#Locke's political ideas

[blueheartbookclub]

"A Foundation of Modern Political Thought: A Review of John Locke's Second Treatise of Government"

John Locke's "Second Treatise of Government" stands as a cornerstone of modern political philosophy, presenting a compelling argument for the principles of natural rights, social contract theory, and limited government. Written against the backdrop of political upheaval in 17th-century England, Locke's treatise remains as relevant and influential today as it was upon its publication.

At the heart of Locke's work lies the concept of natural rights, wherein he asserts that all individuals are born with inherent rights to life, liberty, and property. Locke argues that these rights are not granted by governments but are instead derived from the natural state of humanity. Through logical reasoning and appeals to natural law, Locke lays the groundwork for the assertion of individual rights as fundamental to the legitimacy of government.

Central to Locke's political theory is the notion of the social contract, wherein individuals voluntarily enter into a political community to secure their rights and promote their common interests. According to Locke, legitimate government arises from the consent of the governed, and its authority is derived from its ability to protect the rights of its citizens. This contract between rulers and the ruled establishes the basis for legitimate political authority and provides a framework for assessing the legitimacy of governmental actions.

Locke's treatise also advocates for the principle of limited government, arguing that the powers of government should be strictly defined and circumscribed to prevent tyranny and abuse of authority. He contends that governments exist to serve the interests of the people and should be subject to checks and balances to prevent the concentration of power in the hands of a few. Locke's advocacy for a separation of powers and the rule of law laid the groundwork for modern democratic governance and constitutionalism.

Moreover, Locke's emphasis on the right to revolution remains a contentious and influential aspect of his political philosophy. He argues that when governments fail to fulfill their obligations to protect the rights of citizens, individuals have the right to resist and overthrow oppressive regimes. This revolutionary doctrine has inspired movements for political reform and self-determination throughout history, serving as a rallying cry for those seeking to challenge unjust authority.

In conclusion, John Locke's "Second Treatise of Government" is a seminal work that continues to shape the discourse on political theory and governance. Through his eloquent prose and rigorous argumentation, Locke presents a compelling vision of a just and legitimate political order grounded in the principles of natural rights, social contract, and limited government. His ideas have left an indelible mark on the development of liberal democracy and remain essential reading for anyone interested in understanding the foundations of modern political thought.

John Locke's "Second Treatise of Government" is available in Amazon in paperback 12.99$ and hardcover 19.99$ editions.

Number of pages: 181

Language: English

Rating: 9/10                                           

Link of the book!

Review By: King's Cat

[blueheartbooks]

"A Foundation of Modern Political Thought: A Review of John Locke's Second Treatise of Government"

John Locke's "Second Treatise of Government" stands as a cornerstone of modern political philosophy, presenting a compelling argument for the principles of natural rights, social contract theory, and limited government. Written against the backdrop of political upheaval in 17th-century England, Locke's treatise remains as relevant and influential today as it was upon its publication.

At the heart of Locke's work lies the concept of natural rights, wherein he asserts that all individuals are born with inherent rights to life, liberty, and property. Locke argues that these rights are not granted by governments but are instead derived from the natural state of humanity. Through logical reasoning and appeals to natural law, Locke lays the groundwork for the assertion of individual rights as fundamental to the legitimacy of government.

Central to Locke's political theory is the notion of the social contract, wherein individuals voluntarily enter into a political community to secure their rights and promote their common interests. According to Locke, legitimate government arises from the consent of the governed, and its authority is derived from its ability to protect the rights of its citizens. This contract between rulers and the ruled establishes the basis for legitimate political authority and provides a framework for assessing the legitimacy of governmental actions.

Locke's treatise also advocates for the principle of limited government, arguing that the powers of government should be strictly defined and circumscribed to prevent tyranny and abuse of authority. He contends that governments exist to serve the interests of the people and should be subject to checks and balances to prevent the concentration of power in the hands of a few. Locke's advocacy for a separation of powers and the rule of law laid the groundwork for modern democratic governance and constitutionalism.

Moreover, Locke's emphasis on the right to revolution remains a contentious and influential aspect of his political philosophy. He argues that when governments fail to fulfill their obligations to protect the rights of citizens, individuals have the right to resist and overthrow oppressive regimes. This revolutionary doctrine has inspired movements for political reform and self-determination throughout history, serving as a rallying cry for those seeking to challenge unjust authority.

In conclusion, John Locke's "Second Treatise of Government" is a seminal work that continues to shape the discourse on political theory and governance. Through his eloquent prose and rigorous argumentation, Locke presents a compelling vision of a just and legitimate political order grounded in the principles of natural rights, social contract, and limited government. His ideas have left an indelible mark on the development of liberal democracy and remain essential reading for anyone interested in understanding the foundations of modern political thought.

John Locke's "Second Treatise of Government" is available in Amazon in paperback 12.99$ and hardcover 19.99$ editions.

Number of pages: 181

Language: English

Rating: 9/10                                           

Link of the book!

Review By: King's Cat

[good-beanswrites]

john x fuuta ?👉👈 or 090309

I love the dynamic between them all, thank you for the request! I went with an earlier meeting for them (well, one of the first times Fuuta's aware of speaking with John, at least). As much as I joke about Fuuta being starstruck by his strength in the attack, I tried to take a more serious route for the "something to rely on" vibe.

John’s eyes flicked over Fuuta, sprawled out on his bedding and looking up expectantly.

“Man, you look like shit.”

Fuuta scowled deeper. “I asked for the reason you’re here in the middle of the fucking night, not your opinion.”

“That is the reason I came.”

Somehow, amid all the other things he had to worry about given the horror of the past few days and exile that followed, Mikoto had still found the time to lose sleep over Fuuta’s condition. John had always liked the guy, but he wasn’t in the business of watching over people he didn’t truly care about. He didn’t know what Mikoto saw in him to cause such an overreaction.

Though, with the futon dragged to the bars of the cell, and bathing him in the dim light of the guard’s tower, it was becoming clear that Mikoto’s concern was indeed warranted. Fuuta appeared deathly. The fresh injuries had been bandaged, but there were stains where blood was beginning to seep through. His eye – the one that had survived the ordeal – was bloodshot and rimmed with dark bags. His hair was as tangled as the rumpled hoodie it poked out of.

Fuuta was still staring in anticipation. It took John a moment to understand why. 

“You recognize me.”

“No shit. Mikoto came in here like a fumbling idiot earlier today. He wanted to make sure I was okay or whatever. Like I’d be okay after what happened!” He paused, a clanging from someone else’s cell briefly distracting him. “But you… the way you carry yourself… it’s different.”

“Not that different. I’m here for the same reason.”

The plan was simple. Once Fuuta slept, Mikoto would relax, and everyone would be happy. If it turned out to be his injuries keeping him awake, John didn’t mind crushing Fuuta’s pride and explaining his weakness to the doctor to get more painkillers. If it was noisy neighbors, he’d teach one of those girls a lesson the following day. If the problem was just plain insomnia, well, John’s swinging arm was still completely functional...

“I just want to make sure you’re sleeping.”

“Don’t tell me you’re as disgustingly sentimental as him.”

John’s expression twitched. He didn’t appreciate the condescension. That was Mikoto’s most admirable trait, after all – offering help to others even when he was falling apart himself. He was so selfless, so self-sacrificial. It was no wonder John felt compelled to do the same for him. But Fuuta…

“Ugh, he’s always trying to be buddy-buddy with everyone around here, it makes me sick. Nice words don’t do shit. Look where his friendship with Kotoko got him, eh? That’s what these fools still don’t understand – you need to face these things head-on.”

“Oi, don’t be hard on me just for caring.” He didn’t say it as any sort of gentle encouragement; it was a command, and Fuuta understood. He snapped his attention away from where he’d been peering around the bars. “The world needs more people with that kindness. That optimistic view of life, of others, no matter what – it’s why I’ll do everything I can to save me.”

Silence stretched after the intense comment. Fuuta was looking away again, and John couldn’t read him. When he did speak, his voice came out more defeated than expected.

“Tch. Well. Not all of us have that luxury.”

“Of what?”

“Of you.”

His eyebrows raised.

Cheeks reddening, Fuuta hurried to add, “I mean someone to have your back like that. I wish I could be half as relaxed as that, but I can’t afford to let my guard down. I need to be strong myself, I don’t have anyone else to take care of my problems for me.”

It hit him suddenly, that everything came down to that. Relief washed over him, now that a clear, easy, (and nonviolent) solution had presented itself.

“What if you did? I could take over your little sentry duty for the night.”

“W-what do you –?”

He gestured to where Fuuta was laying. “No need to play dumb. You’ve been keeping an eye on everything, even the other side of the guard’s tower. The sounds from around cell eight have caught your attention. You’re positioned so you can see cell six, but haven’t moved all the way over, because cell ten has easiest access from the right.”

“The others would say it’s pointless, or that they’re handling it. I’m not buying it, though. I don’t care if they say it’s crazy of me to do.”

“I think…” John’s posture softened. “I think it’s very selfless of you.”

He was constantly amazed at Fuuta’s tendency to react to everything as if it were some world-shattering statement just told to him.

“So?” He prodded before Fuuta’s expression could grow any more wide-eyed. “How about it?”

 “I mean… they told me about the attacks… what you did…”

John set his jaw. No matter how many times it had happened in the past few days, it still stung to see how quickly people turned against him because of the fight. He thought they all had come to terms with each other’s capabilities for violence, but as usual, the moment he showed his true face, the world turned against him.

Of course Fuuta could never relax knowing such a violent and unpredictable person was sitting right beside him through the night. It was a miracle he hadn’t panicked immediately at the sight of yet another cold, towering figure appearing at his door in the middle of the night.

John stretched his right arm across his chest. It looked like his original solution still stood. Fuuta said problems should be faced head-on. Surely he’d understand this was for his own good.

“…Yeah, okay.” Fuuta gave a decisive nod. He beckoned with a jerk of his head. “I trust you.”

“I –” John blinked. “What?”

“You understand me. You understand what it takes to be in a place like this.” His gaze flit away momentarily. “You’re incredibly strong. You’re prepared, and have good instincts, and your confidence is –" Noticing how intently John was listening, he interrupted himself to bark, “but don’t think I couldn’t handle this on my own! It’s only because you offered, and it’s a smart move. I’ll just sleep for a bit, we can take shifts. Wake me in three hours, okay?”

“Fine by me.” A little lying was definitely better than what else he’d had in mind.

Fuuta moved his futon over a few feet so John could settle into his carefully chosen spot on the ground. Everything was all set to begin keeping watch, until a new sound rose up to drown out the other noises in the panopticon – soft snoring from beside him.

He glanced over in disbelief at the instantaneous security Fuuta had sunk into. All the tension had melted away from his face and shoulders. He lay completely at peace.

John had achieved his goal. He should be celebrating. Instead, he couldn’t help heaving a heavy sigh.

How did he end up with two self-destructive idiots to watch over?

[harrowedsoup]

Light hearted modern AU where Gideon gets raised by Wake and Pyrrha.

Gideon is trained by the both of them in different fighting styles and they work out as a family. She isn’t aware of how good she is compared to others because her parents still put her on the ground regularly.

She’s super embarrassed about them sometimes. Wake will pick fights with anyone ever while Pyrrha’s default setting is flirting with everyone that comes into their path. It doesn’t help that her parents are milfs- she was in more than one fight over boys making gross comments.

The fact that Gideon has literally no game is a source of great controversy with Wake. She switches between thinking that it’s hilarious and just plain sad. Pyrrha tries to be helpful but her advice isn’t helpful. Gideon would love less comments all round.

Pyrrha likes Harrow immediately because she always liked people who were a little poky. Wake took longer and it was only after she saw Harrow chew someone out so much they almost cried.

[vaguely-concerned]

the way harrow the ninth manages to convey the longing for connection that can happen not only between people, but also within an individual, when something goes wrong enough inside them. and the horror-hunger desperation and displacement of being severed from yourself that suffuses every other part of your existence, with all the repulsive rotting wrongness of stagnant water you can't get away from because the well is within your own heart and that bitch just keeps pumping away even when you wish it wouldn't bother. anyway. I love that book a normal amount

[elftwink]

one major difference i have found between service industry work (in my case food service but this is widely applicable to similar jobs) and other public-facing positions is that the job itself is often very similar because people is the same, it's just in service everyone approaches you already thinking they're right and you're a fucking idiot and its their god given right to disrespect you, where in other positions even if they are not nice to you they usually acknowledge that you know more than them on issues pertaining to your job. like the difference in behaviour from people who see you as serving them vs helping them is unreal. i am doing literally the exact same things. customer is always right mentality did irreparable damage to the fabric of society

[sirenemale]

Started watching mlp and it's a great time ,enjoying it massively. Um actually latching onto Luna like a fucking leech rn she's jsut like me

[notwiselybuttoowell]

This year’s UN climate summit, being held in Azerbaijan, is focused on finance, and specifically the new collective quantified goal (NCQG) for climate finance, required under the 2015 Paris agreement. Rich countries are bound under the agreement to provide climate finance to help developing nations cut their greenhouse gas emissions and cope with the impacts of the climate crisis. The current finance goal, of providing $100bn a year to poor countries, is widely acknowledged to be inadequate, and most rich countries agree the figure needs to be several times higher.

The NCQG

Poor countries are asking for finance of about $1tn a year by 2035, based on widely accepted estimates of their needs. Rich countries are likely to agree to a considerably smaller sum, perhaps about half that amount, to be paid from their exchequers and through multilateral institutions such as the World Bank.

The gap could be met from a variety of means, including new taxes on fossil fuels or the diversion of existing subsidies to cleaner ends. These “innovative sources of finance” will not be fully articulated or agreed at Cop29 and will need further work.

Rich countries are demanding that the contributor base be expanded. Currently, only countries defined as developed under the 1992 UN framework convention on climate change contribute to official climate finance. But many countries’ economies – and greenhouse gas emissions – have expanded considerably in the last 30 years, including China, which is now the world’s second biggest economy, behind the US, and the biggest emitter by a long way. Petrostates such as Saudi Arabia, Qatar and the United Arab Emirates, with their vast oil wealth, are also classed as developing economies.

Many countries are resistant to expanding the contributor base, but the EU’s position is that it will not accept a climate finance goal higher than the current $100bn unless more contributors are included. There could be a compromise by which some developing countries contribute on a voluntary basis or are allowed to be both contributors and recipients of climate aid.

If countries can overcome their differences, what could emerge from the fortnight of talks is a “layered” NCQG that includes an overall goal measured in trillions, plus a public finance goal measured in hundreds of billions, and a narrative committing countries to work on filling the gaps, including through innovative sources of finance (see below).

Loss and damage

One key strand of climate finance is the vexed issue of “loss and damage”, the term that describes the most extreme damages of the climate crisis, so severe that no amount of adaptation could have prevented them. Examples include the devastating floods in Pakistan two years ago, or hurricanes that have wiped out towns and villages, and large chunks of afflicted countries’ infrastructure and economies.

Loss and damage funds are intended for the rescue and rehabilitation of countries and communities afflicted by these extreme events. For years, developing countries’ pleas for loss and damage funding went unheard, but last year there was a breakthrough at the Cop28 summit when plans for a loss and damage fund were finalised. The fund is to be set up under the aegis of the World Bank, despite some misgivings among developing countries over the bureaucracy this involves.

The fund still needs to be filled with cash from donors, and it is still unclear when it will start to disburse money, so countries will be hoping for progress towards “operationalising�� it at Cop29.

NDCs

Rapid and deep cuts in greenhouse gas emissions will be crucial if the world is to stave off the worst ravages of climate breakdown and have any chance of staying within the vital threshold of 1.5C of heating above preindustrial levels. Cuts need to reach net zero emissions by 2050, but current national plans by governments – called nationally determined contributions, or NDCs, in the UN jargon – are nowhere near that.

Cop29 is mainly about climate finance but the need for new NDCs cannot be ignored. Governments are supposed to submit their updated plans next February, well ahead of the Cop30 conference in Brazil next November, where they will be assessed.

The election of Donald Trump in the US is likely to cast a pall over efforts to get countries to submit stringent new NDCs. Many recalcitrant countries are likely to use his climate denial as cover for their own inaction. Cop29 will be judged a success if the hosts can persuade countries to agree to submit new NDCs next year despite that.

Transition away from fossil fuels

One of the biggest achievements of the Cop28 conference in Dubai last year was a commitment to “transition away from fossil fuels”, contained in paragraph 28 of the Cop decision and a core part of the “UAE consensus” that was the main outcome of that meeting.

Since then, however, some countries, including Saudi Arabia and other members of its loose collection of allies, known as the “like-minded developing countries” grouping, have tried to unpick the commitment. Behind closed doors during the negotiations leading up to Cop29, they have variously argued that the commitment is optional rather than binding and that countries were strong-armed into it without being allowed to consider it properly.

