#albeit inadvertently

[xxprettyhatemachinexx]

Currently serving as the Adam Parrish of my trade school (collecting the mentally ill queers and forcing us all to do better)

[roobylavender]

a random thought but i really am very obsessed with how deeply committed bruce is to his love of people and to the extent that it’s a regular divide between him and talia. not that she is without love, no, hardly so, but love will never come before principle for her in the sense that the principle does stem from love, but from a selfless love, not a selfish one. and i use these two descriptors purely as a means of analyzing perspective, so selfless and selfish not necessarily as moral indicators as they are often used today but merely as expressions of whether you’re acting for the sake of others or for yourself. talia is someone repeatedly acting at expense to herself for the sake of others. she gives her child away, she ends her marriage, she doesn’t say a word about it again for years despite having the chance, she takes on a high level espionage mission without speaking a word to her ex-lover, maybe to protect herself, maybe to protect him. whether those were worthwhile decisions to take is certainly debatable, but she acts near strictly from a perspective of caring about others and the world first. bruce is comparatively a very selfish person. every victim an extension of his own trauma, every grief taken to heart, every desperation for companionship so heavily internalized that he ends up pushing people away bc at some point he can’t bear to take them down under with him in his sorrow. it’s funny that he tries to be the rational voice in a room bc up to a point he is, but he also cares too much about his own personal affairs to be that way consistently

and in light of all of that i am thinking about the conversations he and talia must have in that alternate universe where damian is normal and newly revealed to both of them as a concrete concept in their lives, for bruce as the son he never had and for talia as the son she gave away, come back to them by way of fate. why did you never tell me you didn’t actually miscarry. why did you never tell me you had a son and you gave him away. why did you pretend like it was over when it never was. why did you look me repeatedly in the eyes over the years like there wasn’t something more that was there. when you said you couldn’t talk about it before i boarded a plane back home i held my tongue. when you let yourself be beaten within an inch of your life bc your city was falling to pieces i held my tongue. when my father took the contingency plans you made and used them to turn your friends against you i held my tongue. when i worked for a man who would for all intents and purposes use the knowledge of my relationship with you against you i held my tongue

how can bruce, a person so wrapped up in his love for people, not understand the number of sacrifices that talia has had to make for his own sake. her repeated protection of him, of his sanity, of his sanctity, is simultaneously her greatest crime and her greatest benevolence to him. she carried that grief of loss for years and years bc of how important bruce is to her. and bruce loves her, loves damian, too much to even begin to understand what love means outside of the parameters of his own feelings for them. that is his dilemma writ large wrt people he loves. that he can’t see the extent of what they do for him, bc he loves them too much and doesn’t know how to get out of the sheer grief and possessiveness of it

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Cult. [M]

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Raw Dogging, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Implied Unwanted Pregnancy, Power Imbalance, Big Dick! Ghost, Soft Dom! Ghost, Cult Leader! Ghost, Submissive (and Breedable)! Reader, Implied Abortion Attempt, Fem Reader, Profanity.

He’s filthy in the way he treats you, like a common whore, spreading you out over his desk – once-varnished mahogany, now bleached with weeks’ worth of spend, of tears, rubbed raw in places, the phantoms of many a night relentless under your leader – and bearing your body like it’s his god-given duty.

In essence, it is. Albeit, a god he created – fabricated – to lead lambs into a wolf’s den. And with the primal, savage way he forces himself into you, his tip pulsing and throbbing with the many hours he’s subjected you to, you can very well believe he is the very image of a predator.

“Won’t stop ‘til you’re full – ‘til it’s– fuck– ‘til it’s taken,” Simon pants, his shadow cloaking you, the sweat from his broad chest dripping down onto your sodden back. Your cheek is pressed into the desk, and in the corner of your vision, between the narrowed eyes you fight to keep open amidst the electric annihilation sparking between your legs, just below your stomach, you see him with bared teeth and dark eyes that glint with some unholy purpose. A purpose that only makes the feeling writhing inside you stronger, heavier.

With a deft hand – his other planted by your head, a cage – he finds your clit and presses it between two fingers as if it were the stub of a cigarette. He squeezes. Hard. 

Your lips quiver around him and a strangled moan escapes you, euphoria becoming you, possessing you as something had him. 

You keen on his hand, desperate for contact, for friction, despite him already filling you utterly and without mercy. Your arousal drips into his hand, pools in his palm. It takes all his will not to drink it then and there.

“I know, Doll–” ‘Doll’ – the name he’d given you, the name that reminds you you’re his to use as he pleases. His fingers squeeze your clit between them, a flesh vice. You’re gasping. He doesn’t stop, subjecting you to a pleasure so carnal you know only he can grant you it.

His free hand finds your shoulder, slips down your soaked back – a collage of brutal love-making, of animal rutting, of feral and incessant breeding – leaving goosebumps in its wake. He finds your rump, squeezes it, his hand flipping further between your legs until he finds your epicentre.

You’re so sensitive, and so swollen. He’s done this enough times to know that you’re red there, too.

He finds the spot where you’re connected, the modest sliver of his shaft that hasn’t been consumed by your wanting hole – where your combined arousal slithers out of you, dripping down his tightening ballsack – and plays at the edges of your lips, those that create a milky ring at the base of his cock, those that twitch with the almost overwhelming orchestra of sensations he is subjecting you to, playing you as his instrument.

Your hips twitch, pushing back against him, inadvertently impaling yourself on the inch or two he’d spared you from. 

He’s swollen – painfully so. Plugging you, preventing you from getting away. Something you realise all-too late as you try to pull away, to ease the searing ache in your lips, in your womb.

You’re crying, he’s grunting, throat raw with hours of praise, of nothing short of feral growling – curses to something other than his god.

You whine as he withdraws his hand from between your legs, instead coming to cup your breasts and pull you flush against his chest.  Squeezing around him again, the bulge of his cock inside you becomes ever more apparent when his hand slips up to your throat and he shunts you forward with his hips.

You’re weak – a ragdoll against him – and you’re pushed back down against the wood. He presses your stomach to the desk, your head now handing over the edge.

“D’you feel it, love?” he rasps. “Gonna give you a baby – put it right there.”

You do feel him, like an eel, slithering into any space he can, any space he hasn’t already occupied. You feel your heartbeat pulsing between your legs, and you feel his in the head of his dick, rabid. You want to sob, want the pleasure coursing through your every fibre to overwhelm you, to send you hurtling into a high nobody else can give you.

But you know this will have consequences.

You know there’s no morning after pill strong enough to overcome Simon’s seed, none strong enough to stand a chance against the sheer amount of his spend. You know this because you’re already pregnant.

You’d originally tried using a multitude of contraband substances – pills, medication, anything you could get your hands on – to stop the inevitable. To prolong it just long enough for you to find a way out of the hole you’d dug yourself into.

When Simon had found them – no doubt with the help of one of his disciples, one eager to please and who would settle for the simple pleasure of being the dirt beneath his boot – he made absolutely certain to undo all your hard work.

For days afterwards, when he gave his sermons, you had to stand, hands clasped in prayer, with his cum rolling down your thighs beneath your compound-issue garments.

 And despite how you know you don’t want this destiny he’s imparted upon you, you still urge your hips against his. Especially as you feel him twitching, your hole leaking and almost squealing with his semen and the memory of the many times he’s already pumped you full this same night. He’s ready to bust at any moment, ready to find and create any excuse to empty his load into you, his favourite disciple.

You finish first in a fit of euphoric fury, an outpouring of devotion, a static explosion that leaves you utterly spent and entirely limp, unable to move as Simon continues to pummell you, using you, not stopping until you hear him give nothing less than a guttural roar, throwing his head back as he empties every ounce of his spend into you.

Any chances of escaping, any hopes of the world beyond the company you’d embroiled yourself in – they’re all gone now. Knocked clean out your head and from your reach, your mind nothing but a post-haze. You feel full almost to the point of bursting, but your body settles for a ballooned discomfort in your middle. One which you know will only grow bigger and heavier over the coming months. And no doubt beyond that when Simon deems you capable – worthy – of bearing him more offspring.

Simon is panting behind you, hands planted either side of you, head hanging between heaving shoulders. As if he’s impregnated you with his very soul.

His hand slips across the desk down to your front, where he manages to levy his fingers between your exhausted form and the hard wood beneath. And, as if by divine intuition, he gives a hum. Presses a languid kiss to your exposed neck, uttering a “Well done, love.”

He’s going to be a father.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad X

[lightseoul]

cw. worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), some more pining, cussing (bkg-typical), mentions of food, we're finally meeting the bakugous!, angst (if you look closely)

words. 4.8k (see why i had to split it...)

a/n. we have one more chapter to go, y'all! i'd love to hear your thoughts about the series so far, as well as how you think it's gonna end <3

masterlist | part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 9

It doesn’t elude you that the air entering your nostrils and lungs through the shaky inhale you take is nothing short of crisp.

It’s early evening in the suburbs where Bakugou’s parents live just in the peripheries of Musutafu. The sunset that graced you through the man’s car windows on the way over was now nowhere to be seen, having been replaced by the sight of the waning gibbous with a sprinkle of stars dotting the night sky.

Something you rarely see in the city, you think to yourself.

Your head craned towards the infinite ceiling, you continue to admire the view, or at least try to do so—the act seemingly becoming more and more impossible by the second, what with your nerves shot and your stomach churning with anticipatory anxiety.

Bakugou must have noticed your wobbly breathing, because the man side-eyes you for a beat before finally speaking. “What are you, nervous?”

You turn your head to look at him, taking in the sight of your boss in a dark brown sweater with a white collar peeking out at the top in an effort to ground yourself, although you find you’re not feeling any calmer.

You hesitate for a moment, before heaving another jittery, somewhat resigned, sigh.

No point in hiding the truth now.

You shrug, “Yeah…”

“Don’t be,” he promptly replies, catching you off guard. His voice is serious and deceivingly firm when he finishes it off.

“They’re gonna like you.”

You don’t get the chance to think about how to respond, let alone react instinctively because the front door opens as if on cue, and out comes a relatively tall woman with ash blonde hair, followed by a slightly taller brown-haired man.

You’ve barely gotten a word in when you get scooped into the arms of the woman you now identify as Bakugou Mitsuki, and when she pulls away and keeps you at arm's length—beaming, no less, in what you hope is happiness—it takes everything in you not to gawk at how stunning the woman is.

“…You’re overwhelming her, honey,” you hear the man, who you assume is Bakugou Masaru, say worriedly at your right side.

“Oh, right,” Mitsuki hurriedly releases her hold of you and retracts her hands, flashing you a bright albeit apologetic smile right after. “Forgive me, it’s just that I never thought this day would come!”

At that, she shoots Bakugou, who’s standing beside your left, a pointed look before turning back to grin at you, “I can’t believe Katsuki has finally brought a girl home!”

You don’t have to look at the man beside you to know he’s sporting a scowl. “Watch it, old hag,” he growls.

“You watch it, child. Mind how you talk to your mother in front of your girl.”

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you as you watch the exchange, inadvertently catching the two blondes’ attention, their gazes drifting toward you at the sound. After a brief second, and to your relief, Mitsuki starts laughing along but Bakugou only looks away in what you think is irritation.

“Well, this girl is grateful for the invite, Mitsuki-san,” you start, mustering your most thankful smile. “But I hope I’m not imposing on your family…”

Mitsuki is quick to respond with a wave of a hand, “Not at all! You’re our guest of honor. Please, make yourself at home!”

Masaru nods in agreement, extending his right hand for you to shake, which you happily do. His smile is gentle—a stark contrast to Bakugou’s default expressions, you note—when he finally invites the both of you in. As you do—eager to escape the cold—you glance at Bakugou behind you, who’s apparently already been looking at you, although he averts his gaze when your eyes make contact.

Again with that solemn expression.

That unsettling expression drops down to the bottom of your list of priorities, however, when you enter the threshold of their home. You’re immediately hit with a glorious combination of fragrances emanating from what you think is the kitchen at the far side of the room.

“Everything smells great, Mitsuki-san,” you offer, hoping the sincerity can be heard from your tone.

You think it must have because the woman instantly lights up at the comment, “Why, thank you! Every day’s not Thanksgiving, after all.”

You nod, following them along into the living room, taking a seat on the corduroy couch opposite Mitsuki upon Masaru’s wordless invitation. “It’s so nice how you guys go all out to celebrate the holiday.”

You note how Bakugou, who’s planted on the armrest beside Mitsuki, frowns at the compliment.

“What?” you ask him before you can stop yourself, curious.

“They don’t really celebrate it,” he grunts, before tossing his mother a borderline disgusted look. “The old hag is just using it as an excuse to invite you over.”

That quip grants him a smack in the head from the said “hag”. Bakugou doesn’t yelp or cry in pain, although he does let out a slight hiss. You, again, can’t help the smile that creeps on your face as you watch them.

Mitsuki is facing Bakugou as she tuts in what you think is a warning, before turning to regard you again, a grin now having replaced the reprimanding expression that had just been on her face a second ago.

It grows even wider when she says: “What do you say we leave the rest of the cooking up to the boys and we go through Katsuki’s photo albums?”

“S-sure!” you quickly respond, the entirety of the suggestion not registering for a beat until it does, your head whipping to look at the man as you blurt out: “Bakugou, you can cook?”

At that, Mitsuki’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, eyes darting between the both of you. “Wait, are you saying he’s never cooked for you before?” Mitsuki asks, incredulous.

She then turns to her son, who now has his arms crossed in front of his broad chest like a petulant child, “Young man, what have you been doing?”

“God, relax,” Bakugou groans as he stands up from where he was seated, rolling his eyes as he makes his way to the kitchen. “We’ve just been busy with work. No time for that shit.”

“Busy with work, my ass,” she calls out to him, before once again turning to face you. “And honey, there’s no need to be all formal around us. Go ahead and call Katsuki by his first name—there’s really nothing to be shy about.”

Before you can think against it, your eyes widen in surprise for a fraction of a second before you school your face into what you think is an appropriate enough expression. “R-right, sorry.”

You chance a glance at the man, who’s now hacking away at the green onions like a madman albeit quite expertly, what you think is red creeping up his face in nothing else but scornful exasperation.

“So,” Mitsuki starts, and you turn back to see her wiggling her eyebrows at you, “about the photo albums?”

Just as Mitsuki suggested, you busied yourself with photo albums filled to the brim with close documentation of Bakugou growing up while the two men finished up in the kitchen. It didn’t come as a surprise that Bakugou was a cute kid, a signature boyish grin decorating his face in the few pictures where he isn’t scowling or glaring at the camera. You greedily took in the seemingly mundane details of Bakugou’s childhood as Mitsuki narrated the backstory of each photograph, smiling and even laughing along when she cracked a joke about how her son must have been born as the proverbial grump based on how early he learned how to glower.

Bakugou didn’t say anything the entire time you pore over the albums, probably used to his mom mouthing about her only child to friends and family who are willing to listen. Before you know it, dinner is eventually served, and the dishes that Bakugou and Masaru would bring from the island countertops to their hardwood dining table looked nothing short of scrumptious. It didn’t take long for you to conclude that they tasted exactly how they looked.

“Everything tastes incredible, but the miso ramen is glorious, Mitsuki-san,” you piped up in the middle of dinner.

The woman only tossed you a pleased, somewhat knowing look. “You’ve got your boyfriend to thank for that, dear.”

You must have looked like a deer in the headlights, because the man of the hour’s parents laugh at your expression. You stole a glance at Bakugou, who only slurped at his bowl in silence, face schooled into a rather neutral countenance.

A steady conversation gradually enveloped the four of you as you went ham on dinner, and you now find your shoulders relaxing, the tension from earlier leaving your body. You discuss current events, which then leads to Masaru asking Bakugou about how the agency is fairing in light of the recent spikes in crimes. The topic then drifts to you, like what’s your family like and what your parents do for a living; it shifts afterward to how work is going for them in the fashion industry, to the couple's retirement plans, with Mitsuki waxing poetic about how they really need to be there for each other when they do retire because Bakugou doesn’t visit them enough. To that, the man only scowls, mumbling something about how he does, in fact, visit them enough, and that the “old hag’s” definition of enough is stupidly skewed.

“But enough about us!” Mitsuki completely disregards Bakugou’s retort, shifting in her seat to address you, “I’ve actually been dying to ask you this question since you arrived. I know our Katsuki isn’t the easiest—”

“Hah?”

“—guy to be around, and so I’m really glad he was able to find someone as lovely as you. So,” Mitsuki tosses you a playful look, “what do you like about Katsuki?”

You barely stop yourself from choking on the maki roll lodged in your throat, quickly swallowing it rather painfully as you scramble for the proper way to react and respond. From the corner of your eye, you see Bakugou shift uncomfortably in his seat, but he doesn’t say anything to shut down his mother or even shift the topic of the conversation.

“Uh—” you start lamely, “What do I like about… him?”

At that, Mitsuki laughs good-naturedly. “Surely there has to be something, right? Please, indulge this old lady!”

You chuckle along with her, albeit rather awkwardly, before clearing your throat.

The only way to make it out of this conversation alive and relatively unscathed is by lacing your answers with the truth.

And so you do.

“Ba—” you start, catching yourself in the nick of time, “K-Katsuki—” you pause again, hating the way you uttered his name so tentatively like it’s something obviously foreign, “—is the most dedicated person I know.”

Mitsuki only nods in encouragement, as if urging you to go on.

And right now, you find that you’re nothing if not a people-pleaser.

“He’s admirable—there’s a reason why he’s risen to the top this quickly and stayed there,” you nod, pleased at what you think is certainty bleeding into your tone. “I don’t have any problems at all leading the HR department, what with him being the best example of what an outstanding work ethic looks like.”

The room falls into a lull, and as the seconds tick by with no one saying anything, you’re starting to think you said the wrong thing when Mitsuki finally speaks up.

“That—that’s great to hear, dear, really.” She seems to hesitate for a moment before holding your gaze again, and you brace yourself for what she’s about to say next.

“…But what about outside of work?”

There it is.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Uh—” you parrot again, mentally slapping yourself for stuttering when you can just keep your mouth shut while you think of an acceptable reply like a normal, sane person.

You glance at Bakugou, who’s now looking at you in what you think is anticipation.

Despite yourself, you feel yourself flush.

Yet you’re unable to break away from his gaze when the words finally come to you.

“…He cares,” you manage to miraculously get out while Bakugou’s crimson eyes bore a hole into you. “…Deeply. And, he makes sure it shows in his actions.”

You watch as Bakugou studies you for a few more seconds as if he’s searching for something—you don’t know what—hidden amidst your features, eventually averting his gaze back to his plate.

You follow suit, looking down at your half-finished ebi tempura, suddenly feeling too self-conscious and oddly vulnerable.

It’s Mitsuki’s soft voice that causes you to look up again.

“That’s… everything I wanted to hear,” Mitsuki almost whispers, and you think if you squint hard enough you can see tears pooling in her eyes.

You shoot her a tight-lipped smile, sensing an unusual sense of uneasiness blooming in your gut.

Thankfully, and to your relief, Mitsuki doesn’t ask any more equally humiliating questions after that, the conversation having been steered to more shallow and light-hearted topics, primarily by Masaru. Without you noticing, dinner time reaches its conclusion and it’s now time to clean up.

You stand up from your chair and start gathering leftovers to stack the plates right after when Mitsuki reaches across the table and pries them off your grip. You look at her in confusion, but she only shakes her head.

“We’ll handle the cleaning, dear.”

Behind her, Masaru nods in agreement, and you’re about to open your mouth to protest but Bakugou beats you to it.

“No use arguing with the old hag. Just give it up.”

At that, you sag in disappointment—you really wanted to pay them back, even if it’s just through helping out with cleaning—but obey nevertheless, putting down the cutlery you were just about to gather into a bunch.

Now with nothing to do with your hands, you stand at the edge of the table awkwardly, watching the couple swiftly clearing out the area. Masaru seems to notice your discomfort because he speaks up.

“Hey, Katsuki,” he starts, “why don’t you show her around your bedroom?”

Almost immediately, Mitsuki beams at her husband, evidently enthralled by the proposition. You fight the strong urge to furrow your eyebrows in worry. “That’s a good idea, honey. I bet she’d love to see your childhood knickknacks, Katsuki!”

You steal a glimpse of Bakugou—or his back, really—who’s now seated on the couch with a leg propped on it.

He’s not saying anything.

Why isn’t he saying anything?

You gulp despite yourself, shifting to face Mitsuki with a grimace-smile. “It’s okay, I don’t want to make him uncomfo—”

“Come on.”

You almost get whiplash from how fast you turn to look at Bakugou, who apparently isn’t giving you a chance to argue, already walking up the stairs to the second floor. You look back at his parents, who only gesture you to go on.

Well.

You guess you’re going, then.

You trail behind Bakugou in silence, your footsteps echoing through the stairway as you go up, one step at a time. Once you land on top of the staircase, you follow him as he turns to the right, down to the door at the end of the hallway, which you now identify as his bedroom.

