#and he speaks with his mouth because reader finds it comforting :>

[orellazalonia]

The Weight of the Truth

Summary: You form an unlikely bond with Bucky Barnes during your time with the Avengers. What begins as mutual trust and quiet companionship slowly deepens into something more. However, when Bucky begins pulling away without explanation, it leaves you hurt and confused. Tension builds until a raw, emotional confrontation forces the truth out of both of you. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power to compel people to tell the truth against their will. Light angst. Hurt/Comfort.

Word Count: 3k+

A/N: Based on the poll I ran, the majority voted Truth Compulsion and Telepathy. I chose the first for now and will do telepathy next, maybe something lighter or fun for the latter. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist

You weren’t born with the power to pull truth from people’s mouths. It came later in life one rainy afternoon, so suddenly, like a curse wrapped in silk. It didn’t matter how much someone wanted to lie; if you asked the question and truly wanted the answer, they had to speak it. Every word dragged from their chest like it weighed a hundred pounds. You didn’t need to raise your voice, threaten, or coax. No. Your voice simply made the truth impossible to hold in.

Some people thought it was a gift. However, you never saw it that way, knowing what people really felt, what they really meant, and what they were too afraid to say. You were too young back then when you failed to realize most people didn’t want honesty. And some truths, once spoken, couldn’t be unsaid.

Therefore, you weren’t used to people staying. Not when they learned what you could do.

Your presence alone made people uneasy, not because you were loud or threatening, but because you listened. People were afraid of what you might ask, afraid that even an innocent question like “Are you okay?” might unravel something carefully buried. Over time, you learned how to walk lightly, how to speak softly, and how to exist without pressing.

When the Avengers found you, you were a wild card to them. Useful indeed, but dangerous. You could end a fight with one question or tear a team apart with one sentence. As a result, most of them kept their distance. Not out of fear, exactly but more out of caution. As if being near you meant something deep inside them might be accidentally pulled to the surface.

Natasha was polite. Steve was kind but wary. Wanda, empathetic but unreadable. But Bucky? He didn’t avoid you. He didn’t tiptoe. That’s what made Bucky Barnes different.

He didn’t fill the space around you with noise. He didn’t dance around your power. He never stared, never fidgeted, never waited for you to break the silence with something intrusive or painful. He just… sat beside you. Quietly, like he had nothing more that could possibly be confessed considering the world knew most of his past by now.

You noticed him long before he noticed you. You picked up on how he scanned every room like someone would pop out and attack him. How he clenched his jaw every time someone brushed against him without warning. How he kept his left arm always at an angle, like he was guarding something, himself. It was like he didn’t know if he was allowed to be comfortable in his own skin.

Regardless, you never asked questions. Not even once. You gave him something rare: Space.

And in return, he gave you something rarer: Presence.

It started with him sitting near you in the common room during team meetings, even if it meant skipping an open seat to get there. Then came the training sessions, where you sparred silently, never needing to speak but always aware of each other’s limits. You matched each other’s pace like you’d done this for years. Then came the early mornings. You’d enter the kitchen with your favorite mug in hand and find him already there, black coffee in one hand, gaze out the window. The first time, he only nodded. By the third week, he was pouring you a cup before you even spoke.

You noticed the way he remembered things no one else did. That you hated synthetic fabrics, that the buzzing of certain lights gave you migraines, or that your favorite tea had to steep exactly three minutes. He didn’t say anything, he just did things. Adjusted the lighting, quietly requested your sheets be swapped for cotton, left your tea on the table with a timer set. It warmed your heart in some way. You never thanked him aloud, but you knew he felt your gratitude anyways.

In return for his kindness, you learned to read his silences.

There was a difference between when he was tired and when he was haunted. A difference between when he wanted company and when he couldn’t stand to be alone but didn’t know how to ask. On those nights, when the ghosts were louder than his thoughts, he’d find you. Sometimes just to sit beside you on the couch, sometimes to walk the perimeter of the compound in wordless patrol, and sometimes… to talk. Little things and often one sentence at a time. A memory or a sarcastic comment. Sometimes a moment of truth disguised as a joke.

You fell for him slowly. Hopelessly.

In the way his voice softened when he said your name. In the way he watched you like he was memorizing every move, not to predict it, but to understand it. In the way he spoke of nightmares but never had them when you’d fall asleep on his couch for movie nights. In the way you never had to use your power, but he always told you the truth anyway.

You told yourself it wasn’t love. Not yet. Just admiration or connection. It was just the beginning of something you’d never be brave enough to touch.

And still, you saw the way his eyes lingered a second too long when you laughed at one of Sam’s jokes. How he stiffened whenever someone else stood too close to you. How his voice dropped an octave when he asked “You okay?” like the answer would define the rest of his night.

There was always something unfinished between you. Something neither of you dared name. So when your moments of silence became distant and suffocating, it chipped away at your sanity and heart each time.

You had always thought that silence was something you could share. Something safe. But over the last few weeks, the quiet between you and Bucky had begun to feel like an unwelcome gap, a widening chasm neither of you wanted to cross.

It started slowly. You started to notice a coldness in his gaze when he used to look at you with an unreadable warmth. Distance in his movements that used to feel comfortable, like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together, now felt like two pieces of glass, edges sharp and unyielding.

It was subtle too, little things you thought you could brush off. Like when you’d walk into the common room after a long day and find him sitting there, but when you sat next to him, his shoulders would stiffen. He’d give a tight smile, then turn his attention back to the mission reports without saying much. Or when you found yourself at the training mats together, and he’d deliberately avoid your eye contact when he used to be the first one to look at you after a move. You wondered if he was just tired, or if it was something else but it didn’t feel like tiredness.

Then came the mission.

It was a routine operation. It was a simple extraction clean and precise. You and Bucky worked seamlessly together, as always. He covered your back while you disabled the security system. You moved in tandem, a perfect machine. But when you completed the mission, something shifted in the air. It was like he was pulling away, retreating into himself again. He didn’t speak much during the debriefing, and when you caught him glancing at you, there was something unfamiliar in his expression. Something distant. Something… closed off.

That night, when you returned to the compound, you thought it was just the usual exhaustion from a mission. But Bucky didn’t act like himself. He didn’t come by the kitchen for the usual quiet company. He hadn’t sat next to you during team discussions. He didn’t even bother to make small talk as he passed you in the hall. You caught him avoiding your gaze, his face a mask of calm, but his posture rigid.

It confused you. And it hurt more than you cared to admit.

Had you said something wrong? Done something wrong?

You spent the next few days wondering if you were the cause of it. Maybe he’d gotten too comfortable around you, and now he needed space. Maybe he just didn’t want to deal with whatever had started between you. He was still Bucky, still the same guy who’d saved your life more times than you could count. But now, everything felt like an impenetrable wall.

You didn’t want to push him. You never wanted to be that person. You never wanted to be the one who pried, the one who pushed when someone needed time to process. After all, your powers had long pried out the secrets and words of too many people to count. But Bucky was never like this before. His silences were always comfortable. The absence of his presence now felt like it was hollow, like it was filled with unsaid words and unexplored tension.

You tried to get his attention, at first, with small gestures. A shared look during a team briefing. A subtle joke meant to make him laugh. A fleeting touch of your hand on his arm when you walked by. But each time, he stiffened or pulled away. It wasn’t like him.

The hardest part was not knowing what you’d done. Maybe you had said something wrong, maybe you’d done something that made him close off. It wasn’t like you had any experience in relationships, not any real honest connections. You weren’t even sure what you and Bucky had, but you had thought it was something good and worth holding onto.

Days turned into weeks, and the distance between you both only seemed to grow. There were moments when he was still around, when he still spoke to you in clipped sentences, still walked beside you when the missions called for it. But there was no warmth behind it. No understanding or connection like before. And every time you tried to talk to him to try and ask what was wrong, he’d pull back. His responses were short, almost guarded. Every time you tried to bridge the gap, he’d distance himself further.

-

Finally, one night, after yet another cold interaction, you couldn’t take it anymore. You cornered him in the hallway. His steps faltered when he saw you, but you weren’t going to let him walk away this time.

"Bucky," You called out, your voice a mix of frustration and hurt. "What’s going on? You’re avoiding me."

He stiffened, eyes darting to the floor. His lips pressed into a thin line, like he was fighting a battle inside himself. “I’m not avoiding you," He muttered, but you could hear the lie in his voice. It wasn’t convincing and you knew it wasn’t the truth.

"Then why is it like this? What did I do?" You couldn’t keep the edge of desperation out of your voice. “You’ve been pulling away from me for weeks now and I don’t know why. I don’t know what’s wrong, but you’re driving me crazy, Bucky.”

His jaw clenched as he stood there for a moment in silence before he finally looked at you. His eyes were wide, vulnerable in a way that scared you. This wasn’t Bucky Barnes, the man who always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and kept his emotions under lock and key. This man, standing in front of you, was someone broken, someone you couldn’t fix with a touch or a kind word.

"Is it because of the mission?" You pushed gently, your voice softer. "Did I mess up somehow? If I did, just tell me. I’ll fix it."

Bucky shook his head slowly, his hand running through his hair in frustration. "No. It’s not the mission. It’s…" He looked away, and for the first time in a long while, you saw the weight of everything he’d been hiding in his eyes. "It’s me."

You were silent for a moment, the realization creeping up slowly. Your heart beat in your chest as you tried to keep your voice steady. "Bucky, you’re scaring me. You’re shutting me out, and I don’t know why."

“Just… nevermind. Forget it. Goodnight.” He said tightly, moving to depart with his gaze incapable of facing you directly.

It was then that something inside you snapped. The years of silence and loneliness, of holding back, and of not letting your power show when it was the only thing that might break through. You had to know the truth. You had to hear him say it. You had no other choice. You couldn’t just keep waiting for him to open up not after you’ve tried relentlessly and hopelessly the past couple of weeks.

You focused. You’d never used your ability on him before, not because you were afraid of the power, but because you never wanted him to experience another situation where he had no control. You were afraid of what you might find if you pushed him too hard; but tonight, you weren’t going to let him walk away.

You took a deep breath, your voice steadier than you felt, mentally asking for his forgiveness as you spoke firmly. “Bucky, I need you to answer me. Why are you really pushing me away?”

His body stiffened. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the way he fought against your words, as if he could physically resist them. But it was futile. The pull of your power was subtle, like an invisible tether pulling at him, a force beyond his control.

His mouth opened, and for a moment, it was as if he tried to choke back the words. It was like he tried to shove them down into the depths of his mind where he thought they’d stay buried forever. But they spilled out anyway, raw and jagged, his voice betraying him in a way you hadn’t expected.

”Because if I let myself love you,” Bucky whispered, his eyes flickering with the weight of the confession, ”I don’t know if I could survive losing you too.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the cracks in the armor that he’d built around himself. The fear, the raw terror, that if he let himself love again, he wouldn’t be able to bear the inevitable heartbreak. Because Lord knows how much he’s lost and had to grieve in his life.

You didn’t know what to say. For a moment, everything felt like it was frozen in time. You’d never seen him so exposed, so raw and it made your heart ache for him.

His breath hitched, like he was waiting for you to run, waiting for you to take his confession as an excuse to push him away, just as he had done to you.

"What do you mean?" You were barely breathing, every word feeling too heavy to bear.

"I’m not good for you," He spoke softly. "You deserve someone who doesn’t drag you down with their demons." He took a step back, shaking his head. "I can’t give you what you want. What you need."

And there it was. The wall he’d been building between you had a name: fear. Fear of opening up or of what you might see. Fear of the man he used to be and the damage he’d done.

But you weren’t afraid. You never were, not of him.

"I don’t need you to be perfect,” You stepped closer, heart hammering, and placed your hand on his chest. "I just need you to be here."

His breath hitched at your words. For a moment, you thought he might step back again. That he might raise those walls so high you’d never reach him. But he didn’t move. Instead, he just stood there, chest rising beneath your hand, heart pounding steadily under your touch.

“I’m not going anywhere,” You repeated softly, like a promise. “Even if you try to push me away.”

He closed his eyes, and something in him cracked, right there in front of you. Not loudly or with any dramatics. But it was like watching winter thaw, slow and quiet and inevitable.

“I tried to stay away,” Bucky admitted, his voice low, rough, like it hurt to speak. “I thought if I could put some space between us, it’d fade. That maybe I could stop wanting you.”

The confession landed like a lightning bolt. Your lips parted, a thousand emotions flooding you at once: relief, confusion, heartbreak, hope.

“You tried to stop wanting me?” Your voice echoed, barely above a whisper.

His eyes opened then, meeting yours, and you saw it, everything he’d been holding back. All the pain, fear, and longing. “I’ve wanted you for months,” He said. “Maybe longer. But I thought if I kept my distance, you’d find someone better. Someone who doesn’t wake up screaming. Someone who hasn’t done what I’ve done.”

Your fingers twitched against his chest. “But I don’t want someone better,” You said quietly. “I want you.”

Bucky stared at you like he didn’t quite believe it. “Even after everything?”

You nodded slowly, fiercely. “Especially after everything. Because I’ve seen you, Bucky. Not just the soldier. Not an assassin. You. The man who watches bad movies with me in silence. The one who always notices when I’m tired or hurting and doesn’t say a word, just sits a little closer. The one who remembers how I take my coffee. Who makes me feel safe, even when everything else falls apart.”

He looked away for a heartbeat, jaw tight, like he was trying to keep himself together.

You moved forward, stepping a little closer. Your heart racing as you added in a firmer voice. “And you don’t get to decide that you’re unworthy of being wanted. Not for me. Not when I’ve been falling for you this whole damn time.”

And that, broke something in him. He exhaled sharply, like the weight he’d been carrying finally tipped over. His hand came up hesitantly before it settled over yours on his chest, warm and shaking.

“I don’t know how to do this,” He admitted. “I’m not good at… feeling.”

“That’s okay,” You whispered. “You don’t have to be. I’m not asking you to be perfect. Just to let me in.”

He looked at you like you were sunlight cracking through a storm cloud, his thumb brushing gently against the back of your hand. “You already are.”

And then, slowly, carefully, he leaned in. It wasn’t rushed nor desperate. Just real. When his lips met yours, it was tentative, like a question. But when you kissed him back, it became an answer. One you’d both been waiting for.

[aleese1111]

Hi!

I’ve been diving into your Weak Hero class creations — you nailed it!

Would it be possible for you to write something for Ahn Su-ho? With a mix of heavy angst and some fluff at the end? Maybe they're in an argument — slow burn style.

not about trust, but fear | ahn suho x fem!reader

summary : they've always been each other’s safe place—until one night in suho’s room when a name, a worry, and a few misunderstood words nearly tear them apart. an argument fueled by fear and love spirals out of control, but in the aftermath, they find each other again.

warnings: heavy angst, yelling, emotional vulnerability, miscommunication, hurt/comfort, slow burn to fluff, established relationship, anxiety, past trauma references .

author's note: ops with this one .. anyway! my first ahn suho fanfic hooray! requests ,,

The rain was soft against the windowpane, a rhythmic tapping like the pulse of a quiet heart. The glow from the small lamp on Suho’s desk threw golden halos against the walls, and the room—though small and plain—held a lived-in warmth. His backpack sat by the door. A few stray books were stacked unevenly on the floor. A hoodie—hers, oversized and faded from too many washes—was folded neatly at the foot of his bed.

The silence was the kind that stretched too far, hanging heavy between two people who knew each other too well. She stood by the door, arms crossed, chewing the inside of her cheek like she was keeping something bitter from escaping. He sat on the edge of his bed, hands braced on his knees, watching her with guarded eyes.

She was the first to speak.

“Why him?”

Suho blinked. “What?”

She stepped forward, her arms still folded. Her voice was quieter now, but the edge hadn’t dulled. “Beom-seok. You keep bringing him up lately. You said he’s your friend now. That you hang out with him after class, that he’s... what? Part of your little group now?”

His brows knit together, confusion flickering across his face. “He is. Si-eun, Beom-seok, and I—we’ve been through some shit together. He’s not as bad as you think.”

“I didn’t say he’s bad. I said he’s… off.” Her fingers tightened around her arms. “Something about him doesn’t sit right with me. I’m just... worried.”

Suho exhaled, the sound sharp. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to know him to feel—”

“—To judge?”

The word cut her off like a slap. Her arms dropped to her sides, eyes widening slightly.

“Seriously?” he continued, standing up now, voice rising. “You’re going off of a feeling? Do you even hear yourself? You don’t like him, and now you’re acting like I’m the one in the wrong for making new friends?”

Her chest was tight, her breathing shallow. “I never said you couldn’t have friends. I just—I don’t trust him. Not you. Never you.”

“Right. Of course. You don’t trust him,” Suho said, his laugh short and humorless. “Is that really it? Or is it just that you don’t trust me?”

That landed like a blow.

Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again, but nothing came out at first. “Don’t twist this,” she said finally, the words barely above a whisper. “Don’t you dare twist this into something about me questioning you.”

“Why not?” His voice was a low thunder now. “It’s always the same. Every time I try to let someone else in—even just a little—you get like this. Suspicious. Defensive. Like I’m going to disappear on you if I let someone else stand next to me for five minutes.”

“That’s not what this is—”

“Then what is it?” he demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re waiting for someone to hurt you. Like you expect it.”

Her voice broke when she spoke. “I never doubted you. I just—Beom-seok feels wrong. I don’t know how else to say it. It’s not jealousy, it’s not possessiveness—I’m scared for you.”

The words were raw, straining at the edges. “I see the way he looks at you sometimes. The way he talks. There’s something in his eyes. I can’t explain it. But it makes me uneasy, and I just... I don’t want you getting pulled into something that hurts you.”

Suho didn’t reply right away. His jaw was tight. His shoulders stiff. And when he spoke, it wasn’t anger anymore, but something quieter.

“Of what?”

Her throat burned. “Of losing you. Of something happening that I could’ve seen coming and didn’t say anything about. I’m not trying to control you—I’m trying to protect you.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

His eyes—soft brown, usually so warm—were unreadable now. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Couldn’t tell if she had just made everything worse.

Then Suho looked away, raking a hand through his hair. “Damn it.”

She waited. Her heart was thudding too loudly in her chest.

Finally, he looked back at her. “I shouldn’t have said that. About the trust issues. That was... cruel.”

She didn’t answer, just stared at him, eyes glossy, shoulders trembling under the weight of too many emotions.

“I didn’t mean to throw your past in your face,” he added, stepping toward her with slow, careful steps, like approaching a wounded animal. “That wasn’t fair. I was pissed, but I wasn’t thinking.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “You meant it, though.”

He hesitated. “I meant that I was hurt. That you didn’t believe me when I said Beom-seok’s okay. But I didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re broken. You’re not.”

Her arms wrapped around herself again, this time not out of defense, but comfort. “It’s hard. I want to trust people. I do. But every time I try, it feels like a risk I can’t afford.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen it. I’ve seen how hard you try, even when you don’t think I notice.”

She looked up at him now, eyes brimming. “Then why’d you say that?”

“Because I was scared too.” He let out a heavy breath, gaze dropping. “Scared that you’d never fully let me in. That no matter what I do, you’d always keep one foot out the door in case I left first.”

The words were raw. Honest. The kind of vulnerability that was too heavy for a teenage heart to carry, and yet they both held it like it was the only thing anchoring them.

She took a shaky breath. “I don’t want to keep doing this. The fighting. The pushing.”

He reached for her hand slowly, and when she didn’t pull away, he threaded his fingers through hers. “Then let’s stop. Right now. Let’s start over.”

She stared at their joined hands. Then, finally, she nodded.

A pause passed between them—still, but not tense anymore. More like the eye of a storm after the destruction had cleared, the quiet relief that came after surviving something painful together.

He tugged her gently toward him, and she followed. Her forehead met his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her without hesitation.

No more words were needed.

Not yet.

They’d talk more—explain more—when their hearts weren’t so bruised. But for now, they held each other in the soft lamplight, the sound of the rain filling the gaps.

And in that silence, they began to heal.

[sunsetmade]

Dirty Business

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Everything changed for Rafe after he met you. No more drugs, no more using, but he’s still wrapped up in the business of selling.

Rafe’s fingers throb with a dull ache as he counts yet another stack of cash. Another deal. Another drop. Another day stuck in the cycle. Across from him, Barry lounges on the couch, casually chopping lines and snorting them without hesitation.

Rafe doesn’t flinch—just rolls his eyes. Yeah, he’s still tangled in the business, but he’d left the drugs behind a long time ago.

“C’mon, country club. Just one hit,” Barry rasps, that wicked grin stretching across his face.

Rafe barely looks up. “Nah. I’m done with that.”

Barry clicks his tongue, leaning back with a smirk as he wipes his nose clean. He reaches for a blunt already rolled, lighting it like it’s just another part of his routine.