Azerbaijan is also a major fossil fuel producer, though it has a target of generating a third of its energy from green sources by 2030. As host, it will be responsible for ensuring there is no unpicking or backsliding from previous commitments.

Article 6

Carbon trading has been a vexed issue at climate talks since their earliest days, and article 6 of the Paris agreement has been like a serial killer in a horror film, constantly coming back from the seeming dead.

Article 6 was supposed to have been solved in the immediate aftermath of the Paris summit in 2015, but by 2019 it was still an outstanding issue, left over when the rest of the “Paris rulebook” was finalised. It was discussed again at Cop26, where it was again supposed to be finalised, only to re-emerge at Cop27 and Cop28. Some delegates are saying it will finally be sorted out this year; others heave a weary sigh.

At root, the problem is there are fundamental misgivings among many countries over whether and how a carbon offsetting system can work. Widespread examples of fraud and misdealing have plagued the carbon markets for two decades, some of them recently uncovered by the Guardian. The concept of paying countries to keep their forests standing is an attractive one, because the fundamental problem is that without such payments people can make more money from chopping down trees in their territories and converting the land to plantation or ranching.

Awarding landowners carbon credits for their forests raises problems of moral hazard – were the forests really at risk from loggers, or have the owners confected or exaggerated the risk to gain cash? Governments and private sector companies want to create a market for credits that have integrity, accountability, transparency and that achieve the aim of contributing to net zero targets, but the steps towards doing so have been painfully slow.

Carbon trading has assumed a new importance this year as it could provide a source of cash for the NCQG. But this is unlikely to amount to much more than a few tens of billions, a sliver of the trillions needed. It is possible that the Azerbaijani presidency will achieve what no other Cop host has done and resolve the conflicts over article 6, but it will not be a high priority.

Innovative forms of finance

Poor countries require at least $1tn a year in finance to help them cut greenhouse gas emissions, shift to a low-carbon economy and adapt to the impacts of extreme weather. Developed countries are currently willing to ensure about half of that is provided from public sources. That leaves a large gap, which countries are hoping to fill with other sources of cash, known as innovative forms of finance.

These can take the form of levies on high-carbon activities, from flying private jets to oil and gas extraction, or taxes on wealth, the idea of which is gaining traction as global inequality grows rapidly. But all of these innovative forms of finance have winners and losers, and some are likely to be difficult to implement.

No firm decisions will be made on these issues at Cop29, but countries should agree to carry on discussing them and send a clear signal that these options are on the table.

[sunni-stuff]

Part 4

Soap’s eyebrows lifted with a curious glint in his eye as he looked from you to Adira, a playful grin edging onto his face. He leaned in, never one to miss a chance at a bit of friendly prodding.

“So… you’re married?” he asked, his tone as light as his smirk.

You laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Haha! No, I’m not.” You gave Adira’s tiny hand a gentle squeeze, glancing down at her with a smile that softened every edge on your face. 

Soap tilted his head, pretending to be shocked. “A bonnie lass like yerself? Unmarried?” he teased, hand on his chest as though it were a crime.

“Guess I’m a rare breed,” you replied with a grin, chuckling as you shifted Adira’s hand in yours.

Soap’s face lit up at your response, as if he’d just been given the most interesting bit of news he’d heard all week. He shot Ghost a quick look, but Ghost was still watching Adira, his gaze softened with something unreadable.

Meanwhile, Gaz wasn't fascinated by Soap's ability to make anyone at ease, the man was a cassanova. Roach watched Adira with curiosity, as though piecing together a puzzle he hadn’t realized existed until now. Price stood off to the side, arms crossed, silently observing the whole scene.

“If you aren’t married, how’d you get this little one?” Soap pushed, grinning as he wiggled a playful finger in Adira’s direction.

Adira’s gaze snapped up from Ghost to the man with the funny hair, her little brow furrowing as she studied Soap with a mix of curiosity and caution. She leaned into your leg, clearly wary, but her attention stayed on the finger waving in front of her.

You chuckled, brushing a hand over Adira’s head to reassure her. “Long story,” you replied, smiling. “Let’s just say she was an unexpected blessing.”

Soap laughed softly, glancing at Ghost with a gleam in his eye. “Ah, aye, life’s full of surprises, eh?” 

Ghost, who had been studying Adira in silence, clenched his jaw, shifting uncomfortably as Soap’s words hit a little too close to home.

“I used to be really wild back in the day,” you admitted with a sheepish grin, a hint of nostalgia coloring your tone as you thought back to those not-so-distant years.

Soap wasn’t quite done yet, though. “Does the father know?” he threw a quick glance at Ghost, who had just risen from his crouched position. A new tension ran through Ghost’s frame, his stance rigid, as if the question had struck something he’d rather not confront.

You hesitated, a shadow crossing your expression before you shook your head. “No, he doesn’t… He, uh, probably has no idea.”

Ghost’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering from you to Adira, who was absorbed in her drink, unaware of the intensity surrounding her. His shoulders stiffened, and for a split second, he looked as though he wanted to speak—but whatever words he had caught in his throat, locked behind his silence.

"I see, well. I'm sorry if I took up your time, ma’am, you've been a nice chat," Soap said, his voice softening with a touch of politeness, his grin still present but more reserved now.

You nodded, giving Adira’s hand a gentle tug as you continued on your way, the soft crunch of snow beneath your boots the only sound accompanying your steps. The blue sky stretched above, peaceful, serene. As you walked, Adira turned her head, glancing back at Ghost one final time. She refused to let go of her cup, her small fingers gripping it tightly, but she lifted her other hand in a small, hesitant wave. "Bye-bye," she whispered, her voice soft but sweet.

Ghost’s gaze lingered, but he didn’t move. His expression was unreadable, a mixture of things churning behind those eyes. 

Price let out a heavy sigh, crossing his arms and facing Ghost. “So... what’s the plan?” he asked, his tone both blunt and expectant, clearly waiting for some kind of direction. The rest of the team stood in silence, watching the exchange unfold.

Ghost didn’t answer immediately. His gaze remained on you and Adira, watching you both disappear further down the street, the distance growing with each step. The soft crunch of snow under your boots was the only sound in the quiet winter air. He didn’t even notice Price's voice until the man spoke again, closer now, with a slight edge to his tone.

"Ghost, talk to me. What’s the plan here?”

Finally, Ghost shifted, his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched as he turned to face Price. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—something caught between anger, confusion, and a deep, gnawing regret.

"I don't know," he muttered, the words barely escaping his lips. "I wasn't expecting this. Hell, I didn't even know she existed." His voice was low, strained, but there was a quiet honesty to it, as if he was trying to process something that didn’t make sense.

Soap stepped closer, his expression serious for once. "What now, Ghost? We can help. But you need to tell us what's going on."

Ghost finally looked away, his attention drawn to the ground, his fingers twitching like he was trying to find something to hold onto. "I don't even know where to start," he admitted. "All I know is... I saw her. And it hit me like a fucking truck."

Roach, always one to stay in the background, spoke up. “Maybe it’s time to talk to her, yeah? Figure out where to go from here?”

Price’s eyes narrowed, his stern gaze shifting to Ghost, assessing him. “And what exactly do you want from us? You’re in this, whether you like it or not.”

Ghost let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know,” he repeated, voice hoarse. “But I can’t just let her slip away.”

A silence stretched between them, heavy and thick, as the weight of the situation settled in. Then, slowly, Ghost nodded. “I’ll figure it out. Just… not now. Not here.” His eyes flicked toward the street where you had disappeared, and something in his gaze softened, just for a moment, before the mask fell back into place.

Price gave a single nod. "Alright. But we stick together on this. You’re not doing it alone, Ghost."

The team stood together for a moment longer, the wind howling through the alley, before they slowly began to move, their steps trailing off into the winter evening. The silence that hung between them was thick with uncertainty. No one knew what came next, but they knew one thing for sure: whatever happened, they were in this together.

A month passed, the team giving Ghost the space he needed to process the whirlwind that had hit him. They all knew this was something he had to handle on his own terms, but that didn't mean the questions didn't linger. What did it mean for the future? What did he want? The answers were still unclear, even to Ghost himself.

But Soap, ever the persistent one, wasn’t content to let things sit in limbo. He knew Ghost, knew how his mind worked, and that sometimes the best way to breakthrough was to take small steps. And if that meant subtly nudging you into the picture, then so be it. He’d always been good at this—at slipping in the background, making things happen without anyone noticing.

So, Soap started to "accidentally" run nto you. At the park, when you were out with Adira, he'd make sure to be in the same place at the same time, offering a casual greeting. It always started simple, harmless, with a nod or a small comment about the weather. Then, of course, there was that coffee shop where you'd gone to get hot chocolate for Adira.

The first time he "bumped" into you there, it was nothing more than a quick exchange. A question about the drink, a comment on the cold weather, just the usual small talk. But Johnny's natural charm and ease made you relax, and made the conversation flow without much effort. Over time, those small moments grew. You'd smile when you'd see him, and he'd greet you with the same friendly energy, always leaving you feeling at ease. No pressure, just casual.

And slowly, ever so slowly, Johnny began to warm you up to the idea of him. It wasn't much at first—a smile here, a shared laugh there—but he knew what he was doing. He wasn't pushing, just letting the connection build at its own pace. The more you saw him, the more comfortable you felt. The more you talked, the more you found yourself enjoying the interactions, even if they were brief.

One evening, Johnny sat beside you on the park bench, casually leaning back as Adira bounced around in the snow, her laughter filling the crisp air. The sound was contagious, and for a moment, you let yourself relax, watching her with a soft smile.

"So, me and a couple friends are meeting up at Leslie's this weekend," Johnny said, his tone light but with a hint of something more. "Would you be interested?"

You snorted, expecting the usual joke or teasing, but when you glanced over at him, his expression was far more serious than you anticipated. For a moment, you considered dismissing it. After all, Leslie's? A pub? That was a far cry from the cozy routine you’d built for yourself with Adira. 

“Seriously?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. "I don't think I fit the scene."

Johnny shrugged nonchalantly, the corner of his mouth lifting in that playful grin of his. “Please. It'll just be like old times.”

Your mind immediately wandered, trying to understand what he meant by that. What was it about old times that Johnny thought might appeal to you? You didn’t exactly have a wild past to cling to. Sure, you’d had your moments, but those felt long behind you now. 

Still, something about the invitation lingered. A night out... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. You hadn’t done anything for you in a while. And maybe, just maybe, it would be nice to let someone else take care of the night for once. No worrying about Adira, no responsibilities for a few hours. Just some fun, whatever that meant now.

You hesitated, looking down at Adira as she made another snow angel, oblivious to the conversation happening nearby. She’d be fine, right? And you could leave if things felt uncomfortable. 

“Alright,” you finally said, meeting Johnny’s gaze with a reluctant but genuine smile. "I'll join you. But only if it’s not as crazy as you’re making it sound." 

Johnny’s grin widened, and you could tell he was already mentally planning the evening, no doubt with some plan to ease you in without overwhelming you. He stood up, dusting off the snow on his pants as he glanced back at you.

“Deal. I’ll make sure it’s a night to remember.”

You just hoped he wasn’t overselling it.

The weekend seemed to arrive so fast, and here you were, standing outside your apartment, nervously adjusting your blue blouse and jeans. It wasn’t exactly the type of outfit you thought would fit a night out, but it was the best you could do. Most of your wardrobe these days consisted of comfortable clothes, ones that could be easily changed or wiped clean in case Adira had another of her toddler mishaps. Sexy or flirty clothes were a distant memory, tucked away in a drawer somewhere, gathering dust.

Adira stood in the doorway, clutching her little stuffed bear to her chest, eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears. The sight hit you harder than you expected. You knelt down in front of her, your heart sinking at the sight of her teary eyes. “I’ll be back in a couple hours, I promise,” you said, your voice gentle but firm, reaching out to her with a reassuring smile.

Adira sniffled, her tiny hand coming up to rub her eyes, but she didn’t break her stare. You held out your pinky, the gesture as familiar as breathing. Slowly, she reached out, her small finger wrapping around yours with the same trust she always had. The connection was brief, but it felt like a promise, one that you hoped would calm her.

"I won't be out long," you said softly to the friend you’d left with her. "And you, be good for Auntie too." The last part was directed at Adira, though the words felt bittersweet on your tongue.

Adira nodded, but her face still held that sadness, that uncertainty of what the night would bring without you. 

Standing up, you ruffled her hair and offered a small, hopeful smile. “I’ll be back before you know it. Just a little fun for Mama, okay?”

Her small nod didn’t do much to ease the tightness in your chest, but you turned and gave her one last look before stepping outside. The cool evening air wrapped around you, a contrast to the warmth of the apartment behind you, but you pushed the feeling away. Tonight was for you, however strange that sounded. 

Locking the door behind you, you felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach. This wasn’t just any night out. It was a night with Johnny, with his friends, with the possibility of reconnecting to parts of yourself you’d set aside for so long.

Arriving outside the establishment, the familiar hum of chatter and music filled the night air, but what caught your attention first was Johnny standing outside, leaning against the brick wall, checking his watch. The moment his eyes met yours, they lit up, his expression shifting from casual to something almost... eager. 

“Well, well, look at you,” he said with that trademark wink of his, his gaze raking over you with a genuine appreciation that made you feel suddenly self-conscious. “You clean up well.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. It was hard to resist the easy charm of Johnny.

“Let’s just hope I survive this night,” you muttered, though the words were more for yourself than him. You weren’t sure what to expect tonight, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that things might not go as smoothly as Johnny seemed to think.

Johnny chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring. “I’m sure you will. Now, let’s get going before I change my mind.”

With that, you fell into step beside him, the weight of your hand at your side suddenly feeling strange in the cool night air. He led you toward the door, and as you entered the dimly lit space of the bar, your eyes scanned the room. 

It was bustling, a mix of regulars and newcomers, all seeking solace or company for the night. It smelled of beer, whiskey, and the faintest hint of fried food, a familiar and welcoming kind of atmosphere. But as soon as you stepped inside, your nerves shot back up again. You tried not to let the nerves show, but they were there, itching under your skin.

What you didn’t notice, as you made your way to the bar, was the group inside. Ghost, Price, Gaz, Roach—quietly observing, waiting for their chance to either speak to you or simply let you slip through their fingers once more. Ghost’s eyes tracked you the moment you stepped inside, and there was a hesitation in his gaze, something raw and almost pained that flickered in and out. 

For a moment, Ghost didn’t move, didn’t speak. He simply watched you, aware that the moment he’d been dreading—he had finally stumbled into. Your gaze met his across the room, the flicker of recognition passing between you both. But that was it. You didn’t remember. You didn’t know him. You didn’t know what he was to you.

Approaching the bar, you saw that Johnny was already leaning in, chatting with the bartender, exchanging friendly banter. You barely heard the words, only caught up in the feeling that something was different. Something you couldn’t quite place. You glanced back at the table where those men sat. They weren’t talking, but their eyes were all trained on you, as if waiting for something to happen.

Your heart raced without explanation. Ghost’s eyes—those eyes—stayed locked on you. He didn’t know how to approach, how to change what had already seemingly been set in stone. What was he supposed to say? What was the plan now that you were here, so close? God, why the fuck did johnny do this.

Johnny leaned toward you again, a soft smile curling his lips. “You good, love?” he asked, his voice pulling you back to the present.

“Yeah,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. You forced a smile, trying to ignore the uneasy tension brewing in your chest. “Just... getting used to being out.”

Johnny winked again, oblivious to the chaos of emotions swirling within you. “It’s all good. Let’s have some fun tonight, yeah?”

Ghost’s fist clenched involuntarily under the table. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this distance, this silent acknowledgment of his role, or how long he could ignore what it meant to see you here now. 

“You’ll fit right in,” Johnny said, though there was a hint of something deeper behind his words. “Just a bunch of mates enjoying a drink, nothing crazy.” Johnny leads you over to the table, you expected to be met with… well you didn't quite know what.  

Price leaned back in his seat, cigar in hand, a soft smile on his weathered face as he regarded you with a raised brow. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

"Neither did I," you muttered under your breath, forcing a smile and doing your best to ignore the gnawing feeling that lingered when you looked at him. You hadn’t quite expected this part of the evening.

“I’m just here for a drink, nothing more,” you said, looking over at Johnny was getting comfortable in his chair.

“Well, pull up a seat, love,” Price said, motioning to the empty spot next to him. “We’re all friends here.”

You hesitated but made your way over, perching yourself on the seat next to him. The sound of the glass being slid toward you, the clink of ice against glass, broke through the chatter around you. Your nerves buzzed as you focused on the drink in front of you, trying to ignore the sudden realization of just how different this was from the quiet, routine life you had at home with Adira.