He pauses a few feet away from the entryway, reaching forward for the knob and turning to face you right after, an indiscernible expression etched on his face.

“Don’t fuckin’—nose around,” he grumbles, voice gruff, “or some shit.” Despite his half-hearted warning, he opens the door, leaning back against it so you can squeeze in and enter.

Typical of the King of Consistency, Bakugou’s childhood bedroom is as impeccable as every other personal space of his that you’ve got the honor of visiting. The gray walls are pristine and are only disrupted by posters of pro-heroes, mostly of All Might, but also like that of Best Jeanist and Endeavor. Piles and piles of books line the shelves at the room's corners, speckled and lightly decorated with figurines and what you think are older gaming consoles. You study the rest of the arrangements, and before you can think against it, you find yourself smiling as you survey the room, feeling a paradoxical sense of comfort blanket you.

“…What’re you fucking smiling about, dumbass?”

At the call out, the expression on your face immediately falls. You glance back at the man who’s now leaning against the doorframe, arms once again crossed in front of his chest.

“N-nothing,” you immediately retort. “It’s just that your room is so clean and well-kept.” You pause, hesitating to say the next thing, but ultimately decide to go for it. “It’s very… you.”

You don’t know what you expected him to say or do in response—an eye roll, or a lazy scoff, or a challenge, daring you to expound on what the fuck you mean “it’s very him”, maybe?

But again, Bakugou doesn’t say anything; he simply grunts.

Against your will, you feel a wave of disappointment course through you.

“…Your parents seem like such great people,” you muse, finding yourself wanting to salvage the conversation as you continue to take in the endearing details of your boss’s childhood bedroom.

Bakugou grunts again, only this time you think it’s in agreement. “They’re alright,” he grinds out, “can get a bit overbearing at times, though.”

You hum in reply, sensing a seed of happiness blossoming within you at the thought of him opening up. “I get that. But I can clearly see they love you very much.”

The man hums back, sounding deep in thought.

Your fingers absentmindedly trail the backrest of his desk chair. “Your mom said you don’t really visit as much. Is that true or was she just pulling your leg?”

At that, Bakugou heaves such a heavy sigh, that it catches your full attention. “I haven’t been here since around early this year.”

You gawk, “Seriously?”

He shoots you a glare, although there’s not much bite to it. “Don’t look at me like that. You know how it is at work.”

You nod, “…You do put in an alarming number of hours.”

“Well, it’s not like I have a choice, do I?” he immediately retorts, although the question seems more rhetorical.

Despite that, you steel yourself to answer back this time. “I think you actually do. I know of so many heroes who treat their jobs like the typical 9 to 5. Believe me, I hear things at work, too.”

“…What are you trying to say?”

His voice is so uncharacteristically small, it catches you off guard.

In return, you try to make your voice as gentle as possible. “I’m saying I meant what I said earlier during dinner. It’s admirable—the work that you do. I think that’s what really sets you apart from all the others, putting aside your flashy ass quirk.”

You take a gamble and toss a smirk Bakugou’s way.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the man was at a loss for words.

Well, there is a first for everything.

Suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed over the bold move you just pulled, you take advantage of the silence, walking a few steps towards the other wall. You carefully brush your hand against what looks like a vintage-looking All Might poster above the headboard of his bed.

“I didn’t know you liked All Might this much.”

His reply is almost instantaneous: “He’s only the best hero to exist ever.”

You, again, fail to restrain the smile that breaches your face. It’s adorable how defensive he’s become in a split second, having transformed into the diehard fanboy that he apparently is.

“Is he the kind of hero you aspire to eventually become?” you ask, curiosity bubbling in your head.

He shifts on his feet, taking a few steps in your direction. “Yeah,” he pauses, before continuing, “the kind that always wins.”

“Oh, now I know where that line from before came from.”

As if immediately knowing what you're talking about, Bakugou flushes in what you think is anger, but the more you stare at him, it becomes clearer that it’s more akin to embarrassment.

“Shut up.”

You snort, “So the philosophy you gleaned from All Might—that applies to all aspects of your life? Including being your underling’s fake trophy boyfriend?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You can’t help the giggle that erupts from you as you watch Bakugou stew in what you think is shame, squirming from where he’s standing as if he’s itching to jump and strangle your frame. The man, once again, glares at you, but if anything, you can tell he’s more frustrated with himself than with you.

Still, you find yourself feeling bad. “Sorry,” you start, fighting the urge to chuckle, “I was just kidding.”

“You’re a fucking handful, you know that?”

At that, you pout, the words tumbling off your mouth before you can rein them in. “Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t—” Bakugo splutters, “fucking—stop calling me sir, dumbass. And,” he frowns, “stop calling yourself as my underling. That shit sounds fucking demeaning.”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, flashing him a grateful smile. He doesn’t return it, opting to roll his eyes and look away instead, but the corners of his lips are twitching like he’s fighting them from curling upwards.

An abrupt thought crosses your mind at that very sight of him.

And before you can talk yourself out of it, you blurt it out.

“I’m glad.”

Bakugou meets your gaze, an eyebrow raised in question. “You’re glad what?”

You shrug, fighting down the self-consciousness. “I’m glad to see you seem more relaxed and comfortable. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I’ve noticed you’ve been extra scowly lately—if that is even a word.”

“I have not.”

“Yes, you have. The other workers at the agency have noticed, too.”

“Who the fu—”

“I’m not dropping any names,” you interject, “but some have approached me asking if we were, you know, okay?”

You peer at the man, who’s now refusing to look at you. You brace yourself for what you’re about to ask. “Are we? Okay?”

Bakugou, again, conveniently decides to be mute.

“Did I do something wrong to slight you, or something? Or have I crossed a line during that get-together with your friends that one time? Because if I have, I want you to know that I really didn’t mean t—”

“I thought you didn’t want to come over,” he cuts you off.

You freeze. “What?”

He finally meets your gaze, a frown now seemingly permanently etched on his face. “Here. To my parents’. And you’ve been acting all weird around me, stuttering and stuff.”

Shit.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Bakugou huffs, “Am I making you uncomfortable, or some shit?”

You can only gape at the man who looks so pained, as if this conversation is physically hurting him, which, it probably is, knowing him. You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

He seems to notice this, because his frown grows even deeper. “What, am I?”

“No!” you exclaim, thankful to finally have your voice back. You vigorously shake your head, “No, please don’t think that. I—just—I just have a lot on my mind lately, that’s why. Explains why I’m all jumpy and stammering and all over the place.”

To your relief, Bakugou doesn’t prod any further, although you can sense a bit of suspicion emanating from the man despite your answer. He stares at you for another beat before shaking his head in resignation, opting to check his watch instead.

“It’s getting late. Let’s go downstairs and tell them we’re leaving.”

And just like that, Bakugou turns his back towards you and exits the bedroom.

Right after you followed Bakugou down to the living room where Mitsuki and Masaru were enjoying a glass of red wine, you informed the couple that you were leaving. The brunette immediately got to work, packing viands into Tupperware for you to take home despite your silent protests. Mitsuki, on the other hand, tried to convince you to stay for another hour or so, but Bakugou wasn’t hearing any of it. After finally accepting that she was getting nowhere with her case, Mitsuki called on her husband to see you out by the front porch.

With a bag of aromatic dishes in one hand, you stand in front of their doorway, not knowing what to say for the nth time in one night. You chance a glance towards Bakugou’s direction, the man having entered his car already, starting up the engine in preparation for the drive back home.

But you apparently don’t have to say anything because it’s Mitsuki who fills the air.

Her smile is so gentle and motherly that you can’t help the painful throb your heart makes at the sight. It’s quickly followed by the now-familiar feeling of uneasiness that has been revisiting you again and again since the evening started.

Still, you manage to smile back. At the sight of it, Mitsuki’s expression grows even brighter.

And her voice is low when she finally speaks.

“Don’t tell Katsuki this, but I’m glad you’re the one he’s decided to finally come meet us.” She reaches out to rub your shoulder, her smile not faltering, “I can see why.”

Thankfully, Mitsuki scoops you into another hug, sparing you the embarrassment and burden of having to react and respond with some intelligible reply to such a groundbreaking statement one can receive from any guy’s mother, no less.

At the couple’s request, you promise to visit again soon, and before you get to break character and admit to your mountain of lies in a crying heap, you beeline to the car and hop into the passenger seat.

Voice gruff, Bakugou nods at you. “Ready?”

You swallow thickly.

“Ready.”

The car ride home was silent. It felt long—longer than an hour, at least, your brain buzzing with unpleasant thoughts and stomach churning with anxious feelings the entire duration of it. You couldn’t seem to fall asleep no matter how much you tried. Eventually, you gave up trying to mid-way, opting to stew in whatever the fuck is going on with you instead.

You were so engrossed in your brooding that you didn’t notice Bakugou pulling into your apartment complex’s driveaway.

At the sound of his voice announcing your arrival, you sit up in your seat in alarm before promptly gathering your things, saying your usual quick goodbye and thank you, and stepping out of the car.

To your surprise, however, he puts the car in park and follows suit, stepping out of the vehicle himself.

You hesitate for a moment before starting the short trek toward the entrance, acutely aware of Bakugou trailing behind you.

When you get to the entryway, you finally turn to regard the man, whose eyes dart down to look directly at you, hands in his pockets.

In spite of yourself, you gulp. “Thank you… for today, Bakugou.”

He merely shakes his head, expression neutral. “I should be the one thanking you. You didn’t have to come with and suffer through all that with me, yet you did.”

“I didn’t suffer,” you’re quick to correct him because you didn’t. “I actually had a really nice time. Your parents were so kind to me, and I just—I…”

“What?”

You shake your head, unsure how to accurately phrase what you’re feeling. “I just feel bad, you know? You could be bringing home a girl that you actually like to meet your parents who they can fawn over instead of me, yet here you are presenting a decoy and fooling the people who raised you all because I—”

“Hey—”

“I roped you into pretending to be my boyfriend and now look at the mess we’ve made. And I know—”

“Stop it.”

His voice comes out so commanding that there’s nothing you can do but obey.

Bakugou frowns. “You didn’t ‘rope’ me into doing this, okay? I— We—” he hesitates, mouth opening and closing then opening and closing again before he finally just shakes his head in defeat. “I entered this arrangement willingly. You don’t have to blame yourself for anything.”

“But—”

“End of discussion.”

At that, you huff in irritation, but you know better than to argue with your notoriously stubborn boss. Nevertheless, and despite yourself, you can’t help but feel the gratitude that blooms in your chest at Bakugou’s reassurance.

“Now get in there,” he gestures to the apartment, “It’s getting way too fucking cold.”

As if on cue, you involuntarily shudder, which grants you a wordless ‘See?’ from the man. With a final nod, you reluctantly follow his orders and enter through the doorway, although you don’t immediately go to the elevator hall. Instead, you stand by the windows, finding yourself wanting to make sure Bakugou doesn’t get jumped on his way back to the car.

And as you watch Bakugou’s receding backside, the guilt that you’ve been tirelessly suppressing the entire night finally breaks free, threatening to swallow you whole.

This can’t go on.

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik @bunnysaursushii @beab19 @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @lovra974 @chelbyisbord @k0z3me @meeeepsworld @asura-rose @dragonscribble @moonz33 @citrustsuki @deadhands69 @lemuhr @rosemarygalaxy @iluv-ace @eyesforbkg @carpe000diem @shushbruv @matchat3a @ttalgi @bakunianadecorazon @the2ndl @keiscwsz @onlyisaa @aizawa19 @471323 @bakugosgothhoe

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 they make such a huge, huge difference! have an awesome day ( ˘ ³˘)

[julezo]

not to be insane but in a realistic tomarry/harrymort fic with good characterization it’s very difficult for them to not change one another.

a good fic acknowledges that harry only survives their canon interactions (and overall, his many different in-story challenges) from being tricky and clever. like it or not, harry is much weaker in magic, strength, mind, and political influence than voldemort.

so when he’s getting out of the third task, he doesn’t win, he cheats. when he’s getting out of malfoy manor, he doesn’t win, he calls dobby and gets out though a minor oversight. he doesn’t defeat umbridge in a dual, he instead helps run a covert defense club and repeatedly goes under her nose to do what he wants!! he doesn’t save sirius in book 3 because he fought peter and won, he used a time turner (albeit with help), broke ministry rules without anyone else knowing (bar hermione and dumbledore) and saved him.

that’s so slytherin!!!

it is my belief that Voldemort thus inadvertently pushes Harry to be more cunning. Harry is at his most slytherin during his daring but clever escapes from Voldemort and the indirect issues caused by Voldemort.

though it has less text evidence, i would also go so far to throw out that because of how pissed off Harry makes voldemort, it’s the same in reverse. Harry pushes Voldemort to be more reckless and daring in his effort to capture/kill him, as if a gryffindor.

i guess there’s a lot of poetry there. the more polarized they get from one another, the more alike they become. as they clash, they transform themselves into the other.

idk

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Brother's Best Friend - Part 10

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: I'm baaaack! Oh how I've missed these two idiots XD Thanks to everyone who sent in ideas for what should happen AFTER THE KISS!

Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.

CW: swearing, shirtless Jake, SHIRTLESS JAKE, fluff, Jake's arms, did I mention shirtless Jake?

WC: ~2800

Part 1 | Masterlist

There are a lot of things you regret in life, but bombing your psych midterm because you were too busy making out with Jake Seresin to study is not one of them. Sure, you might not have remembered the ins and outs of Jungian archetypes, but you sure as hell can recite from memory every single word that had fallen out of Jake’s mouth following the inaugural kiss. You might have been a bit hazy on the details surrounding the birth of behaviorism, but you could certainly attest to the effectiveness of positive reinforcement in the form of Jake’s lips rewarding every correctly answered flash card. Thus, despite leaving the exam room with the sinking feeling that your GPA just took a nosedive, you couldn’t be happier.

Your excitement is short-lived, however, because you walk into the house to the unsettling sounds of grunting. You end up dropping your book bag loudly on the floor in an effort to alert any unsuspecting individuals of your arrival before you happen upon a scene you have no interest in witnessing.

But the groaning doesn’t subside, and you find yourself inching cautiously toward the living room, gripped by a nauseating curiosity. Slowly, you creep through the kitchen and peek around the wall into the living room. But what you see, albeit somewhat strange, is not exactly out of the ordinary. What you see is two grown men doing push-ups on your living room floor.

“Uhh,” you utter, stepping into the room to get a better look at the two of them positioned between the armchair and the coffee table.

Neither one looks up at you. They continue grunting into the carpeted floor against every thrust and then breathing heavily into the silence on their way back down. In unison. Shirtless.

“Okay, I’ll just…” you pause, waiting to see if your presence might be acknowledged before you continue speaking. Several seconds go by without any sort of greeting, as if they haven’t even noticed you enter, so you resume, “I’ll just go wait in the kitchen.”

No response.

“I’ll make myself a sandwich,” you add, your eyes inadvertently landing on the rippling muscles of Jake’s back as his shoulder blades contract.

Before you’re completely entranced by the hypnotic movement of Jake Seresin’s body, you shake your head and head back to the kitchen. But, just as you make your way out, you hear Jake’s strained voice, “We’re counting.”

You glance over your shoulder, but he isn’t looking at you; his mouth is taut and his nostrils are flaring and he winces slightly as he straightens his arms again. You decide not to interrupt them further and retreat into the kitchen to fix yourself some lunch.

You wander back in several minutes later, a jam sandwich in hand, and raise your eyebrows as your brother and your, well, Jake, finally finish with a host of groans and obscenities, and laboriously get to their feet.

You glance between the two of them as they pant and take a bite of your sandwich. Until this very moment, you had no idea how you would navigate your situation with Jake in Bradley’s presence. It wasn’t something that you and Jake had a chance to discuss over the course of the previous evening and you had been hoping to postpone the encounter for at least another day.

However, now that you’re all in the same room, you realize that nothing much has changed; Bradley and Jake are still up to their usual antics, and you are still critically observing them from the sidelines.

“Three sets,” Jake breathes heavily as he rolls his shoulders and meets your gaze. “Of a hundred.”

You stare at him mutely, wondering what kind of reaction he’s expecting you to have whilst your brother stands three feet away. You pull your lips into a tight smile and nod approvingly. “If only you put this much effort into keeping track of your socks,” you respond wryly, noticing the pair that’s tucked into the corner of the armchair; the third that you’ve located in the living room this week.

Jake bows his head and Bradley lets out a snort. “I have hot feet,” Jake mutters to the floor.

You eye the veins along his forearms – more pronounced than usual after his workout – and decide conclusively that his feet are not the exception.

Bradley, who’s just finished guzzling half a bottle of water, hums at you to get your attention. Immediately, you tear your gaze from Jake’s veiny hands and blink up at your brother in alarm, certain that he’s already caught on to you since you can’t seem to stop gawking at his best friend. Bradley grins, his eyes bright with excitement. “So,” he says, “how was your study date?” His smile widens slyly.

You stare at him awkwardly, not daring to look at Jake, even when the latter chokes on his water. Clearly, he has not said a word to Bradley about the events of the previous evening.

Bradley watches you expectantly, ignoring Jake’s coughing fit. “Uh,” you start, your voice sounding unusually fuzzy. “It was, um,” you clear your throat, still not looking at Jake as he finally straightens his back and takes another enormous gulp of water.

Bradley lifts his eyebrows. “That good, huh?” he asks with a chuckle.

You feel your palms start to sweat and it takes a great deal of willpower to keep them steady at your sides rather than rubbing them together and wiping them on your thighs. “Pretty good,” you say weakly, avoiding direct eye contact with your brother.

“Get much studying done?” Bradley asks, picking his shirt up off the couch and pulling it over his head.

You briefly lock eyes with Jake. “Some,” you croak, in response to which Bradley shakes his head knowingly.

“How’d you do on your midterm?” Jake asks, finally setting his water bottle down.

You hold his gaze timidly, not sure how long you can get away with looking right at him. “I probably could have done better,” you confess.

Jake winces slightly. “Shit, really?” he asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

“We warned you,” Bradley calls in a singsong voice as he heads out of the living room. “That dude wasn’t looking to study, and you fell for it.”

Jake tilts his head to the side and rubs the back of his neck guiltily. “Maybe he tried,” he says, still grimacing.

Bradley stops short of the entrance to the kitchen and looks back at him. “Yeah, right,” he says. “Is that what you would do?” he asks him.

Jake’s face visibly pales and he stammers out, “M-me? What kind of question is that?” He clears his throat and adds, “Even.”

“You definitely would not have tried,” Bradley says. Then, he looks at you pointedly. “Next time, just study at home. Trust me.”

You nod, trying not to think too hard about how ineffective studying at home has proved, in fact, to be.

“Want a protein shake, bro?” Bradley asks before disappearing into the kitchen.

“Yeah, man,” Jake calls back. “Thanks.”

The two of you stand very still for a moment, not looking at one another. Then, Jake bends down to grab his muscle shirt off the floor.

“Sucks about your test,” he says, his head hanging so low that his chin nearly rests on his clavicle.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, suddenly uneasy now that it’s just the two of you in the room.

Jake draws the shirt over his head and then wearily drags a hand over his face. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking at you guiltily.

You shrug nonchalantly and give him a small smile. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He pulls his shirt down over his torso casually, but it’s probably the single most sexy thing you’ve ever witnessed. He sighs and says, “I feel responsible,” but all you could really pay any attention to is the sliver of stomach that he’s so carelessly left exposed. If anything, it’s entirely irresponsible.

You purse your lips and eye him humorously. “Well, that’s very self-centered of you.”

Jake laughs at your comment and you breathe a sigh of relief as the tension between you slowly dissipates.

“Dude, you coming?” Bradley calls, popping his head back in to check on Jake. “First fifteen minutes are crucial!”

“Be right there,” Jake responds and, grabbing his two stray socks off the armchair, starts for the kitchen.

You wander in after him to put your plate in the sink and Jake all but leaps out of your way when you get too close.

Bradley leans into the counter and speaks again, “So, apparently Jake had a wild night.”

The plate starts to slip out of your hand before you make it all the way to the sink, and you sort of toss it the rest of the way. It clatters against the basin but thankfully remains intact. “Oh yeah?” you ask in a high-pitched voice while Bradley watches you curiously.

“I didn’t say wild,” Jake clarifies, shifting his weight uncomfortably as he tries to find a less awkward way to rest his entire frame against the slightly protruding door of the refrigerator.

Bradley makes a face at him. “I paraphrased.”

You try not to smile as you ask, “What happened?” You glance at Jake mischievously as he digs himself further into the corner. The fact that he’s disclosed any details to Bradley is shocking, to say the least.

“Oh, just that he finally made a move on a chick he’s been obsessing over for weeks,” Bradley says with a proud grin.

