your bare feet. In each corner there’s a large cabinet stocked with all sorts of medical supplies. It reminds you of an operating room in one of those medical dramas.

It is an operating room and at the center of it, in a pool of blood that leaks between the cracks in the tiles, is the partially dismembered body of your ex boyfriend. “Hi, baby” Han waves with the hand not currently holding a cordless saw. Still in his underwear, he’s dressed in a long black apron with the gloves to match. Minho’s dressed the same and both are slick with blood.

Before you can think better of it, you’re screaming at the top of your lungs and bolting back up the stairs. All the while images of torn flesh and fractured bone flash in your mind. You couldn’t stand that man, hated him in fact, but you’d never wanted to see him in pieces.

Spotting your purse by the front door, you make a mad dash for it clueless to the two figures gathering behind you. Your vision clouded with tears, you fight with the front door locks to get out. “I knew it was too soon” Minho sighs in disappointment, “We should’ve waited.” Han slips his gloves off, coming over to kiss you on the cheek.

Your body recoils, shaking in fear, “Don’t hurt me. Please.”

“Hurt you?” he scoffs, flipping the lock open, “I’d never hurt you. You just seemed like you needed a little help.”

Minho flops down in a chair near the door, messy hair falling in his face, “Take my jacket at least. It’s cold out.”

Their calmness is odd to say the least, making you reevaluate the fear that you feel. “You’re letting me go? Just like that?” Han plucks a wool trench coat from its hook, draping it over your shoulders. He pulls the door open and a slight autumn breeze blows through the door. “I told you. We don’t want to hurt you. We’re here to protect you...and maybe teach you how to protect yourself.”

His sincerity makes you uncomfortable and you feel yourself splitting in two again. This time the old you wins and throw yourself out into the night, scanning the street to find where you parked your car. The block is as dark as the upstairs hall, giving you the sense that you’re on some terrifying island all your own.

You can't make sense of why they’d let you go. Any normal person would drive straight from here to the police station. You know their faces. Their names. Where they work. Where they live. Do they want to get caught?

“You can’t run from who you are forever, pretty girl!” you hear Minho taunting. You look back to see them watching you from the doorway, smiling lovingly in your direction.

Minho winks at you, blowing you a kiss, “See you real soon, babe.” 

[heartshapedmisery]

thinking about art x fem reader whose also a tennis player, she gets hurt playing practice against art and he feels so bad.. leading to other things to help her feel better

like best friends to lovers type thing IDK JUST A THOUGHT for a blurb

IM LOVING THIS IDEA THANK U ANON! <3 (this was meant to be shorter but i got so carried away with it lmao)

tags: heavy makeout, slight dry-humping, fingering...

No because Art truly is the competitive type, so if you were to suggest a friendly game after practice he would definitely take it way too seriously...

"What, you're giving up on me now?" he'd taunt when you were getting worn out, bent over with your hands on your knees to catch your breath. You looked up at him to see his knowing smirk, twirling the racket in his hand impatiently.

You didn't expect him to play so hard, since you thought it would just be light-hearted like you had suggested. Though that was the thing about Art; he never went easy on anybody, especially not you—his best friend.

"Nope," you said simply, brushing your fly-away hairs out of your face. "Just wondering why the hell I suggested this."

Art laughed, but didn't give you any sympathies. He waited for you to get back into position before serving to you, and you got back into the game.

It seemed to go well for a while, the bright yellow ball going back and forth between the two of you with a mix of grunts. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, which is why you didn't feel your ankle twist from underneath of you until your body fell onto the court harshly.

A confused whimper sounded from your throat as you rolled over, grasping at your ankle that was now searing with pain. A few tears welled in your eyes as your face contorted with discomfort, the sound of Art's racket smacking down against the court as he quickly jumped over the net and crouched down next to you.

"Oh my god," his eyes scanned your face, his heart sinking at the way you silently sobbed with your head lulled back on the court. He quickly examined your ankle, realizing that it was already swelling and needed to be iced.

"It's okay, it's okay," he assured you sweetly, helping you sit up before wrapping his arm around your waist. "Put your arm around my neck and we're gonna stand up, alright?"

You did as he told you, slinking it around his neck and fisting his shirt as you fought back a cry when he pulled you up, the pressure and bloodflow to your foot making the pain worse.

He tried to help you walk as best as you could, holding you upright while you put all of your weight on your left foot and hobbled with him back to his dorm since it was only a block away from the tennis courts.

When you did finally make it, he helped you over to his bed and helped you sit down gently, before going to his mini fridge and tying up an ice pack for you to put on your ankle.

"I'm so sorry, this is all my fault," he shook his head defeatedly, crouching down in front of you and carefully wrapping the bag around your ankle. The new sensation made your breath hitch, before the pain slowly started to subside.

"No its okay, it was an accident. It's no one's fault," you told him honestly, your mind slightly fogged at the feeling of his hand cupping the back of your calf as he held your foot up. He mindlessly rubbed your soft skin, unaware of the affect it had on you as his mind spiraled.

"No, but I pushed you too hard," he explained, his voice low. "It's my fault."

You shook your head, before taking his face in your hands. You cupped his jaw softly, your forgiving eyes holding his gaze.

"No it's not, stopping beating yourself up about it."

"I know, I just-"

You abruptly cut him off by bringing your lips to his, the apology falling dead in his mouth. You caught him completely off guard, but he still melted into the kiss, allowing his hands to run up the sides of your thighs.

"Now will you stop?" you whispered once you finally pulled away, running your fingers subconsciously through his blonde locks of hair.

He nodded, before pulling you back in for another kiss. He took it upon himself to lay you down against his bed, slotting himself in between your slightly spread legs.

You didn't know why, but this felt so easy. It didn't feel weird or awkward, given that he had been your best friend since high school. If anything, it made perfect sense.

"Is this okay?" he whispered, cradling your head with his free hand while the other ran up your side. You nodded eagerly, giving him the green light to bring his lips back to yours.

Your heartbeat picked up as you felt him harden beneath his shorts against your thigh the more intense the kiss became, his hips slowly beginning to move in seek of friction.

You slipped you tongue into his mouth, earning a moan from him as his hand wandered down your body before grasping your waist and thumbing your hip. Your non-injured leg wrapped around his waist in attempt to bring him closer with a moan, completely enthralled with the feeling of him.

Suddenly, your breath hitched at the feeling of his fingers slipping underneath the waistband of your skirt, dipping into your panties. You let out a shaky moan as Art sunk his middle and ring finger into your soaked cunt, curling them upwards gently as he continued kissing down your jaw and the soft skin of your neck.

It drove him wild how wet you already were for him, the muffled squelching sound of his fingers moving in and out of you making his dick harder.

It didn't take long for him to have your thighs shaking around his hips and your toes curling in your tennis shoes, disgruntled moans mixing with his soft grunts.

You would've never guessed you'd be sprawled out on your best friend's bed coming down from the orgasm he had just given you, but you definitely weren't complaining.

[coff33andb00ks]

After You - CL

Hopeless, The Epilogue {1 - Hopeless} {2 - Luxury} {3 - Poison} {4 - Burning} [[masterlist]]

summary: i could have loved you but you would not let me song: jealous by labyrinth pairing: charles leclerc x ex!reader (with lando norris x reader) warnings: mentions of cheating a.n.: so many people (like, 4?) begged for this scene and I promised it then immediately forgot, my apologies. I would say I hope you enjoy but it's angst, so…

When Lando came to him months ago, Charles had been confused. He looked so serious, so unlike his normal lighthearted self, that Charles had worried something horrible had happened.

"Hey, I um…" Lando had fiddled with the zipper of his jacket, looking nervous and sweaty. And Charles knows something's wrong. "Can we talk?"

Charles hadn't wanted to talk to anyone then. But he'd shrugged and said yes.

"I'm going to therapy." Lando huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. "And there are apparently things I have to do. Something I have to say."

"Okay?"

Lando took a deep breath. "It's about y/n."

Charles froze. It had been three months but still hearing the name made everything come back as though it had been that morning. "What about her?" he asked carefully, waiting for the usual. What happened? You were so good together. How did you let her get away?

But the words that came out of Lando's mouth were shocking.

"I, um… We… We had an affair."

Charles blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sor…" Lando paused, making it obvious he wasn't really sorry. "We slept together…" He looked down, his voice small.

"You? Slept with y/n?" Charles asked.

Lando nodded. "It went on for months, and—"

"Impossible. She has standards." And he began to laugh. Y/n with Lando? Practically anyone else would be more believable. But Lando? He laughed harder, watching the wariness turn to surprise turn to hurt on Lando's face.

It's been over a year now and Charles is…

Almost happy.

Sort of.

It's Miami weekend and all he can think about is how much you loved Miami. The sunshine and the beaches and the pure Americanness of it all. You should be there, on his arm as he enters the paddock, and he pretends to be okay in front of the cameras.

He tried calling you, but you've still got him blocked. He wanted to let you know that he's getting help, he's taking steps to becoming a better man, but you obviously still don't care.

Standing with Lewis a few moments later, he's chatting about dogs, trying not to think about how depressed Leo had been in those first few months. Trying not to remember his own determination that you'd get over your little outburst and come crawling back to him.

He still thinks it'll happen, but just a little less and less each day.

Lewis's head turns, and Charles pauses when he sees his friend reach to pull down his shades. "Whoa."

Charles turns, wanting to see what caught the man's attention. "Ah, Lando," he says with a shrug, drawing in a breath to continue the conversation.

The crowd of fans and photographers shifts and he sees…

"Is that y/n?" Lewis asks softly.

He can't answer. His breath is lodged in his chest, his heart frozen, and he can only stare. Because it is you. More beautiful than ever. Radiant. You're smiling, and he can't remember ever seeing you this happy.

Next to him, Lewis whistles softly.

Charles's world twists upside down, seeing your hand clasped in Lando's. His eyes are the only thing that can move, darting up and down, drinking in every detail as you and Lando walk towards the McLaren motorhome. Lando leans down, speaking in your ear, and even though he's too far Charles can hear your laughter.

The breeze ruffles your hair and a split second later Lando's fingers are smoothing it back and Charles feels as though he's going to throw up.

"We had an affair. It went on for months."

He finally breathes, a rasping wheeze, and next to him Lewis doesn't say a word.

"Why are you laughing? We did. I'm not sorry for what happened, I'm sorry it happened the way it did—"

He wants to walk over, to confront you, to demand to know if Lando had been lying about the affair.

"I gave up someone that truly loved me, that made me happier than I deserved. Because I wanted us to make it."

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter. H-he won't have anything to do with me now, because I chose you."

But there he is, looking at you as though you're the sun.

"I wanted us to make it too."

"You alright?" Lewis asks quietly, once Lando and you have gone inside. The air around is still buzzing with the news – Charles can hear every word yet none of them. Apparently no one knew about it, judging by the ripples of shock that are still traveling through the paddock.

It hurts to breathe, a void where his heart should be. And he can't answer, because all he can think about is.

I wanted us to make it too.

@driverlando | @trisharee | @leodette | @littlegrapejuice | @manicpixiemom | @mistreader | @mochimommy2002

[0oolookitsme]

So Despicable

Type - A One-Shot (yet again!)

Verse - Singer!Harry x Ceo!Y/n

Word Count - 2.1k

Warnings - Uses of degrading slurs such as slut and whore. Do not read if that's not your cup of tea!

A/n - Legit posting this an hour late and I'm sorry! I just finished proofreading and am right away posting this. Not exactly my best, but it's good! Hoping you'll think the same hahah <3

Kinks - Sir Kink, Degradation Kink, Choking and Begging (if you squint)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

Please rb to share!

As she turned the lock of her house, Y/n felt like her knees would simply give out if it took one more second to get the door to open. On the final twist of the key, she pushed the door open and immediately swung her purse on top of the shoe rack.

Bending to undo her heels, she left them thrown there and walked further inside the house. She was confused when she didn't find Harry downstairs but nevertheless poured herself a glass of water.

If he weren't down here, then he must be up in their bedroom or his office. Dreadfully, she climbed up the stairs, her shoulders droopy and her back aching after the long day. "Harry?" She called out, hoping that he would hear her and come out. Alas, he didn't.

She looked around in all the rooms before going inside the bedroom, dropping her body onto the mattress right away. After lying in silence for no more than a few seconds, she got up and fished her phone out of her purse – pressing on Harry's contact before putting the phone on speaker and stripping her clothes.

"'ello?" He answered, his voice serious in a way that made her doubt if he didn't know it was her on the other end of the call.

"Where are you, H?" She questioned him right away, picking the phone back up when the only clothings on her body were her under garments. "Searched the whole house, didn't find you."

It was silent for a moment, and Y/n felt that something was off. "I'm in the gym, didn't hear you come in," he said in that same tone and it was starting to make her skin crawl.

"Oh, I didn't check the gym. When are you going to be done?" She asked, fidgeting with her fingers as her mind raced a million miles per second to come up with all the things that she could've done or said wrong.

Yet, she came up empty. Harry wasn't the one to go to gym after noon, it happened rarely – mostly if he had been out and about during the morning time. So, it was clear that he was avoiding her.

"Dunno, should be done in half an hour," he said and she could tell he was doing push ups or something else by the sound of his strained voice and heavy breathing.

"Okay, I'm going in the shower," Y/n told him before he agreed and cut the call.

Taken aback, she shut out the situation before jumping into the shower and letting the warm water wash away all the stress off her muscles. After rinsing her hair rid of the shampoo, she came out of the shower, water still dripping from the ends of her hair.

When she turned around, her hand immediately went to her chest on a sharp intake of breath. "Fucking hell, Harry," she exhaled deeply, heat creeping up the back of her neck once she realised how ridiculous it was of her to get scared by the sight of him seated on their bed.

She just hadn't expected him to be there, that's all. "I'm sure there's still water left, I didn't shower for too long," she told him while walking towards their closet.

"Drop the towel and come here," Harry said, his voice deep and low. She couldn't help but ask him to repeat himself, caught off guard. "I won't repeat again, Y/n. Drop the towel, and come here," he said again, this time weighing down on each word as he spoke.

His arms were crossed across his chest, the veins more prominent because of his recent workout session. One of his legs dangled off the bed while the other one was folded. Nothing but a white undervest covered his upper half, a short pair of shorts clinging to his thighs.

Hesitant but because of her trust in him, Y/n dropped her towel and walked to him. Uncertainty and anticipation caused her hands to start fidgeting again. Slowly but surely, she reached right where he was sitting on the bed, her hands seemingly frozen on her sides as she stood upright, unable to move any further.

"Lay across my lap," Harry said, unfolding his leg and laying it straight on the bed to make the spot comfortable for her.

Y/n did so, all of the silence and holding-back of Harry was causing her brain to spiral. But one thing she knew was that whatever was coming, it wasn't going to be very holy.

She felt Harry's cold hand grab her ass before he started massaging it. That's when she knew she had surely done something wrong, because he was punishing her.

His palm met her ass cheek with a sharp blow, causing her to jerk forward. "Count for me," he told her, kneading her other cheek before hitting it with the same blow.

