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gghostwriter · 1 year ago

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Still Alive for My Lover

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The four times Spencer brushes with death and the fifth time he's reborn to find his way back to you

Warning: angst with happy ending || [Part 2A of Death of a Love Affair; Part 2B is the sad ending]

A/n: I did a poll the other day on if I should post both different part 2s for Death of a Love Affair and posting both won so here is one of the endings--the happy one! I actually scrapped my first happy ending idea for this (I dreamt about this plot just the other night) so like a maniac, I wrote and edited it in one sitting. Also he has been through a lot so I had to choose scenes that I think would affect his psyche. Hope you enjoy!

Part one || Main masterlist || Part 2B

The first time Death came close was during an Anthrax attack

In Spencer’s quest in solving the time sensitive and nation threatening case, he made a series of misjudgments that had led him to being exposed to the chemically engineered Anthrax.

During his months of adjusting back into being single and alone, he poured all that he could to his job. No longer were the cases viewed with a clear objective mind, they all became personal. Case distance from Virginia, where you were, meant nothing. He viewed each killer a threat to your existence. In the most convoluted way, this was him protecting and keeping you safe when he no longer could beside you.

“Hey, Reid.” Garcia softly said.

“Reid, wow, no, uh—no witty Garcia greeting for me?” Spencer joked to try and lighten the mood.

She shakily exhaled her breath. “I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are.”

“Garcia, do you think you can do something for me?” His voice trailing off at the end.

“Anything.”

“I, uh-I know I can’t call my mom without uh—“ he cleared his throat. “Without alerting everyone at her hospital and I can’t call Y/N since—since it’s protocol and we broke up.”

She paused, nodding her head. “What do you need?”

“I-I need you to record messages for them, in case anything happens to me.”

“Oh, nothing’s going to happen to you,” she tried to be optimistic. “You’re gonna—brilliantly find out who did this and we’re gonna treat this strain.”

He sighed with a slight smile on his face. “I hope you’re right, but if you’re not, I just—I really want to make sure that they hear my voice.”

“Ok, just give me a second.” The taps from her keyboard echoing in the background.

“Are you ready?” Spencer asked.

“Ready.”

“Hi, Mom. This is Spence. I just, um-I just really want you to know that I love you and—i need you to know that I spend every day of my life proud to be your son.” His tone fluctuating from holding back tears. “Y/N, I know we broke up months ago but—I need you to know that I love you and that I’m sorry—” A shiver passed through his body, a sign of his fever escalating. “Sorry for pushing you down in my list of priorities—should have done better. I don’t resent you for leaving me and if—if this is my last message, I want you to know you’re one of the last things on my mind, Angel.”

The thought of you finding out through the news that an FBI agent had died or worse, not finding out at all, sent him into a tailspin. You were a worrier and Spencer didn’t want you to question your judgement of breaking it off with him and drown in the not knowing, what ifs of it all. He wondered where you were at that very moment as he crept closer and closer to Death’s door. Were you wallowing still? Maybe out for brunch with your friends or a date—his breathing stuttered at the thought. He tried and failed to imagine you smiling at a faceless man in front of you, preening under your attention. Who wouldn’t? He shook his head as an effect to bring him back to the present.

The pause made Garcia panic. “Reid?”

“I-I gotta go.”

Click.

***

The second time was when Maeve died

Spencer thought he was finally going to get it right with Maeve but it was false hope, his speculation far from the truth because Maeve—his second chance in love was dead, killed right before his very eyes. He loved her, truly did even without knowing what she looked like—not in the encompassing way he loved you, no, but Maeve still carved a space in his heart that was one filled by you. She was comfort and a healing balm for the pain of losing you.

He associated navigating life with you as something like entering a luscious forest. With you leading the way though the beautiful greenery and kind animals—a fairytale kind of love. But when you let go of his hand, the forest turned dark and the animals turned into monsters that haunt his every move. Maeve was a cabin in those woods, lighted and warm with a fireplace—a respite for his lost and terrified being. He knew what was out there but housed in her presence, he felt safe and believed himself ready to defend his newfound solace. He was wrong, the security was temporary. His shelter torn down and taken away, leaving him back out in the woods with no light or guiding star to see him through.

Curling into himself on the floor beside his bed with ‘The Narrative of John Smith’, the copy that Maeve gifted, tucked to his chest, uncaring of the the pathogens that it can carry, a folded piece of paper under the dresser caught his eye. He stretched his hand, feeling the settled dust on its surface scatter, and pulled it into the light. Gingerly, he opened the yellowing sheet and found himself staring at your handwriting—a note that he had never seen before.

He once asked about your penchant for leaving hand written notes for him to find. You shrugged then and nonchalantly called it a treasure hunt for him to partake in. During the times passed, he’d encounter lingering, forgotten notes from you all over his apartment. In his cupboard, pushed in the dark recesses, in his rarely worn patterned coat, and slotted in between the books on his bookshelf. He thought he had found them all but here was one left unread as if it knew when to make its presence known. As if it knew that he needed a sliver of light to guide him home.

Spence,

I’m not sure if we met at the right time, but because we’re both here, let’s do our best and if there does come a time were we must part, know that I love you. I’ll love you enough until we meet again.

His tears broke free from his battered walls and streamed down his face. He loved Maeve. He was thankful for the peace each phone call had given him and although his memory of each talk may fade into the back of his mind, the relief and emotion she had given him will linger in his chest. He slowly got up from his position and approached his beloved shelf. With one last look at his book, he slotted it within the nook and walked away.

His love for Maeve will always be there but he loved you too and he thinks he always will. And when sadness and grief comes to pull him back under in moments of weakness, he unfolds his talisman—the note—kept near his heart as a reminder. A reminder that he has loved, was loved, and is still loved.

***

The third time was when he was shot in the neck

Fading in and out.

In—liquid seeping into his shirt and tie.

You were the only thing he could think of. Not the case, not the team, only you.

Out—sirens blaring in a distant background.

In—Morgan’s voice calling his name.

For the first time in a long time, Spencer was terrified. He was so terrified that death had come to collect his borrowed life without having a chance to right his wrongs. Without any contact and without any way to say how much he has loved you still after all these years and months. He could probably recite how long it had been, if only he wasn’t loopy from the pain.

Out—muffled voices all around him.

In—a gentle sway in the ambulance as it rushed to the hospital.

He wanted to tell you how much he’d learned from recalling all his memories with you. How much you had taught him about love—a teaching he could never find in books. How love was selfless and tenacious—just like when you didn’t give up on him early on—when it needed to be. How love is fueled with respect—like how you respected his choices and demands of his career, and how love—true love, knew when it’s time to go.

Out—streak of bright lights passing him by.

In—professionals dressed in scrubs and white coats touching him.

Your face was the only image settling behind his closed eyelids. He tried to remember the crinkle around your eyes when you smile, the scrunch of your nose when you laugh, or the he arch of your brows when you teased him but all were hazy, as if he was staring into a deep depth of water that rippled nonstop. All he could conjure up was your face with tears sliding down to your chin from the hurt he caused. He was deathly afraid that his last memory of you were in pain.

Out—laying cold on the operating table.

All he could muster to repeat to himself as he faded under local anesthesia was your name. Like it was a mantra, a prayer, and his own personal saving grace.

In—surrounded by beeping noises and fluffed pillows.

Mind still hazy when he came to, he sent a thank you to the stars. Grateful that Death was unsuccessful and to have been given an opportunity to correct his mistakes. Wishing that somehow, somewhere your paths and his would cross again and he could tell the story of all his adventures and yours, and how he has changed, hoping once again to be worthy of you.

***

The final time was during his stint in prison

He’s changed. In the dark forest you’ve left him behind, the once scared and hunted by monsters had become the hunter. The anger and agitation that simmered near the surface of his every waking moment was something he did not know how to accept. He was worried about the new him and how you’d perceive it. There were no signs of who he was before and during you. If he’d cross paths with you on the street, would you recognize him? He hoped so. Would you still accept him? He needed you to.

Along his long route back to you, he grew thorns and horns. He became decorated with wounds and scars. His talisman—your note—had aged, just like him, and had ripped along the folds. His once brilliant mind—now in a haze from trauma, memorized the words. It was your writing that grounded him while he was stuck in the cell of a mad woman’s making. The slants and loops studied and the grooves and indentations caressed with his calloused, bloody hands.

He loved you still, very much so, but with his change, it had also mutated. What once was compared to a fairytale kind of love had now been smudged with darkness and desperation.

He felt lethal in his journey back to your embrace. Gone was the boy who felt remorse in shooting an unsub between the brows and replaced with the man who felt no qualms in killing should safety be threatened. He knew he had to talk to someone about the path his thinking had taken but instead, he entered his home with a single-minded purpose, walking straight to your side of the drawer and clutched another memento that will buoy him through the ravaging waters of emotion—your engagement ring. Looping it through a chain that he now wears on his neck and near his heart, a symbolism of his will to see things through, come hell or high water, he’ll crawl home to you.

***

And his second life started when he left the BAU

Spencer wanted to see you. Once inside the building elevator going down, he fought the urge to dial your number—regardless if it was still even yours. He needed to know. To know if you’ve moved on after all those many years apart or lived just like he did—tried but unsuccessful, always comparing and always coming up short. The eyes not as kind as yours, the smile not as radiant, and the heart not as beautiful. Was it awful of him to wish for the former? Yes, yes it was. He knew you deserved happiness and support after all the times he had let you down, knew you deserved a life after him, knew you deserved a happy ending but here he was, hopelessly wishing that your happy ending was still with him.

He didn’t keep up with your life as much as he wanted to. The wounds of his failure and the battle scars he received along the way were still fresh. He didn’t have the right to know—a self imposed punishment. Although Garcia offered to look into you whenever he would reach rock bottom, and he’s been there a lot, he refused. By returning your ring, the engagement ring hidden underneath his shirt, you’ve taken back his privilege and he respected your decision.

You deserve better than to have him contact you without his life in order. If you’d still have him, you’d get the best of him. And so for the past six months, he focused on himself. He gained his footing in teaching young agents, he worked on his anger and made progress with his therapist, and he got to know who he was again beyond being an FBI agent. And it was as if the stars took notice of the changes and decided to reward him.

It was late into the night when he decided to make a quick grocery trip for some perishables missing in his pantry. This was out of his normal routine and he was forever grateful to the impulsiveness that took over him that night ever since. It was what led him to cross paths with the only person he had once considered home—you.

As he was entering the store, you had come out in all your beauty, struggling with one bag in each hand. Whenever he would recall this story, you’d scoff and tell him that you didn’t feel beautiful then—hair in a sloppy bun, t-shirt all crumpled, and face bare from any makeup. He’d object as no matter what the circumstance, you were always the most beautiful to him.

He cleared his throat then. “Y/N.”

“Spencer,” you breathed out, surprise painting across your face.

“Do you need help with that?” He asked, voice cracking at the end. He thought he outgrew his shyness, time in prison does that for a person, but here you were reverting him back to how he felt when he first met you. “I’d like to walk you back to your car, if that’s alright,” he added on as he was afraid of your refusal. The parking lot was dimly lit and almost deserted. Years of solving cases has made him hyper vigilante and even if he was technically no longer a fed, his experience stayed the same. He still wanted to make sure you were safe, after all the time away.

You hesitated before nodding once in agreement.

He smiled, letting go of his breath he didn’t know he was holding, and reached out to take your grocery purchases. “Let me get these for you, lead the way.”

The silence was uncomfortable. Years of being away from each other has made him a stranger to you and you to him.

You crossed yours arms, a sign of defense, before clearing your throat. “How’s the team?”

He pressed his lips into a straight line, not wanting to spill every little change that has happened while you were gone. “Good, good.”

Silence.

“No case tonight?”

“Uh—I only consult now,” he explained. “I went into teaching.”

Your arms dropped, a sign of openness, and you peered at him. “That’s—different. I mean, are you happy about that?”

He laughed and almost felt like preening at the care that you still had for him. “Yeah, it’s nice to have a normal schedule for once.”

“Somehow normal and you being mixed together doesn’t compute in my head,” you teased, swinging your hands in a clear sign of nervousness. He felt good—glad that he still could read your tics. How the slight downturn of your eyebrow meant you’d table the information to ruminate on it later. How the little bounce on your walk, that wasn’t there earlier, meant you were accepting of this situation. And how you slightly shifted closer to him meant you find his presence a protector.

As he was documenting each non-verbal cues into his memory, the back of your hand brushed with his, sending a jolt of electric charge. It was as if both your bodies needed a physical reminder that the other half is back and nearby. It was as if a defibrillator had charged his black and blue heart to life once again.

You giggled. “Sorry about that.”

It was a cold night but each laughter wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, warming his weary bones that had been lost in the dark cold woods for so long. “It’s alright,” he stated as he watched you unlock the trunk of your car.

Loading in your grocery in silence, he shuffled ever so slightly out of the way as you closed the trunk and rocked on your heels.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. It was the only way he could prevent his hands from reaching out and caressing your pink cheeks. He didn’t have the permission to touch you yet—not matter how much he wanted to. So wanted to.

“You look—you look great, by the way,” you stammered out.

“Thanks, you too—look great, I mean,” he stated. He wanted to sing out more praises on how you’d gotten more beautiful, more radiant, and more lovely but he settled on something simple lest he scares you away with the intensity of his feelings. “Do you think could have your number? You know, just in case you’d need help with groceries again.” A feeble excuse.