While you try to process the words ‘for weeks’, Jake counters moodily, “I was not obsessing, dude. Come on.”

You lift your eyes slowly to meet his gaze and he glances at you reluctantly.

“Please, you never shut up about her!” Bradley cries.

Jake exhales sharply and glares over at Bradley, but he doesn’t deny his assertion.

“Who is she?” you ask hesitantly, ignoring the pointed stare you get from Jake as you direct your question at Bradley.

Bradley shrugs. “I don’t know her.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

Jake scoffs in the background while Bradley grimaces. “No, but he won’t tell me, so I’ve stopped asking.”

You withhold a smile and say quietly, “Wonder what she’s like.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “For the love of god –”

But his complaint is interrupted by Bradley when he says, “Apparently, she’s insanely hot –”

“Rooster,” Jake cuts him off sternly, pushing himself off the refrigerator to square his shoulders intimidatingly.

“What?” Bradley chuckles as you bite into your cheek to suppress a grin. “Those were your exact words!”

“Enough,” Jake says, glaring at him threateningly.

“Relax, it’s just my sister,” Bradley says, attempting to diffuse the situation gracefully. “She won’t tell a soul.”

You bat your eyelashes at Jake innocently. “Promise,” you assure him.

Jake narrows his eyes at you subtly. “Tell us more about your date,” he says, cleverly taking the heat off himself.

You lower your gaze and respond with, “It wasn’t a date.”

“But will there be one in the future?” Bradley asks.

You glance back at Jake instinctively before addressing your brother, “Not that I know of.”

Jake chugs the remainder of his shake and walks over to the sink to rinse the glass. He rests his hip on the counter right next to you and asks, “Would you go?”

You look up at him hesitantly, apprehensive about his proximity, even though he still stands a good two feet away. “Where?”

“On a date,” Jake clarifies. “If he asks.”

You gulp nervously, looking back at your equally curious-looking brother. The truth is, you’re afraid of showing all your cards so early in the game. Jake Seresin isn’t a dater, he doesn’t go out with the same girl multiple times. And if he’s only with you because you’re ‘insanely hot’ – his words – he might be spooked by an overzealous response. “I don’t know.” You shrug. “Haven’t thought about it.”

“Bullshit,” Bradley interjects obnoxiously.

“I agree,” Jake adds.

You clamp your jaw tightly, mildly annoyed at Jake for making you the target of conversation yet again. “Are you planning on asking insanely hot girl out?” you enquire aggressively, fixing Jake with an accusing glower.

“How do you know I haven’t already?” Jake asks in a patronizing tone.

You glare at him through squinted eyes. “Wild guess.”

“Of course, he’s gonna ask her out,” Bradley chimes in. “As soon as he stops wigging out about it.”

Jake gives him a peeved look before glancing back at you. “I’m considering it,” he says vaguely.

“Please,” Bradley scoffs and Jake shoots him another ominous glare. “There’s nothing he would want more.”

“That’s not true,” Jake mutters monotonously while you scrutinize the evasive movements of his eyes.

“You literally told me that –”

“Bradley!” Jake shouts. “Shut up!”

Bradley grimaces. “Since when do we keep secrets around here?”

“Since I fucking said so,” Jake retorts.

You glance between the two of them awkwardly and then look down at your feet, stretching out the already uncomfortable silence. You try not to dwell on what your brother has said but Jake wanting nothing more than to take you on a date has you feeling all kinds of giddy. Hesitantly, you say, “I’d probably say yes.” You bite your lip and add, “To study group guy – if he asks.”

Bradley nods, unsurprised. And you don’t dare check on Jake’s reaction. But before you could second guess your confession, Jake says, “He’ll ask.” You steal a glance at him and he catches your gaze. “He’d be an idiot not to.”

You give him a small, half-smile – the half that’s not visible from your brother’s vantage point. But Bradley seems to have lost interest in the topic now that he’s been censored because he starts to shuffle out of the kitchen.

“Hey Bradley!” you call after him. “How was your date?”

Bradley stops and spins to face you. “Finally!” he exclaims.

You smirk at him. “Did she like your shirt?”

Bradley grins. “She loved my shirt.”

“She loved it so much, she kept it,” Jake adds.

Your jaw drops in shock when Bradley yells, “Hey! So, it’s alright to air my dirty laundry?”

“Technically, now she’s got your dirty laundry,” you point out and Jake high fives you.

Bradley shakes his head, but he’s still smiling. “Real mature,” he says. “At least I had the balls to ask her out.” With that, he finally exits the kitchen.

You start after him when your feel Jake’s hand brush gently across the small of your back. You turn to face him and he rests it confidently on your hip. You wonder what he’s going to say but, just when you’re about to articulate your curiosity, he leans down and kisses you square on the mouth. His fingers slide into the hair at the nape of your neck as he takes a hold of your face and, as his thumb sweeps languidly back and forth across your cheekbone, you absently speculate on just how big his hand must be to support your head in such a way. You’re so engrossed in this calculation, in fact, that you nearly miss the moment his tongue enters the equation.

Of course, all of this happens so quickly that, before you can really even kiss him in return, he’s already taking a step back and glancing at the doorway to make sure that Bradley isn’t there.

You graze your teeth over your bottom lip, trying to contain your widening smile as you meet his gaze. It’s nice to know that Jake still wants to kiss you today just as badly as he did yesterday. So much so that he’s willing to risk Bradley walking in on you. You let yourself ogle him overtly for a moment, admiring his tanned arms and the little bit of chest that you could see above the low neckline of his muscle shirt. Then, you say, “I want to hear more about this insanely hot girl you won’t shut up about.”

Jake cringes, busying himself with the dishes sitting in the dishrack. “I’m not sure you’d get along. She’s very confrontational.” He puts away a couple of bowls into a cupboard.

You let out a shocked gasp as if you're offended. “Seriously?”

“Oh yeah,” Jake turns back to face you, grinning as he throws a dishtowel over his shoulder. “Super intense. A little scary.”

“I don’t know, she sounds like a catch,” you say, taking a small step toward him. “I mean, according to Bradley, you’ve been obsessing over her for weeks!”

Jake shakes his head with a chuckle and, pulling you in to give you a quick peck on the side of your head, he mutters into your hair, “I’m gonna kill your brother.”

Read Part 11

Hangman Tag List:

A/N: The rest of the list will be in the comments. As always, let me know if you don't want to be tagged anymore.

[berfgrimm]

risk :: choi su-bong (thanos) x reader

pairing: choi su-bong (thanos) x f!reader

warnings: smut, oral, public, teasing, mentions of pain kink, some fluffiness + a little praise kink sprinkled in, some arrogance from both parties, mentions of violence/death, mentions of drug use.

note: i’ve only recently delved back into writing after a pretty extensive burn out. i felt compelled for the first time in a long time after watching squid game, so i hope you all enjoy! if there’s interest, i can do a part 2.

——————————————

The room is far more silent than you expected it would be for having 456 people in it — well, 365 after today. Apart from the occasional cough or murmur, the barely-there electrical hum of the piggy bank suspended from the ceiling is the only noise you are able to focus on. You were never one to fall asleep to silence, always in need of some sort of consistent, albeit quiet, noise to keep your ears from ringing into oblivion. Beyond that, even from your spot at the corner of the room, tucked away in the lower bunks, the piggy bank is too bright for you to ignore. With a sigh, you focus on the bars of the bed above you, replaying your day, unable to get the chaos out of your mind.

When you called the number on the card you were given, you’d never thought it would lead to you watching people get gunned down around you during a children’s game. It was surreal, watching it unfold but still needing to remain perfectly still, lest you join them. If you think about it too much, you still hear the screaming, which is not the sort of noise you want to fall asleep to.

You look down at your jacket that you are still wearing, focusing on the red ‘X' patch adhered to your chest. All you want is to be at home in your bed with the hum of your radio and your favorite blankets.

You hear a noise to your side, and you instinctively turn your head to see the cause of the sound. The bed at the bottom of the bunks beside you holds Thanos, the former rapper with the horrible moniker. He sits at the head of the bed, back against the wall with one leg propped on the bed and the other hanging off. He mutters to himself as he stares into the middle distance, but you are unable to tell what he says. Based on the way he gestures with his hands in time with his mumbling, you assume he’s playing out a song.

Though you would love to look away, you find yourself fixated on him. During the game, you’d spotted him treating it as though you were in the schoolyard, jumping for joy with a wide grin across his face. Does he have any idea what is going on around him? Surely not, based on the blue ‘O’ patch affixed to his jacket.

In an effort to get a better look at him, you roll into your side, during which you inadvertently draw his attention. He stares at you briefly, before a smirk forms on his lips. You saw him strike out all day when he tried to ‘flirt’, if you could call it that; watching him get rejected was the only time you laughed during the day.

As his eyes connect with yours, you find it difficult to turn away, and your mind wanders. He’s attractive — of course he is — but his ego is out of control. Ordinarily, an ego that has gone unchecked like that would be far from appealing to you, but at this moment, you’re desperate for a distraction. Given the harrowing events of the day, you let your baser instincts take over without a second thought. You’re more than willing to give him the attention he was looking for if it benefits you as well.

You slip your tongue between your lips to wet them, and you notice, even across the distance between your beds, his eyes cut to your mouth to watch the action. His eyes find yours again, and the smirk turns more suggestive. He nods his head towards you as if in silent question of what you want; you respond with a small tilt of your head, a gesture for him to come over to find out.

He’s almost gleeful as he hops from the bed and creeps towards you, but you watch him pause momentarily, as if to check himself for being overzealous. He crouches down beside your bed, resting his forearms on the mattress so he can look into your eyes.

You feel compelled to ask about his choice to stay in the games after the events of the day, but you catch a glimpse of the chain around his neck and redirect your inquisition. You saw him throughout the day clutching the cross that hangs from the chain, catching him opening up the small keepsake to take something from inside. You drew your own conclusions based on his actions.

Before you are aware of what you are doing, your fingers find their way to the chain peeking from the collar of his shirt. The man cranes his neck enough to allow you to grasp it, tugging it gently from his shirt. As your fingers glide down the metal, he leans back from the bed to give you the access to pull the cross out into the open, and hold it in the palm of your hand.

“I guess you only packed your uppers,” you say, softly. He looks down at the cross, and, as though he doesn’t remember what’s inside, opens it briefly to check the contents. “Bad luck,” you sigh.

“These will clear your head,” he replies, using his index finger to tap the cross that still sits in your hand. “One of these will have you in another world, far away from this place.”

“I’ll never get to sleep with a buzz,” you retort, dropping his cross to his chest and rolling onto your back to stare at the framework of the bed above you again. “Thanks anyway,” you add.

“Oh, you want to relax?” he asks. “Why didn’t you say that?” You can practically hear the smirk on his face as he talks, so you don’t bother looking at him again, not yet. “I have something for that,” he continues. “I promise you’ll love it.” You tilt your head to look in his eyes again, seeing the playful glint you expected. Sure, he’s playing into your hand just as much as you are to his, but it doesn’t matter to you. Not anymore.

“What’s your name?” you ask suddenly, which catches him off guard, so you clarify. “I’m not interested in moaning ‘Thanos’ all night.” The smirk returns to his lips, albeit softer this time.

“Su-bong,” he replies. You smile — much better than a comic book villain name. You answer Su-bong with your own name, and he nods his head, the grin returning to his lips as his fingers grasp the zipper of your jacket. “Okay?” he asks, one final pause for clear consent, which you give him with a nod of your head.

Su-bong drags the zipper down slowly until it’s undone, slipping his hand past the fabric to cup your breast over your shirt. The look he gives you is eager, not something you would attribute to a man of his notoriety, but you shake the thought from your head to focus on the moment. His hand grips you softer than you expect, to your surprise but also your disappointment; you need something more, but you don’t rush him.

He only focuses on one breast for a few moments before moving his hand to the other. You can feel your nipples hardening from the action, and grow impatient, so you arch yourself against his touch ever-so slightly, letting out a soft groan.

“Good?” Su-bong asks, his gaze glued to your lips. You don’t answer, worried too much about how your voice will carry throughout the room and get you both caught. Instead, you take hold of his hand to drag it down your stomach and ease it up your shirt.

Taking the hint, Su-bong allows his fingers to catch the cup of your bra, tugging it down to make contact with your skin. The softness of his fingers sets goosebumps across your skin, but when he pinches your nipple teasingly, you let out a small, surprised yelp.

“Careful now,” Su-bong warns, clasping his free hand over your mouth. “Unless you want an audience.” You nod your head in response, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment at your sudden exclamation.

Su-bong lowers his hand from your mouth, using both hands to tug your jacket off of your shoulders. You sit up, working the garment from your arms and tossing it to the foot of the bed. Before you can lay down again, Su-bong stops you, a grin spreading across his lips.

“You trust me?” he asks.

“No, of course I don’t.”

Your response makes him smile wider, but you allow him to maneuver you how he wants you. He eases your legs off of the bed so you are sitting on the edge, and he settles onto his knees between your open legs. His eyes wander over your still closed torso before his hands slide under the fabric of your shirt. With a cheeky grin, he bunches the shirt above your breasts and once again cups you over your bra.

When his fingers slip past the material of your bra, Su-bong’s gaze meets yours, a playful glint in his eyes that distracts you until you feel the cool air of the room on your skin. You watch him dip his head forward to tease your nipple with his tongue while his fingers gently toy with your other nipple.

You let out a hum, placing your hand on the back of his head to urge him on. You pull his hair gently, and he lets out a growl in response —- a sound that shoots straight through your body to your core. You don’t immediately realize that you clench your thighs around his sides and arch into his touch, but when Su-bong tugs at your nipple with his teeth, you become aware of your subconscious back and forth exchange with him.

Su-bong switches sides, focusing on your other breast, but his hands squeeze your thighs, undoubtedly leaving bruises from the pressure. You feel a sudden urge to get your hands on him, so your hand that’s not on his head begins to tug at the back of his jacket in an attempt to reach his shirt. He chuckles against you, realizing what you’re trying to do; he sits back, pulling the jacket off of his arms and throwing it to the side, but when he leans in to continue teasing you, you stop him.

“Come on,” he whines, looking up at you in frustration.

“What?” you ask innocently. “I don’t want to tease. We’ll get caught before we get to the real fun.”

Su-bong huffs but quickly sits higher on his knees, pressing a kiss to your lips. It catches you off guard — sure you were planning on fooling around with him, but the kiss feels intimate for someone you just met. You wrote it off to the emotions, and focus on the moment again. When you feel him begin to stand up from the floor, while kissing you deeper, your heart pounds harder in your chest, excited for what he may do next.

Su-bong breaks from the kiss, easing you to lay on your back across the bed. He rests one knee against the mattress at your side, looking down at you from his slightly hunched position he maintains to remain hidden from prying eyes. You feel vulnerable under his gaze, especially with your shirt still pulled up to your throat, so you sit up to rest on your elbow, reaching out to grab the cross around his neck. The smirk spreads across his lips again, as he allows you to pull him by his chain to lean over you. He braces himself above you by pressing both hands against the mattress on either side of you, boxing you in.

You kiss him, immediately parting your lips to allow him to kiss you deeper. Su-bong obliges, and the kiss becomes sloppy and desperate, your head reeling with excitement. Your hands resume their previous position on his back, tugging his shirt to untuck it from his pants. As soon as the shirt is out of the waistband, your fingers hurry under the hem and grasp his waist.

The warmth of skin makes you frantic, prompting you to tug him closer to you, but Su-bong tenses to avoid being pulled. You whine against his lips, and break the kiss to give him a pleading look.

“Shhh,” he hushes, playfully, pressing his finger to your lips. “Patience.”

You find yourself gazing into his eyes, losing track of where you are briefly. You wonder if circumstances were different, and you’d met him somewhere else, if you’d be as enamored with him. Certainly not if he had flirted with you the way he’d done others during the day, but you convince yourself that was Thanos. Right now, you have the pleasure of seeing Su-bong. Realizing you have been staring into his eyes in silence for too long, you tune back in, prepared to chastise him for taking too long.

“I’m—” You stop short and let out a small gasp — while you were distracted with your ‘what if’s’, Su-bong had brought his hand to the waistband of your pants, and his fingers are currently delving into your wetness. “Oh!” you breathe out, feeling his middle finger gently tease your clit.

“Feels good?” he asks, cocking his head to the side to catch your gaze. “I’ve barely touched you.” He uses his index and middle finger to slowly rub your clit, making sure to study your face to read your reactions. “This wet already, you must have thought about me all day.”You whimper softly in response, your eyes slipping closed so you can focus on how you feel.

You picture yourself somewhere else, anywhere else, with Su-bong. Somewhere that you can be as loud as you want. Somewhere with a comfortable bed. Somewhere that you didn’t have to worry about anyone else seeing you. Not that there wasn’t a certain thrill to the idea of being caught, but after the events of the day…

“Look at me.” Su-bong’s voice pulls you from your thoughts just in time before they begin to spiral out of control, as if he could read your mind. You open your eyes, focusing on him again. “You’re beautiful like this,” he says, catching you off guard. Before you can respond, he slips his hand further into your pants, and eases his middle and ring fingers inside of you.

“Oh, fuck.” You grab his arm that he braces himself with and spread your legs wider. When he starts to pump his fingers into you, agonizingly slow, your jaw stays slack, slow and hard breaths coming out of your mouth. You roll your hips against his hand, trying to help him get his fingers deeper within the constraints of your clothing.

Your hand that still rests under Su-bong’s shirt grasps him harder, digging your nails into his skin and dragging. He groans in response, losing focus on what he’s doing. It makes you grin, so you rest on your elbow again to get closer to his face.

“You like it when it hurts?” you tease. When he nods slowly, eyes locked in your mouth as he awaits your next move. You lean closer, pressing your mouth against his ear to whisper, “I like it, too.” You leave a playful bite on his earlobe that causes him to curse under his breath. “Don’t be too loud,” you joke with a soft chuckle, which sets him off. He yanks his hand from your pants, and maneuvers to stand on both feet again.

As you begin to ask what’s wrong, he shoves you onto your back on the bed again. Your eyes widen in surprise and you keep quiet as you watch him grab the waistband of your pants and panties to tug them down. You obediently raise your hips without needing to be asked, an act that you notice gives Su-bong a smirk, and he pulls the clothing down to your ankles and off of one leg altogether.

Without warning, he shoves your thighs apart, diving in between them to start sucking on your clit. You clench your hand into a fist, and bite down on your knuckle to silence your moan. Your other hand sits on the back of Su-bong’s head, keeping him in place as you gently grind against his face. He lets out a pleased groan against your pussy, closing his eyes so he can focus on his ministrations.

After a few moments of this torture, he sits back, much to your disappointment, and stares up at you. He releases his grip on one of your thighs, instead using his index and middle fingers to glide through your now dripping core. Occasionally, as he dampens his fingers, they tease your clit, making your body lurch in surprise and your face flush.

When he finally feels his fingers are wet enough, he slowly works them both inside of you. The sensation quickly overwhelms you and you drop your head back against the mattress, squeezing your eyes shut. You’re unable to look at him as he begins to pump his fingers into you and tongue your clit at the same time, far too blissed out already to even stop your head from spinning.

Jesus Christ, you think. There’s no way I’m already close.

You hook one of your legs around his back to urge him on, while you blindly feel for him with both hands. He reaches his free hand towards you, lacing fingers with one of your hands, while your other hand threads through his purple locks.

“Mhm,” Su-bong hums, when you tug on his hair. He switches to sucking on your clit again, moving his fingers faster and faster into you, desperate to get you off.

Your panting and borderline moaning start to grow louder, so you let go of Su-bong’s hair to grab your pillow, pulling it closer. You quickly bury your face into it and let it stifle the noises that Su-bong pulls from you.

Time starts to escape you — it feels like you’ve been there for seconds and for hours, all at once. Your head reels and your body hums as you feel your climax approaching. Your grip on Su-bong’s hand tightens, and he speeds up in response. With your face still muffled by your pillow, you begin to mutter his name, all but singing his praises as you begin to unravel.

Not for a moment does Su-bong slow down, but instead works you through your climax until your body is writhing in overstimulation. You try to pull from him, but he won’t stop and you feel your second orgasm working its way along your nerves before you even recover from the first. You’ve never had two orgasms in rapid succession, and you don’t dare question how this maniac between your thighs is able to do it.

The second orgasm is just as intense as the first and you feel yourself growing louder in response, rolling your body against his face and hand. This time, Su-bong pulls away from you, and you feel a reprieve, but not for long. He grabs you by your hips, urging you towards him. Mindlessly, you follow where he directs you, until you’re knelt on the floor with him.

Parting your lips to question his new antics, you’re quickly met by him silencing your inquisition with a kiss. You feel one of his arms wrap around your waist to pull you against him while his free hand slides between your thighs.

“Su-bong,” you lament against his lips, breaking the kiss and grabbing his shoulders for support. “I don’t know if I can do another.”

“I know you can.”