"2," Y/n counted, her voice shaking with thrill.

Harry watched her bum jiggle at the impact, the skin already begining to grow red. He stopped kneading the skin by the fifth blow when he couldn't hear pain in her voice. Now, he was just spanking – one side before the other. He was going at a fast pace, his hits unrelentlessly hard as he finally began hearing despair in her voice.

He kept going, not giving the skin much time before slapping it again.

"P-please, Harry–" Y/n stuttered, stopping when he gave a especially hard hit on her ass.

"What do you say? Have you forgotten your manners?" Harry said, his voice sterner than ever and Y/n was beginning to feel like he was being unnecessarily mean to her.

"Sir – It's Sir." She blabbered, answering him as if he would give her a reward. Yet, she was met with another hard spank. "W-what-ever have I done wrong, Sir?" She asked desperately, still lost on the cause for this side of him boiling up to the surface.

"A pathetic mess already? Can see your cunt glistening," he mocked her, swiping one of his fingers through her folds. "What have you not done wrong today? Cut my calls, answered back in short answers as if I were wasting your time, didn't even tell me if you were going to be back for the night or not," he answered her, massaging her bum.

"Didn't even apologize to me," he said, his eyes fallen into angry slits as he slapped her ass harshly.

He pushed her off of his lap and watched her roll over, unable to balance herself and get up. "Can't do anything right, can you?" Harry said as he pulled her up by her shoulders and sat her on her bottom.

She moved around, her bum hurting too much for her to sit on it. "Hurts," she whimpered, the corners of her eyes moist and wet hair sticking to the skin on her back, neck and forehead.

"Of course it does. Wouldn't have done it if it pleased you."

Both of them knew it pleased her. And if they didn't, then her juicy cunt would have surely given her away. She sat on her calves in front of him, her hands in her lap as she looked anywhere but in his eyes.

"Still, you aren't apologizing." Harry pointed out, causing her to flush. But before she could say anything, Harry pushed at her chest so she would fall on her back on the soft mattress.

Her legs immediately fell open in order for her to get comfortable, and just as she took notice, Harry's hand had already met her pussy in a harsh slap.

"Instead, you're pathetically dripping out of your hole," Harry sneered, slapping her puffy pussy again. A wet noise came from the impact and when he brought his hand back up, the string of her arousal connected them.

"So despicable you are."

Y/n jerked each time Harry hit her cunt, her thighs aching to close and protect her core yet she knew better than to do that. She counted each hit and once she counted the tenth slap, Harry dragged a finger across her dripping hole and covered her clit with her own arousal.

"I've been punishing you over here, and you've done nothing but drip out of that needy hole and blabber out the shit I've asked you to." Harry said as if he were disgusted. "Can't think of anything else with that dumb little brain of yours, can you?" He tsk'd at her, shaking his head.

He pinched her clit, laughing hoarsely when she instinctively closed her thighs shut. "Hook your hands under your knees," Harry instructed her and once she had done that, he was glad to have full access to her pussy.

He pinched her clit again, this time not releasing the hissing hold. With his other hand, he filled her hole with two of his fingers right away – sliding them in and out with great ease due to her wetness.

"Such a poor little thing you are, getting off on being a pretty whore – on me being mean to you," Harry crooned.

When she started to moan, he took her panties that she had taken off of herself before going into the shower, and stuffed them into her mouth. Pathetically enough, she hadn't stopped moaning even with the cloth in her mouth. The noise came out muffled, which Harry seemed to enjoy.

He then created an unrelenting pace, his back crouching in order to give all his strength in fucking her. He was still pinching her swollen clit, a grin plastered on his mouth as he heard the wet noises her pussy was making.

Her clit had grown red in colour due to his harsh pinch that didn't seem to know how to release its hold. "Fuck – fuck , sir. Sir I'm coming, I'm coming I'm so close –" Y/n stuttered as her body shook violently, her face scrunched up in pain and pure ecstasy.

Her body burned and her pussy pulsed as Harry continued fucking her with his fingers mercilessly. "What do you say?" Harry cooed at her, impossibly increasing his pace. "What do you say, my darling slut?"

Her eyes glazed over at the slur, tears springing in her eyes as she felt the knot begin to lower in her tummy.

"Can I please– please cum, Sir?" She said with great strain in a voice, like she was holding back.

"Why are you holding back? Not going to comply with your sir, hm?" Harry asked her his voice shaking due to his violent movement. "Guess I'll just deny you the permission, then."

Harry got off on dominating her. After all, she dominated all of the people around her, especially the ones in her office. She always had a hunger to control people, so the fact that he got to control what she would do or not do, dominate and manhandle her, and be mean to her like she was to most of her employees who deserved to be fired, he felt absolutely euphoric.

"Can I please cum," she cried out, her body shaking vigorously. "May I – may I please cum, Sir?" She cried again, repeating her request until it turned into beg for him to let her cum.

"Please, Sir!" She yelled, knowing that she wouldn't be able to hold back. "Please – please, let me come Sir," she kept on begging.

"Ah okay okay, don't need to be so annoying about it," Harry rolled his eyes, watching in amazement as she became a shouting mess.

He felt as her walls clenched around his fingers, and pinched her clit a bit harder. He heard her let out a final cry before she finally gushed all over his hand.

He maintained his pace as her cum spurted around due to his force. She arched off of the bed and pushed into his hand while heaving gibberish. "Fuck – fuck," she stammered, when he stopped and put his mouth on her – lapping at her as if he hadn't quenched his thirst all day.

"P-please, sir – sensitive," she whimpered, now trying to pull away from his mouth but unable to do so because of the position he had put her in. Her legs ached, but his palms laid flat on the back of her thighs as he sucked at her clit.

Harry finally detached his mouth from her and rose up, wiping his mouth with the back of his clean hand. He put the hand that was covered in her juices in front of her mouth, and ordered her to suck.

When she licked his hand clean, he wrapped it around her neck in a choking manner and weighed on it when he leaned down to get closer to her.

"See? You can be good, too." He grinned, pecking her cheek as she turned her face away from him to hide her rosy cheeks.

"God, I love you no matter what you be – my pathetic slut or my pleasing little darling," he chuckled, nipping at her jaw.

[fayes-fics]

Innuendo Bingo

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Crack fic. Modern AU. Someone knows a LOT of stupid synonyms for orgasms...

Warnings: Teen and up. Sexual humour, a lot of stupidity. Non-explicit references to sex acts. Basically, I'm sorry.

Word Count: 0.8k

Authors note: Request fill for @sorryallonsy, who asked for Benedict crack fic with him coming up with stupid names for orgasms (ask HERE). I'm sorry this took SO LONG, especially as it is so short. However, I was in the mood to polish off (heheheh) something silly today, and this was just the ticket. Unbetaed cos it's ridiculous. Thanks, and err, enjoy, I guess? <3

Bridgerton family brunch happens once a month and is always memorable. The family usually takes over some swish eatery in central London for a few hours with their unique brand of noisy, chaotic camaraderie. Being Benedict's girlfriend, you are now a part of this melee. It’s one such Sunday when you are finishing your quite delicious but oversized meal that Benedict leans in.

“I can't wait to have you naked again,” he rumbles right in your ear.

You almost spit your last mouthful all over the table. After a few beats, you recover enough to reply.

“Your mother is right there!” you chastise sotto voce, nodding imperceptibly across the table, pulling a pointed expression, even as your mind is filled with images of him waking you up just this morning with his tongue between your thighs.

“Please,” he withers good-naturedly. “I have seven siblings. Do you really think this libido isn't genetic?” he jests, a hand on your knee now. 

“Stop it!” you giggle, not wanting to think of his mother that way.

 “Also, she is not paying us any mind,” he points out, crowding closer. 

Indeed, she is engrossed in a chat with Kate and has one of Daphne’s kids ensconced in her lap, diverting all her attention.

“Besides, are you telling me you don't want to have another orgasm today?” he goads, lips warm on your neck as those fingers spider higher up your thigh, knowing precisely what your weak spots are and exploiting them.

“Well, now… I didn’t say that…” you counter, eyes fluttering closed briefly at his onslaught. “But I might need a few hours after all this food,” you mime a bloated stomach.

It's his turn to chuckle, a warm sound that skitters over your skin. “That's fair,” he assesses. “Can't be releasing the Kraken if you have a food baby…”

You can't help but emit a bark of laughter at that. Everyone at the table looking briefly askance at you before resuming their discussions.

“The what?” you wheeze.

“You heard me,” he quips warmly. “Don't like that? I've got a million more,” he vows, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Don't…” you warn softly, but that just seems to goad him on.

“Making waffles? Popping the weasel…?”

“Waffles?” you frown, “I thought it was whoopee?”

“That too,” he smiles, eyes crinkling in that adorable way as he continues. “Petting the cat? Nulling the void? You can cuff my carrot, and I’ll dial your rotary phone?” each phrase is delivered full of mirth, close to your ear, and you can't help the stupid grin on your face.

“Stop it,” you protest weakly, nudging him gently with your elbow but having to muffle your laughter into his shoulder.

“I’ll stop when you stop finding them funny…” he counters genially. “Marching the penguin? Downstair DJing? Turning on the sprinklers? Debugging the hard drive?”

Each one has you hopelessly sniggering to the point you can't breathe, and little tears form at the corner of your eyes.

“What in God's name are you doing to your girlfriend, Benedict?” Anthony’s voice suddenly rings out from the head of the table. “It looks like she is about to die… hands where I can see them, please!”

Everyone at the table twists to look at you and laughs as both of you instantly raise your hands as if being held hostage; you mortified by the idea everyone thinks you might be up to things in front of them all, even though you know Anthony is joshing. 

But then Benedict murmurs a quiet parting shot out the corner of his mouth. 

“Chastising the family… jewels...”

And yeah, your loud snort is definitely undignified.

—

You are back at his place relaxing on the sofa a few hours later - When Harry Met Sally is playing on the TV - when he wraps an arm around your shoulder.

“Fancy doing a Meg Ryan?” he whispers, his tone laced with levity.

“Bit late for that. We left the restaurant a few hours ago,” you sigh in mock disappointment, a playful smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“I don't mind a private performance,” he breezes, trailing a hand over your neckline and nuzzling your cheek. “I rather like the idea of watching you paddle your pink canoe….”

Yeah, no, you definitely lose it at that one. 

Collapsing into him, your laughter does not even subsidise when he unzips your dress with his practised skill.

“Please… one ticket to the solo show just for me?” he implores, kissing along your jaw. “Visit that safety deposit box? Orbit Venus? A little double-clicking?”

“You are going to need to stop…” you object faintly, an odd mix of lightness from giggling so much and arousal coursing through you as his fingers circle over your underwear.

“Never…..” he teases in that gravelly tone that always persuades you.

“Fine, but only if I can watch you polish your bannister…” you throw back, pushing off your underwear with a comic flourish.

His laugh is deep and all-consuming, racking his whole frame as he suddenly scoops you up and strides towards his bedroom.

“Deal!”

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa @urfavnoirette

[luveline]

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one | part two | part three | part four

summary you’re a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. queue the movies, nachos, cherry cough syrup, and a couple of moments of clarity. [10k]

warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie’s birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, idiots in love!!! tw sick fic

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie has the most peculiar curl tucked up by his neck. Where most are frizzy and loose, this one falls in a perfect shiny ringlet below his ear. He shifts and it's out of view, a curtain of dark hair falling forward and hiding his face as he puts your car in park. 

"Remind me why you had to drive?" you ask, ducking down to look at the glaring white lights of the movie theatre across the street. 

"You were gonna fall asleep behind the wheel." 

For once, Eddie might not be exaggerating. He grins at your lack of rebuttal and throws an arm behind your shoulders, twisting in the driver's seat to set his sights on Junie. 

"Are you ready?" he asks her. 

She wiggles. It's an ecstatic movement. Her clothes are prim and sweet if you do say so yourself, a long sleeved shirt under a pair of the world's cutest dungarees. They crinkle as she moves, pressed to perfection. 

You and Eddie open opposite doors in tandem and step out into the brisk, early night. The sidewalk shines with rain, a black slickness stretching in every direction. You shiver and pull your thin jacket tighter to your torso as you turn back to the car, intending to retrieve Junie and rush into the theatre before you can freeze on the spot. 

Eddie's already swung open the door and rescued your daughter from the confines of her car seat, neatening up the hem of one of her socks with her face pushed over his shoulder. 

She giggles about something and Eddie says, "Sorry, June. 'M tickling you, am I?" so fondly you have to avert your eyes. 

He locks the car and hands over your keys with a smile. You smile back, heart flipping like a spinning coin. Head over tails, over and over. 

The big, ring-heavy hand he holds to Junie's back reaches for you suddenly enough that you flinch.

"I'm sorry," he apologises, suppressing a laugh, "your necklace is twisted." 

He moves in a second time and you raise your chin, chest aflame as his fingers glance off of your bare skin. He slips the chain over his index and pulls, encouraging the links around until the clasp is hidden again. 

"Thank you." You huff an awkward, sheepish laugh.

"You owe me," he says, mock-severe. 

Your laugh is much more genuine as you follow him across the road. 

You're squinting as you approach The Hawk movie theatre. The title cards are hard to look at, aggressively white with black capital letters that read, 'The Great Mouse Detective 7'. 

There's a small line of families waiting by the front. You realise it like a shock, that the three of you must look like a family too. 

Eddie carries Junie with the surety of a dad that's carried his child a hundred times before; he strokes the back of her head with the affection of one, soothing the mess of flyaways she'd acquired by squirming in her car seat. Junie responds with familiarity, hands tucked into his hair and tugging. She's trying to be nice but his hair won't allow it, all his long curls tangled at the ends from a day at work. 

Still, he says, "Thanks, baby. Make sure you get the back, okay?" 

"Okay," she echoes. 

You look down at your wringing hands. There's ink smudged up the side of your writing hand. You scratch at it half-heartedly, blinking against your fatigue. 

You're exhausted tonight and it's only Wednesday. You can't imagine how you'll fare tomorrow considering how little sleep you're expecting tonight — there are a thousand things to do when you get home. Laundry to wash and press, cleaning to do, dinner to make. 

You'd been writing cheques for due bills when Eddie had come knocking, well-dressed, stupid-handsome, and announced that tonight you would be accompanying him to the movies. He'd actually said 'accompanying'. 

Despite a full agenda, you'd said yes. You're not very good at saying no. At least, not to him. 

It takes you a moment to realise you're at the front of the line. You pay for the tickets before Eddie can try it, and with his hands full he can't really stop you. He whines about it all the way to the concession stand. 

"You can buy the snacks," you say. His face lights up, and you amend, "If you're reasonable." 

"I'm always reasonable…ly over the top," he says, chided by your hard stare. 

"Yes, you are." 

He follows you down the two steps to the concession and cuts in front of you. "How did you do that? What face was that? I felt my soul leave my body." 

"That's my disapproving mom look. I'm disapproving." 

"Ah." He pats Junie's side sympathetically. 