You smiled. The type of smile that was once reserved for him and he wished for it to still be his. Please don’t say no, please, he realized that if you do, that will be it. That there will no longer be any saving the tragedy between him and you.

As he was starting to slide down the familiar slope of sadness, you nodded. “I never changed it.” You unlocked the driver seat before facing him once again. “Spence—”

He basked in hearing you say his name.

“—I’m different now. So you’ll have to get to know me again.”

“I’m different now, too,” and while you uttered yours as if it was an apology or a forewarning, he uttered his as a promise. A veiled promise that he was now the man that you wanted him to be after all those years.

He reached his hand out. “Hi, I’m Spencer Reid,” he hoped you’d play along.

You laughed, clearly intrigued at changes that had happened to him. Here he was, a germaphobe, reaching for a handshake to a stranger regardless of pathogens. You weren’t really a stranger, not really, but he wanted to write a new beginning. The last time was too tragic and ended with goodbyes. This time, this time, it’ll be perfect, he vowed to himself. A perfect fairytale with a happy ending that he could share with his kids with you one day.

“Hi, Spencer,” you reached out your hand into his, engulfing yours in his tight grip. “I’m Y/N.”

He watched as you got into the car, fastening your seatbelt and roll down the window. “I’ll call you.”

“Please do, I’ll be waiting,” you whispered out before backing away from the parking lot.

And he did.

And after a few dates, he slid back the ring that once hung around his neck, sitting near his heart, back to where it belonged—back to your fourth finger where the Romans once believed a vein ran directly to the heart. Vena Amoris, the vein of love. Where it will stay forevermore, never allowing time and the outside to separate what once was meant to be. Never allowing ‘him and you’ as separate, there was just ‘them’.

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid angst #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid oneshot #gw fics

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ubeb0nes · 7 months ago

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hiiii could you also do pitfighter reader with sevika next?? i loveee your writing!

HECK YEA, i was lowkey pulling for this one to win on the poll anyway (i'm definitely invested in bar owner!reader now that i've written for her, though!)

Silco goes through henchmen like water through a grater. And of course- like everything else- it falls on Sevika to keep his forces topped up.

She gets a lot of the dumb bruiser types from the Pit Ring. Easy to come by and even easier to hire once you wave just a little bit of money and status in their faces.

The higher in the rankings you are though, the less likely you are to take Silco's second's deals. Life as a Pit fighter is never easy, but the top percent definitely make more than they would as lackeys.

You were one such. Sevika had seen you a few times in the ring when she'd come down to pick up new blood.

You swung like somebody had taught you with intention. There was the charming roughness of Zaun ingrained in your style, but you had clear skill. Every time Sevika came back, your name was a little higher in the rankings.

She always got good seats due to her social standing. Close enough to see the look in your eyes. Controlled, if a bit empty.

You'd made eye contact with her once, right after toppling the second-ranked fighter. You'd given her a once-over that nearly offended her, like you wanted to get in the ring with her. Sevika scoffed at the very notion.

She couldn't lie though, even she felt the buzz of excitement permeating the crowd leading up to your face-off for the champion seat. This time, she was just here to watch.

It was the first time she'd seen you struggle. First time anyone had. She could tell from the moment you walked into the Pit, something was wrong.

The champion is killing you. Literally. It stirs something in Sevika as she watches him pin your head to the gritty ground with one hand, and beat on your skull with the other.

She jumps in before she even realizes what she's doing. What the hell was she doing?

The whole arena held its breath as someone who wasn't nameless, wasn't just some violent nobody presented themself.

Sevika knew what it looked like. She knew that word would get back to Silco and he'd ask her what the hell she was doing in the very center of a place like the Pit. But all she could do was spit on the ground, and square herself to the champion as if to say "Come try it with me, I dare you."

And he was about to, until he saw the whirring glow of her metal arm beneath her cape. The champ shrugged her off, taking his own leave while Sevika slung one of your arms over her shoulder.

It's not like he had anything to gain from fighting her. You were the only one he needed to beat.

"Why the hell did you do that?" You muttered out of a broken jaw.

"Yeah, it was no problem, don't mention it."

She starts to help you towards the locker room, until you tell her to take you to your apartment since it's only a little walk away.

It was definitely nicer than a lot of other units in Zaun. It looked untouched though, like you barely spent any time in there. She… lets you kinda crumple on the couch, before rummaging a bottle of alcohol from your pantry and removing a vial of Shimmer from her holster belt.

"Get that shit the fuck away from me."

"You done it in the past?"

"Hell no!"

"It's not gonna trap you after one dose. Trust me, you need it. You look like shit."

You give her some more shit, but eventually take the vial and the shot of vodka. Something about her is undeniably warm. Honest. You had no reason to give your trust out freely, but she seemed to have gained it without your knowing consent.

A part of your heart clung to it, the authenticity and honor she possessed that hadn't existed in so much as a whisper in the Pits.

Even as your entire nervous system seized the moment the Shimmer touched your throat, you were wholly conscious of her hand gripping the back of your neck with gentle, grounding firmness.

Her thumb subconsciously massaged into your trap muscle, and you heard her smoky voice urging you to "breathe, it'll be over soon". When had someone last touched you without the intention to hurt?

Still, after the Shimmer had passed through and you were feeling much better, you gave her a similar once-over to the one you once had before.

"Bet I could beat your ass."

"And I bet you'd die. Actually, this time." Yeah, that shut you up.

"So… what do I owe you for this?"

"Hm?"

"I still get a share even though I lost. C'mon, what percent's your cut?"

"I don't need your prize money. Or consolation, I guess."

"Rub it in, why don't you?"

She's ignoring you now though, electing to peruse the not so short row of books on your wall. "A well-read Pit fighter, huh? Well, you're number one in something in the Pits."

"Okay, what the hell do you want? Why'd you step in to help me?"

Her silence says she doesn't know, but you don't know that. You just think she's being an ass. Before you can tell her such though, she speaks up. "You know who I am, right?"

"Everybody in the Pit knows who you are. I saw the champ almost shit his pants."

"Then you know why I come to the Pits at all?"

"To play superhero, apparently."

"No. To recruit."

#arcane #sevika #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #help i can't stop #i'm becoming a sevika think tank #ubebones writing

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misshuntereevee · 3 months ago

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come right on me , i mean -- camaraderie! / part 2 - sylus .˳·˖✶𓆩𓆪✶˖·˳.༄

*** 18 + content!!!!! ***

contents: you sit on sylus' face, sylus like overstimulating you, reader has a kink for sylus' nose, p in v sex, no protect (wrap it up!) also: remember i'm not beta read... i also was very high when i wrote this.

part one , rafayel.

notes: all of the boys will get one with the same beginning prompt. these get longer than i intend every time so, i broke it up into parts or else it would never get released. according to the poll -- mr. guard dog caleb is next.

the prompt 𓂃🖊

“I want you to sit on my face.”

You nearly spit out your drink, but instead you manage to choke on it instead. You aren’t the smallest woman on the planet. Your thighs were also thick. Years of insecurity have you already shaking your head. “You’re kidding.”

His crimson eyes glint with mischief as he steps closer to you. His hand reaches out, his fingers tipping your chin up to meet his gaze. He backs you up against the kitchen counter, caging you in. It was just the two of you in the mansion on base.

“Dead serious, kitten.”

You make a bunch of words that sound like pure babbling as his hands moves to grip your hips, anchoring your hips to him. It's soothing to both of you, but it's evident in the way he lets out a contented sigh.

“But — my thighs —,” you start to argue, but the mention of your thighs only makes his grin expand. He looks like a wolf, ready to eat you up.

“Mhm, I love your thighs, kitten,” he says, leaning down to put his face in your neck, nuzzling into you. You're putty at this point. You've never been able to resist this giant man who is so worshipping of you.

"Mhm. So, you'll sit on my face then," he says.

You bite your lip thinking hard about it. As insecure as you are, there is one thing that's making you lust for it. One thing that's you're just so curious about the process --

His nose.

You hated how you were imagining how it would bump against your clit as he ate you out... you're nearly dripping at the thought of it. His hands have not stopped moving, even as you think -- which makes that process even harder. (You know he knows this.)

"Mhm, you thinking, kitten?"

"I am," You answer.

"Then it looks like I need to try harder," he all but purrs, and suddenly, he's lifting you by your ass -- and up onto the counter. You yelp with a little giggle. But like this, it's much easier for him to reach your lips -- and for you to throw your arms around his neck.

He presses into you as he kisses you. Sylus' kisses are not harsh. But they are strong and insistent. He's sure of himself and what he wants as he pillages your mouth, his tongue tasting every inch. His hands Your fingers find the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging with each wave of pleasure.

When he finally lets you up for air, he asks his question again. "You're avoiding the question," he chides, nipping at your neck as he begins to leave a trail of kisses. He sucks and nibbles on your skin, and you're melting into him and then it slips out:

"Okay, yeah, I'll do it."

It's a breathy moan, but it has Sylus picking you up with a growl, and marching over to the stairs. He ascends them easily -- just as if he was holding nothing at all. And for a second -- you don't feel bad about your weight. He carries with you absolute ease... and like you're the most fragile thing in the world.

When he reaches the bedroom, he falls backwards, making it so you straddle him by the time you both land. You giggle as his hand roam your back, pushing you further and further up.

And Sylus is met face to face with the culprit behind his intentions today. This skirt? It's absolutely sinful to him. Between your cute chubby thighs and the peak of underwear he got when you reached for something in the freezer earlier...

He had instantly stopped wanting real food -- no, he was a different kind of hungry. Sylus' mouth latches onto your thighs, nearly devouring them. You're groaning louder and louder, hands finding and tugging at his hair as he works a trial of hickeys up your thighs toward your center.

"Sy," you breathe out, "l-lower."

He has always adored when you're vocal. When you tell him what you want. He hums his approval before his tongue finds the thin band of pantie -- now drenched.

"Oh sweetie," he says from between your legs, and you feel your self clenching around nothing with the drawl of his words. "You're so wet for me. I can wait to taste you like this."

You start to move to lift you hips -- to take off the panties and skirt. But his hands are like vices, holding you down against him.

"No, no --" his hand comes up, a finger looping around the center, and pulling it to the side. "Leave them."

And then he's lifting you all at once and setting you back down over his face. You hesitate to sit down fully first, but again, he doesn't let you hesitate for long. His hands yank you fully down. He lets out a pleased sigh the second your pussy is on his mouth.

He starts slow, his tongue tracing your opening teasingly. The teasing nature of it has you clenching around nothing, and the way Sylus can feel it has him straining against his pants. If you could see, you'd see his pants are stained with pre-cum.

"Sy -- sy, more," you plead after a moment.

And the bastard chuckles. The vibration of it has you groaning -- and he takes advantage of that, plunging his tongue inside of you. He makes sure to nod his head slightly has he did --- knocking his nose against the hood of your clit.

"Oh my -- fuck," you gasped as he repeated the movement again and again. It's like he'd read your mind about his nose -- and that thought along make clench around his tongue.

You're dangerously close when his hand joins the mix -- it pinches and prods at your clit as he continues to fuck you with this tongue. Desperately wanting him deeper, you give an experimental thrust of your hips.

And it drives him absolutely crazy. You could have sworn he growled as you did it. And so -- you do it again and again. Grinding against his face.

"I'm -- Sylus -- I'm so close," you warn him, trying to pull off so you don't come all over his face. But he latches down again, and then with a chuckle, he slips a finger inside of you.

You absolutely lose it. You're drenching him underneath you, but he seems to be drinking it up, continuing to lap at you. You're over stimulated, but he locks his arms around your legs, keeping there as he continues to suck.

Four more times.

Sylus sucks until you come four more times against his mouth. At the end of your fourth one, he flips you both, and your propped up against the pillows. He leans over you, looking nearly crazed with want, his cock straining against his pants.

"Please, kitten, I need you," he rasps, his face covered with you. Your legs feel like gummy worms already -- but you want him, and you know that you do.

"Please, Sy. Wanna feel you..." you say.

And that's all it takes. He tosses his pants and boxers to the side. His thick and large cock is standing at attention, his tip red and leaking with pre-cum. He's always big, but straining like this... he looks even bigger.

"I don't know if I can be gentle, I -- I worked myself up too much," he admits. He's so pussy drunk right now - he has to feel you around his cock or he'll explode.

"I know the safeword," you remind him.

That's all it takes. He pulls your practically now ruined panties to the side and slides in. He doesn't take his time, he doesn't go slowly -- he slams right in to the hilt. Sylus groans as you stretch out around him.

And that's when he starts biting. His teeth find your neck, starting to leave a trail of kisses. --- Then he starts fucking you like he the world is going to end. You're nearly mewling underneath him, so sensitive from your previous orgasm. You push at his chest as it feels too overwhelming -- like the orgasm is coming on too fast.

"That's not a safeword," he reminds you.

"I wasn't saying anything! ---," you're cut off by the orgasm overtaking you, and everyone on base hears it, even if you're alone in the mansion. He bullies you through three more this way (his stamina was out of this world -- literally) before he's burying himself to the hilt. He's addicted just to the feeling of you coming around him.

"I'm coming---" is all he says before you feel him twitching inside of you. He rolls off to the side of you, pulling him along with you in the aftermath. "You're perfect, kitten."

You smile at him before: "...So how many bite marks am I covering this time?"