“Enjoy yourself,” Price said with an air of casual amusement, leaning back in his chair. “This is all new for you, isn’t it?”

You raised an eyebrow, not wanting to admit just how out of place you felt in the moment. Instead, you took a sip of your drink, the burn of whiskey warming you from the inside out.

You laugh lightly, a bit awkwardly, trying to shake off the nerves that gnawed at you. "Yeah, this all a bit... newish. I haven't been out like this in years honestly," you admit, taking a deep breath and glancing around the bar. The warmth of the space was a welcome contrast to the chill outside, but the sight of the men made you feel more like a fish out of water than ever.

Johnny claps you on the back with an easy grin, clearly trying to make you feel more comfortable. “These are my mates. Price, Kyle, Gary, and Simon," he introduces with a flourish, motioning to each man in turn. 

You give them all a polite smile, not quite sure what to make of them just yet. There was something about the way they carried themselves, all standing a little apart from the crowd, that made it clear they were more than just regulars at the pub. But you didn’t have time to focus too much on that right now. You were trying to just survive the night.

Price, who looked a bit older than the rest, nods at you, his gaze thoughtful, almost cautious. “Nice to meet you,” he says in a tone that is polite but distant, as though he’s waiting for something, some sign.

Kyle, as Johnny had called him—gives you a friendly nod, a playful glint in his eyes, but there's a strange sharpness to his look that you can’t quite place. “Pleasure," he says, offering you a tight smile.

Gary simply gives you a quick but sincere nod. His eyes linger on you just long enough for you to catch a flicker of interest before he looks away.

And then there’s Simon. His presence, as always, is quieter, more intense. He’s sitting in the middle, arms crossed, his gaze fixed directly on you. You can feel the weight of it, though. It’s impossible not to. There was something you couldn't place with him though you couldn’t see too well under the dim light.

You try to shake off the unease creeping up your spine. “Nice to meet you all," you reply, your voice warmer than you feel. 

Johnny, oblivious to the awkwardness in the air, slaps the bar and gives a nod. “Alright, drinks all around, yeah? Let’s get this party started!” he declares, pulling the group into the rhythm of the night.

As the revelry began your stomach churns slightly, a sense of unease still lingering despite the distraction. You knew something was off, something you couldn’t quite put into words. It wasn’t just the men—it was the way Simon’s gaze lingered on you, the way he looked at you as if he were waiting for something. It unsettled you, but you couldn’t figure out why.

Johnny, seemingly oblivious to your tension, slides a drink toward you. “First round’s on me," he grins, the clink of glass against the table snapping you back to the present. "Here’s to a good night.”.

You took a deep breath, swallowing down the nerves that still clung to you. This was supposed to be a night out, after all. A chance to shake off the past, to let loose just a little. You couldn’t let the weight of everything pull you under before you even tried. What would be the point if you didn’t at least try and enjoy yourself?

Shaking the tension from your shoulders, you took a sip of your drink, the burn of alcohol easing the knot in your stomach just slightly. The guys were chatting among themselves, Johnny’s laughter cutting through the low hum of the bar as he joked with Kyle. Price was listening intently, nodding along while Gary seemed content to let the others talk, his eyes occasionally flicking to you, though his gaze didn’t linger long.

And then there was Simon.

His presence loomed even when he wasn’t speaking, his broad frame leaning against the bar just slightly, face half hidden by the shadows. You caught his eyes for a split second, the intensity of his stare making your pulse hitch. You quickly looked away, focusing on your drink, your nerves creeping back up despite the effort to push them aside.

You could feel his gaze on you, though, like a weight pressing against your back. You tried not to let it show, tried not to acknowledge how his proximity seemed to pull at something inside you, but it was impossible to ignore. There was a pull, something in the air, but you couldn’t quite grasp it.

Sighing inwardly, you turned your attention back to the others. Just enjoy yourself, you remind yourself again. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about any of it.

Johnny clinked his glass against yours, a grin on his face. “Here’s to not letting the night pass us by,” he said with a wink, and you couldn’t help but smile back, lifting your glass.

“Cheers,” you said, the warmth of the alcohol giving you just the nudge you needed to ease into the evening. For now, you’d ignore the tight feeling in your chest. You’d enjoy yourself. 

But the eyes that lingered on you would remain, whether you were ready for them or not.

You pushed your chair back with more force than necessary, the scrape of it against the floor loud in the otherwise quiet bar. The conversation still echoed in your ears, but your focus had been on the man, Simon, for the past half hour. His silence had become suffocating, every glance he cast in your direction feeling like it held some hidden meaning. You couldn't quite place it, but something was off about him. His eyes, cold and intense, had followed you too much, made you second guess every word you’d said.

"Im... gonna go powder my nose," you muttered, more to fill the silence than anything else. You didn’t wait for a response, the words barely out of your mouth before you were already making your way across the room, past the low hum of idle chatter and the clink of glasses.

While you were in the bathroom, the entire team turned their attention towards Ghost, each of them sizing him up, starting with Soap.

"What is wrong with you?" Soap asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and amusement.

"What?" Simon blinked, genuinely confused.

"Mate, you've been gawking at her all night," Gaz added, raising an eyebrow, his voice teasing but laced with concern.

"Shit. Are you serious?" Simon muttered, running a hand through his hair, but his gaze didn't stray far from where you had just disappeared.

Roach, leaning back casually with his drink in hand, nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, it's like you’ve been stuck in a staring contest with her since she walked in."

Price, who had been watching quietly, shook his head with a resigned sigh. He snuffed out his cigar in the nearby ashtray, eyes narrowing as he met Simon's gaze. "If you scared her off, I doubt you’ll get another chance, lad."

Simon’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t realized how obvious it had been, but now that the team was calling him out on it, he felt the heat rise in his chest. He hadn’t meant to make you uncomfortable, but the pull to look at you, to remember what had sparked your connection all those years ago had been almost magnetic.

“Alright, alright,” Soap teased, leaning in, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Just don't burn a hole in her head.”

“Shut up,” Simon muttered, his mind racing, trying to figure out how to fix this without making things worse.

Price shared a look with the rest of the team, a silent understanding passing between them. While Soap might have been the one to set this whole thing in motion, it didn't mean the others didn't have contingencies in place. 

Soap got up first, stretching a bit. “Gonna make sure no one's tried to get in my car,” he said with a casual tone.

“I’ll come with you,” Gaz chimed in, already pushing himself up from his seat and following Soap toward the door.

A minute later, Roach also stood, excusing himself without a word, and then Price followed suit, his movements deliberate. “I’m gonna make sure they’re not up to anything,” he said with a knowing glance.

With everyone out of the immediate area, the bar suddenly felt quieter, and the tension in the air seemed to thicken. It took Ghost only a second for it all to click—he had been set up. Without thinking, he bolted from his seat, rushing outside just in time to catch the taillights of Soap's car disappearing down the street.

He cursed under his breath, but before he could make another move, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he glanced at the screen. There, in simple words from Price: 

“Good luck.”

Ghost stood still for a moment, phone in hand, as the weight of the situation hit him. His heart thudded in his chest. This was it. There was no turning back now.

By the time you returned to the table, you felt a bit more at ease. The night out wasn’t all that bad… it was just that Johnny had some weird taste in friends. Well, mostly the tall one. You couldn’t help but notice how everyone seemed to have left, a pit forming in your stomach at the thought of being ditched.

You let out a quiet sigh, about to gather your things and head out when your phone lit up in your purse. Pulling it out, you saw a text from Johnny. 

"Emergency, looks like one of the beers wasn't that good, poor Kyle threw up."

You paused, reading the message again, a small smile tugging at your lips. Aww… nevermind. At least they hadn’t forgotten about you after all. 

"Hope he's okay." You replied quickly, grabbing the straps of your bag when suddenly a hand landed on top of yours.

You looked up, meeting the intense gaze of Simon. Seriously? You couldn’t help but think. They took everyone but this guy?

You forced a smile, trying to pull your hand away, but Simon’s grip was firm, not unkind. “Look, I had a decent time, but I have to go—”

“Just a minute,” he interrupted, his voice low, steady, almost pleading. There was something about the way he said it that made you pause, something different than the usual small talk.

"Fine." The word slipped out before you could process it, and you cursed yourself inwardly. Really? You just agreed to stay with the guy who hadn’t stopped staring since you met him. You sat back down, and he mirrored you, settling across the table. 

Silence stretched between you, his intense gaze unwavering. He didn’t so much as blink, and you couldn’t help but feel more unsettled by the second.

What the hell is his deal?

“Look, if you're just going to be a creep, I don't think I want to mee—"

“Do you remember Armed Forces Day?” His voice cut through your words, quiet but resolute.

Okay, this took all day, I wanted to give you all something long to read incase I disappear for finals (which I might)

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[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, omegaverse, subjugation, some type of sexism, bad politics, chemically induced heat? institutionalized reader, doctors, wack rehabilitation program, ish brainwashing

fem reader

You’d been difficult to tame. Or, he just didn’t have the time to do it properly—too busy at work and too tired when coming home. He’d wanted a sweet Omega, one who did house chores when he was away and had dinner ready for him when he got off.

You’d looked real sweet at the auction—a perfectly beautiful Omega. You weren’t cheap either—everyone had made their bids, but he’d been the one to walk away with the prize in the end. He can’t say he regrets it—he still has a fondness for you even though you’re not what he’d thought he’d purchased.

You just need some behavioral correcting. And so, he put you in an Omega institution.

It had been recommended to him. It’s not so uncommon, he later found out while reading up on the place. Auctioned Omegas tend to end up a little rough around the edges—here, at the institution, they’ll smooth those edges right out.

Sadly, there’s been a rise in unstable Omegas as of late—he reads on their website. It’s a misguided revolution taking place in several auction homes that’s to blame for it—circling modern ideas of liberation, equality, andindependence. It all stems from a place of fear, the website explains in detail—Omegas seek to stand on their own in the world. Cooped up in auction homes, they fear they’ll never see the outside without a mate—and as the years dwindle on and their prospects become slimmer, they start fantasizing about doing it on their own.

He feels sorry for you while reading it. Your attitude makes more sense now, knowing you’ve been fed a bunch of deluded nonsense. He can’t blame you for getting swept up in it—you’re a little younger than him, after all. But the silly idea of a lone Omega isn’t just laughable but dangerous. It was best of him to make sure any such notions were quashed—for your own good—before you end up doing something you might regret. 

And it seemed this place was the place to do it. In fact, many of his fellow Alphas had done the same, and they’d all sung this particular institution’s praises.

Oh, but it’s been hard. You wouldn’t talk to him much or even keep him in good company at home, but still, he misses your presence. The house seems so empty without your little everyday spats to keep him on his toes.

You’ve been away for a whole month now, and he hasn’t even been allowed to visit, not once. It would ruin the process, he was told. But he’s been assured that the caretakers there have been making great progress with you. He should be able to come pick you up as soon as the start of next week.

He remembers having been skeptical about leaving you here as he walks to announce himself at the help desk. The facility is pristine and sterile—very impersonal, just like any other hospital. He wonders if you’ve been scared. After all, it’s most likely your skittish nature that makes you so hostile, joined with misgivings making you confused. It can’t be easy. He hopes the doctors here have helped you sort things out. Maybe you won’t be so frustrated all the time.

He was led to a private room where he could complete some paperwork for your release while waiting for your discharge. He made quick work of it. A door opens, and your doctor comes through, and then, following right behind him, there’s you—his pretty little Omega.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you quite so subdued—not even when you’d been caged at the auction, there’d still been some fight to your spirit. Now, not so much—taking quiet and careful steps with your head hung, looking at your slipper-clad feet.

You pick your face up when you recognize the scent, and then you look at him like you’ve just seen a ghost. Wide-eyed and lock-jawed—your breathing picks up rapidly, and his name drops from your lips like a pained whimper, followed by a sudden burst of tears and a rush toward him. “You came back—” 

You’re on him before he has the time to blink—pressed against him tightly, skin-to-skin and heart-to-heart, with your face buried in the grove of his neck. Your claws are slightly drawn, but in no effort to hurt him—rather, to cling to him. It’s not any normal hug—not that you’d ever given him one before—but even so, you’re swaddledaround his neck with your legs crossed at his back.

He’s taken aback by the behavior—it isn’t like you at all. He remembers your aversion to his touch, how you’d regard him like a plague, snarling each time he’d get too close. This was beyond new.

But you leave him no opening to comment either, too busy rambling in meek little whispers pressed into his skin, “Thank you, thank you, thank you—I knew you’d come back—knew you hadn’t forgotten about me. I’m sorry I was being difficult, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’ve forgiven me, right? You’ll take me home now, right? Please—”

He’d never been in a position to soothe you before—you’d never wanted it. He doesn’t know what else to do but smooth a hand over your hunched and shuddering back, shushing you like he’d seen mothers do with their sobbing children. You didn’t look much different right now.

“Yeah… we’re going home,” he assures you. 

You hug him a little tighter as a sob wreaks through you.

This isn’t exactly what he prepared himself for. He thought you’d be... well, he doesn’t really know... nicer?Perhaps. Agreeable. Not so violent. But not this—this broken little ball of shivering sniffles holding onto him as if the world was about to end.

He swallows thickly, then looks at your doctor—he doesn’t seem surprised. In fact, he seems utterly unfazed.

It makes him wonder, a little warily, “What have you done with her?”

The doctor seems more than happy to explain—it’s only customary, after all. He’d paid a lot to have you rehabilitated here.

“Each omega requires special treatment suited to them,” the doctor explains. “Yours was particularly unruly.”

You flinch. He feels your claws dig deeper, but they’re too blunt to draw blood and too weak to hurt anyway. But even so, your sentiments are more than clear—you fear this doctor with your entire being.

“We’ve found that in the case of hostile Omegas, the most effective way to correct their behavior is to keep them isolated and let their own instincts remind them of what they need,” the doctor continues. “Of course, we’ve taken protective measures to ensure she wouldn’t harm herself in said isolation and have fed her accordingly at scheduled times every day.” He smiles. “We can assure you she’s been perfectly safe in the pillow room.”

He lifts the silver suitcase he’d been holding, props it up, and pops the lid, revealing a row of ten syringes—a hot pink fluid within.

“This is our recommended medicine.”

You shudder even more, unrelenting in your grip around him—hanging on so tightly as if you fear someone would come and pry you off him at any moment.

“Give one to her if and when she acts up. More instructions come with the case—please read through them carefully.”

He eyes the syringes with furrowed brows, picking one up to inspect it further. They don’t look like anything he’s read about in the brochure or on the website—perhaps a brand new method for treating Omegas? This is a cutting-edge institution, after all.

He can’t guess what they must do to make you cower like that. The spit-spire he left here a month ago wouldn’t cry over a tiny needle.

“What are they?” he asks.

The doctor’s smile stretches. “Nothing dangerous. All natural hormone components.”

He’s not sure what that entails, and so he quirks a brow while laying the syringe back in its designated mold. “And what does that mean?”

The doctor clasps the case shut and hands it over to him while explaining plainly, “They induce heat.” 

He accepts the case before his ears have the chance to draw back at his words. Now that explains your sudden clinginess—why you’re so frigid.

The doctor adds, “Poor thing’s spent quite a few alone in the pillow room, so I’m sure she’ll be grateful to finally be by her mate’s side again.”

He’s speechless.

Spending heat alone, without any relief, is a form nothing short of torture. If he’d known that was what they were doing to you, he wouldn’t have sent you here in the first place. He very nearly chews the doctor out for using such barbaric methods but thinks better of it. If anything were to be done, it would be through a well-worded and filed complaint and a vow to never do business with them ever again.

Though, coming home with you by his side, still clinging to him… he can’t argue with the results. 

So he doesn’t complain. He just enjoys your new and improved wellness and promises never to use those injections on you himself. Yes, they’d forego their expiration date soon enough, dusting away in the back of his closet. He’d never ever put you through something so horrid. That’s his pledge as your mate.

Oh, but then... the honeymoon phase dissolves. And you return to your old habits of teeth and claws.

It’s never-ending barking with you all over again—you want to leave, you want to be alone, you don’t want him to touch you, you blame him for what you went through at the institution, you hate him for it, and you’ll never ever forgive him.

He doesn’t want to—he swears while holding the syringe to your thigh where he’s strapped you down in bed with ropes and knots—he doesn’t want to, he really doesn’t, but you leave him no choice when you act like a wild animal. 

The first time is always the hardest. But he doesn’t leave you alone in a room like they did at the institution—no, he helps you through it. It’s not torture this way. It’s just… well, what can he say? It’s just a little reminder to get you back on your good behavior.

You would rather stay here than get sent back to the pillow room, right?