She pulls her head from over his shoulder and smiles at you. Her arms vy for your hold. You steal her from Eddie and kiss her all over her tiny face, uplifted by how much she loves you, how happy she is to be in your arms. 

"What snacks do you want? Do you eat popcorn with butter? Without?" Eddie asks, his newly emptied arms already posed thoughtfully, a hand under his chin as he thinks over his options. 

The theatre has a huge array of jellies, an even bigger array of candy bars. There are more brands of soda than there are glasses in your kitchen cabinet. 

You're daunted. 

"Whatever you want," you say.

Eddie groans and tips his head back. "Don't play with me like this. Butter or no butter? It's an easy question." 

"I don't know. Without?" 

"You are so weird," he says happily. 

You pout and pull Junie closer. 

Standing at the side while he gathers concessions, too many things, you watch in awe as Eddie stacks it all against his chest with the sure confidence of someone who's done it before.

He grins at you from between two huge cups. "Are we ready?"

If you could, you'd leave him here in the foyer with his jumbo deluxe popcorn. As it stands, you like him too much to leave him behind. You juggle Junie and your bag to push open the doors for him outside of screen two. 

"Thanks, babe," he says outside of screen two. You bite your lip, surprised by his easy tone. 

You climb up the stairs and into your seats. You're high enough for Junie to sit in her own chair between you and Eddie and see the screen comfortably but she adamantly refuses, stretching out in your lap like an alley cat hungry for affection. 

Eddie moves into the ragtag velvet seat beside you, a million things in his lap and at your feet. He's pretty enough under the theatre lights to dull the panging ache at the back of your head. "If she won't sit here, I will. I got you a lemonade, is that cool?" 

If it weren't you'd hardly tell him. 

"She's being extremely well-behaved," Eddie notes, an inkling of pride in his tone. 

You could sucker punch him. Why does he do this to you? 

"I know," you say with a shy smile, "it's suspicious, isn't it?" 

"I don't know. If I were in your lap I might be well-behaved too." He raises his eyebrows, an over-exaggerated show of flirtatiousness. 

You reach over the arm to take a handful of popcorn. Eyes on Junie, you offer her your stolen goods and say, "I've got two thighs." 

"Don't tempt me." 

Junie all but snatches the popcorn and tilts her head back. A kernel falls from her hand and disappears between the seats. You make a mental note to pick it up afterward, ears full of her chomping. 

You'd worried she might be a little loud for the movies but there's a bunch of kids and none seem keen on keeping quiet, a cacophony of childish complaints to hide your conversation. 

"Are babies supposed to eat popcorn?" 

You freeze up. "Oh- I don't know," you say, turning Junie toward you so you can watch her swallow. 

"I thought I read that somewhere, but-" 

"No, I think you're right. Um…" Junie looks at you with obvious confusion. "Was that yummy?" you ask. You hide your concern with a strained bubbly attentiveness. 

"I guess she's old enough." 

Eddie's being very casual – it is casual. He's just thinking out loud. You know he's not criticising you. He never has, though sometimes you think he should. 

It must show on your face anyhow that you're having a 'I'm a bad mom' crisis. A mean stroke of insecurity.

"Sweetheart," Eddie says suddenly, brows pinched, "it's alright. It was just a thought. And she had no problem eating it, I'm sure she's gonna be aces. Better than aces." 

Junie climbs out of your lap and into his. He sets the popcorn on the floor to take her, and when her hands reach for his drink he holds the straw to her mouth. All the while his eyes move between her and you. 

"Okay," you say, because you're being silly. 

Junie is fine. Eddie was only saying something that's very well true. Babies aren't supposed to have popcorn, but June's not a baby, really. She knows how to chew properly. It's unlikely she'll choke. 

Eddie has to keep his focus on her to avoid getting soaked – she barely knows how to use a straw and keeps trying to turn the cup upside down. 

"Not like that, trouble. Right way up. You got it." 

You pick at the loose stitching at the end of your shirt and have to change the subject before the embarrassment of it all swallows you. Such a small thing. 

"Can I try one of these?" you ask, grabbing the first bag of candy you can find. They're a bag of Super Sour Suckers. 

He looks at you over Junie's head, startled and hiding it poorly. Then, a smile so bright it increases the embarrassment you're feeling tenfold.

"You have to! Robin said they're even worse than the normal ones, I don't wanna go through that alone," he says urgently. 

Robin is one of his friends. You're not jealous that he has friends (though you are, because you want your own, but not jealous that he has friends that aren't you). He's mentioned her in passing before. When you'd asked as bravely as you dared if they were anything more than friends he'd laughed maniacally.

"We're definitely just friends," he'd said.

You fight to stay smiling and pull open the bag of candies. Ironically, the jellies inside are shaped like pacifiers. Covered in sugar packed densely and looking almost wet with what you suspect to be citric acid, you shake the packet wearily and search for a candy that won't ruin your tongue.

Eddie holds out his hand. You drop a green one into his palm. Your fingertips ride up the curve of his thumb. 

He's unflinching as he eats it. After a few seconds his eyes screw up and he clutches June tight to his chest, raising an unhelpful hand to his jaw. 

"Holy sugar," he says, wincing. 

You bite into a pink pacifier unfortunately layered in sugar and wait nervously for the sourness to kick in. Sure enough, it comes quick and torturous. It's a knife cutting through fog. 

It's hard to feel tired when there's something this sour in your mouth.

"You can't spit it out!" Eddie says.

You stop with your hand halfway to your mouth. "What?" you ask incredulously, trying not to dribble. 

"You gotta eat it! Chew and swallow!" 

You chew miserably. He laughs at your expression – a warm and hyper sound, practically giggling. Junie joins in as she always does. His joy can't be overstated. 

The lights go down while you're still fighting for your life. Your eyes water and you have to smother the taste with a quick drink and a gasping breath. 

"You're sick. I can't believe you let me eat that," you whisper. 

"You saw me eat mine! You knew what you were getting into… Think June wants one?" 

Your outrage has him laughing again. It's a magnetic sound. Every time he does it you want to touch him, his arm one pole and your hand another. 

Junie gets comfortable on his right leg, head tipped expectantly against his chest and eyes drawn to the screen as the trailers begin. You don't bother with jealousy; in ten minutes she'll be climbing over the arm to sit with you again, or want to sit in her own seat. She may even try to walk around. Toddlers are indecisive and easily distracted. 

Even if she weren't. Even if she sat there in his lap for the next hour and a half and didn't look your way, you're not sure you could harbour any envy against him. His hand spreads over the front of her torso with fingers splayed against her ribs, stroking thoughtlessly through the fabric of her thick clothes.  

He tips his head toward your chair. "There's nachos." 

"I saw." 

"Wanna eat some before they get cold?" 

"Subtle." 

He snorts. "Yep. That's what they call me. Eddie Subtle Munson." 

You reach over the dark floor for the tray of nachos and balance them carefully on the armrest between your two seats. Eddie digs in without fuss, you fret over which ones have jalapeños on them, and Junie gets mad that nobody's sharing with her. She puts her hands straight in a mound of orange cheese. Her face is a picture when she brings it to her mouth. She's discovered molten gold. 

"Junie," Eddie says lightly, carding hair away from her ear so she can hear him properly. "Don't get cheese on your pretty clothes. It took your mom a week to get the rocky road out of your strawberry jammies, you know?" 

He doesn't care that she's mauled the food. He's worried she might stain her dungarees. Your heart goes crazy, another sudden surge of clarity.  

Junie climbs back into your own lap as the movie begins. You whisper to her about proper theatre etiquette in your mommy voice and she doesn't do too bad a job at listening. She finds the appearance of the Great Mouse Detective himself quite funny, and laughs at his grave features and expressions every now and then. It's a golden sound. 

Try as you might, you can't keep your eyes open. Junie's having such a good time and Eddie whispers funny commentary beside you, but eventually your eyelids creep shut and Eddie squeezes your arm, skin braceleted by his thick, warm fingers. 

-

"C'mere," Eddie prompts, hands vying for your daughter where she's perched in your lap. 

"Why?" Junie asks. 

He's surprised at her inquisition. "You don't want a hug?" 

She nods voraciously. Eddie lifts her off of your lap before she can use you as a climbing frame and into his own.

"I think mommy's sleeping," he tells her. 

Junie looks at you curiously. You've got a wet wipe in your limp hand, which he takes and discards, and your head's fallen to one side. You'll have an awesome crick in your neck when you wake up.

Junie gives him a hug. He loves her hugs. They're so small and sweet, she's genuinely an extremely loving little girl. Her smile when she hugs people is beautiful as yours is, though her affection is less hesitant. 

Everything's going well until she catches a look at the huge, scary bad guy Professor Ratigan somewhere in the middle. 

Eddie's crunching through a greedy mouthful of popcorn and almost chokes as she turns around and hides in his chest. He brings a hand up to her back protectively though he doesn't know what happened, eyes moving between her and the screen at lightning speed. 

"Aw, June," he murmurs sympathetically. He really is a scary looking guy. 

"Eddie," she says, dangerously close to tears. 

"Sweetheart, it's okay! He's only on TV." 

She says something that might be, "Don't want." It's not quite there but Eddie thinks she's doing a great job lately with her talking, patting her back in a silent well done as he attempts to reassure her. "Basil's gonna outsmart him, Junie. The Great Mouse Detective is gonna save the day, scout's honour." 

"No," she whines softly. 

He covers her unhappy face with his hand. 

"It's okay," he murmurs, melted and bemused. "It's okay, junebug. I swear." 

Despite his best efforts, she starts to cry. Eddie freezes up because she doesn't cry often, not with him. When she does you're always there to find a solution. He supposes the novelty of being a new person has long worn off, and that he's going to have to make more of an effort than just tickling her or petting her hair to make it better. 

Her volume increases. He shushes her, clumsy and awkward but earnest, trying the best that he can to make it up. He offers candies and drinks, he rummages through your baby bag for Mr. Bear. She takes it all but none of it lasts.

Someone in the chair behind him coughs pointedly. 

Eddie turns to wake you up. He gets one good look at your face and can't follow through. 

You're sleeping deeply, at the movie theatre of all places. How tired are you, and why hadn't you said? He'd known to some extent — it's why he'd offered to drive — but with the movie blaring and all the kids and noise and now Junie's crying, he realises you must be exhausted to sleep through it. Why hadn't he noticed? He kicks himself.

He lifts her up with his head angled down, giving your shoulder a swift squeeze and then bumping down the steps with Junie until he's out into the lights of the hallway. The door swings closed. 

It's oddly quiet and extremely bright. Junie stops crying to blink, and starts to cry again once she's adjusted. 

Eddie does not know what to do. It's a kick to his ego that he quickly accepts, though he does murmur a rueful, "Babe, I thought you liked me." 

Lost on deaf ears, his comment hangs in the air. 

He pats her back some more, wracking his brain for how you take care of her when she gets like this. Mostly, you're patient. You hum and you wait. Eddie tries to emulate you and your kind heart, walking her up and down the hall as he taps the bottom of her spine. 

"It's okay," he repeats. The more he says it the easier it feels. It is okay. He has to find a way to help June understand that, is all.

She grizzles. It's a long process. A couple of times he wonders if he's in over his head, if it's even his place, if he should wake you up and admit defeat. 

But Eddie Munson is trying to prove something. 

He works Mr. Bear out of Junie's iron grip and pinches his back taut so that his face and arms wiggle when he wants them to. 

"Baby June," he begins, in as gruff a voice as he can manage. He tries to channel his uncle's sternness, and his fondness. "Won't you quit crying? You're getting tears on the neck of your t-shirt and all over your cheeks." 

Junie quietens. She still cries, but the severity of the situation noticeably shifts. 

Eddie keeps on. "I got just the thing," he says, pushing Mr. Bear forward and making smacking sounds as he kisses both of her cheeks. "Gotta kiss these tears right off a'you." 

She laughs as Mr. Bear kisses her face dry and laughs some more when Eddie kisses the top of her head.

Eddie loves Junie. 

He knows it for a fact. 

She's very easy to love. She's beautiful as you are, she's loving, she's sweet. Her laugh is adorable and her smile is more. When she cries, Eddie finds he's never annoyed. Grated by the repetitive sound, maybe, but he can't find it in himself to be mad with her ever. He wants to help her work through it. To get you both through it. Eddie wants to be good at this.

He has Mr. Bear kiss Junie all over her face. 

"See?" Mr. Bear asks. "Isn't that better? No more tears, little girl, or we'll never see the end of the movie!" 

As Eddie says it, he wonders if taking her back into the theatre is a good idea. 

"Hey, junebug?" he says, all drama set aside. 

Junie lifts her flushed face. 

He smiles gratefully. "Do you wanna go back inside? Go check on mommy?" Leaving you by yourself doesn't exactly sit right with him.

Ah, there's the face he was expecting. Puzzlement, surprise. Junie frowns at him and looks over his shoulder, her own, searching the empty hallway for you and finding only reflective floor lights and patterned carpet. 

Eddie starts back into the screen room before she can cry over your being missing, chatting quietly but in a way that commands her attention. He's effective in the art of distraction if nothing else.  

The mouse detective and his friends have defeated Professor Ratigan, though Eddie shields Junie's head from the screen in case he's thinking about making a comeback, finding his way back to you in the dark. He picks over other people's snacks and then the abundance of your own, finding you still sound asleep. The sight doesn't spell good tidings. 

"Here she is," Eddie tells Junie, "here's mom. You wanna give her a kiss?" 

He sits down in his seat and squishes a bag of gummy worms under his boot. Junie immediately bends over the armrest and grabs at your front. You'd worried to him once that she had separation anxiety, and Eddie didn't know anything about it to agree or not. This display makes him think she might. She's clinging to you, desperately wanting your attention. 

Eddie winces as she grabs your face. She's obviously not trying to be cruel, hand stroking over your cheek as you'd stroke hers. 

"Mom," she whispers, the action itself enough to get Eddie laughing. Her version of whispering is almost like a character in a pantomime. 

He doesn't laugh for very long. You're not easy to wake up. Junie squishes your cheek and tries again. "Mommy," she says.

You groan in your sleep and your eyes scrunch together. "What?" you murmur finally, voice scratchy. 

"You're missing the movie," Eddie says, patting your thigh. 

Your arms come to life before you do. You wrap them around Junie's short torso and encourage her up your chest until you can nose at the top of her head. You rub slow lines, a steady back and forth. Eddie would bet money you don't have a clue in the world where you are. 

"S'loud," you complain. Your voice is weak with sleep. 

Junie looks at Eddie weirdly. He suspects it's her way of asking him to help out without asking. 

He tenses his hand where it rests at your thigh. "Do you wanna go home?" 

You don't answer. You go limp under his touch and Junie's weight, nose and lips set in a frown but otherwise near languid. 

Eddie's small (and alarmingly ever-present) worry for you multiplies by a hundred. 

He grabs up a bag of chips and entices your daughter back onto his thigh. She digs through half the bag as the movie draws to a finish, distracted if not happy, her face and fingers swiftly flaked in corn dust. The lights are thrown up and the noise is immense, a hundred pairs of shoes over tipped popcorn, babies and young kids unsettled, their parents eager to head home and watch their own movies no doubt. 