#smut #lads fanfiction #lads fanfic #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #sylus smut #lnds sylus smut #s #sylus

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fernsnailz · 2 years ago

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it's time... for the TEAM DARK FEST! 💥💥💥💥

me and @serpentineshine are hosting a little tournament to finally determine who the best Team Dark member is! this week there's gonna be goofs, bits, and even a special prize for the winner 👀

however, the most important prize of all is what awaits at the end of the festival! ...but that's a secret right now.

💥 cast your vote below! 💥

(oh also if anyone makes any propaganda for their fav character. tag me i wanna see)

video transcript below the cut! ⬇️

A blue announcement screen with scrolling text reads “SPECIAL FENSNAILZ ANNOUNCEMENT.” There’s a looping animation of Squeak the cat in the middle. It disappears, cutting to a shot of a studio space.

In the studio, SNAIL, SHINE, SQUEAK, and a VASH PLUSH all sit at a desk with a large CRT TV on it. Squeak and Vash are on top of the TV, and shelves with various items line the walls. Everyone seems to be unaware that the camera is rolling - Snail is reading the script, Shine is drinking from a mug, and Squeak is licking her butthole. Vash remains motionless.

Snail notices the camera zooming in, and throws away the script in a moment of panic. Shine and Squeak sit up to face the camera as well.

SNAIL: Coming at you pre-recorded, it’s Snail, Shine, and The Beasts!

SHINE: We’re here today to announce a special tournament we’re hosting: the TEAM DARK FEST!

SQUEAK: Eep!

VASH: weemp womp :]

SNAIL: You know ‘em, you love ‘em-

SHINE: Or hate them.

SNAIL: It’s all about TEAM DARK this week! Fellas, turn on that TV!

The camera cuts to a close-up of the TV as the screen flips on. Three shitty photos of each Team Dark member appear on the TV under the question “Who is the best member of Team Dark?” Every Team Dark member’s name is misspelled underneath the photos.

SHINE: Time for the ULTIMATE question: Who is the best Team Dark member?

SNAIL: Oof. We’re turning them against each other, huh? That’s dramatic.

SQUEAK: Meep! (HOLY SHIT)

The camera zooms out to a wide view of the studio, but zooms out much further than needed for a split second. For some reason, this is all being filmed on a green screen set, and the shelves behind the cast seem to be edited in. Not only that, but this studio is either widely over-staffed or widely under-staffed, because the boom mic is held by seven Chao stacked on top of each other. The camera zooms into a closeup of Snail before much of this information can be processed.

SNAIL: Well, it’s obviously Shadow. I told him if he won, I would get him ice cream after soccer practice!

The camera pans over to Shine.

SHINE: No way, vote for Rouge! She can carry like. Nineteen mountain lions. Give or take

The camera pans over to Squeak and Vash. Squeak points at a crude drawing of Omega that seems to say “VOTE OMEGA.” It is upside down. Vash holds a cute little sign that says “I <3 OMEGA” that he likely made himself.

SQUEAK + VASH: ?????????????? (we didn’t hire anyone to translate this part.)

Back in a wide shot, Snail and Shine stare blankly at Squeak and Vash. Squeak licks her butthole again. Vash is now Real. Someone off-screen sneezes very convincingly.

SHINE: This poll will run for ONE WEEK before we announce the winner! So little time…

SNAIL: Everyone make your vote count! The winner of this festival will have a special page in my…

An image of a porcelain snail appears over a white background as an echo-y human voice says “SECRET UPCOMING PROJECT.”

VASH: bweep bwaa :] (Yay! Prizes!)

SHINE: The final verdict will be decided by Twitter AND Tumblr, so commit as much voter fraud as you please!

Squeak bites Vash and he screams. They both fall off the TV and make a surprising amount of noise. Snail and Shine stare in shock.

SNAIL: See you in seven days! And hey, if you want to participate… tag me in any propaganda you make to fight for your favorite Team Dark member!

Squeak and Vash explode.

#IT'S VOTER FRAUD WEEK FOLKS!!!!!!!#watch our silly video we had a stupid amount of fun making it #also i'm gonna be using the tag teamdarkfest to organize all this stuff #for some reason the darkfest tag is full of mountain bikers and like one person posting captain america x iron man art 🤷‍♀️#teamdarkfest #team dark

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couldtheybekira · 6 months ago

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Catching Kira is overrated. Let's talk about not getting caught as Kira.

This is the reverse of @couldtheycatchkira where I give you a character and you determine if they could survive as Kira.

Important note: Assume the character is completely willing to be Kira. @wouldtheybecomekira already exists.

Second important note: "Being Kira" just means continuous use of the Death Note to kill. They don't have to get into the whole "God of a New World" thing if they don't want to.

There are six categories:

Never caught or suspected: Not only does this character live to actually create their new world, but nobody ever suspects it was actually them! I better not see you vote people into this category just because you like them or it'd be funny. Actually it being funny is valid

Suspected but never caught: It's about a five percent chance. They live to make their new world, and while people have certainly suggested it being them, and some believe it, there's just not enough evidence to convict them

Suspected only by whoever caught them: The general public was fooled, but someone, likely an enemy of that character in their canon, caught on to them and brought them to justice.

Suspected and eventually caught: Look, not even Actual Kira was perfect. They slip up little by little, and they get caught.

Caught almost instantly: Oh, all of that character's worst enemies die day one? Yeah, if they don't stop to think, it's pretty easy to lead investigators straight to them before Ryuk has the chance to not tell them some critical information.

Known, but can't be caught: In other words: "I'm Kira, whatcha gonna do about it?" For characters whose abilities outside of the Death Note mean that facing the law is barely even a possibility for them. (This one is a late addition, so early polls won't have it.)

(Results/Unqualified To Say): If you don't know, don't answer. I do try to include supplementary information when I know the character, and get it out of the submitter when I don't, though.

When you submit a character, please include their source media, and if you can, an image of them from their source media.

Additionally, ever so often we'll run polls about the Shinigami Eyes Deal and Relinquishing the Death Note and your memory of it.

For the Shinigami Eyes Deal:

Takes the Eye Deal instantly: As soon as it's on the table they accept. Yes, they did hear the part about losing half their remaining life span. They said they accept.

Takes the Eye Deal eventually: They'll come around to it, or if they think they don't have that long a natural lifespan left anyway.

Takes the Eye Deal due to desperate circumstances: They're forced into a bad spot and just need to get someone off them right now, or their life is gonna shortened by a lot more than half.

Uses someone else who took the Eye Deal: You can choose who, and what circumstances allow this to even be possible.

Never takes the Eye Deal: They just don't. Ever. It's either not worth it, it's too easy, whatever.

For Relinquishing the Death Note

Relinquishes Death Note permanently; no longer needs it: They've done what they needed with the notebook. I know I said we're assuming they're completely willing to become Kira, but we never said anything about staying Kira.

Relinquishes Death Note permanently; only way to survive: Investigators are getting too close to their trail and if they're interrogated they'll definitely crack. It's possible they also make someone else become Kira, but this is a one-way street. They do not remember this, ever.

Relinquishes Death Note temporarily; never regains it: It's very hard to stick to a plan you don't remember making. They relinquish the notebook with the intent of getting it back, and simply never do. Either to a change of heart, circumstances not allowing it, or what have you.

Relinquishes Death Note temporarily; regains it: The perfect alibi, perfectly executed. You can fill in the blanks for what their plan was and how it works, they're Kira, they'll do it.

Never relinquishes Death Note: Again, they just don't.

And also also, you can submit strategies for what you would do if you're Kira! These can be found under the tag "Kira's strategies," and are polled with the following options:

Flawless Strategy; Why didn't Light use this, is he stupid?

Great Strategy; On par with Light

Okay Strategy; Anyone could think of that

Poor Strategy; You've made some critical oversights

Terrible Strategy; This would get you caught faster

#death note #could they be kira

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ashloremystic · 23 days ago

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Poll Results are in!

Read the Fine Print

Date with a Werewolf

Part 1 here

It had been weeks since you downloaded that stupid DRD and your excitement had all but dies out. You had just gotten home from work and was pouring yourself a nice heafty glass of wine when your phone pinged not once but twice.

You put the bottle down and grabbed for your phone, expecting it to be nothing of importance. Unlocking your phone you froze.

You have 2 notifications!

Both are from DRD and the other from Sensational Simulations. Quickly you opened them.

Dear y/n

Your request had been accepted. Emrys has provided his availability, and Sensational Simulations will be contacting you shortly with a schedule. Once you select your preferred meeting date, a contract will be emailed to you. Please read carefully and sign.

We sincerely hope that your match goes well and you consider using our services again soon.

Enjoy!

DRD Associate

The next email as stated, was a calendar with dates and the earliest possible one was tonight at 10pm.. the next being a week away! That just wouldn't do.

Excitement filled your gut as you looked at the time. Sensational was about 45 minutes away. It was only 8:13…”I can make this work if I get ready now.”

So you clicked on today's date. Another ping sounded and you groaned. “shit I forgot about the contract.” You opened the email and it was FIFTEEN PAGES! There was no way you would get through all of them and manage to look decent in time.

So you did what any desperate women going to meet some strange monster would do…Skimmed thru it and signed. You even added a few hearts after one to give off the illusion you read them. Surely you can look back through them later. Right?

_____

You pulled up to the front for Sensational Simulations around 9:48 pm after checking that they had Valet parking. How you managed not to get a ticket was beyond you but Hey! At least you looked good.

The place was just as beautiful as you remembered before. The entrance and a huge modern open floor plan and busy with the buzz of other clients chatting amongst each other.

In the center of the room was a receptionist desk where a blonde woman with cherry red lipstick waved you over. You smiled nervously at her and made your way over.

“Welcome to Sensational Simulations y/n! I am Olivia and I will be your host today.” Her voice was very trained almost computer like.”

“Hi.” you replied, feeling the nerves in your gut turn to butterflies.

“So we've received your contracts, and everything is already settled. All there is to do now is take you to your location.”

“Sounds good. Any kind of payments on my part?"

She shook her head. "All taken care of." She looked down at the stuff you held. I'll take your phone and things to lock away in a safe during your stay."

“wait why can't I have my phone?”

“It can interfere with the Simulations sometimes. So to be safe we lock them away. But no need to worry. Each host is readily available in case there are any emergencies.”

“Are there usually any?”

“Very rarely. Follow me.”

You were escorted by Olivia to the main elevators. “Each floor is its own world. Some have multiple patrons in them or are rented out for certain blocks of time. Your's however has been rented for 24 hours. So there is no rush or anyone to…ruin the mood."

“24 hours is a long time for a date isn't it?” You asked as you thought about having to work tomorrow. You also couldn't wait to fill your coworker in.

Oliva smiled at you. “Some people book slots for extended days at a time. It’s part of the experience..No distractions from the outside world to break the illusion that the app puts in place. Its why its becoming so popular now. We will have to open a second location soon.”

“I had no clue. Thats amazing!.” You said as the elevator stopped finally.”

A breeze softly drifted through the closed doors before you. Smelling slightly earthy.

“This room is one of our newest and most realistic. The reviews have been great so far.” She swept a key card.

The doors opened and your mouth hit the floor. It was like stepping into a whole new world. You were in the middle of a forest. The sounds of insects and the wind through the trees made it feel so life-like. Even the dirt on the ground looked real.

“Wow!.”

“Nice isn't it?”

“yes! How amazing.”

“Well this is where we part ways.”

“okay thank you.”

“Enjoy.” She said as she scanned her key card on the door. “Ill be around if you need me.”

Once inside the door and the wall behind you faded leaving only miles of forest. You went to press your hand on the wall to reassure you that this was just a room but there was nothing but air there instead. How?

“That's not alarming at all.” You mumbled as you turned and started to follow the trail deeper into the trees. Even though it was dark out. The full moon above lit the path well enough for you to follow.

This was a date right? So maybe there was a cabin nearby. Maybe a picnic or something like that. You always wanted to have a cabin getaway in the fall. This could be it.

The Trail was thinning. You were not wearing the right shoes for a deep woods hike….Did the contract possibly say something about wearing comfortable shoes? Maybe it had information on what kind of “monster” You were meeting too. Probably shouldn’t have rushed through it.

Just as you reached the end of the trail, a howl sounded in the distance answering your inner thoughts. Your monster was infact…A Werewolf.

But shouldn't he be ….you know…In human shaped? How were the two of you going to talk or share dinner?

Rustling came from a nearby brush behind you. Hoping that the howl you heard was just part of the simulation, you turned around to inspected the sound. What you saw instead startled a scream of terror out of you.

Rising from the bushes was a giant creature caught between the shape of a man and part wolf. Like a B rated movie shift gone wrong..Without a second thought you turned and ran….Bad Idea!

The thing behind you howled its hunting song and gave chase.

Surly there had to be an emergency button somewhere right? you wondered as you tripped and stumbled on raised roots and rock. Your shoes making it harder for you to gain ground. Dirt now stained your dress and you were pretty sure your ankle was sprained.

“Olivia!” You screamed hoping she would put a stop to this chase. But you were answered with silence.

Something furry and twice your size landed on you, You screamed as the two of you crashed into the soil below, halting your escape. You struggled to get free as a mouth closed around your thigh and pulled you to it. Its teeth leaving marks on your skin.

Your underwear was then torn away and you're eyes went wide as a new panic settled in. Just what the hell was he going to do to you? You surely didn’t sign up for this! Not with this….Thing!

“No! Wait…Help…Someone! I didn't agree to this!!”

The monster behind you halted as a tune sounded. “Your contract has no limits. No violations have occurred or been detected.” Olivia's too cheery voice sounded. “You may proceed” Very fucking helpful Olivia!!!