Su-bong begins to gently rub circles on your clit, the movement slow and tender. Your body already feels numb from your previous orgasms, but you feel a spark ignite in your pelvis. You whimper, looking into his eyes as if to read his mind, but you can only tell one thing for sure: he’s focused on making you feel good, not another thought present in his mind beyond that.

“When we get out of here, I’m taking you home with me,” he says, quietly. “You’ll be the best prize.” You drop your head against his shoulder, burying your face against his shirt, prepared to muffle any sound that may come out. Your fingers grip the fabric of his shirt firmly, twisting so hard you feel you may tear it.

This time, your orgasm moves slowly throughout your body, starting at your hips and working out through your limbs. Your thighs quake and you struggle to keep your balance on your knees, but Su-bong’s grip around your waist only tightens to keep you upright. You grind against his hand working with him to give him everything you’ve got.

Slowly, his motions stop, and you only briefly wish he would keep going, but as you feel your body relax, you realize you’re too worn out to try for another. Su-bong kisses the top of your head and eases your body back towards your bed. He assists you in putting your clothes on properly, every so often glancing around to make sure no one has caught on to what you’re doing.

Once you are on your back again, in your bed, eyes glued on Su-bong’s face as he pulls his jacket back onto his arms, you feel yourself finally relaxing. Your body is so worn out, but free of stress at that moment, you feel exhausted. Unfortunately, the only thing on your mind now is returning the favor to this purple-haired wonder who still kneels beside your bed, staring back at you. You reach towards him, but quickly find the weight of your own body too heavy to move; how did he manage to wear you out so quickly?

“It’s okay,” Su-bong says, taking hold of your hands, and resting them onto your stomach. “Get some sleep, and we’ll see each other tomorrow.” You begin to object, something inside of you desperate to make him feel as good and relaxed as he made you feel, but Su-bong silences you with a kiss to your lips. Your eyes slip closed as his tongue enters your mouth, and you taste yourself on him, but the kiss is far too brief. “Tomorrow,” he reiterates, with a nod of his, deep voice rattling even lower in his chest. “I promise.”

Before you can speak, Su-bong departs from your bedside and climbs back into his own bed. He steals a quick glance at you, smirking wide as he settles down into his mattress. You feel your eyes drifting closed as Su-bong tucks the cross into his shirt and pulls his jacket tighter around his body. On any other occasion, you would climb into bed beside him, give him the same pleasure he just gave you. But you welcome the sleep that encompasses you, knowing that for now, you have to take relaxation where you can get it.

[bijouxcarys]

Reina de mi Corazón (Damian Priest x fem!OC)

Masterlist WWE Masterlist

Description: She's the light of his life, the itch he can't scratch... and his bretherin's main squeeze.

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, oral (f recieving), dirty talk, Kayfabe-compliant, sort of infidelity, semi-public shenanigans, Finn is a prick, I feel like pre-Rhea returning Liv Morgan should be considered a warning, so there you go...

A/N: Here, the fem!OC has no name; can be read as x reader without the use of Y/N. Also, I am not a native Spanish speaker, I know some, but please correct me on any inaccuracies!

Tags: @eringobragh420 @new-zealand-chic @terrortwinunicorn @hellonheels-x @loki69zowens

@thefairywithboots

(If you want to be tagged in any future Damian or Roman stories, please let me know!)

“Ya know, I’m havin’ a real hard time understandin’ why you can’t just get over it.”

“Get over it?!”

“Don’t yell at me.”

She spun around to come face to face with the blue-eyed Irishman she’d dedicated her life for the past year to, and just grimaced at the completely vacant look on his face. As though he didn’t understand what the issue was.

“Then stop being such a fucking pushover, Finn, it’s not hard! You go out there, you stand in front of Dom, you tell her to back off and then…” She scoffed, putting a hand on her hip as she lowered her voice to a vicious whisper. “Then you think it’s a smart idea to just let her ride with us tonight, are you insane?” 

If she didn’t know any better, she could have sworn she saw a look of guilt flash before Finn’s eyes. But she did know better, by the grace of God, did she know better by now. She’d learned months ago that he was vying for chaos, a reason to feel a fraction powerful. Now with Rhea gone, it just meant one less around to anchor him to the ground of mediocrity.

She just never expected to catch him inadvertently encouraging Dom to consider Liv’s constant advances.

“Oh, come off it,” Finn groaned, rolling his eyes. “You coulda come out there and helped me with that shit, you coulda told Liv to back off too, don’t act like you’ve had no part in this.”

“Had no part in what? Getting Dom to break whilst Rhea’s not here? Oh my God, you have lost it…”

She turned to continue her walk down the backstage halls. Maybe if she just got a minute alone in the locker room, she’d be able to rationalise Finn’s decision to extend the invitation for a ride to the next town. Highly doubted it, but it was worth a shot. But it didn’t seem like she was going anywhere without Finn right on her tails, telling her all the reasons she should reconsider her anger, to hear him out, as though he actually wanted Dom to give in.

“Will ya stop walkin’ away from me?” Finn grabbed her wrist, perhaps a little too forcefully, stopping her in her tracks. As expected, her instant reaction was to rip her arm from his grip, even if it severed her entire extremity from the rest of her, but he wasn’t relenting.

“I swear to God, if you don’t let go of me in about three seconds, I’m gonna break your fucking jaw,” she warned with a clenched jaw. “Don’t make this worse than it has to be.”

“I’m not the one makin’ it worse, love, you’re the one overreactin’ at nothin’.”

“I’m not overreacting at nothing, you sociopath. I happen to care about Rhea… You remember Rhea, right? Your fucking family.” She managed to yank her arm from him, the friction albeit scorching her in the process, but she’d sort that out later. 

“Rhea this, Rhea that, you’re just as bad as ‘im!” Finn’s brows narrowed, his fists clenched at his sides. 

“Ay, there you are!”

Speaking of ‘im…

Here he came in long strides from behind Finn, his championship belt slung over his shoulder like it always seemed to be since Mania. Braided hair, studded vest, just everything the world loved him for—everything she loved him for, but never had the balls to admit it.

“We’ve been tryin’ to find you, wh–” Damian paused as he got closer to the two of them, instantly noticing the thick tension lingering in between. His eyes immediately narrowed at her, and he glanced down at the man in front of him. “Everything okay?”

Her throat felt like sandpaper; she couldn’t find it in her to tell him. To tell him what Finn had just done, what he’d just solidified, not just for Dominik, but for the future of The Judgement Day.

“Everything’s fine,” Finn said flatly, his tone clipped as he glanced over his shoulder at Damian.

“Fine?” she shot back incredulously. “Do I look like I think everything’s fine to you? You’ve done some stupid shit before, Bálor, but this? This is a whole new level of dumb.”

Damian’s brow furrowed, dark eyes flicking between them. “Wait, hold up—what’s she talking about?”

“She’s overreacting. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” she snapped, raising her voice once more.

“Here we go,” Finn muttered under his breath, running a hand over his hair. He turned back to her with a forced smile, his jaw tight with irritation. “Y’know, ya don’t always have to make a scene.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she spat, stepping closer, her eyes boring into his. “Am I embarrassing you, Finn? You embarrassed yourself the second you thought it’d be a good idea to hand Liv a damn invitation to ride on our bus. Our bus.”

Damian’s head snapped toward Finn, hardening his expression. “You did what?”

Holding his hands up, Finn tried to play it off the best he could. “Relax, Damo, she just needed a ride for the night. No harm, no foul.”

“No harm?” she hissed. “You didn’t think to ask if maybe, I don’t know, bringing Rhea’s fucking arch enemy into our space might cause some problems? You didn’t even tell Damian!”

“You’re making this a bigger deal than it needs to be.”

“You’re a hypocrite, you know that? You’re always talking about loyalty and trust, but the second Rhea’s not around to babysit you, you're out here making decisions that put all of us at risk. Not to mention Dominik and how he might be feeling about your decision making.”

Damian’s deep voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Cálmate un poco,” he said firmly, stepping closer to the two of them. His presence loomed large, his words enough to make her glance at him, but only for a moment.

“Cálmate?” she echoed, throwing her hands up. “I’ve been calm, Damian—too calm, actually. Maybe that’s the fucking problem.”

Finn snorted, folding his arms over his chest. “Yeah, right. ‘Too calm.’ You’ve been ridin’ my arse for weeks about every little thing.”

“Because you’ve been acting like an idiot for weeks!”

“You done?” Finn bit back with a sneer on his lips. “Or do you wanna keep goin’ so the whole locker room can hear how dramatic you are?”

“Dramatic?” She almost gasped at his audacity. “You don’t get to call me dramatic, Finn, not when you’re the one throwing Dom to the wolves and dragging Liv into the pack just to get a reaction. Do you even realise what you’re doing to us—”

“Us?” Finn’s voice rose, cutting her off. “Don’t kid yourself, love. There hasn’t been an us for a while now, and you damn well know it.”

The words landed like a slap, but before she could react, Damian was suddenly lodged right between them.

“Ya basta!” he growled, holding up a hand, forcing them to take a step back. His usually smooth baritone was sharper now. “Finn, man, the hell are you doin’? You don’t talk to her like that.”

“Oh, I don’t?” Finn snapped, glaring up at Damian. “You don’t get to tell me how to handle my business.”

Damian’s lips curled into a humourless smile, and he tilted his head, dropping his voice. “Tu negocio? This isn’t about you, pendejo, it’s about the family. About respecting Rhea while she’s gone. And you’re out here actin’ like you forgot that.”

And Finn, in all his toughness, opened his mouth to speak, but the Archer of Infamy didn’t give him an iota of a chance. “And another thing,” he said, taking a menacing step closer to the Irishman, seething with a deadly calm. “I see you grabbin’ at her like that again, we’re gonna have a problem. Understood?”

The smaller man faltered for a moment, his confidence quite clearly wavering. Damian’s eyes narrowed, and his large, veiny hand clenched onto the edge of his championship on his shoulder. “Entiendes, yes or no?”

Finally, Finn nodded, though his jaw looked like it was just about ready to shatter with how harshly he had it clenched. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me, big man, when this heroic act comes back to bite you in the arse.”

Damian didn’t let his weak threat deter him from doing what he needed to do; he turned to her next, his expression softening slightly. “You good?”

Her heart was hammering against her ribcage from the sheer rage seering through her, and her emotions were swept up in a chaotic mess, but she nodded nonetheless. “I’m fine,” she muttered, though her tone betrayed the storm beneath it.

“Good,” Damian’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned back to Finn. “Go cool off. Now.”

Finn hesitated, his pride clearly warring with his better judgement, but eventually, he scoffed and walked away, muttering something under his breath that she couldn’t quite catch.

Once he was out of earshot, Damian let out a long breath. “You’re really okay?” he asked.

She looked up at him, the tension threatening to snap in her chest loosening ever so slightly under his concerned gaze. “I will be,” she said, though she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it.

He nodded, his lips quirking into a small, reassuring smile. “Good. Now, let’s figure out what the hell we’re gonna do about all this, cariña.”

The night was cooling down, but her temper still simmered as she stomped alongside Damian through the dimly lit parking lot. Fans that had earlier been congregating at the exit had now dissipated, the chaos of the evening replaced by a tranquil, almost eerie silence. She exhaled sharply, still simmering with frustration, her steps brisk and her arms crossed tightly against her chest.

Damian walked beside her, his strides unhurried as he ate up the speed in which she travelled, and his towering presence remained a stark contrast to her tense frame. He didn’t speak at first, letting the rhythmic echo of their footsteps do the talking. It was only as they approached the production trucks—massive, hulking shadows looming in the dark—that he reached out, his large hand gently wrapping around her elbow.

“Mi vida,” he said softly, richly, lowly. A faintest trace of his accent curling around the syllables. “Slow down.”

She stopped abruptly, pulling her arm free but not walking away. “I’m not getting on that bus,” she insisted. “Not with her there.”

He cocked his head slightly, studying her with those deep, thoughtful eyes that scarcely failed to strip her defences bare. “You don’t have a choice,” he said.

Her lips pressed into a tight line, darting her eyes anywhere else. “I’ll figure something out.”

Admitting to himself, her defiance was always endearing; he chuckled warmly. “What, you’re gonna hitchhike to the next city? Sleep in one of these?” He gestured to the trucks around them with a slight smirk, his rings catching the faint light as his hand moved. “Come on, mamacita, be for real.”

Scowling, her arms tightened around herself. “I can’t stand her, though…” she whined, bouncing on her heels. “What she did to Rhea… what she’s still trying to do.”

Damian softened at the mention of Rhea, a wave of understanding passing over his face. He knew more than anyone what it felt like to watch your best friend be forced to vacate something she’d worked so hard for, all at the hands of someone else. He turned to face her fully, the parking lot lights casting a soft glitter over him, highlighting the sharp features in his beautifully aging face. The faint sheen on his neck, and the glisten from the necklaces there that disappeared behind the collar of his shirt. The tattoos snaking up his arms flexed as he adjusted his title belt, the veins in his forearms prominent and mesmerising.

He tilted his head slightly, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “I get it. You’re loyal. We both are. That’s one of the things I like about you.”

His voice dipped into a smoother register, the richness of his tone wrapping around the words like velvet. She hated how easily it still disarmed her, how it made her pulse quicken despite her best efforts to stay annoyed.

“But let me ask you this,” he continued, leaning in a little. “What’s the biggest flex here? Storming off and giving her, and Bálor, the satisfaction of knowing they got under your skin? Or walking on that bus, owning the damn space, and letting ‘em know they don’t even rank?”

Her lips parted, a retort forming, but she couldn’t quite get it out. His words were too mellow, his confidence too infectious.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said with a grin, as though he’d already won the argument. Well, whatever argument was there.

“I’m not sharing space with her. Period.” She continued to scowl, looking down at the floor, where she absentmindedly kicked at small chips of gravel.

“Ay, mi reina,” he murmured, running a hand over his face. “You’re really making this difficult for yourself, huh?”

Sighing heavily, he turned to lean one broad shoulder against the truck they were standing by, and crossed his arms. His biceps strained against his short sleeves, and she was grateful he chose to keep the vest instead of opting for a long-sleeved jacket.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he began. “You and me? We’re gonna get on that bus. But we’re not stayin’ up front with the others. Nah.” He angled his body down and quietened his voice a little. “We’ll head straight to the back, nice and private. You won’t have to see Liv. Hell, you won’t even have to think about her.”

She blinked, caught off-guard by how easily he’d spun the situation into something that sounded almost… appealing.

“And you’re just gonna make that happen without trouble, yeah?” she asked, arching a sceptical brow.

“Mami,” he grinned, equal parts cocky and charming, “I always make things happen.”

She couldn’t fight the smile that elicited.

“And… the others?” she asked, trying to maintain the upper hand. “What makes you think they’ll just let us waltz past them without saying anything?”

The smile on his face widened, a playful, menacing look in his eyes. “Let me worry about them, they know better than to get in my way. After all,” he exhaled, slapping a hand over his championship. “I am el campeón, mi vida.”

“Yeah, well…” she somewhat sheepishly grinned, looking away. “I think that may be where some of Finn’s issues lay.”

With a rueful chuckle, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, fingers grazing her temple and trailing down to her jawline. Just… brushing off the comment about Finn’s potential ill-feelings about his lack of a singles title. She wouldn’t put it past the man she’d been in such a rocky situationship with to harbour these… feelings.

“And you?” he hummed in a near whisper. “You just have to focus on me. I’ve got you.”

Her breath caught as he tilted her chin up slightly, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. He intensely gazed down at her, smouldering, seeing right through her defenses.

“And just so you know,” he added conspiratorially. “Rhea’s coming back next week.”

Posture straightening, her eyes widened. “What?”

Nodding, his thumb continued ghosting over her lip before moving it to brush along her jaw. “You didn’t hear it from me, but she’s coming back. The other’s don’t know yet, and I’m not so sure I’m gonna tell ‘em.” He watched her take a deep breath, the tension of these past three months visibly tumbling off her shoulders somewhat. “So, he continued, smiling softly. “You’ve got nothin’ to worry about, preciosa. Rhea’s gonna be back, she’s gonna put Liv in her place, but tonight? Just one bus ride. We’ll make it work. Bien?”

His hand moved to the back of her neck, his fingers threading into the roots of her hair as he came closer. “You trust me, sí?”

Still, even after his silken accent, the baritone vibrato in his affliction, she hesitated; her pride warred heavily with the undeniable pull he had over her. But alas, that was too much for her stubborn streak, and she relented with a nod and a shaky breath.

“I hate you,” she muttered, though her tone spoke otherwise.

Damian laughed, pressing a quick, almost teasing kiss to her forehead. “Nah, you love me, you’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t have the energy to argue. As he stepped back, his hand lingering on her lower back, she couldn’t help but feel like, somehow, he’d managed to win her over—again…

“Let’s go, mami,” he chided with a glance warm and lingering as he guided her over to where their bus waited. “We got a long ride.”

The bus door hissed open, and Damian stepped in first, his wide frame momentarily filling the entrance. The low hum of conversation inside the bus came to a screeching halt. Everyone was scattered throughout, their chatter dissolving into uneasy silence as they took in the tension radiating off of the two of them as they climbed aboard.

Finn leaned back in his seat, arms draped over the backrest of the bench he sat at. “Well, look who finally decided to join us.”

Damian didn’t miss a beat. “And look who still doesn’t know when to shut up.” The words were sharp but calm, delivered with the kind of controlled menace only Damian could manage. Finn’s smirk twitched, his eyes narrowing.

“C’mon, mate,” Finn said, deceptively light. “What’s the deal? You two been gone and now she’s seethin’.”

“Drop it,” Damian insisted, shrugging off his leather vest and slinging it over his arm. “You’re not as clever as you think you are, pendejo.”

Carlito chuckled from the corner, picking an apple from the fruit bowl and tossing it in his hand lazily. “Depends who you ask.”

Whilst Finn and Damian shot the shit, she took a quick glance around the space and caught Liv perched casually on one of the front seats, scrolling through her phone with her—Rhea’s—championship over her lap. The pair met eyes, and she swore she could have gone over and shoved her phone right down the blonde’s throat once she clocked the little smirk on her face. But she settled with an eye roll, trying to avoid looking back at Liv, even though she could feel her gaze burning into her from across the aisle. Stomach churning, she tightened the grip she had on the back of Damian’s shirt as she stood half-behind him. His earlier reassurance may have helped, but actually stepping onto the bus was like walking into enemy territory.

“You okay?” Dom asked out of nowhere, furrowing his brows. It was nice to see him expressing some other emotion other than sheer discomfort from Liv’s constant advances.

“I’m fine,” she nodded quickly, sending him a forced smile.

“Sure doesn’t look like it,” JD mumbled under his breath, earning a glare from Damian.

“Enough,” the champion asserted, before gesturing toward the back of the bus. “We’re heading to the back. Don’t bother us.”

Liv let out a low whistle, her eyes flicking between them with thinly veiled amusement, ghosting over the almost alarmed look on Finn’s face. “Wow, bossy much?”

Damian’s jaw tightened, but the woman still gripping onto him was the one who snapped.

“You’ve got a lot to say for someone who doesn’t even belong here.”

Liv’s smirk returned, but there was an unmistakable glimmer of irritation behind her eyes. “I’m here because someone thought I’d be a good addition to the crew for the night. Well, that, and clearly Daddy Dom needed a little TLC,” she shot a grin over at Dominik, who flushed with complete embarrassment, before she returned the smugness. “Not my fault you’re pressed about it.”

Carlito barely hid a snort in the loud crunch of his apple while Dom sank further into his seat, clearly not wanting to get involved.

Damian exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face. “Ay dios míó… Enough, sucia, you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Bálor. Just be grateful we’re not leaving you in the middle of the parking lot,” he snapped, his patience wearing thin. He then glanced over his shoulder. “Vamos. Ignore them.”

She hesitated, her eyes lingering on Liv for a beat longer. The sheer hubris in her expression made her blood boil, but Damian’s hand circling her wrist pulled her attention away.

“Come on,” he repeated, steering her toward the back.

They moved through the narrow aisle, whispers already igniting behind them. She caught snippets—something about awkwardness, something else about Finn not going after her—but she kept her chin up, refusing to let them see her crack.

The bedroom at the back of the bus was small but cozy, with a plus bench that doubled as a decent bed and soft overhead lighting. Damian shut the door behind them, the noise from the front muffled instantly.

“Finally,” she exhaled, practically flopping back against the wall and running her hands over her face. “I thought I was gonna lose it there.”

Chuckling, Damian tossed his vest onto the bench and laid down his title belt on top of it. “You handled yourself fine, hermosa.”

“Barely,” she muttered, following Damian with her eyes as he moved to lean against the wall in front of her, rather than relaxing back on the bench or even at the window. “Liv’s just lucky I didn’t pick her ass up and throw her off the bus.”