Eddie can't say he'd really watched the film besides precursory glances, his focus on you and your fidgety offspring. He'd been excited to tell you about his Junie success, but now he just wants to get you home.

He says your name as clearly as he can, his hand finding its way to your thigh for the third time. He rubs down toward your knee and gives your leg a shake. 

Junie climbs off of his own. Now the lights are on she can see the grand assortment of snacks laid out before her, and she seems eager to try them all. 

You eventually, thankfully rouse, you drag a palm over your eyes and cross your legs, squishing his hand in the process. He steals it back.

"Babe, you gotta get up. The attendants are looking at us funny. I think they think I've run you ragged, and while the dad tag doesn't bother me, 'cruel husband' doesn't suit me." 

"What?" you ask. 

He shrugs. "Junie pissed her pants." 

Your eyes open, lashes parting clumsily. You move like the air around you has turned to glue and moan in a quiet display of agony as your neck clicks. "She leaked through?"

"Nah, I'm messing with you. Movie's done. Getting some weird stares." 

You're quiet, but you shrug on your jacket and Eddie packs what he can of the leftover candy into your bag. He swings it over his shoulder. 

"You wanna come up?" he asks Junie. 

She raises both arms. 

You stand on shaky legs. Eddie stations Junie on one hip with one arm wrapped around her and holds out the other. You let him fold you up into his side.

"You okay?" he asks. 

Your face drops into his shoulder. "I'm so tired." 

"You're alright to walk out to the car?" 

His worry is like a rubber band. You snap to attention, disengage from his hold. It's a foreign and really uncomfortable feeling to see you out of sorts. 

Eddie walks behind you with a hand nearly but not touching your back. If you topple, he's not sure how he's gonna save you. Determined anyways, he guards you down the hollow stairs and through the hallway, one step behind you. 

It's a cool, crisp night outside. 

The smell of rain sticks around. You lift your chin. It's much colder now that night's fallen. The breeze kisses your damp skin. When did you start sweating? 

He presses his hand to your shoulders and guides you across the road. 

Junie starts her lovely babbling in his ear. "Mouse 'tective," she says at one point. You don't react, affirming his theory: you're more than tired. You're sick. 

"Mouse detective," he agrees, arm around your shoulder to assuage his own worries as he gives Junie the best of his attention. "You liked that one, huh?" Besides the evil Professor. "Better than the Muppets in New York? Junebug, you little traitor. How easily your favour changes." 

"Are you surprised? She took to you like," — you yawn wide enough that Eddie feels it under his arm, a full body thing — "a duck to water." 

He beams, relieved to hear your voice. "Yeah, well, I'm special." 

"That's true."

Eddie walks you around to the passenger side and opens your door. 

"Flirting! Awesome. You're not too sick to forget how much of a catch I am. Watch your head." 

"I gotta do Junie's straps," you say. 

"I think I can do it by now."

He's only sort of bluffing. It takes him much longer than it would've taken you. He celebrates his win by pinching her cheek lightly and then whacking his head hard on the roof of your car. 

"Fuck," he mutters as he jogs around the hood, scrubbing at the back of his head. 

You're staring at him as he opens the door. 

He puts the baby bag in your lap and shoves the key in the ignition, trying not to buckle under the weight of your gaze. He cracks quicker than he should, hand paused in its action.

"What?" 

"You tryna give yourself a concussion?" 

"Kiss it better?" 

You kiss the tip of your finger and touch it to his head. It's an instant healing potion. 

Getting you both home is easy enough, it's the trying to leave that's hard. You collapse heavily into the couch, Junie drapes herself over your lap and begs for her clothes to be taken off. Your second wind has worn away to nothing, leaving you plainly exhausted. 

Eddie can't go home, not until he knows you're alright. 

He slinks into your bedroom and tries not to look around too much. It feels like an invasion of privacy despite having made it in here a couple of times, always with his hip to the door as you search for something. He fails spectacularly and straight away, always hungry to know more about you. These days especially. 

Your bed looks like you shook out the duvet but never tucked the corners. Your pillow's on the floor, your thin throw blanket is screwed up in a ball. There's a bunch of Junie's stuffies against the headboard. He grins at their straight backs.

He makes for your wardrobe, a cheap bit of cherry wood with one sagging door. As much as he wants to outfit Junie in her goodwill band t-shirt, he pulls a soft pair of cotton pyjamas out from a neatly folded stack, thumbing the blue fabric fondly. There's a noticeable disparity between her clothes and yours. One work skirt and one work shirt hang from two lonely hangers, accompanied only by your infamous 'best jeans'. He frowns at a small stain at the knee and scratches it fruitlessly. Not her best jeans, he thinks in horror, picturing your unhappy face. He can see it so clearly, the pinching of your brows.

Junie squeals happily from the living room. Eddie remembers himself and follows the sound, finding you both on the ground. You're kneeling, blowing raspberries into Junie's naked stomach where she lays on her changing mat, a discarded diaper and her dirty clothes to the side. 

There's a big break between raspberries where your eyes drift shut sluggishly. Junie whines for another.

Eddie sits next to you. Stupidly close, his crossed leg kisses your thigh. He could wrap you up in a hug easily right here, and he wants to. Your tired face has his stomach aching with guilt. 

"Sweetheart," he says to you firmly, "get back on the couch. You look like you're gonna fall asleep right here." 

You don't argue, leaving Eddie the impossible duty of dressing your baby. Junie hates the shirt more than he can describe, loathes the fabric as it covers her face. He has to pick her up to get her into her pants, another fury. She forgives him easily once he's done, lingering by his side with Mr. Bear in hand. She pinches his back and imitates Eddie's low growl, laughing at herself as she does. She finds it very funny. Eddie can't help giggling with her. 

"Eddie?" you ask. 

He turns. You look miserable. 

"What?" he asks softly, startled by your intense expression. 

"Thank you." 

"Oh, baby," he says, loud and brash as he twists where he is to grab both of your knees. He practically throws himself at you, at your feet, ducking his cheek to your leg. "You really are sick as a dog." 

You look visibly embarrassed.

"Listen," he says, insistent, "If we start saying thank you to each other, we won't stop. We'll be a loop of thank yous." 

"I think I have more to say than you do," you murmur. 

He shakes his head, exasperated at your inability to see him for what he is even now. It's funny. Eddie thinks you've a better view of him than anybody else, that you see him more generously than anyone has ever seen him, and you still haven't noticed he's a boy in love. 

You must feel his grin as he kisses your knee, his thumb stroking over the ridge of the cap. 

"If I started to say thanks for all the things you've given me I wouldn't stop. I'd talk myself hoarse," Eddie argues. 

You laugh at his dungeon master dramatics, but reaffirm, "I haven't given you anything." 

"You don't know what you've given me," he says into your leg. 

Eddie lifts his head, weary of his chin digging into your leg. 

Now isn't the best time to declare devotion, or drop kisses into you when you can't offer any in return. Not that he's expecting you to. Not that he wouldn't receive them gratefully. 

"I should go home." 

You reach for him. Your hand moves slowly like you've a weight around your wrist, but your fingertips curve over his cheek; you move from the corner of his lip, under his eye, and then finish your circle at the skin beneath his ear. 

"Can you hug me?" you ask. 

"Yeah," Eddie says. He doesn't waste any time.

He gets up, slides a knee between your knees and rests his full weight on the couch between them as his arms curve around you and his hands feel for the dip of your lower back. He clutches without any hesitation. 

"Can I? Did you mean it like that? My arms work fine." 

You curl your arms around him and groan. "You're gonna crush me." 

"Really?" He pulls you closer. "How 'bout now?" 

"Ow," you whine. 

He laughs and pushes his face toward your ear. "Liar," he whispers. "No way that hurts." 

"Why's everybody always on top of me?" 

"That's your issue?" He pulls back. "You want to sit in my lap?" 

"No!" 

"Aw, my poor girl. You totally wanna sit in my lap. Alright, get in it." 

He sits down beside you and waits, one arm still behind your back. He gives you an encouraging tug. 

"I'm not sitting in your lap." 

"I didn't think you would, just- Just c'mere," he prompts, pulling your face into his chest. 

Your arms slide around his waist. He can feel the scratchy skin on your left index finger, a scar of a recent kitchen accident, against his hip where his shirt has ridden. 

"You're really handsy. Has anyone told you that before?" Eddie asks, trying to cover the entirety of your back with his arms alone. 

You push your face as far as it'll go into his chest. Eddie keeps you there, and soon a little body has found its way onto the couch next to you both, demanding to be included. Eddie quickly drags her in. 

Long minutes of quiet hugs. 

"Wish we could stay like this forever," you murmur.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere. If you were worried." 

He massages over the slope of your shoulder, a tight looking muscle. You sigh inaudibly, a hot patch over his heart. 

"I wasn't," you say. 

Eddie thinks you might finally be on the same page. 

-

You get really, really sick. 

"On my days off!" you croak, the injustice too much to handle. 

Eddie laughs from the end of your bed, a bandana tied around his face like a doctor from one of his awful horror movies, though the bandana is far from a clinical white. "That's exactly why you're still sick. Your body sensed the weekend." 

Hadn't it? You'd been achy and awful on Friday and Benny had sent you home at lunch, citing a need to keep his patrons from infection. Which sucked, because you'd really wanted to stick around for the very beginning of the Friday night rush and get some payday tips. People are generous when they're high on the buzz of a forthcoming weekend, especially to over obsequious waitresses.

It had sucked worse when Junie came out of daycare in the best mood ever and demanded kisses. You'd had a headache the size of a tennis ball behind your eyes and didn't want to pass anything over, and the crushed look on her face had made you cry in the car on the way home. 

Eddie dropped in particularly early that night with soup. "I had a feeling," he'd said. 

And now here he is again the day after. 

"At least one of us is enjoying this," you say. 

"You think I'm enjoying this?" Eddie asks. 

You give his precautionary outfit a once over. "Yes." 

"This is just something I had lying around." 

"Shut up! Shut up, no it wasn't!" You're voice cracks, giggly and giddy even with the spikes of pain to your tender head. 

"It was. We did a campaign, I was a plague doctor-" 

"That is in terrible taste." 

"It was perfectly appropriate, thank you very much. You're determined to vilify me. Need to slow down with the cold medicine, I think." 

You shriek as he tries to take the bottle. "No! No, please, my throat hurts." 

He takes the bottle. It is a hurtful defeat. You curl your fingers around nothing and sulk, slouching down into a sanctuary of pillows and blankets to hide from him. Extra pillows provided by Eddie. With fresh covers, duh. They smell like him anyway. You turn your nose into it indulgently. 

"You've had too much to safely be responsible for any further consumption." 

"Further consumption," you echo, eyes closing in defeat as he leaves. 

"You okay, June?" you hear him ask, voice occluded partially by the sound of the TV. 

"Okay, Eddie?" she asks. 

You grin to yourself. 

"I'm great. This looks very fun. I'm gonna make mom a cold pack for her head and then you can help me make dinner, okay? Does that sound fun? Tell me, June." 

The 'Tell me, June,' isn't a command so much as a gentle reminder that she can answer the question if she wants to. 

"Fun," she says.  

"Hey, great. Oh, thank you. Thank you." 

They better not be cuddling without me, you think bitterly, grin swiftly replaced by a self-pitying frown. 

You cough into your hand, roil in your own misery for a second and then grab the big glass of water Eddie had insisted on from the night stand. You tip it down yourself in your hurry. 

"Missed your mouth," Eddie says, appearing at exactly the wrong moment. 

"Don't baby me." 

He pads into the room with a cold pack wrapped in a hand towel. "For your head." 

"This is silly. I don't need to be in bed."

"Obviously you do. You're sick, did you notice? Stupid question," he adds regretfully, gesturing for you to lie back. He sets the pack to your forehead. "You wouldn't notice a hole in your stomach. You'd be dripping entrails in the freezer aisle wondering if Junie wants corn on the cob or mashed potato with dinner tonight." 

"What does she want for dinner tonight?" 

"Boo! Exactly my point." 

"I'm gonna go ask her-" 

Eddie puts an unapologetic hand in the middle of your chest and pushes down. "You will do no such thing." He lowers his face to yours. "I'm willing to get physical. So behave." 

You flush with heat because you're sick and not because he says it a certain way, dropping back down into your fluffed pillows without another word. 

Eddie's hand climbs up to your collar, your neck. His fingers slide one after another behind it. It's a blessed cold. You can't find a comfortable temperature today, moving between chills and hot flashes at the drop of a hat.

Or a bandana. Eddie unties the dark fabric from his neck and leaves it where it lands, staring at you without saying anything. 

His thumb presses into your sore throat carefully, the barest hint of pressure, and his lips part. He doesn't say anything for a while. It looks like he wants to. 

"Do me a favour?" he asks finally.

"Of course." Anything to feel useful right now. 

"Take it easy." He again lowers his head, talking to you with a private smile. "The sooner you chill out, the sooner you'll beat this thing." 

"Don't say that. Like I have something serious." 

"The sooner you'll beat this moderate-" 

"Mild-" 

"-affliction." He strokes quarter-circles into your neck.

"I don't need to lie down. There's things I have to do." 

"On a Saturday?" 

"Yes. There's things I need to do everyday." You clear your throat. It's useless, the lump remains and your voice stays scratchy. "I have- I always have laundry. So that first. Gotta wash it and put it out and bring it in and press it. I gotta make sure Junie has lunch for daycare this week 'n if she doesn't I have to go get it, I gotta," — you cover his hand with your own thoughtlessly — "make sure her rash is getting better. And I promised we'd do a tea party tomorrow, I have to make sandwiches!" 

"We both know she doesn't remember the tea party." 

"I promised." 

"And if I… If I tried to get all those things done, would you stay in bed?" 

"You can't." 

"But if I tried it? I can do laundry. I'm good at it. Get oil stains out of Wayne's coveralls every Sunday." 

You slump into a lump of sadness and achy arms. "Don't do my laundry. Don't do any of that stuff. I'll punch you if you do." 

Eddie bursts into laughter. "You'll punch me? You horrible woman." 

"I will," you promise, fingers curling around his arm to hold him in place. 

"Why don't I believe you?" 

"I don't know. 'Cos you're a know-it-all who dislikes me." 

"I far from dislike you." He grins at you, all dimpled and pretty. "I don't believe you'd hit me because I know you, idiot." 

"Name-calling." 

"Uh-huh. Are you sleeping or am I helping you out onto the couch?" 

While you're happy for the compromise, you have one problem. "I don't think I can move." 

Eddie lets his face fall amicably to your collar. "No, I bet you can't. More reason for me to get you on the couch. I think you've genuinely had too much cough syrup," he worries, warm breath fanning over your skin. 

You bring your spare hand to his head. He has so many curls. 

He lifts his head and you're close enough to kiss. There's no other reason anyone has ever been this close. 

"I can see your beauty mark," you say, hushed. You don't wanna breathe on him too much. 