“Gone soft now?” he goads.

Rafe’s elbows rest on his knees, jaw tightening as the irritation flickers across his face. “I’ve told you. I’m not like that anymore.”

Barry laughs lowly. “Guess that’s what happens when you get yourself a girlfriend.”

Rafe’s teeth clench. If he had it his way, he’d be out of this mess completely. But with his dad off on one of his mysterious business trips, someone had to keep the money flowing.

But Barry wasn’t completely wrong.

Rafe had changed—because of her.

He hadn’t planned on it. He never does. She just sort of appeared, soft-spoken and bright-eyed, in a world that never had room for people like her. And somehow, she stayed. While everyone else saw the worst in him, she looked right through the smoke and blood and chaos and saw something worth saving.

Maybe that was the problem. She believed in him more than he ever had.

She never asked him to stop. Never begged or judged. She just existed in his life with so much light that the darkness started to feel less comfortable. And eventually, he didn’t need the high. Didn’t need the numbness. He just needed her.

So no—Barry wasn’t wrong. But he didn’t get to talk about her.

“Don’t talk about her,” Rafe muttered, voice low and sharp as he thumbed through another stack of cash on the table, jaw tight.

Barry held his hands up in mock surrender, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Relax, country club. Just sayin’.”

The smirk didn’t fade, but Rafe didn’t look up. He focused on the money—because if he didn’t, he might actually do something about that look on Barry’s face.

⸻

The first time he had ever seen her, it had been raining that day—one of those warm Outer Banks downpours that soaked you in seconds and didn’t care who you were. Rafe had been parked outside of a corner store, waiting on a guy who was already late, already pissing him off. His patience was wearing thin, and the storm hadn’t helped.

He saw her before she saw him—hair plastered to her face, arms wrapped around a bag of books like it was the only thing keeping her upright. She was standing under the awning, watching the rain like it was something magical instead of miserable.

It didn’t make sense. People like her didn’t belong in his world. Sweet, soft-looking, with that kind of quiet energy that made you want to get closer just to hear her speak. Rafe hadn’t looked twice at anyone in a long time—but something about her made him stop.

And then she looked over. Caught him staring. Instead of glaring or turning away, she offered him the smallest, gentlest smile. Like he wasn’t soaked in anger and frustration. Like she wasn’t afraid.

He remembered rolling down his window, calling out something dumb just to keep her there a second longer. Something like, “You know there’s a storm, right?”

She’d smiled wider, clutching her bag tighter. “Yeah. I like the sound it makes.”

And that was it. That was the moment. The quiet click of something shifting inside him.

He didn’t know her name yet. But he’d spend the next week finding excuses to run into her again.

Because for the first time in a long time, Rafe Cameron didn’t want to disappear into the darkness—he wanted to stand in the rain.

And the first time he realized he wanted to stop- stop all the drug shit- it was when he was with her.

It had been late—bordering on midnight—when she’d fallen asleep on his couch for the first time.

They weren’t together, not officially. But she was always around. Drifting in and out of his days with that soft voice and kind heart, like she didn’t notice—or chose not to care—that he was someone people warned others about.

Rafe had just gotten back from a drop, pockets full of cash, nerves buzzing, the kind of itch in his skin that used to have a very specific fix.

The little baggie sat on the kitchen counter. Same spot it always did. He could’ve crushed a line in seconds. No one would’ve known. Hell, Barry probably expected him to.

But when he turned around, she was there.

Curled up on his couch with one of his old hoodies swallowed around her, hair messy, face peaceful, chest rising and falling slow like she had no idea how close he stood to unraveling.

She trusted him.

That thought hit him harder than anything ever had. She trusted him enough to sleep soundly in a house that had seen things it never should’ve. She believed he was safe. And somehow, just being in her orbit made him want to be that.

His hand hovered over the bag for a moment. Then he pushed it off the counter. Watched it fall into the trash without a second glance.

Rafe stepped into the living room, the dim glow from the hallway light casting soft shadows across her sleeping form. Quietly, he slid onto the couch beside her, easing into the space like it belonged to him—because she did.

She stirred at the motion, a sleepy sigh escaping her lips as she reached out instinctively, searching for him in the dark. Still half-asleep, she scooted closer, her head settling against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Rafe’s breath caught for a moment. Then he smiled—soft, real. The kind of smile he didn’t show anyone else.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in gently, like he was afraid to wake her or lose her. Her warmth pressed against him, grounding him in a way nothing else ever could.

This—she—was the calm he never thought he deserved.

He didn’t need the high anymore.

He had her.

And for the first time, that felt like enough.

⸻

The sound of the front door closing snapped Rafe out of his thoughts.

“Rafe? Baby?”

Her voice—soft, sweet, familiar—floated through the house, and he felt it like a jolt to the chest. His ears perked up, heart lifting for a split second.

Barry let out a dramatic sigh. “Yo, your girl’s here.”

Just like that, the warmth drained from Rafe’s face. The comfort of knowing she was home twisted into dread the moment he remembered who else was in the house—and what they were doing.

Lines on the table. Cash in stacks. Plans for more drops.

It made him sick.

“Hey, I need you to go. Pack all this shit up,” Rafe muttered, standing quickly from the couch. His voice was low, urgent, already heading toward the bedroom to stash the money before she saw any of it.

Barry didn’t move. Just frowned, arms crossed lazily. “She doesn’t know what you do?”

The question wasn’t just a jab—it held judgment, sharp and pointed.

Rafe didn’t even look back. “Doesn’t matter. Just get out.”

Because she didn’t belong in this world. And the longer Barry stayed, the more he’d poison it.

Rafe knew one thing for sure—Barry didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.

“I’m not playing—I need you to fucking get out,” Rafe snapped, voice sharp and final.

Barry rolled his eyes, scooping up his stash with no real urgency. As he passed, he flipped Rafe off with a smug grin before slipping out the back door.

Rafe exhaled hard, running a hand down his face. The relief hit instantly.

He cracked open the bedroom door. “Up here, baby!”

Her response was immediate—footsteps on the stairs, her presence filling the space before she even stepped through the doorway. When she appeared, her face lit up the way it always did when she saw him.

She walked over with ease, stopping between his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed. Rafe looked up at her with that lazy smile that always carried the edge of a smirk, his hands already sliding around her waist like they belonged there.

“How was lunch?” he asked, fingers tracing slow paths along her hips.

She sighed, shoulders relaxing as she shrugged. “It was good,” she murmured, visibly softening just from being near him.

Rafe watched her carefully—the way her eyes fluttered shut as she took a deep breath, the way she melted under his touch.

But then she paused. Her nose crinkled.

“It smells weird in here,” she said, glancing around.

Rafe’s stomach tightened. He cursed Barry silently, jaw clenching.

“Yeah?” he said, trying to keep his voice casual. “Like what?”

She chewed on her lip, eyes wide and uncertain as she looked down at him. “I don’t know… something strong.”

Rafe let out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand down his face as guilt settled hard in his chest.

“Barry was here,” he admitted, voice low. He didn’t want to lie—not to her. Not ever.

She studied him quietly for a moment, eyes dropping to the way his shoulders tensed. Then she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to the bridge of his nose.

“What’s wrong with that?” she asked softly, like she could already sense the storm behind his words.

Rafe swallowed hard, eyes flicking away for a second before coming back to hers. “He’s bad… really bad. The kind of influence I don’t want anywhere near me anymore. Used to be easy to fall into that shit with him, but I swear—I don’t do that now. I don’t want to. It’s just for quick money.”

Her smile came slowly, warm and honest, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

“Rafe,” she said gently, cupping his jaw. “I know you don’t. You’re not who you used to be. You’re a good person.”

Something in his chest cracked at that—because maybe he didn’t fully believe it yet. But she did. And for now, that was enough to make him want to try.

“I know you stopped for me,” she said softly, easing onto his lap and threading her arms around his shoulders. “And I can’t even tell you how much that means to me.”

Rafe didn’t say anything at first. He just pressed his face into the crook of her neck, breathing her in like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. His arms wrapped around her tightly, steadying her—but more than that, steadying himself.

“Everything I do now… it’s for you,” he murmured against her skin.

She giggled, the sound soft and breathy as his lips brushed gently along her neck. But she knew he was serious.

“You’re such a sap,” she giggled again, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Rafe lifted his head just enough to smirk at her. “Yeah? And you love it.”

She scrunched her nose, pretending to think. “Mmm… I tolerate it.”

“Oh, really?” he challenged, eyebrows raising as his hands slipped under the hem of her shirt, fingertips brushing the bare skin of her back.

She let out a squeal, squirming in his lap. “Rafe! Stop!” she laughed, but didn’t actually try to get away—if anything, she leaned closer, completely curled into him.

He was grinning now, that rare, boyish grin he only ever showed when he was with her. “Don’t act like you don’t melt every time I get all sweet.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” she admitted with a mock sigh, letting her forehead rest against his. “It’s just… not what people expect from you.”

His voice softened, “Yeah, well… people don’t get to see me like this.” He traced a finger down her spine. “Only you.”

She looked at him then, really looked, her expression growing quieter—more serious beneath the softness.

He held her gaze, heart thudding. “I mean it. You’re it for me.”

Her breath caught slightly, the teasing gone, replaced with something delicate and real.

“I love you,” he said, no hesitation.

She blinked, like she hadn’t expected it but had been waiting to hear it all along. And then a smile bloomed across her face—slow and radiant.

“I love you too,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his.

And in that moment, with her wrapped around him and her heart in his hands, Rafe felt more high than he ever had before.

[laursdomain]

i lost something, but not you

pairing: sawyer henrick x fem!reader

genre: angst & fluff

synopsis: The Battle of Basgiath was brutal, to say the least. Sawyer Henrick lost a leg, and you aren’t sure how to deal with the aftermath of it. The only thing you can truly do for him is be by his side during the entire process, comforting him though his new developments.

warnings: takes place during end of IF, established relationship, mentions of injuries, anxiety, overthinking, fluff at the end, happy ending!

w/c: 2.0k

a/n: just a lil smth i wrote during my study break

ྀིྀིsawyer henrick masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰

To say you were frantic was an understatement. You had no idea what had happened with Flame Section’s Second Squad during the Battle of Basgiath. Dain Aetos had assigned your own squad to a completely different area, covering a less vulnerable spot for the war college. You had no idea that when you had landed on your dragon, hoping to find your boyfriend, you would instead be approached by Ridoc Gamlyn, breaking the news to you.

Sawyer had gotten wounded.

Badly.

He lost a leg, Ridoc says. 

You didn’t even let him tell you how it happened, all that was running through your head was that you needed to get to Sawyer, and you needed to get to him now. You ran past him, ignoring Ridoc as he shouts your name from behind. You make it to the healers quadrant in record time, practically running on new adrenaline. Your eyes dart everywhere, not sure where he could be. You don’t see anyone you recognize, noting how Rhiannon Matthias, his squad leader, wasn’t even present while he was here.

Eventually, your eyes fall on a pair of light blue robes, noticing a healer putting some paperwork down at the main table. You don’t waste any time, quickly approaching her.

“Excuse me,” you get the healer’s attention, her head whipping up at the sound of your voice. “Can you point me in the direction of one of your patients?”

“What’s their name?” She questions, moving behind the desk to access all the records.

“Cadet Sawyer Henrick.” You speak, balling your fists as your fingertips bite into your skin. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.

She looks through a couple of files, finally finding his file. You hold your breath, fearing the worst. Was Rhiannon not here because he didn’t make it? Would Ridoc have told you first-hand he hadn’t made it? Maybe Ridoc didn’t know the answer himself, and is simply a messenger.

“Ah, I see. May I ask what’s your relationship to the patient? I apologize, it’s protocol.” She gives you a sympathetic smiling, knowing how badly you want to see Sawyer.

You take a deep breath, leveling yourself. You knew you needed to keep your anger in check, being rude and angry would get you nowhere. “I’m his girlfriend.”

“Got it.” She scribbles something down, presumably your status to him. “He’s currently in surgery, but the moment the leading healer is out of surgery, I’ll have him inform you of everything since you are the closest thing to family.”

“You can’t tell me yourself?” The words come out of your mouth before you can stop them, yet you don’t regret it.

“I’m not one of the healers on the case, so I don’t know the full specifics of it. I don’t want to give you any wrong information, but as far as I know, he’s staying strong throughout the surgery.”

You nod, not really taking in her words. 

“You’re more than welcome to have a seat, or we can have a healer come find you when he’s out of surgery.”

“I’ll stay,” you whisper, loud enough for the healer.

She gives you a sympathetic nod, watching as you slump down into one of the uncomfortable waiting seats in the quadrant, mindlessly watching as blue robes pass by you in a hurry, attending to the multitude of injured cadets from the battle. You allow yourself to cry silently, praying to Amari that Sawyer will survive this. You aren’t sure what you’d do if he didn’t make it, and you pray that you don’t have to live through that. You can’t imagine a world in which you live without your Sawyer. 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting there, but it’s long enough for your ass to be numb and for there to be no more tears to shed. It isn’t until an older man with dark blue robes approaches, bending down to get your attention. Once he does, he rises back to his full height with a tight-lipped smile.

“You’re Cadet Y/L/N?” He questions, taking in your riders uniform.

You stand, he was probably the head healer for Sawyer, right? “Yes, that’s me.”

He curtly nods, “I’ve been told you are here for Cadet Sawyer Henrick?”

“Yes, is he okay?”

“He made it through surgery,” his words ease over you, calming your racing heart. You knew there was a but, though all that mattered to you was that he was alive. “He had a very severe injury. One that’ll change his life.”

You furrow your brows, “how bad is it?” The healers were a powerful quadrant, to say the least. Considering how powerful riders could be, you assumed it’s possible for them to reattach a lost limb.

“He lost his leg, along with a handful of blood. We were able to close the wound, but he’ll have to get used to not having one.” The words hit you like a truck, not sure how to process it. Your mind went straight to Sawyer, you knew how distraught he’ll be. He bleeds rider, and you know that this changes everything about his future. The healer doesn’t say it, but you know he’s saying he’ll never be able to ride his dragon again.

You gulp, feeling pins and needles go down your throat. “Can I see him?”

The healers nods, leading you to one of the bays, enclosed by a light blue curtain. The healer grips one of the ends of the curtain, hesitating. “He’s not awake. Try not to freak out.” With that, he opens the curtain, allowing you to step inside before giving you privacy by closing the curtain behind you.

You understood why he told you not to freak out. You were grateful you weren’t there when it had happened, because if you could barely stomach it now, you wouldn’t have been able to in the moment. He was switched out of his flight leathers for a blue hospital gown, but you could see his flight jacket draped over the chair next to his bed. You assumed his leathers had gotten ruined from the injury—most like discarded or burned by the healers. You eyes trail down to his leg, tears prickling at your eyes at the sight of his leg ending at his knee. 

The wound was bandaged, but you knew there was a very prominent line from sewing his skin together. Seeing the difference between his wounded leg and his uninjured leg was startling. You weren’t disgusted or repulsed, just startled. You stepped forward, past his legs and towards his upper body. Other than his leg, he was perfectly fine. With the small space between his hip and the end of the bed, you sit there. Watching him. 

Eventually, you pluck up the courage to cup his jaw, feeling the warmth under his skin and feeling his pulse under your pinky fingers that lay directly above his pulse. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding—relieved. You find yourself laying your forehead against his, allowing the feeling of his presence to ground you from the aftermath of the battle.

You stayed like that with him for a while. You knew it’d be a couple of hours until he awoke from the pain medicine they administered to him during surgery. You never left his side, and only because the healers pitied you—they allowed you to stay overnight even though it was strictly forbidden. 

You didn’t move from your spot. 

You didn’t take your eyes off of Sawyer.

When your eyes started to become too heavy, you nearly succumbed to sleep until you felt it. Sawyer was stirring in your hands, lightly groaning. He was slowly coming out of dreamland, and any weight of sleeping quickly dissipated as you watch your boyfriend. You anxiously wait, wait for his eyes to open. You keep your hands where they are, hoping they help ground your boyfriend as he awakes from his surgery. 

Then it happens.

You see his oh so beautiful pale blue eyes open, blinking away sleep as he takes in his surroundings. Your posture straightens, waiting for him to adjust to the light before his eyes fall on you. A sleepy smile coats his face, moving his hands to rest on your waist.

“Sawyer,” you whisper his name, disbelieved he’s actually awake. You can’t stop the tears that well up in your eyes, a couple dropping onto your cheeks.

He frowns, bringing up a hand to wipe away the tears with his calloused thumbs. “Why are you crying?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I was scared.” 

“Scared of what?”

“That you were gone,” you confess, thankful the remaining patients were sound asleep—voluntarily or involuntarily. 

Sawyer gives you his usual reassuring smile, one that you swore can stop wars. “I’m right here, sunshine.” 

You smile, dropping your head into his neck. He welcomes your embrace, wrapping his arms around your waist as he sighs out in content. You weren’t sure if he was simply ignoring the fact that his leg was gone or simply didn’t realize. You knew you’d have to tell him, but for now—you let him hold you. You both needed it. 

“I won’t ride again, will I?” Sawyer whispers after a couple of moments.

“The healer didn’t say,” you speak, trying to give him some hope. You tried recalling any historical texts you’ve read, trying to find a rider who was still able to ride their dragon after losing a leg—but you come up short. He could be the first.

“So that’s a no,” he dryly chuckles, and you can tell he’s holding back tears. You wish you could do something to help him. You knew there was nothing you could do but comfort him, the same way he has comforted you since threshing. 

You sit up, leaving his embrace. You cup his cheeks, noticing how glossy his eyes are since waking up. “If there’s anyone who can ride again after losing a leg, it’s you,” you whisper, rubbing your thumbs under his eyes. 

“You don’t know that,” a tear escapes from his eye, sliding down his freckled cheek.

You kiss the tear away, “yes I do. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“Sliseag doesn’t need to be embarrassed by me,” he mumbles, casting his eyes down.

“Hey,” you force him to look at you, mimicking his own actions to you. “Unless Sliseag says it, it’s not true. Any dragon would be proud to allow the first amputated rider to ride them.”

Sawyer’s pale blue eyes gaze into your own, holding your stare. Eventually, he nods. You aren’t sure if he believes your words or is simply agreeing because he has no energy to argue about it—but he accepts defeat. 

“Can you stay? I don’t want to be alone,” he whispers, vulnerability lacing his tone.

“I’m never leaving your side, Sawyer. Prepare to get tired of me,” you tease, dipping down to place a soft, loving kiss on his lips. 

He laughs at your antics, breaking the kiss. “I lost something today, but it wasn’t you. I love you, sunshine.”

“I love you more.”

“Not possible,” he retorts, earning a giggle from you.

You don’t argue back, you simply wrap your arms around his neck again, cuddling his face into your neck. You couldn’t really hold him yourself from his injury, and you didn’t want to move him without knowing it’s okay. So you settled on the position you two were in, and as long as Sawyer was content, so were you. He let out a contented sigh into your neck, nuzzling his nose into your skin. His arms wrap firmly around your waist, using your presence to ground himself. He was alive. He places a soft kiss on your neck, nuzzling closer to you before his breathing evens out, falling asleep. You fall asleep with him, finally able to succumb to sleep knowing he was okay.

Sawyer would ride again, you were sure of that. There is no other rider capable of doing so than him. And you would be right by his side during the entire process, cheering him on like he always does for you. 

✰ ✰ ✰

[aivylz]

𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞

♡ | Being the most infamous criminal in all of Fontaine is one of the most thrilling thing, especially when you're dying to get caught. After killing multiple people for specific reasons, the bounty on your head reached millions of mora just waiting to be claimed. After all, your husband is the best officer there is.

You and Wriothesley has been married for two years. In those two years, your marriage has been hidden. He knows that it was morally wrong to be married to a criminal he was supposed to turn in, but his heart stops him from from being loyal to his duties, which leaves you awfully pitiful for him. ˎˊ˗

tw .ᐟ suicidal reader, implications of depression, hurt no comfort, use of alcoholic drinks, mentions of guns and knives, mentions of kidnapping, suicide

𖹭 first work, not beta read nor am i a native english speaker; errors may occur. And it may suck ass at first. .ᐟ ao3

After being kidnapped during your adolescence, you pointed a gun at your kidnapper and shot them, making violence your way of self defense. Every time you went out, you always had a gun or a knife in your pocket and bags, hoping to use it whenever a threat bestows upon itself to you. 

With every stranger you found suspicious getting near you, you always pointed a gun or a knife at them, having to refrain yourself from triggering it. However, you had multiple killings where many innocent civilians died from your hands, making you flee to Liyue. 