“She’s not worth it,” he said. “Let her think whatever she wants. You’ve got nothing to prove to her—or anyone else for that matter.”

She let out a frustrated whine, but conceded with a stubborn shrug. “This is going to be a long night.”

Resting her head back against the wall, she moved to look up at Damian, who had pretty much settled just across from her now. Arms folded. Intense eyes glued onto her, almost narrowed as if he were trying to pry into her thoughts.

“What?” she stifled a low laugh.

“You think it’s gonna be a long night?”

“...Yeah?”

“It won’t be if you listen to me,” he casually said.

She raised an eyebrow, a playful smile creeping onto her face for the first time that night. “Oh, yeah? What’s your master plan this time?”

Without answering immediately, he pushed off the wall, crossing the small space in a single stride. Towering over her, he placed a hand on the space beside her head, leaning in close.

“My plan,” he said smoothly, “Is to make sure you don’t think about Liv, or Finn, or anyone else for the rest of the ride.”

Like a deer caught in headlights, her heart stumbled at the intensity in his gaze. “You’re awfully confident, aren’t you?”

“Siempre,” he replied with a boyish grin. “And usually for good reason.”

She tried, with her whole chest, to ignore the way her pulse quickened, and tried to brush him off. But Damian Priest wasn’t the kind of man you could easily ignore.

A chest so wide her palm could walk across it a full four times before it covered the expanse. Ink etched into caramel skin so beautiful Mick Rock would need to adopt a whole new method just to capture its essence. Her fingers itched to trace the grooves of his body, the taut planes of his torso—carved from obsidian and bronze. A man whose physique withstood the passage of centuries. Muscles rippling beneath the ink mapping his sinuous path of past lives. Ink so black it swallowed light, swirling like the last whispers of a forgotten prayer.

“Mi vida,” he grumbled as his calloused fingertips grazed beneath the hem of her shirt. “Tan suave…”

An impatient whimper fell from her lips, her hands remained splayed on his biceps. Keeping him at a distance neither of them really wanted. 

“No corras, mi amor.” His lips teased her temple, a singular inhale allowing her scent to overwhelm him. New shampoo.

“Damian,” she managed to whisper, squeezing his sinewy arms in yet another pathetic attempt at separation. It didn’t seem to matter how many times she told him she only understood a fraction of what he spoke in that bewitching native tongue of his, he would always do it. Of course he would, she loved it.

Nevertheless, he lifted his head, gazing down at the woman in his arms with a hooded glance. Even under such subdued lighting and uneven ground, the swaying of the bus prohibiting a stable view, he just looked so… irresistible. A black Killswitch Engage shirt, obviously a tad too small, hair hanging in beautiful braids, those blue jeans he basked in whenever he got the chance. Rings on. Every. Finger.

“You spend so much time tellin’ me why you can’t.”

“Because I can’t.”

Sighing, he angled his head to the side, bringing a hand up to cup the side of her face, the cold metal of his endearing accessories bringing her back from melting completely into his hold. She was so hyper-aware of his proximity, of the others’ proximity.

“Claro, qué sí...”

“Damian–”

He quickly shut her up just by sliding his hand down to the back of her neck, his thumb massaging just behind her ear. There was no way she could resist laying her head back against the wall behind her.

Lips feathered her forehead, the intoxicating aroma of Aqua di Gio forcing her thighs together, down to her nose, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.

“You know I’ll stop if that’s what you really want, cariño.” Their hips met in one motion as his free hand gripped onto her lower back, careening her toward him. Finally, she felt the expanse of his chest, just as tough as she remembered it being, the shirt may as well have not been there. A smirk tugged at his lips, a deep chuckle rumbling from the back of his throat as her smaller hands clung to his shoulders.

“But you don’t want that, ¿verdad?”

Swallowing down the dryness that threatened to encompass her ability to utter a single word, she trembled under his touch, wanting nothing more than this gorgeous, hulking 6’5” leviathan to take her to another realm. Make her forget her name. Her birthday. Where she was. 

“N-No…” she finally admitted, meekly shaking her head.

“Then why don’t you just surrender to it, baby? It can’t harm you unless you let it.” Her lip was gently tugged downward with the pad of his thumb, only to bounce back against her teeth. “Dios mío, extraño esa boca,” he muttered, breathing in sharply through his nose.

“It’s not that easy,” she answered, glancing down at his lips as his tongue traced them like a water-starved lion. “You know it’s not that easy.”

They both knew it wasn’t so easy, and each time they acknowledged that fact, the magic faded. Every. Time. In a perfect world, surrendering to the Archer of Infamy would be the easiest thing one could ever do. But it wasn’t their world, and it wasn’t so perfect.

“I know,” Damian relented, but maintained his grip on her. “But you know it as well as I do.” He sighed her name, leaving one lingering kiss directly on her lips to hold onto until next time.

“You’ll always be mine. Reina de mi Corazón.”

His lips continued to hover near hers, his breath hot as it blanketed her space in a soft, uneven exchange with her own. He wasn’t rushing her—no, he’d never do that. He was just deliberate. Intentional. Devastatingly patient.

She knew that if she gave him this—if she surrendered, took the promise at the corner of his lascivious smile—he’d handle her with a precision no one else ever had. As if pulled by some invisible force, he angled her face up, brushing her lips against his in a feather-light kiss. And instead of pressing forward, instead of deepening the contact, Damian let her set the pace, let her linger until her nerves gave way to a quiet, shuddering exhale.

“There she is,” he murmured against her lips, like velvet sliding over her goose-pimpled skin. He cupped her face gently, his thumb grazing over her cheekbone in slow, soothing circles. “Knew you’d come back to me, baby girl.”

“Damian,” she started, her voice barely louder than a whisper, but he cut her off with a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, his lips trailing down to her ear.

“Shh, mi vida,” he coaxed, tingles from his words rippling down her neck. “I know you’re scared. I know you’re thinkin’ about all the reasons you shouldn’t.” He pressed another kiss, this time to the hollow of her throat, his hand sliding to her lower back. “But tell me, cariña… do any of those reasons feel stronger than this?”

Nails digging into his shoulders, her head tipped back involuntarily as his lips moved, prudent and proficient, against her skin. “It’s not just us, though,” she whispered wearily. “Finn’s here. They’re all here.”

Damian snickered, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through her. “Let them be,” he simply said in that effortless charm. “You think they matter to me? You think Finn matters?” He paused, lifting his head to look her in the eyes. “Finn doesn’t matter. Not in here. Not when it’s just us.”

Her heart stuttered as his hands lowered over her hips and tentatively rested on the curve of her ass, applying the smallest amount of pressure, before suddenly hiking her up the wall so she had no choice but to wrap her legs around his body. His lips were by her ear again as hummed in a low, intoxicating murmur.

“You’re nervous. I get that. But let me ask you this… has he ever made you feel the way I do? Made you laugh like I can? Made you want to crawl out of your own skin just to get closer?” Tilting her chin, he forced her to meet his gaze. “You think he could’ve made you smile the way I do? Made you lose yourself?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came; Damian’s warm hands slid around to her front, teasing the buttons on her jeans before popping the top one open. Then, his rough fingertips scaled the parameters of her waistband, comfortably tucking them beneath the fabric. He grinned at her hitched breathing, his confidence surging as his voice dropped to a near-growl.

“And don’t get me started on the rest, hermosa,” he teased. “Because I guarantee you, no one’s ever known how to take care of you the way I do. To really take care of you. Mind, body… everything.”

Damian was always attuned to her every move, every tell, as he pressed another soft kiss to her lips, this time lingering just a little longer, savouring her softness.

“Say it, mami,” he almost pleaded, popping yet another button open on her jeans. “Say you want me. Say it, and I’ll give you everything you didn’t know you’ve been needin’... todo lo que no te pudo dar.”

That was it. He knew that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Shit,” she breathed, moving to hold onto the back of his neck and pull him as close to her as she could. “I want you,” she relented, looking straight into his dreamy eyes. “I need you, Dam…”

Victorious, Damian smiled at her. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

The moment shifted like a pendulum swinging, as his arms tightened around her to hike her further up to the wall, lips claiming hers again in a no longer soft or coaxing manner. Her gasps were swallowed by his mouth as he gripped her thighs, feeling her lose some of her strength in the heat of the kiss.

“Wrap them around me,” he growled against her lips, the baritone in his voice like a physical presence. His words weren’t a request; they were a command laced with molten heat. Her legs obeyed instinctively, locking around him as her back pressed flush against the wall. He tugged at her jeans, somehow finding a way to shimmy them down to her knees before he had to let her go to let the denim fall to the floor. But she was back, clinging around him, in a matter of seconds. She barely registered the loss, as her focus was entirely on him—on the way his strength felt like a force of nature, unyielding but controlled. Hoisting her again, he bent gravity at his will.

She tugged at the roots of his braids, eliciting a low, guttural sound from deep in his chest. Even as he resumed his heated kisses against her neck, biting and nipping at her, her senses frayed at the edges.

“You taste like heaven, mi reina,” he mumbled, his voice laced with reverence, though his actions were anything but saintly. He kissed lower still, hazing her to the point where she hadn’t even realised he was lifting her higher until the tops of her thighs had hit under his arms. 

A sharp intake of hair caught in her throat as she clocked the position, yet he didn’t stop until she had no choice but to spread her legs over his broad shoulders. Damian stood as though the weight of her body was nothing more than an afterthought.

“Damian,” she breathed, trembling with a combination of exhilaration and disbelief.

He glanced up at her, a smirk curling his lips, dark and devastating. “I know how to handle you, baby, I’ve been dreamin’ of doin’ this to you.” His hands splayed over her thighs, his thumbs traced in slow, tantalising circles along her skin. “Trust me, preciosa. I’ve got you.”

Her own tongue felt too hot against her lips as she wetted them, watching as the Puerto Rican God below her peppered kisses along the band of her panties, stopping at her hip to tease the fabric with his teeth before moving to the other side to repeat the movements.

One hand braced her firmly, his long fingers splaying wide over her lower back, while the other trailed down her side and between them to tuck the tip of his pointer finger into her underwear, tugging at it so she felt the teases of cooler air hit her.

“Shit,” she gasped, her thighs tensing beside his head once he fully pulled the flimsy fabric covering her core to the side, exposing her to his face in such close proximity.

He could have melted right then and there at the sight shimmering back at him; her glistening folds just begging to be parted and worshipped. A neatly kempt, pristine little patch just above his meal—the crowning glory of her womanhood. Even as a brief flash of Finn getting to be this close to her flipped through the pages of his mind, absolutely nothing could sour this moment for him. And he was going to savour every last second of this—of her.

“Baby, you have no idea,” he whispered, adjusting his arms so his hands could easily access where he needed. “How many nights,” he continued, using his thumbs to slowly part her weeping folds, “I’ve thought about doin’ this again.” He brought his mouth as close to her centre as he could, blowing directly onto her heated slick and taking such pride in how she jolted helplessly in his arms. “You have such a pretty pussy, hermosa…”

“Damian, please…” she whimpered, attempting to grind her hips toward his face, but only encouraged him to tighten his arms around her so she couldn’t move at all. 

“Shh,” he hissed softly, turning his head to press a kiss to her thigh, before whispering under his breath as he made eye contact with her pussy. “Deja que Papí como.”

Before she could begin to respond, his lips made contact with her core, an open-mouth kiss that gave him a taste of what she had to offer—as if he didn’t already know how sweet she was.

His tongue explored slowly, languidly. Dragging gentle patterns all over her, the action creating a subtle hollowing in his cheeks as he glanced up at her. His eyes narrowed as he inched his tongue up, finally settling it on her sensitive nub, where she’d been throbbing and pulsating since he’d gotten her in this position.

“Ahh,” she panted suddenly, not expecting the jarring of her own hips. One of her hands flew up to the wall beside her, the tips of her fingers grazing the ceiling, once again reminding her of how far up the wall she’d been lifted, and that she wasn’t in some random hotel room; she was in the fucking bus.

“There it is,” he chuckled. “Already shaking for me, and I’ve barely started.”

Her other hand settled on top of Damian’s head, her fingers once again finding space in the roots of his braids as he resumed circling her clit with his tongue in slow, purposeful strokes. She could feel herself pulsate into his mouth already, and she just knew that she was soaking his chin in the process.

“You’re so sensitive here, mi amor,” he murmured, pausing just long enough to kiss her clit before flicking the tip of his tongue again. “You like that, when I focus right here?” Another flick, another jolt. “Tell me.”

She couldn’t find the words, only managing a shaky nod as her calves pulled him closer in her direction.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, a smirk evident in his tone. “But you gotta keep quiet for me, baby girl, we don’t want Finn hearing, do we?”

The reminder sent a thunderbolt of adrenaline through her, and she pressed her hand over her mouth to muffle the small moan that escaped as Damian ducked his head and sucked her clit into his mouth, applying just the right amount of pressure as he ate her out like he knew she needed. Her eyes fluttered shut and her head tilted back as she embraced the feeling of his tongue moving back and forth, side to side, any and all ways all over her pussy, putting intense focus on her beating clit just how she liked it.

“Good girl…” His voice came as gravel and silk. “Doin’ so well for me. Lemme hear those little noises—just for me.”

She tried, but every movement of his mouth, of his tongue, even the gentle scraping of his teeth against her, had her trembling uncontrollably. Her body strained against him, her toes curling in her heeled boots as she tried to keep her balance atop his shoulders, but Damian’s grip was steadfast.

As his head started bobbing with his actions, her sense of reality stretched further and further away from her consciousness, and all she wanted to do was take all of that thick dick deep inside her, like she remembered doing so long ago. Wanted to make him grunt and groan, to leave his mark on her, in her, ruin her for everyone else.

“Shit, shit, D–fuck, don’t stop,” she panted quietly, her jaw clenching as she kept her noises to a minimum. “Papí…”

“Sí, mami. Let me have you.”

As he drooled and salivated all over her pussy, he let out a low growl against her, and that’s what did it for her. She couldn’t stop herself from banging the palm of her hand on the wall behind her as she came so hard into his mouth, her back arching painfully as she let out strained grunts and strangled whimpers.

The hand that had a tight grip on Damian’s head flew up to her mouth, her nails digging into her own face as she tried to muffle the cries. He wouldn’t stop. His tongue kept moving over her pulsing bud, abusing the pressure point like he would a popsicle on the verge of melting. He wanted to drain every last bit of her pleasure until she couldn’t stand being hoisted all the way up on the wall anymore—until the idea of staying upright caused unease. 

But when her tremors subsided, only left with the sheen on his chin and a shiver up her spine, he finally lifted his head with a wicked grin full to the brim with pride.

“I could do that shit all night, hermosa,” he said through a ragged exhale. “But I think you might be a little too sensitive for that. For now.”

Easing her back down the wall, his grip remained firm but tender, as though she were to break at the slightest mishandling. Her legs slipped from his shoulders, trembling slightly as they found solid ground again. Still, she was catching her breath, her body flushed and buzzing.

Both of them were oblivious to the rhythmic thuds her earlier ecstasy had caused against the wall—a sound that surely hadn’t gone unnoticed beyond the small space.

Her body slid against the wall, her legs wobbling under her so much that Damian kept one arm around her to steady her.

“You good?” His voice was softer now, the teasing edge replaced with a gentleness that somehow made her chest twist and ache.

She nodded, her forehead falling against his shoulder as she tried to regulate her breathing. “I… yeah. That was…” Words escaped her completely, overtaken with some kind of erotic brain fog.

Damian chuckled low, his breath warm against her temple. “I know,” he mumbled. “You don’t have to say it.”

Just as she lifted her head to look at him, he silenced the prospect of further words with a slow, delicate kiss. She could taste herself on him—the aroma, the zest, the intimacy of it. A potent reminder of what had just transpired.

Groaning softly into the kiss, she pulled back only slightly. “That’s… that’s me,” she whispered hazily, with embarrassment and arousal.

“Yeah,” Damian said, a wicked grin apparent as he ran his tongue along her bottom lip. “You taste fuckin’ amazing, mami. And you know what? Now you’ll never forget it…”

Her breath caught in her throat as his words sank in, his confidence so intoxicating that it left her dizzy.

“Papí…” she almost quivered.

“Hmm?” He leaned in again, brushing his lips over hers, not quite kissing her. “Something you wanna say, or you just gonna stand there thinkin’ about how I had you shaking for me?”

Before she could respond, he stepped back, his hands still lingering on her hips as though he wasn’t ready to let her go. He turned slightly to retrieve her jeans from where they’d been discarded in a heap on the floor. He handed them to her with a crooked grin.

“Better put these on before I change my mind about you being too sensitive, mi vida,” he said, half-seriously and half-playfully.

She took them, her fingers brushing against his as she did, but instead of the sound of her raspy, worn-out voice constructing an answer, the soft click of the doorknob turning caught their attention.

In an instant, Damian’s hand shot out, pressing against the door with casual strength, holding it firmly shut. The sheer ease with which he managed it was almost more arousing than anything else he’d done so far, his palm flat against the wood like it weighed nothing.

“I thought I said not to bother us,” Damian called, brooking no argument with a sharp and commanding edge.

There was a pause on the other side, and then JD’s voice floated through, apologetic but amused. “We’re stoppin’ for gas in a bit. Just thought you’d want to know.”

“Pendejo…” Damian huffed, his annoyance clear, but his hand didn’t move from the door. Instead, he leaned over in her direction, lowering his voice as he whispered, “He’s lucky I’m in a good mood.”

She stifled a laugh, the absurdity of the situation settling in. But Damian, being the kind of unflappable man he was, shifted his focus back to it entirely.

“Alright,” he said loud enough for JD to hear, almost dismissively. “You’ve said your piece. Ve dale.”

There was a boyish laugh from the other side, and the sound of retreating footsteps followed. Damian waited a beat longer, ensuring their privacy, before letting his hand drop and turning his attention back to her.

“See, preciosa? Easy!” He wiped his hands together, brushing the existence of the others off his shoulder.

“You’re insane,” she grinned up at him.

“Maybe,” he smiled back unrepentantly. “Don’t tell me you don’t like it all of a sudden.”

She rolled her eyes, but the truth was undeniable. He stepped toward her, his fingers trailing lightly down her arm before catching her wrist and pulling her into his chest so he could take her fully into his arms.

“When we get to the next city,” he stared, his voice muffled against her hair. “I’m booking us a room. No interruptions, no walls, no keeping quiet. Just you and me.”

Humming in acceptance, and almost contentment, she angled her head to the side so she could speak to him. “And then?” she asked softly.

“And then…” he echoed, lowering a hand down to her ass, where he unashamedly grabbed a handful. “Then you can ride Papi all you want, baby girl. All night, however you want me.”

Her cheeks burned, but the elated grin she gave him let him know he’d hit the mark.

“Gas stop’s not gonna take long,” he said. “It’s just enough time for me to think about everything I’m gonna do to you later. But for now…”

He pulled his head back to look down into her eyes.

“Behave, mi amor. Or Papi might not be able to wait that long…”

Translations: Ya basta - Enough’s enough Cariña - Sweetheart/darling/term of endearment Mi vida - My life/term of endearment Preciosa - Precious/term of endearment Pendejo - Idiot/dumbass/dummy Ay dios mio - My God Sucia - Dirty Hermosa - Pretty Siempre - Always Tan suave - So soft No corras, mi amor - No running, sweetheart/my love Claro, qué sí - Yes, you can ¿Verdad? - Right?/No?

Dios mío, extraño esa boca - My God, I miss that mouth

Reina de mi Corazón - Queen of my Heart

Todo lo que no te pudo dar - Everything he couldn’t give you

Deja que Papí coma - Let Daddy eat

Ve dale - Now go

[mullermilkshake]

Meet the cast

Readers of the JJKYakuza! AU

EDIT: Forgot to say, this song has absolutely nothing to do with that time period but I love it and I think it suits the post :3

Yakuza!JJK men x Fem!readers.

Sukuna, Satoru, Suguru, Kento, Toji, Choso

Though each piece of writing I do is how the reader would like to read it, each one I write has naturally written themselves personalities though I’ve tried to be a little vague to keep immersion as linear as possible. I also keep it as second person because I just prefer writing that way.

Each reader is Fem!reader, but some shorts/ fics could be read as Afab! I will indicate where the reader is definitely Fem! The pronouns I use most of the time are She/Her. I purposely try and leave certain details to be as inclusive as I can.

I'll update as the characters write themselves and if there are any new non- platonic/platonic interests reveal themselves.

So, without further ado, I'm pleased to introduce to you properly, the readers of my JJK Yakuza AU.

Enjoy!

Sukuna's wife

You are determined, self assured and despite what Sukuna puts on display for the clan to see, you most definitely wear the pants in this marriage.

Sukuna just hates to admit it.

You have him inadvertently wrapped around your little finger. Your adaptability proves useful in the world of the Yakuza and took well to stepping up and being the Chairman’s wife after an impromptu marriage proposal.