Understanding that, the wolf still holding you down, lowered his head behind you and ran a very big and textured tongue through your folds. You gasped in shock at the friction against your sensitive flesh. It's width ensuring nothing went untouched. Every single hole.

You moaned again as it came back to lick again and again until you were a whimpering mess trying not to submit. Each time, your willpower and fight lessened and left you soaking wet. Especially when he started to fuck your tight hole with it. That was a new experience in itself.

It was like nothing you've ever felt before and even though his tongue didn't go deep, it still had you rocking your hips now begging for release instead of escape.

Sensing your approaching orgasm. The wolf pulled his tongue out and went back to focusing on your clit. Lapping away still holding you as you thrashed and jerked against the overwhelming sensation till you couldn't take it anymore.

You screamed as you came. The sound echoing through the forest as Emrys kept at the bulb a little longer. Enjoying the sounds you made for him as you struggled to evade it. You couldnt. You were at his mercy and he was going to prove it.

His tongue slowed and did one last long lick as he crawled up the length of your body. His partly shifted hands pulled your hips up and before you know it….You were being pressed into. His huge cock stretching you and going deeper than any regular man had ever managed.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he pounded into you with no restraint from behind. Moaning as he massaged the walls deep inside you. His breath thick and hot on the back of your neck as sweat…or his saliva, dripped on to it. You were so lost in your pleasure you didn't care.

You were just trying to find your own rhythm. Wiggling your hips slightly, you pushed back. Squeezing as you did so earning yourself a deep throaty moan that sounded more man than wolf grunts now.

He thrusts started to change after a moment and before you knew it you were rolled on to your back legs amost pressed into your shoulders as he tried to bury himself deeper inside you…Then you felt a different pressure…What was that…It felt thicker...harder.

Emrys jerked his hips and howled as you cried out at the sudden pain from something slipping inside of you. Locking your bodies together and sending you into an instant orgasm that brought the stars in the sky above much closer. He thrusted a few more times limited by what felt like a knot till he himself came as well.

“Fuck” He growled now mostly human. His gray eyes hooded from being drunk on pleasure. “That was amazing.”

“Chasing a helpless woman in the woods and taking advantage of her?” You asked teasingly. You were far from mad now…you didn't even think you were afraid either come to think of it. You had never been fucked so good before.

“It was part of my package. You should have read that in your contract.” His deep voice said as he leaned down and kissed your neck softly. “I've always wanted to fuck a prey as the wolf….maybe next I will shift all the way.”

“Next?”

“Yes my prey…You're now mine until our time is up, and I plan to use that to my full advantage."

Your gut tightened with anticipation and slight fear. "But I need to work in the morning. So I should probably go soon."

"Olivia read term 34 page 7"

A tune chimed in.

"Attendee must stay for the full duration of the event or until they are released from said obligation. Each event duration will be in 24 hour incerment. That of which the Attendee is at the full disposal of the contract holder."

Your mouth fell open.

"And did y/n agree to this term." Emrys asked

"Yes."

"Thanks Olivia."

"My pleasure."

Grey eyes looked into yours..."You know.."He thrusted slightly his body still attached to yours. "You really should read what you sign."

No Shit..

Which explains how you ended up spending the next 24 hours as a werewolf's test sex toy...

Thanks for Voting!! Hope you all like it.

Next up Dragon

#monster writing #monster fucker #monster smut #werewolf #dark romance #dark romance dating app

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snoopyhughes · 7 months ago

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to be loved is to be known: paige bueckers

hello and welcome to the second installment of my series, to be loved is to be known! Paige also screams acts of service to me, and she won the poll so this one will be with Paigey. if you have any requests for this series, feel free to send them in.

1.3k words, there is mentions of both feminine and androgynous energy from reader but THIS IS A WLW FIC!

to be loved is to be known...

Let's start here: Paige is your BIGGEST fan. Just as the gif shows, Paige loves so hard and so deeply. Paige cares infinitely more about her loved ones than she does herself (which is something you're working on with her), but it shows in the way she loves you. She praises your smallest of actions. But it isn't trivial. Paige is truly proud of everything you do and all that you are.

Did something after procrastinating? She's showering you with kisses for a job well done. Got a half decent grade on an assignment or test? She's taking you out to dinner to celebrate. And with the big wins, she will blow you out of the water with the things she does for you to celebrate.

A promotion at work calls for a beautiful new necklace, a #5 proudly across your neck, spelled out in diamonds. College graduation calls for a new car, because every time you turn your old car on, Paige holds on for dear life, scoffing about how her next brand deal would go towards buying you your dream car. Living with Paige is a dream (which I'll get into later), but one thing Paige would do when it's time for the two of you to move on from your quaint yet lovely Storrs apartment is insist the two of you build a house together, from the ground up.

Paige would want the house to be perfectly your own. If you worked out, a full gym would be there for you. Paige would insist that you needed a library for your books, a get ready with me room, an office for you, the bathroom of your dreams, staged exactly how you have always dreamed of. You definitely have to talk her off the ledge for some of the things she insists you need, but your heart swells at her dedication of wanting to create a place that's perfect for the two of you to love and live in for as long as this part of her journey lasts.

to be loved is to be known...

Going back to living with Paige, it wouldn't just be the physical structure of your home that Paige would put her heart into. Paige would be the absolute best partner to live with, no matter where you lived.

She would do whatever she could to make your life easier at home. Paige would insist on having a towel/blanket warmer in the house so she could meet you after your shower with a warm towel, or wait for you to come home from a tough presentation with a warm blanket, mugs of steaming hot cocoa ready and your favorite movie queued up on the TV.

Paige loves leaving notes all around your space. On the bedside table next to your side of the bed, on the mirror in the bathroom, outside the fridge. Little things such as "I love you" or "you're beautiful," but also small reminders as she knows sometimes you can get forgetful. "Don't forget to fill your water" or "your computer is plugged in by the couch," small things you might gloss over, but things she knows will make your life infinitely easier.

Paige also loves meeting you at home with your favorite meal from take out. She doesn't strike me as much of a cook, but I know she would love to pick up your favorite burger, pasta dish, pizza, Asian food, whatever made you happy. She had a sixth sense for knowing when you'd be tired and wouldn't want to cook, or really just when you were craving a comforting bite of your favorite restaurant's meal.

to be loved is to be known...

I feel like clothes is one of Paige's favorite parts of your relationship. I know that sounds strange, but there is nothing Paige loves more than seeing you wrapped up in her "Buckets" sweatshirt, her classic plaid pajama pants tied around your waist, lounging on the couch waiting for her to come lay with you. She melts to see you in her clothes every time.

If you had more of a feminine style, Paige would love the way your styles complement each other and balance out. She would live for matching basics, initial necklaces that never leave anyone questioning who either of you belong to, matching rings she got you for your first anniversary, matching color schemes, any way that you could show your love for each other and your commitment to each other through fashion, which Paige truly loves. Even if your styles are complete opposites, Paige will still find a way to connect the two of you together, making you look like a perfect pair.

If you had more of a masculine, street style, a style more similar to Paige, she would live for matching sneakers, matching sweat suits, matching hair styles (if possible), anything she can do to show that the two of you are connected. She would love stealing your sweatshirts, because it isn't a one way street. Paige would never be spotted in a hockey sweatshirt if it weren't for you.

Paige would love to buy things that she sees that she thinks you would look good in. This is really tough for her because she can find a way to connect basically anything to you. "It would bring out your eyes," "it would look so beautiful for our date tomorrow," "I caught you looking at it on tiktok," literally anything. You would definitely have to set boundaries with Paige about gift giving, especially with clothes, because you would need two wardrobes with the amount of clothes, shoes, and accessories Paige would want to buy you.

to be loved is to be known...

Don't get me wrong, Paige can definitely be the life of the party. But I feel that mostly, Paige would want to do what you would want to do. If you were in the mood to go out on the town, Paige would be the DD, fixing your hair and helping you into the apartment at night when you had too much, her eyes full of love, feeling so grateful that she gets to be the one to take care of you.

After a win, Paige can go either way. Sometimes she loves to go out, and other times she wants to "go home to her sweetheart," her exact words. Her teammates love to roast her for that, but she could not care any less.

She loves going out with you after wins, where people are congratulating her on the win but all she cares about is the beautiful girl on her arm, looking at her like she put the stars in the sky. No matter what Paige was wearing on her lips, it was always all over your cheeks and neck by the end of the night. She can't keep her hands, and definitely can't keep her lips off of you on a night out. It isn't even inherently sexual, she just loves you so much and wants to show you how much she loves you. Show you that she would give up everything the basketball life has to offer if you asked her. She loves you truly that much.

Don't think Paige doesn't love a night in after a game though. "Going home to her sweetheart" means stopping at the drive thru on the way home from the game, her hand never leaving your thigh, reaching over to kiss your cheek while stopped at a red light.

And when you get home, Paige loves nothing more than to change into matching pjs (she is a sucker for these), fill up your water bottles, do. your skincare routine together (which really means you doing your routing on Paige), and climbing into bed together. Sometimes you turn on a light show to watch that you've both seen countless times, or a familiar comfort movie. It doesn't matter though, because the two of you are always more wrapped up in each other, small kisses, soft "I love you's" just a true, loving environment which makes you both go to sleep feeling like your heart grew three sizes.

#wlw #pb5 #Paige bueckers #Paige bueckers x reader #Paige bueckers imagine #uconn women’s basketball #uconn wbb #TBLITBK #elle’s writing

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movingmusically · 26 days ago

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Lesson Learned

Synopsis:

Fast hands. Sweet mouth. A selfish streak a mile wide. Benny Cross thinks he knows what you like. He doesn’t. But if he plays nice, maybe you’ll show him how it’s done.

Author’s Note:

This one was 100% inspired by the comments on @psycheetamore’s poll saying that Benny would be a selfish lover. As soon as I read them I couldn’t stop thinking… maybe he could be taught.

There’s also a quiet nod to Sinners in there, if you know where to look.

Word Count: 5.1k

Masterlist

You’d told yourself last time was the last time.

Not out loud, of course. That would’ve required some sort of conversation, and Benny wasn’t the type to linger after he got what he came for. He pulled on his jeans, grabbed his jacket, maybe tossed you a crooked little grin like he’d done you a favour, then vanished with the sound of his bike screaming into the night.

And you? You’d stared at the ceiling, still panting, aching in all the wrong ways, thinking: What the hell am I doing?

Because the sex was never bad—not exactly. But it was always about him. Benny fucked like he rode: reckless, fast, and convinced that sheer force of motion was enough to make people feel something.

You didn’t come. Not last time. Not the time before.

And the worst part? He never noticed.

Still, there was something about the way he looked at you—hungry and a little feral, like he’d die if he didn’t have you right then. Some part of you always wanted to believe it. That maybe this time would be different.

So tonight, you weren’t drinking. You weren’t smiling. You’d done your hair the same way, sure—habit’s a bitch—but you’d kept the lipstick off and your distance sharp. You sat at the edge of the bar like someone who had somewhere else to be. Like someone who wouldn’t be going home with a leather-jacketed narcissist who wouldn't know what a clitoris was if it bit him.

You weren’t going to let him touch you.

…Probably.

And yet, the second you heard his laugh—low and lazy, curling through the crowd like smoke—you felt your stomach flip.

Benny walked in like he always did, like he owned the air. Cigarette tucked behind one ear, knuckles bruised from something he wouldn’t talk about, that same loose swing in his step that made your thighs tighten on instinct. His gaze cut across the room until it landed on you, and you looked away too slow.

He didn’t smile. He smirked.

Of course he did.

You sipped your soda like it was tequila, fixed your stare on the bottles behind the bar, and ignored the heat crawling up your neck. You were not doing this again.

“Hey.”

His voice was a touch rougher tonight. Faint rasp, like he’d been shouting or smoking too much. Probably both.

You didn’t turn. Just lifted a brow and muttered, “Thought you’d be out breakin' hearts.”

“Figured I’d start here.”

You exhaled through your nose. Short. Sharp. “Funny.”

He leaned a little closer. Close enough for the scent of leather and sweat and smoke to hit you like a goddamn freight train. “C'mon. Don’t tell me you didn’t miss me.”

“Didn’t even notice you were gone.”

It was a lie, and you both knew it.

His voice dropped, amused. “Could’ve sworn you were waitin’ on me.”

You should’ve said no. Should’ve rolled your eyes, finished your drink, and gone home alone like a grown woman with some self-respect.

Instead, you looked at him—really looked. Those stupid pretty eyes. That mouth—full, soft, always just a little parted. All the things he could do with it, if he ever bothered to try. Heat rose in your chest, sharp and slow.

Every part of you that knew better flared up in protest.

You turned away. Stared down at the ring of condensation your bottle had left on the bar, like it might tell you something worth hearing. Like it might remind you of all the reasons you shouldn’t.

Then Benny leaned in, close enough that his breath skimmed the shell of your ear. “Thought you might need a ride home.”

His fingers brushed yours on the countertop and you hated how easily it worked on you. How warm your skin went under that lazy touch. How your legs moved before your better judgement could catch up.

You slid off the stool without a word.

Behind you, he smiled like he’d already won.

He held the door open with one hand and a casual kind of ease, letting you pass first like a gentleman. It would’ve almost been convincing if you hadn’t known better.

The bike was waiting at the curb, angled like he’d left it in a hurry or just didn’t care. Of course he didn’t care. Not about parking. Not about rules. Not about anything except the next hit of speed, the next high, the next warm body.