It’s all too easy the second time around even though it shouldn’t have been. It was only a day of small uproars, nothing all that bad—refusing to greet him at the door, to make dinner, to fix his plate, to wash dishes, to come to bed. He’d allowed you days like that in the past, but this time, he’d felt himself gravitate towards his so-called last resort once again. 

Still, he’d felt a little guilty about it. 

It would be easier to refrain if it didn’t work like a charm.

Now, he goes and finds the briefcase at the drop of a hat. Say something snarky or look at him funny. Give him any opportunity, and he’ll abuse it—even things you don’t even mean to do, like burning the food, shrinking his clothes in the wash, or forgetting to make the bed in the morning. He’s on you with the syringe deep in your flesh before you can even mouth the words “I’m sorry—”

You’re limp and sweat-drenched after a few hours. He spoons you as the spasms continuously ricochet through you—his spent leaking down your thighs. Even after several rounds, the hormones are still brewing up a bad storm within your gut, thundering in your heart as its lightning zips along your limbs. Your head is a rainy cloud—heavy and full yet soft like cotton.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—it was an accident—” you mumble between labored breaths, not entirely sure what error you’d made this time, shivering against his warm chest as he cups your breast in one big hand and your swollen cunt in the other.

“I know, I know it was, baby,” he coos. “But you need to be more mindful—can’t be making so many mistakes all the time.” His lips brush your skin as he purrs, placing small pecks against your cheek and neck. “How can I trust you with my pups if you’re gonna be such a scatterbrain, hm?”

The mention of pups makes something roar more ferociously in your underbelly, and you whimper meekly in return. “I’m sorry—I’ll do better.”

“Good. I’m sure you’ll get there, sweetie.”

The storm within crackles, rumbling with a deepening hunger. Even though you feel battle-worn and ever ready for the sweet escape of sleep, there’s something even needier and heedless that makes your body feel all but set ablaze.

You’ve cum so many times already, but it’s still not enough—it’s never enough. It takes everything in you to make sense of his words—to act civil even when all you want is to jump his bones—make him fuck you until your fever breaks, then allow you rest.

But act in any way out of turn, and he’ll only drag this out. Be sweet, you remind yourself—sugar, syrup, honeycomb—sweet and soft like velvet—no teeth or claws or growling. No matter what, don’t let the animal out of the cage.

“No matter how many lessons it’ll take…” he murmurs. “I’m here to help.”

“Thank you—” you wince while rubbing your thighs together—grinding against his hand in desperation. “Can you… can we—”

He chuckles fondly, feeling you rub your ass back against his crotch wantingly. “Oh? Another round so soon?” 

You bite your lip at his teasing. Far beyond proud to not be begging, “Yes, please—pretty, pretty please—”

The sweet warble in your voice is so pitiful and cute—he can’t help the smile it brings him. “Alright, honey,” he hums while shifting, getting up with a hearty sigh, then leaning over you to give your pleading little pout a kiss. He feeds you his next words with a grin on his face, “Let’s see about that needy pussy of yours.”

He spreads and shimmies himself between your aching thighs, nice and snug against the weeping little thing between them—looking down at you with heavy-lidded eyes and a smug smile that makes you feel like the most hopeless little Omega in the world.

He places another kiss upon your forehead—dwarfing your hand in his big one, braiding your fingers together while the other carries his meaty cock, holding it steady up to your fluttering and glossy slit. 

The size never fails to make you squirm as you look down at it—wondering why you crave it so badly when it only serves to make your body twist and scream from the stretch it gives you.

 “Don’t worry, sweetie,” he soothes the tiny cry that cracks from your throat once he starts easing the length inside the snug comforts of your walls. “Your Alpha’s here to make it all better.”

♡ BNHA – old man Bakugou, Deku, Kirishima, Enji ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Kusakabe ♡ HQ – Daichi, Ushijima ♡ AOT – Erwin

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[osachiyo]

ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ʟɪᴍɪᴛ ! | ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ ᴋᴇɴᴛᴏ

⟣ ──┈ · · · + ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ➣ nanami x fem!reader

⟣ ──┈ · · · + ᴄᴡ ➣ nsfw content (mdni or I'll beat you), brat!reader, hard dom!nanami, hairpulling, pussy slapping, spanking, fingering, throat fucking, bathroom sex, degradation, teasing, jealousy, 1.3k+ words of filth

⟣ ──┈ · · · + ᴀ/ɴ ➣ I'M SO SORRY FOR HOLDING THIS UP FOR SO DAMN LONG this man makes me so damn feral it's not even funny.. this is for my angel @nanamibeloved (hope I did ur man justice rylie !!)

⟣ ──┈ · · · + sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ➣ during your house warming party, you have the genius idea of flirting with your husband's co-worker, how wrong could it go, right?

Kento was pissed, to say the least. You guys threw a house warming party tonight, just for you to cling onto satoru's arm the entire goddamn night. It was infuriating, and downright insulting to your husband, Kento. He was way too prideful to show it though, brushing you both off with a wave of his hand as he sips on his drink.

Somehow he lasted until dinner, you being seated next to Satoru, tits pressed up against his arm as you giggle at his stupid jokes. You were supposed to sit next to him, not the white haired dumbass. He was gonna be patient, though. There will be plenty of time to punish you later− "oh my, 'toru your muscles are so big!" You giggled, shamelessly feeling your husband's co-worker up in front of him as Satoru's lips stretched to reveal a sleazy smirk, and your lover decided he had enough. Cursing under his breath, Kento formed a polite smile, excusing himself from the dinner table before discreetly glaring at your direction, silently demanding you go with him. You smirked to yourself, this is exactly what you wanted.

You were slammed against the bathroom door as soon as you locked the door. You looked up to see your husband towering over you, a menacing aura surrounding him, it intimidated and turned you on at the same time, your thighs clenching together, god− you wanted him so bad.

"on your knees," Kento's jaw was clenched, palms flat against the door, effectively trapping you in. Scoffing, you tugged on his cheetah print tie, yanking him closer to you, "why don't you make me?" You could almost see the vein popping out of his forehead, "so you're playing that game, huh? fine, have it your way." Was the last thing he uttered before you were pushed down to your knees, a large veiny hand tangled in your roots as you winced in pain. "ow! kento− it took me like 3 hours to style my hai−" you were cut off by your husband's hardened length slapping against your cheek, effectively shutting you up. "I don't want to hear your blabbering," he sighed, pushing the bulbous tip past your lips as he shuddered in delight. "now, get to work, slut." You whined at the derogatory name, licking the underside of his cock before taking him in your mouth again, suckling lightly on the tip. He hissed when you slowly started to take him fully into your mouth, fingers tangled in your hair tightening with each inch you swallow. You took half of him before abruptly pulling off− his brows twitched in annoyance and he breaths a quiet "enough" before slamming into your mouth forcefully, the mushroom tip reaching the very back of your throat as you sputter and gag on it, not expecting him to be so rough. he keeps going till your lips touch the small tuff of dirty blonde hair near his base before pulling out almost completely− then brutally thrusting back into the wet heat of your mouth.

It went like that for what felt like an eternity− brutally thrusting in and out, in and out until you were on the verge of passing out, your hands that were previously slapping and scratching at his muscular thighs now went almost limp beside you before he pulled out with a groan. He felt a pang of guilt in his heart when he saw you coughing and breathing heavily, saliva and precum dripping down your chin in webs, trying your best to get air back in your lungs. But all of that guilt quickly disappeared once you looked up at him with a cocky but weak smirk, tears gathered in your lashes− "that all you got? I'm disappointed."

Oh you were such a vixen, and that's exactly what he loved about you. He was going to break you.

Even as he pushed you onto the marbel sink, large hands prying your thighs apart and he could practically smell your arousal− saliva pooling in his mouth. God, he needed to taste you. Right now.

And he did− thumb sliding your panties to the side as his tongue licks a fat stripe up your cunt, savouring your bitter sweet taste on his eager tongue. The tip of his tongue gently circled your swollen clit, your hands clawing at the smooth marble as you arch further into his mouth− only to be put back in place as he presses down on your lower tummy, looking up at you from between your legs, his saliva and your slick coating his chin as he peers up at you with those beautiful, brown eyes that held jealousy, lust and most importantly− so much love and adoration for you. The look in his eyes let you know that this was indeed, the man you fell in love with. The sweet, caring Ken−

Your thoughts got cut off by him slipping his tongue into your hole, groaning lowly at the taste− his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs; rough and calloused from his ruthless years of jujutsu. He'd never get tired of your addicting taste on his skilled tongue, it was almost like dopamine to him− the feeling of your clit throbbing against his tongue as he slurped everything you had to offer. "god, could never get tired of this pussy," he groaned lowly into your cunt, the vibrations from his gravelly voice against your sensitive core made your head spin− how was he so fucking good at this? Every time felt like the first time with him and you loved it− you both did, really.

He loved how your thighs trembled pathetically as he blew on your clit, two thick fingers slipping in to massage your inner walls. His tongue lapping and sucking softly on your little bud before biting it gently, laughing cruelly when you tried to close your thighs around his head. "darling, you're only making things worse for yourself," he sighed calmly before brutally cracking a hand down on your inner thigh, making the soft flesh jiggle and sting as you let out a pained yelp, a fresh wave of tears gathering in your pitiful eyes.

"s' mean.." you sniffled, timidly wiping your tears with the back of your hand, broken gasps emitting from your mouth as he lands soft slaps on your pussy, webs of slick sticking to his fingers as they collide with your aching cunt. "didn't you want this?" He scoffed, two fingers spreading your lips apart and licking his lips at your hole clenching on nothing as it gushed more of your sweet essence− pooling on the fancy marble. "wanted to be taught a lesson− and fucked stupid? huh?" he swiftly landed two spanks right on your clit− a loud cry leaving your mouth and he glared at you with those brown− almost fully black now eyes, effectively getting you to quiet down. You didn't want to see what happens if you angered him further. You honestly didn't expect him to be this rough.

But you couldn't get yourself to complain when he flipped you around, taking his beloved tie off and binding your hands behind you− tight. He easily picked you up and pushed you against the door once again, face smushed against the high quality wood as he pushed your panties down to your knees in one fluid motion− quickly lining up with your entrance before pushing the fat tip in, making the both of you let out quiet moans. Your nails were digging into the sweaty palms of your hand at this point− yelping in surprise when he grabbed your hair and yanked your face to the side before enveloping your parted lips in a kiss. The kiss was much sweeter and gentle compared to his borderline brutal thrusts− a perfect balance, if you will.

Your ass recoiled with each slam of his hips against it, nasty squelching sounds filling the walls as you tried your very best to stay quiet. But unfortunately for you, your husband wasn't having any of that. Instead of shushing and telling you to keep quiet− he encouraged you to be louder− to scream his name until your lungs burned. He wanted you to be so damn loud so that fucker Satoru would know that you're his− that you're Kento's and he would make sure of it.

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated♡

[peachpitfics]

Don't Blame Me

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Daphne Bridgerton is your closest childhood friend, her eldest brother, Anthony, is the love of your life. After avoiding each other for years, you both finally lose control.

Length: 3.2k

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Unprotected sex, sex in public, penetrative vaginal sex, orgasm, 'caught in the act' vibes, best friends brother.

Bridgerton master list (tag list)

Like many other close family friends of the Bridgerton’s, their home was always a beacon of safety and comfort, especially for you. You were Daphne Bridgerton’s first friend, and you had remained close well into adulthood, she wrote to you still from her new life with the Duke. Unfortunately, Daphne would not be able to meet you in Mayfair this season, the Bridgerton’s playing host while your mother and father were out of the country. It was your third year out; you had a few hopeful matches in mind, not realizing how difficult the season might be with unobtainable love staring you in the face.

“We are so glad to have you this year, y/n. It has been so long since we have seen you around the Ton” Violet Bridgerton was as much your mother as your own.

“Father’s responsibilities have been consuming these past few years. Mother and I hardly made it to the season last year. I am glad to be here, spending some time in familiar places” You smiled, linking arms with her as she escorted you to the ballroom. Your parents had entrusted your match to you, however, had requested the viscountess to keep a watchful eye.

Waltzing into the drawing room, just like old times, Benedict and Colin, discarding their playing cards, exclaimed with joy, rushing to greet you as if a long-lost sibling had returned. There was nothing as lonely as being an only child, deep in the countryside. Eloise was fretting in the corner, fingers agitated, tapping the outside of a book. This was to be her coming out year.

Anthony entered from the far side door, his feet skidding to a halt at the sight of you.

“You arrived” Anthony said flatly, turning on the ball of his foot, and exiting as quickly as he had come in. Embarrassed, you frowned, smiling chastely praying no one would notice his strange behaviour. It had been a year since you had last seen each other.

“I apologise, he is so bizarre in the mornings lately” Violet squeezed your shoulders, leading you over to a table laden with treats. Sitting on the settee with Hyacinth and Eloise, eating small cakes and discussing the books being read amongst you were some of the precious things you missed about living in the city.

In an unsuspicious amount of time, you excused yourself from company to find the washroom. Anthony stood outside the drawing room, leaning against the wall, unblinking and mind drifting elsewhere. You ignored each other walking past, which felt a lot like tiny shards of glass embedding into your heart. Locking yourself in the washroom, trying desperately to keep tears at bay, you looked into the mirror and told yourself it did not matter. You were going to find love this year, somewhere else. 

When you opened the door, Anthony had moved, he was nearly pressed against the door, waiting for you to come out. He stuffed himself into the washroom with you, closing the door as silently as he could.

“Why are you here?” He asked. He looked different from a year ago, he had changed quite a lot more than you were expecting. He had shortened his hair and filled out into his body. His hands looked the same, the same ring on that damned finger, flexing in distress and awkward guilt.

“It is the beginning of the social season. I am here to find a husband.” You stated plainly.

“A husband?” He scoffed, charming disdain painted across his face.

“Yes, it is what young ladies do in polite society. Was that unclear?” You asked. Your lack of facial expression and tone seemed to startle him, he had no idea what you were thinking.

“Why are you acting this way?” Anthony stuttered forward, getting uncomfortably close.

With the melancholic drop of your shoulders, and a heavy exhale, you pushed past Anthony and made your way back to the drawing room. It was so like him to put the narrative back on you. Anthony should have asked himself why he was acting this way – after all, it was he who decided not to court you. It was he who decided to kiss you beside the carriage that night. It was he who decided the two of you should not speak any longer. It was he who broke your heart.

The remainder of the evening was free of Anthony, filled with laughter at the dining room table over a delectable dinner. The Bridgerton’s sense of family was everything to you – even if Gregory and Hyacinth were bickering for most of the meal, it still felt as it was meant to. Violet showed you to the guest room, it had not changed much over the years, it smelled the very same.

“I am sorry Anthony could not join us for dinner” Violet’s voice echoed with somber searching. Perhaps she had heard the two of you in the washroom?

“Do not be,” You said quickly, “His time is his own, he does not owe me anything” Violet bowed her head, words fighting against her lips. She instead pursed them into a smile and closed the door behind her. Those shards of glass moved again, every second in this house, nausea held you hostage, terrified of running into him in the halls.

Daphne was the only other person alive who knew what had happened between Anthony and yourself. She had been disappointed in him, angry with the way he had handled everything. While she promised there would never be a change to your friendship, it had never really been the same. You tossed and turned far longer than normal; your mind flooded with images of the past. Thrusting yourself out of bed, it was clear you were not going to be sleeping tonight, you decided that a distraction may be best. In your nightgown, candle in hand, you remembered your way to the study.

The study was clear of any inhabitants, it was tidy, and the few cases of books loomed high over you, reaching the ceiling. Nothing in the Bridgerton house seemed to change, except Anthony, and it was perpetually for the worse in your opinion. You selected a book randomly from the nearest shelf and perched yourself on the seat closest to the window, looking out over the square. Lounging sleepily, you read in the low candlelight, only disturbed by the creaking of the door, an unexpected sound, making you jolt.

“I knew you’d be in here” Anthony said softly, entering the room with caution as your emotionless face watched him. “You were always in here when we were children. No one could ever find you” His smile was humorless.

“You did” You waited before responding, wondering why he was here, speaking with you, “Why are you here, right now, Anthony?” You demanded.

Anthony moved to the seat across from yours, sitting gingerly, holding eye contact in the hopes you would not tell him to leave. You allowed him to sit, his hands folded in front of him.

“I don’t know” Anthony rubbed desperately at his forehead, “I just got up, and felt myself pulled here, some unknown force, dragging me to you” Anthony admitted. You had always been attracted to each other, always gravitating towards one another.

“I did not choose to come here; my mother asked a favor of yours. I would never have chosen to be this close to you. You destroyed me, Anthony” Tears welled to your eyes, “We cannot be near each other – you made that it very clear, you took what you wanted of me, and cast me aside” Hands pressed down on your knees, you pushed off, making for the closest exit. Anthony dashed around in front of you, placing his body between you and the door for the second time today.