"Freckle." 

"Your freckle." You lift and drop his curls, fingers toying through the softness towards his roots, the frizz at the ends. 

"You- You smell like fucking cherry syrup."

You abandon his hair to clap a hand over your mouth. "I'm sorry." 

He covers his own mouth. "It's okay," he says, similarly muffled. "I like the sweet stuff." 

What the fuck does that mean? Your stomach doesn't flip — it leaps right up into your throat. "You're an idiot," you breathe, caught off guard. 

"What was that?" he asks, taking away his hand. "Didn't catch it." 

"I said, 'You're an-" 

"Amazing friend and confidante?" 

You try to talk and he says, "A real stand-up guy?" 

You try again and he says, "A total rockstar? Baby, if you really think all this you should've said." 

You flop completely onto your back, away from his hands, his jokes and his lovely brown eyes where they bore into your own. Eddie hums and rubs brashly over the top of your arm until the skin glows with heat. 

"Please stay in bed," Eddie says as he stands. 

Medicine or his touch, you're feeling pretty tired. You pull up your blankets and sink like a stone, head disappearing into a mess of pillows and throws. 

-

It's much later when you wake. You move into the land of the living abrupt as whiplash. 

Eddie seems very sorry. "Sweetheart, June's past due for a new diaper, and I-" 

"Oh, right," you say, sounding much more alert than you feel. You're a girl made of sandpaper. 

"I would've, I mean. If it wouldn't make you uncomfortable, I would've tried. But I've never changed a diaper in my life." 

You scratch your flaky eyes, disorientated and head like a boiling saucepan with the lid glued on. 

"That's okay," you say. Your voice refuses to cooperate with you, gruff and too quiet. "It wouldn't bother me, but it's also not your job, so… Um." You yawn wide and cover your entire face. 

You spend a minute rubbing your eyes. 

"Fuck, what time's it?" you ask, squinting at him and bringing your hands to either side of your face.

"Like, seven. Ish." 

"Eddie…" 

"I know. I thought you could use the rest. I knew you could. And it's not urgent, you know? Come around, first. Everything's stellar." 

You peel back the sheets. You're a clammy, too-hot mess with weak legs. 

Eddie sees you wobble and rushes to wrap an arm around your waist. Completely unnecessarily, heart-achingly kind. You wince at the dampness of your shirt under his touch.

Junie sits on the couch in her jammies with a yellow-green soup stain down the front. She's propped up like a princess, a pillow behind her head between the armrest and her blanket covering her legs, cheek pressed to the cushions. Eyes trained on the TV and her bottle propped in a slackening grip, your baby is peaceful, near luxurious. 

Only a little wiggle might suggest she's uncomfortable.

You part from Eddie's side and sit down beside her, the seat warm. She doesn't even look up. 

"What, no hi for mom?" you ask tenderly, hand falling to the top of her head. She's lovely. 

She gasps, little lungs fit to burst. It's pure excitement, her bottle dislodged and the blanket pushed away immediately. She doesn't bother getting to her feet, throwing herself into your lap and assuming you'll do the rest. Of course you will. You pull her up and kiss the top of her head, though you quickly hold her at arm's length. 

"Sorry, mommy's still sick," you tell her, sympathetic at her crushed expression. 

"Mis'd," she says. 

"Yeah? You missed me?" you ask hopefully. 

Her lips part in comprehension. "Missed you," she confirms. 

You throw your gaze over your shoulder to Eddie. He stands by Junie's changing station with a smug smile. "What?" 

"You're not very convincing." 

"I'm not trying to convince you, thanks," he says, holding up two hands in surrender. 

"She didn't learn that herself," you argue. 

"She might've. You tell her enough." 

You go back to your girl, pleased at her own smug smile. "I missed you, too, I missed you so much. Missed you millions. Sorry I've been sleeping all day, you've been such a good girl. She has, hasn't she?"

Eddie sorts through a nearly empty bag of diapers and brandishes one with fish printed on the back. "Oh, yeah. Junebug's been amazing. She came in with me to see you earlier, took your temperature." You frown. "From a distance. Kind of. I held her above you. It was… acrobatic." 

You close your eyes at his absurdity, your laugh prompting another spike of pain. 

Junie forces herself closer and gets both arms around your neck. 

You sag into the contact, defeated. "Aw, June," you mumble ruefully. "M'trying to make sure you don't get sick too. Wasting my time." 

"Mommy," she says into your neck. 

"That's me." 

You know she has something she wants to say. You can't wait for the days where she can. Exciting, to think that one day she'll be able to share all of her thoughts. 

Right now, she's probably thinking, Woah, mom, you smell weird. And you look weirder.

You feel her back with your hand and cringe. Definitely time to get her changed.

Afterward, you sit with your back to the open front door on one of the porch steps. Physical exertion of any kind seems to be inadvisable; you're sweating up a storm. Junie sits beside you at her own insistence, her hand clasped in your hand and her head on your arm. You look down at her thighs next to your own and marvel at their small size. The evening breeze is a blessing. 

Eddie stands in front of you with his backpack slung over his shoulder and a checklist. 

"Tea party sandwiches are badly made and saran wrapped in the fridge. Junie doesn't have lunch for Monday but I can go tomorrow if you want me to. Her clothes are folded in the hamper. Uh, some stuff got left out, you might need to press them. Not tonight though, please." 

"Thank you." 

He talks around a smile. "Soup's on the stove. I'll come back later, if-" 

"You don't have to." 

"I want to. I wouldn't actually leave, but-" 

"Eddie-" You cough into your shoulder. He waits for you to finish. "You- You didn't have to take care of me." 

"What does that mean? Of course I did." 

He hikes his backpack higher up his shoulder and pads back up the steps, not all of them but enough for him to lean down and stare at Junie. 

"Thanks for the best day ever," he says seriously, looking out of the corner of his eye at you. "Almost. See you later?" 

Junie nods voraciously and reaches up with her empty hand. Eddie takes it and kisses her temple. He does the same to you, lips brushing soft as downy-feather over your skin. 

"I'll come back around ten? Is that cool?" 

"Don't knock too loudly," you mumble, very aware of his proximity. 

He backs up and bows like an idiot, hand moving in circles. 

You and Junie wave him off. 

"To work?" Junie asks.  

Your eyebrows jump as you pull your gaze from his retreating figure. "Huh?" 

"To work?" 

You play with her fingers. "No, he's not going to work. He's going to take care of someone else, now." 

Wayne, Eddie said, in a fondly exasperated tone that explained everything you needed to know. His uncle's self-preservation must come in similar disinterest to himself as yours does to you. 

"We'll see him tomorrow," you say. It's not even a lie, you will both see him tomorrow. 

But apparently he's coming back tonight. 

-

True to his word, Eddie Munson knocks your door carefully at nearing ten o'clock. 

Wayne's dismissal chases his heels. He'd spent an hour worrying about you at the dinner table with his uncle, fingers curling anxiously in his hair. 

Wayne had been talking about some gab the boys in the shop had heard about killer mice or killer lice or something when he'd suddenly cleared his throat and snapped Eddie to attention. 

"You're a good kid. Notice how I said good, and not smart," Wayne had said. 

"Gee, thanks. You always did know how to make a guy feel loved, Wayne." 

"You don't wanna be here." 

Eddie had frowned. "Obviously I do." 

"Kid, what I mean is, you gotta," — he'd nodded his head hard to one side and raised his eyebrows — "you know." 

"Haven't brushed up on my mysterious gestures lately. Translate that one for me?" 

Wayne had flicked up his newspaper and sighed. "Don't be dumb." 

"You keep saying that." 

"You keep being dumb, boy." 

"I don't know what you want me to do." 

"Think you better go look after your girl, don't you?" Wayne had asked finally, clearing his throat. 

So here he is to look after you. A tad early, worried you'll be sleeping on the couch with a misbehaving baby in your lap or passed out in the bathroom after an impromptu cleaning. 

Thankfully, you open the door in different clothes than he'd left you in, the neckline dark with run-off and face damp under your eyes and by your ears. You dab at your tacky skin with your index knuckle. 

"You look better," he says. He wishes he could take it back instantly, though you don't take any offence. 

"Hot shower," you explain. 

You step back to let him in. Eddie closes the door behind him without turning, eyes glued to your fresh face. He's depressed by the lingering fatigue he finds lining your darling features. 

"You okay?" you ask him, perturbed by his silence. 

Eddie's better than okay. 

He steps close. You look like you might step back, make room for him he doesn't want, so he reaches out for your face and holds it in one hand, the other landing in tandem on your arm.

Your cheek lists into his hand as he wipes away what's left of the dampness on your face. He's not sure you know you're doing it. 

"Did you take any more medicine?" he asks quietly, rubbing under your eye carefully with the tip of his thumb.

"No, I- I think you fixed me, Munson. Me and Junie had your soup, and after a shower I felt way better. It was really nice. She slept easy." 

He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. "You don't feel too hot." 

"Like I said. Fixed me. My hero." 

He looks over your shoulder at your life — at his life, or at least where a majority of it seems to take place. All his favourite parts these days happen right there on your couch, or at that table, or knee to knee with a baby that isn't his but- but-

"You said that to me the first time we met," Eddie recalls, shaking his head. It's like there's water in his ears. A few strands of hair drift into his eyes. 

You catch his elbows in both hands. "It feels like a really long time ago now." 

Months. Only months. "I feel like I've known you for years."

He strokes over your face, chin to cheek, the tip of his thumb pressed to the corner of your mouth. 

"That's how I feel, too," you whisper. Utter. Hushed, your words ring loud anyway. "You're my best friend." 

Eddie doesn't take it for a door closing because it isn't. It's a door kicked wide open. Split on its hinges. You and Eddie stand on equal ground, and, for once, the same page.

"You know I don't mind taking care of you?" he asks, hand passing over your ear to hide behind it. He wants to see all of your face. 

Predictably, you drop your eyes to his neck, pupils wobbling as you search for somewhere to plant yourself. "I know. I'm not sure I deserve it." 

"Why wouldn't you deserve it? Everyone deserves taking care of." 

"Even murderers?" 

"Maybe not murderers-" 

"The evil guys from your game? Necromancers?" 

"They're not all evil." His left palm skirts up the curve of your neck, encouraging your face back to his. "Don't change the subject." 

You press your lips together, caught.

"I actually…" — he gathers as much bravery as he has — "want to take care of you." 

"You do." 

He holds your face in both hands. "You know you- You know you started it, right? You know it's- that without your-" He cringes internally at his stammering, but he has to get this part right. "You have gold where your heart should be." 

"Y/N The Golden Hearted. Doesn't have the best ring to it," you muse, hands clinging to the crooks of his elbows like twin pooled teardrops waiting to fall. 

Eddie stares at you, floored.

"What about you?" 

"What about me?" he asks. 

"What's your name?" you demand, grinning. 

"Eddie the Subtle. Munson the Mad."  

You huff a laugh. "That's a cop-out."

"Maybe." 

"How about…" The air feels thick as jelly. Light from under the bedroom door stops short of your legs, your toes almost touching. His rubber soles, your socks. "Eddie the Indomitable?" 

He crinkles his nose. "I'd almost think you were trying to flirt with me, that's how bad that is." 

Your blinks are slow. Your eyes soften. 

"What if I was?" you ask. 

A stock-still silence pervades, filled only by the hum of the refrigerator and the droning of the bathroom light, left on. He could tell you the contents of this room by its sounds alone. 

His hand moves of its own accord, up and down the slope of your neck. "I'd say you needed a better pick up line."

"Like what?" you ask, chest rising too fast. 

Eddie takes a step and feels his jacket zipper cut into the cotton of your shirt. It's your matching band t-shirt. 

Eddie drags his gaze slowly to your widened eyes, your lashes as they move almost imperceptibly upward. Taking him in as he inches closer. 

"You're so fucking pretty," he says. 

He leans in. He closes the gap. Eddie Munson takes the leap. 

Your hand comes quickly to his upper arm and you turn your face just enough to force his lips, his kiss landing a centimetre shy of your nose. 

He struggles to keep his eyes closed. His heart thrums like a blown amp. 

"You can't kiss me," you say. Eddie struggles to discern your tone. 

His nose presses to yours. Not desperately, but almost. "I can't?" he asks, throat thick with emotion, a stickying, cloying taffy. 

"I'll make you sick." 

He turns your face with his palm, lips hovering above yours, a hair's width. Close enough to feel their heat. 

"Can I trust you'll nurse me back to health, in the event that that happens?" Would you take care of me? His hands tremble where they're touching you. He's too scared to open his eyes. 

You don't answer. 

You cover his hands and the seconds stretch endlessly, a thousand moments of terror and pining and want suddenly flattened into one as you kiss him.

He exhales against you. His relief is a palpable, viscous thing as he pulls you in and his nose digs into yours. Lips soft as he'd imagined, as he'd known they'd be, you kiss back tentatively. Sweetly.

You're kissing him like he's something that needs a careful touch. 

Eddie screws his eyes shut tight enough to see stars, firecrackers, a shattering bouquet of colours as you move beneath him. He can't believe he's kissing you. He can't believe there was a time where he wasn't.

He yields, leaning back just enough to see your face. You keep your eyes shut, your eyelashes kissing the delicate skin beneath. They move like blades of grass in the breeze as Eddie tries to catch his breath, regaining some of his composure. It's hard while he's here, this close. 

You make a small sound, a breath like a barb. The shaky demarcation of tears. 

"Okay?" he asks, more movement than sound. His lips skip over your own. 

You have to feel it. 

A laugh bubbles up through your parted lips like a hiccup. "I'm definitely gonna make you sick," you mumble regretfully. 

"Make me sick, sweetheart," he says, begs. Whatever. 

Whatever word you want to use. He doesn't care if he pays for it afterwards, he wants to be close to you now, unapologetically close. And kissing you — kissing you like this, your reciprocation, it's everything because it means you feel the same as he does. 

Or a fraction the same. He's reassured either way. If you felt a fraction of what he felt, that's enough. 

It's a lot. To be touching you, finally. He grabs at the nape of your neck and kisses, kisses, kisses. He goes slowly, not quite sweetly. He's never been as sweet as you have, never as soft or patient.

It doesn't feel like it matters. 

You pull his hands from your face, press his and your own, all four hands to the collar of your shirt. 

"It wasn't just a, uh, pick up line, was it?" you ask breathlessly. 

"Wh- No." Eddie massages the back of your hands. "No, you're the fucking prettiest girl ever. I think you're aces. Killer. Everything." 

"Everything," you say, an almost indecipherable glassiness to your eyes. 

"Everything," he says. He spreads his hand over your heart. 

You don't throw yourself at him, but you move alarmingly quickly. Arms over his shoulders, hands crossed and buried in his hair. Your laugh is magic, a bright and exuberant sound loud in his ear and then the skin underneath. He's barely got an arm around the small of your back when you start to kiss him, repetitive, chaste pecks over his pulse. It capers under your lips. 

"I don't know what kind of girl you think I am-" He begins deadpan and breaks abruptly, your second wave of laughter impossible to ignore. 