You climbed on behind him, thighs bracketing his hips, fingers curling into his jacket.

He didn’t glance back, just settled his hands on the bars and muttered, half to himself, “Knew you missed me.”

And you hated—hated—how right he thought was.

But maybe this time, you thought, pressing your thighs a little tighter around him, curling your fingers just a little deeper into the worn leather—

Maybe this time, he’d learn something.

The ride back was loud and fast, like always. No conversation. Just the roar of the engine, the wind in your face, and Benny’s body between your legs—warm, solid, thoughtless.

You didn’t speak as you led him upstairs. Didn’t need to. He followed like he always did, with that lazy confidence like the night belonged to him already.

The door shut behind you. His hands were on your hips before you’d even taken your coat off, mouth trailing toward your neck, breath hot and careless. He kissed like he fucked—impatient, all tongue and teeth and hunger. And you let him.

For a minute.

You let his hands roam, let him press you back against the wall, let your body answer before your brain could step in. He reached for the hem of your top, and you lifted your arms without thinking.

But then—then—you stopped.

“You always gonna do it like this?” you said, breath catching.

Benny blinked, hands still on your waist. “Like what?”

“Like you got somewhere else to be.”

He frowned, confused, not offended. “Ain’t heard you complainin’ before.”

“Maybe I should’ve.”

You stepped out of his reach, not far—just enough. Enough to make him notice. Enough to make him look at you, properly, for once.

His eyes dipped, a little wary now. “You want me to go?”

“No.” You reached for him, pressing your palm flat against his chest. “I want you to listen.”

Benny didn’t move.

Didn’t pull back, but didn’t lean in either. Just stood there watching you, eyes narrowed like he wasn’t sure if you were serious or setting him up for a joke he didn’t understand.

You slid your hand from his chest to the back of his neck, fingers threading through the ends of his hair. He always smelled like trouble—smoke and sweat and engine grease—but up close, there was something softer underneath.

“I want you to slow down,” you said, quiet but clear. “Just… for once. Let’s see what happens.”

He huffed a short breath—something between a laugh and a scoff—but you didn’t let go.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You know how this goes.”

“Yeah,” you said. “That’s the problem.”

You leaned in then—not to kiss him, but to press your mouth just beside his ear. “You ever think about what I might want?”

His hands twitched at your waist. “I thought you liked it how we do it.”

“I like you,” you said, and you felt him go still at that. “But I’m tired of pretendin' it’s enough.”

For a beat, he didn’t say anything. Then, quieter than before, “What do you want?”

You pulled back enough to meet his eyes. “Lie down.”

He hesitated. You tilted your head. “Trust me.”

That, more than anything, seemed to throw him. But after a second, he stepped back toward the bed. Sat. Leaned back on his elbows.

Watching you.

You peeled your top the rest of the way off. Let him look. Let him want.

Then you climbed onto the bed, swung one leg over him, and settled into his lap.

“Keep your hands where they are,” you said, voice low.

Benny’s breath stuttered.

You smiled, slow and sure. “Good boy.”

He looked up at you like he didn’t know what the hell he’d just agreed to.

And then you leaned down and kissed him—really kissed him. Not the way he usually kissed you, all mouth and momentum and grab. You kissed him like you meant to leave a mark behind. Like you had all the time in the world and were choosing to spend it on him.

He made a low sound in his throat—surprised, maybe. His lips parted, but he didn’t reach for you. Good.

You rolled your hips once, steady and purposeful, just enough pressure to make him feel the shape of you against him. His breath hitched. His jaw clenched. But he didn’t move.

“Feels better when you pay attention, don't it?” you murmured against his mouth.

He nodded. Barely. Eyes locked on yours, a little darker now.

You leaned in, close enough to let your lips graze his jaw, the corner of his mouth, just a brush of heat without the payoff. “You always get yours, Benny. Every single time. And I let you. Stupid, I know.”

His breath hitched when you sucked lightly at the spot just below his ear, then pulled back.

“This time, you’re gonna earn it.”

You slid off his lap and stood between his knees, bare to the waist, unhurried as you let his gaze trace you. He looked dazed, like someone had rewritten the script and he didn’t know his lines anymore.

You tilted your head.

“Take off your shirt.”

For once, he didn’t smirk. Didn’t crack a joke. Just obeyed. Pulled the cut-off tee over his head and dropped it to the floor, eyes on you the whole time.

You touched him, fingers trailing up the front of his chest. Teasing just enough to make him strain toward your touch.

Then you gave him a little push.

“Lie back.”

He did.

And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to get it.

You watched him settle back, arms still propped behind him like he wasn’t quite sure if he was meant to relax or brace. His chest rose a little faster now, the flush creeping up his neck more from anticipation than exertion.

You leaned in, letting your hands trail up his thighs, slow and light.

You shifted forward, straddling his hips again, heat pooling low in your belly at the feel of him already hard beneath you. Usually he’d have his hands all over you by now. Usually it’d be rushed, messy, forgettable.

Not tonight.

You leaned down and kissed him —deeper this time, slow and steady, until his mouth finally softened under yours, matching your rhythm instead of fighting it. When you pulled back, you reached for his hands.

“Touch me,” you said, guiding them to your waist. “But only how I show you.”

He nodded, eyes locked on yours. Watching you with something between confusion and heat.

You dragged one of his hands up, palm sliding over your ribs, thumb grazing the side of your breast, pressing it flat where you wanted it.

His fingers flexed, adjusting. Following.

And for the first time since the door shut behind him, he wasn’t just grabbing. He was feeling.

You felt it in your own breath, the way your body answered differently now—still hungry, still desperate, but seen.

You rocked forward again, watching the way his head tipped back, the muscle in his jaw ticking. He let out a breath—quiet, strained—and you smiled.

Maybe he was teachable after all.

 You guided his other hand down between your legs, over the waistband of your slacks. “Use your fingers,” you said, firm but calm.

Benny hesitated—just for a second—then shifted beneath you, rolling you slightly onto your back with one arm braced behind you. His other hand moved lower, fumbling with the button like he was trying to figure out if this was allowed.

You let him undo it. Didn’t help. Just held his gaze as he tugged the zip down and slipped his hand inside, knuckles grazing heat through the thin cotton of your panties.

His breath caught.

“Start slow,” you murmured, rocking your hips once to meet him.

He found you through the fabric first, fingers pressing tentatively, then sliding lower. You parted your legs a little more, giving him room, and his fingertips pushed the gusset aside—slow, careful, like he was waiting to be told if he was doing it right.

You were wet already. Of course you were. And when he touched you properly—skin to skin—it was the first time either of you went completely still.

You held his wrist. “Inside.”

He eased one finger in, slow and hesitant. Then another.

“Curl them,” you whispered. “Up. There. That’s the spot.”

He shifted—adjusted—and then froze when your body jolted in response, a sound catching in your throat.

“That it?” he asked, voice rough.

“There,” you breathed. “Right fucking there.”

His jaw flexed. His fingers moved again, dragging over that spot with a little more certainty now, slow and steady. You clutched his forearm, hips rocking against his hand in tight, controlled movements, chasing it yourself, letting him feel it happen—what it was like when someone actually got you close. Your breath stuttered, a soft moan slipping out before you could catch it.

His breath caught again—sharp this time, like it had startled him.

“You feel that?” you managed, voice strained. “That’s me, Benny. That’s mine.”

His fingers flexed just right.

And the heat inside you surged.

You dug your fingers into his shoulder, not to hurt—just to hold. To anchor yourself as your hips moved faster, chasing the edge he’d never taken you to before.

But now—now, with his fingers buried deep and curling just right—you could feel it building sharp and steady. A slow burn that didn’t back off, didn’t flicker out like it always had before.

Benny didn’t say anything. He just watched you. Like he was trying to memorise every shift, every sound. Like he wanted to get it right.

You held his gaze. Let him see it.

The stutter in your breath. The way your thighs started to shake. The way your body clenched around his fingers, drawing him in tighter with every pulse of heat gathering just beneath your skin.

“Don’t stop,” you said, barely more than a whisper. “Right there. Just—ah—there.”

He didn’t stop.

And when it hit, it was hard and fast and real, your spine arching, head dropping back with a choked cry that filled the room.

You came around his fingers, hips jerking, muscles fluttering tight as the pleasure rolled through you—hot and heavy and earned.

You clung to his wrist, his shoulder, whatever you could grab, as your body rode it out. Let it crest. Let it slow. Let yourself have it.

For once.

Your breathing slowed. Your body sagged into him. And only then did he speak, voice low, almost reverent.

“Fuck.”

You opened your eyes. Met his.

“Yeah,” you said, breath still ragged. “That’s what it’s supposed to feel like.”

Benny didn’t move. His hand was still between your legs, fingers slick and resting where they’d just pulled you apart. You could feel the tension in his body—tight and coiled, like he was waiting for permission to do something with it.

You reached down and wrapped your fingers around his wrist. Guided his hand out of you with quiet authority. Then, without breaking eye contact, you brought his fingers to your mouth and sucked them clean—one at a time.

His breath caught hard.

You smiled. “Good boys get rewards.”

You pushed yourself upright, hips shifting under his, and reached for the waistband of his jeans. His eyes followed every movement—wild, hungry, expecting the return to routine. Expecting to take over now that you’d gotten yours.

You undid the button, pulled the zip down, and slid your hand inside.

He groaned as your fingers wrapped around him, already hard and pulsing under your touch. You stroked him once and he instinctively bucked into your hand.

You stopped. Just held him there.

His breath caught.

He looked at you, misreading the moment. “You ready for me now?”

You looked him dead in the eye, raising an eyebrow. “You think that was your cue?”

He hesitated. Mouth open like he might say something else—then shut it again.

You kissed him then. Soft. Barely there.

Then you let go.

“Jeans off,” you said, leaning back into the pillows. “You’ve got more to learn.”

This time, he didn’t hesitate. He pushed up onto his knees, shoved his jeans and boxers down and kicked them aside. His cock stood hard and flushed, but he didn’t touch it. Didn’t ask.

You sat up, peeling your slacks the rest of the way off, then hooked your thumbs under your panties and slid them down too—slow, unhurried, keeping your eyes on him the whole time. Let him watch. Let him feel it.

When you were bare, you stretched back across the bed, legs open and relaxed, arms resting overhead like you had all the time in the world.

Benny stared. Still kneeling. Still unsure whether he was allowed to move.

You tilted your head. “You just gonna kneel there lookin’ pretty, or you gonna put that mouth to good use?”

A flicker of something—surprise, maybe even a little pride—crossed his face.

“Always figured it was made for eatin’ pussy,” you added, deadpan.

That got a smile out of him.

“Yeah?” he said, crawling toward you. “Guess I better prove it.”

You didn’t answer. Just crooked a finger and beckoned him down.

And he went—without argument, without attitude—settling between your thighs like he finally understood that this time, he was the one being used.

Benny settled between your thighs, hands braced on the bed beside your hips and leaned in, lips brushing the inside of your thigh first—testing. Then he moved higher, mouth open now, tongue dragging up through your folds.

You didn’t say anything at first. Let him wonder if he’d got it right.

He hadn’t.

You shifted your hips slightly, brought your hand down into his hair, and guided him up.

“Higher,” you said. “Towards the top. You feel that button?”

He paused, tongue hovering.

“If you ever plan on keeping a woman around, you find that and learn it.”

He let out a soft, unsteady breath, and you smiled.

Then he started again—this time right where you told him. But he pressed too hard, tongue flattened, pushing like he was trying to prove something.

You flinched. Not enough to stop him—just enough to correct.

“Okay,” you murmured, fingers tightening slightly in his hair. “That’s too much.”

He looked up, brow furrowed.

“You ever had a scoop of that ice cream from downtown?”

He blinked. “Yeah.”

“Good. That’s what you want to think about. Tastes good, right? But you don’t want it gone too fast.”

You eased him back into place with a slight tug. “Same pressure. Not too hard. Not too soft. Like you want it to last.”

He nodded. Slower this time. No smirk. Just focused.

And when he leaned in again, he got it.

His tongue moved with care now, working soft, steady circles around your clit—light pressure, just enough to draw your breath out in a shaky sigh. Your hips rose instinctively, legs tensing over his shoulders.

“That’s it,” you whispered. “Keep going.”

His hands stayed at your hips this time—holding you in place while he worked, listening to the sounds you made, adjusting with every breath and shift of your body.

Pleasure built again, low and hot—this steady, deliberate swell, like your whole body was blooming open around it. You let out a soft moan, then another, each one pulled deeper from your throat as his tongue worked slow, tight circles that made your toes curl.

“Yeah,” you breathed, hips rolling up to meet him. “Just like that.”

Your fingers clenched in his hair as another moan tore loose—higher, rawer—and Benny groaned against you. The sound vibrated right through you, made your breath stutter and your thighs twitch.

You couldn’t help the whimper that followed, sharp and sudden as he adjusted slightly, licking right where you needed it most.

“Fuck, Benny—”

Another groan from him, deeper this time. Almost desperate.

You felt it—felt him—working harder now, mouth moving with purpose, like he wanted to be the reason you came. Like your pleasure was something he could chase.

And God, you were close. You were right there.

You were so close now it hurt—every nerve drawn tight, every sound that left your mouth more desperate than the last. His tongue was steady, careful, still circling, still good.

But you needed more.

Your hand tightened in his hair again, just enough to make him pause.

“Suck it,” you said, voice low but firm.

He stilled.

His eyes flicked up, startled, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. “What?”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t soften it.

“You heard me.”