“Goodnight, Viscount Bridgerton” You curtsied formally, hoping the rules of social engagement were enough for this man to understand the dangerous position he was putting both of you in, yet again.

Anthony’s hand trembled, reaching out, taking yours into his. His fingers tangled between yours, his grip strengthening when he realized you were not pulling away. His thumb affectionately circling the skin on wrist, the sound of his swallowing resounding across the empty room, his anxious tongue flicking over his lips. If anything was clear, it was the internal battle that seemed to be always happening inside Anthony’s mind.

His touch, the supreme legacy of your existence. His unsteady breath, captivating your common sense. The thrilling space between you slowly closing, heads bobbing forward as if intoxicated and unable to control oneself, meeting together in the middle in an exhilarating kiss, just like you had remembered it.

His lips were shamelessly enthusiastic, as if made for this very purpose, just for you. His forceful hands weaved into your loose hair, pulling you deeper into every kiss. You were overcome, that old bold, need for him to find its way out of the labyrinth you had designed for it. Anthony’s fingers pressed to your hips, his teeth nipped eagerly at the skin on your neck, softs sighs of delight followed.

It was when his hand moved sensually to your breast that you broke free of the enchanting dance you had found yourself in so many times before with him. Your body did not reflect the same pleasures, you took his hands from your body and laid them at his sides, and stood tall and stepped back.

“I am here to secure a husband, for my future” Tears found their way back to you.

“Y/n…” Anthony shook his head, stepping forward, trying to hold onto you again.

“If you cannot give me what I seek, please, stop hunting me down. I want a life with you, Anthony. I will love you until my dying breath… But you, you will never grow up” You said finitely, again, pushing your way past him and fleeing back to your room.

~

Most of the next day was spent in tired indifference, you remained in your room, preparing for the first ball of the season. Tears had stained your pillow the remainder of the night, each knock at the door struck a chord of hope in your heart, wishing for Anthony.

Eloise and Violet helped you into your gown, the ladies’ maids fixing your hair and face. Violet ran a motherly thumb under your puffy eye, her compassionate heart shining through her eyes and tender smile. You gave a little nod, knowing there was never anything you could hide from her – she knew everyone in the Bridgerton house better than she let on.

The Viscounts escorted Eloise into Lady Danbury’s estate, greeting the Queen and Lady Danbury ahead of you. Violet linked arms with you in solidarity, following Anthonys actions and proceeding into the ball.

“Who will you be accepting dances from this evening?” The Viscountess asked quietly.

“I am not restricting myself to names, I will dance with any eligible man who asks” You answered politely.

Violet gave your forearm a squeeze, “That is very sensible” She nodded, releasing you, sending you off into the lion’s den. You met up with Eloise, taking a short turn about the room to appear social, greeting the other young ladies who you’d met years previous. There were several older men who seemed to take an interest in you as you moved about the room with your friend. No one really stood out to you, no true love at first sight, much to your dismay.

Retiring to the wall with a glass of lemonade in hand, you watched the gorgeous young women excited to dance with suitors and recalled how that was never an experience you had.

Soon enough, one of the suitors who had shown interest in a season previous approached, positioning himself next to you. Lord Harlan Grahame was intelligent, considerate, and not entirely horrible to look at.

“Lord Grahame” You curtsied, a familiar smile finding its way back onto your face.

“Miss y/n, I do hope your mother and father are quite well” He remarked, having known them for many years now, he had noticed their absence.

“They are in abroad, my father has business to conduct in Greece and my mother only saw fit to tend to him during this time” You explained, “I am being hosted by the Bridgerton family. How is your family?” You asked in politeness.

“Fantastic, Mother has moved herself to the country and hopes to get yet another dog soon” He laughed, clearly happy to be free of her in his home. Laughing along with him, you spied Anthony, discreetly looking on from across the ballroom. The conversation between yourself and Lord Grahame was easy and hardly uncomfortable. He was charismatic enough that you could see yourself becoming quite fond of each other in no time at all. He made small jokes at no one’s expense, he offered refreshments frequently and complimented you in kindness. You could see and accept a perfectly happy future with the Lord.

Across the ballroom, sheer asperity brewed live in Anthonys eyes for all to see. He was known to have a temper amongst society. With a final twitch of his left eye, Anthony’s feet picked up under him, carrying him in your direction. Violet watched on, fear and embarrassment ready and willing in her chest.

“I apologise” You mumbled preemptively to Lord Grahame as Anthony arrived to interrupt your conversation.

“Miss y/n, may I have this dance?” Anthonys eyes were terrifying, filled with rage and jealousy. You paused, contemplating antagonizing him, forcing his hand, backing him into a corner. But relinquished, excusing yourself from Lord Grahames company, taking Anthony’s hand as he swept you off to the dancefloor.

You did not meet his eye, your nails dug into the skin on his hand in resentment. You said nothing to each other for the first several minutes of the dance.

“You cannot marry him” Anthony muttered in quiet, helpless indignation.

Giving him a great look of disbelief, “Who are you to tell me who I can marry? I do not answer to you, Viscount” You growled into his ear as he pulled you in tighter.

Anthony finished the dance, bowing to you, holding onto one of your hands with unbelievable force. He walked swiftly from the dance floor, conspicuously pulling you along behind him, and into a room down the hall.

“You cannot blame me for acting this way!” He yelled, “If I have to see you speak to another man this season, if I have to witness another man watch as you walk by – You have driven me to the brink of insanity” He heaved, frantic energy filling his body.

“What would you have me do? Spend my life in loneliness, a Spinster? Would that be convenient to you, Anthony?” You parried.

His hands ran through his hair stressfully, at a loss for words, unable to express himself in the way he wanted. His intention had not been to yell when he sequestered you away to this side room.

“I was fine! You left Mayfair, and I was well. Now, here you are – and God help me, I am intoxicated every second we are in the same room. Your presence is the most decadent drug, forcibly hypnotizing me. I am powerless to you” Anthonys words were like honey, carried on the end of a bee sting.

“You made your choice!” You yelled back at him, hoping the music was loud enough outside.

“I was young, y/n! I made the wrong choice!” He retorted, his words shaking, and unfiltered for the first time in a long time.

There was a second of unblinking silence between you before magnetic energy pulled you into each other, deranged nipping at each other’s lips ensued. Hands grabbed and grasped at skin and hair, trying to force your beings into one person. There was a white-hot craze that seemed to come over the both of you, and you had felt it before, a few times.

Anthony sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, biting and kissing in a spontaneous fire.

“Someone will hear” You moaned into his ear, as his teeth moved their way down your neck. Anthony did not seem to care, his mouth on your chest, fondling and sucking on your breasts, still sitting pertly in your dress. He was simply uncontrollable, his behaviour now inherently superior compared to when he had been speaking.

Anthony maneuvered your body across the room, hands comfortably held in places of control, his left on your lower back, his right splayed across your throat like the prettiest necklace. You reached the door, his hands twisting your hips to face it. Your palms met the wood, bracing as Anthony bent you slightly, kicking your feet apart with his. Anthony hiked up your gown, undoing his pants in the same instant and buried himself inside of you.

You mouth gaped silently, aghast at the entire situation, but thanking God above for the opportunity.

“Oh my god,” Anthony gnarled into your ear from behind, “Just like I remember it” He moaned, sinking deeper and deeper it felt like. Every thrust led with intense and vicious primality, his hands wrapped around each of your upper arms, for leverage. He was right, it was just how you remembered – overwhelming, devastating, unforgettable. You had thought about your secret affair with Anthony every day since you had moved away. The pleasure Anthony elicited from you sent you into a familiar haze, deep and indefensible. Every movement, every sound from him made you feel greedy, always wanting just a little more.

The way he pounded into your smaller frame rattled the wooden door you were leaning on. “Anthony! They are going to hear!” You squealed in a whisper back to him.

“Let them” He panted, “If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I’m fucking my future wife” Anthony’s hand found its way into your hair, pulling your back sharply for a profound, wet kiss. Anthonys fingers sunk into the flesh of your hip, painfully pleasant as his nails clambered for an anchor. Your body arched back involuntarily, Anthony powering through fast, harsh thrusts as he found his inevitable end, placing sloppy kisses on your shoulder as he slowly finished moving inside of you.

You both leaned on the door in exhaustion, bodies heaving in unison. Anthony placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, stepping backwards and rebuttoning his breeches, fixing your dress behind you. You turned to face him slowly, knowing he could very well go back on every word he had said not moments before.

The softest smile enriched his face, his eyes lit in such a way that you had never seen them. His arm dashed out, pulling you into a grinning embrace, smooching dear kisses upon your lips.

“Loving you causes me delirium, y/n” He nipped at your nose, your foreheads planted together, eyes closed in tranquility.

As you stood, the doorknob gently turned and Violet Bridgerton slid her head through the gap, assumingly checking on the both of you; you had been in here for a little while longer than societally acceptable for two young single people.

Her hand flew over her heart, “Oh thank God!” She exclaimed, smiling ear to ear, a sense of pride glistened in her eyes.

“I cannot wait to write Daphne” The viscountess cheered quietly, finding it hard to contain her excitement. “I knew that you would find each other” She chuffed, slipping out, closing the door. Your foreheads knocked together again, never having a minutes peace in such a large family – you stood there a moment longer, relishing such a long awaited and monumental confession of your love.

-------------------------------

tag list: @cringycat24 // @blckbarbiedoll // @freyagallileaevans // @junkie05 // @rosabeetroot // @flamewriterr //

If you would like to be tagged in Bridgerton fics, please let me know!

[lizziesangel]

RAFE CAMERON ⟢ yours to keep

x FEM!reader ⟢ MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: based on this request

WORD COUNT: 1678

GENRE: angstish

CONTENT WARNING: jealous!rafe

it wasn’t always like this with rafe.

in the beginning, his protectiveness felt sweet. endearing, even. it made you feel cherished, like he saw you as someone precious. you hadn’t realized it would spiral into something darker.

the first time it happened, it didn’t seem like a big deal.

you had been at tannyhill with some of rafe’s friends, lounging by the pool while everyone talked and joked. one of his friends—topper, maybe, or some other guy from the group—had complimented your swimsuit. it was harmless, casual, barely even a blip on your radar.

but later, when everyone else had gone home and it was just you and rafe, he brought it up.

“you know he was flirting with you, right?” he said, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

“what? no, he wasn’t.” you laughed, shaking your head. “he was just being nice.”

“trust me,” rafe replied, his arm looping around your waist as he pulled you close. “guys don’t just say stuff like that to be nice. they want something.”

you’d rolled your eyes, brushing it off as paranoia. “come on, rafe. you know i’d never give him the time of day.”

“i know,” he said, his voice softening. he kissed the top of your head, and for a moment, it felt like he believed you. but then he added, “just… don’t let him get any ideas, okay?”

it had felt like such a small thing at the time, a little bump in an otherwise smooth road. you didn’t think much of it.

then second time, you decided not to speak up about it.

you were at the country club, meeting rafe for lunch after his golf game. while you waited at the bar, a guy your age struck up a conversation. you didn’t even catch his name, but he asked about the book you were reading and complimented your taste. it was nothing serious, just polite chit-chat to pass the time.

but when rafe walked in and saw you talking to him, his expression darkened immediately.

he didn’t say anything right away, just walked over and slipped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer than usual. the guy caught the hint and backed off, leaving you alone with rafe.

“you just let guys talk to you like that?” he asked once you were seated at the table.

“like what?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light, even though his mood was already making your stomach twist.

“like that,” he repeated, leaning forward. “i mean, did you see the way he was looking at you? what did he even want?”

“nothing, rafe,” you said quietly. “he was just being friendly.”

“yeah, well, guys don’t do friendly,” he muttered.

you wanted to argue, to push back, but the weight of his glare made your words die in your throat. instead, you nodded, deciding it wasn’t worth the fight.

that night, he was his usual self again, kissing you and pulling you into his arms as if nothing had happened. but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

the third time was tonight.

the chatter of the crowded room pressed in around you, the thumping bass of the party vibrating through your chest. you had wandered to the drinks table, idly pouring a soda while chatting with one of your friends. a guy you vaguely remembered from school leaned in close to say something, his laughter too loud in your ear. you shifted uncomfortably, trying to create some space between you.

you sipped your drink slowly, nodding at something the guy next to you said. his name was... what was it again? jake? jared? even james was possible— you didn’t remember, and honestly, you didn’t care.

but rafe? rafe cared.

from across the room, he watched with a storm brewing in his blue eyes, his jaw set so tight you’d swear it might crack. his fingers curled around the glass in his hand, knuckles white against the amber liquid.

you felt his gaze before you even saw him, the intensity of it burning into your back.

turning your head slightly, your eyes locked onto his across the room. his jaw was clenched so tight you swore it might snap, and his blue eyes burned with something raw and dangerous. he started moving toward you, the crowd parting for him like they sensed the storm brewing.

your heart skipped. you knew how he got.

“hey, everything okay?” jake-or-jared asked, oblivious.

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t, not when rafe had reached you in a few short strides, his hand wrapping around your wrist in a grip that wasn’t quite painful but left no room for argument.

“rafe—”

“y/n,” rafe’s voice was sharp, demanding. he stepped up beside you, towering over the other guy, his presence overwhelming. “we’re leaving.”

you frowned, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment as jared—or whatever his name was—gave an awkward laugh, looking between the two of you. “uh, is this your boyfriend?” he asked, his voice tinged with unease.

“yeah,” rafe snapped before you could even open your mouth, his hand wrapping firmly around your wrist. “let’s go.”

“rafe,” you hissed under your breath, trying to pull back. “you’re making a scene.”

his eyes flicked down to you, the look in them dark and unyielding. “i said, let’s go,” he repeated, and there was no mistaking the edge in his voice.

he didn’t give you a chance to protest, pulling you through the crowd and out the front door before you could say anything else.

his grip on your wrist loosened slightly as he opened the door to his car, practically lifting you into the passenger seat before slamming it shut. he rounded the front of the vehicle, his movements tense, before climbing in and starting the engine.

the drive to tannyhill was silent, the air thick with tension. you didn’t dare speak, your chest tight as you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. his jaw was clenched, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard you thought it might snap in half.

it was the first time he got this angry.

when you finally arrived, rafe killed the engine and sat there for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling as he tried to steady his breathing. then, without a word, he got out and stalked toward the house, leaving you to scramble after him.

inside, the door slammed shut behind you, the sound echoing through the empty halls. you spun around to face him, your own anger bubbling to the surface.

“what the hell was that?” his voice was sharp, his breath warm against your face.

“what the hell was what, rafe?” you countered back, crossing your arms. “you can’t just drag me out of a party like i’m a child.”

he turned to you, his eyes blazing. “you think i’m just gonna stand there and watch some random guy hit on you?”

“rafe, nothing happened.”

“nothing happened?!” his laugh was humorless, bitter. “that guy was all over you.”

“he wasn’t hitting on me,” you shot back. “we were talking, rafe. it’s called a conversation.”

“he wasn’t—”

“don’t lie to me,” he snapped, his hand slamming against the wall beside your head. you flinched. his eyes softened for a brief second before hardening again. “you know how i get when it comes to you.”

“you can’t act like this every time a guy talks to me,” you said, softer now, but no less firm. “it’s not fair, rafe. you can’t control me.”

“i’m not trying to control you,” he shot back, his voice rising. “i’m trying to protect you. you don’t get it, y/n. you’re the only thing keeping me sane, and the thought of losing you—”

he broke off, turning away from you as he pressed a hand to his forehead. for a moment, the room was silent, save for the sound of his ragged breathing.

“that doesn’t make it okay,” you shot back, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay firm. “you can’t keep doing this, rafe. you can’t—”

“can’t what?” he cut you off, leaning in closer, his tone dropping dangerously low. “protect what’s mine?”

your breath caught.

“you’re mine, y/n,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against yours. “and only mine. i don’t care who he is, or what he said, or if he just looked at you the wrong way. no one gets to have you but me.”

“rafe…” you didn’t know what to say, your voice cracking under the weight of his intensity.

“i mean it,” he continued, his hand sliding to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin. the gesture was soft, but his eyes were anything but. “you think i can just stand there and watch some other guy—” he cut himself off, shaking his head. “no. not happening.”

you swallowed hard, trying to find your footing in the whirlwind that was rafe cameron. part of you wanted to push him away, to demand he stop suffocating you with his possessiveness. but another part of you—the part that loved him despite all the red flags—ached to reach out, to comfort him, to tell him he didn’t need to feel like this.