Your arms tighten at his laughing, palm cupping the back of his head. 

"You're my best friend, too," he says. "But you knew that." 

"Maybe," you murmur, your smile wide against his skin. You're uncharacteristically mischievous. 

He lets his back bend under your weight until your heels lift and you're scrabbling to stay on your own two feet and is rewarded by your shrieking laughter. 

Oh, god, he thinks, ecstatic. 

"Wait," you say, bargaining for freedom as he squeezes you hard enough to make you laugh again, and again, "wait, wait! Wait, let go. I have something to tell you." 

Eddie sets you down. He's reluctant to let you go, almost desperate to hug you now that he knows he can, but his curiosity gets the better of him. What could you have to tell him now that isn't confessional? It's like being promised something good. 

You stand sure and sweet in front of him.

"It's…" You look shyly at his lips. 

"What?" 

"I…" 

He shakes his head gently from side to side. "What? Tell me." 

"Nothing," you say, beaming. Act dropped, you take his face into both hands and kiss him soundly. 

Eddie's barely got his hands on you before you're pulling back. 

"Just wanted to do that," you say. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you for reading! | my masterlist | this fic is multi-chapter 

if you enjoyed (i I really hope you did), please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

[anjee0]

Pretty blue dress and lingerie

Eminem x Female!reader (Feel free to put in your own oc insert as well)

Description - Y/n comes from a girl's night and shows Marshall her new lingerie set.

Warnings - Smut, oral sex, a little bit of fluff.

“Marshall, I'm home!” Y/n called out at she stepped in to the house. There was so response so she presumed that Marshall was in their room.

Y/n had just come back from a long girls night. Her and her friends went out to the club, had a few drinks, partied and caught up with each other. Overall, she had a great time but she missed her husband so much and couldn't wait to jump into his arms.

She made her way into their room and saw Marshall sitting in bed, reading one of his comics. He heard the door opening and looked up to see Y/n. He smiled at the sight of her.

“Hey babe. When did you get home?” He asked.

“Just now. You didn't hear me when I got inside.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry.”

“It's fine. Don't sweat it.”

Y/n stood in front of her mirror as she started to take her jewellery off.

“I know I already said this before you left but, you look really beautiful in that dress. It's suits you.” Marshall said, with a soft smile on his face.

Y/n was wearing a dark blue dress that showed off her curves and right amount of her leg. It had small shiny gems decorated on it, giving it a beautiful sparkle. 

“Thank you, Marshall.”

“You should wear it around the house.”

Y/n chuckled. “I would if it wasn't so uncomfortable.”

She slowly took of the dress as it fell down her body, revealing the dark blue lacey lingerie she had underneath. 

“Is that a new set?” Marshall asked.

“Yeah. I got it 3 days ago. Do you like it?”

“I love it. Come here, let me take a closer look.” He said as he got up to sit in the edge of the bed.

Y/n smirked, as she moved over to Marshall and cupped his face. He kissed her stomach then slowly set her on his lap. 

Y/n kissed him passionately and leaned into him more. She moaned at the feeling of Marshall's bulge pressed against her already soaking pussy. She started rocking her hips against Marshall as she moaned into his neck.

“I need you.” She moaned into his ear.

Marshall didn't waste any time and immediately threw her onto to the bed. He took of his shirt, revealing his chest and his toned abs and muscles.

He took off Y/n's bra and started massaging her breasts. He sucked her nipple whilst twisting the other one. Y/n arched her back and moaned in pleasure.

Marshall cupped her clothed core and smirked at how wet she already was.

“You're so wet for me, huh?” Marshall said with a low, husky voice.

He continued to suck harder on Y/n's nipples as she took off Marshall's pants and boxers, leaving him naked. He took off her panties slowly and lined his dick up with her entrance.

He inserted himself into Y/n, making her moan loudly and arch her back. She wrapped her legs around his waist and ran her hands through his hair.

Marshall started thrusting into her, starting off gentle and then quickly getting faster and faster. Y/n was a moaning mess, she felt tears rolling out her eyes at the sensation.

He sucked and licked on Y/n's neck and grazed his teeth against her soft skin. He left a trail of hickeys along her neck and collarbone.

“Fuck baby. You're so tight.” Marshall growled as his eyes darkened.

The thrusts became harder and harder, he was practically slamming into her walls now. Y/n met her lips with Marshall's and kissed him passionately. Soon enough, his thrusts became more sloppier, indicating that he was close.

“Marshall, I'm gonna cum.” Y/n moaned as felt her self closer and closer to her climax.

“Cum for me baby.”

And with just those words, she came right there while screaming Marshall's name. She was suddenly thankful that their house was in a more private area, away from a lot people. 

Marshall came right after her and groaned into her neck. He pulled out of her and gave her a droopy smile. He moaned softly at the sight of his girl. Her hair was messy, her makeup was sweating off and she looked so exhausted. But she was smiling, feeling high from her orgasm.

“Let's get you cleaned up.” He said.

Marshall got a hit shower ready for them so they could clean up. They both hopped in and held each other close, embracing each other's warmth and love.

Marshall kissed Y/n's hickeys and then started to move down her body at a steady pace. He reach her thighs and started kissing dangerously close to her pussy.

She spread her legs slightly and blushed out of embarrassment when she realised that she was already getting wet for Marshall again.

“Needy, huh, babe?” Marshall teased.

He held onto her thighs and started kissing the folds of her vagina and soon enough, sucking on it. Y/n dug her nails into Marshall's shoulders as she moaned at the feeling of his tongue on her core. 

He inserted a finger in, then two and slowly started moving. The combination of his tongue and two fingers moving through Y/n's folds had her spinning into a spiral.

Soon enough, he added another finger in and quickened his pace. He continued to suck and lick harder.

“Baby, I'm close.” Y/n moaned.

“Cum for me baby.” 

Y/n came whilst moaning Marshall's name softly this time. He stood up and her eyes immediately caught attention of his beard and lips, glistening with her juices. She kissed him, tasting herself on her tongue.

Marshall and Y/n curled up in bed with each other, holding each other close and dear to each other.

“You were so good.” Y/n praised.

“Thanks babe. Up for round 2 tomorrow morning?”

“You know I am.” She responded with a smirk.

And just like that, they fell asleep peacefully in each other's arms.

A/N: This is my first time writing smut. I hope it was good :)

[shadowsingercassia]

Unfated Mates | Chapter 2: "Rhys?" "Leave, Y/n"

RhysandxReader

Summary: Rhysand's mate (Feyre) had died and he tried to act like he's fine and try to forget his feelings through you but the thing is, you won't let him get away that easily. How long will it take for him to cave in and talk about his feelings?

Warnings: angst, mentions of injury, blood, death, alcohol and vomit, oral sex (f receive), language, Rhysand being a dick (let me know if I missed anything!)

Words: 2.6k

I just read over it twice!

Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Rhysand was walking through a forest. The trees were tall, their braches gnarly, twisting into one another in a way that you couldn't recognize where one ended and the another started. Rhysand took cautious steps, his boots sinking slightly in the muddy trail. A bright moon was shining over the trees, casting an eerie glow to the scenery.

The locks of his inky black hair caught in the moonlight as he walked through the forest. As he neared the center of the forest, the trees cleared, creating a clear circle and in the middle of it was a figure, laying on the ground.

He approached it, carefully and inspected it's face. It was a female, her hair a pale brown. Her eyes were closed but Rhysand finally realized who it is.

Feyre

His breath caught in his throat and everything around them went black, only Feyre's face was illuminated by the pale moonlight, as if ghe moon was a spotlight.

This time, Feyre's skin was soft and smooth. Rhysand ran a finger down the line of her jaw.

But wherever he touched, she bled and now blood was running down the side of her neck, creating a small pool of red.

Rhysand jolted back, retreating with small steps, his eyes glued to Feyre's form on the ground.

That is until he slams into something - or someone - and as he turns around he comes face to face with Amarantha.

This is a nightmare. This is a nightmare. It's not real. All a nightmare.

Her fiery red hair was falling in waves down her back and then Rhysand couldn't move. He couldn't move as Amarantha's nail traced the side of his face. Couldn't move as she wiped away a tear that Rhysand didn't even know had escaped his eye. He couldn't move as she came closer, pressing her body to his.

He couldn't move as she sank a dagger into his chest

***

Rhysand jolts awake, a layer of sweat covering his body, the air reeking of it. Silently he pushes the covers aside, and sits on the edge of the bed, cradlingq his face in his hands.

The door creaks as it opens, and his head turns to look at you over his shoulder. Tears fall down his red-rimmed eyes, staining his pale cheeks. He hasn't had proper sleep in a long time or a proper meal.

He was about to say something, but his throat is clogged with the tears and the sobs. He could see your eyes soften and he thought you felt pity.

Your footsteps were quiet as you approached him, sitting down on his bed at an appropriate distance from him.

He knew that what he had said had hurt you, perhaps more than he could ever imagine and it broke his heart, to know his words had pained you.

And yet you were here, your hand rubbing his back soothingly, words of comfort tumbling out of your lips. Rhysand didn't want to believe he deserved it, he couldn't save his mate, Feyre was gone and he couldn't save her and now...

Now she was dead and he was being comforted and cared for. No, no, no, he didn't deserve it. He couldn't deserve it.

Rhysand didn't speak, at all but he supposed silence was better than accidentally hurting you again. Oh, how deeply he regretted what he said. He should have fallen on his knees and beg for your forgiveness and that was all he could think of for the past week.

"I'm sorry..." he said, hoping yoy would understand what he was referring to. Almost immediately, he saw your eyes soften impossibly more and he felt something in his chest clench. Because what he saw in your eyes wasn't pity... no it was... understanding and it came crashing down to him. You had lost your mate as well. And what he had said?

Regret swirled in his chest, making his heart ache. He didn't focus on what you said, too lost into his inner turmoil. He was a horrible person, he said all those things to you and now realizing you had also lost your mate... he just added it to the list of reasons to hate himself.

Before he even realized it, he spoke. "You should... leave" he said, his voice strained and then quickly added "I'll be fine." He tried his best not to sound rude, especially after what he did... he needed to get it out of his head.

"Rhys, are you sure?" You asked him, leaning a tad closer. Rhysand shouldn't ever think of taking out his feelings on you, but all of this weight on his chest, he wants it to go away, if only for a moment.

He told himself no. That he couldn't use you as a distraction to his feelings, but every part of his body screamed at him to take your face in his hands and kiss you until he forgot about Feyre.

He could hold back, that's what he told himself. That he could shove down that need for a distraction.

And then you leaned closer,and Rhysand thought that the proximity felt... no, he wouldn't think like that. He has a mate, and even if she's gone he will never be with another female, he will never get over Feyre.

"Rhys?" You spoke again, your voice so soft. Rhysand's fingers clenched into fists. Sensing the sudden shift in the air, something that you couldn't quite recognize, you pulled back slightly.

And nothing could prepare you from that cold tone in his voice. "Leave, Y/n," it was that same tone, anger masked by coldness.

But you've had enough.

"Why, Rhysand? Why are you pushing me away and deal with your emotions on your own?! I'm trying to be here, comfort you and all I get in response is 'leave, Y/n'!" Your voice holds all the irritation that was bubbling beneath the surface.

Rhysand was stunned. He didn't have any words to say. Mostly because he didn't think you would snap like this but he also didn't have anything to say because you were right. He was being a dick and has been treating you like shit.

"You know what? I'm not going to bother with this anymore, because I can't stand you pushing me away like this! It's fucking stupid!" You say irritated. You stand up to leave, and he didn't stop you. Because everything you said was true.

The door slamming closed snapped him out of his thoughts.

***

You were done. No, you were fed up by his behavior. If he wants to treat you like this, then so be it.

Tossing and turning in your bed, you decided to just stare up at the ceiling, letting your thoughts swirl in your mind until dawn.

Rhysand was your best friend, he had been for as long as you can remember, but lately, he hasn't been acting like it. You couldn't understand why, because he has never been like this. He always used to yearn to be comforted by you, to hold you in his arms and tell you about his problems. But that's not the case anymore.

Now, he closed himself off. And it pained you. Although you had reacted like that similarly when your own mate had died, at least you didn't push him away.

It was so confusing. What were you supposed to feel? Pain? Anger? You didn't know, yet you found yourself in need of answers to the endless questions that plagued your mind.

Why did he refuse to talk to you?

Why close himself off this way?

And many more questions that you couldn't get out of your head.

***

Dawn awoke, bathing Rhysand's room in rays of bright golden sunlight. He couldn't sleep after you left. He just curled up in his bed and cried until his tears stopped falling.

And he continued to lay in his bed, until there was a knock on the door.

"Go away," he didn't say her name, just simply telling her to go away.

"I'm not leaving," said a voice. Not her. No, it was Morrigan. Grunting, he pulled himself into a sitting position and rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

Morrigan opened the door and her heart broke at the sight of Rhysand. Dark bags had formed beneath his eyes, already red from crying. Exhaustion was clear on his face, and Morrigan could tell that Rhysand hasn't been sleeping.

His frame seemed thinner, his clothes hanging loosely on his body.

"You need to eat," she told him and then Rhysand realized that she had brought a tray with food. On plates was a huge breakfast, containing both savory and sweet pastries, along with some bacon, waffles and many other breakfast foods.

He had to admit, he was starving but he found himself unable to take a bite as the tray was placed before him.

"I'm not leaving until you take a bite," she took a step closer to him and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Yet, Rhysand refused to eat. "Eat or else I will spoon feed you" she threatened him and Rhysand rolled his eyes and grabbed a croissant.

He felt the flaky texture beneath his fingertips and he took a moment to assess the pastry before taking a tentative bite.

Morrigan looked slightly annoyed by his ridiculous behavior, but she was grateful she got him to eat. "I promise I didn't poison the food." The ghost of a smile tugs on Rhysand's lips as he took another bite.

He eventually managed to eat two pastries and then declared that another bite and he would throw up. Morrigan understood that he hasn't eaten for a long time and it would take a while until he can eat much without getting sick, so she took the tray and left the room.

Without Morrigan there, his thoughts drifted back to you. He should apologize, but what should he say? Or do?

Should he drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness?

Should he bring you something, like a small gift and apologize?

Or perhaps he should just prepare an apology letter.

No, none of these ideas seemed appealing to him. Maybe he shouldn't apologize at all. No, no that was even worse.

He didn't want to see you, not right now, not after yesterday, and everything. You probably didn't want to see him either.

Memories and thoughts came back crashing on him. Not only of you, but of Feyre as well. It happened occasionally, his mind drifting off, too suddenly for him to notice when it happened.

The cuts on Feyre's body, the blood, his mate's blood staining everything even his hands. His stomach churned when he thought of his bloody hands as he held his mate in his arms, as if trying to bring her back.

Rhysand didn't really know what happened before he was leaning over the porcelain lavatory in the bathing chamber and vomiting whatever he had eaten just a few minutes ago.

For the rest of the day, he stayed in his room, Morrigan constantly bringing him food, even if he couldn't eat more than a few bites.