A beat passed—one second of hesitation—and then he did it.

His mouth closed around you, lips sealing gently around your clit, and he sucked.

You cried out—sharp, full-body sound—your back arching clean off the bed as the orgasm ripped through you. Not slow. Not quiet. Fucking explosive.

“Fuck—fuck, Benny—”

Your thighs clamped around his head as your whole body seized with the force of it. He didn’t pull away. Just groaned into you, deeper this time, his mouth still working as you shook and gasped, riding it out.

It kept going—wave after wave until you were gasping, one arm thrown over your eyes, hips twitching from oversensitivity.

Finally, finally, he pulled back.

His mouth was slick, his chest rising fast, eyes wide and stunned like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just done.

You dragged your arm away and looked down at him, breathless, ruined, wrecked in the best goddamn way.

And then you laughed—low and ragged, but real.

“Fuck,” you managed, still panting. “Guess I was right about that mouth.”

You slid your hand into his hair again and coaxed him upward. “C’mere.”

He shifted, crawling up your body until you were face to face. His weight settled partially over you, forearms braced either side of your shoulders, brow furrowed—trying to figure out what the hell just shifted between you.

You kissed him—slow and deep—tasting yourself on his tongue as your hands slid down his chest, fingertips trailing over warm skin, lower, lower.

And when you wrapped your hand around his cock, he groaned—head dipping forward, lips brushing your cheek like it knocked the breath out of him.

You smiled against his jaw, then gave him a gentle push.

“Lie back.”

He went without a word, chest rising fast as he shifted onto his back. You followed, straddling his thighs, palms splayed across his hips as your eyes raked over him—lips swollen, hair a mess, flushed and breathing hard from the effort of holding back.

Your hand slid up his length again—slow, sure—drawing a rough groan from deep in his chest.

Then you moved lower. Kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other. Let your mouth press into the heat of him, tongue flicking along the crease where his thigh met his body before you shifted further in.

You licked over his balls, then sucked one gently into your mouth, while your hand kept working his shaft. His hips jerked sharply in response—reflexive, impatient. You switched sides, Let your tongue drag along the seam, then sucked again, a little firmer this time, feeling the tension coil tighter beneath your hands.

He muttered a curse and reached for you—one hand tangling in your hair, trying to get you where he wanted.

You looked up at him through your lashes, lips still pressed to his skin. Then you dragged your tongue up the underside of his cock and took him into your mouth, slow and deep.

The groan that tore from him was raw, almost desperate.

His hips jerked, thrusting up—shallow, but forceful—trying to fuck into your mouth, his hand tightening at the back of your head. You pulled off with a wet pop, breath warm against his cock.

“Don’t,” you said, voice quiet but firm. “Let me do it my way.”

“Fuck, baby—” He let out a breath, trying to rein it in. But his hand loosened.

“If you want something different,” you added, letting your lips ghost over him, “ask me nicely.”

You didn’t wait for a reply—just took him back into your mouth, letting your tongue swirl as you sank down. He groaned again, hips twitching, but this time he held himself still, like he’d learned his lesson. Like he finally understood this wasn’t his to take—it was yours to give.

You set the pace, working him with your mouth and hand in tandem. Every slick stroke had him gritting his teeth, breath catching harder each time you dragged your tongue along the underside or hollowed your cheeks. He swore under his breath—low, ragged praise that barely made sense.

“Jesus… fuck, that feels so—”

You hummed around him, and he almost lost it.

His legs tensed beneath you, fingers fisting the sheets, eyes screwed shut like he was trying not to blow too soon. You could feel how close he was—his thighs clenching, breath coming in short bursts.

You pulled off with one final lick, drawn out just enough to make him feel every second of it.

“Fuck—why’d you stop?” he rasped, eyes flying open.

You didn’t answer. Just crawled up his body, kissed him hard, then braced a hand on his chest and reached between you. Gripped his cock—still slick, throbbing—and gave him a stroke that made him buck.

“No more waiting,” you said, voice low. “I want you to fuck me.”

He swore again, then you swung a leg over, straddling him, as you guided him to your entrance.

You sank down in one slow, steady push—tight, wet heat swallowing him inch by inch until your thighs were flush against his.

His head dropped back with a strangled noise. “Fuck, you feel… fuck, baby.”

You rolled your hips once, grinding down with a force that made him groan.

“This what you wanted?” you asked, voice low, breath heavy. “What you’ve been thinkin’ about?”

He nodded, eyes blown wide, hands gripping your hips now like he didn’t know whether to hold on or let go.

You leaned forward, kissed the corner of his mouth, and then started to move.

You set the rhythm—strong, unrelenting. Rode him with purpose, taking what you wanted with every roll of your hips. His hands tightened on your waist, fingertips digging in like he couldn’t help himself.

He met your eyes, jaw clenched, trying to keep it together. You could feel how close he was already—the way his grip faltered for a second, then came back harder.

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “Need more of you. Like this.”

In one fluid movement, you shifted off him and turned, moving onto your knees and bracing your forearms against the bed.

“Come on, Benny,” you said, glancing over your shoulder.

He scrambled upright, dragging a hand down your back as he knelt behind you. His hands gripped your hips, firm and certain, and he sank into you in one deep stroke.

Your mouth dropped open, breath catching on a broken sound as he filled you and fuck, it felt good.

“Jesus,” he growled. “You’re soaked.”

“You did that, Benny.” You looked back again, eyes dark. “That’s what happens when it’s not all about you.”

He started to move—rough now, his body slapping into yours. One hand slid up your back, between your shoulder blades, while the other stayed at your hip, anchoring you as he drove into you.

The angle was sharp, perfect, and you dropped your head to the sheets, moaning with every thrust.

You shifted upright, back pressing flush to his chest, and reached behind to guide his hands exactly where you wanted them.

One to your breast—his palm warm over your skin, fingers closing around your nipple. The other you dragged lower, between your thighs, pressing his fingers to your clit.

He kept moving, every thrust was deep and deliberate, his hips rolling against yours with a rhythm that somehow straddled control and need.

You swore under your breath, head tipping back, your own hand covering his to keep the pressure steady.

He worked tight little circles that had you clenching around him, tightening the coil with every pass.

Then it hit—sharp and hot, your body seizing as you came with a cry, pulsing around him, every nerve lit up and burning.

He choked on a groan, hips stuttering as you clenched around him.

“Shit—” his voice broke, low and strained. “Never felt you like this.”

His grip tightened like he was trying to hold onto the last thread of control, but he was already there.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, still twitching around him. “I wanna feel you too.”

You pulsed around him, still fluttering through the aftershocks, and he buried himself to the hilt with a final, desperate thrust.

Then he broke.

A raw sound tore out of him as he came—loud, guttural—his whole body shuddering as he spilled inside you.

His mouth brushed your neck, your shoulder, your jaw—soft now, reverent.

You collapsed together in a tangle of limbs and breath, still wrapped around each other, still burning from the inside out.

He stayed pressed to your back, breathing slowing. One hand splayed loosely across your ribs.

“That was different,” he said eventually, voice low.

You hummed, eyes still closed. “Good different?”

There was a pause. Then a quiet, almost disbelieving, “Felt real good.”

You smiled—small, satisfied—and let your fingers trace over the back of his hand where it rested on your ribs.

He exhaled, warm against your shoulder. “You gonna let me do it again sometime?”

You turned your head just enough for him to catch the curve of your mouth “Maybe.”

He dipped his face closer, brushing his lips along your jaw, his smile lazy now, pleased.

A long silence followed. Not awkward, just… settled.

Then, softer than you’d ever heard from him, “Can I stay?”

This time, you turned properly—rolling to face him, hair spilling over the pillow, eyes meeting his in the low light.

“You sure?” you asked, eyes searching his. “It’s not usually your thing.”

He nodded once.

You reached down, pulled the covers over both of you.

“Yeah,” you said, barely more than a whisper.

“Tonight… you can.”

And for once, he didn’t reach for his jeans.

Didn’t grab his jacket.

Didn’t vanish into the night.

Guess even Benny Cross could surprise you, once in a while.

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if-you-give-a-dilf-a-danish · 3 days ago

Text

Kidnapped P5: Hot & a little Cold

A/N: Hi!!!! Simon was a close-ish second in P3's poll, so i gave him a moment here. Kyle and Johnny will get theirs later, i promise. Also, no use of Y/N, it always comes out as "Yeen" to me help how do i stop that Contains: The rescue op, Angst and Hurt, a smidge of comfort. TW: some mentions of rot and vomit. More warnings at the POV change. Please let me know if I should add more. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 W/C: ~2k words ═════════════════════════ The National Lightning Detection Network (NLDN) is exactly what its name is, using over 100 ground sensors to record cloud-to-ground strikes with incredible accuracy (greater than 95% across the contiguous United States, narrowing locations down to around 250 meters, less than 100 in ideal conditions.) The information recorded is privately owned and not publicly available, used within agreements with agencies such as the National Weather Service. Across the pond, its equivalent is the European Cooperation for Lightning Detection.

It was with this information and the satellite phone pings that Laswell was able to track you down. However, upon immediately preparing for the rescue, the pinging stopped. It only brought in a further sense of urgency to save you, or at the very least, bring you home before your body gets too cold.

It was the day after the phone call when they were flown out to the Florida Everglades, armed and ready to take you back. They were on their own for this, originally benched for their other assignments by the higher-ups as soon as you went missing. What was done as a precaution was seen as more like an insult to all four of them.

On the ride, emotions were high. They were sitting in a blend of anxiety and anticipation, waiting to see what fruit, if any, bears from this. They don’t know what to expect when getting you, and that’s what scares them more than anything. Armed to the teeth in preparation to walk into a massive trap; with medical items on standby, but it can all just as easily be for naught and stripped off if a body needs to be lovingly carried back instead.

Upon landing, the Everglades were not welcoming to them. The storm from the previous day had made the humidity so fucking sticky, wet heat that made staying cool difficult. Yet, another thunderhead builds in the distance, threatening their mission. Soap almost steps on a snake, flinching away when he hears something move in the tall grass. Price reminds him not to shoot, attracting attention is the last thing they need out here. Yet far from the parks and the campsites, the only people they risk coming across are your captors or game wardens.

“Alright, let’s split up. Fan out a few klicks and see what we can find.” Price orders. The others agree and spread.

John itches for another cigar. But even with the rain, the foliage looks dry and ready to burn. He distracts himself with thoughts of you. He knows you’ll never be the same after this. His experience in this for so long has his mind conjure up various scenes about what they find. Entrails strewn about. Hung. Fed to the alligators. Shot point-blank right after the call. He regrets not letting you talk to the others. How panicked you sounded when Price said he’d hang up, how just his voice wasn’t enough to soothe you. If you’re alive-- No, when they find you and heal you, he’ll make it up to you. But he doesn’t know how he can. Maybe he can step-back for a minute, let them be the ones to dote on you—

“Fuck!!” He curses, his foot sinking into a hidden mud puddle. Deep enough to lose his balance, he falls back on his ass, landing on the edge of the puddle. His shin and the back of his pants are dirtied. Grumbling to himself, he refocuses on the search. Or at least he tries to. Johnny knows you’ll never be the same again. No one comes out of this unscathed. To him, and the rest of the task force, it’s just another nightmare in their rotation, another monster under the bed. But you, their love that waits for them on duty, that always stuck with them despite the filth and shadows that trail after them, you being the one with your own shadows is an incomprehensible thought.

With the traumas that they all have sustained, he thought each other as unloveable except to only themselves, that no one else would willingly pair themselves with this baggage. In a way, it brought the team closer together than what a team should be, reassurances after nightmares and seeing that their needs and comforts were met slowly evolved those feelings. Seeing you with those traumas, whatever they may be, Johnny doesn’t see you as unloveable. He knows that whatever your outcome is, he’ll be by your side.

A bug catches in his face, making him yelp. It collides with his cheek, causing him to slap it lightly before flying off. It didn’t sting or bite, but it buzzed like a wasp. He hears it circle back round him, Johnny prepares to swat at it again before it flies off. He decides to pick up the pace, getting away from the area if there’s a nest nearby.

Kyle believes you shouldn’t come back to the same house. Like him, you probably won’t be able to see it like a home anymore. That feeling soured and shattered like the oven glass, he looked up other homes for sale, large enough for everyone, and then some. With you, he doesn’t know what he’ll come across, and yet the hopeful part in him hopes to see you smile again like you were never taken away in the first place.

The others seemed to be on-board with a new home too, even had a couple house tours planned but that little light it brought their eyes dimmed when they realized you weren’t there to give your own opinion, that it would’ve been done without you. The tours were cancelled the same day they were planned.

When the tall sawgrass thins out, he hears a splash nearby from a pond. Slowly lurking towards it, he finds an alligator floating in the shallow pool. With it’s back turned to him, he immediately steps away, not wanting to become its next meal. He hopes you didn’t have to encounter one.

Simon is melting under his skull mask, the mugginess and sweat soaked into it irritating his scars and skin. He pushes through it, knowing that peeling it off would attract mosquitoes to him. He already starts to hear the high-pitched whizz of some around him, but he continues trudging on in the grass.

He’s afraid of seeing you dead too, of seeing that ‘shrine’ in Price’s office mean it. But unlike Price, he almost treats it like a certainty, that he’ll be taking your body back home with them, smelling of decay and dirt instead of your actual unique scent. He still bathes with your soaps, even handwashing one of his balaclavas in one so the mask retains it all day. His mind tells him it won’t be enough to hide the smell of death carrying you back.