“i’m not going anywhere,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “rafe, you have to trust me.”

his jaw clenched again, but he nodded, almost imperceptibly. “i know,” his voice cracked just slightly. “but you’re the only thing i can’t lose, y/n. i can’t…”

you sighed, your hand reaching up to rest on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. “i know, rafe, but you wont lose me.”

for a moment, you thought he might argue, might try to pull you into his orbit all over again. but then he nodded, his hand falling away from your cheek.

he looked down at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes—fear, hope, maybe both. “okay, okay.”

“you promise?”

you leaned up, brushing a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering just long enough to feel his breath catch.

“i promise,” you whispered.

[rafescvntyclubgf]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕖𝕟: 𝔸 ℕ𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕖 ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤

𝙱𝚘𝚍𝚢𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙿𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: pet names, swearing, reader gets cornered on an elevator by a random man, rafe flashes his gun, threats, physical violence against the guy, mirror sex, wall sex, dirty talk, kissing, unprotected p in v, angst, fingering, spanking, praise, finger sucking, cum tasting, rough sex, cream pie, older!rafe

📖 I got the idea for this story after watching Sabrina Carpenter’s Christmas Special! ♥️ The premise is a popstar!reader who wants the attention of her handsome bodyguard, who seemingly has one interest: keeping her safe.

Masterlist

Reader’s POV:

The stage is shining, the crowd alive with holiday cheer as you belt out the final notes of A Nonsense Christmas. The applause roars around you, their energy washing over you like a wave.

You smile, waving to the audience, but your gaze quickly floats over to the stage's edge as it has been all night… as it had been for weeks when you closed out the final song.

There he is. Rafe Cameron.

He stands tall, commanding, calm, and professional in a suit. His piercing gaze sweeps the room, assessing every face and every movement for threats, but never to you.

You poured every ounce of charm into that performance, thinking it might be enough to catch his eye. A wink here, a playful smile there, all subtle gestures to draw his attention—yet, nothing. His stoic expression doesn’t budge. His demeanor’s like trying to melt a glacier with a single match.

By the time the show’s over, the emptiness gnaws at you. The Netflix special had been perfect, yet you could only focus on how Rafe never even cracked a smile. None of the jokes landed… Not a single song was heard, it seemed. It was like he was listening to white noise.

The wrap party’s filled with people from the industry and familiar celebrity guests from the special. Your manager taps you on the shoulder throughout the night, making it impossible to get away: candid interviews, photos for the press, people vying for a moment of your time.

You float through the crowd in a Bob Mackie dress, dodging your manager as you see her walking toward you again. You smooth out the satin and fluff your hair nervously, searching for him. There he is. Your heart flutters as your eyes match his; your red dress shifts with each step, hugging every curve just right. Compliments come in every direction, yet your focus is drawn to the beautiful man at the bar…

He’s the definition of composure, sipping his water and scanning the room. Since the show, he’s popped a single button at the top of his white button-down shirt. Even that subtlety, just a taste of his tanned skin, sends butterflies swirling in your stomach. He glances away, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass.

Your heart beats faster, knees wobbling in your sky-high heels—a wavering you didn't even have during your performance. Your feet click along the marble floor, each step fueled by courage and desperation. The sound draws his eye to you.

"Hi," you say gently, feeling the heat of embarrassment pool in your cheeks as his jaw flexes. His nostrils flare as he draws a deep breath, looking almost annoyed.

Rafe looks down, his blue eyes locking on yours briefly, making your stomach fall. Your eyes widen, realizing that you don’t even think he’s ever truly done that before—constantly looking through you, around you, at your person, but never into your eyes.

“Ms. l/n,” he greets you, his tone polite but detached. The moment of attention you had has faded and gone.

"Call me y/n," I say, trying to bridge the chasm between you, craving that brief moment you had when his eyes were on you again.

He gives you a slight nod as he glances into the crowd. “What can I do for you?"

"Have a drink with me?" You ask fast, surprised that he even wanted to know, given his body language.

His lips press into two thin lines. “I’m working,” he replies, firm but not unkind. "It was a great show, y/n. You should enjoy the party. I'll be close by if you need me."

You bite your lips, eyes fluttering as he dismisses you before your gaze falls to the floor. The reaction was a cold slap to the face.

“Have a good night,” you whisper fast, giving him a small smile as your pride tatters. You turn around on your heels, your embarrassment weighing heavily on your chest as you push through the crowd, knowing you’re never quite out of his sight, needing to be far enough away that he doesn’t realize how deeply that cut.

By the party's end, you’re exhausted and mentally drained. Reaching for your coat, you head out into the night with your team and Rafe.

It’s a short walk, only a block from the venue to the hotel. Snow falls from the dim, sparkling in the streetlights as it dances to the ground below. You wrap your arms around your waist, holding yourself tight, trying to keep warm, feeling the heat of Rafe’s gaze on you still, just a few feet behind you.

You look over your shoulder, matching his eyes. He doesn’t flinch; his smile doesn’t brighten like yours when you see him. He looks away, turning his attention toward the busy street, surveying the scene as always. You scrunch your nose as heat burns behind your eyes, mortified that you’re letting yourself get so hurt by someone who couldn’t care less about you.

The hotel lobby is still except for the soft hum of Christmas music pouring from the piano. You walk quickly, your head down, desperate to be unaided; the sting of Rafe’s rejection, still piercing.

If he doesn’t want anything to do with me… I want to be alone. It’s clearly what you want. Isn’t it? You seethe as you walk a little faster, wanting to put space between you and everyone else.

“Miss. l/n,” you hear Rafe’s voice echo through the lobby as he moves a little quicker. You step inside the elevator, pressing the close button as your team closes in; Rafe shoves past the lot of them with a horrified look as the elevator door glides shut, closing you off from the rest.

You were so focused on getting yourself alone that you barely noticed the man who followed you in. It wasn't until the doors shut that you heard him shift next to you, looking down at you with a smile.

"Oh, shit… You're y/n, right?" The man asks, his voice far too casual.

"Mhmm," you hum, giving him a small, cautious smile as your hands start to sweat, the hair on the back of your neck standing straight.

"You're even prettier in person," he croons as he steps closer.

“Thanks-”

"How about a drink? Just you and me?"

You cross one leg over the other, stepping to the side as your eyes stay locked on the metal door in front of you. "No, thank you,” you respond as confidently as possible.

He smirks and chuckles darkly, rubbing his hand over his mouth as he turns toward you. "Oh, don't be shy, honey. I saw your concert at Madison Square Garden. I know what kind of woman you are," he mumbles—his breath, warm on your neck. The creep’s thick cologne radiates off his designer suit. He rests his hand on your lower back, drawing you in as the elevator dings.

The door glides open, but Rafe’s already pushing through, his broad chest heaving from sprinting up the stairs.

He looks at you, catching the worry in your eyes, nodding, letting you know you’ll be okay. His eyes lock onto the man, his stare dark and dangerous. “She’s not interested,” Rafe says, his presence lethal as he steps inside, placing himself between you and the stranger as he quickly ushers you out.

Rafe hangs back, stepping toe to toe with the businessman, whose eyes widen. The man chuckles nervously as he raises his trembling hands in mock surrender. “Just making conversation-”

“Don’t,” Rafe growls, his tone cutting with no room for argument as he slams his fist against the “hold” button, locking the door open.

“Hey, man. I don't want any trouble,” the guy croaks.

“This your floor?” Rafe asks. The man shakes his head ‘no’ fast. A smirk tugs on Rafe’s lips as he steps even closer, sweeping his black suit jacket to the side, showing off the handle of his gun, making the blood drain from your face and the man’s. The guy’s eyes lock on Rafe’s weapon, and he stumbles back, grabbing onto the handrail to keep from falling, looking up at your bodyguard in horror. “I asked you a fuckin’ question, bitch,” Rafe voice bellows, making the man cower in fear.

“No… Jesus. Calm the fuck down. I told you I’m not. Alright?” He rambles as he reaches around Rafe, going for the hold button. Rafe grabs the man’s suit jacket, slamming him back, his head ricocheting off the wall.

“Nah, you didn’t say shit. If I catch you on this floor. I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Understand?” The guy nods, but Rafe bangs him against the wall again. “Use your fuckin’ words, man. I’m sure you had plenty to say to her. Ain’t that right?” He asks as he steps even closer, getting in his face. The guy shuts his eyes, turning his cheek in fear.

“I understand,” he mumbles weakly.

Rafe shoves him into the elevator, smacking the hold button before grabbing your hand.

You look over your shoulder, watching the man scramble to the front of the elevator, pushing his finger repeatedly against the buttons.

Rafe’s hand tightens in yours, pulling you past your room and moving deeper into the hall. “You’re coming with me.”

Rafe reaches into his back pocket as his eyes dart around, pulling out his key card. His face, a storm of emotions.

He leads you inside, shutting the door quick before twisting and latching multiple locks. Rafe turns around, his fingers gliding through his hair nervously, pushing it back while his eyes flicker around the room.

“Why am I here?” You ask feebly.

"Because it's safer," he says shortly. “You’re safer with me. You know that!” Rafe raises his voice, quickly pushing out a deep, slow breath as he sees you flinch. “You’re—fuck. I’m sorry. You’re safer with me. Alright?” He walks past you, pulling a bottle of scotch from the wet bar.

Rafe pops off the top, mumbling in annoyance as he pours a drink. His hand trembles, making the glass click against each other. “Drink?” He asks, his voice dry and hoarse, tossing back one before you can respond, draining another in the tumbler as you give him a soft ‘yes.’ He mutters something again in frustration as he pours yours.

“What?” You ask curiously as you step closer.

”I said, ‘What the fuck were you thinking?’” He asks annoyedly as his eyes shift to yours, keeping your focus longer than two seconds.

"Why do you care, Rafe?” You counter before you can even think it through.

His jaw clenches, and he clutches the glasses in his big hands. His grip is so hard you’re waiting for it to pop.

“What do you mean, ‘why do I care?’” He asks, his eyes tightening in disbelief. “It’s my goddamn job to care. Are you fuckin’ serious?”

“It’s your job to keep me safe. It’s not your job to care about me ‘cause if it was, you’d be fuckin’ awful at in.”

"You don’t think I care?” He asks as he steps face to face with you, making your heart race.

“No. I don’t,” you stand firm.

“Do you think I don’t notice you, princess? ‘Cause I fuckin’ do,” he snaps. “Y/n, you’re all I see—every damn second of the day. But I can’t let myself think about you that way. Not when it’s my job to protect you. Not when it’s my job to keep you safe!”

"Why not?" You challenge, your voice shattering with emotion as you look up at him.

“Because if I let myself feel… if I let myself want you the way I do, I'll lose focus. And if I lose focus, you get hurt. And that's somethin’ I can't live with."

"Rafe…” You whisper, seeing the emotion all over his face.

"I see you, sweetheart," he says, his voice cracking. "Every time you smile, sing, and look at me with those eyes like I'm the only one in the room. Do you know how hard it is to pretend I don't feel it? To pretend I don't—"

You close the space between the two of you, stealing the words off his tongue, your lips pressing against his in a passionate kiss. He stands there for a moment, completely frozen, as your hands wrap around the back of his neck. You gasp against his lips as his arms comes around you, yanking your body into his, returning your kiss with a fire that takes the air out of your lungs.

Before you can get your feet underneath you, your back hits the wall—Rafe’s wet kisses stippling over your collarbone, trailing up your neck as his big hands squeeze and caress your curves.

“Rafe,” you moan as you pull him closer, his rich cologne mixing with his crisp drink on his breath, numbing your tongue and making your head spin. “I need you,” you whimper.

“You need me?” He groans hungrily like it’s all he’s ever wanted to hear.

”Please…” You whisper needily. “Do you need me-”

“Yes. Fuck… Of course, I need you,” he rasps as your hand presses against his stiff cock; his bulge is throbbing in his dress pants. He paws for the bottom of your dress, lifting it hastily to get at you.

You moan for him, melting into his touches as his fingers press against your soaked panties. He smiles against your lips between panting breaths, pushing your thong to the side. Your head falls against the wall as his fingers trace your slick folds, drenching his digits—your tongue swirling with his.

“I need you so fuckin’ bad,” he sighs as his fingers draw away; the man quickly fights himself out of his suit jacket as you pinch the zipper of your dress—the two of you stealing kisses as you strip bare.

Rafe dives for your lips again, his rough, ringed hands finding your cheeks, pulling your face to his as he walks you back to his bed.

Before you can reach it, he spins you around, pulling your back to his chest as you reach for a breath. His face nuzzles into your neck, his five-o’clock shadow scratching roughly against your soft skin as he peers out, admiring you in the floor-length mirror.

Your body heats up under his gaze as you watch his hands trace your figure through the glass. His gold watch catches the light as he twists his hand, his fingers disappearing between your thighs, making your head fall back on his broad chest.

Rafe’s rough fingers brush through your soaked pussy as he kisses along your neck, teeth scraping over the shell of your ear. “You don’t think I see you?” He asks, his voice husky and low, sending chills down your spine. “You don’t think I see how fuckin’ perfect you are, princess?” He groans as his other hand cups your tit, kneading your skin as you moan for him.

Rafe licks a line up the column of your neck, biting your skin, marking you with his teeth, making you whimper—your cunt throbbing with need.

He swirls his fingers over your puffy clit, pulling out moan after moan from your pillowy lips, your legs shaky and weak from his touch. “You don’t think I look at you and imagine what you look like when you cum?” He asks, the corners of his lips curling upwards at his words. “You don’t think I don’t think about how beautiful you’d look taking my dick, baby?” Rafe lifts his hand, turning your face so your lips find him again. “Never thought you’d be this wet, y/n. All for me…”

“All for you,” you echo through a breathy sigh as your lips brush over the top of his.

“I’m going to keep you safe. I’m going to take care of you,” he mumbles as he pushes two thick fingers in your soaked cunt, pumping them a few times as you grab his forearm for support, nails clawing into his skin. “Bend over for me, pretty.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you whisper.

Rafe sucks off your bottom lip before pulling back, guiding you to bend over in front of the mirror. You rest your hand on the edge, watching as he takes his fingers between his lips, sucking your taste off, letting his eyes roll back as his other hand squeezes your hip.

His hand falls lower, his lip bitten as he grabs his cock in his fist, gliding through your drenched slit before sinking in with a rough thrust. Your wide eyes match his before they roll back—Rafe’s fat cock stretching you wide.

He takes his time, letting you adjust to his size. His biceps flex as he pulls you as close as he can get, making you shudder and whine; your manicured fingers wrap around the mirror’s frame so hard your knuckles ghost white.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes.

Rafe’s toned hips pull back before he shoves them forward, eyes locked on your body, watching the way your breasts bounce with each thrust.

Your messy pussy wets his balls, dripping ever so slightly onto the hardwood floor. “Goddamn, baby,” Rafe hums, seeing it too, the two of you listening to the sounds of your slick cunt squelch as his thrusts crescendo.

“Feels so good,” you whine, arching your back, body clenching as his throbbing tip hits your g-spot again and again.

”Feels good? Fuck, princess. You like that?” He asks as his arm snakes around your hip, fingers finding your clit, swirling fast. Rafe shifts a little nearer, pushing you closer to the glass, your warm breath fogging up the mirror with each panting breath.

”I’m close…” You whine, making him groan. He pistons his hips into you, fingers dancing on your clit as your body comes undone, pussy pulsing around his thick length as he pounds you through your orgasm.

Rafe doesn’t stop fucking you through it, grabbing your shoulders, pulling you back, coaching you to bounce your ass back on his cock; your warm wet pussy meeting him thrust for thrust.

Rafe tugs you back to his heaving chest, pounding into you from behind as his strong arm wraps around your throat, the other dressing around your waist, holding you tight.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispers against your neck with his eyes locked on you. “Wanna watch my pretty girl get off on my cock again.”

Your eyes roll back at his filthy words, teeth driving into his bicep, dampening your cries of pleasure; heavy eyes locked on his as you cum again. Rafe’s climax claims him as well, squeezing you tight as you ride out your pleasure together.

You gasp as he pulls out far too fast, the two of you looking in the mirror as his throbbing cock pulses between your thighs. You whimper as Rafe’s thick load drips out of your fluttering hole, landing his dick. “Look at that, huh?” He rasps before shoving himself in again, making your eyes pinch shut. “You’re even prettier when I drippin’ out of you, princess.”

He kisses your forehead, lingering for a moment as you giggle dizzily. “Fuck, Rafe,” you sigh in bliss, letting your body relax in his.

“Yeah? Felt good, baby?” He mumbles before kissing you tenderly.

“So fucking good,” you whisper.

The two of you walk to the shower—Rafe’s hand never leaving yours. He lifts you onto the counter as the water warms, slotting himself between your thighs, tilting into the counter as he smiles sweetly at you.