It slipped from Sukuna's lips and he's never regretted asking you the way he did. He was almost speechless when you gave Nanami the answer to pass along and he was married to you within the month.

Determined is one way to put it. You aren’t indecisive and you know what you want in life to reach out and grab it.

One thing that turns Sukuna on every time is that glare you have when you are angry. Though you don't show it, it's an expression that verges on lustrous.

And Sukuna is addicted to it.

Satoru's girlfriend

You are timid at times but you're coming out of your shell each and every day. You make Satoru want to be a better man after all the fucked up shit he's done and continues to do.

So kind spirited, humble and charitable.

You care deeply for Satoru and it's sometimes hard for him to see that. He knows he's difficult to be with sometimes yet you never point his flaws out or put him down.

It's one of your perfect traits. Loving him unconditionally.

Yakuza life irks you at times and Satoru see's the worry that builds up behind your eyes, but again, you don't forbid him from his family or ask him to cut that part of him off.

Not many people would put up with the tomfoolery he brings to your front door.

But you do.

Suguru's wife.

'Behind each successful man, theres a woman holding him up.' This is something Suguru stands by and believes wholeheartedly.

You are fully aware of Suguru's involvement with the Yakuza and at times, you even actively encourage it. Being the person you are and how long you've known Suguru, you allow him to take care of what's needed to be done. Even hurting bad people so long there's a reason to do so.

Suguru's conscience is something you hold dear to your heart and have always made it clear that you don't want him losing his way.

That being said, you are one hell of a mama bear to the girls. Whenever, albeit on rare occasions when the girls are threatened, you don't wait for Suguru to deal with it.

You'd happily take on the entire Yakuza to keep his girls safe and Suguru is certain you'd win hands down too.

It's a dominant trait and at times it’s something that Suguru is scared of. Because you really are the one in charge and he loves that about you.

Kento's single (currently)

Though single, you have caught his eye and Kento wishes to speak to you in person. As someone who's bubbly and charming, you are incredibly elusive whenever Kento does his best to converse with you in person.

You have no idea he exists and how many times he's tried to speak with you. Something always gets in the way.

There's still so much of you that Kento wants to learn about and the only way he'll do that is to build up the courage and speak to you.

Kindness is something common in your vocabulary and you do it everyday with a smile.

What's your favourite movie, weather or season? How much do you enjoy to read that same book you have stuffed into your purse whenever he sees you reading in that coffee shop?

These are all things he wants to know, and eventually he'll get his wish just to hear your voice with his own hears again instead of on a monitor screen in his office.

Toji's girlfriend

Wow. You were more than everything Toji could have actually anticipated when he first met you.

You grew comfortable around him around the six month mark and now, Toji lives with you and watches you walk around the apartment naked just because you can.

Toji admires your confidence and the fact you don't question him wherever he goes. Clinginess is something he avoids and your independence is attractive.

Your personality is still yet to be fully developed with him, and that's because he isn't sure how you'll react when you eventually find out that he is involved with the Yakuza.

He has an suspicion that you might join the pieces together, but your independence stops you badgering him. So for now it's manageable.

Still, you'll find out sooner or later and Toji has no idea if you'll see him differently after learning his past and present.

Until then, he’ll have faith in your kindness.

Choso's dating

While everything is still new for Choso, you are still a breath of fresh air for him.

It's early days and there's much healing to be had with how your ex died. (Another Yakuza guy who was a massive dick.)

You love animals and seem to be the least judgemental person he's ever met. You never look at the scar across his face and look at him like he's an actual human being.

Unlike how Sukuna glares at him.

Your voice is soothing to his ears, someone who makes him feel safe as he finds his own identity in the Yakuza. You don't know he's Yakuza yet but Choso plans to come clean soon.

He's not sure how you'll react when he's sure you didn't know your ex was Yakuza either. Though based off of the pleasant warm aura you emit to brighten up any room, he prays you'll see that he's more than just someone involved in crime when he tries to actively avoid it.

[akitossohma]

i wanted to say your post about lu guang's morality is currently my favorite thing ever. im not sure if you're just incredibly smart or have the gift of prophecy but you are so right and the post is very very good

hi! i'm so glad you enjoy my post >.<

i tragically do not have the gift of prophecy, but i'm happy to explain my reasoning! spoilers ahead.

first off, i wanna say that when i made that post, it was less of a prediction and more of a reading of what the show had already laid out.

i've seen a few detractors of my post on twitter, all of them saying things along the lines of "this is a misguided take because lg is selfless. lg only killed vein bc vein killed csx. we have no proof that lg is sacrificing others." there's a lot to pick apart with these rebuttals, and i'll get to that, but i feel there is one essential point they are all missing: time travel in an of itself is an act of hubris.

going back in time with the intention of changing the past is one born out of great hubristic selfishness. anyone doing so is automatically (and wrongfully) assuming the role of a god.

the show is well aware of this. take the earthquake arc for example. as csx takes it upon himself to try and evacuate the village, lg points out that in doing so, he could end up inadvertently killing more people. this is because the butterfly effect is uncertain and lg knows this. that whole interaction functions two-fold. one: it establishes that the narrative itself is aware of the stakes here. it is an in-universe acknowledgment that changing the past, even if it's to save lives, is extremely risky and ultimately selfish. two: it establishes that lg is very aware of this truth, which is what makes the s2 reveal so shocking. despite being aware of the consequences, lg is still trying to change the past to save csx.

it also tells us that lg's steadfastness about csx not changing the past is likely born out of a fear of csx accidentally messing up the timeline lg is cultivating, and not out of some noble effort to minimize their impact on others' lives, which is how it was previously framed. all this evidence paints a very clear picture: lu guang is not the morally just character we once thought. he is placing his own happiness above literally everyone else's wellbeing. yes he is trying to save csx, but he's only doing that because he can't stomach the idea of living without him. his motivations are objectively selfish at their core.

back to the detractors: i feel some people are conflating lg's actions being done out of love for his actions also being selfless. and while i agree there is an (albeit twisted) form of love behind all this, there is nothing selfless about what he's doing. why does lg get to decide what the future should hold? why does any one man get the final say on what happens to the rest of the world, and all the billions of rich lives within it? hell, why does he even get to decide what happens to csx? yes he's acting under the pretense of saving csx, but does csx even want to be saved? would csx even be okay with what he's doing? i honestly don't think so. when csx believed lg had died, he contemplated using his powers to go back in time and save him, but ultimately decided against it because as far as he was concerned, lg wouldn't approve. he understands the potential chain reaction that comes from saving even one life because lg drilled it into his head. even if he is impulsive to a fault, at the end of the day, csx would never want to cause harm to others, especially not at this magnitude.

even if this effort to change the past/future fails, the fact that he was willing to take this massive risk in the first places says a lot about his priorities and overall character. while he probably doesn't actively want to sacrifice others, he absolutely will if it means keeping csx in his life saving csx.

in this most recent episode, just minutes before killing vein, he says to him, "do you know the butterfly effect? in a dynamic system, any subtle change in the initial conditions may lead to different outcomes. i've been thinking how to change a destined ending completely. if there is an additional point before this, an unchangeable point, what will happen? no need to fear the deviation. just let it happen more completely." lg killed vein partly out of revenge yes, but also to create another unchangeable node in the timeline. he is trying to secure csx's future by taking another life.

and none of this is even touching on how lg possessed a woman's body, which is a COMPLETE violation of her autonomy, to kill vein, knowing damn well she'd take the fall for his murder. lol.

so yeah. lu guang is (and always has been) a selfish, immoral bastard (she said with love), and the writers were very deliberate in setting that up.

there's so much more i could say on this but then this would get way too long, which it already lowkey is haha. thank you for the ask! i genuinely appreciate the opportunity to word vomit all this <3

[scenesniper]

You are my hero 😭 as a nonbinary afab person, I feel like almost all fanfics are meant for cis women. If it’s alright, could I request sfw &/or nsfw headcanons for Aesop please? It’s totally okay if not, thank you for your posts regardless 💜

☆ aesop carl ; general sfw & nsfw headcanons

pairing / aesop carl x afab gn! reader

disclaimer / possession, jealous themes, dacryphilia, overstimulation, mutual & guided masturbation, clothed fingering, mentions of being sex obsessed

word count / 1,346 words

author's note / thank you anon, i'm honored to know that you seen with my works! i went a bit far while writing this and i'm honestly shocked as i thought i didn't write as much.

SFW

☆ aesop carl is a quiet, reserved man. he keeps to himself, something that everyone knows all too well. he’s neat and tidy, nothing is ever misplaced as long as it’s aesop carl’s belongings. visitors would visit the mortuary and the sight of aesop being in charge was considered to be a blessing in that little town, a good sign as yours or your loved one’s will would be properly passed on by his respectable hands.

☆ meeting you and getting to know you, he’s unsure on what to think of you as. you’re just an inexplicable mystery to him. in fact, there’ll probably be times where he would believe what he feels for you is loathing.

☆ if you’re quiet, he’ll still think of you as annoying albeit he’s fond to those silent. if you’re loud and chatty, he’ll want to just shut up and imagine you still and dead but then felt uncomfortable with the idea of you dead, a thought he’s unfamiliar with.

☆ he will find your presence more bearable over time but would keep to himself, only truly looking at you in the distance. he wouldn’t pursue you per se, it would start off slow, aesop believing he’s involving himself in your life with the occasional nod and a greeting regarding the time of day (which only happens little often as aesop doesn’t want to admit, he yearns for an emotional connection with you).

☆ if by a miracle, he shows a bit of himself to you, take that opportunity as fast as you can as he’s fast to hide back in his shell. aesop is a listener. if you have a lot to say, he’ll listen despite not being very interested in what people tend to say, he’ll hyperfocus on you. if you’re not much of a talker, he enjoys your silent company. he’s not very fond of small talk, he prefers long and detailed conversations with depth.

☆ aesop randomly thinking about you during his day, whether it’s when he’s doing his job or he’s out late at night with little to no energy but a mere little lunch, that’s when he knows that there is something about you that his subconscious just desires. aesop is a possessive and easily jealous man but even he, himself does not acknowledge that. he feels entitled over you.

☆ getting to date aesop carl, you will have to be very patient as he prefers having it at his pace. it’ll start off with his shoulders brushing against yours, a quick glance at your direction, discreetly holding your wrist. you seriously questioned if he even liked you.

☆ aesop is a private man and is not a big fan of intimacy or public displays of affection. he hasn’t touched many people in his life, minus the dead bodies that he has to attend to. so for that very reason, he’s highly sensitive to the touch of another.

☆ once he does get a bit more comfortable (which will still take quite some more time), he’s prone to being easily flustered by you and your actions. if you got too impatient by his advances and started to lead the relationship, he gets very flustered by avoiding your gaze and covering his mouth, inadvertently unaware that he’s wearing a face covering.

☆ kissing with aesop is like a quick dream. not that it’s heavenly, but it goes by so far you can barely register anything of it and question what it even was. at first, he’ll give you quick pecks on the lips and call it a day. as you grow closer with him, those quick pecks would turn into needy kisses for you.

☆ he needs to feel you, skin to skin. your warmth and your little quiver, memorize the shape of your lips and mold his mouth with yours. he’s an absolute messy kisser (and not that very good with it). he’ll try to reciprocate your actions if you try your best to amend his awkward kissing but it’s all for naught. aesop is a fast learner and will learn but when he wants you, no, needs you, and you’re looking at him with that beautiful look that he so loves. he’s just going to go in with no thoughts attached behind it.

NSFW

☆ aesop isn’t the kind to touch himself, really, he’s never paid attention to his physical needs. never having anything to really think about while touching himself, he found it completely dull and tiring. until you, his muse. he’ll pleasurably touch himself to thought of you inside the confines of his bedroom with only a singular candle, its’ light dying away deep in the night. the guilt questionable as he got off more to how disrespectful he felt.

☆ having sex with aesop, he sees sex as something so intimate that it should only be kept in the bedroom and the bedroom only. he will be viewing your body more of like an examination as he does with corpses, his gaze not timid. he’ll touch the areas he’s expecting reactions from you and drag his gloved finger on your body, just for you to squirm over his cold touch.

☆ he’s average in size, it’s skinny but he does know how to use it. he loves doing all sorts of positions with you, each night a new position. he wants to feel all sorts of intimacy with you in every way possible. he loves to pin your hands above your head, your wrists would over time begin to strain from the pressure he’s giving your wrists.

☆ if you wear lipstick, he loves it plastered all over his collar. he finds it so appealing. he absolutely loves tears in the bedroom and god does he have an orgasm fixation. cry for him, whine for him, beg for him. gasp his name and hold him tight by his shoulders or grip his thighs. he loves to wipe your tears. “shh darling.. you’re so good so far.”

☆ mutual and guided masturbation. he loves being enchanted by the sight of you, staring at him in such a vulnerable state. he can’t contain himself, he has to touch himself as well. he loves guided masturbation for both ways, especially you directing him where he can and where he can’t touch to those areas that needs the most attention. he loves to be in control of your autonomy in this way, hearing you beg him. it’s serene.

☆ he doesn’t like the being all sweaty and your heated bodies touching one another so most of the overstimulating is from him fingering you. he does it with his gloves, in a trance every time he sees your essence staining his clothed fingers by the end of it every night. he loves to admire your cum seeping out but quickly tries to clean it up with his fingers as he’s not a big fan of the mess.

☆ once aesop has felt and got sex on his mind, he’s going to be completely sex obsessed. he’s always thinking about you with little to no clothing, in a cute little lace lingerie. those are the thoughts that’s been keeping him going after a tiring day at work. all he can think about is him being inside you, his fingers on your body and inside that perfect spot that he knows will have your back arching every time.

☆ aftercare with aesop is him always cleaning up. there will always be a bath followed immediately after he finishes changing the sheets and wiping your body off, preferably bathing together as he feels after a physically charged act with one another, this simple act of familiarity makes it feel more like he’s living.

☆ after the bath, he will rest in bed with you either being up for a few more minutes thinking about the littlest of things and salvage the importance of this memory. he’ll lean in with a forehead kiss, for the first few moments in his life, he’s finally content with his life. “rest well, doll.”

[nahoney22]

wondering if you could do something fluffy with Tech where he walks in on reader (f) singing softly to herself and he’s completely enamoured and mesmerised please? Many thanks and congratulations on the following - that’s awesome 👏🏻 ❤️

Songbird

Tech X F!Reader

word count: 1.8k

When Tech hears you singing for the first time, he can’t help but fall for you just a little more and let slip his feelings.

warnings: SFW, fluff only, mutual pining, non-established relationship, first kiss. Crosshair being a wingman.

authors note: such a cute idea! I’m definitely missing him this season 🥺 hope this is okay anon and again, as always, sorry for the wait 🤍

Tech found himself perplexed by the notion of Crosshair's teasing when he began to declare that he, Tech himself, harbored feelings for you. He wasn't programmed for emotional attachment; his purpose was solely to fulfill his duties and utilise his expertise. Yet, as he contemplated Crosshair's jests and observed you with what he could only interpret as affection, he began to entertain the possibility that his brother might be onto something.

But of course at first, he dismisses it.

“Are you going to look me in the eye and tell me she,” Crosshair looks to you from across the threshold and then locks eyes with Tech, “is not pretty?”

“I do not recall ever saying that she wasn’t.” Tech states with a frown. “Any sane person would find her beautiful-.”

Crosshair said nothing as Tech ate his words, his mouth tight lipped at his spill. Crosshair could only smirk before he strolls away.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he scours his mind for a pinpoint in time where this crush had emerged; yet all he could find was that as he recalled being In your presence, his heart would race. His hands even fidgeted and his gaze lingered on you as you leaned over him, demonstrating a curiosity for his tinkering or the contents of his datapad.

Now that he thinks about it, he would try and control his breathing, not wanting to sound breathless when you asked him something. All the whilst Crosshair would smirk knowingly from across the ship. He was rather grateful he maintained the discretion not to divulge his feelings to you.

He knew he had to do some reasearch on this after recognising his unfamiliar emotions and so sought guidance from the holonet later that night. Though, he was unwilling to express his sentiments until he comprehended them himself. Thus, he opted to bide his time and maybe this will pass.

It did not.

As days turned into weeks, his affection for you only swelled. Simply witnessing you smiling at Omega or indulging in a mundane activity like blowing steam off your morning caf on your bunk brought a smile to his face. And despite his efforts to suppress these newfound emotions, he found the prospect of harbouring feelings for someone exhilarating. Albeit marred by bouts of jealousy, particularly when he observed a bartender attempting to woo you with pickup lines one time.

One warm evening, Tech finds himself outside the Marauder, engrossed in his weekly maintenance routine. Assuming you had accompanied the others into town for potential work opportunities, he's startled by your gentle greeting, causing him to inadvertently collide with a metal pole, eliciting a pained reaction.

“Tech!” Concerned, you rush to his side, apologising for the unexpected interruption. “I am so, so sorry! I thought you knew I was here?”

With a weak smile of reassurance, Tech brushes off the incident, though his heart races as you approach, your proximity sending a warmth to his cheeks. "I can confirm that I was not aware of your presence, but accidents happen.” Despite his attempt to maintain composure, your tender gesture—placing a hand on his face and tilting his head gently to the side to inspect him—sends a wave of warmth through him, momentarily leaving him flustered. "T-There is nothing to fret over," he added, his voice faltering slightly, though you seemed oblivious to his nervousness.

"No," you said softly, amusement dancing in your eyes as you smiled at him. "But there's nothing wrong with checking you over. Is there?" As you express your concern with a voice so soft and somehow alluring, his resolve wavers, unable to resist your caring demeanor. Succumbing to your gentle attention, he allows you to fuss over him, though he had initially insisted he was fine.

It was almost impossible for Tech not to melt under your gaze. "I suppose not, no.”

“So,” you begin, breaking out of the trance as you step back, “need any help with anything?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Tech, seizing the opportunity, requests your aid in powering up the ship, knowing your familiarity with the process from observing him countless times. Eagerly, you agree, practically bouncing with anticipation at the prospect of taking control of the Marauder's systems.

With a nod of confirmation, Tech passed you his datapad, meticulously detailing the steps for initiating the ship's systems from the pilot's seat.

To his relief, yet not entirely surprised, you flawlessly executed the instructions, following them to the letter and giving him your undivided attention. Another trait he mentally noted as a reason why he might harbor feelings for you.

After explaining over the comm channel that he would wrap up his work outside, Tech took just a few minutes to complete his tasks before returning up the gangplank. Yet, a soft noise caught his attention, causing him to pause in curiosity.

Quietly approaching the cockpit, Tech was taken aback when he heard it—your voice, singing softly. Entranced, he felt as though his entire being had turned to jelly, captivated by the angelic melody that seemed to cast a spell over him. Accompanying the serenade was the gentle hum of music from a makeshift radio, a project that you and Omega had persuaded him to undertake some time ago.

Normally indifferent to such things, Tech found himself utterly enchanted, simply content to stand and watch you. Seated in the pilot's seat with your eyes closed, swinging side to side slowly and lost in your own world, you appeared ethereal. It almost seemed a shame to interrupt you, but Tech couldn't resist the urge to linger a little longer, soaking in the enchanting moment.

As you swung around in the chair a bit too much, you ended up facing Tech directly. “Oh hi Tech!” You grin as you stand and approach him. “Are the repairs done?”

He found himself momentarily frozen, struggling to find his voice. When he finally spoke, it was not in response to your question about the repairs. "I wasn't aware that you could sing well," he remarked, his words lacking their usual technical precision.

Your laughter rang out softly as you tilted your head, teasing him gently. "I wasn't aware that I could either. Are you sure you didn't hit your head too hard?" you joked, though a hint of modesty coloured your words. However, as you noticed the earnestness in Tech's gaze, you began to reconsider.

"You sing beautifully," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your smile faltered slightly, replaced by a look of concern as you approached him. This was not like Tech to be so shy. You reach out to him once more, your touch gentle as you inspected his face for any signs of injury that you may have missed.

Closing his eyes, Tech savoured the sensation of your fingers against his skin, his thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. In a moment of vulnerability, his carefully guarded emotions spilled out before he could stop them. "I have romantic feelings for you."

Your eyes widened slowly, mirroring his realisation, as he watched the weight of his confession settle between you. Dropping your hand and meeting his gaze, you processed his words with a mix of surprise and disbelief. "Wait, what? You serious?"

Tech swallowed hard, his heart racing as he grappled with the consequences of his impulsive admission. "Yes, I am," he affirmed, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him.

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, punctuated only by the soft hum of the ship's systems and the radio that still played in the background. Then, with a deep breath, you spoke again, your expression a mixture of confusion and curiosity. "I... I don't know what to say," you admitted, your words tentative as you processed the revelation.

Tech's gaze remained fixed on you, his vulnerability laid bare in the openness of his confession. "I understand if you need time to think, I… I shall leave you to your thoughts. I hope this has not jeopardised our friendship.” He offered quietly, his tone gentle as he turned to walk away.