During your time in that country, you stumbled upon Wriothesley, who was working for an international collaboration for Fontaine’s police department with the Millelith. Wriothesley didn’t know who you were, since your reports were either masked or your image cannot be depicted, which made you hide your identity to him. 

Speaking of Wriothesley, as he opened the door from your shared bedroom to change, he slumped down on the couch before turning on the television. He skipped through multiple channels–cartoon channels, animal geographic channels, and then the Steambird Channel. 

“Fontaine’s most wanted criminal is on the run once again, after having a vicious and bloody killing spree at Hotel Debord.” A woman said, her face distraught as it showed the evidential photos of your joyous massacre. 

Wriothesley leaned in from his couch, furrowing his eyebrows as he saw your photos plastered on national television once again, worry creeping up in his chest as he wondered where you fled. Seconds turned into minutes as the channel didn’t give any updates and speculation about where you went, but as soon as he heard police sirens outside his home, he knew just where to find you.

He rushed over to the highest window of your home, hoping that he would see you hijacking the window open. And you did. He heard you giggling to yourself as you gave one last look towards the police officers down below, wondering which turn you went. They were close enough for you to see, but far enough to not find you. 

As you closed the window tight shut, you placed your hands on your hips and let out a big sigh, laughing once again after out running them. That’s when Wriothesley secured an arm on your neck and placed a hand on your mouth as he pushed you to a wall. His eyes full of disapproval and worry. “What the hell did you do this time?”

He took a peek outside the window, the room dark enough to hide his face. He noticed how vibrant the red and blue lights were, or maybe it was because of the tears that almost appeared on his water line. 

You batted your eyelashes at him with a blunt look, looking at him in the eyes and on the hand on your mouth, telling him that you practically can’t talk, not when there was a big, muscular hand on your mouth and throat. 

When he removed his hands from you, you grinned at him first and then wrapped your arms around his neck, swaying him side to side as if you didn’t just decrease Fontaine’s population by five percent. “Oh, I missed you too!”

Wriothesley grabbed your arms first before placing it between your side. “Just answer me first. What did you do?” He leaned down slightly to meet you eye to eye, his face stern and serious.

You remained a poker-like face at him, your eyes slightly wide with a small smile across your face. “A group of men were being such a pervert at the performance today. You know? The one with the twin performers. A few guys paid hundreds just to get them to strip.” Wriothesley winced and sighed at your words, rubbing his forehead as he circled a bit around the room. He groaned, lifting his head to meet the annoyingly dark ceiling before he placed a strong grip on your shoulders. “Well I’m glad that you were looking out for their well-being. But dear god, you should never put the law on your hands like that.”

Your head was tilted to the side as you raised an eyebrow at him, hearing the sirens getting louder until eventually someone was calling out outside the residence. 

“I’ll go talk to them, alright? And don’t go anywhere. Just sit on the couch.” He warned, both of you going down the stairs as he placed you down on the sofa. “Don’t go anywhere, I swear to god.”

He grabbed a more decent clothing than the loose shirt he wore just a second ago, but kept the sweatpants. He also grabbed the ID and badge he placed on the coffee table where he left you off.

Wriothesley leisurely opened the door, acting as if he wasn't harboring the exact criminal they wanted. “Officer Wriothesley of Meropide Police Department, how may I be of service to you today?” He brought up the badge and ID, showing it to them. 

“Officer Morgane of the Marechaussee Phantom. Officer Wriothesley, have you seen the wanted criminal lurking in your residence? We’ve lost their trace around your area, and we would like to know if you’ve seen unusual activity in the past five minutes.” The officer said, behind her are two other officers from the same department, and a little melusine next to her.

“I’m afraid not, Officer Morgane.” Wriothesley shook his head, something to copy from his slightly trembling hands as he struggled to place the badge back into his pocket. “I just got home, actually. And turned on the television and knew about the case. However, I would let you know if I found some unusual activity.”

“May we request an investigation in your premises, Officer Wriothesley?” The melusine asked, placing her hands on her hips as she looked Wriothesley dead in the eyes.

He slightly furrowed his eyebrows, a sudden lump in his throat forming. “That would be unnecessary, Officer Ceasth.”

She exchanged looks at the woman, waiting for her approval until one of the male officers spoke. 

“With all due respect, Officer Wriothesley, an investigation is a must, especially with someone as hostile as the wanted criminal.” A wide man said, crossing his arms as he looked at him.

“How about you investigate your own residence, you must have some private matters inside.” Another man said. 

Wriothesley chuckled as he sighed, “Very well. I won’t take long.”

With that, Wriothesley turned around and went inside once again, shutting the door behind him. He made haste towards the living room, finding you still sitting on the couch but with a gun circling around your fingers. Wriothesley placed a hand on the said gun and grabbed it, making his presence seen as he stood behind the sofa. 

“Stop that.” He said as he looked at you. “They’re letting me investigate the house, and I would like to hear no accidental gunshots from inside as I convince them that you’re not in here.” Your eyes lit up as you saw your husband again, giggling to yourself as you gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “There won't be any gunshots heard here, you can trust me.”

“I know I can trust you. But once they barge through this door, make a run for it and hide.” He placed some distance between the both of you, breathing heavily through his teeth. The grin on your face never ceased to exist, giving him that uncanny innocent look as he scolded you. “Don’t give me that look.”

A playful pout replaced your grin, wiggling your shoulder side to side as you kept eye contact with him. Wriothesley shook and hung his head low, his eyes going back towards the door. “I’ll give them an update. Don’t move.” 

Before he left, you called out to him one last time. He turned his head to you, crooking an eyebrow upwards and waited for you to continue your words. “Give me a kiss first before you go?” 

Wriothesley, unable to resist you, chuckled and made long strides to go back to you. He gave your lips a not so quick peck, pouring all the worry and fear to it. “Just, be safe. Okay?”

You nodded at him, fending him off and telling him to continue his work. “You can trust me!” You exclaimed, leaning back on the couch as he opened the door and left. “And he took my gun with me…”

A few minutes pass and Wriothesley is back outside the gate to meet the four officers, a hand running through his hair almost nonchalantly. “No suspicious activity here, officers.” “Very well, Officer Wriothesley.” Morgane said and slightly bowed at him. “We will appreciate an update from you further on.”

“You better, or we will have to tell Monsieur Neuvillette on you and off with your head in courtesy of champion duelist, Clorinde!” Ceasth said, turning behind him as she gave him a small glare from her shoulder. 

Wriothesley snickered at her words, lifting a hand as he shook it like he was swatting a fly. “I’m afraid that won’t happen, officer.” 

As the police cars retreated, Wriothesley took a few more seconds before going back inside. But this time, you were nowhere to be seen. His heart started pounding to his ears, his brain triggering a sense of flight as he searched the house for you, calling out your name. When he heard water running by the bathroom, he quickly made his way to it and saw you staring at your bloodied hands. 

“There you are…” He said, his grip on the doorknob softening as he saw you alive and well. “I thought they distracted me and took you from behind.” 

You listened to his words intently, but never met his eyes. You shoved your hands into the cold, running water, your eyes fixated at how the tainted red stains stuck to your palms like paint. How many people have you killed today? In fact, how many people have you killed in your whole lifetime at all? And during those killing sprees, how many times have you wished that you never ran from the police? 

“What do you think would happen to me if I turned myself in?” You blurted out suddenly. Maybe it was an autopilot thought that your mouth registered instead. 

Wriothesley’s eyes widened at your statement. What wouldn’t happen to you once the police get a hold of you? He leaned off of the doorframe and rushed to your side, grabbing onto your shoulders as he forced you to make eye contact with him. This action made you jolt up, your body not realizing that you’ve been staring into nothing at every thing at the same time. You scanned his face, his mouth slightly agape as if he was figuring out which part of the textbook he learned about what kinds of punishments the law has in store for you. 

“You have no idea.” He said, almost like a whisper. You noticed how his pupils were contracting and how his voice quivered. “Once you step foot into that department, they will throw you in without any second thoughts and then torture you as painfully and ruthlessly as you did to your victims.” 

“Second degree murder, illegal gun possession, resisting arrest, and multiple attempted murder–” Wriothesley let go of his grip on you as flicked his fingers as he counted all of the laws you’ve broken. Biting down on his lower lip as he showed you his fingers, “Do you get it?”

He placed both of his hands on the side of your neck, his thumbs rubbing your cheek as he leaned down on you and pressed your foreheads together, his breath hot and heavy against your face. “They’ll lock you away in a cell and throw the key, leaving you to rot in jail. That’s if you’re lucky enough to escape the death penalty.”

You stared at him right through his eyes, your face remaining deadpanned as you were unable to have the proper emotions you needed. Is it because you knew that would be the cost? Or maybe it’s because you would prefer the death penalty more than anything. It seemed like nothing was able to faze you anymore, after all, you have survived multiple life or death encounters. 

Wriothesley noticed the lack of concern you had on your face, pulling back slightly to move your shoulders back and forth. “Do you hear me? I can’t let that happen to you. I swear, I can’t let them take you away from me. But you have to promise me one thing–promise me that you’ll be careful next time.”

Suddenly, you were able to make out a reaction this time. You let out a heavy sigh with some laughing in between, from how long you felt like you were holding your breath. You removed his hands from your neck, holding both of it delicately as you toyed with his wedding ring, as you swayed the other hand back and forth. 

“I’ll promise you, and they won’t be able to catch me that easily. I used to be the best hide and seek player back in my days, you know?” Wriothesley sighed, a mix of exasperation and endearment as he watched you toy with his wedding band. He came to know early that the playful demeanor you put up is just some kind of defense mechanism or a way to cope, knowing that he is a master of that tactic too. He knew you won’t listen to all of what he has to say, yet he was also unable to resist you either. 

“I’m sure you were, but this isn’t just a game of hide and seek anymore.” He started, his eyes walking from your fingers to your face as his eyes softened at your sight. That cheeky smile plastered across your face, or how your hair fell perfectly to frame your face. “This is different, they’ll search everywhere just to find you, investigate every hole you can crawl into, and once they catch you…” 

He stopped for a moment, his hand catching yours as his grip tightened. “And once they catch you, they’ll make sure you suffer worse than your victims. I won’t be there to protect you–” 

“Not like you’re supposed to be protecting me at all as we speak.”

“That’s not the point,” Wriothesley scoffed, shaking his head as he discarded what you said. “The point is, I need you to fully promise me that you will not take the law into your own hands. I know that I can’t control what you do, and that you have your own way to spend your time leisurely, but dear god. Think about me, someone who cares and loves deeply about you, getting worried sick every time your face is on national television and newspapers. 

At that point, the water in the sink started to overflow, yet no one seemed to notice. It was pooling all over the floor, the splashes hitting your bloodstained clothes, your feet running cold as no one bothered to turn it off. 

A heavy weight filled your chest, making it feel like every blood in your body went towards your heart and filled it to the brim, with how much you wanted to spill all over your own feelings that you’ve been suppressing. 

“I promise.” You said, your voice quivering in almost a whisper. “For better or for worse, through good and bad. That’s what we said, didn’t we?” Your playful demeanor started to deteriorate as your body betrayed you, tears spilling out of your waterline as you opened your mouth to take a deep breath and hitch. Or how your shoulder started to shudder and your mouth started to frown and pout. 

Wriothesley felt a sigh of relief wash over him, the utterly bittersweet moment overriding whatever the hell happened earlier. He ran his fingers over your tears, wiping them off as his own tears started to threaten themselves by rolling down his cheeks. A wide, genuine smile tugging on the corner of his lips as he leaned in and captured you into a kiss. The salty taste of your tears mixed as he poured every longing feeling he kept hidden. Love, gratitude, fear, frustration, it was all in there. 

“Thank you…” He murmured over your lips, his voice raw with emotion. “It means so much to me to hear you say that. Even if you think of me before you act, I’m already content with that.”

He pulled back, his hands brushing through the strands of hair that covered your face, pushing them aside. “Until death do us part.” Wriothesley whispered, cupping your face as his lips shuddered a smile. “Promise me one more thing, that you will come back home to me at the end of each day. And I will do the same for you, that we will both find our way back into each other’s arms. You got it?”

You took in a deep breath as you nodded into his palm, your breathing vibrating through your chest as you felt yourself become more vulnerable. Your eyes rested on his arm that held you, “I promise.” You stated, almost like a whisper. You kept your gaze away from him, like you were scared to meet him in the eyes. “I promise I’ll come home to you.” Another set of tears fell from your face as you said those few words.

There was nothing to be afraid of. Not with Wriothesley, no, he never gave you any reason to be afraid. So perhaps the fear came from you instead. The fear of being unable to bear that vow, one short year of your marriage terminated a little too early. 

Wriothesley cupped your face and kissed you once again, then pulled back as he stared into your eyes that was filled with love and desperation. He let out a heartfelt laugh as he rubbed your face, squeezing it in between his palms. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” 

The faucet from the sink was turned off, Wriothesley walking over to the shower to check the temperature before urging you in. A warm smile plastered on his face as he opened the shower door for you, “I’ll bring you clothes.”

You nodded as you waited for Wriothesley to leave, discarding your clothes onto the floor and not caring about the fact that it was flooded. You won’t use them again, anyway.

As you basked in the feel of the water on your skin, your mind started to wander at the times you ran away. There were moments where you were caught in a dead end, panting heavily as your body slid on the wall behind you, away from the flashlights and patrol lights. During those moments, you felt an unwavering splash of relief wash over you. You’re finally going to be caught. All those pent up years of running away until your limbs betray you, until you know nothing else but to run, they’ll finally throw you into the pits of hell.

But every time there was a voice inside your head telling you to keep running, to come back home. That voice came in as Wriothesleys, telling you to keep moving and come back home to him. And you did, you ran and you ran and you ran until you found your way back again, just like you did earlier. 

That’s right. You’re only on the run right now because you still need to come back home to him. 

You wore the clothes Wriothesley brought in for you, noticing the creases on your fingers. How long were you in there? And when did he bring the clothes to you? You probably didn’t notice him knocking on the door and placing your clothes on top of the toilet lid. Moreover, you smelled a faint scent of an aromatic smoke coming from the kitchen. 

You wrapped a towel around your neck to catch the water droplets from your hair, coming out of the bathroom and sneaking a peek around the corner of your kitchen. Wriothesley’s back was facing you, but you made out the fact he was cutting carrots while the stove was on at the side.

“What’re you making?” You asked, fully walking inside the kitchen as you stood by his side. 

He quickly glanced over you, a small smile creeping up his face as he cut the carrots in a diamond shape. “My specialty, because why not?” 

You hummed in approval as he continued to cut, the smell of the barbecue ribs emitting across the room. “Better make it extra special tonight then.” 

You skipped over towards the kitchen island, watching him work through his cooking. He would frequently glance back at you whenever he would reply to your words, a playful banter being thrown around by the both of you. Honestly, what did you ever do to deserve such a man? 

Wriothesley gracefully placed the plate of his specialty cooking in front of you, grabbing a bottle of wine from one of the cupboards and pouring you a glass. He would always say that it was truly best paired with the best wine there is, and it was.

“Dawn Winery?” You asked as you sipped on the glass, and you remembered this was the same flavor as the wine you both had on your first date in the comfort of his apartment after coming back from Liyue. 

Of course, every other date you two had was always inside his place. Not like you can go out in the open anyway, can you? 

Wriothesley nodded as he chuckled, taking a sip of his own. “You remembered.” 

Absolutely. How could you forget? The nervous sensation you had in a long time, the sudden urge to just walk out that door and free him. Ah, you could remember it like it was yesterday.

You hesitated at first to cut and bite your food, wondering if you’re even deserving to eat such delicacy that he made just for you, full of love and warmth and safety. In the end, you downed the food and pretended like your actions were justifiable. Of course they are, they were self defense.

Wriothesley offered to be the one to clean up the dishes, urging you to take a rest. He noticed how constrained you were the whole day, and thought that it’d be best if he allowed you time for yourself and to ease up. 

And so you did.

You followed through his words, watching him for a while washing the dishes before you got up and went to your shared bedroom. The night felt unreasonably cold, and how your body would tingle when your foot would make contact with the cool, hard floor. The windows? Closed as tight as it could be. No fans or air conditioners were even open, almost like it felt like the grim reaper's presence was looming over you. 

You eagerly jumped onto the bed with a loud “Oof!”, your chest immediately hitting the mattress as you grabbed on the blanket and pulled it over to your nose as you cradled yourself like a child in a womb.

As much as you wanted to wait for Wriothesley, everything felt like it was going slower as it seemed. He was only doing the dishes, what’s taking him so long? You glanced over your phone on the nightstand, it has only been three minutes. 

The silky feel of the pillows beneath your head eased you up, the soft blanket serving tender warmth over your chilled body. You fought the urge to close your eyes, wanting to see Wriothesley one last time before fluttering your eyes shut. However, your body rejected that tendency and closed shut.

During your unconscious state, you heard light footsteps and a soft sigh, accompanied with a low chuckle. Wriothesley sat down on the edge of the bed, his fingers reaching out to you to brush the stray strands of hair from your face. He never told you this, but he always prefers to see your face before going to bed and after he wakes up. Hence the reason why he’s so against you sleeping on your chest. 

Wriothesley lifted his legs on bed before lowering himself and resting his head on his arms, admiring your tensed face. “Good night, sweetheart.” He whispered as he brought a strand of hair to his mouth, kissing it lightly before dropping them and resting his arms around your body. 

[ … ]

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. 

The sound of the clock's hands went through your ears, the ticking sound being repeated in the room. You groaned lowly, making sure that your sounds won’t wake up the giant man behind you. That giant man being Wriothesley, his arms loosely wrapped around you.

The clock showed its hands at around two in the morning, the light of the moon and streetlights illuminating a subtle shadow of the clock, enough to depict the time. 

You noticed the dryness of your mouth, and so you wiggled slowly out of Wriothesley’s arms.

You made quick strides to the door, opening it gently, so damn gently with no creeks, and closed it. You slowly walked towards the kitchen, opening the dim lights to light your way through. 

As you stood on your tiptoes to grab a cup from the cupboards, there was a slight noise as you opened it. You winced, hoping that the sound isn’t loud enough to reach your bedroom. Then you opened the fridge, wanting a cold drink to rehydrate the arid feel of your throat. 

You went and placed the cup down on the counter, your eyes lingering towards the batches of knives on the knife rack. You thought to yourself, how sharp are these?

While you were about to grab the biggest one, you hesitantly glazed over the edges of the knife. It reflected the light perfectly, but the very pointy end was quite dull. You pointed it at yourself, examining it further until you felt the urge to gauge your eyes out. 

You gave an airy gasp, realizing the thoughts gnawing on your consciousness. The knife was dropped immediately back on the counter, your hands rushing to quickly place it back on the rack.

Heavy, short footsteps were taken as you backed away slowly, then you found yourself in the living room. You rushed once again to open the lights, the darkness frightening you. 

Then you comprehended, where did Wriothesley put your gun? You might need it again for another heist around the city.

There it is. On the coffee table. Your husband must’ve trusted you enough to display the gun once again to your reach, and you were already fast asleep when he wanted to give it back to you. 

You sighed, your heartbeat getting faster as you sat back down on the couch and held the gun. 

While you held it, your eyes scanned on the faint stain of blood on the grip and trigger. Come to think of it, you’ve never pointed a gun to yourself before. 

The barrel is facing you. 

You let out a shaggy, nervous laughter as you realized the sudden change of direction the gun is facing, and it felt like you weren’t the one who turned it around to you. 

No, you were about to put it down and run away, but the last trigger hit your forehead before you even placed it down.

Hah. You felt bad. You know when they say, you have seven minutes left to live before your mind shuts down completely? You recalled your first encounter with your demise, the very person and reason why you turned out this way. Yourself. 

Then, you recalled your first encounter with your rebirth, Wriothesley. You remembered how hesitant you were when he proposed, crying to yourself that night when you said ‘yes’. The insufferable feeling of having to trap him forever in your upcoming marriage, or how you two weren’t a normal couple yet, in fact, was such a complex one that you were gaining humanity through him once again as he was losing his. 

Oh, how you wish you were different. You pray to whatever god or Archon there is listening to you to forgive you for turning out this way, but it wouldn’t make any difference if you were forgiven. In the end, you were still a murder taking away lives of others before you took your own. 

As you drew your final breaths, you heard faint sounds coming towards you in the form of screaming and crying. That’s when you knew that it was over. A tear ran down your eyes, your vision getting blurry. Was it really tears? Or was it blood? 

Oh my dear Wriothesley, I’m sorry for ever daring to love you in the first place.