He comes across a trail leading to an abandoned nature center, seemingly never completed. The concrete was cracked and bare, roof unfinished and caved-in at some spots, leftover construction materials rotting in the wild. Would-be trail markers hide in the grass.

“Everyone, come to my location, now. I’ve found somethin’.” Ghost orders, rushing inside to sweep the building. He doesn’t register Price telling him to wait for them, only scanning the few rooms to find you.

Empty. “No hostiles. No sign of them. I’ve located the sat phone. Soap— I-I’ve found your hoodie. They were here… wearin’ it.”

“Shite… we’re close, almost there.” Johnny sounds out of breath, obviously running.

Simon doesn't respond. The smell of old vomit and rot from the python distract him. A few puddles sit around him from where the sun hasn’t reached since the storms. Picking up the remains of Johnny’s hoodie, torn and foul with blood and vomit, his mind… goes blank. Too late, it rings like a bell in his head. The rifle falls from his grip as he sits next to the edge of the pit, eyes glassy.

He hears footsteps, and then a curse in a Scottish accent. Johnny shows up next, rushing next to Simon and seeing the hoodie clasped in his hands. Simon hears a broken “No” when he’s then grabbed by Johnny, embraced tightly. Kyle was next, yelling outside when he barged in, silencing when he saw Johnny hold their lieutenant. At first, he thought they found you dead in the pit, but when looking in, he asks: “I-It was only a day! How could they be gone already?!” His voice quivers with emotion.

The splash of a boot in one of the puddles announces John’s entrance. “Because it was a set-up. They knew we were coming.” He answers, seeing how barren the place is, it didn't give them any answers as to what happened to you. Sitting down on the other side of Simon, that guilt from before starts to take root again.

“I-I’m so fuckin’ sorry, loves.” The captain apologizes, and he doesn’t know what for at this point. Simon wraps his arm around him and has him lean against him. Kyle sits on the other side of Johnny, tears mixing with sweat as his gaze is stuck on the sat phone in the corner.

They remained like that when the thunderhead grew closer, Laswell calling them to tell them they have to get out, lest they get stuck there. She offered her sympathies and promises to keep digging, but until then, they couldn’t do anything. Again.

═════════════════════════

TW: Infection, Isolation, Delirium.

Now, you’re freezing. The metal floor you gain consciousness on slowly bites that into your entire back and arms. You wake up to the near-deafening roars of refrigeration units blowing frigid air. Confused, you try to get up off the floor, but your body screams in response to the movement. Realising the hoodie is missing, you raise your shirt, finding your chest and stomach bruised in all sorts of shapes, made sickly-looking by the fluorescent light. You don’t remember how you got them. …Weren’t you just somewhere hot? Last thing you remember was the phone call with- John. He said it would all be okay. You take a deep breath to remain calm. The cold, stale air burns your gums and sinuses. Or you try to. Something feels wrong.

Your lungs catch in the air, but it’s not enough. Something is inside. Taking in another gulp, you cough it out afterward, sharp chokes that scratch your throat and spray mucus droplets into your naked elbow. The soreness on your body gets angrier with every new wave, forcing you to stop when the first hints of blood tint the mucus.

Your body is in so much pain, your throat, sinuses, and mouth burn, drying out with the cold air and the effects from the water. The snake bite and the thigh gash have swollen, a disgusting smell emits from them but you couldn’t tell which in the cold. You’re starting to rot on the inside.

Didn’t they want you alive? To trade with? Or did they want you to stew in your own filth, watching you disintegrate like chalk in water? Water… they haven’t given you any. Food either.

Studying the small room, it remains mostly empty, save for a couple pallets and boxes in the corner. There’s no label or stamping on them, not a hint of their origins. You doubt they have anything edible in them. Your body hurts too much to get up to check anyway. Looking at the refrigeration units, loud with their metal fans; you tiredly wonder if you could drink their condensation. You’re not tall enough to reach the ceiling-mounted machines anyway. The door had no handle, just like the hot place.

The biting cold in your legs begins to go numb, as do the tips of your toes and fingers. They look faintly blue-ish in the light. The fatigue worsens, you close your eyes, resting for a minute.

══════

You wake up shivering. You don’t know how much time actually passes, the cold units and lights never once flicker.

You remember the call again, John’s voice. It was a trap, right? You hope they made it out okay. The clatter of your shivering teeth worsen the gum pain. It’s what helps you stay awake.

Yet, your eyelids get too heavy again. ════════════════ A/N: that bit with johnny was based on the time i got hit in the face with a wasp and it flew off but my hand was already flying at my face ready to slap it and i slapped myself instead T-T also doing my research for the nldn stuff, its all really cool they're like super accurate with that holy shit We are almost there! Glorious comfort will come, i promise! Thanks for your love for this series! Let me know if you want tagged for the next part! @rafaelacallinybbay @missborntodiex

#John price x reader #Simon ghost riley x reader #John soap mactavish x reader #Kyle gaz garrick x reader #Cod x reader #Call of duty x reader #Call of duty angst #Poly!141 #Poly!141 x reader #cod angst

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lelengerine · 10 months ago

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pairing. jisung x reader

synopsis. your boyfriend knows just the right way to sober you up after a party (it may or may not involve chicken nuggets)

genre. pure fluff, honestly just a random thought i had, mentions of food and alcoholic drinks, implied that reader is shorter than ji but is gn! lmk if anything is missing :D

wc. 0.6k words

notes. i read a twt au before making this and i live for cutesy bf ji >< he is everything to me ;0; anw this is the ji fic that was also mentioned as part of that one poll :> likes and feedback are highly appreciated!

m.list

you were just about to leave a party with jisung gently leading you out the door, worry evident in his features as he glances over his shoulder every other second to make sure you weren’t stumbling over your steps after drinking more than you should’ve tonight.

“ji? leaving? why?” you let out a soft whine despite following in his footsteps, wrapping your arm around his in search of warmth against the cold breeze that hit you after a single step outside. the chill made you shiver, but his presence was enough to keep you from feeling too uncomfortable. you leaned into him a little more, appreciating the way he instinctively adjusted to keep you steady.

he shakes his head at your antics, finding your drunken state to be somewhat endearing. after all, you weren’t one to get this drunk often. “pretty, we need to get you sobered up.”

“no wanna!” you huff, clinging onto to him more but it was only a feeble attempt to stop him in his tracks.

“we can get you those chicken nuggets you like from the diner nearby.” jisung proposes, watching how your eyes sparkle at the mention of food with a lopsided smile on his lips.

“nuggies? okay!” you flash him a wide grin, going on your tippy toes to press a big kiss on his cheek—leaving him flustered as he tries to cover the lower half of his face with his free hand.

“h-hey, wait up!” jisung can’t help the soft laugh that escapes him as you tug him along, the cold night air forgotten in your newfound excitement—noting the way your grip on his arm tightens as become the new leader, even though you’re not entirely sure where you’re going.

“slow down, baby.” he chuckles, his tone gentle as he matches your pace, keeping you close. “the diner’s not going anywhere.”

“but what if it does?” you counter with a faint gasp, words still slightly slurred as you turn to him with wide eyes, as if the thought of losing out on chicken nuggets was the most tragic thing that could happen tonight.

jisung scrunches his nose, finding your concern both ridiculous and adorable. “i promise it won’t, but i will if you don’t stop running off like that.”

you pout but eventually relent, slowing your pace until you’re walking side by side again. you rest your head on the side of his arm, eyes fluttering shut as you let him guide you the rest of the way. the warmth from his arm, the steady rhythm of his steps, and the promise of food are enough to keep you grounded.

the diner’s neon sign soon flickers in the distance, and jisung feels you perk up beside him, your energy renewed at the sight. “see? told you it wouldn’t run away,” he teases, nudging you lightly.

you respond with a playful swat to his arm, but the dazed smile on your face is unmistakable. “you’re so smart, ji.”

“i know, i know.” he replies with a light snicker, holding the door open for you as you both step into the cozy warmth of the diner. the familiar scent of fried food and instant coffee envelops you, and you couldn’t help but let out a contented sigh.

as you slide into an empty booth, jisung takes the seat across from you, watching with a fond smile as you eagerly scan the menu even though he already knows what you’re going to order. you glance up at him, your expression softening as the earlier haze of alcohol starts to wear off.

“thanks for taking care of me,” you mumble, a little embarrassed now that the night’s excitement was starting to fade.

jisung reaches across the table, his hand finding yours in a comforting squeeze. “always, baby. now, let’s get you those nuggets before you fall asleep on me.”

#jisung fluff #jisung angst #nct fluff #nct angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct dream imagines #nct dream drabbles #nct x reader #nct dream x reader

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mapsthewanderer · 3 months ago

Text

Caffeine, chemistry and Caleb III

Synopsis: The café was supposed to be just another coffee shop. For a law student who enjoys her morning coffee and a shy newbie still learning the ropes, it should have been nothing more than part of the daily routine… But then there’s Caleb.

Details: 1500 words. Pt 3 is up at em! Non-MC!Reader as the law student POV. Expect flirting, hot af barista Caleb, jealousy and plenty of banter with the newbie barista. Today Caleb surprises you… kind of. And the MC, who knows where she is? Mystery, indeed… Poll below! The last one… me thinks heeeeh.

Parts: initial one shot, part 1, newbie POV, part 2, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12

Tags: @gavin3469 @unstablemiss @i-messed-up-big-time @mipov101

Your Honor, he’s smirking again | Pt. 3

The law library is supposed to be sacred ground. Hushed reverence. Paper rustling. People highlighting like their lives depend on it.

But your laptop screen is currently filled with… apples.

Literally. Just—apple images. Cross-sections. Vintage posters. Pages of orchard trivia.

And your notes? They’ve completely devolved.

Exhibit A: Apple juice (Caleb’s drink of choice. Unexpected. Possibly romantic.)

Exhibit B: Apple charm on chain. Small. Worn. Too meaningful to be aesthetic.

Exhibit C: The way he said, “I just have a thing for apples.” With a grin like a sealed affidavit.

Tapping your pen against your teeth, you stare down your own handwriting. You’ve written “Who is she?” in the margin no less than six times. Circling each one harder than the last.

The charm wasn’t random. You know it. It was the kind of thing someone gives you when they mean it. And Caleb? Caleb doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to wear things without meaning.

You click open another tab. Type: “Apple symbolism in relationships.”

You’re mid-scroll on an article called ‘What Your Favorite Apple Says About Your Soulmate’ (Red Delicious apparently equals “overcommitted and delusional”—rude)

It’s the push you need. You close your laptop, shove it into your bag, and make a snap decision to change the scene.

Because obviously, the most rational way to break your obsession with Caleb… is to go sit directly in his workplace.

——————————————————————————

The café is quiet when you arrive—except for the simmer of K-pop in the background. You knew the newbie was into that kind of music (not that you’re judging, though you definitely are, just a little).

The newbie catches sight of you and gives a small, almost imperceptible nod from behind the counter—equal parts “welcome back” and “still spiraling, huh?”

You nod back: Of course you’re spiraling.

Behind the counter, the newbie shrugs—same, but in their own way. A silent acknowledgment. Two members of the same tragic club.

You pick your usual table, set down your things, and open your laptop again.

Two minutes later, you’re back on apple symbolism. Like you never left.

Your phone buzzes.

newbie: stop i can feel it from here

You glance around. One earbud in, apron on, their usual slouch behind the counter. They catch your eye for half a second, then immediately look back down like they weren’t just watching you.

You message back:

You: the charm’s an apple, right?? it has to mean something… do people wear apple charms for fun???

newbie: i dunno. i’m not the fruit feelings department.

You stare at your screen. Then back at them.

The newbie moves to wipe down a table as you approach—clearly already clean, but it gives them something to do with their hands. You try to look casual. You are not.

“Hypothetical question,” you say, voice pitched at normal human volume. “Has Caleb ever dated someone who… also had a weird fruit obsession?”

They glance at you. “Hypothetical?”

You nod. “Purely academic. Research purposes. National interest.”

Newbie gives you a look like I cannot believe I am complicit in this. Then sighs. “You mean like… an apple girl?”

You freeze. “She’s real?”

“I mean—no,” they say quickly, eyes flicking toward the espresso machine like it might save them. “I don’t think there’s a her. Or… if there is, she’s not, like, around. Never been around here, at least…”

You squint. “But?”

They shift their weight, fingers tugging at the edge of their sleeve. “It’s just… the necklace? It’s always there. Like—always.”

They glance at you, voice dropping a little. “He’ll swap out rings, change outfits, wear different earrings sometimes—but that chain? Never leaves his neck.”

Another pause. Then, softer: “It’s like it’s part of him.”

There’s a flicker of something hesitant—like regret, or just shyness. “Sorry. That’s all I’ve got. I just… notice stuff.”

You try not to let your face do anything dramatic.

“That’s fine,” you say. “It’s fine. Just… taking mental notes.”

They nod slowly. “You look like you asked for peace of mind and got a busy signal.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Hey, that’s rude. Accurate. But rude.”

Then the bell above the door rings.

And you know it’s him. The shift in atmosphere gives it away before you even turn.

Caleb walks in like he owns the lighting—hair ruffled, a worn athletic zip-up hugging his frame just right, one strap of a backpack slung over his shoulder, and a grin in place like it was designed by a committee and unanimously approved.

Your eyes flick straight to his chest. But the jacket’s zipped, collar popped just enough to block the spot where the chain usually peeks out.

You squint. Casually. Or as casually as someone hunting for emotional evidence can look.