Your eyes rest on his… The most beautiful blue, and unlike before, his attention never leaves. You cup his cheeks in your hands, brushing his stubble gently before you move in for a kiss.

Rafe pulls away from your lips, resting his forehead against yours, breathing softly with you. “Princess…” He hums, his voice soft and serious.

“Yes, baby…”

Rafe smiles as that name leaves your lips, taking a laborious breath before continuing. “I’ll keep you safe in public, no matter what… That’s my job.”

”I know,” you whisper.

“I’ll do everything I’ve gotta do... But in private, we can take care of each other. That’s what I can offer you. It’s not perfect, but it’s real. And I’m hoping you’ll say ‘yes’.”

A slow smile spreads on your lips, the pressure lifting off your chest. “I guess I can live with that,” you whisper as your heart races with excitement. “But I’m warnin’ you, I’m needy. You might have to deal with me demanding your attention all the time,” you tease. Rafe chuckles warmly, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you to the counter's edge.

“Sweetheart, you have my attention. Every second. Of every day. Whether you think I’m watchin’ or not…” You lift your chin up, meeting his lips, feeling him smile against yours. “But, I’m lookin’ forward to moments like this the most.”

[grugruel]

Sleeping With the Enemy

Pairings: Silco x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: You're a councillors daughter secretly working with the Eye of Zaun, fulfilling each other's needs.

Political needs, of course. It's purely business. They would never be stupid enough to start an affair . . . Unless?

Wordcount: ca 3.5k

Warnings: enemies AND lovers, hate-fucking, toxic, Silco being evil, angsty, pinv sex, rough sex, power imbalance, fighting for control, complicated feelings, twisted love, forbidden relationship, dacryphilia ish, cockwarming, blowjob, fingering, edging, overstimulation, choking, cum eating, creampie, petnames (girl, princess, devil, Sil)

AN: yet to be proofread. This might be one of my favourite works, he's insane . . . I need him.

"Let go off me," she snarls, yanking mirthlessly against the strong womans grip. "Release me Sevika, or-"

"Or what?" She cuts the girl off with a sneer, metallic fingers sinching around her bicep. Sevika holds her close enough to force the girl to stare up through her eyebrows if she wants to achieve any semblance of eye contact.

"Or she tells her precious father," the man cuts in, a nonchalant smile to his tone.

"He doesn't know I'm here," the girl snaps, defiantly locking eyes with the industrialist. Clad in shadow, he's a mere silhouette backlit by Zaun's streets. "He doesn't know anything."

Picking up a brand new cigar, he clips the end and flicks a lighter open, toying with the flame. All in due time, he's not rushing to spoil such a favored treat.

"Good," he says and gestures dismissively, signaling his trusty henchman to leave.

Sevika releases the girl with a displeased huff and slams the door behind her. The only thing she likes less than piltovians, is them wandering too far from their fabricated safety and ending up on her doorstep.

She watches the muscular woman leave, staring at the closed door in contemplation as she once again finds herself alone with the eye of Zaun.

Something clatters behind her, a lighter discarded on a desk. "You're late," he mutters, bringing the smoking cigar to his lips.

Anger begins to blaze inside her. That's it? That's all he has to say? "Six enforcers are dead," she snaps, nose scrunching. Disgusted by the mere thought of that demon's violence. "She's a loose canon, Silco. She blew them up for the hell of it."

From the dark, a red orb slips her way. He leans forward, having the rooms gloomy light illuminate his face only to throw the girl a disapproving look, barely deeming it worthy to look her in the eyes. "You forget yourself, girl."

Swallowing, she forces herself to calm down. Aggrivating such a volatile man never proved a good idea, and displaying anger against his daughter proved even worse.

Carefully, she ventures closer. Testing the waters and finding them thick as mud. The very air around him emenates danger, and her body slows down, relucant to put itself in such unpredictable environments. "You broke our deal," she announciates, finding it safer to put the blame on him rather than the blue haired demon he protects so ferociously.

"You disrupted our shipment," he repeats her ridiculous attempt. "It's simple business. Collateral," he shrugs and gestures toward her, vaguely implying the deaths should be on the girls consience. He doesn't say it outright because he doesn't need to, because he doesn't care if it hurts her feelings. Because, he doesn't care about the lost lives of a few topsiders, lives of enforcers even less. In true rebel spirit.

Massively unimpressed, he sizes her up when she places herself on the other side of the desk. Gripping the edge, the wood is tough beneath her fingers as she strains to keep herself in check. Blue and green light his back, lining the countours around his body. It softens him in some ways, as if the light hasn't completely shunned him yet.

Suddenly smirking, Silco's gaze drifts over her. Studying her tense disposition with spiteful glee as he enjoys the irony of a murderous piltovian. "Contemplating violence wont relieve you of this predicament."

"Killing you would."

"Threatening me so early in the morning?" He tsks, taking a deep drag of the cigar to then blow a ring of smoke in her direction. "Perhaps I should have approached your father instead, the councilor would've been easier to handle . . . More willing to please."

Keeping eye contact, she doesn't react, and a glint of cuiosity to sparks in his gaze. "He has nothing to do with this, and you know it," she tries again. "But Jin-"

Silco's smirk falls. "Hold your tongue, girl." Pinching the bridge of his tall nose, he releases a heavy sigh. "Lock the door," he orders, looking at her through his eyebrows.

Menacing, haunting. She could describe him with a hundred different horrific words. Yet, he doesn't scare her. They both know she's right.

Breathing relief, she does as she's told. When asking her to create a boundary between the world and this room, he shows her nothing has changed. Whatever they have remains within the confines of his office and her bedroom. It takes the edge off, and she lets the inhabiting worry slip away.

Upon her return, she softly stalks around the desk until sidled up against the short side. "Shoving clever words down my throat won't shut me up, Sil."

Rubbing his face, he looks at her through his fingers. Heavily disapproving of the nickname. "Dont tempt me," he warns. "I'll find other ways to shut you up."

She swallows, a single pulse throbs in her core. Moving around the desk, she slides a finger along it's edge and places herself infront of him, bathing her in the very same darkness that Silco finds himself in.

A small smirk flicker on his lips. But even though it dissolves, turning back into its usual serious mask, the satisfaction of the expression linger on his features.

"It cant happen again," he warns a third time, he must going soft on her. His hands move, trading the cigar for the the ability to touch her. One hand reaches for her thigh, sliding beneath her skirt. While the other reaches up, grabbing her chin to stare into her eyes. "The shipments are important." Silco applies just enough pressure on her chin to keep it stinging, just enough to understand that he didn't take the loss lightly. While the thumb beneath her skirt brushes lightly over her hipbone.

Inspite their predicaments, their relationship was business from the beginning and the majority still is. He tells her this through the contrasting touches.

She nods.

"Use your words, girl. Tell me you understand. This cant happen again."

But she won't concede, not yet. "No more attacks," she murmurs, placing her hands on his thighs. "No more deaths." The girl sinks to her knees, slowly, and making sure he keeps his gaze glued to hers. Being so close to him, she gets a whiff of his cologne. He smells of musk and wood, Smoke and whiskey. He smells of man.

They know what buttons to press when it comes to one another, and right now, she needs safety for her people in much the same way he needs independence for his. The difference laying within their methods of accomplishment. But looking at them now, it's clear they've got more in common than she's previously thought.

Silco spreads his legs further apart, welcoming her advancements. "I wonder what daddy dearest would say if he saw you now; that pretty princess of his . . . Negotiating on her knees." He slides a hand beneath hers, lacing their fingers together before leaning back in his chair to enjoy the show.

It's a small sign of fondness, one he confidently gives. Showing his inclination toward her means little, for they already know where they have each other. Unwilling to put it into words, they feel them silently.

Truth is, they enjoy the power imbalance, they enjoy the hatred their respective people share. Peculiarly, it unites them, and simultaneously fuel their polarity. They're a strange equation, two variables with a common sum.

Helping each other with free hands, they unbutton his pants. "Im sure he'd be proud of your devotion," he mocks, exhaling that infamous low chuckle.

Spitting into her hand, she reaches into his pants. "He'd share the pride with your people," she smiles and looks up at him innocently, pulling his member out. "–when they find out your working with a councilor's daughter . . . Fucking her no less." She leans in, teasing his tip with a slow circling lick, gathering the pre-cum on her tongue. With a corner curving upward, his lips part, and there's a silent intake of breath. Brushing his hand along her cheek, he collects stray hair covering her face and gathers it at her neck, twirling it around his fingers. "Go on," he urges.

And so, she finally closes the distance and takes him in her mouth.

With a hiss, he squeezes the hand laced with his. Slender fingertips dig into the back of her hand. "Little devil," he groans, hand burrying deeper into her hair and balling into a fist, coincidentally pulling on her scalp.

Clasping her still spit-wet hand around his shaft, she strokes him, adding on to the bobbing of her head.

"Yes," he moans, reclining his head against the back of the chair. "Carry on, girl."

Im sync with her hand, she works him until he's close to squirming, trying his very best to keep a semblance of composure. Never did she think such a powerful man would tremble beneath her touch or the pressure of her lips. But here he was, his usual neat combed back hair fallen over his forehead, beads of sweat gathering on his temples.

He'd started using his hand to guide her head, helping her find the perfect path toward his climax. Chest heaving and teeth bared, he chuckles breathlessly as the squelching of their actions reach his ears. Pushing her too far, she makes half-choking noises when she takes his entire length down her throat. Causing saliva to spill out of her mouth and roll down his length.

"Sloppy," he snarls, manicured nails digging into her hand. "-used to sucking cock."

She whines from the rare usage of crude words, making her core purr. His inches twitch in her mouth, sensing how close he is. "Please me," he supresses a groan, calling her name. "Swallow."

It happens quickly. His breathing turns rapid, his hips arching as he spills into her mouth. Tasting of rich salt as she swallows.

Smirking devilishly, he catches his breath. "Thats it . . . Well done." He brushes his thumb along her index finger.

Joy trickles into her heart at the praise, but there is little room as her body is already filled to the brim by need. With heavy eyes and glistening lips, she stands up on her knees. "Kiss me," she whispers.

Unlacing their fingers, he moves to slide a thumb across her lips, gathering some of the milky seed she'd yet to swallow. "Open up, princess." He pulls on her hair to tilt her head back.

Her lips part automatically, a knife slicing through her pride at the irony of the name. Silco slips his thumb into her mouth and wipes it clean on her tongue. He watches with fascination as her lips close around the digit, volunteering to suck it off as he pulls it out. "Kiss me," she repeats.

The fingers still burried in her hair twitches at the sight. Acting on impulse, they bunch her waves, pulling her close enough for their lips to play ghost. He tilts his head to the side, bringing them impossibly closer. "Tell me you understand," he murmurs, watching her reaction as the featherlight touch tickles her lips.

Her expectations for the night and the soft shell of intimacy around them shatters, but she'll never give him the satisfaction. The kiss was a wish from her own selfish needs, but giving him what he wants without the safety she require for her people is not. "No."

With a harrowing glance, he releases her. "I have work to do, you know where the door is," Silco says, nodding toward the exit. He then runs his hand through his hair, combing it back into place.

So quickly is the mood ruined and the rush of lust diminishes, settling her nerves. Instead it is the annoyance and the anger she arrived with that begins to rebuild.

The girl scoffs. "Petty, man-child," she mumbles, keeping her voice beneath her breath. But she wants something from him too, anything. She's derserves it, it just the matter of taking it.

Then, something just clicks in her mind and an irruption takes control of her body. Narrowing her eyes in quick to non-existent contemplation, she grabs his collar and pulls him in for a kiss. It only lasts for a second before she pushes herself away and stands up, not planning to stick around to deal with the consequences.

But before she gets a chance to move too far, a hand grabs her forearm and yanks her back. "You stubborn girl," he whispers in her ear, an arm slung around her torso as Silco holds her against his chest. She feels her panties being pulled to the side, and the head of his member lining up with her core. "Bleeding your integrity dry for those imperious, self-important cretins." He teases her entrance, sliding the tip up and down her folds.

"I am one of them, or do you forget?" She snaps.

Without warning, he lowers her onto his inches, fitting them inside her like they've been molded. The girl gasps at the feeling and Silco's fingers curl, releasing a groan as his fingers rouch the fabric at her ribs. "Even now?" He adjusts the girl in his lap. "Would they deign to descend from their thrones as you? Stooping to my level, manipulating on a whim to fullfill your needs." He pulls her closer, nudging her profile with his. All the while he's got his still hard member pushed up inside her, soft walls of flesh welcoming him eagerly. "Would they still accept you when found-out, or will they throw you to the wolves as the rumours spread? When they find out Zaun's villainous crime lord is fucking Pimtover's princess," he laces the words with venom, hands slipping upward. One stops at her breast to squeeze while the other clasps around her throat. "When they whisper of the ways he uses her. How he puts her on her back, or makes her kneel . . . How he bends her over," he murmurs, sending shivers down her spine.

She grows dizzy, a mix of worry and pleasure clouding her senses. His words hit home, drawing her lips into a thin line. "They are still my people," she breathes, voice close to breaking, sunding more like she's trying to convince herself.

"They will be your downfall." He puts pressure on her throat. "We've made sure of that, you and I."

"No . . . Silco, that's not true."

The hand holding her breast slips beneath her skirt. "We've made our beds-" slender fingers find her clit. "And we will sleep with the consequences."

Head lulling back against his shoulder, back arching, pleasure spikes as he stimulates her thrice fold. Circling her clit while throbbing inside her, and acting catalyst is the experienced hand around her throat. It limits the bloodflow and multiplies her pleasure. "Fuck," she whimpers, hips squirming, flesh randomly spasming around him.

Silco groans at the sensation, gaining his own pleasure from the whole ordeal. But that is not his goal. "Be still," he warns.

The collossall amounts of pleasure blinds her, it grabs hold of her senses and refuses to let go. Her nerves burn and fingers curl. Its all too much, yet not enough. Tears of gather in her eyes, slowly spilling over to roll down her face. "A-almost . . ."

Silco adjusts his grip around her throat so uses his thumb to tilt her face toward him, then watches how the tears streak her makeup, leaving watered down mascara in their wake. He places his lips on her skin, kissing the tears away while enjoying their salty taste. He studies her rosy cheeks and knitted expression, memorising the small whimpers she breathes.

The girl can no longer keep still and her back prepares to arch, limbs preparing to surge with blinding hot pleasure. "Im-- nmgh, I-" She mewls, and the knot releases.

. . .

Until it isn't. She feels Silco retract his hands, causing oxygen flood her brain and irritation to anchor her mind. The knot in her stumach re-ties, loosely adjusting until the pressure completely dies down. "I see callousness runs in the family," she complains, almost in pain from the sudden lack of stimulation.

Silco circles an arm around her waist. "It's essential to survive," he says and stands up, still swollen member slipping out of her. Supporting the girl as her knees wobble, she's unable to stand on her own due to the afflictions he's caused her. Turning her around, he helps her onto the desk. Chest to chest, he braces against the wood, one hand on either side of her, effectively boxing her in.

She lays a finger beneath his chin, and he looks up at her through his eyebrows. Exhaling, he moves between her thighs. Silco reaches out to her, loosely cupping her face as his thumb smears the streaked mascara. "There is no white knight," he says, pushing reality on her, weather she's willing to listen or not.

She nods. "I know." Tainted by the impure air of Zaun, branded by the touch of it's Eye. If she ever is to be saved, it must be by her own hand. Her smile is faint as her eyes fall from his.

He grabs her face and squeezes her cheeks. "Look at me," he tells her with a gravely tone. Their eyes lock. Dissappering between them, his other hand lines himself up with her core.

Taking a gamble, she grabs his tie and pulls him in, properly locking lips for the first time. Because he doesn't pull away, and neither does she. Her bottom lips begins to tremble, surprised he ever let it go this far. Their initial moment passes, evolving into seconds until they realise neither is breathing and they tear apart for much needed air, not straying far. Their lips hover, ghosting as previously. "You steal whats not your's to take."

She nudged his nose with her own. "Does survival not apply here? I never took you for a hypocrite."

His top lip twitches, and she feels him bare his teeth in a silent snarl as his fingers apply pressure to her cheeks. "How clever," he murmurs, and pushes inside her once again, catching her off guard.

They share a reflexive gasp, and as he starts to move, every thrust exchanges breaths between them. The girl's lips curve, heavily enjoying the tiny sliver of emotional intimacy he's finally giving her.

Her legs circle around his hips as he grabs her waist one handed, adding further levrage as his fingers dent her flesh. Silco starts a heavy pace and their lips reconnect, mirroring their bodies, it reflects their feelings. The kiss growing needy and rough.

"Get on your back for me," he mocks and releases her face. "Prove them right."

She bites his lip, tugging on it as she lies back against the desk and pulls him with her.