[aka-indulgence]

Illithid Kiss

So I caved. Immediately. Mind flayers are hot, bite me

Thanks to @llamagoddessofficial for showing me 1 (one) image of bg3 mind flayer and immediately going AWOOGA

Yes I made an ao3 link, I ‘ve been taken over help

(Mind flayer x Female!Reader

Mind flayer goes by he/him)

Vaussur took you in as his thrall for what feels like a long time ago. Despite being a mind flayer, for his kind, he had surprise you at every turn, acting unlike how you expected an illithid to act- like how the rest of the mind flayers in his hive acts. Lenient and forgiving with you, letting you roam with your mind free (for the most part), you find yourself unexpectedly getting attached to him.

What do you do, when all of a sudden your mind flayer ‘master’ asks you to tell him about human love? When he asks you to show him more directly? And most importantly…

Would you kiss a mind flayer?

Content warning: Mind control involved (consensual), suggestive themes, master/servant romantic relationship

—————

“Tell me, pet. What does it mean to love like a human?”

You’re snapped out of your musings at the voice, echoing both through the room and chambers in your mind. You look away from the window, from the alien society outside. Vaussur was looming behind you, a curious glow in his eyes that looked soft, somehow.

In the shadows of the room he looked ominous, almost spine-chilling. Illithid armour glinting in the faint light, while the rest of his body was merely a silhouette save for his glowing, golden irises. It reminded you of stories people back home used to tell you when you were young: to close and lock the doors at night and close the windows lest a monster sneak into the room. You didn’t know what a mind flayer was, back then, but seeing him now, he fits the stories perfectly.

Yet, he keeps surprising you with his curious mannerisms- his strange questions. You turn to face your ‘master’.

“Why do you ask?”

“As you might guess, it’s not something I can speak of amongst other illithids,” he says matter-of-factly, with a bit of humor in his eyes. “But its still something I’m personally interested in, nonetheless.”

You giggle. “What do you mean? Do you study humans?”

Mind flayers don’t have mouths. But from the way his tentacles moved, it almost looks like Vaussur was smiling at the sound of your giggle. But he answers seriously.

“I have been, as of late.” He gives you a meaningful glance. “Of course, illithids are the superior race and our ways of living are equally superior. … But I find myself becoming curious. We don’t have such customs in our society, and what I’m about to say is unbecoming for a mind flayer, but…”

You look at him curiously as he struggles to speak his words.

“I… envy you.” He whispers. “You have no idea how exquisite your mind tastes, my dear thrall. … How tender, the sweetness in every drop of thought in that delectable mind of yours, the warmth and comfort your memories radiate… You come from a world where a small, innocent, kind thing like yourself could flourish and bloom- thrive, even. How can such a world exist?”

The way he describes your mind in frightening and alien detail, reminds you of what he is- an illithid, a being that literally has a taste for brains. But even so, the way he described yours, though a little unsettling, almost sounds like a poem, words woven carefully just for you. Try as you might, it sounds like a compliment to you.

“W-well,” you stutter, staggered by his flowery words- coming from a being that has never seen much of life in the sun. “I think humans are more social than mind flayers. You communicate out of necessity, working together like a hivemind for the elder brain… right?”

“Right. You remembered what I told you? Smart pet, you prove me again and again why you’re my favorite thrall.”

“Um!” Being called a thrall wasn’t flattering, but still you feel your mind spin from the praise. “Thank- thank you. As I was saying, humans communicate and cooperate too, but we don’t do it just out of necessity. We find joy in the comfort of other humans- and other beings too, if they’ve formed a bond. We do it because we like it. We make bonds with people in our families and our communities, for companionship and… sometimes more. We can work alone, but most suffer from being solitary.”

You don’t know what kind of love Vaussur was asking you for, but you thought keeping it general was a good start at least. And the safest option, considering the other possibility.

“Interesting… not unlike illithids.” He comments.

“Really? How so?”

“As a non mind-flayer, you would not know this, but… it’s very unhealthy for a mind flayer to be completely alone.” You raise your eyebrows in surprise while Vaussur continues. “No elder brain, no other illithids, no thralls. Mind flayers are surrounded and connected by thoughts. To strip the familiar away from them… I’ve heard stories where they’ve gone mad.”

“Wait- mind flayers can go mad?”

“Of course. We are superior but not perfect- even I can admit that. Mind flayers can’t thrive in isolation, we must rely on another living being. It’s a disgrace for a mind flayer to accept it, let alone admit it- especially to admit they rely on thralls so heavily beyond labor.”

“I didn’t know that.” You remarked, seeing the illithids in a new light. Most of what you’ve heard from when mind flayers were merely myths and legends, and from what you’ve seen directly from their society indicates that they’re a self-sufficient, self-aggrandizing people. To know they could be attached to anything other than themselves, or at least to their elder brain… and Vaussur had so easily conceded this information to you.

“Wait, if it was a disgrace, why are you admitting this to me right now?”

“Because I’m no different. And it is no disgrace to say that I need you to stay with me.”

Your mouth hangs open at his honest confession, like it was factual. You try to ignore the little flips your stomach is doing, and whether or not it was a good feeling.

“I’ve also heard that there are different types of love. Platonic and romantic, I think they’re called.”

“Yes, yes there is, it’s-” you stop yourself, even as you quieten the excitement in your chest at the mention of the other type of love (to your puzzlement). “How do you know about that?”

“During my time on a ​​reconnaissance mission. I was looking for possibles hosts to implant with tadpole.”

You fail to hide the distaste on your face at the mention of ceremorphosis. If Vaussur saw it, he doesn’t react.

“I heard them talking about it. I think they were discussing whether what they felt for each other was one form or the other. Their discussion about the romantic one became particularly charged.”

He refocuses on you, and eagerly asks, “What is… romantic love?”

He was trying to sound calm and analytical but you could hear it: excitement. But why would a mind flayer be so interested in romance, of all things?

“It’s… like I said earlier,” you swallowed. You don’t know why you felt so bashful about it, like you were in a group of children talking about your parents kissing like it was a scandal. “It’s when people have more… intimate relationships with another. It’s not very different from platonic love, but different nonetheless. It’s…”

How do you explain romantic love to someone who doesn’t know what it is? How is it different from platonic love? Just having to explain what love is to him proved itself quite confusing to you, as the more you tried to grasp the definition of love to you, the more it slipped away.

“It’s like…” you grasp again, “romantic love is when you meet another person, and you feel a, a… a spark. It’s more intense than platonic love, where you just feel this… attraction to the other person, where you want to be as close to them as possible, and just their presence can make you really happy. You do things with them things you wouldn’t do with any other people you have in your life, intimate things. Someone you want to share your life with.”

You feel a little helpless as you clasp your hands together, trying to convey what you think love looks like to someone who’s never experienced it. Even with your loose explanation, Vaussur is rapt with fascination, his luminous glare unblinking. 

“I’m sorry if this is confusing to you…”

He shakes his head. “That’s more knowledge than any mind flayer knows. And… if it proves hard for you, pet, maybe you should show it to me.”

“I… show it?”

You were about to ask how, but as soon as you thought that, a word echoes in your mind.

With a kiss.

Your eyes widen, and unfortunately, it looks like your mind was loud enough for Vaussur to notice.

Without skipping a beat, he asks you, “Can you… show that to me? Kissing?”

Added with his forwardness, you fluster, but you try to calm yourself. Vaussur is a mind flayer. He’s never experienced any kind of love, let alone romantic. He really is just curious, he’s not trying to charm you… right?

You try to explain it to him.

“I c-could, but… kissing you would be more… romantic. One of the intimate things people do together to be romantic.” You said that twice. Your mind is tripping over itself. “You have to- no, you should do it with someone you care about deeply, the one you want to keep in your life. At least, that’s how you make it more meaningful.”

Vaussur doesn’t speak, not immediately. A strange look washes over his face, his brows furrowing. Subconsciously, he brings his hand to a tentacle, stroking it thoughtfully.

“I don’t see the problem. That describes how I feel about you perfectly.”

Everything goes quiet for you.

… “What?”

Vaussur doesn’t skip a beat.

“That’s how I’ve felt about you since I took you as my thrall. That is not a strange concept. I’m intimately familiar with that feeling.” He pauses. “Unless this is hesitation because I’m a mind flayer.”

“I- no that’s not it,” you say, the ice freezing your tongue melting. “It’s, I just- do you… love… me?”

“Perhaps. If that really what love is, then yes. But illithids don’t have ‘romance’ or ‘love’. So I need you to show me what it is.”

You shake your head, you can’t believe the situation you’re in, looking at the floor. The mind flayer that’s called you his thrall might very well love you- even be in love for you. People have described mind flayers as soulless, one of the defining characteristics they were often associated with, something you’d accepted as fact, until you were captured by one. Despite his illithid tendencies, the air of superiority, lack of care for non illithid lives, and strange fascination with brains; for what he is, Vaussur’s acted with more humanity than what you imagined a mind flayer was capable of.

You’ve noticed that most of your favorite qualities in him come out when you have his attention.

Though he’s always been imposing and quite frightening, you can’t believe that you’ve… thought what it’d be like to kiss him. At times when he seems to go against his natural instincts, like keeping you away from the feedings, how he praises you when he defends you from other mind flayers, how you were precious to him, and the way he held you protectively whenever you needed to cross their domain.

You’re amazed at yourself when you answer him with “... Alright.”

When you pick your head up from your musings, you startle from how close he was to you. You could see the patterns in his illithid armor, the intricate swirls and spirals, turning to complicated geometries as they reach the edge of the armor, extending from what looks like a mind flayer skull in the middle of the collar area. Long, dark purple robes extend from underneath, covering most of Vaussur’s skin. You withhold the urge to trace your fingers over the shapes.

You look up, way up. You were no stranger to this- even among mind flayers, Vaussur was particularly tall. He loomed over you, your head only reaching somewhere in the middle of his chest, and you’d have to crane your neck whenever he commanded you. But now, with the prospect of… kissing him, he seems all the more imposing. The closes thing you could to kissing him properly would probably be on one of tentacle.

“Um…”

Vaussur makes a strange sound, a sound that tickles your brain. A laugh…?

Before you could worry about what you were about to do, you feel a magic presence all around you, like someone was holding you. Your feet lift off the floor as you’re picked up by his psionic energy, bringing you face to face with him. There’s expectance in his burning gaze, something that makes you feel small and defenseless. You feel his thoughts seeping into your mind, mixing with yours: the want to be closer, of warm affection… and something possessive. You’re not sure if he’s trying to make you feel the same things for him, or if he’s simply communicating with you the way a mind flayer would with each other. It scares you a little, especially feeling his more foreign emotions- but whatever it is, you know he’s being genuine. You don’t sense a hint of malice in all the rush of feelings he’s emanating.

Despite your timidity, you can’t say those feelings were wholly unpleasant. You find you’re actually leaning into it, closing your eyes to try to feel it coursing through you. When you open them, you find the courage to brace your hands on his plated shoulders. Brilliant citrine eyes glance down at them, and you realize how small they must look to him.

Your brows furrow a little as you look for a good place to… kiss an illithid. Your fingers curl, and you try to position your head a bit to the side. You could feel him watching your every move, and you swallow.

You lean in. You could smell him, somewhat like vanilla and something else, and you’re surprised that you like it. Your lips press to the side of his face, above two of his tentacles, and kiss him. Vaussur closes his eyes and hums- you could feel him physically and mentally relax. His skin was strange, smooth and slick with a thin film of something; but you didn’t dislike it.

You pull back, parting with a little cup! as you did. Vaussur looks a little more… floaty, like he was dreaming.

“... Can you do that again?” He murmurs

You purse your lips together, hands letting go to twiddle your fingers, not quite knowing where to look.

Apparently Vaussur takes your hesitation negatively.

“I feel your nervousness, puppet. What’s the matter? … Did you not like it?”

You didn’t know mind flayers could even sound hurt, but he did, though he tried to hide it from you.

“No, no!” you stressed, “I’m just! It’s! … I’m just… shy.”

His eyes widen. You know what he must be reading from your mind right now: curiosity, interest, maybe even… fondness.

When you look at his mouth you feel a mix of emotions. Were you afraid? Were you excited…?  … No you don’t want ot think of what that meant, it’s too much. You stare for his mouth a moment longer while you try to gain the courage to kiss him.

You decided to work up to it.

Your hand reaches for a tentacle tentatively.

“Can I…? Touch your..?”

The tentacle flexes. Vaussur seems clueless as to what you want to do with it, but he lets you have it.

You give it a feather light touch, tracing a finger down its length. You realize how… sensual this feels, and you wonder if mind flayers ever enjoyed the pleasures of the body…? If they could? Vaussus gasps quietly, the tentacle reacting to your touch, twitching closer to you.

You’ve found yourself imagining what it was like to stroke his tentacles, of what would happen. Vaussur closes his eyes, letting you run your hand down. It’s smooth and slick with illithid mucous, cool to the touch, almost slippery. You think you like it. The other tentacles start to curl and sway closer around you, as if looking for your attention. You feel a sudden sense of pride fill you, at the effect you had on this mind flayer, just by touching him lightly.

His tentacles start their own exploration of you; timidly at first, but they quickly gain confidence and start to lavish you with tender caresses. One prods and brushes your cheek. Another traces along your collarbone curiously. The third free tentacle slides behind your back and holds you steady. The one you’re holding- clearly enjoying what you’re doing to it, curls around your arm.

You tittered. It’s like they had minds of their own. You wondered… what would happen if you kissed him on the tentacle?

You lift it up to you and give it a gentle peck.

Apparently, they were sensitive because as soon as you did, claws closed around your back and hips and pulled you flush against Vaussur’s chest, squeaking as he did. He lets out a deep, pleasurable sigh that turns your cheeks red while he grips you tightly, wantingly. You’d always assumed that a mind flayer’s body would feel cold, but even though his skin was covered in fluid, he was warm. Very warm.

So were you.

His golden eyes were glowing brighter than ever, his tentacles caressing you and start to float and curl languidly around you. His mouth is open before you, and your breath mixes with his.

You don’t feel fear.

“Please, my human,” he implores, “teach me. Teach me how you love.”

You didn’t hesitate this time. You felt naturally drawn to him. Willingly, you lean into him, his body, his feelings. You wrap your arms around his neck and somehow, your lips found his mouth and you started to kiss him.

As you expected, kissing Vaussur was nothing like the kisses you’ve experienced with other humans, or even other humanoids. You aren’t sure how to describe it, it felt you were kissing all around you rather than on one single spot, he surrounded you. His tentacles start to wrap you more tightly- around your head and neck. Though the thought of how vulnerable you were in this position with a mind flayer- that he could eat you so easily- did cross your mind, it only did so briefly. You were worried earlier that kissing a mind flayer with their mouths that opened four ways accompanied by lamprey teeth, meant to suction and grind into skulls might feel horrible but… you’re delighted that that wasn’t the case. The sensation of having him surround you and hold you so lovingly tightly was quite pleasant.

He hums, the sound vibrating around you. He starts floating backwards with you, slowly settling into his bed, his hands wandering, feeling you. You could feel him in your mind again, but he wasn’t intruding. It felt more like he was asking for your permission. You happily let him in, and you feel yourself cradled by his thoughts: soft, warm adoration for you.

Despite what the natural order tells you, you felt safe with him.

Vaussur had seemed confused earlier, not knowing what to do with himself while you spoiled him with your kisses, but he’d started becoming more confident, evident from the way he holds you and the tentacles’ affectionate touches. He starts taking control, sitting up a little and folding you backwards, reciprocating your kiss with new fervor, deepening it. His claws start to dig into you possessively, and you squeak, his power overwhelming you.

A flood of satisfaction floods your brain, and it isn’t yours.

I like those sounds. Vaussur’s voice purrs in your mind. Give me more.

You gasp and mewl, squirming in his hold, which only excites the illithid more, tentacles winding around your head tighter. One hand manages to stray from the tangle of limbs, only to quickly get reclaimed by his slender fingers, entwining with yours.

Don’t be scared, sweet human. He teases diabolically, I promise I won’t eat that delicious mind of yours. You’re safe with me.

You don’t know how long he kept you like that, hungrily taking your mouth while his hands and tentacles wander. When he was finally sated, Vaussur gently pries his tendrils off your face, and lets you go. You take a gasp of air, the blood in your head slowly draining away, and you cool down. You could feel warm imprints on your face where his tentacles and mouth were. Already, you find yourself missing the closeness you shared, his warm mouth on yours.

It felt like he was sucking your face in the best ways.

… You feel scandalized by your own thoughts, and you cover your mouth bashfully.

“I felt that.”

Damn it!

Vaussur chuckles, his eyes flickering with smugness. His gaze wanders over your face, like he was admiring his ‘work’.

He looks happy, eyes crinkling at you.

“Just like I promised. Your mind is still yours, untouched, undigested. Though… there are marks on your face. I rather like it.”

You don’t know how red your face is right now, fingers scrambling on it as if you could see it better that way.

“W-what?”

He chuckles again, and your frantic thoughts stop when a finger brushes your cheek.

“Thank you. For showing me that, puppet.”

Slowly, you smile, small and demure. “Your… welcome. Thank you for keeping my mind safe. I…” you swallowed, laughing nervously, “I liked it.”

Oh. Oh, he liked that.

“I did too. Immensely. You’re… incredible.” He praises you. “I would not be opposed to it if we did it again.”

You’re suddenly intimately aware of the fact that you were on his lap, practically straddling him, his arms keeping you close. He’s just invited you to another kiss, and you… like that idea. Sheepishly, you say the same.

“I… I wouldn’t either.”

You’re hoping you’ll get to kiss him again soon. Maybe more.

He lays you down beside him, and as he presses the top of his tentacles to your head, you realize it was his attempt at giving you a peck. You smile, and you instinctively curl into him, tentacles floating around you protectively.

Rest, human. He urges. You’ve done a lot today. Sleep.

You let him mentally compel you. It was nice, being able to sleep whenever you wanted without having to toss and turn before hand. You feel sleep quickly take you and your eyes fall close.

…

Vaussur stays up a bit longer after you, admiring his pretty ‘thrall’ that he feels lucky to have found. His fingers comb through your hair and behind your ear.

You’re… extraordinary.

You smile in your sleep as response. He thinks that might be the prettiest thing he’s seen in his illithid life: you being happy while you were with him.

He doesn’t think these soft, tender feelings are natural for a mind flayer. He wonders if he inhabits a human body.

You curl a little, trying to escape the chill, and Vaussur pulls a blanket up to you, and covers you. He needs to rest soon too, to shed his armor and sink into bed with you by his side.

His small… cute… vulnerable little human.

Whatever he may be in his previous life before the ceremorphosis, one thing is clear to him now.

He loves you.

And no one else can have you.

[willyoubemycherryy]

“Who’s your new friend?” (Salesman x reader)

Summary: Your dad’s dark stranger is the one for you. Too bad about his cruel streak….

Contains: sit down chicas this is a LONG one, plot but gratuitous p+rn, dads!friend au, rough sex, edging, pussy spanking, he’s mean :( , choking, drugging, everything IS consensual bc I’m tired of everyone writing him as a domestic terrorlzing rapist, he’s still psychotic and unhinged tho, just not psychosexual because psychotic traits don’t always translate to sexual violence, your dad is sweet but trusting and naive, squirting, pussyspanking unprotected sex (don’t be a dummy, wrap your gummy) begging, degradation, praise, cursing, reader is a bit of a bitch, light dom/sub dynamics, his cock is stuuuupid fat bc I said so and have eyeballs, ur 22 in this period and he’ll spit in your mouth in the next installment of this series :)

A/N: Yeah, he got me y’all😔 Gong Yoo sexy, fine, tall, handsome ass got me😞I’ve been tripping out for 17 days straight over this man sooo…

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ _ _

_ ➵ ✩ ◛ ° . +

You knew your dad often had strange friends but this one takes the cake.

Raising a skeptical eyebrow at the tall man your father was currently introducing you to. Standing over 6 feet in a pitch black suit he was extremely easy on the eyes with full lips, perfectly styled hair, relaxed posture and not a wrinkle in sight paired with the darkest almond eyes you’d ever seen. You rove your eyes over him once more before looking back up to find him staring back at you…

Yes, he was perfectly lovely but was it too soon to assume something about him was..off?

You feel your face warm at how strong his gaze is but you stare back defiantly, mentally cursing your too trusting dad.

“…and since we chat almost everyday during our commute to work- would you guess that we’re both in sales and marketing?- I thought it’d be great to invite him over and talk more in a more comfortable setting!” Your dad says excitedly, smiling as he tells you all about his new friend. The man smiles alongside him, cheeks faintly dimpling and despite your distrust, you can’t take your eyes off of him as you feel your heart beat harder in its cage.