“Tech, wait.” As you reached out to stop him, Tech's movements slowed, his gaze shifting to where your hand rested on his wrist. A wave of warmth spread through him as your touch lingered, guiding his attention to the intertwining of your fingers, a simple gesture that held a world of meaning.

"I never expected you to feel the same way," you whispered softly, your voice a gentle caress against the stillness of the cockpit. Tech turned to face you fully, his heart racing as he met your gaze, searching for any hint of uncertainty or hesitation.

His breath caught in his throat as he tried to process your words, his mind reeling with disbelief and hope in equal measure. "'The same way'?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes locked on yours.

You nodded, a tender smile gracing your lips, a smile that seemed to light up the dimly lit space around you. "Of course. Why do you think I always stay behind or bother you with questions about tasks?" you teased, the playful lilt in your voice bringing a sense of ease to Tech's racing thoughts.

A surge of relief washed over him, the weight of uncertainty lifting from his shoulders as he realised the depth of your feelings mirrored his own. "I did not think you would reciprocate your feelings for me. At all. I am not the most ideal—" he began, his words faltering under the weight of vulnerability.

"Don't," you interrupted, your voice firm yet gentle, refusing to let him diminish himself in your eyes. "I think you are perfect."

A soft exhale escaped Tech's lips, his chest tightening with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. Gently squeezing your hand, he found solace in the warmth of your touch, reassuring him this was not a dream. "This is very gratifying to hear, I confess. But I must admit I do not know where to go from here."

Your eyes sparkled with anticipation, a hint of desire lacing your voice as you leaned in closer, closing the distance between you. "If it's not too soon, may I propose a kiss?"

A soft chuckle escaped Tech's lips, his eyes softening as he drew you nearer, his free hand finding its way to your waist, drawing you into his embrace. "I'd be happy to oblige."

Leaning down, Tech closed the remaining space between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss that spoke volume. The galaxy seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of your touch, the rhythm of your breaths, and the gentle cadence of your shared kiss.

Your hands move to the back of his neck, your body flushed against his eliciting a soft moan of satisfaction. With fingers tangled in his hair and his hand tightening around your waist, Tech felt a sense of completeness wash over him, knowing that he had found something truly special in you. “May I suggest you sing more often by the way?”

“If this is the result I get. Of course.”

Masterlist

More Tech Works

Tags: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf f @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @mssbridgerton @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @imalovernotahater @whore4rex x @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder r @lulalovez @mysticalgalaxysalad @photogirl894 @id-rather-be-a-druid @the-bad-batch-baroness

[thecapricunt1616]

Patchouli - (C.B. oneshot)

𝓢𝓷𝓲𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓽 (𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓑𝓣𝓒): Carmen would stumble in - long after you’d fallen asleep, albeit cursing himself for not being home earlier before you’d fallen asleep to your true crime shows, so you’d kneel at his feet as you usually did, and untie his sneakers for him, before gently coaxing him out of the shoes like the earth-ridden angel you were since his back was fucking aching after his near 16 hour day. He would silently slink into the bathroom, take a quick shower - just enough to scrub off the dirt, sweat, and kitchen smell from the day. Before he’d carefully pad to bed and do whatever he could to assure you felt oh so good to start off your solo-weekend together.

♡ Summary: carm is a munch. What else do you need to know?

♡ W/C: 1300

♡ Posted Date: 4/20/24 (blaze it)

♡ A/N: pure porn lol (prequel to Peonies)

♡ Warnings for BTC: smut. Pussy eating ass smut. this is fully unedited because I’m a lazy sack of shit we die like men.

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡

➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡

Carmy was nothing short of addicted to the taste of your pussy.

Like - he nearly found it embarrassing for Christ’s sake. He would get hard thinking about it, Jesus, his fucking mouth watered.

He’d tried the best food in the whole world- the most talented chefs would nearly beg for him to taste their art - but nothing was more decadent than your homemade liquor on his tongue.

He worked extra late on Friday evenings, since it was the busiest night at the restaurant. Date nights, birthday celebrations, any celebration- really that was big enough to warrant going to one of the only Michelin star restaurants in Chicago usually happened Fridays.

Carmen would stumble in - long after you’d fallen asleep, albeit cursing himself for not being home earlier before you’d fallen asleep to your true crime shows, so you’d kneel at his feet as you usually did, and untie his sneakers for him, before gently coaxing him out of the shoes like the earth-ridden angel you were since his back was fucking aching after his near 16 hour day.

He would silently slink into the bathroom, take a quick shower - just enough to scrub off the dirt, sweat, and kitchen smell from the day. Before he’d carefully pad to bed and do whatever he could to assure you felt oh so good to start off your solo-weekend together.

Carmy would come into the bedroom, damp, dripping curls from his shower, and ever so gently crawl between your sleeping supple, thick thighs. He felt welcome. As if you were asking him- no. Begging him- to devour your sweet silky luscious heat as soon as he’d got through the door.

This was coming home, at least to him- his true home was between your thighs, sucking and lapping at your folds until the both of you were sore. When you’d whine about it in the morning, he’d kindly make up for it and place the gentlest, most filthy kisses to your mound and nether lips, whispering sweet sorrys to your cunt and ‘promising to be gentler with her next time’ - he never was.

He hummed gently, dragging his heavy, knife calloused fingers over your clit. Your hips inadvertently jerked into his hand, it was only natural.

There would be times he would just simply lay there after an orgasm of yours, in a filthy, horny trance, thrusting his expert fingers oh so carefully into your seeping (embarrassingly wet) and over sensitive hole - slow and light due to the muscle being so so overused, almost achingly so - before taking them out and spreading the digits to see how sticky and messy you were.

“mmm someone was playin’ with herself before I got home?” He said, just barely a whisper.

He pressed his lips to yours, before gently taking the right one into his mouth and sucking the overly sensitive flesh between his lips. His tattooed hands gently rub over your thighs, squeezing the skin, hard enough to leave bruises, and his eyes fluttering shut, every stress of the day melting away. It was as if the man had an oral fucking fixation with your clit, with your folds. The way he’d suck and flick and kiss them - it was like he was playing a goddamn game.

He eagerly spread your lips with his ring and middle finger admiring how wet you were. “Absolutely - how dirty mmm? My filthy little girl” he he whispered, tonguing the wetness over your weeping hole and holding back a moan at your sweet, musky flavor.

Carmy relished in the way your core clenched around nothing, and the sweetest most gentle whimper fell from your lips. “Shhhh” he cooed, placing a kiss to your clit that made your thigh twitch

“I’m takin care’f ya’ - don’worry” he said softly, licking a hot wet stripe from the curve of your ass to the very top of your slit, flicking his tongue over your clit in the way that made you shiver.

Even in your sleep, you widened your legs for him to give better access to the delicious sensation that was lapping up the moisture that was starting to drip and tickle. It wasn’t long until you were roused, a small sleepy smirk coming to your lips.

“Mmmm thanks Bear” you muttered, lazily finding his curls and gently pushing them off his forehead. He reached his hand up to your stomach, palm up to you, lightly wiggling his fingers on your flesh. Allthough you refused to open your eyes, you felt the action and knew what he wanted.

You found his hand easily, lacing your fingers together and pulling his hand to your lips, kissing each knuckle as he kissed and sucked your folds. As he nudged your clit with his nose you gasped lightly, looking down at him in the dim light.

“Yes- like that baby- feels good, work ok lovey?” You gently tug his curls and he looked up at you, lustblown eyes and a wet nose he looked like a puppy this way.

“Mm. Ok. Marcus f’got a huge cake order. Kinda’a mess” he muttered before sticking out his tongue, slack jawed and adorable, slobbering over your pussy like a man starved.

You nearly giggled at the action but couldn’t as a moan passed your lips you couldn’t hold in if you tried. “Such a good puppy” you moaned quietly “so good t’me Carmy, I fuckin love you” you gasped, thighs nearly smushing his cheeks as he nipped at the sensitive flesh

“That’s new” he hummed, kissing your clit as he reached down with his other hand and slipped 2 fingers easily in your dripping entrance. Your back arched off the bed, electricity shooting through your thighs and abdomen, core clenching around his fingers, nearly sucking him in.

“Cus’y so good bear. Such a good boy” you praised, gasping as he starts flicking his tongue over your clit “shhh-ahh! Mmm! Thas’it. Thaaaatsit” you slurred, the coil in your stomach heating up and threatening to snap- and soon.

He moans into your clit, the vibration causing your hips to jerk and he leans his strong forearm around your luscious hips. “Still” he mumbled the order, thrusting his tongue into your hole.

“Jesus fuck! Don’t fuckin st- ohhhh” you let out nothing short out of a pornographic film like wanton desperate filthy moan

“Cmon, cum f’me pretty girl” he urged gently, replacing his tongue with his fingers and nuzzling your clit with his nose like a man starved as he sucked and nibbled your folds.

You whined, squeezing the hand you were still holding tightly. “N-now-nnnmmmmhhh” your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami, the aftershock being the strongest part. His lightest touch was causing you to jerk and twitch under him at the overstimulation.

“Shhhh angel. Relax. Relax” he coaxed, rubbing over your stomach with a light touch. “Such a sweet girl. My sweet girl” he caressed your thighs with a sweet touch for a few minutes, pressing gentle kisses to your skin before getting up.

You’d inevitably whine and beg him to come back, your core feeling cold and neglected without his presence. “Time f’sleep gorgeous.” He’d gently pet your hair, pulling you into his chest.

“I want French toast for breakfast.” You muttered softly, nuzzling into his chest, smiling to yourself at his tickly chest fuzz.

“Ye?’ We got bacon too, went shoppin’ fore I came home” he muttered into the skin of your neck tiredly.

Now that he’d fulfilled his daylong craving- he was exhausted and ready to sleep as soon as he could.

“The best boyfriend. Can I wake you up t’morrow with my mouth?” You asked, gently rubbing your hand over his half hard bulge.

“Please. Y’never gotta ask princess”

Fin

[araybiaaa]

ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST

❝ weddings and heartbreaks, r. cameron ❞

ooo. 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈… rafe cameron & sofia

ooo. 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔… angst, lovers!to exes, drinking, mutual pining, heartbreak, soft!rafe

ooo. 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔… reconciliation stumbles upon rafe and sofia at sarah’s wedding; unresolved feelings are addressed much to sofia’s dismay as rafe searches for the truth.

ooo. 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔… anon asked for angst so i decided to make it super angsty! at the moment, this is a standalone fic but there's always a possibility of me adding another chapter.

She’s a bit tipsy. She tipped back half a glass of champagne at the reception after deciding to limit her alcohol consumption for the night (which seemed ironic since events like this were the perfect reason to get piss drunk.) But someone had to drive back to the hotel and she knows with the way Marisol’s been absentmindedly tossing back tequila shots all night without so much as a second’s regard that the designated driver wasn't going to be her.

Sofia’s perched at the bar, still babysitting the half empty glass of champagne that she’s had for most of the night. The bubbles had disintegrated long ago and the drink was now lukewarm from her abandonment. Still, she brings the glass up to her parted lips and took a small sip to quench her thirst.

Her eyes seemingly wander around the room.

Her lips purse in an adoring smile and her heart swells as she narrows her gaze on John B and Sarah. They were slow dancing in the middle of the room — their heady gazes never once thwarted from each other’s as they swayed along to the staccato of music that played over the speakers, seemingly disregarding their focus on everything else that surrounded them except each other. 

John B’s hands held her gently by the waist as Sarah’s arms found purchase around his taut shoulders. Even from where she’s seated, Sofia could recognize that unmistakable look of enamor that’s worn on both of their faces and crinkled in their eyes. It’s a look that she’s witnessed firsthand that always made her feel like she was interrupting a moment of intimacy whenever she was around them.

It was a look that she knows they reserved solely for one another; that displayed the years of love and admiration that they disseminated for each other. Albeit the ceremony was small, the entire celebration was beautiful and she couldn’t express enough at how happy she was for them.

She’s been friends with both of them long enough to know that the trajectory of their relationship had been far from easy, but she was happy that they were able to prevail through those strifes and permanently solidify their relationship and commitment to each other. They deserved this happiness and she was glad that she was able to witness (and commemorate) such a pivotal moment in their lives. 

Leaving the two lovebirds alone to their own blissful stupor, Sofia’s eyes drift waywardly around the room again, this time settling on a familiar face that she’d been avidly avoiding all night. She knew that he would be in attendance of the ceremony, but she hoped that her presence would remain discreet to his knowledge so there wouldn’t be any inadvertent awkward run-in’s with each other. 

This plan, in its attempts, was proven futile because as she was approaching her chair to sit down, he appeared alongside her with some unknown blonde woman latched around his arm. Her eyes briefly met Rafe’s, then perversely gauged at blondie before looking away. She made her perch in her seat, thankful that Sarah hadn’t arranged for them to be near each other in proximity. 

Rafe’s standing by the refreshments table with his date, quietly conversing amongst themselves. He leans down and whispers something in her ear and whatever he says must be hilarious, because she’s guffawing loudly and gripping a hand on his forearm as she doubled over trying to constrain her boisterous laughter.

Sofia’s throat clicks at the sight of them.

And she has to avert her eyes away from them when she feels a burn of tears gathering in her pupils, threatening to spill over.It wasn’t fair for her to feel like this; she couldn’t possibly expect him to mourn the loss of their relationship forever, but admittedly, a part of her thought (and hoped) that he would still be a little heartbroken. It’s only been a year since their breakup, but the pain of it still tormented her like it just happened yesterday. She remembered everything so vividly — the tension that led up to the argument, the onslaught of their unfurling emotions cutting sharply through each other’s, the accusations of betrayal, the hollow ache that carved in her chest when Rafe walked out of their apartment — slamming the door so hard that the hinges shook in its wake, the feeling of loneliness that she experienced when she slept alone in their bed for the first time.

It was hypocritical for her to be harboring these feelings of jealousy, but the more she could hear the woman’s laughter echoing in her ears, the more Sofia felt like she wanted to cry. She’s happy for him — or at least she wants to be, because he deserved it. But she couldn’t help but think of what could’ve been.

Sofia swallows down her melancholy with the rest of her champagne; tipping it back in one large gulp. Her forlorn stupor is interrupted when Sarah suddenly approaches. She smiles at Sofia who returns the amicable gesture before leaning over to ask the bartender for a bottle of water. 

“Hey, how’s your night going?” Sofia inquired rhetorically, subverting her attention from her sullen thoughts as she smiled at Sarah.

“Oh, you know, it’s going okay,” Sarah says so bashfully that Sofia huffs loudly in rebuff.

“Okay?” She reiterated almost mockingly, “You and John B are married!” And Sarah finds herself smiling again – hearing everyone now refer to her as John B’s wife instead of girlfriend had that effect on her.

Unable to contain the facade of her settled composure, Sarah shrieks her excitement. “I know! God, it’s like, we’ve been together for so long it was bound to happen but it still feels like a dream.” She says breathily, like she’s still floating on cloud of bliss.

“I’m so happy for you, Sarah. You and John B deserve this.” Sofia reaches down and grabs ahold of Sarah’s hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze that Sarah reciprocates along with a soft smile of appreciation.

“Thanks, Sof,” 

She offers another thanks to the bartender when she retrieved the bottle of water that she immediately takes a sip of. “So, how’s everything going with you? Did you ever go out on a second date with that guy?”

Sofia careens at the mention of, Donovan, a guy that she met at her friend, Marisol’s christmas party. There was an instantaneous and undeniable attraction between the two of them that was palpable, but she was reluctant on pursing anything with him because of the residual feelings that she still had for Rafe.

It was Marisol’s prompting encouragement and her reminding Sofia that it had been a year since her break up with Rafe and she needed to at least attempt to move on that had her conceding when Donovan asked her out on a date. While she enjoyed his company, Sofia ended things with him before it even had a chance to begin — knowing that she couldn’t lead him on with the intention of it developing into something more. 

Sofia shakes her head, sighing softly. “No, he was nice but…” She trails off airily.

Sarah nods in understanding, reaching a hand down to offer her a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry, Sof. I know it’s not easy moving on,”

She chuckles a bit ruefully, “Maybe the reason why it’s not working out with anyone is because I’m destined to be alone,” She jokes, only halfheartedly, because the forlorn thought has stumbled across her mind a lot recently. 

Sarah rolls her eyes, shaking her head in dismay as she lightly shoved at Sofia’s shoulder. “You’re not destined to be alone. You just have to find the right person for you. And maybe that person is closer than you think.” She says with a shrug, placating guilelessness behind in her innuendo but Sofia’s preceptive enough to know exactly what or who Sarah was referring to. 

Even post-breakup, Sarah was always scheming in trying to get them back together by casually bringing up Rafe’s recent dating status whenever they talked on the phone or mentioning the fact that he hadn’t been on a date in a while because he claimed that he hasn’t found the right girl.

It’s not like she wasn’t appreciative of her friend’s efforts; because at first apart of her did always curiously ponder on Rafe’s love life —  if he had finally found someone else to replace and fill the void of the love that he had for her, if he even missed or thought about her, if he regret that day like she did. But now, she wonders if they’d missed their time of reconciliation.

(She appreciates Sarah’s efforts however, knowing that she has always been a supporter of their relationship, which Sofia was grateful that still had its stability of sisterhood even with her and Rafe not being together anymore.)

“Anyway, I’m about to go finish dancing with my husband,” Sarah’s eyes shine with unbridled mirth as she says it; she sets the water down and pushes herself off of the counter that she was leaning against. “I’ll catch up with you later!” 

“Have fun!”

…

“You have been sitting here sulking all night. Pretty girls like you shouldn’t sulk especially at a wedding,” She turns around as she hears someone talking to her. Glancing over her shoulder, she’s surprised to see it’s a slightly older guy that she has no recollection of.

Sofia furrows her brows as she shifts in the seat so that she’s turning around and facing him directly. “Who are you exactly and why have you been watching me?” She reproached inquisitively, tucking her arms across her chest as she eyed him wearily.

The guy chuckled at her brashness, though not deterred in the slightest. “I’m apart of the catering crew and I’ve been watching you because it’s hard to not notice a beautiful girl sitting by herself while everyone else is enjoying themselves,”

She tries to hide the blush that’s pooling in her cheeks when she realizes that this was the second time that he’s complimented her. She prevails through her amusement though and continues with her harrowing facade. “So you didn’t have anything better to do than watch me all night?”

He shrugged, sliding his hands inside the front of his pockets. He smiles boyishly at her, “I did but I wanted to look at you instead.” She smiles, unable to continue her placated facade of being unmoored by his coquettish charm. And at this realization, the guy smirks as he leans closer to her. “I know that you prefer sitting here and moping, but I was wondering if you’d want to dance with me?” He offers, extending his hand outwardly towards her as he looked at her with a raised brow.

Sofia stares at him in deep contemplation on whether to accompany him to the dance floor. He was right, ever since the reception began she’s done nothing but sit over here sequestered in her sullenness from the rest of the party. She didn’t see the harm in joining the guy for a dance, after all he was cute and seemed nice enough. And it would distract her mind from wandering like it’s been doing all night.

So, she nods and slides the palm of her hand over his as he intertwined their fingers and wrapped his large, calloused hand around hers, gently tugging her to her feet.

She pulls down the hem of her dress as she lets him direct her towards the dance floor where other people were still dancing. He directs her to the middle of the floor beside John B and Sarah.

She sees Sarah give her a puzzled but slightly amused look. 

“He’s cute!” She mouths, nodding her head approvingly. “Just a warning,” The guy says, sliding his other unoccupied hand down her body until it settled on her waist. He shifts his body closer to her until he’s crowding over her with their height difference. She feels her stomach fluttering with how he’s looking at her. “I’m not that good of a dancer so you’ll have to help me out here,” He redirected the position of his hand until he holds a firm but slightly loose grip on her.

“As long as you don’t step on my feet I’m fine with how horribly you dance.”

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head in disagreement. “You say that now but don’t get embarrassed when I start dancing and all of your friends start looking over here.” He playfully jests much to her amusement. The soft melody of a slow song begins to play. Sofia wraps her arms around his heightened neck, allowing him to tug her forward slightly so that their bodies are pressed against one another’s. 

“I just realized that I’m dancing with a stranger whose name I don’t even know.”

She feels the reverberation of his body as he chuckles softly. “It’s Blake. And your name is Sofia, which is fitting because it’s a beautiful name.” Sofia pulls back slightly, raising a curious brow at him. “Who have you been talking to about me?” She questions.

“The girl you came here with, Marisol.” He confesses, looking a little sheepish now as his debonair facade began to slowly dissipate. “I told her that I thought you were beautiful and wanted to know how to properly approach you.” 

At this, Sofia finds herself smiling. It’s been a while since someone has flirted with her (and that she’s reciprocated the flirtation) and she surprisingly found herself enjoying it with him.