The door opens again. Morrigan

"We're going out, and you're going to come with us."

***

Clad in a white button up shirt and black dress pants, that Morrigan certainly didnt force him to wear, he reluctantly went out the door, seeing his cousin, Morrigan, in one of her too many red dresses.

Rita's was packed with people at this hour and Morrigan led Rhysand into a table where the rest of the IC was sitting.

Including you.

As you excused yourself to go get a drink, Rhysand didn't dare follow you. Silently, he only watched as you downed a glass of amber liquid. Then, your feet led you to the dance floor.

Fists clenched, he stared at you, dancing with men and women shamelessly. Rhysand wondered how much alcohol you had had, even if he found himself drinking glasses of all types of the strong liquors.

That night he drank and drank some more, not caring how drunk he would be or the hungover the following morning. As he downed another glass, Morrigan approached him.

"Slow down, Rhys. What is this? Your sixth?" She jokes, seeming somewhat drunk herself. "Fifth" Rhysand corrected and a chuckle tumbles out of her lips. "Same thing," she answered and then swept him away to the dance floor.

***

You were too drunk, already seven shot glasses of some strong liquor and you were swaying your hips to the beat, letting yourself dance with different men.

A pair of hands gripped your hips. Rhysand. Your head was swimming with all the alcohol in your system but you couldn't care less if it was Rhys or any other man.

You noticed a slight swaying on his feet and you knew that he was also drunk.

His scent filled your senses, making your arousal pool into your panties. Grinding your ass on his now hard length, a low growl reaches your ears. The sound alone makes your thighs clench together.

Leaning your head back, you looked at him. Gods, you had never realized how desirable he looked until now. Perhaps it was the alcohol's fault but you found yourself not caring about what or who's fault this is.

A few strands of onyx hair, messy, as if he had run his hands through it, fell over his brow. His gaze was piercing, eyes violet eyes, now blown wide with lust.

Whoever there was a small part of your mind that wanted to say no, to resist him, after what he did, you didn't want to see him again, speak to him again. Though you couldn't help but want to understand him.

Too lost in your thoughts, you didn't realize he tugged on your hand and whisked you away. Swaying on your feet, you let him take you away to God knows where.

He ended up winnowing you back to his bedroom. Once he finally got you alone, his hands were all over you, his lips placing demanding kisses on your neck. His mouth was warm, firm, demanding.

Possessive.

A trail of arousal trailed down your inner thigh and it caussd you to clenched your thighs tighter together.

His mouth trailed down the column of your throat, nipping gently at the skin at times and coaxing moans out of your lips. A loud moan escaped your lips as his tongue darted out to taste your skin. "Darling... you don't know how much I need you," he groaned.

You felt his hands slide down your back landing on your hips and giving them a firm squeeze before moving further down, to the back of your thighs. He lifted you up effortlessly, although his legs slightly trembled from the amount of alcohol he had, and laid you back onto the bed.

He slowly pushed the strands of your tight black dress off your shoulders and pulled it down, exposing your skin to his gaze.

His mouth moved lower down, leaving hungry kisses down your chest until he reached your thighs. Then his kisses trailed upwards, towards your soaked core. "Fuck, so wet and I haven't even touched you," his words were slightly slurred thanks to the alcohol he had consumed.

You couldn't respond, mostly because of the pleasure and partly because of the alcohol that you, yourself had also downed.

His mouth attached to your core and you threw your head back, lips parting as your moan echoed across the room.

But nothing could have prepared you for his next words. The realization hit you, because it wasn't your name he moaned in that deep, lustful voice.

"Feyre" he moaned against you.

------------------------☆------------------------

a/n: This is my first time writing smut so I would really appreciate any feedback! Also, I deeply apologize for the cliffhanger but I'm feeling motivated so I believe the next part will be out rather soon.

Comment '❤️‍🩹' if you want to be added to this series taglist!

Comment '💕' of you want to be added to my general taglist!

Love, Cassia! ❤️

[cheolism]

laundry and jiu jitjsu

✧ seungcheol x reader

✧ request from @softnyams, who wanted seungcheol showing his jiu jitsu moves and play fighting. i hope you enjoy this!!! <3

✧ summary: after seungcheol leaves the laundry unfolded on your bed before going to his jiu jitsu lesons, you decide to take action.

✧ wc is aprox 4k

✧ genre: fluff, humor. already together, living together. domestic life. they have a cat.

✧ notes: wrestling, pettiness, name-calling, pinching. reader plays dirty. the cat sits on the counter. mentions of having showered together in the past. he wears a tanktop and his biceps are mentioned. i don't know jiu jitsu. i also don't fold my laundry so ig i'm my character's own worst enemy </3

Living with Seungcheol had its ups and downs. More ups than downs, of course. Way more. But still there were downs, moments that had you rolling your eyes and reminiscing on what it was like to live alone. 

You wouldn’t trade anything for that back, however. No matter how many times you ask Seungcheol to throw his socks into the laundry basket instead of just peeling them off at the front entrance; no matter how many times you ask him to use a bowl when eating cherries instead of just leaning over the kitchen sink, spitting the seeds out into the sink. 

No matter how many times you ask Seungcheol to actually fold the laundry instead of just dumping it on the bed, you wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

That’s what you were trying to tell yourself. 

Which was reasonable! 

But still, coming home after a day of work to see all your clothes tossed out on your bed after your boyfriend had said he would do the laundry did put a damper in your good mood. 

But still, coming home after a day of work to see all your clothes tossed out on your bed after your boyfriend had said he would do the laundry did put a damper in your good mood. 

You worked your way out of your blazer, pausing before you folded it and put it with the pants. You grabbed the pants and shook them out before throwing them on the top of the pile, your blazer joining. 

There was a little noise of surprise from the pile. Then Darling’s startled head wiggled out from underneath your pants, her bright eyes blinking at you. “Mrp?”

“Sorry, Darling,” you cooed, going to the pile. You scooped your black cat up, having not seen her due to her lying on one of Seungcheol’s black hoodies. She began purring, nustling her face underneath your jaw and pressing her cold nose to your neck. “I can’t believe he didn’t fold the laundry. He said all he had to do today was go to his jiu jitsu lessons. Was it too much for him to fold the dang laundry?”

Darling didn’t respond. The cat, who was of a considerable size due to her enormous amount of fluff, instead began kneading against your collarbone. Sighing, you sunk your hand into her fur and absentmindedly began to pet her. “At least you got something out of it. Probably enjoyed sleeping on top of all that clean laundry, huh, Darling?”

The two of you went around the room, Darling swiveling her head back and forth to watch you as you grabbed joggers and a hoodie. She let out a meow of protest when you set her on the floor, but once you were clothed again you grabbed her. She let out a surprised mrp? when you lifted her back into your hold, but settled in easily. 

With your baby in your arms, you wandered back out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. The counter was clean of the dishes that had lined it that morning, pots and pans drying out on the dishrack. The rest of them were resting in the dishwasher, clean and spotless. 

Sighing, you dropped Darling so you could grab a cup. “At least he does dishes, right?”

You went to the fridge, pulling out some fruit punch. When you turned back to the counter, twisting the plastic cap off of the bottle, Darling was sitting there. She looked like a proper little lady, her paws resting at the edge of the counter and head slightly tilted at you. Darling blinked, noticing you looking at her, before erupting in a meow. 

“If Seungcheol saw you sitting on the counter he would flip,” you chastised. You settled in next to her, getting ready to pour the punch. “We’ll just wipe off the counter before we make supper and he won’t know any better, will he?”

Despite having lived with Seungcheol for a little over a year, when you heard the key enter the lock and the little click of the lock releasing, you still froze and turned to watch the door. You waited, holding your breath, as the door quickly opened. 

Never once had a serial murderer or thief used a key to enter your apartment, but you never knew when they would start. 

Then your boyfriend was rounding the door, kicking it shut behind him. His dark hair, still curly from the perm he had gotten weeks ago, poked out from beneath his black beanie. He was wearing his overly large white hoodie, accompanied by his black cargo pants. A typical Choi Seungcheol look. 

“Hey, baby,” he greeted, smiling once he caught sight of you. Then Seungcheol’s eyes drifted, and his smile flipped into a frown and his thick eyebrows furrowed. “Darling. What are you doing on the counter?”

Darling stood up, tail going straight into the air. She meowed excitedly at the sight of Seungcheol, despite the scolding tone he had. She jumped off of the counter only to then jump onto the kitchen table, going to the corner of it and craning out her neck, meowing frantically, tail striking the air in her excitement. 

“Someone wants you to pick her up, Cheolie,” you laughed, returning the punch to the fridge. Seungcheol was holding Darling when you turned back around, your black cat pressing her face against his, tail swishing against his hoodie. “What a big baby.”

Seungcheol hummed, his large hand settling over her head. He ran his hand down the length of her spine, pressing his lips against the crown of her head. “She is a baby.”

He crossed the room to you, moving the hand that wasn’t holding Darling to reach out for you. You pressed yourself against him, careful not to squash Darling between the two of you. Your sides pressed together, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and drawing you ever-close. Burrowing your face into his chest, you pressed kisses there. 

“And me?” You asked, peering up at him with a faint grin. 

Seungcheol pulled away, moving to place Darling on a kitchen chair. Then he returned to you, his large hands cupping your face. “You’re my baby,” he said. You fell into him easily, his hands guiding you close, your hands going to grasp at his hoodie. Your eyes slipped shut as his lips pressed against your forehead. Moving your hands, you wrapped your arms around him in an attempt to mold your bodies together. You were surrounded by Seungcheol, which was, if you were honest, your favorite place to be. His cologne was thick and expensive, and you could smell your laundry detergent and fabric softener from his hoodie. 

And he was warm. He was so warm, his body heat sinking into your fingers and face, traveling through your body and warming every centimeter of your heart and soul. Seungcheol was likened to a fire more often than not, people quoting his fiery passion and temper for the analogy. But there was also the warmth of his eyes as he watched his friends laugh and make jokes, the warmth of his voice as he murmured I love you; the warmth of his embrace and how safe and loved and wanted they -- he -- made you feel. 

Pulling away from his chest, you rose to the tips of your toes. Knowing, Seungcheol lowered his face and met you halfway, his lips meeting yours. The two of you exchanged a series of quick kisses, a small smile slowly taking over your lips at every satisfying smack of your lips. 

“Stop messing around,” he mumbled. Then his hands moved and tangled into your hair, angling your face to his liking. Seungcheol descended on you, his mouth prying yours open, pressing hot, quick kisses on your lips that stole your breath. 

Satisfied, he pulled away. His smoothed your hair, eyes soft and sweet. “Okay. Now we’re good.”

“Oh?” You laughed, reaching up and grabbing his hands. He squeezed yours, and you pressed a kiss to the backs of his hands. “Sometimes I forget how stingy you are.”

“Not stingy,” Seungcheol protested. “I’m a just man who knows what he wants.” You laughed again, pulling away. Darling had left the two of you for the couch, stretching out on the top and licking at her stomach. “And what is that, Cheolie?”

“A proper fucking kiss when I see my baby after a full day apart.” He reaches out for you once more, hands on your cheeks. Seungcheol kisses your lips once more before trialing to them your chin, cheeks, temple and forehead. 

Finally the two of you separated, you returning to your abandoned cup of fruit punch. Seungcheol peeled his hoodie off of his body and tossed it onto the dining table, leaving him in just his dark tank top. He stretched out his arms, pale, thick muscle bulging and a satisfied sigh escaping his mouth. 

You watched all the while, though the serenity that had settled within you was displaced by the reminder of the pile of clothes on your bed. Taking one last sip of your punch before throwing it in the sink, you slowly began your trek to your boyfriend as he hunched over to peel his socks off. 

“So,” you drew out the word, watching him ball up his socks. “Did you get to your lessons okay?” Seungcheol straightened, transferring his socks to one hand and grabbing his discarded hoodie. “Mm. I had so much restless energy today. It was nice being able to get it all out of me, you know?” “I bet,” you said, trying to appear empathetic. You followed your boyfriend into the hall where he discarded his dirty clothing in the hamper. Next he grabbed his beanie and tugged it off, though he didn’t toss it in the hamper. “Must’ve been nice to take out your energy like that.”

“It is!” He agreed, dark eyes shining. “I was able to perfect a move today. Wanna see?”

You nodded. Seungcheol then fished his phone out of his pants pocket, pressing close against you. He opened up his gallery. “I recorded me doing it to show you,” he explained. 

You fought to hide the little grin that began to appear on your face. Despite Seungcheol being a blackbelt in taekwondo, learning jiu jitsu, having bulging muscles and seeming like the sort of man who didn’t need anyone’s approval, he always sought out some sort of praise from you. 

Once you had been folding paper flowers, a pastime craft you had learned in high school. Seungcheol had wandered into the living room to see you sitting on the floor, surrounded by paper flowers and paper sheets. He had watched you do one and then sat down next to you, snatching a piece of paper to fold alongside you. 

So you had guided him, slowly folding and gluing. Seungcheol had been a dutiful student, and while the end result wasn’t the prettiest flower, he still placed it in the center of his palm and proudly presented it to you, a boyish grin brightening his face. 

Compliments and praises had poured out of you, and you had taken the flower and gone into the office room. Seungcheol had followed, obviously pleased when you set the flower on your bookshelf. 

There were a series of videos on his gallery just from today’s practice. He flicked through them before seemingly finding the one he intended to show. Seungcheol angled his phone towards you. “This is called a butterfly sweep.”

You watched as Seungcheol laid beneath his trainer, the two men grappling with one another for a few moments. And then Seungcheol got his arm next to the other man’s neck, his leg between the other man’s, and then he was flipping the man up and over. The man landed on the other side of Seungcheol, back on the ground, arms splayed out in an attempt to catch himself. 

Despite not really understanding what was going on, you grinning nonetheless. “That’s so cool, Cheolie,” you praised, turning to face him. 

Seungcheol was already facing you, having been watching. He smiled widely at your praise, pleased. 

“It looked really effortless when you did it,” you carried on. “I can’t believe you’ve only been doing jiu jitsu for a month and a half now.”

“What can I say,” Seungcheol began, obviously enjoying every moment of your attention. He flicked through his videos, that overly satisfied, slightly cocky look on his face never leaving. “Your boyfriend is just really good at this sort of thing.”

He then paused, turning to you. “I can show you how I did it, if you want.”

Which had led to the two of you moving the coffee table across the living room, freeing up the wide space. Seungcheol grabbed the pillows and blanket off of the couch, Darling having stopped bathing herself to watch as the two of you prepared. 

“Okay,” he began, sitting on the floor. He was leaning back on his hands, his feet resting flat against the hardwood. “I’ll be the one doing it. Just do what I say, okay, baby? Don’t struggle or anything and just move with me and you won’t get hurt.

“Now. Kneel at my feet.”

You did as he said, squinting in false accusation at him. “If this is just an elaborate set-up --”

Seungcheol laughed, shaking his head. He leaned forward, his right arm coming up underneath your left and looping across your back. “So this is just an underhook.”