“I was going to call to tell you I was bringing company but you know I forget to use that thing.” ‘That thing’ being a modern phone to a man who was awful with tech. You scoff but nod to let him know you don’t mind (completely) and because you already know how your father is and he continues,

“Oh right! Speaking of forgetting, I don’t remember if I ever mentioned my daughter even though I know I probably did-“, you listen to your dad introduce you and the man smiles even wider as he steps forward, offering his hand to yours in a shake.

“How pleasant to meet you.” Holy shit. His voice is a lot deeper than you expected and you absentmindedly place your hand into his waiting one. The way it completely encases your hand due to its sheer size makes your heart stop before it melts down to a warm pool in your lower stomach, settling in your core like hot tea as you breathe out a shaky exhale. His hand is also rougher than you thought it’d be for a simple businessman as it squeezes yours and a quick flash image of that same hand around your throat has you snatching your hand back as you shoot him a tight smile.

“Right. Back at ya. Um, how old are you again?”

“Ah. Isn’t that improper to ask new people?”

“I’m just curious to how you maintain a career as developed as my dads because you seem so young.”

Oh. You’re quick witted; that makes things a potential hassle for him.

“Well, I’m much older than you. I’m certainly older than your father.”

“Ha! Are you also the Emperor of China-”, You’re cut off as your dad says your name in the way he does when you’re being rude but you ignore it, glaring at the man.

“Be polite! He’s older so you should speak respectfully”, you barely hide the roll of your eyes but your fathers new friend catches it and you swear you hear a huff of amusement from him, the low sound makes you shiver as you turn on your heel to go back upstairs, your dads scolding calling after you.

“Aish! Spoiled! Brat! You were so much cuter when you were younger!”

“Whatever!”

“Bellybutton lint!”

“Old man!”

“Oh yeah?! You won’t be 22 forever!”

The only response he gets back is the sound of your bedroom door slamming while you’re all too aware of the eyes on your back when you’d left. Your dad sighs as he runs a hand down his face. The salesman simply stands quietly, grinning as always as he observes your little spat. Something about it caught his attention though.

“She’s young.” And your father agrees, insisting that’s part of the reason for your behavior, you apparently were “much nicer” and he nods in understanding.

“College age is tricky. I met her mom around her age and things are so much more different than they were back in our day so I try not to be too hard on her but sometimes she’s so-!” He tilts his head as he waits for your dad to find the word.

“Difficult!”

Ah. How cute. A little attitude problem.

That honestly doesn’t surprise him because most pretty little things almost always had one- you were no exception. Though, you yourself were a pleasant surprise. He’d maintained a friendly relationship with your father on a mere whim, finding him to be…nice unlike most he considered nuisances, so when the man invited him over one day he accepted and as he trailed through the door behind him, taking in the warm tones of your house when he spotted you. Standing near the island by the kitchen in shorts so tiny the wide waistband made them look like a mini skirt, the words ‘PINK’ on the back and a snug white tee shirt, the blue of your bra peeking through, you walk towards them smelling of fabric softener and cold vanilla. Your hair was down as you stared at him like you were both scared and wanting with big eyes full of suspicion. The gloss of your lips shining back at him as your lips curl during your inspection of him, lightly arched brow raising as you gave him a thorough once over, eyes flicking back up to his when you were done. You were absolutely delicious to look at. Short, smart mouthed, pretty and prissy.

He didn’t mind the rude way you spoke to him- no- because your eyes tell. You were weary but interested; cynical in all the ways your father wasn’t but that was perfectly fine.

His smile slowly shifted into a smirk as he followed your father to the living room, humming whenever he would speak, but his thoughts were preoccupied.

Thinking of smooth legs on a cute face he’d love to see wet with tears as he spanked your smart ass raw.

•

•

•

When you went upstairs the first thing you did was grab your headphones and tune out.

What the fuck was your dad thinking??

You huff as you flop on your bed, scrolling through your favorite apps while you tried to slow your thoughts.

Everything is fine.

Your dad always has the most unconventional friends and acquaintances so this was probably just that and you were freaking out more than usual because he was unfathomably attractive. That’s it. You just needed to get a grip. But fuck would you love to ride him through the weekend if only he didn’t have such a concerning aura…and wasn’t pals with your dad of-course.

About 2 hours later when you go downstairs to get food and bring it back to your room-answering curtly when your dad asks if you want to join him and the hot stare of the suited man you’re trying to pretend isn’t there.

“Hard no. Do I look like a nurse? You two senior citizens can play amongst yourselves.”

You sigh when you get back up to your room, FaceTiming your friends as you eat, talking about whatever and whoever before you remember you need to organize some of your class notes and say goodbye before you hang up.

It takes less time than you thought it would so when you’re done, you go about your night routine. Teeth, skincare, oversized cotton shirt, lights off as you put on a movie you’ve seen a million times. It’s harder for you to fall asleep when you can still hear his deep voice through the walls talking and laughing with your dad, shaking your core as you toss and turn- physically fighting the feeling- until you fall asleep.

X

Another few hours later, you wake with a start. Something’s not right.

You can still hear the tv downstairs but no voices. The hairs on the back of your neck stand and as you turn your head towards your door- pulling the covers off your legs, the sight of a tall dark figure rips a blood curdling scream from your throat. In that same second the figure steps closer, the light from your tv illuminates him and your heart races as you stare back wide eyed at your dads suited stranger friend. You’re still gasping and reeling as he sits down on your soft bedding, watching with rapt eyes at you trying to calm down from the near heart-attack he almost gave you.

“W-what..what the fuck?!” He smiles as you get up to yell in his face, gesturing wildly.

“Why the hell are you in my-“, you cut yourself off as another realization dawns on you completely and he can’t help the compulsion he feels towards you.

“How long have you been in my room- wait where’s my dad?!” If you knew who he was and what he did for a living, you’d be much more agreeable…or maybe not and that’s what fascinated him about you. You were so unusual. Wanting to steer clear of him instead of on, even though he’d piqued your curiosity, you didn’t blindly follow like every other nuisance did; instead he was the inconvenience and the way you let him know via sharp words and distrusting looks was something he hadn’t gotten in a while. The way you brushed him and your hard working dad off with no more than a pretty glare while probably never having actually worked for anything in your life made him itch to correct you. Make you say sorry- break you back into the sweet girl he knew you could be.

“I swear to god- WHERE IS MY DAD-!“, before you can raise your voice anymore, turning to go find him yourself, he’s pulling you back by your wrist, covering your mouth with his other hand as he hooks his chin over your shoulder cooing at you to calm down - listen to him a bit.

“Shh. Your father is alright, had too much to drink so he’s passed out downstairs but safe nonetheless.” You feel your body relax against your will at his words but you still bite his palm for scaring the hell out of you. The pain that blooms up his wrist from his hand makes him hiss against your ear and you wish it didn’t sound so good before it trails off into a light chuckle.

“I’m going to move my hand. You won’t scream. Understand?” You roll your eyes but nod anyway and a few seconds later his hand is lowered but he keeps you sitting up against him.

“Look- if you’re some kind of extortionist or blackmailer, my dad only works for clean honest compan-“,

“I’m none of those things.” Huh. You’re even more confused but the silence that follows he doesn’t break instead he waits for you, enjoying your discomfort as you shift against him.

“Then what the fuck do you want? Nothing better to do in your ancient age on a Tuesday night besides creep around?” Your mouth would be the death of you and this might very well be the moment as you mouth off to a complete stranger who could be (and actually is) very dangerous but bravado was all you had. You’d seen and heard more than enough to know that an older man in a suit visiting a young girl he didn’t know in the dead of night never ended well.

“I want to chat for a bit.” You tilt your head a bit in confusion but he takes your silence as the go ahead, making your heart pound when he shuffles even closer causing you to feel his firm pecs through his expensive smelling dress shirt; the heady combination makes your pulse race as you fight yourself on whatever it is exactly that you’re feeling but shouldn’t be.

“When your father mentioned you, you sounded like such a nice girl…”, the low way he speaks resembles a purr, words vibrating his chest, thick arms holding you tight to him as his warm breaths coast across your chest and neck.

“Imagine my surprise when I meet you and you’re nothing more than an ungrateful little princess with a pretty face but very nasty attitude.” You feel your face warm in shame at the blatant way he calls you out, immediately defensive as you shoot back,

“What’s it to you? If you want to see some obedient thing then get a boarder collie-!” Enough of that. His hand claps down over your throat, squeezing not enough to hurt but enough to make you shut up as your heart rate spikes, nerves going haywire at the sudden cut of oxygen. You get dizzy quick. Blood rushing through your ears like a current of cotton, hand flying up on instinct to pull at his muscled forearm but it doesn’t budge and you whine- biting your lip as your heart beats liquid fire through your body. You were so fucked up, clamping your thighs shut as if that will stop you from getting wet but it’s hard to pay attention to that with a tight hand around your neck and mean lips against your ear.

“Didn’t your father tell you to respect your elders?” He tuts out and you nod desperately, willing to swallow your snideness if it meant getting air. He loosens his grip enough for you and you gasp so hard you nearly choke, the sound turning him on more than it should; he grabs your chin so you face him with teary eyes and he nearly groans at how weak you look. The sedatives he slipped in your dad’s drink would last for a while so for now it was just you and him.

“Answer me.”

“You first-“, you’re quick to shut your mouth as a smirk grows on his face. A fast learner.

“Smart. But”, he pauses to put you on edge before continuing, “because I quite enjoy your father and his company, I don’t like the thought of him being troubled by anything.” His words are sweet but they also fill you with dread because you know how much you intentionally butt heads with your father. Mouthing off at him just to amuse yourself sometimes. You never meant to stress him but messing with him a little was how you showed your affection.

“That includes you as well.” He rasps against your neck, nipping the sensitive skin there with more teeth than tongue and you choke on a moan, breathing hard.

“Okay. Got it. I need to be nicer-”,

“No, you need a firm hand.” Oh fuck. You bite your lip at that, watching through bleary eyes as he rubs his other hand down your chest, brushing your hard nipples through your shirt as he feels up your soft curves. The hand around your throat tightens when he feels you might move but when you don’t he doesn’t loosen it- instead he rewards you with wet, scalding kisses behind that spot under your ear, suckling down until he reaches your collarbones. Your eyes water from all the sensations as you try to rationalize what’s going on before you lose yourself to how good you feel.

The hand caressing over your body doesn’t stop, threatening to burn you alive with the heat it ignites in you. To make matters worse, you can’t even breathe deeply enough to calm down with the hold he has on your neck and you’re reminded of how pathetically wet you are whenever you move your legs as you’re completely naked underneath your shirt. So much is happening but it’s not enough. Fleetingly scarce touches is all you’re being given but you need more. You shouldn’t want this, want him- or anything having to do with him- but you do and that thought scares you more than any potential repercussions.

He watches you with an unreadable expression as you shift constantly, sliding a hand under your shirt to cup your tits, flicking and twisting the stiff nubs cruelly between his fingers. Laving his tongue over each bruise he’s left on your neck before choking you harder, making the veins on the back of his hand show and your mouth drops open, hoarse broken moans falling as your hips twitch upwards. This was how he liked you. Melting into him so obediently…

“You’re going to be a good girl now?” He asks like it’s a question but the even in hazy state you’re falling into, you know it’s an order. He loosens his grip again so you can answer, voice hoarse,

“..y-yeah.” The softened tone you use when you respond makes him hard beyond belief and he bites your shoulder with a satisfied groan and you swear your cunt has a pulse. The familiar burning ache is so blinding that you listen immediately when he tells you-

“Open your legs.”

He almost didn’t hear your sharp intake of breath. He barely noticed the way your hips snapped up to hump his hand… he was preoccupied with just how wet you were. Your arousal coats his fingers as he slides them between your sopping lips making you keen through shuddering breaths as you try to control yourself. A few hard circles to your clit shatters that control as you cry out, needy sobs falling from your gloss smeared lips while you beg prettily for him.

“Please! I-! I’ll-anything! Just-!” His hand collar tightens again as he slides two fingers knuckle deep in your spasming hole, immediately curling them towards him, grinding them against that spongy bundle of nerves inside you and the fire that’s been steadily burning inside you almost makes you black out from how quick it threatens to consume you. You’ve never felt more out of your mind, your cunt so soaking wet it’s audible. White-searing pleasure shoots electricity through every nerve and you’re screaming. Between the fuzz in your head from oxygen loss or the brutal way he’s fucking you with his fingers- the one thing you do know is that if you cum now, you’ll faint.

“Waittt- mm-! S-stopp!!” It’s the struggle of a lifetime to get the words out but you do and when you do, surprisingly- he listens. Taking his fingers out as the strings of your slick drip from them and you cry at the loss, the ache still there but you could at least breathe. You feel a nip at your ear and you only then notice the way you’ve rested your weight completely against him.

“Hmm? What’s wrong?” His voice is thick with arousal from how wonderfully you responded to him. So wet he could taste it in the air as you trembled and cried against him. The water in your eyes spilling down over as they rolled back into your skull. Your face was the perfect erotic expression of tormented bliss as he made you earn air and fight off an orgasm so strong it would’ve put you in a vegetative state.

The sound of your weak sniffles make his cock ache as he lays back on your bed, maneuvering your hips over his as he opens his pants, taking his length out he moans at the pressure relief. Swiping his fat head through your messy folds but not inside.

“Well? I need you to answer me. Or do I need to get it out of you myself?” You shake your head, lifting your arms when he moves your shirt up off you and now you’re completely naked while he’s still clothed. As much as his stare intimidated you, his attentions felt even better, moaning at the dirty kisses his cock gave your hole.

“Was gonna cum…but you didn’t say I could yet”, you reach up to use his arm as leverage while you wiggle your hips and your submission drives him mad with how much he wants to ruin you.

“Aw. That’s cute…but if you came before I let you, what then? Are you smart enough to tell me?” He asks sweetly but the condescending undertone makes you feel dumb as heat blooms in your chest and you will away the fuzz that’s making it hard to think so you can give him a proper answer. One that would please him. The fact that you even wanted to please him was something you’d have to get back to.

“I’d be in trouble?” You say it like a question and less of an answer and he finds your uncertainty so cute as he laughs indulgently at you.

“Close. It’s because you’re my good girl. And my girl only does as she’s told, yeah?” The same trickling tingle at the base of your skull is back again as you mindlessly repeat after him.

“Yeah.” He hums, lining himself up with your drooling pussy, sliding in with one thrust. Gritting his teeth with a heavy groan while you choke on a sob.

“Fuckin’ tight-!” Deep grunting in your ear overwhelming you in the best way and you lose it from how full you are. You could’ve guessed by his height and frame that he’d be packing but it felt fatter than you would have ever been able to accurately guess, pressing effortlessly against every spot that made you see stars.

You were everlastingly grateful your dad was knocked out because the sounds coming from you and your room were beyond incriminating. Even though he wasn’t moving, every-time you did, you could feel the deliciously heavy pressure against your slick walls. Shivers wracking up your body as wheezing fucked out moans left your mouth and you grind down in messy circles until the hand on your throat stops you.

“Look at you. Desperate n’ wet begging to cum. You’d do anything I tell you, huh? Just like a dog.”

A disgustingly pathetic warble is his reply but he wants more from you, choking you hard as he pinches your sensitive nipples.

“Uhhn! Yes!” The sheer desperation in your shaky voice gives him a sick head-rush.

“Open your legs for me.”

You obey before he even finishes his sentence. Thighs falling apart, cooled air over your center makes you moan wetly as you wait patiently. So patiently that the first heavy slap against your pussy winds you by the time the pain registers. As soon as the sting settles, warmth pools in its place, sensitivity heightened as you wail. The stricken sound makes his cock throb inside you.

“Wha-!”, another slap cracks down on your swollen lips, hitting your clit spot on and again and you try in vain to wriggle away.

“You still need to prove to me that you’re sorry for your behavior earlier.” He says, voice casual but no less mocking and you cry. Tears running down your cheeks as your body struggles to adjust and obey. Before you can shout out however many strings of apologies it’ll take for him to let you cum, he strikes your center again, hissing in pleasure at your screams. He feels it. That somehow you’re even wetter, dripping down his balls and smearing your slick all over the front of his slacks. He has half a mind to make you clean it up when he’s done with with you as he spanks your cunt again, biting your ear hard until it reddens.

“If you cum before I tell you, I promise I’ll make this the longest night of your life”, he groans darkly in your ear. You’re blessed that you can still hear him through the bass of your heart’s beat and the loud, wet connect every time his hand comes down. You were so close. The sharp sting and the pained pleasure of swelling warmth his heavy hand left behind was too much and your poor clit couldn’t take much more. Gasping through your tears, you scramble to find the right words.

“‘Lease- please! Ah-m’sorry!” Your raspy voice breaks halfway through when lifts you only to slam you back down on his fat length, flicking your sensitive nub when he meanly asks you,

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Try again, little girl.” You night just be in for a long night after all.

You could barely breathe from how hard he was choking you, swollen pussy enflamed from countless spanks, and your center was stuffed to the brim as he was so big that he didn’t even have to try to hit your spots. You scratch and wrestle with his hand until he loosens it, gasping and whining, you pray you don’t come from the instant relief it gives you. The rush settling over you like a fuzzy blanket. He shifts below you and you hurry to get the words out before he makes you come without his say-so.

“I’m- I’m sorry! So sorry! Please Sir, can I-!”

Sir. You called him sir.

It’s less of you apologizing but more of you submitting to him, acknowledging him by title that he held superiority over you that pleases him enough to let you cum. Cutting off your sweet begging with more mean, heavy slaps to your wet pussy, basking in your delighted wails as he fucks up into you.

His hand tightens around your throat and this time, you welcome the suffocating pleasure. Scratchy cries escape when they can but you’re so far on the road to ecstasy that you don’t even care how you look or sound, chest heaving as your eyes water. Your cunt feels like it’s on fire but you beg him in every way you can to keep going even though you can’t take it and he does, groaning against your ear as he rubs messily at your throbbing clit.

“So good, baby- you can cum. Make your little mess before I make you beg some more-”, he does not have to tell you twice as everything you’ve been holding, releases and you do make a mess.

Mouth dropped open as you sob and for the next couple minutes hot unending pleasure is all you know as the stinging slaps get faster, ending with harsh circles on your bud after each one and your hole gets even tighter before you go limp- liquid jetting out of you. He fucks you through it with a tight grip on your windpipe, using you like a snug fleshlight until he’s coming harder than he has in a while at the state he’s put you in. He waits until he catches his breath to slide out of you- who’s deadweight as he lifts you off him.

Rolling off the bed, the silence makes him look over at you only to see that you’re out cold. His eyebrows raise as he huffs out an amused laugh, fixing his pants before brushing his hand over your pretty face. He might have overdone it he thinks as he sees your face return to it’s normal, less flushed hue. Leaning down, on impulse he presses a kiss to your cheek, his gentlest touch of the night before getting up and covering your worn naked body with one of the many blankets on your bed.

“You’re a treat in more ways than you know.”

As he stands, before he opens your door to leave, he pulls a card out of his pocket and leaves it on your nightstand then heads back downstairs to get his shoes and jacket. Turning off the tv where your dad sleeps easily and quietly slipping out the door, smiling the entire way. Now he has even more fun.

You.

•

•

•

When you wake up the next morning, you turn with a pleasant ache and stinging between your legs as you stretch, sighing with a blissful smile until you remember why you ache and who caused it.

Pushing yourself up, you stop when you see a card on your stand, rolling to the edge of your bed, you swipe it off and raise it to your face. It’s a picture of lollipop, a simple circle on a stick but the words below it make your chest warm and you don’t even bother pretending to yourself that you aren’t interested in seeing him again.

“Next time I’ll make you even sweeter.”

In part 2…

Or 3…

[agreeewrites]

PLEASEEEE MORE POSSESSIVE JELOUS DRACO🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️YOUR BAD SANTA FIC WAS LITERALLY EVEYTHING. POSSESSIVE MEN GOT ME WEAK

thank you for the request!! hope this is satisfactory 🫶🏻

Flutterby Baby | D.M.

feat. Draco Malfoy x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Draco finds out another student sabotaged your Herbology project.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, draco’s pov, established relationship, possessive!draco, bullying, hurt/comfort, men suck, sort of rough fingering & piv, affectionate degradation if you squint (he refers to her as a plant), blood/fighting

masterlist

Draco watched as you pushed your pasta around your plate, staring absently at the whirls of sauce on the porcelain. You’d been quiet the entire meal, only speaking when directly spoken to by your group of friends, and even then, it was half-hearted, brief answers.

Both were unusual for his talkative, carb-loving girl.

He placed a light hand on your thigh, leaning closer to you. The warmth of your skin, the sweetness of your perfume, beckoned him even closer, but he ignored his impulses. “Everything alright, darling?” He asked, low enough that your friends couldn’t hear.