Hand suddenly free, he hooks it beneath her knee and pulls it up against his side to gai better access. Slowing down the pace, he manages to take her deeper, harder. She groans, head lulling to the side as her climax begins to build. "Dont stop." Not again.

"Look at me," he breathes, warning in his tone as he's inclined to watch her topple over the edge. Her brows knit together, but her gaze finds his. The knot closing as his thrusts begin to grow erratic.

Pleasure burns her fingers and quickens her pulse. "Close, c-" she begins, but he cuts her off with another kiss, tongue slipping between their lips to explore her mouth.

And just like that, she bursts. Traveling through her from top to toe. Silco following short thereafter. "It's alright . . . Good, girl," he whispers.

Once they've caught up with their breaths, Silco straightens out, and rearranges his clothes before helping her to her feet.

-

"I understand," she says, halting by the door.

He looks up from his seat but is quick to stand, slowly stalking toward her. Stopping just short of her smaller frame, he reaches behind her back to grab the door handle. "I don't control her. She is my daughter like you are your father's," he says and meets her eyes. "But I will speak to Jinx." Leaning down, he kisses her cheek, catching her off guard. Affection is newly discovered territory between them, but from him to give it so freely after battling it out is a very big surprise. But as quick as ot started, it's over. His soft expression morphing into his usual stern disposition. "Dont be late again girl," he says and opens the door.

-

Somehow, they've become entangled. Silently sharing affection their respective people would deem unfit. Silco wont hurt her, if he can help it. But such is nature. They'll stand on opposite sides, prioritising their own families, cities. But not without a thought of the other, wishing it could be different. It probably never will be, for such is faith and such is time. If only it could rewind.

-

[randomshyperson]

My Sweet Valentine - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: Delayed in planning Valentine's Day, you and Wanda try to do something together. The spider routine ends up getting in the way, but that doesn't mean the date was lost.

Warnings: (+18) bottom!wanda, enchanted strap, creampie, fingering, dry humping, very fluff and domestic, established relationship, both r and w are briefly specified to be introverted. | Words: 3.206k

A/N-> I had this idea while I was rewatching Sound!Euphonium, I didn't catch the relation to it but I ended up writing this on my phone again so forgive me if there are spelling mistakes. It's always great writing Spider!Reader, I hope you enjoy it.

General Masterlist | AO3 |

-&-

To plan Valentine's Day with your girlfriend should be an easy thing. 

But for two Avengers who happen to be the most introverted antisocial people on earth - and those were Natasha's Romanoff words, not yours - the task could be really hard.

But it was you and Wanda's first Valentine's Day as a couple and you were really late on schedule.

While Natasha planned to have the most incredible and romantic trip to Greece with Maria and Tony and Pepper made reservations at some exclusive fancy Italian restaurant, you and Wanda were side to side laying on your apartment carpet. Trying to decide what you could do together by reading some flyers that were spread around the floor.

Wanda had one of the fancy restaurants in her hands when she suggested: “How about dinner?”

You gaze at the restaurant propaganda, recognizing the name and the building from your little web-swinging adventures.

“The Geller’s is nice but it will be really crowded during Valentine's. And we both hate when places are too full.” You reason, receiving an agreement sound. “Maybe we can ask for takeout?”

Wanda chuckles. “On Valentine's Day? Every place will mess up our orders, I'm sure of it. Places are normally understaffed, ordering food on holidays is like asking for them to mess up your food.”

You sigh deeply. “Yeah, you're totally right. So, maybe I can cook?”

She smiles. “We are going for food poisoning then, huh?” She teases making you chuckle with an expression of false offense. You playfully bumped your shoulder on hers but you don't move away after. The touch is warm and nice. “You cook then.”

“Yeah, but is not like we would find any free spots anywhere. We delay this way too much.” She mutters without sounding really upset. Her words were true, you both have been dancing around this date for almost three months now ever since Tony showed everyone his and Pepper's reservations. But neither of you was that anxious to be locked with another hundred couples in some loud restaurant with extra expensive and not-that-good food.

The restaurants were not the only thing discarded - Yelena and Kate's idea of a date, and band concerts were also politely declined. Mostly because neither you nor Wanda felt like facing a whole weekend of poor public hygiene and the crazy routine of musical festivals while babysitting Natasha's little sister who would definitely get really drunk with her girlfriend.

Steve was the one who suggested the most quiet and family thing, a road trip to the countryside. But since he was going with Bucky and you and Wanda didn't wish to be traumatized by their physical display of affection, their invitation was also declined.

Back on the floor of your apartment, you helped Wanda with the papers around the floor.

You were worried she would be upset about the lack of plans - even Sam with his eternal bachelor status was having a date night with some old colleague from the army. You worried that Wanda might think you're not excited to spend time with her when it is pretty much the opposite of it.

“You know, we don't really have to do anything just because everyone is doing.” You start, hands ready to catch the papers she's bringing. “We could just watch a movie.”

Wanda smiles, the papers are put in your hands but she doesn't move hers away.

“If you brought wine it would be like any other date night.”

“That's not a bad thing, right?” You retort immediately, eyes anxious towards hers. She frowns, a confused chuckle escaping her.

“No, I mean… you think that too right?”

You shrug; “I just want to spend Valentine's and any other day with you, Wands. What we are doing doesn't matter much.”

She smiles, coming closer to kiss you on the lips. But the kiss is quicker than you wished. One of her hands caresses your cheek as she speaks:

“Good to know, darling, 'cause I'll be watching you do the dishes tonight.”

You chuckle, rolling her eyes at her teasing but pouting when she escapes your attempt at a second kiss.

-&-

Valentine's Day is unfortunately a busy day for the spider.

It was true that you and Wanda didn't plan anything big but you wanted to bring her some flowers and her favorite chocolate but after fighting another dressed-up lunatic at the city hall and avoiding three different catastrophes, anything inside your backpack was definitely destroyed.

You swing back into your apartment with the mess of your gifts dripping to the floor. The wine bottle broke and soaked the chocolate and the poor flowers. Bye-bye to any college homework you forgot there.

Throwing the item at the sink, your body towards the couch was the second thing you threw. 

And against the soft pillows the day tiredness caught up at you. With the thought that you would rest your eyes for five minutes, you woke up hours later with the door locked.

Wanda's angry arrival was also an efficient clock.

“God, what is wrong with you? I've been calling you all day!” She slammed the door behind her, and the next second the day's newspaper was thrown at you. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? We have talked about this! You can't just fight some three-sized villain and vanish without a word! I thought-” But she stops herself, taking a deep breath when her voice cracks. You feel so terrible sorry. You know very well that Wanda has lost enough people for the whole ghosting thing to be too hard on her. Intentional or not. 

You get up. “Hey, I'm so sorry Wands, my phone broke and I came right here and closed my eyes for like two seconds. I'm sorry.” But Wanda shook her head, covering her eyes for a moment. She was not even that mad at you, it was clearly an accident that you forgot to call. But she has been so nervous all day worried about you that she needed a minute. Suddenly, she catches a glimpse of the wine-soaked flowers at the kitchen counter and frowns. “What is that?”

The slight indignation about the mess of an apartment you both worked hard to keep clean vanished the second she realized those were gifts.

You fixed your hair awkwardly. “Hm, I was trying to make a romantic gesture. But I forgot I'm always on some freak radar.”

Wanda's hands reached for the flowers and as gentle as her touch, her magic flowed from her fingers to take all the wine away. In no time, the petals were as beautiful and healthy as when you brought it.

“This is really not fair, darling.” She starts, moving to check the rest of the gifts. “You made it to the front page and I have every right to be mad you didn't call through the suit to let me know you're alive.” You wanted to mutter that you're still getting used to the new suit and its high-tech functions, but Wanda is turning at you again with crossed arms.

“It’s not fair, how hard you're making to stay mad at you.”

You gave her a lopsided smile. “So, you like the chocolate that much, huh?”

She rolled her eyes, trying to contain her smile. “Why don't you go shower while I make dinner? There's grease from Rino's suit all over your face.”

You click with your tongue, swinging a little. “Let me guess, you not joining me at the shower is my punishment for not calling through the suit?”

She finally let that smile escape. “Clever girl.”

You chuckle to yourself before nodding and heading to the bathroom.

-&-

Forgotten dinner plates at the living room table when Wanda reached the chocolate box. She shared them with you during the sitcom marathon you too were doing but after finding yourself hypnotized by her laugh for the fourth time in a row, you gave up eating at all.

The last chocolate was put away when she caught you staring.

“What?” 

“What what?” You retort with a chuckle, having some pride over the soft blush of her cheeks.

“You were staring.” She says then, drifting her gaze from the TV to you with some resistance. You know her enough that it's because Wanda is terrible at hiding her own shyness under your loving glance. She always was. 

“Can you blame me?” Your teasing just makes her blush more. You just decide to make it worse. “You're simply too charming not to be looked at. So gorgeous, so pretty. I feel so lucky.”

“Stop it.” She giggles with rosy cheeks at your praise. But despite her words, she opens her arms as an invitation for you to come closer. You practically jump from your spot - a few centimeters from her since your last trip to the kitchen to grab sodas - and greet the warmth of her embrace.

Wanda hugs your body while you melt into her, the soft caress on your spine being more than enough to bring back your interrupted slumber that evening. But somehow you manage to stay wide awake, perhaps because the way you press your face into her boobs makes her giggle and playfully tug at your hair, which happens to have a completely different effect on you. 

Her body tenses up a little when your lips start sucking at her collarbone, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. You suddenly recall that it has been some time, a week maybe two since you had enough free time to be this close. 

Your lovely girlfriend probably missed you as much as you missed her.

The soft sucking turns into something more determined, then into a bite and a licking that turns Wanda into a panting mess. She grows restless under you, fingers tugging at your hair with some guidance towards your movements in her neck until finally, your mouth meets her again.

Hot open-mouthed kisses before softer ones. You kiss and she kisses you back until all of your clothes are disheveled around your bodies and she looks up at you with pleading eyes and slightly open lips. Begging for more.

“Wanna take this to the bedroom?” You suggest inches from her lips but she shakes her head, fingers dancing under your shirt.

“You can have me right here.” She whispers back, stealing all your coherent thoughts for a second. 

Your hands are shaking a bit with eagerness when you pull at your clothes, with Wanda's help they are off in no time. Her chest heaves when you take her top off and Wanda stares back while you can't seem to be able to look away from her tits.

“You good there?” She teases you breathlessly when your lack of action lingers. You chuckle, hands at her sides. 

“Yeah, just give me a minute.” You retort managing an affectionate roll of eyes from her.

“You're such a dork.” She giggles but purposely lifts her chest in your direction, making you swallow hard. When you don't take the bait immediately, she sighs. “I would love for you to more than stare, detka.”

You groan, hovering over her. “Well, your wish is my command, madam” You reply, leaning down to capture her lips. Teasing Wanda with soft bites on her lower lip every time you break the kiss before starting another turns her into a needy mess under you. She gets impatient very quickly and brings her hands to your cheeks, pulling you down with determination. Her tongue takes the lead in a heated kiss that takes all the air out of your lungs. 

Panting against her mouth while trying to match the intensity of her demand, you let your hands grope around her body towards her chest, effectively taking the lead again when you start playing with her hardened nipples and Wanda loses her ability to kiss you back.

When she whimpers into your mouth, her hips restless while your fingers pinch her cute tits, you chuckle. “Ah, is there something you want, baby?”

She struggles to speak firmly. "I need you to stop teasing and fuck me." You grunt at her answer. You would have obeyed immediately if you hadn't been able to feel Wanda shaking. She gasps as you adjust, your knee finding her middle and giving her something to grind against as you resume your actions on her breasts. She throws her head back, biting her lip hard as her hips move almost of their own accord.

It's a hot mess, her first orgasm of the night. You didn't even have to take off all her clothes. When Wanda shivers terribly, and you feel the wetness against your knee, you bite down at her tit and that makes her let out a muffled scream.

Wanda is panting and her face is very flushed when you look at her again, her expression satisfied after an intense orgasm.

You hum happily, moving your hands down as you tilt your face to kiss her on the lips. She gasps into your mouth when she feels your fingers draw a path through her ruined panties.

"You made such a mess, sweetheart." You whisper between one kiss and another, two digits pushing gently without even removing her underwear. Wanda arches toward you, squeezing your shoulders for something to hold on to. Her green eyes are completely dilated now and you love how they display a vulnerable begging. Pulling your fingers out again, you let your thumb draw circles on her covered clit and enjoy the way her thighs tremble around you. "Tell me what you want, Wanda."

She has a little difficulty responding while feeling you teasing her, but despite noticing her heartbeat against your fingertips, you don't interrupt your movements. If anything, they become even more determined. Wanda pants, hips trying to match the rhythm of your fingers.

"C-can we use the strap tonight?" She manages out of breath. "I like feeling you come inside me."

Your witch girlfriend's favorite toy is somewhere in the room, and given the busy schedule of two superheroes, it wasn't used as often as you would like. Wanda has barely suggested, and you're already nodding, panting aroused just imagining yourself stretching Wanda again.

But suddenly your fingers push the fabric out of the way, and you sink inside her without warning, ripping a moan from her throat.

"Give me one more first." You demand, watching as Wanda nods in near desperation, brow furrowed at her rapidly building orgasm. Your rhythm is brutal, and she squeezes and squeezes until you can barely push your fingers inside her. You bring your free hand to one of her thighs, forcing her open as you adjust to improve your reach. Wanda sees stars. She lets go of your shoulders to grab the cushions and ends up destroying half of them with magical expelling when she finally falls over the edge.

An impressed chuckle escapes you at the scene. You're usually the one responsible for destroying things with your spider strength - It's always nice to see Wanda lose some of the control she's fought so hard to have.

Kissing her softly, you feel her smile in some exhaustion. She needs a few seconds, so you pull out your fingers and suck them clean while green eyes watch you from below. Wanda wants to kiss you again, but you adjust to carry her on your lap, and after two orgasms in a row, she won't contradict you.

She feels the soft blankets against her back a moment later and relaxes fully into the bed as you move around the room working to find and put on the strap. It doesn't take more than two minutes, yet Wanda sighs impatiently before letting her hands roam her own body, pinching her breasts and teasing downwards. She bites her lip at the soaked state she finds herself in, tentatively collecting some of that moisture before hearing a husky laugh that makes her look up.

"You don't have to play alone, I'm right here." You let her know softly, but Wanda swallows at the sight of your naked figure and the enchanted hardness between your legs. Of all the things she learned to do, that honestly has to be her best spell. One of your hands grabs the silicone, instinctively or not, imitating the masturbation gesture that Wanda is making and she shudders to the tips of her toes, her body on fire. Her hand moves out of her panties immediately, raising it into the air in a beckoning gesture. You don't need to be told twice.

It's a breathless kiss when you reach her face again, equally eager to feel each other, there's a little war of pushing and pulling until Wanda feels completely pressed into the bed, the strap rubbing against her entrance.

You pull away when she whimpers - It's just to pull down her panties, and Wanda kicks the item away as you climb back up. Your mouth finds hers again so that when you align the strap and sink into her, you can swallow her moans.

The stretch is slow and careful, very different from the breathless way you were making out a few minutes ago. Wanda lets her nails dig into your lower back as you fight the urge to be rougher.

She gets used to the size very quickly, the creaminess of her previous orgasms making an obscene sound that makes her ears redden. You break the kiss to ask if she's ready and the only response you get is a determined throw of her hips up that registers her impatience.

In all quickies, you're always rough. Desperate to feel her, because you miss Wanda as much as she misses you, and in the rush, there's no time to prolong moments like this. But it's the first time in many months that you're relaxed, and you can thrust slowly and sensually inside Wanda, letting her feel every movement of your cock inside her warm walls as you kiss her and whisper praises in her ear.

Heat is spread under your skin, and sweat accumulates with the slow stimulation. You feel closer each time you sink inside her, and when Wanda starts whimpering in your ear, it feels like an impossible task to hold it.

"You're close?" You pant, hips starting to buckle. "I don't think… I can hold it anymore... Wands-" You choke, letting your face fall against her collarbone. The knot in your abdomen explodes without warning, and you moan deeply as you spill yourself inside Wanda, the enchanted strap vibrating inside her. It turns out that feeling you come was the push she needed, and Wanda sobs as she feels the blinding pleasure hit her, following you into climax a second later.

For a moment, all that can be heard in that room are your breathless sighs until your hoarse and satisfied chuckles emerge.

You remain inside her when you adjust so that you rest your elbows on the mattress and see her face.

"Hey, little witch."

She pushes back her sweaty hair with one hand, the other moving to rest on your neck. "Hey, spider."

Your nose brushes against hers. "I think we nailed Valentine's Day."

She giggles before pulling you for a kiss.