Her breath hitches when his fingers flex around her back, tightening his grip. She harrumphs softly, continuing on with her coquettish banter hoping that he hadn’t noticed her fawning. “Ah. So what I’m hearing is that you couldn’t think of anything to say to me without getting help from my friend.” 

“Your beauty is intimidating.”

She can’t think of anything to say in response to that, so leans her head against his chest to hide the deep blush that’s coloring her cheeks. They’re still dancing, swaying around gently when she looks up and meets Rafe’s eye-line. He’s still standing by the refreshment’s table this time sans his date accompanied at his side. 

There’s this indescribable look fleeting on his countenance as he stared back at her; one that Sofia can’t immediately gauge. But he continued to stand there looking at her, smothering her beneath the weight of his scrutiny. Their eye contact is broken when Blake leans down and presses his mouth by the shell of her ear.

“Is that someone that I need to be jealous of?” He jokes, the wisps of his cool breath tickle against her skin as he speaks. Sofia looks away from Rafe, now averting her eyes on Blake. He’s smiling softly, indicating the playfulness behind his teasing words. 

“He’s my ex,” Is all she says, not fully divulging into the complications regarding their relationship and not directly answering his question. There was too much history there for her to want to get into, especially with a stranger.

“Ah,” Blake says, nodding his head understandably. “That explains why he’s been staring at you all night.”

“What?” “He’s been looking at us since we started dancing; well scowling at me more like.”Her eyebrows furrow as she contemplated on whether to look over at Rafe again. She wasn’t aware of his spectating, she was under the impression that his date had his full attention as they’ve been together and practically conjoined at the hip all night. Whatever reason behind his gawking, she immediately disregards any lingering naivety behind it knowing that anything that he felt for her right now was far from what she’d hoped it would be.

The song’s over a second later as the DJ shifts the genre from the sultry slow dancing tunes to early 2000’s pop. Blake pulls away reluctantly, but his hands still maintain their grip on her waist. “Looks like our time is up. I should get back, help with the cleanup in the kitchen.” He informs her solemnly, in which she only nods.

“It was nice meeting you and dancing with you, Sofia.” 

“It was nice meeting you too, Blake,” 

She’s taken aback when he leans towards her and pressed a kiss against her cheek. His lips tentatively hover like he’s contemplating on pressing them against her lips for a proper kiss. But he relents, huffing a small chuckle as he moves away. “My shift ends in like half a hour. Maybe we can hang out afterwards?” He asks, with hopefulness lilting in his voice and on his face.

Normally, she wouldn’t indulge in anything so haste with a stranger but wedding’s were intended for this kind of impulsive fun. Right?

…

He felt his jaw clench and his fingers tighten around his glass at the sight of Sofia dancing with some other guy — at how easily she fed into and reciprocated his flirtation.

Rafe’s gaze loured as he watched the movements of the guy’s hand every time he touched her; how they lingered a bit too long on her back, how they held onto her waist too close for his comfort. And he has to repeatedly remind himself that she wasn’t his anymore to harbor these envious feelings over. 

She hasn’t been his for a year now. 

But the part of him that was still pathetically besotted with her, couldn’t stomach the sight of her with someone else, to see her so happy while he was still mourning the loss of their relationship. He should look away to spare his own feelings because the more that he stared at them the more he could feel his heart breaking, but his rueful masochism prevails and he doesn’t avert his gaze until he sees the guy’s lips lean down to peck a kiss against Sofia’s cheek.

His body goes taut when he feels Jessica’s arms wrap around him as she approached from behind. “Are you okay?” She questions, immediately noticing his aloof behavior. 

Rafe nods, though disbelieving in his efforts and gives her a small halfhearted smile. He unravels her arms from around his waist, momentarily disregarding the dubious look of offense that she gives him. “I uh, I need to go outside and get some fresh air,” He says, waving a hand airily in gesture.

“Okay,” She nods, “Do you want me to come with you?” 

“Nah,” He declines, setting the empty glass onto the table before he runs a hand over his clenched jaw. “It’s fine. I’ll be back in a bit,” He gaiters off before she has a chance to offer him her company again. He beelines his way through the crowd of dancing bodies, until he’s standing outside in the hallway.

Just as he’s rounding the corner to make his way towards the side entrance, he feels the collision of his body inadvertently stumbling into someone else’s as they both walked into each other. Rafe’s hands reflexively reach out to catch the woman, steadying on the sides of her hips as he catches her against him.

“Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you,” He apologizes, and the realization of who he was holding dawns upon him immediately.

Sofia retracts herself from his embrace, harrumphing softly as she smoothed a hand over her dress. “It’s fine. It was my fault I wasn’t watching where I was going,” She reassures him, dismissing his apology.

“Where are you off to in such a rush?” He meant for the question to come off as causal in his approach, but from the narrowed look that she gives him he knows that it’s more accusatory than anything. And it takes a second for Rafe to realize that he didn’t care. 

“To the restroom?” Sofia responds, “Where else would I be going?”

He shrugs, sliding his hands into the front of his pockets. “I don’t know probably somewhere with that guy you were dancing with earlier.” He doesn’t bother to masquerade his jealousy, all of his pent up emotions were unfurling to the surface, spewing out of him in an abrasive interrogation. 

Sofia looks nonplussed by his confrontation, almost as if she’d been caught. Rafe chuckles wryly as he purses his lips, “So, what, you were just going to fuck some random dude that you just met?”

She careens, affronted, by his combative tone. She crosses her arms against her chest and narrowed a pointed glare at him. “What I do isn’t your business, not anymore.” She rebuttals, seemingly avoiding answering the question directly. “Yeah and you made sure of that didn’t you?” Sofia’s defenses sages at his accosting remark, almost guilt ridden at his reproach.

He knows that addressing their unresolved issues at his sister’s wedding reception wasn’t the most appropriate place to do this, but he needed to tell her how he felt. 

“Rafe…” She begins, soft and apologetic. But he interrupts her, knowing that if he allowed her to continue then he’d succumb helplessly to her pleading eyes and he would never have the opportunity to express what he needed to say again. 

“We were happy,” He says, warily throwing his hand in the air in defeat. Sofia’s head lowers as she cowers away from his hard truth.

He refused to allow her to hide from it any longer, because she left him mending the wounds of his broken heart without even so much of an explanation of why she decided to end their relationship so abruptly a year ago. He spent so much of that time trying to figure out what went wrong; if he contributed to her decision or if she’d just fallen out of love with him.

“I let you in. You made me fall in love with you just for you to turn around and decide that I wasn’t what you wanted anymore? I fucking loved you, Sofia.”

I still do.

He could feel his throat clicking as he swallowed a shaky breath. His vision blurred as his eyes sheened with tears. “You broke my heart and you act as if you don’t even fucking care.”

Her head inclines at his proclamation and he sees that her eyes reflected the same glossiness that his has. “I do care!” She accents, offended at his belief of otherwise. “None of this has been easy for me either, Rafe.”

He wants to believe that.

But how could he when she acted so cavalier about his feelings?

“What’s been hard for you, Sofia? Was it the part where you broke up with me or was it when you immediately shut me out of your life afterwards and pretended like our two years of being together meant nothing to you?”

Sofia’s lip trembles as tears spilled from the heaviness of her eyes. Part of him hates that he’s doing this, because he’s always hated seeing her cry but he was hurt and she needed to know. It takes everything in him to resist the urge of thumbing away her tears and he has to shove his hand back inside of his pocket to retrain himself from touching her like he wants. 

“Tell me why you did it.” Her response probably wouldn’t assuage his pain any less, but at least then he’d know and wouldn’t be left guessing over the possibilities anymore.

“Rafe, I-”

It’s the sound of voices overlapping and footsteps ascending that interrupts their conversation. Rafe redirects his eyes towards the doorway where the guests were beginning to disperse. John B and Sarah appeared first walking hand in hand, stopping mid stride when they noticed Rafe and Sofia standing there along with her tear stained face.“Is everything okay?” Sarah questions, directing it more so towards Sofia who nods and gives her a small smile of reassurance.

Jessica walks out behind them, narrowing a confused gaze at the scene before her. “Rafe?”

…

“I should go,” Sofia says, hating that she was causing such commotion on Sarah and John B’s big day. The last thing she ever wanted was her and Rafe’s drama interfering with what was supposed to be a joyous celebration.

Rafe steps towards her, wrapping his fingers around her wrist to halt her to a stop. “Sof,”

And when he says her name like that, she’s immediately retracted into the happier memories that they shared before her self-deprecation ruined it. Feeling him touching her again after so long, at how gentle he’s being even when she knows he’s still infuriated with her makes her want to sob. She hates herself for doing this to him, for making him feel as if their relationship was nothing when it meant everything to her; he meant everything to her.

She knows that she owes him an explanation of why she ended things so abruptly between them but she was terrified that it wouldn’t even begin to be enough for him. She hurt him in ways unimaginable that she herself couldn’t fathom even after all of this time.

Part of her thinks that him being angry at her is easier than him knowing the truth. 

“I’m sorry,” She whispers apologetically before tugging her arm free to go search for Marisol so they could leave.

[slasherparty]

Hey uh, I'm new to the Beetlejuice fandom, and I was wondering if you could do a bjxreader where the reader dies as of a result of something bj did, and he feels guilty about it? i crave angst, sorry if this is annoying

it’s not annoying! i love reading angst if it has a rewarding payoff. dunno how rewarding it’ll be here, but it’s good for character study purposes either way. thanks anon!

beetlejuice 🪲 x reader, accidental death (whoopsie!)

his hand, it was a clumsy thing... a grotesque parody of life, all bony fingers and inky black nails. it reached out, a macabre puppet show, and brushed against your cheek. a chill, an unnatural cold, seeped into your skin. you should have known better than to trust a poltergeist with such a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"A little surprise for my favorite mortal," he had purred, a sinister grin splitting his cadaverous face. you’d laughed, a light, airy sound that now seemed so far away. it was a mistake, a fatal one. the prank, a harmless little trick, had spiraled out of control, a chaotic whirlwind that swept you away; "away" being precisely four stories down into the basement of your apartment building.

beetlejuice, the self-proclaimed "Ghost with the Most," has always prided himself on his ability to stir up trouble without serious consequences (in his opinion, anyway). however, this particular mishap proved to be a costly error. a well-intentioned, albeit reckless, prank involving a trap door had inadvertently led to your untimely demise.

now, here you were, a ghost, a wisp of ethereal energy tethered to a world you could no longer fully inhabit. in the immediate aftermath, you watched as beetlejuice paced, his usual manic energy diluted to a haunted stillness. his eyes, only moments ago filled with their trademark mischief, were now shadowed with shock and remorse.

a part of you, a tiny, twisted part, reveled in his misery. but the larger part, the part that was still you, ached with a profound sadness. though you'd scarcely begun to process it, you'd been robbed of your life, a cruel twist of fate orchestrated by such a stupid and poorly set-up joke.

yet, as you watched beetlejuice begin to tear himself apart over it, you couldn't help but feel a strange sense of peace. perhaps it was the knowledge that he was now there, forever, nothing keeping him apart from you. or maybe it was the hope that, together, you could find a way to make sense of this tragic turn of events.

left as a fragile spirit adrift in a sea of uncertainty and the endless maze of the neitherworld processing office, bj finds himself once again in the position of being a guide (he even dons the hat for you).

as the days turned into weeks, you began to adjust to your new existence. you learned to phase through walls, to levitate, to communicate telepathically. when you weren't stuck haunting your apartment, you explored the neitherworld, with bj's ever-present companionship. he'd become a bit of a helicopter since the accident. even though you were dead now, with virtually nothing around to seriously harm you, you could tell the guilt had riddled him with anxiety.

the sight of your spectral form, a pale echo of your vibrant self, haunted whatever was left of beetlejuice's conscience. the memory of your warm living touch, a spark that ignited a strange, twisted affection, lingered like a phantom limb. you still touch him, just as soft as in life, but it's now a bittersweet reminder of a life cut short, a casualty of his own selfish schemes.

he became a constant source of both comfort and chaos. he would spend hours pouring over ancient grimoires, searching for a way to restore you to life, at the behest of juno who of course discouraged any and all investigation into such dangerous breaches of the laws around life and death. "The rules are there for a reason, you brat," she'd remind him, smoke fuming from her neck. you knew this wouldn't discourage him; nothing juno ever said did. but there was some truth to her words... it would be impossible to truly bring you back to the living world in any meaningful, non-invasive way.

regardless, he's always remained determined to make amends, if not to restore your life then to help you transition smoothly into this strange new existence. perhaps, through this unexpected role, he can atone for his past mistakes… and maybe even keep you around, for as long as you'll still have him.

you've often wondered if bj is truly sorry for what he's done. was his remorse genuine, or was it simply a performance, a way to manipulate your emotions? you could never be sure. but you knew one thing for certain: you were bound to him, a ghostly tether that neither time nor death could sever. and maybe that made it all okay, in the end.

bit of a long one! thanks for reading!! 💌

you can find more of my writing here on ao3!

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 1, Unarmed - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Mild language, Bucky and Reader being Tolkien nerds, light fluff, mention of rabies (it's a super scary disease and we should all be vigilant, okay?!)

Word Count: 1.6k

Previously On...: You just had the pleasure of meeting the very handsome Bucky Barnes. Despite a little bit of awkwardness during your first encounter, you have a feeling your life is about to get a lot more interesting now that he's been introduced into it.

A/N: You know what? I said I wasn't going to do this, but I thought "fuck it!" and decided to post all of Chapter 1: Unarmed. My anxiety is too high to just sit on it. So, please enjoy Ch1. Pt2! Pts 3 & 4 to follow!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @blackhawkfanatic

The next evening, you were making your way back to your suite after a productive, albeit exhausting, day in your lab. You were working on a crisis prediction real-time monitoring system to anticipate global threats. You were convinced it would allow the Avengers to respond to trouble faster, but perfecting the privacy algorithm had been an absolute pain in the ass, and you still hadn't gotten it quite right. Technically, you could have farmed the project off to a subordinate; hell, even a team of subordinates of a subordinate, but this was one of your pet projects and you insisted on being hands-on in its development.

You had your tablet open as you walked, chewing on your thumb and reviewing the dataset from the run of your latest algorithm model one more time. Closer, but not good enough. If you were going to convince Tony that this was a program worth implementing, especially at its projected cost, everything had to be perfect. "Damn it," you muttered to yourself.

You rounded the corner and ran smack into Bucky's chest, dropping your tablet and causing him to drop the three books he'd been holding under his remaining arm. "Oh, shit-- I'm so sorry," you uttered as you bent down to retrieve the dropped items. Bucky leaned down to assist you, but you waved him off.

"’S my fault; I've got it," you told him, piling up his books for him. "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Bucky leaned up against the wall and chuckled while you stood up and handed the books back to him. "I doubt you could hurt me," he said, smiling softly. "No offense."

You let out a small laugh. "None taken." He was a super soldier, after all. Stealing a glance at book spines, you couldn't suppress the smile that crossed your face. "Lord of the Rings," you nodded appreciatively. "Have you read them before?"

Bucky looked down at the books tucked under his arm. "No, first time. I read The Hobbit back when it was first published in '37, but these didn't come out until after..." he trailed off, but you knew what he meant. After he'd been abducted and brainwashed, turned into a murderer.

You nodded in understanding. "I'm actually really excited for you," you told him. "What I wouldn't give to be able to read them again for the first time."

"You a Tolkien fan, then?" he asked you. When you nodded, he continued: "When I finish them, maybe we can talk about them sometime? Steve's not really into fantasy."

"Yeah, I'd like that," you said. "If you're interested, we could watch the movies. I'll warn you though; they're long as hell, but their masterpieces. I mean, they didn't need to turn The Hobbit into three separate films, but still, they'll blow your fucking mind."

Bucky ran his tongue over his lower lip and you couldn't help but follow the motion with your eyes. "That sounds like fun," he said, his eyes twinkling with... something. "Your place or mine?" Was he… flirting with you?

"How 'bout you finish the books first, then we'll talk logistics," you teased. "Hey, speaking of, what floor did they end up putting you on?"

"Um, this one, actually," he said, tilting his head toward a nearby door.

"No shit," you remarked, laughingly. "You must have done something to piss Rogers off, because he put you right across the hall from me."

Bucky looked down, scuffing the toe of his boot against the carpeting. "He said it was the quietest floor, thought I'd prefer that."

You pursed your lips, considering. "Yeah, that makes sense; it's just been me on this level for ages. It'll be nice to have some company for a change."

Bucky looked surprised. "Stark's kept you down here all by your lonesome? That doesn't seem very nice."

You shook your head and dismissed his concern with a wave. "Oh, no-- Tony hates that I still live down here, actually. He put in all new living quarters a few years back. Everyone migrated upstairs, but I was the only one who didn't want to move."

"Why's that?" Bucky asked, appearing genuinely interested.

"I've lived here since I graduated college," you admitted, "back when it was still just Stark Tower. When Tony relocated here from Malibu to rebrand it for the Avengers, he wanted to redo everything, which meant fancy new suites for everybody. But I love my rooms, so I asked to stay put. They've been my home for so long now and I guess I just like the stability, you know?"

Bucky nodded thoughtfully. "And Tony thinks highly enough of you that he let the blow to his ego slide?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I have enough dirt on him that he felt like he didn't have much of a choice." You snorted, not able to keep up the pretense. "No, but seriously, I know you and Tony have a complicated... history, but he's not a bad guy. Ego as tall as this Tower, yes, definitely, but he's also incredibly kind and generous. He paid for my entire college education-- undergrad, post-grad, doctorate. I owe everything I have to him."

Bucky shifted against the wall. "That is pretty generous. And he never expected anything from you in return?" He didn't say the words out loud, but the implication was there. Had you slept with Tony in exchange for your diplomas? The innuendo should have bothered you, but it had been posed to you so many times over the years, you'd stopped being offended by it. Before Pepper, Tony had had quite the  reputation, after all, and an MIT education didn’t exactly come cheap. Most people couldn’t understand why he would offer a full ride to someone who, at the time, had been a complete stranger.

"Tony appreciates talent," you clarified. "When he finds it, he cultivates it, nourishes it, does everything he can to help it grow to its fullest potential. But he does like to get a return on his investments, and my skills have helped him make a lot of money." You shrugged your shoulders with a chuckle. "I love my job, I love the work we do, I love the stupid weirdo family we've built here, so I've always considered meeting Tony to be the best thing that ever happened to me. He's kind of like my own fairy godfather."

"So, what exactly does he have you do around here?" Bucky asked. "I know Steve said you did computer stuff, but you said it was an over-simplification."

You ran a hand up to rub the back of your neck while you considered your answer. How best to explain your position to someone who was born before the invention of the television? "Okay," you exhaled, "so, short answer is that I'm the CTO, the Chief Technology Officer, of Stark Industries and, under that, I run the Avenger’s Technology and Innovation Department. It's sort of our take on Research and Development. I've got a lab where I'm in charge of about 450 scientists, engineers, computer programmers, analysts, et. cetera. And our entire job is coming up with cool new ways of making things easier for the Avengers. Like, new features for suits, developing useful programs, coming up with new defenses and weapons, that kind of thing. And if we've got missions that require heavy computer- or tech-work, I come along for on-site support. I'm combat-trained and good with languages, so that comes in handy in the field. There’s probably a ton of field agents that could go in my place, but for Tony, it’s a matter of trust."

Bucky let out a low, appreciative whistle. "Damn. That's impressive. You're a little intimidating, you know that?"

Laughing, you tucked your tablet under your arm. "Please. I'm about as intimidating as a hamster." You paused to think. "Maybe a hamster with rabies, but still a hamster."

A series of beeps emanated from your tablet. As you pulled it out to check the alert, Bucky moved away from the wall. "I'm so sorry-- you were heading back to your room and I've basically been holding you hostage this entire time."

"Actually," you said, silencing the notification alarm that had distracted you, "That was just a reminder I set for myself to eat. Sometimes I lose track of time in the lab and completely forget to have dinner. Are you hungry? You could join me."

Bucky pulled his head back, regarding you as though he wasn't sure if you were serious.

"Or, if you don't want to, that's cool," you said quickly once you noticed his hesitation. "I mean, you wanted a quiet floor. Annoying neighbor is probably the last--"

"I'd love to," interrupted Bucky with a grin. "I'm just surprised someone like you would want to spend time with someone like me."

"Someone like me? Hey now, for all you know, I could be an absolute trash person," you teased, playfully punching him on the shoulder.

Bucky chuckled, his eyes sparkling with a newfound warmth. "Well, I highly doubt that, but I guess I'll find out soon enough."

"Don't say I didn't warn you when you do." You cocked your head toward the door to your room. "I'm going to change out of my work clothes. While I do, how about you decide what you're in the mood for, and we'll go from there. That sound good?" Bucky nodded as you let yourself into your room. The evening had taken an unexpected turn, but you found you were looking forward to spending more time in the company of Bucky Barnes.

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