“Yes, just not very hungry,” you said in your pretty little voice, placing your hand over his and pecking his cheek.

He didn’t buy it. “I can track down some takeaway and we can eat in my dorm, if you’d like,” he offered, wondering if the commotion in the Great Hall was a bit too much for you.

You shook your head, another stunning development. You never turned down takeaway. “I’m fine, baby. Thank you, though.”

“Well, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll make one of these sod’s fetch it for you,” he teased, hoping to get a smile out of you. He didn’t.

Draco sighed, pressing a kiss to your temple before turning back to the conversation he was in the middle of with Theo and Pansy. He continued to watch you in his periphery as you started to play with his fingers, twirling his signet ring around and around. As much as he enjoyed the mindless contact, the delicate brush of your skin, he knew this was a nervous habit of yours.

He had half-a-thought to excuse you both, but he knew that would only draw more attention to your melancholy state, which would likely make you feel even worse. He could pick your brain later. Right now, he needed to make sure you were fed.

Casually, he picked up his fork, twirling a bit of his own pasta around the tines. Without breaking away from his conversation, he held the fork up to you, hoping you’d take a bite without really thinking about it. It was a small ritual the two of you developed during lengthy family dinners, something you often did automatically if he offered food to you. He felt you shift forward, your mouth wrap around the small bite, and you ate it.

He squeezed your thigh, a flare of affection making his heart pound. Good girl, he thought, but refrained from saying aloud.

The rest of dinner continued like that, Draco keeping your friends talking and distracted while he fed you small bites of his own dinner, your fingers twined with his in your lap. When he held up a bite and you gave small shake of your head, he knew it was because you were actually full, and he set his fork down, satisfied. For now.

That night in the common room, you were curled up in your chair by the fire, a book open in your lap while everyone pretended to study around you. He watched your eyes, your hands curled around the cover, and you were motionless. No pages turned, no lines devoured.

His worry deepened. Blaise seemed to notice as well, and gave him a curious look, dark brow raised. And of course, Theo caught the exchange, but turned back to his work, pretending he didn’t.

A prickle of suspicion climbed Draco’s neck. Typically, Theo was the first one to make a fuss over someone being in a sour mood due to his inability to tolerate negative emotions, but this time, he stayed silent.

Very odd, indeed.

But he could worry about Theo later. Draco lifted himself from the couch and walked over to you, dropping onto the floor in front of your chair. He tilted his head back, resting it against your shins. You reached down, dragging your fingers through his hair while you continued “reading” your book. He let his eyes flutter closed at the sensation, and tried to think of a way to draw you out of your head.

Lips pressed against his forehead, your perfume wafting over him, and he hummed in appreciation, reaching up to cradle your face. You leaned your cheek into his palm, and he titled his head back a little further to connect your lips in a soft kiss.

Your lips moved against his, brief and tender, and some of his tension unwound. It didn’t seem that you were upset with him, which was a relief. But, he wasn’t any closer to figuring out what exactly was troubling you.

“I’m going to go to bed,” you murmured in his ear, and he blinked in surprise, checking his watch.

It wasn’t even nine o’clock.

“So early, love? Are you feeling alright?” He turned to face you, rising to his knees. The group noticed, but he was too concerned to care. He placed the back of his hand on your forehead, your cheek, your neck, but you waved him away.

“I’m fine, D. Just tired,” you said, averting your eyes from his and rising from your chair.

“Baby—”

You leaned down and kissed him again, cutting off his protest. “I love you, I’ll see you in the morning,” you said, pecking his cheek one more time before walking towards the girls dormitory and ascending the stairs.

Draco slumped back to the ground, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“What did you do to her?” Pansy accused after a moment of tense silence.

“Nothing,” he snapped, though it was mostly toothless.

“She was acting strangely at dinner too,” Blaise noted. “She didn’t even have dessert.”

“Yeah, and she loves those chocolate things—what are they called?” Theo chimed in.

“Cauldron cakes,” Draco answered, glaring at them, irked that they were paying that close of attention to you. That was his job.

“Are you going to follow her?” Blaise asked, glancing at the stairs.

“No, he should give her some space,” Pansy said, giving him a pointed look.

“I’m perfectly capable of managing my girlfriend’s needs. Thank you,” he bit, and they fell quiet. He would leave you be, for now, but if you were still in a funk tomorrow evening, he’d be forced to intervene.

You were decidedly still unlike yourself come the following morning, and when he saw you during your shared Potion’s class. He continued to monitor the situation, trying to be patient like you often asked him to be, but that went out the window when you returned from your Herbology class with Theo in tears.

As soon as Draco saw your red and puffy eyes, he was on his feet. You ran straight into his chest, burying your wet face in his robes and digging your chilled hands into his back, trembling as your tears returned in earnest.

“Darling, what’s happened? What’s going on?” He cooed, wrapping his arms around your shaking torso, petting your hair in an attempt to soothe you. You didn’t respond, just held him tighter as you cried.

Theo tried to slip around the two of you, but Draco pinned him with a glare.

“What happened?” Draco hissed at him.

“Her Flutterby bush is dying,” Theo whispered, and you started to cry harder.

Shit. You’d slaved half the semester over this Flutterby bush in Herbology, it was your pride and joy, and you often stayed after hours with Professor Sprout to tend to it and the rest of the greenhouse. You had the greenest thumb Draco had ever encountered, and that plant was your baby. There was no way it would just suddenly die.

Draco raised a brow, and Theo made a ‘tell you later’ face. He nodded his head to dismiss his friend and turned his attention back to you, his poor, sensitive girl.

“Baby, it’s going to be alright. I’m sure you’ll figure out what’s going on—”

You shook you head. “It doesn’t make sense,” you sniffled, your voice muffled by his shirt. “It was perfectly fine. There’s no bugs or blights, I don’t understand.” You lifted your face, cheeks streaked with tears and lashes spikey, your eyes rimmed with red. The state of you made his heart ache.

“It’ll be alright,” he whispered, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs and pressing a kiss to your nose. “If anyone can save it, you can. You’re brilliant, love.” He used his sleeve to wipe your eyes and your nose before bundling you into his side. “Come on, relax for a bit with Pansy. That’ll help you think a little more clearly, yeah?”

You nodded, letting him deposit you on the couch beside your friend, who immediately abandoned what she was doing to fuss over you.

He kissed the top of your head, satisfied that you were well looked after for the time being. “I love you, I’ll be right back, okay?” He murmured, and you nodded again.

Theo was waiting for him in the hall. “Okay, so don’t get mad,” he said, holding his hands up.

Draco’s anger instantly flared. “Don’t give me a reason to get mad then.”

“She told me not to tell you because she knew you’d get all—” Theo gestured vaguely at Draco. “All…this.”

“Out with it, Nott,” he growled, fully prepared to punch his best friends nose through the back of his skull. What could you possibly want to keep from him?

“We think someone poisoned her plant,” Theo said, grimacing.

Draco froze, rage flaring so suddenly it darkened his vision. “What?” he snarled.

“We can’t say for sure yet,” Theo said hurriedly, trying to get ahead of the oncoming storm. “But there’s this one guy—”

“Who?”

“Reinhardt? Renfield? Something like that, I don’t know, he’s a Gryffindor. But he—Draco, where are you going?”

Draco was already halfway down the hall, formulating a plan in his mind about how to find this guy, and how to make him wish he’d never been born.

Theo grabbed his shoulder. “Listen, I have a better idea than storming the Gryffindor common room,” he said, and Draco paused.

“Go on.”

Draco loitered outside the Greenhouse, hidden by some trees, a stupid plastic ear in his hand. Theo had the other tucked into his robes, and Draco could hear Sprout beginning her lecture through their connection.

Draco sighed. This was ridiculous, he should just waltz in there and figure out exactly who this—

“Hey, y/n,” he heard someone mutter, an unfamiliar male voice, and he immediately held up the ear to listen. “Flutterby’s not lookin’ so good. Maybe I could help clear away some of the dead stuff?”

Draco's ears started ringing so loudly, he almost missed your response.

“I'm killing it just fine on my own, Renley, I don't need any assistance from you.”

He heard Theo snicker in the background, and Draco smiled. Atta girl.

“My mandrakes are thriving, thank you,” Renley replied, his voice tight with indignation. “It's a real shame about yours, though. Probably would have gotten you top marks.”

You didn't respond, and Draco gripped a tree branch to stop himself from charging through the glass to get this audacious fucker.

“Fuck off, Renford,” Theo warned, the feed clouded by his robes rustling.

“It's Renley,” the prick corrected, his voice a little louder, and Draco could practically hear Theo roll his eyes. “So, what do you say, sweetheart?” Sweetheart? Oh, this fucker was a dead man walking. “I'm willing to stay after and help you out. I'm good with poisons—”

“Poison’s?” You asked, a snarky lilt to your voice, and Draco loosed a relieved exhale despite the implication. For the first time in days, you sounded like yourself. “Who said anything about poison?”

“Oh, I—uh—”

“Reindeer, how did you know her plant was poisoned?” Theo prodded, his smirk audible.

“I don't! It's obv—it’s probably not p-poison!” Renley stammered.

“What's this about poison?” Sprout interrupted at the same moment Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle emerged from the treeline.

“Check fucking mate,” Draco mouthed, grinning.

“Professor Sprout, I do believe Renley here just confessed to poisoning y/n’s beloved Flutterby bush,” Theo said.

“Is this true, dearie?” Sprout asked you.

“Yes ma’am, it explains the strange phenomena we noted, as well as the sudden nature of the ailment. Renley’s been taunting me for days, and finally his mouth got ahead of his brain,” you said, poised as a Queen, and Draco was so proud of you it hurt.

Sprout gasped. “Mr. Renley! To Dumbledore's office this instant!”

“Crabbe, Goyle, grab him,” Draco ordered, stuffing the ear into his robes.

The two of them lumbered over the door, staying out of sight until the culprit stepped out into the sunlight, and Goyle grabbed Renley by the shoulders and started to drag him back around the Greenhouse.

“Hey! What the fuck—” his words pinched to a strangled whine when he saw Draco and Blaise waiting a few feet away, arms folded over their chests, completely hidden from the rest of campus.

Goyle shoved him to the ground at Draco's feet, and the coward was already sniveling.

Draco crouched down, nose to nose with the fucker that made his girl miserable, and smiled. “Was it worth it, Renley?” Draco asked, his voice low.

“Look, Malfoy. I didn't mean to—”

Draco didn't give him a chance to finish his paltry excuse and cocked his fist back, slamming his knuckles square in the side of his jaw. The bone crunched under his fist, sending Renley flying sideways in a spray of spit and blood, and Draco rose, clenching and unclenching his aching hand.

Normally, he'd step back and let the others get their hands dirty, but you were his girl. And if anyone was going to defend your honor, it would be him.

“No, no please!” Renley begged when Goyle hauled him back up. Draco punched him again, dead on the nose, then the temple, then the sternum. Goyle let Renley fall, groveling and weeping as blood ran down his face, his eyes already half-swollen shut.

Draco grabbed him by the hair, lifting his head up so he could whisper in his ear. “You're lucky it wasn't poison,” he snarled, and dropped Renley’s head into the dirt. “Leave him on the front steps of the castle,” he said to Crabbe and Goyle, who immediately pulled the boy up and started dragging him back towards the castle.

Blaise chuckled. “That was fucking brutal, mate.”

Draco looked down at his bruised and bloody knuckles, the pain bright and deliciously satisfying, his signet ring splattered with red. “Like I said, he's lucky I didn't decide to poison him.”

The chatter of students filled the air, and he looked up to see the Greenhouse emptying. Theo headed straight for them, glancing at Draco's knuckles and the blood in the grass before breaking out in a wild grin.

“Sorry I missed it,” Theo laughed.

“Where is she?” Draco asked.

“Staying behind to administer the antidote. Sprout is leaving her to ensure Renley is dealt with accordingly.”

“Well, she certainly won't be disappointed,” Blaise snickered.

“So she’s alone?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. He was hoping to clean himself up before seeing you, but wasn't sure he could resist the temptation. Not with his blood still running hot and your smart little voice echoing in his mind.

“Yep.” Theo smirked. “See ya’ back in the common room.” He and Blaise turned and started heading back to the castle, leaving Draco alone.

He rounded the greenhouse, knocking with his sore knuckles so he didn't startle you.

“Draco? What are you—saints, your hands!” You cried, rushing over to open the door for him. You grabbed for his hands, face pinched with worry.

“I'm fine, love,” he cooed, letting you fuss. The air in the greenhouse was thick and warm, coaxing him in like a embrace. It smelled fresh and lush, sweet soil and green leaves, like you.

Merlin, he couldn't think straight with you looking at him like that.

“Who did—” you paused, eyes narrowing. “Renley?”

He smirked. “Maybe.”

“Draco!” You huffed, dropping his hands. “I had it under control!”

“I know you did! You were amazing! I just...accelerated the consequences.”

You glared at him, but he could see you softening by the second.

“Baby, I'm fine. And he'll be fine in like, four to five business days.”

“Draco!” You shouted, but you were smiling. He fucking loved what you called his name in that exasperated but undeniably affectionate voice. “You don't have to get involved all the time. I'm perfectly capable of fighting my own battles, and Professor Sprout was working with me to solve it and—”

Draco reached out, pinching your cheeks with one hand, pursing your pouting lips and dragging you closer to him. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat. No one fucks with you so long as I'm breathing, is that clear?”

You nodded, eyes round and sweet like honey.

He released your face, sliding his hand into the hair at the nape of your neck and craning your head upwards. “Can I kiss you now? Or would you like to keep telling me off?”

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a playful, smiley kiss. “Anything for my hero.”

“Anything?” Draco purred, walking you back into the long work table. You gasped, arching against his chest, and he caught the sound with another kiss, slipping his tongue past your lips to taste you.

Your tongue tangled with his, so eager as you pulled his tie to bring him closer. He guided your tongue into his mouth, sucking lightly before releasing you to bite your lip, toying with your mouth like he owned it.

And he could feel how much you loved it, your hips pressing against his as your hands wandered his chest, unable to pick a resting place.

He smiles, moving his hands to grip your hips. In a quick movement, he spun you around. Your hands slapped onto the table to catch yourself, your perfect ass pressing back against his rapidly hardening cock.

“Draco,” you whined, trying to look over your shoulder at him.

He tsked, sliding up your skirt, admiring the way his ruined knuckles looked against the soft flesh. “Do you want me to be gentle with you, darling?” He already knew what your answer would be, especially after a few stressful days, but he felt inclined to double check.

You shook your head side to side, pressing your ass back into his hands. “No.”

He smiled, squeezing the ample flesh, then delivered a swift slap that made you gasp. “That's my girl. You want me to scare away all those bad thoughts? Turn your brain off for a bit?” He slid his right hand between your legs, gliding two fingers over the damp spot on your panties.

You nodded, nails scratching along the wood when he applied a little pressure, moving his hand in a slow circle.

“Words, love,” he said, pausing his movement.

“Yes, baby. Please,” you whined, and his cock gave a painful lurch against his thigh.

“Colloportus,” he murmured, flicking his wand to lock the Greenhouse door. “Don't move,” he ordered, then walked over to the sink, washing the blood from his hands and muttering a quiet episkey to fix most of the damage on his skin. Some cuts remained, and his hands were still sore and slightly bruised, but it wasn't nearly as bad.

Satisfied, he turned his attention back to you, where you remained perfectly still, nibbling at your lower lip. In quick movement, he pulled down your panties, letting the fall around your ankles, and kicked your feet further apart, forcing you to lay your chest against the table.

“There we go,” he purred, bringing his hand back between your legs.

You were already soaked, hot and slick as his middle finger swiped through your sex. He started massaging your clit, quick, light circles that had you moaning breathlessly.

“Better, darling? Nothing to worry about besides being my good girl.” He moved away from your clit and eased his middle finger inside of you, his signet ring kissing your entrance before he curled his finger up. Your walls fluttered around him, sucking back against his finger when he pulled it out, only to graciously stretch for him when he added a second.

“Fuck, D,” you moaned, rocking your hips against his hand. “You said you wouldn't be gentle “

He smirked, enraptured with the way your pretty little cunt yielded for his battered hand. “Just so pretty,” he hummed, leaning down to whisper in your ear, pressing you harder against the table. “Can't help but worship you a little.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but he slammed his fingers inside of you, drilling into your channel with sloppy, punishing strokes. You cried out, feet sliding around on the floor, but he had you pinned and at his mercy.

“This better, brat?” He growled, nipping at your ear when you keened for him, unable to formulate a response. “Oh, how that fucker wishes he could see you now,” he drawled, straightening while his fingers fucked into you. “What'd he call you? Sweetheart?” He chuckled. “Sweet doesn't begin to cover it.”

“How did you—”

He slipped his fingers out to work your clit, the bud swelling under his touch as your orgasm built, and your words twisted into a moan. He tried to stay focused, keep you on the edge until he was sheathed inside of you, but couldn't bring himself to stop just yet.

“Are you sweet, baby?” He asked, swatting your ass cheek, enjoying the way your flesh rippled.

“Only for you,” you gasped, starting to tremble as that knot wound tighter and tighter.

“That's right,” he praised, undoing his trousers and taking his cock in his hand. He was insanely hard, the head a deep pink, pearly precum beading from the slit. He pumped himself twice to relieve some of the ache, then notched himself at your entrance, not pausing his assault on your clit for a moment. “All fucking mine,” he growled at the same moment he thrust inside of you, burying himself to the hilt.

You cried out, muscles contracting hard around him, and he groaned low in his throat. You were so fucking tight, gooey and supple when you weren't squeezing the life out of him. He drew back a few inches before snapping his hips forward, gripping your ass cheek in his free hand to keep you spread for him as he pounded into you.

He felt your orgasm hit the second before you did, your cunt clamping down on him a heartbeat before you screamed, your whole body locking up before going completely limp. He didn't let up, no matter how much you shook, how much you begged. Your tears left damp spots on the wood, your knees trying to buckle inwards, but he planted his feet on the inside of yours, forcing you to stay upright.

“Good fucking girl,” he rasped, snaking a hand up your spine to grip your hair and pull your head back. “Doing so well for me, sweet thing.” He was panting, the heat of the greenhouse coupled with the exterior making sweat collect around his hairline and drip down his spine. His knuckles burned from the salt, hands ached from being used long past when they should have been bandaged, but he didn't give a single fuck.

“Draco, shit—fuck me so good.” You reached back for him, nails dragging along his forearm, and he felt himself teeter on the edge of release, his balls drawing up tight as liquid heat spread through his pelvis.

“Give me one more, baby. I know you can. Then I'll water my favorite plant.”

Your pussy clenched at his words, a wanton moan falling from your lips, and he smiled. You were such a little freak, his little freak, and he loved you all the more it.

“You like being my pretty little houseplant? All mine to take care of?” Fuck, he was close, rambling in an attempt to distract himself and spend just a little longer in the delicious heat of your body.

“Yes, yes—fuck!” You were coming again, your whole body convusling as it ripped through you, and he was done for. He came with a yell, hips stuttering against your ass as he pumped rope after rope of release into your spasming cunt.

“Bloody hell, baby,” he moaned, bracing his hands on the table as he came down, his hips involuntarily rocking into your greedy warmth. You, poor thing, were left drooling and trembling, completely boneless, held up entirely by the table and his hips. He leaned forward, pressing kisses into your hair. “Did so good, love. So fucking perfect,” he murmured, throat tight with affection.

“Squishin’ me,” you giggled, squirming beneath him, and he straightened, nearly toppling over himself at the weak feeling in his knees.

“Sorry, darling,” he chuckled, and you groaned, pushing yourself up on trembling arms. He moved his feet, letting you close your legs, and he hissed through his teeth at the new tightness around his softening cock, stealing a final thrust before slipping out of you.

“Mm, how did you know he called me sweetheart?” You asked, peeking over your shoulder at him while he grabbed his wand to clean you both up.

“I have my methods,” he replied, righting your clothes and helping you stand up, relishing in the lingering tremble in your limbs.

“Were you spying on me, Draco Malfoy?” You teased, tugging him down by the tie so you were face to face.

He smirked. “Perhaps.”

“What a horrible invasion of privacy,” you snickered, giving him a playful peck.

“You want to punish me for it?” He nipped at your lower lip and you grinned, pushing lightly on his chest.

“Enough you, I have to administer the antidote before my plant gets any sicker.”

“Good thing I already cured mine,” he teased, and you swatted him before slipping out of his arms.

“You're insufferable.”

“And you're adorable.”

You grabbed some items from the shelves and a watering can, then paused, turning to look at him, a deadly serious look on your face. “Can we get takeaway after this?”

He snorted, his heart doing a giddy little flip. “Of course we can.”