“I remember,” you said. Seungcheol had taken to showing off most of his newly acquired knowledge with you, and while you couldn’t remember all of what he said, you did remember some. “Now what, babe?”

“Put your arms out on either side of my torso,” he instructed. “Now,” he carried on, doing as he talked, “I’m going to hold your elbow and squeeze your wrist against my side with my elbow. Normally instead of holding your elbow I would clamp it, squeeze the muscles there and pinch them.”

He shifted, his leg moving from where you had been straddling to cross underneath his other one. “I’m going to start moving you now. Don’t fight it. I’m going to bring my ear down to the floor, and as I move, I’m going to move you with me and kick my foot out to kick your legs and get them in the air. Remember, baby, to move with me.”

And then Seungcheol slowly moved, just as he had said. You moved with him, letting Seungcheol manipulate your body and flowing with his movement. His arm around you tightened as he moved, and even though he was flipping you onto the ground, his slow movements and the arm around you prevented you from slamming against the wooden floors. Instead you were lowered as gently as possible, so you were flat beside him. 

You were still breathless at the end of it. He was leaning over you, your arm looped around his chest and his both holding you down. Seungcheol’s face was close enough to where you could see the dark shadows beneath his eyes that always lingered despite him getting enough rest, the little dark spots on his face. 

“From here I’d do some sort of hold,” he explained, flicking his hair out of his face. 

You nodded. “Hey, Cheol?”

“Yeah, baby?”

His arms repositioned around you. One of his hands went to your head, smoothing back your hair and stroking it fondly. For a moment you let yourself bask in his attention, feeling slightly bad for what you were about to do. But then:

“Why didn’t you fold the damn clothes and put them away before leaving?”

Immediately Seungcheol froze against you. His eyes widened, jaw dropping. Then you were moving. You looped your arm around the arm that was around you, creating space between the two of you; then you used your other arm to meet your first one, hands settled over one another and pushing against Seungcheol while you moved back and away, creating more space and getting out of his hold. 

Still shocked, Seungcheol put up no fight against you. He laid there, half sitting up, watching as you went to your knees. “Baby, what --”

You then launched yourself at him, straddling his waist and pressing his shoulders into the floor. Seungcheol’s hands immediately went to your waist, holding you in place. “Baby --”

“Jerk,” you said, hands slapping against his shoulders. “Put away the fucking laundry if you’re going to do it! If you’re not going to fold the clothes and put them away just don’t do the laundry!” 

His hands tightened around your waist, and then one of his arms was worming up and between the two of you to create space. Immediately you hooked your arm around his, holding it in place. Seungcheol cursed, “You’re lucky I don’t want to hurt you. Otherwise you’d be on the floor.”

“Yeah?” You huffed, squeezing his arm. Your free hand slipped into his armhole, which was overly large due to Seungcheol having cut it so, your fingers lightly pinching at the skin there. Seungcheol let out a shriek -- though he would deny it was a shriek. 

Then you were lifted up and over, just like before. And just like before Seungcheol’s arm was around your back, protecting you from the brunt of the landing. He quickly moved, straddling you like you did him. 

“That fucking hurt,” he struggled, fighting off your hands as they pushed against his chest. “What did I say about pinching?”

One of your hands slipped free of his and slapped against his bicep, your palm stinging from the impact. Seungcheol cursed, his knees tight as they squeezed your hips to keep you at bay. His other hand went to try and wrap around your wrist, and you used his distraction to shove at his shoulder in an attempt to get him off. 

“Stop --” He managed to get both of your wrists in his hold, pressing them against the floor. “There. You absolute ass. What happened to talking things out?”

“Leaving clothes on the bed happened,” you hotly returned. Your heart was pumping, and you could feel yourself begin to sweat. Still, even though he had both your wrists pinned, you had no intention of stopping. You got your feet beneath you, using your toes to try and bridge.

Meaning, in simple terms, you were frantically bucking up against Seungcheol in an effort to get him off. 

Seungcheol, surprised and confused, rose off of your hips. “What are you --”

You used the space he created between the two of you to scrunch up and wiggle, loosening his grip on your wrists. Seungcheol quickly gave up on holding your arms down, moving instead to loop his legs through yours and sit on your thighs, keeping your lower half trapped between him. 

“There,” he sighed, hands on your stomach and keeping you down. His bicep muscles bulged as he exerted strength against your stomach as you struggled, hands slapping against his arms and trying to get ahold of him. “What has gotten into you?”

Then you had the skin of his upper arms between your fingers, tight and ready. “I’ll fucking pinch you if you don’t let me go. Don’t think I won’t.”

“If you pinch me you’ll regret it,” he warned. His eyes were blazing, and his body was heavy on top of yours. For all Seungcheol loved to baby you, he wasn’t going to back down from a stand-off just because you were on the opposing side. Just because he was the one to press band-aids to your scratches and kiss your temples whenever you got migraines didn’t mean he was going to let you win a wrestling match between the two of you. 

“I’ve got you trapped beneath me,” he announced. “And I know your tickle spots.”

You narrowed your eyes, glaring at him. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” he said, “and I can.”

“My armpits are all sweaty,” you provided, wiggling beneath him. “Won’t want to tickle me there.”

“You think I care about armpit sweat?” Seungcheol mocked, grinning down at you. “I’ve showered with you, I’ve cleaned your sweaty body before.”

You bucked up against him once more. Seungcheol squeezed your body between his knees in response. Sighing, you laid your head back against the floor. “Fine. I won’t pinch you.”

“And we’re done wrestling,” he demanded. “Say it.”

Pouting, you relented. Seungcheol released your legs from his hold, but he still sat on your thighs. He settled his weight on you, using one of his hands to run through his hair in a poor attempt to coax it into lying flat. “So what was this about? The laundry on the bed? I was going to fold it after jiu jitsu, baby.”

You continued to frown up at him, wiggling. You moved your hands to press against his thighs, feeling the muscle flex. “Cheol. It’s not about you doing it later. It’s just like. You decided to do laundry and didn’t finish it, meaning that when I came home to relax it was to the sight of another chore I would have to do.”

“But if I hadn’t washed the laundry that still would’ve been a chore for you.”

You sighed, throwing him a look. “Cheol. It’s the thought, you know? You thought about doing laundry, meaning you must’ve had some intent of folding it and putting it away. And then you just didn’t. You didn’t put it away, which meant you were leaving it to do later, but you knew I would be returning home from work before your lessons were done. So you were leaving it for me, Seungcheol. And I don’t mind doing chores. You know that. 

“It’s just after a long day at work, do you really want to come home and see some unfinished chore your boyfriend started?”

Seungcheol closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose. Then he moved off of you, settling his body next to yours. Seungcheol leaned over you, the line of his body against you. His hand that wasn’t supporting his body went to your lips, tracing them, before his hand settled against your neck. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured, voice deep and thick. His lashes fluttered as he blinked. “I didn’t think about that. Honestly, I didn’t.” “I know, Cheol,” you wiggled your hand from between your bodies, moving it to brush his bangs out of his face. “But you gotta think about stuff like that. It’s not fair to me.”

Seungcheol moved his hand again. He cupped your cheek before leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better to think about stuff, okay?” “Okay,” you softly repeated. 

Then something poked at your head. You shifted to see Darling staring down at you, her paw raised in the air from when she had tapped you. Darling did it again, letting out a little meow. 

Seungcheol laughed. He raised off of you, allowing you to sit up. “Here she comes to investigate.”

You gathered Darling into your arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She turned her face away to look at Seungcheol, her paws settling on your arm. She meowed again and Seungcheol relented, bridging the gap to pet her. “Clingy cat.”

“Just like her dad,” you said, grinning at him. 

Seungcheol rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re just as clingy as me.”

“Am not.”

“You are literally the clingiest person I know,” he protested. Then after a moment, he amended his statement. “Well. After Mingyu, of course.”

You laughed, startling Darling. She squirmed in your hold. “I was going to say! Imagine being Mingyu’s boyfriend.”

Seungcheol did an exaggerated shudder. “I’d never get anything done.”

“Not like you get anything done anyways,” you argued back, grinning. You stood, stretching and looking down at him. Then, trying to fight the sly little smile that had taken over, you couldn’t help but add: “Like folding the laundry.”

And then you tackled onto the couch, your boyfriend’s full weight against you as he began tickling your sides. 

[ddejavvu]

What if one Monday after a weekend of crying over her bully!Eddie, he tells her she looks like shit and like she hasn't slept in days and she can't help but tear up so he silently vows to take care of her, and he'd force her to sit on his lap and sleep during lunch and little things like that. He'd leer at anyone who so much as looked her way, he needed her to have a peaceful day. He'd call her his little crybaby and make her give him little kisses as thankyous for taking care of her but she doesn't care, it's better than him pushing her around and smacking her ass in front of anyone who happens to be around.

What Eddie didn't realise is in this constant change of behaviour, he'd conditioned her to need him whenever she's overtired or sad. She'd start calling him in the middle of the night asking for him to come over and help her sleep. He never wanted to- he wanted to tell her no, call her mean names and put her back in her place but he couldn't bring himself to let her down. Every time he would rush to her house, climb through her window and fuss/kiss her until she was so relaxed and cosy she drifted off. He was never there when she woke up but there'd always be a thanku nudey polaroid or magazine in his locker or car as a thankyou for taking care of her

-🐱, sorry if this one is a lil weird- my meds have sent my lil horny goblin brain into mushy gushy subspace, I wanna be babied by a meanie lmao

today is multiverse monday! send me an au you can think of :)

i'll write the second part as a part 2!! it's very cute but i couldn't fit it all in one blurb </3

cw // bully!eddie. nothing terrible, he doesn't ever hurt her or anything, he's just annoying as fuck - don't like don't read

Eddie's grip on your wrist hasn't loosened since you'd walked out of class. Typically, he pushes you around, catching you before you trip and teasing you for being so off-balance. Today, though, he drags you through the doors of the cafeteria, and your stomach drops. Is he going to humiliate you in front of the entire room? Is he going to dump milk over your head, soak your shirt so that it's stuck to your figure? Is he going to shove your face in a plate of mashed potatoes and show you off to the crowd? Is he going to force you to eat something he steps on? Is he going to-

You're sitting in his lap. He's plopped down on a bench, yanking you down by one arm so that you land on his thighs. He has you facing him, your chest pushed up against his as you stare bewilderedly at him.

"Lay down," He demands, pushing his hand against the back of your head so that your face is forced over his shoulder, "You're tired. You look like shit, honey."

Your eyes fill with tears from where you're struggling to fight his grip, and he scoffs.

"Not a bad thing, crybaby. I'm not being mean, I'm being honest. Y'look like you haven't slept for days," He lets the back of your head go, thumbing roughly at the bags under your eyes, "I won't kick you while you're down. That's not really my thing. Just take a nap, get your sleep, so I can go back to messing with you."

Without another word he's pushing again at the back of your head, and you let his words sink in while you rest on his shoulder. You shouldn't let him keep you here like this. You should insist on studying in the library, or some other place he wouldn't dare enter. But he's warm, his shirt is soft, and though the smell of weed makes your nose wrinkle, there's musk beneath it that makes your tummy twist. His hand settles on your thighs, just below the hemline of your skirt, and rubs up underneath it, brushing the globes of your ass where they meet your thighs. You shiver, tucking your face into his neck so that you can drown out the noise of the lunchroom.

He gets strange looks when you finally doze off. Jeff sends him a glance that's far from friendly, nose wrinkled in judgement, disgust, and probably a little jealousy. He makes the decision to chuck an apple slice at him instead of an entire apple, which he's sure the man appreciates. Mike takes note of this, and schools his expression to be neutral, as he avoids asking about you like the rest of them.

When the school bell rings you don't wake, instead still lightly snoring against his neck. He thinks he can feel drool there too, and he'd be lying if he said the thought didn't stiffen his cock.

"Hey," He taps at your side, one hand still flush to your ass, "Come on, honey. Time to wake up, nap's over."

Your eyes flutter open, he can feel the lashes against his skin.

"You feeling any better?" He asks as you straighten from his lap, your hands braced against his chest for stability as everyone vacates the room, on their way to their next class.

"You're looking a bit better," He muses, not waiting for an answer. He once again rubs a thumb over the bags under your eyes, but then his fingers slip down to grip your chin. He pulls your face down, ignoring the way your hands tighten in his shirt in alarm.

"Eddie, what-"

"You owe me a thank you," He speaks only centimeters away from your lips, "I didn't have to be this nice to you, y'know. I could have flipped your skirt up like I always do."

You sniffle once, nodding as much as you can while he holds your face to his.

"Well?" His eyebrows raise, "I'm waiting."

"Thank you, Eddie." You mumble, the tip of your nose brushing his own, "I appreciate it."

He scoffs, "Not what I meant," And kisses you firmly. There's no pulling back, not when his fingers are hooked around your chin and tugging you impossibly closer. He backs away after only a moment, leaning back expectantly.

"Your turn," He explains, "Say thank you, crybaby."

Your hands inch up his chest as you lean in, lips parted to capture his lower one in between them. You feel him squeeze at the fleshy curve of your ass when you do, and there's a devilish glint in his eyes when you pull away.

"That's not gonna cut it, honey." He laughs, and then he's moving back for more. You're not sure how many times he does it, relentlessly jamming his lips to yours, but you're not sure you can stand up straight when he finally gets his fill.

"It's less than I want, but it'll do." He decides, patting the bare skin of your ass, now aching from where he'd kneaded it, "You'd better get to class now, honey. Don't be late, or I won't be this nice to you again."

[konigsblog]

— perv!soap and perv!gaz with a naive! reader ;3

(tw) manipulation, guilt tripping, dub-con

☆‧₊˚. perv!soap who loves your nativity, how easy you are to control

he loves how you don't expect the worse in everybody, always giving them the benefit of the doubt -- and especially when it comes to him. you bend over, and soap smacks of your tight, pretty ass, making you jolt. but when you see that it's just johnny, your frown fades into a playful, shy smile. you excuse it as ‘just being friends’, despite how weird he is about you.

johnny loves jerking off to the sight of you, so he's thankful you three share a barracks. he jerks off to the sight of your face when you're asleep, meanwhile gaz records the two of them perving over you. “look at her, johnny--fuck.....” gaz grunts, his thick cock twitching. “ain't she just so perfect...”

☆‧₊˚. perv!gaz who feels guilty and cries to you about feeling so obsessed, practically manipulating you into giving him a blowjob.

gaz just wants to feel better... don't you want him to feel better? make him cum after sobbing into your shoulder about feeling so horny when he see's you. he's the opposite of soap; he doesn't hide it, he puts it all onto you, making YOU feel bad for making him hard :(

so instead, you make it up to him. wiping his tears and stroking his hard, lengthy cock slowly, while kissing his forehead and apologising profusely. “i-i'm sorry, kyle...” you twist your hand around his shaft, rubbing his sensitive tip while he breathes heavily into your ear, hiding his face in the crook of your neck to hide and cover his smirk.

he knows he shouldn't be manipulating you like this, but he can't help himself :'3