Nothing.

Just soft cotton, a flash of silver from a ring on his hand—but no charm. No dog tag. No apple.

It feels like someone ripped a page out of your evidence binder for a class case prep.

“Golden Girl,” he calls, spotting you. “Back again. You really can’t resist a good caffeine felony.”

You open your mouth to shoot something back, but he’s already striding over, apron in one hand, and—

“Hey, actually,” he says, slowing near your table, “I need a legal opinion.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve got this customer,” he says, eyes too bright. “Keeps showing up. Possibly addicted to me. Definitely judging my apple juice innovations.”

Your stomach flips. “Sounds serious.”

“Oh, it is.” He pulls out the chair across from you and sits down like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Might have to take legal action. Or hire a very competent defense attorney.”

“You’d need one,” you say. “Because that drink was a crime.”

He leans forward just slightly, eyes glinting. “Maybe I’m hoping you’ll prosecute me.”

Your thoughts immediately call for a recess. Indefinitely.

“Are you… asking for a mock trial date?”

He shrugs. “I prefer to think of it as… study support. Mutual interest. Also, I brought cookies.”

Caleb reaches into his backpack and pulls out a small paper bag like a magician pulling a rabbit—casual, practiced, unfairly charming. “Bribery,” he says, voice low and amused. “Very illegal. But effective.”

You’re laughing before you can stop yourself. “Fine. But if I catch even one apple reference in your opening statement—”

“You’ll what?” he says, tilting his head. “Sentence me to flirtation?”

You groan. “That was terrible.”

“That was golden, Golden Girl.”

Your phone buzzes under the table.

newbie: get a room. or i’m calling HR

You glance toward the counter.

They’re watching you over the espresso machine, one eyebrow raised, tongue piercing catching the light as they chew their lip to keep from laughing.

You fire back:

You: enjoy your floor mop. i’m cross-examining the emotionally unavailable hot guy.

You look up. Caleb is watching you, still leaning forward like he’s waiting for your verdict.

Then, with one lazy motion, he unzips his jacket.

And there it is.

The chain catches the light as the fabric shifts. The dog tag resting against his chest, and just beside it, the apple charm. Small. Still there.

Definitely still there. Damn.

Your want to bite your lip.

Instead you pick up one of the cookies. Take a bite. Chew slowly.

Then narrow your eyes at him, mid-chew.

“You baked these, didn’t you?”

Caleb raises a brow, smug. “Maybe.”

You shake your head, still chewing. “Unbelievable. I can taste the real butter.”

He laughs. “That good?”

You point at the cookie like it personally betrayed you. “I hate how good this is.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, all lazy confidence, one hand propping up his jaw like this is fun for him.

You chew like it’ll help quiet the spike of jealousy and tension in your chest. You straighten yourself, back to normal.

“Well,” you say. “I suppose I could consult. For a fee.”

“Oh yeah?” His grin sharpens. “What’s your rate?”

You lift an eyebrow. “Tell me who the apple charm’s from.”

He stills—just for a beat.

Then he smiles again. Slower. Warmer. Almost… fond.

“Dangerous question,” he murmurs.

“Try me.”

He doesn’t answer. Just pulls out his own notebook—small, leather-bound, lived-in—and flips it open to a blank page.

“Fine,” he says, voice warm, a little too casual. “Let’s make this a real trial. You ask your questions. I’ll take the stand.”

It’s a joke. Maybe. But there’s something in the way he says it. In the way he doesn’t look away.

And for a second, you think—he wants to be known.

Which might be worse than anything you imagined about the apple girl.

Because now you’re not just spiraling.

You’re falling.

You open your mouth, ready to press him further—channeling your inner attorney, zeroing in on the charm. But you don’t get the chance.

There’s a sharp crash from behind the counter.

You both turn.

The newbie stands frozen mid-shift, holding half of a shattered glass in one gloved hand, the other covered in foam and regret.

Caleb’s on his feet in a heartbeat, already crossing the room. “Hey, you okay?” he says, all soft and low as he crouches down beside them.

He pats their back gently—steady, reassuring—then starts gathering the mess, hands careful around the broken pieces like he’s done this before.

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmurs. “Happens to everyone.”

You catch the newbie’s eyes over his shoulder. Wide, guilty, and very clearly saying: Sorry.

You blink once, then give a tiny, resigned nod back: It’s fine. I’m coming back.

And you both know it’s true.

——————————————————————————

Part 4

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: Writing this is my perfect drug. Caleb flirting + the law student snapping back = pure brain bliss. I LOVE THEM. Final poll time (24hrs only!): are we yeeting the MC out of the universe or letting her stay? The arc works either way but… I gotta say, keeping her? Chef’s kiss. Superior flavor, in my humble chaotic opinion. And Red Delicious does not mean overcommitted and delusional it’s just my sad sense of humor. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

#it’s officially easter and Aaaa cant wait to hike and write for 5 days straight #the law student is my bane i love her #caleb love and deepspace #love and deepspace #reader x caleb #non mc x caleb #you x caleb #lnds caleb #lads caleb #fanfic caleb #fanfic love and deepspace #caleb fluff #barista caleb #love and deepspace fluff

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skibasyndrome · 2 months ago

Note

please do the prompt 37: "aw, poor baby, do you want me to take care of this for you?"

with Simon teasing Wille and Wille being all quietly needy and whimpering 🙏🙏🙏

Thank you so much for sending me this prompt, dearest anon!!! 💜💜💜 Also thank you to everyone who voted in my poll for what to write next! Once again, it's Sunday and I have no snippet, so have this ficlet instead.

So sorry this took a while to get to, but I'm slowly working my way through the prompts. I hope you enjoy this one hehe, I had fun writing this!

cw: nsfw

Wille lets out a ragged puff of air, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. He's too impatient, he knows, god, he knows, but he can't help it. He can't find the right angle, wrist starting to ache where he's wedged his hand in between his propped up legs.

It's not... none of this is working the way it's supposed to, he can't twist his fingers in the way he wants to, can't reach far enough in this position. The position he chose himself so he wouldn't have to avert his eyes from Simon. He lets out a quiet whine and reopens his eyes. A small pang hits his chest when he finds Simon staring at him already, head slightly inclined now, a contemplative smile only just curving his lips. Fuck. Wille needs him, needs him so bad, had been waiting for him to come home ever since he slipped out the door in the morning, has been feeling out of it ever since, chest tight, thoughts swirling and jumping and leaving no space for him to think about anything but finally getting out of his head. He pulls his two fingers out, shakes out his wrist, tries again. It's a little easier now, yes, not easy enough though. He knows Simon will make him do it again if he stops now, if he tries to cut this part short, will make him continue fingering himself open, will make sure he's thorough with it before Wille can get anywhere near having Simon fuck him. Wille wants to scream into a pillow, and it's his own fault he chose to lie on his back instead and can't. Across from him, down by the foot of the bed, Simon is kneeling, has been kneeling there for longer than Wille can even begin to comprehend, and with every single lazy tug he gives to his cock Wille digs his teeth harder into his bottom lip. He wants his hand there, he wants to be stroking him, he wants to swallow his cock down, he wants to have Simon turn him onto his stomach and fuck him into the mattress. It feels deeply unfair that he has to bother with prepping himself, that he doesn't get to touch, that he barely gets a good look at Simon. That Simon sits there, like he's bored, waiting until Wille finally is ready for him. Hands all by himself, because he knows he would only distract Wille with them. Because he knows Wille would forget all about his task, would lean into his touch instead. If he weren't so set on doing what Simon so sweetly asked him to earlier, with his breath warm and his grip on Wille's hair deliciously tight, a smile on his lips when he asked if Wille could be good, and patient, and get ready - if he didn't have his mind set on proving that he can, he'd have given up already. But with every passing second, with every time he needs to shift around, needs to reapply lube, needs to crane his neck so he can better see what he can't have just yet, it's getting more difficult. His back is damp with sweat, his fringe sticking to his forehead and even when he twists his fingers again, too impatient, wanting to get this over with, it's nothing like when Simon does it. No matter how much he tries, it's nothing alike. The stretch is not enough, his fingers aren't moving smoothly enough. Even when he wraps a fist around his cock, waned slightly now compared to when he desperately ground it against Simon's thigh earlier, it's not enough. He could scream. Without warning, Wille feels a hand on his knee.

His head perks up, eyes landing on Simon. He's leaned forward, has apparently scooted closer, eyes still trained on where Wille is clumsily working his fingers in and out of himself. When he looks up, gaze meeting Wille’s, there’s a glint of mischief there. Wille swallows hard, feels the dryness of his throat and the faint beginnings of wetness on his lash line. Simon moves his hand, slowly rubbing a warm palm over Wille's propped up knee, fingers extending towards his straining thigh. It takes all of Wille's remaining strength not to pull his fingers out and surge forward, not to tug Simon down and on top of him. He bites down harder on his lip. "Oh baby…," Simon coos, eyes raking up the length of his body and down again. The sound goes right to Wille's cock, makes it twitch weakly in his grip. There's a taunting lilt to Simon's voice, like he can't quite believe Wille can't do it. It makes Wille want to whine and thrash and complain, but, god, does it also pool dangerously hot behind his navel. Instead of doing anything, he watches, absolutely enthralled, how Simon keeps petting his leg. He skates his hand along Wille's shin, then back up, over his thigh, getting so close to his cock that Wille's heart skips a beat. He can almost feel Simon's fingers on him, in him, thinks his curse is going to be lifted, but Simon tuts. "You can't make it work, can you?" The taunt wedges itself into Wille's mind, sharp and searing like a bullet. Dropping his head, he lets out a helpless groan. His face buns red-hot with shame-drenched arousal. Almost fully hard again, fuck, just from this, just from Simon talking… Wille involuntarily squirms under Simon’s watchful eyes. His movements have stilled completely, the immobility almost making Simon’s gaze more piercing, Wille’s cheeks even redder. But even with his mind and body betraying him, he's stubbornly hesitant to admit defeat. As if he can tell, as if he knows, Simon’s face of put-upon pity cracks, lets a cheeky smile slip. The anticipation nearly has Wille’s pulse skip over itself. “Hmmm?” Simon hums then, and moves his hand further, onto Wille’s arm. Wille’s breath catches inside of his throat, like the touch has frozen him in time. Soft fingertips are tracing down his arm, over the back of his hand, over his knuckles, carefully avoiding Wille’s cock. Keeping the distance of Wille’s own hand between them at all times. It’s like Wille can hear his resolve cracking in real time. “This isn’t doing it for you, is it?” Wille’s eyes slip closed against his volition, breath noisy when he blows it out through his nose. Fuck. Very slowly, he shakes his head 'no'.

Suddenly, Simon slips his hand further down. He traces Wille’s curled wrist, brushes over the tendons of his hand. And then he’s there, and Wille briefly forgets how to breathe. Simon’s fingers are lined up with Wille’s, gently petting where Wille has failed to open himself up for him, where Wille’s fingers are still holding space, just rubbing the slick skin, almost absentmindedly. Wille whimpers so loudly that Simon uses his other hand on his thigh to soothe him. God, Wille needs him so badly, thinks he’s going to burst into tears if Simon doesn’t do something about it. “Aw, my poor baby…,” Simon purrs, sweet and soft and with a devastating confidence that has Wille throbbing in his own grip again. He keeps massaging Wille’s rim with deft fingers, keeps working around Wille’s cramped up hand as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. Words escape Wille, whines and broken moans and tiny movements of his hips the only way he’s able to take what Simon is offering. And he’s so greedy to take, so desperate for more, for everything. “Do you want me to take care of this for you?" When Wille nods wildly, tongue unwilling to form words, it’s like finally pulling the ripcord. Simon is quick to gentle Wille’s fingers out of himself, to shove his hand out of the way. The loud snap of a bottle cap, the slick sounds of him lubing up his fingers, and finally, finally, Simon is easing two of his fingers into Wille. Perfectly thick, angled just right, moving just slow enough to draw a string of needy noises out of Wille. He can feel his own cock hardening rapidly. Just as he’s about to warn Simon, about to promise he’s ready, beg for what he’s been waiting for all day, Simon shifts and lies down next to Wille, warm and smooth and hard against Wille’s hipbone. "Just have to ask, baby," Simon mumbles, moving his fingers even more slowly now, shallowly, like he knows Wille can already take him. Like he still wants to make him squirm and wait. "I know this is difficult for you." His breath is hot against Wille's ear. His fingers unrelenting. "But you need to ask when you can't do it yourself. Need to let me help you." Wille nods weakly, throat dry from all his breathy gasps. "Yeah," he sobs, canting his hips for Simon to get better access, to go- oh. "Y-eah," he gasps again, breath leaving his lungs all at once when Simon nudges his fingers against that devastatingly sensitive spot inside of him. He tightens his fist around his cock, tries to reel back from the edge Simon has pushed him to. Then, “please”, he manages, voice cracking and eyes squeezed shut. With a last teasing drag of his fingers, Simon pulls back and away from Wille’s panting body, leaving his mind spinning, his muscles twitching. But when he hears the bottle cap again, the tell-tale slickness of Simon’s fist flying over himself, Wille feels his body relax against the mattress. Knows that Simon will take care of him.

Feel free to send me some prompts from that list, or just make some up <3 Or read my other ficlets here

also pls let me know what you think <3

#wilmon #wilmon fanfic #yr #young royals #wilmon ficlet #yr ficlet #answered #anon #hope you like thissss this has been my little spark of happiness all weekend

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