© agreeewrites 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[thecreelhouse]

stuck

Paring: Steve Harrington x Fem!reader

Summary: Yes, it’s exactly what you think it is. MDNI

WC: 4.6k+

Includes: no plot all filth, unrealistic “stuck” porn trope, friends to horny idiots, dirty talk, pet names/name calling, unprotected PiV sex, oral (f receiving), briefest mention of monsterfucking, brief anal play, a smidge of humiliation kink with a healthy side of a praise kink, d/s dynamic, etc.

A/N: Literally got this idea from a certain filthy piece of DBD fanart that I can’t find, but if you know the one I’m talking about, please lmk so I can properly credit for the inspo!! Is this ridiculous? Yes. Was this originally for Halloween? Also yes. We hate rules here (and deadlines). Hope y’all enjoy it <3 (dividers from @/saradika-graphics)

Everyone told Steve he was insane to venture back into the Upside Down, but he couldn’t leave you there alone. 

He felt sick for even leaving you behind at all. Quite honestly, no one felt good about evacuating without you, but it was smarter to go home, gear up, grab another working walkie, before wandering back into hell to find you.

See, among the chaos of trying to help Eddie, trying to keep Max alive, he worried about you and your unusual absence from the group, but you were strong enough to handle nearly anything— that much, he was confident on. You had fought side by side with him over the years, protecting everyone in the group, and one another; through demodogs, a shit summer job gone awry, and anything in between, you could hold your own with a bravery he wished he didn’t need to front at times.

That didn’t quell his anxiety one bit, though. When and where you had disappeared to, he wasn’t sure.

It wasn’t until your voice broke through over the airwaves, when Steve, Eddie, Nancy, and Robin were on the lake, that he felt relief you were at least alive. Your voice was tinny through the static.

“Guys?”

The only reason a signal existed at all was because the group floated just above the gate at the bottom of the lake— they just didn’t know it yet.

Steve had just thrown his sweater off, ready to dive in, when the sound of your voice made his eyes widen. 

“Holy shit, give me the—“ He rocked the tiny boat a little too much for anyone’s comfort as he fell to his knees, grabbing the walkie from the floor. “Where the fuck are you?!”

“Hi to you too, Harrington.”

Robin yanked the device from Steve’s grip, “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“Long fuckin’ story, but—“ Your voice cut out, static filling the dead air for a few seconds. “And that’s—“ Cut off again. “Upside Down, but I- I don’t know where I am, exactly. Why didn’t any of y’all tell me how bad this place sucks?”

Steve laughed to himself, unaware his eyes became glassy, hearing the familiar attitude and sailor’s mouth you carried; the other three noticed just how relieved and emotional he was right away. He grabbed the walkie back from Robin with shaky hands.

“We’re gonna come find you, we think we found a gate,” He rushed out. “Are you safe at least?”

“For now, but these—“ Signal cutting out, Steve hit the walkie a few times, as if that’d fix the disconnect between literal dimensions. “— Th- they’re everywhere. I don’t know where to hi— oh, shit—“ Your end fell dead again, leaving the four on edge, waiting for you to speak. White noise droned on for less than a minute; you weren’t coming back. 

Wasting not a second longer, Steve dove into the dark, chilled waters of the lake. He found the gate they suspected of, and broke the surface to alert his friends. As he relayed the information, rushed and panicked, wanting to find you as soon as possible, something tugged on his leg. Only startling the group at first, Steve was caught off guard, pulled under, back down to the bottom. He kicked, struggled, lungs burning as he fought off the urge to gasp for a breath he couldn’t dare to take.

It was all a blur, being dragged through the gate and tossed around like a rag doll; the bats diving towards him, finding an oar to defend himself with among the Upside Down’s mirrored decay of the lake, only to be bombarded by the gnarly creatures. They tore at his flesh as he was being strangled to death; brain growing fuzzy as he put up a good fight, he began to accept this fate. He wasn’t sure when his friends came through the gate, but one by one they retaliated against the bats, leaving just the one still strangling Steve.

“Get fucked!”

Unexpectedly, you appeared, slamming an ax— one you always left in your trunk, just in case— down onto one of its wings, chopping through completely, yet it still tried to flee as Steve bit down on its tail. Stunned, you all watched as Steve swung it around, slamming it down into the ground before violently ripping its spine out, fueled by pure rage.

Blood dripped from his mouth while he glanced up at you, rage and fear fading as relief flooded every inch of his heart. Despite your ragged appearance— covered in grime, soot, and blood— he was just happy to see you alive; a sight for sore eyes.

“I fuckin’ hate those things.” You wanted to run and hug him, but restrained yourself at the sight of his wounds. Taking in the sight of all four friends, you sighed, “Y’all okay?”

Another screech in the sky tore everyone’s attention away, “C’mon!” Where everyone ran off to the rocks, you made the mistake of running off in the opposite direction. The group of bats split off, heading towards both you and the others; when you looked over your shoulder, you watched Steve do the same, panic fueling you both to run for your lives.

You sprinted off towards the woods, hoping you’d find each other again soon, and alive.

Steve climbed back through the gate in Eddie’s trailer, and had searched for what felt like hours; he was losing hope of finding you by the minute. He knows you; you wouldn’t give up without a fight. You had to be alive, but dread was still building within him.

At least he caught a signal over the walkies.

“What do you mean you’re stuck?”

Your voice warbles through the speaker of Steve’s walkie, barely coherent through the sharp static. 

“Okay, okay, where are you?”

“The— g—“ Feedback rips through your words, shrill and sharp. “I’m tr—“

“You’re cutting out—“

“Gate! I’m—“ A drone of white noise floods the speaker, and you’re gone.

“Shit. Fuck. God-fucking-dammit!” He hits the device with his free hand, slams the buttons and messes with the knobs and antenna— if only he actually paid attention when Dustin tried showing him how to work this fucking thing.

He did hear you say ‘gate’ at least, but which one? You clearly weren’t at the one he just entered, and the one at the lake had closed up by now. 

This would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.

Steve’s exhausted, searching high and low for you, at every possible spot that crosses his mind. It had to have been another hour since he last heard from you, and he’s running out of ideas of where you could be.

“Checked around town,” He begins murmuring to himself, listing and eliminating options out loud. “No luck there… but— shit, didn’t check the library…” Could a gate even open in there? Anywhere was possible, right? And if that was the case, he’d have to tear through every room of every building, circle each structure, check any cars, houses, sheds, backyards, parks, the woods—

Christ, at this rate, he’ll never find you—

“Oof!” Steve loses his footing, tumbling over something in the stretch of woods he was combing through. Colliding with the ground, he groans on impact.

“What the fuck?”

Steve rolls over quickly, sitting up to find he had tripped over you.

“Oh, thank fuck.” He scrambles to his feet, brushing debris off his body as he finally glances your way.

When you said you were stuck, Steve didn’t picture the sight before him now; you, halfway through a gate found in a tree trunk, unable to move because it began to close up around your waist. Your upper half is on the other side, but your bottom half is still stuck in the Upside Down.

“Oh…. You’re… wow, okay.” He snickers, “Yeah. You’re stuck, alright.”

Steve’s muffled cackling echoes through the slimy gate. You huff and roll your eyes; not like he can see.

“Just help me out of here, would ya’?!”

“Okay, okay… Jesus.” He drops to his knees, still towering over you— well, your back half, at least. “Does it hurt?”

“No, it’s just fucking annoying. Maybe try, I dunno, pulling at the edges of it, or something?”

“I don’t think that’s how these things work—“

“Steve!”

“Okay, right, yeah, sorry.” He bites his bottom lip, stifling more laughter. It’s certainly an… awkward position, leaning over you from behind, but it’s the only way he can pull at the edges with both hands at once. He gives the gate’s edge a tug, but it’s stone solid. He tries again, this time with a grunt that has your mind wandering elsewhere. “Yeah, this is, uh… that’s not gonna work.”

“Oh my god, I’m stuck here forever,” You groan, kicking your feet. “I’m gonna die here.”

“Calm down, drama queen. Gimme a second, I’ll try again.” Steve keeps himself balanced on one knee, while the other leg plants a steady foot into the ground. Again, he attempts to pry open the gate, hoping to free you; his foot slips, causing him to rub against your backside.

Okay, ‘rub’ is a generous term— more like roughly falling against your ass, then whining over the pressure on his bulge.

“Steve, what the fuck?” You crane your neck, only able to see where the tree bark opens up into the gate, snug around your waist. “Did you just—“

“I didn’t mean to, I swear! M- my foot slipped!”

“Oh, bullshit.”

“Look, it’s not exactly the easiest to move around you without touching you right now,” He argues. “You really think I’m trying to make a move on you in a situation like this?!”

“Well, I can’t see shit, Harrington. I don’t know what the hell’s going on back there.”

Ignoring you, Steve murmurs, more to himself but loud enough for you to still hear, “The hell are you wearing these tiny shorts for, anyway?” He tugs at the hem around your thigh, elastic snapping back against your skin. You bite back whatever pathetic noise threatens to escape your lips.

“It was warm out earlier!”

“It’s March—“

“And unreasonably warm for March, y- you jerk.”

“That why you’re shivering?”

“Considering the sun set, uh, yeah?”

You grumble, annoyed how wet this easily has made you. You need out, and Steve needs out, too, and the two of you need to just forget about all of this.

“Okay, just—“ You can’t think straight, mind clouded with dirty thoughts— how embarrassing. “Push me through.”

“You… want me to push you… how?”

“With your hands, St—“

“I know with my h— I meant, like, where?”

You can’t see the way he licks his lips, staring at your ass, but you sure can hear the strangled moan he miserably tries to hide in his throat. 

“Wherever works— I don’t know, I’ve never been stuck between dimensions before!”

He shudders a breath before calling through the gate, “I’m gonna— if I touch anything I shouldn’t, I swear to god I’m not trying to—“

“Okay, yeah, I get it, Steve— just push me out of here!”

“Christ, you’re fucking bossy…”

His hands grip the plush of your hips, first, hoping he can grip hard enough and push this way— it’s useless; his hands lose grip, sliding up your body. His knuckles run into the tree, and he’s grateful for that barrier; who knows how far his hands could’ve slipped. He yelps and recoils away. “Sorry!”

“Dude, I don’t care, just do whatever works.” You sound exhausted, and who wouldn’t be in a situation like this? You had to have been here at least an hour, and even if it doesn’t hurt, it can’t be very comfortable. 

Steve shakes his nerves off, hands reaching for the back of your thighs; his fingers splay apart, pushing as hard as he can, and you finally begin to budge. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

Until you cry out for him to stop. “Shit, that fuckin’ hurts— It’s— ow, fuck! My hips—”

He immediately backs off, hands releasing pressure, but still resting gently on your thighs. It’s automatic, the way his thumbs rub slow circles into your exposed skin to try comforting you; the shorts you’re wearing are not helping either of you. It was warm out earlier, like you said, but did you have to wear these now?

Goosebumps prickle up under his fingers, and it’s hard to miss the way you clench your thighs together. 

“You, uh…” Steve gulps, fingers gently kneading at the meat of your thighs. “You okay over there?”

“Uh-huh,” Your answer isn’t very convincing, with a trembling voice. “Everything okay back there? W- with you, I mean.”

“Sure, yeah, it’s… I’m good.” He feels like such a pervert, fantasizing about taking you right here, like this. It’s wrong when you’re trapped like this. “Honey, I- I don’t know what else to do.”

The pet name twists at a coil deep within you, building up a pressure of some kind. 

“This is gonna sound fucked up, but just— push my ass— Steve, that better not be you laughing!”

He can’t hold back his immature giggling, but he’d rather this than moan.

“You sure? I don’t want you to get mad or anything.” He tries to settle down, focus on getting you unstuck. “Tell me to stop if it hurts again, alright?”

You imagine hearing those words of sweet consent in a different circumstance, biting back a whimper. “Ye- yeah, I will.”

Steve slides his hands up to the curve of your ass, unable to restrain himself before digging his fingers into your soft, plushy body. “Gonna count down, sweetheart, okay?”

This time a whimper does beat you to the punch before you can actually reply. He squeezes a little harder.

“Three… two… one—“ Steve shoves his hands against you, pushing as hard as he can. Again, your hips shove up against the tree trunk, and you cry out from the pinch. He pulls you back an inch, wincing with guilt. “M’sorry, I—“

“Again,” You boldly call back to him.

“… You sure?”

“Just do it, please,” His hands are so warm, touch so soft; you wish the fabric of your shorts would just disappear. There’s an extra whine to your voice, “Don’t hold back, I can take it.”

“Oh, fuck…” He mumbles, sucking in a sharp breath. “Go— I’m gonna try again, ready?” He hears a faint noise of consent, shoving himself into you; this time, his hips rut into you, too. You still can’t get through the gate, but you’re not sure that’s either of your concern at this moment. His bulge, rock-hard now, brushes up against your ass, and you both moan out. This is bad.

The way you push back against him isn’t helping much, either.

Both of you still, falling silent while trying to steady your breaths. Are you really about to do this here? Now?

Steve makes the decision for you both, muttering, “I can’t fuckin’ take it anymore.” He’s purposefully grinding against you, head lolling back with a groan as you push into him in return. From either end, both of you are shuddering out sinful noises. “Always wanted to kiss you first, but—“

“As soon as you rescue me, y’can kiss me all ya’ want.”

“Shit, princess, never took you for the damsel in distress type.” He tugs your shorts down, choking on air when he discovers you’re completely nude underneath. “Jesus, did you think at all about your outfit today?”

“Uh, considering I don’t have a bra on… no.”

“You don’t have a—“ Steve comically pouts that part of you is through the other side of the gate; he’s grateful you can’t see the pathetic expression. “What, did you just roll outta bed and stroll down here?”

“Steve, the longer we talk about the logistics of my outfit, the dryer I’m becoming.”

“Good thing I can help with that.”

“Okay, that was goofy to s— oh…” His thumbs spread your folds apart; despite your failed quip, you’re soaked as sin. 

“So fuckin’ pretty…” He leans down, kissing the swell of your ass, trailing his lips down your backside until he’s level with your heat. There’s no warning, just his tongue gliding along your folds, lapping up your arousal. A feral sounding groan vibrates through your core as he loses himself tasting you. It’s not rushed— not on purpose, at least— but any restraint is long gone now.

“Oh m’god,” You shudder while his tongue swirls around your clit, sucking it softly. His arms wrap around your thighs from behind, hooking you in place. You twitch back, like you’re desperate to grind on his face, but worried to freak him out.

Steve’s far from freaked out; in fact, he’s delving his tongue deeper, nearly incoherent when he mirrors your earlier words, “Don’t hold back. I can take it.”

That’s all the permission you need, rolling your body back as far as the gate allows, trembling as he sloppily makes out with your cunt. If only you could see the glistening mess on his pretty features. “Steve…”

He angles his nose against your clit just right, making you squeal into the empty forest around you. His tongue laps away, eventually tapering to fuck into you with it.

“Fuck, more, ple- please,” You pant, grateful Steve’s holding you upright, or you’d go limp against the tree. “Please— god!”

He slides a finger into you, curling it just right as he kisses and sucks back to your clit. He’s rougher this time when he suckles on the sensitive bud, rolling your eyes back and tensing your body up. You chant his name in whimpers, like a desperate prayer, only urging him to finger fuck you harder.

“Jesus, sweetheart, you’re gripping me so hard.” He groans into you, adding another finger. “Taste so good, I could be here all night—“

An orgasm startles you, going 0 to 100 without warning; lewd noises floating back through the gate toward Steve only challenge him to keep going.

“S- Steve, ha- hang on—“

“You want me to stop?” He slows his pace, but you ram yourself back into his hand and lips.

“No! Please, god, no—“

“Then what is it?” His tongue flits out, teasing around your sensitive nub.

“M- move your fingers up, back where you had it— ohhhmyfuckinggod—“

“C’mon, come for me, y’can do it again,” he coaxes, spitting onto your folds while relentlessly ruining you with his thick, long fingers. Your legs tremble wildly. “I can tell you’re close, angel. Make a mess, come for me again—“

This time, you cry out, praying whatever woods you found yourself in was deep enough, away from the public. Your hips twitch and convulse, while you flutter around his digits, soaking his face while he continues to delve deeper, as if that’s even possible.

The pumping pace of his fingers never relents, despite how overstimulated you feel already.

“St- Steve…”

“Got one more in ya’?” You feel his hot breath fanning over your folds again. It’s not long before he’s flicking his tongue back out, teasing your clit while adding another finger. “Christ… yeah… yeah, angel, that’s it…” He laps at the nectar dribbling from your centre, grunting as his free hand pulls you by your thigh, guiding you to bounce against his face. The fingers buried in you curl just right, earning a broken, breathy noise from the other side; he hits the right spot, and under a minute in, you’re gushing against his pretty face.

You can hear how drenched he is when he speaks, licking his lips between his words, “That was… oh, fuck, that… that was so… can we do that every day?”

Winded, you manage to laugh weakly, “If you can figure out how to get me un-stuck, I’ll let you do that as much as you fuckin’ want.”

You’d kill to see his face right now, dripping with your release, but until then you’ll just need to use your imagination.

“…. Can we—“

“Please.”

The head of his cock slides along your folds, teasing as it runs over your sensitive clit. You jolt back, and he grips you by the hip, holding you in place with one hand.

“Be patient for me, angel. I don’t wanna hurt you,” he slides in, taking his time, paying attention to your gasps. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh, ju- just go slow.”

Like earlier, when Steve tried pushing you through the gate, he soothes you with his touch, thumbs rubbing soft circles against your skin. He sinks a bit further, feeling you clench around him with anticipation. “Angel, gotta relax to let me in…”

“I- I know, m’trying, you’re just— you’re so… so…”

“Shhh, it’s okay, I have you. You’re okay…” He slides deeper, hips almost flush against your backside. “Just relax… that’s it, that’s my girl.”

The praise elicits a pornographic moan out of you, only triggering his cock to twitch against your walls.

“God, wish I could see your face right now,” his mumbling fades into a gravelly groan, sinking deep into you. 

“Y’can if you fuck me when we’re outta here,” you strain out, taking him to the hilt. His cock twitches again, making you both shudder.

“I dunno, what if we can’t get you out, sweetheart?” The tides turn with his tone. He pulls out slowly, teasing your clit with the head of his cock. You twitch and clench around nothing, making him smirk. “What if you’re stuck here forever?” Slamming back into you, your walls clamp down on him, tighter than before. “Oh, what, you like that idea?”

“Steve…”

“You wanna be left here? Where anyone can walk by, use you however they want?” He draws back, snapping his hips back into your ass, relishing in the way you cry out. “Anyone can find you in the woods over there, use that pretty mouth of yours…” Gripping your hips, he pulls back slowly, thrusting in with everything he’s got. It’s becoming a torturous pattern, but he can tell you’re enjoying it with the way you’re soaking his cock. 

“Oh my— fuck…” You gasp from the other side, throwing yourself back into him as far as the gate allows you. He grunts as you meet his thrusts.

“You’d be up for grabs over here too, y’know…” Hands trailing back to your ass, he spreads your cheeks, spitting lewdly on your pretty, puckered hole. “But maybe you’re not that much of a freak—“ You don’t hold back the sinful sound building in your throat over his unfinished concept. “Oh. Oh. You’d like gettin’ fucked by some monsters too, huh? That’s so fuckin’ gross, babe.”

“That ain’t even the half of it,” you manage to reveal through panting and whimpering.

His mind races over the possibilities, slamming into you a little faster.

Steve circles the tight entrance with the pad of his thumb, throbbing deep inside you as he tests the waters, sinking in just a bit. You squirm and whine, relaxing as he continues on, eventually making it past his knuckle— which, wouldn’t be too much, but with the size of his hands, you feel so full off that alone.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight, I don’t think I’ll l- last long,” he murmurs while he pistons his hips into you, growing sloppier by the minute. 

“S’okay… m’not…” You can’t grasp onto the words you need, not when he’s fucking you absolutely brainless between dimensions. “God, Steve, you’re so deep.”

His thumb slips out of you, leaving you emptier than before, making desperate, pathetic mewls and cries. Ignoring you, his hand slides underneath, pressing down onto the peak of your mound. “Where do you feel me? Here?”

“N- no, deeper…”

Steve splays his hand wide, fingers blanketing over your skin; he inches his touch up, just where your belly and pelvis begin to meet. The further he stretches his touch, the more he leans over you, kissing along any bare skin on your back he can reach.

“Here?”

You shake your head, but he can’t see. Your lapse in verbal response earns a smack on your ass, causing you to cry out into the expanse of the woods. 

“Where, babe? Tell me.”

“Up,” whimpering, you push back into him. Hand gliding up to your belly button, he stops.

“Here?”

Eyes rolling back, you let out a broken sob, “Yes!”

Steve pushes down on your belly, just enough for the pressure to meet his thrusts.

“You’re takin’ me like a slut… sound like one, too.” He grunts while bucking wildly into you. His hand disappears, only to join the other in grabbing you by the thighs, nearly lifting your lower half off the ground against him.

The sound is absolutely what you’d expect from two, hopelessly horny idiots, fucking in a circumstance like this one right here. Skin on skin slapping roughly, echoing out into the woods of the Upside Down, in time with his near-feral grunts and throaty groans. On your side, in your world, you can only imagine how close to an injured animal you might sound like, or someone in actual distress, unable to cover your mouth as you hold yourself up while he fucks into you relentlessly.

“M’pretty close, angel,” Steve pants through the gate, hips stuttering while he still gives his all, thrusting mercilessly into you. “Where—  where can I—“

“‘Side…” You groan out, lost in a lust-driven delirium.

Attitude softening, he manages to ask, “In— you mean inside?”

“Uh-huh, wanna be full,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear. “Make me yours—“

“Oh, fuck,” Steve’s hips freeze over your words, finally reaching his high. One final cry tears out of you as your fourth and final orgasm trembles through your body, rolling into his. The delicious squeeze and fluttering around him helps milk his release, doing just as you asked, filling you up with his spend. 

Involuntarily, his entire lower half twitches violently into you, and finally, finally, the gate gives, allowing him to tumble through to the other side, shoving you out first. He lands on top of you, rolling over onto the forest floor while you both groan. The woods are quiet, aside from occasional crickets and your loud, ragged breaths, weaving through the branches above.

Though the two of you are ready to fully collapse, the squelching sound of the gate constricting catches your attention; the damn thing closes completely.

Steve chuckles weakly, while you push past any shame that might still linger, shyly smiling over at him.

“Hey…” You attempt to greet him, now that you’re face to face— which, speaking of, his features are still glistening from sweat and your multiple releases. 

“Hi,” he breathes, eyes trailing over your figure, landing and pausing on your exposed core, dripping a lewd mixture of fluids. “Fuck…” He leans forward, but stops himself, mumbling, “If we weren’t in the woods, I’d, uh, help clean you up, but…”

Your eyes widen, taking in his words; neither of you are in a state to fuck around any further, but you make a mental note of the suggestion for the future. “I’m— I’ll remember that.”

Surging towards him with an ounce of renewed energy, you capture his lips in a long-awaited kiss. He makes the cutest noise of surprise, melding against you. Pausing, he murmurs against your lips, “Sorry we couldn’t do that first.” It’s a wild shift in his demeanor post-sex, from a dominant, feral wreck, to this soft, precious person before you.

“We can make up for it though.”

“After a super long fuckin’ nap.” Then he cringes, “And the— y’know, the whole—“ He waves his hand around, rolling his eyes, “the Vecna thing.”

“Right. Yeah. Priorities.” You’re looking forward to all of this coming to an end. All you want is to curl up in bed with Steve, and sleep a whole day away, but that’ll have to wait. 

As clarity brings you back down to earth, you realize you’re still naked from the waist down… which means— 

“Um… Steve?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“… Where’s my shorts?”

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. height difference + jjk men — seeing you struggling to initiate a kiss, ft. gojo, nanami, toji, choso

note. super self indulgent once again woopsies

tags. jjk men x female reader (separately). fluff, suggestive themes. size difference obviously: reader is shorter than the characters. little hint of an age gap in toji’s part (you; early 20’s, he early 30’s). reader gets referred to as ‘small, short, adorable’. nicknames used ‘baby, sweetheart, princess, little girl, angel’. includes drabbles for each character.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

“what’s the matter, baby?” satoru easily notices whenever you’re internally debating something. you’d fidget with your clothes, look around and nibble on your bottom lip.

even if you say that it’s nothing, your lover knows that you mean the exact opposite. he walks hand-in-hand with you out of the boutique where he had bought you a pretty dress. his thumb rubs your skin gently, hoping to comfort you with whatever you’re struggling to say.

“it’s uhm,” you finally speak up. satoru halts his steps and tilts his head with a curious pout on his lips. he doesn’t wish to pressure you into anything, so he keeps quiet.

his blue eyes follow your movements from behind his sunglasses. you step closer to him, your small hands travelling up to gently hold onto his jacket. you gulp before balancing your entire body on your toes—creasing your shoes a bit by doing so.

at this point, satoru knows what you’re trying to do. your actions are absolutely adorable and make the sorcerer giggle. he wants nothing more than to squish your cheeks together for being so cute. especially because you’re failing to reach his lips.

“oh, do y’need help maybe?” satoru asks with a smug grin. you frown and try to stand on the tips of your toes, though that didn’t seem enough. your lover needs to lower his head a tad more for you to kiss him.

satoru tilts his head backwards instead. he loves to see you pout and struggle to carry out such an affectionate act. he can’t help it—you’re so fun to tease, “c’mon, you can do it, baby!”

when you give up due to his constant teasing, the white-haired man gasps dramatically. you smack his bicep and turn around with a huff, “forget it.”

before you can take another step away from him—satoru’s hand reaches out to hold your wrist. he pulls you back against his chest, warm palm holding your cheek and tilting your head up so his glossy lips could meet yours.

“sorry,” satoru mutters against your mouth. his tongue sneakily swipes against yours which causes you to squirm. he gives your bottom lip a playful nibble in response, “couldn’t resist teasing you a little.”

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

“welcome home, dear!” you greet kento at the front door as per usual. he sighs in relief and smiles tiredly, appreciating your appearance before him. he seems utterly exhausted from his most recent mission.

“it’s good to see you, sweetheart,” kento shuts the door behind him. he takes off his shoes and places them where they belong before doing the same with his coat. he looks down at you as you help him tidy his belongings, “you’re looking beautiful tonight.”

to say you’re flustered is an understatement. kento always knows just how to get you shy and embarrassed from the casual way he compliments you. you’re in your pyjamas and apron—barefaced with nothing extra going on and yet your lover is completely engrossed by your looks.

“thank you,” you murmur back with a bright smile. kento smiles as well after seeing your happy expression. that’s what he does it for.

you hold kento’s hand and feel its warmth engulf your skin. his palms are a little rough; probably from the hard work he put into those recent missions he did. you look up at the blonde man in front of you and want nothing more than to kiss him—show your gratitude for everything he does for you.

thus, you lean in and stand on your toes, balancing on one foot whilst the other floats a few centimetres above the wooden floor. it’s hard to find a balance, though your attentive partner is quick to lend a hand.

“careful,” kento whispers, his voice so husky that you feel a shiver run down your spine. his big hands settle on your waist and he doesn’t waste a single second after that.

he leans in as well, head lowered to yours and your noses lightly brushing against each other. kento’s lips find your soft ones—interlocking them in a passion filled kiss. you can feel his entire body relax even more. as if he’s waited all day to be back home. to be back to you.

to kiss and hold you close.

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

“over here, princess,” toji calls you over with a subtle wave. he’s leaning against a brick wall, hands in the pockets of his black jacket. you walk over to him with an excited smile—happy to spend some quality time together with him today.

“hey, i missed you,” you comment and wrap your arms around his waist. you nuzzle your face against his chest to which toji reacts by giving you an awkward head pat.

the older man lifts your head up and away from his body by holding onto your chin. his eyes run over your face, letting out a short content hum. he’s missed you a lot too. not that he’d tell you that directly.

“how’s uni for ya?” toji asks. the pad of his thumb rubs your cheek and you lean into his touch. it brings a little smirk to his face—seeing how easily you become putty in his hands is rather amusing.

“been okay for most part,” you shrug and fail to maintain eye contact with your boyfriend. he probably doesn’t do it on purpose, but his half-lidded eyes makes your lower abdomen feel funny.

you’re still so nervous around him, though you’ve got the guts to at least kiss him first. you missed the feeling of his lips against you after all. the constant, soothing rubs of his thumb against your cheek only intensifies your desire.

you lift yourself up on the tips of your shoes. your cold hands cup toji’s face and he immediately gets what you’re trying to do. he snickers at the sight of you struggling to reach him and acts like he doesn’t know what you want.

. . until you whine about how you really want to kiss him. that man is sold the moment he hears your whiny voice.

“fuck. c’mere, little girl,” toji’s veiny hands go around your waist and move down to cup your ass, his lips crashing down onto yours with a desperation he’s never kissed you with before.

𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎

“do i need to add salt? she’s talking too fast,” choso ask whilst scratching his head. he’s watching a youtube video on his phone; specifically a cooking one. he’s attempting to copy a recipe in his kitchen and you’re helping him since he doesn’t know too much about phones. and cooking apparently.

you giggle and grab the phone from the counter. the lady’s words are incomprehensible due to the video being on two times the usual speed. you return the settings to normal with a light hearted chuckle, “yeah, because you’ve sped up the video, silly.”

“oh,” choso smiles sheepishly. he checks the stove and makes sure the food isn’t burning before turning towards you, “thank you. you’re a lifesaver, heh.”

you can’t help but admire the view of choso in front of you. he’s in an apron which is too small on him since it’s yours—his chiseled chest accentuated by the fabric. his black hair is up in a small ponytail and his cheeks are red. probably from embarrassment.

“you’re adorable,” you comment lovingly. choso’s cheeks turn even redder by your compliment and he sputters some words about how he ‘needs to focus on his cooking’.

you interrupt his stammers by getting closer. your lover stops and his lips are parted—giving you the perfect chance to capture them into a kiss. well, you try to at least

choso notices your silent struggles and blinks. it takes him a second to fully grasp the situation before he decides on helping you. he smiles warmly, his beefy arms effortlessly lifting you up to his height, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist.

one hand is on your thigh, the other holding the back of your head to deepen your shared kiss. choso pulls away and attaches his lips to your neck, settling you the counter, “want more, angel. you drive me crazy.”

[daxisyzz]

hiiii i hope you are well !!! i was wondering if you could maybe do a fic where the reader gets kidnapped and tortured by hydra on a mission or something, and after a while bucky and the team find her and save her but she’s so psychologically damaged that she’s scared of everyone? preferably lots and lots of protective and comforting bucky as he looks after her and he becomes the only person she’s comfortable with, all the angst and hurt/comfort with a happy ending would be amazing!!! thanks 🩷

Heyyy!! Hope you're doing well too. Writing this fic made me cry so I hope it's what you expected. Sorry for answering late🙃

Only safe with you

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst, trauma recovery, Kidnapping, psychological torture (not graphic), PTSD, panic attacks, emotional vulnerability, mentions of touch aversion, recovery

Word count: 1.1k+

You didn’t scream when they took you.

That came later—when your voice cracked raw from begging the shadows for mercy, for death, for something other than the cold numbness pressing in around you like icewater under your skin. But in the beginning, there was only silence. The kind that hollows you out from the inside.

The kind that makes you forget your own name.

You had been captured by Hydra. A mission gone wrong. A corner turned too fast. A shot fired too late. And then it all disappeared beneath the haze of a needle and the slam of a steel door.

No one found you. Not for weeks.

And in that time, you stopped existing.

You curled in on yourself, starved and shaking, while voices you didn't recognize whispered in the dark, breaking you down with every calculated word. They told you you were abandoned. That no one was coming. That you were alone because you were unworthy of being loved.

They never needed to touch you.

They just watched you rot from the inside out.

When the team finally found you, you didn’t recognize them.

You heard the explosion first—the thunder of boots, the sharp bark of Bucky’s voice, the sound of someone screaming your name like it meant something.

But all you saw were more shadows.

You tried to crawl into the wall when they burst into your cell. Your fingernails broke against the concrete, your body instinctively folding into itself, your mouth whispering pleas in a language you didn’t know you remembered.

You didn’t know Bucky was crying until his tears hit your hands.

"Hey," he choked, dropping to his knees, blood on his knuckles and desperation in his eyes. "It’s me. It’s Bucky. I’m here, okay? I’ve got you. You’re safe."

But safety was a concept that no longer made sense to you.

When his hand brushed yours, you screamed.

You screamed like you were dying. Like you were on fire.

And something in Bucky broke that day.

The jet ride back was too bright. Too loud. You were swaddled in a blanket like a child, staring through people who whispered your name with eyes full of quiet sorrow. Natasha sat across from you, tense and silent, her hand clenched in her lap.

Steve paced quietly in the back, eyes heavy with guilt.

Tony said nothing, choosing instead to sit beside you in stillness.

They all felt the ache, but none knew how to hold it.

Because they saw the pieces of you, scattered and bloody, and none of them knew how to put you back together.

Except for Bucky.

He didn’t leave your side. Not once.

You wouldn’t let anyone else near you. The first time Bruce tried to assess your wounds, you had a panic attack so violent your lips turned blue.

But Bucky?

You let him stay.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t sleep. You didn’t see him. But he was there. Sitting on the floor, silent and patient, like he was trying to absorb your pain with every breath.

"You don’t have to talk," he whispered once, voice so low it made your ribs ache. "I’ll just be here. I’m not going anywhere."

And he wasn’t.

Not when you curled into corners, sobbing so hard you threw up.

Not when you tore your own skin in your sleep.

Not when you started to disappear into yourself again.

He stayed.

And the others watched, hurting in their own quiet ways.

Natasha lingered by your door some nights, pacing like she wanted to knock but couldn’t.

Steve brought books you didn’t read.

Tony made sure the lights never flickered in your room again.

They didn’t say much. They didn’t force anything. But they were there.

And Bucky? He just was.

Weeks passed.

You started whispering again. Small things. Words like "water" or "blanket" or "stay."

Always to Bucky.

Only to him.

He was the first person you let touch you again.

A pinky finger. Brushing yours. Barely there.

You sobbed when it happened. Clutched your chest like it hurt. Like it burned to feel something again.

Bucky didn’t cry. Not then.

But that night, Steve found him in the hallway outside your door, fists bruised and bloodied against the wall.

"I can’t lose her again," Bucky whispered, voice shattering. "I can’t."

Recovery wasn’t linear.

Some days you smiled.

Some days you screamed.

Some nights you let Bucky hold your hand.

Some nights you clawed at your own skin, begging him to make it stop.

And he did.

Not with force.

Not with words.

Just with presence.

He’d pull you into his lap, wrap his arms around your shaking body, press his lips to your temple and whisper, "You’re safe. You’re not alone. I’ve got you."

Until you believed him.

Even if only for a moment.

One night, you whispered, "Why did you stay?"

Bucky looked at you, moonlight catching the cracks in him that matched your own.

"Because you matter. Because you didn’t give up. Because you let me find you."

You blinked, tears spilling freely. "I don’t feel like a person anymore."

His voice broke. "Then let me remind you how to be one."

They say healing is like a mosaic, broken pieces coming together to form something beautiful.

You were still cracked. Still healing. Still learning how to exist in a body that had been turned into a prison.

But Bucky loved you through all of it.

With hands that never rushed.

With words that never demanded.

With a heart that only ever whispered, You are safe here.

And for the first time in months, maybe years—You believed him.

One Year Later

The morning sun slipped in through the curtains, painting your room in pale gold. The shadows that once clung to the walls had long since faded, replaced by quiet warmth and slow, steady breaths.

You sat curled on the couch, a book in your lap, half-forgotten, as Bucky entered with two steaming mugs in hand. He paused in the doorway, watching you with that soft look he reserved only for you—a kind of awe, like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

"You’re staring," you said, voice lighter, steadier now.

He grinned. "Can you blame me?"

You set the book aside and took the mug he offered, your fingers brushing his without flinching. That tiny act still felt like magic sometimes.

You leaned into him when he sat beside you, and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in without a word.

There were no more nightmares that week.

You’d started laughing again. Dancing in the kitchen. Humming in the shower.

You still had days where the world felt fragile, like it could crack open beneath your feet—but you no longer fell alone.

You looked up at Bucky, your eyes soft. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

His thumb brushed your cheek. "You saved yourself. I just got to love you through it."

And you did. Slowly, then all at once. Day by day, moment by moment, you let the light back in through him.

[cherryite]

i got you.

summary. after a near death experience on a mission, your relationship with your childhood best friend mark shifts unexpectedly

content. childhood bestfriend!reader x mark grayson, superpowered!reader, neighbor!reader, fem!reader, friends to lovers, everyone knows but them trope, hurt/comfort, happy ending, slow burn (if you squint), yearning, love confessions, mutual pining (word count. 9,6k)

warnings. MDNI!!, depictions of violence, blood and injuries, implied underage drinking, drunk harassment, vomiting/puking, eventual smut, breeding kink (again if you squint), unsafe sex

author's notes. hi pookies, so this is probably bad, i have not written in ages so please ignore anything that's ooc (probably everything lolol), i'm just having fun with writing right now and trying to get back into it! not super canon compliant either whoops

Life just couldn’t go your way. Not that being ‘blessed’ with super speed and teleportation abilities really helped with that, or being in college, or the fact that you got your ass kicked whenever you did a little bit of world saving. Bleeding out while staring up at the sky, clouds swirling above with the sounds of chaos around you was not how you wanted to leave this world. Your throat is tight, Your baby blue suit is the same color as the sky above as blood seeps out of a hole in your side. You fear not even your advanced healing will save you now as you cough blood, the warm liquid spattering over your face. Running out of your ‘power bars’ as you called them was the first sign things were about to go bad. Your extremely fast metabolism as a result of your powers is often also a hindrance, if you go too long without energy, without calories, they become much less effective; you run slower, and can’t teleport as fast or far. And you ran out. Because of course, you did.

Rubble digs into your back, normally it would be painful if it weren’t for the fact that you could barely feel your fingers. You spit up again, blood covering your chin and coating your lips with the metallic smelling liquid. Your eyes search the skies, looking for flashes of blue, yellow, and pink. ‘Mark and Eve won’t let me die’ you think, though you have no idea where they are. The comms in your ears barely register to you as sounds become muffled.

“Rex, where’s Breeze? She’s supposed to be with you.” Eve’s voice, she sounds upset as she speaks your hero name, though in your blurry mind, you can’t decide in what capacity. More words are spoken, and people are yelling; you cough again as you feel your body rapidly try to heal itself to no avail. You can hear Rex’s voice over the static explaining where he had seen you last. You can hear Mark, panic lacing his voice, as he says he’ll go look for you. You almost smile. Mark, Invincible, your friend since childhood. Whatever ghost of a smile is on your lips is gone as quickly as it came. ‘I can’t let Mark see me die, he can’t be the one to find me,’ your mind races, and bile rises in your throat, not blood this time. You are so caught up in your mind, oblivious to the passing of time, that you barely feel large hands cup at your face and neck; your name is being yelled repeatedly, distraught and panic stricken. Your vision is blurry as you focus on the sight above you. Mark’s arms slip under your body, your hair hangs limply beneath you, as he lifts you carefully, inspecting your brutalized body frantically. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s me, it's Mark,” he is doing a terrible job of hiding the fear in his voice as he speaks, trying to seem comforting but it doesn’t really help because his voice shakes. He props you up with one arm, his other hand using his suit to wipe the blood from your chin and mouth. A shot of pain runs along your spine, but you barely register or react, a small whimper of pain is the only noise you make. You feel pressure on your wound, his warm hands slick with your blood, the frayed parts of your suit tickle you as he moves it to the side to get a better look. 

“I got you, I got you,” Mark says, his voice thick like he’s got something stuck in his throat, his bottom lip quivers slightly. You feel the urge to reach up and cradle his face to comfort him like you used to do as kids, but your arm feels like it weighs like a ton of bricks. 

“You got me,” you say, your voice so weak you can barely register as it tumbles from your lips, accompanied by another cough of blood. It splatters against Mark’s face, and you see him flinching as the metallic liquid touches his exposed skin. He carefully picks you up, his touch as gentle as he can be while he trembles. He says something about getting you back to the med bay, that you’ll be fine, that you have to be. Wind rushes over your body, but it just feels like your floating, your unfocused eyes trained on Mark’s face. He’s talking to you but you can’t hear it. The brown eyes you love to stare into are covered by his goggles and you wish you could see them, just once more before you die. Your body doesn’t register as your head lulls to the side limply, all you see is dark.

~

Your eyes shoot open, harsh white light blinds you instantly. You feel crushingly sluggish, your body aches, and your head pounds harshly in your skull. The light eventually stops being so bright, your eyes adjust, taking in your surroundings. The bed you're occupying is definitely a hospital bed, you’ve visited Mark in ones that look like this plenty of times before. The room is familiar too. Your brain connects that you're certainly in the med bay, your brain also realizes you're alive. As you continue to survey the area, your eyes spot two figures. Eve is curled up in a chair in the right corner, her head resting on the wall. A fuzzy blanket that you swear is from your room is slung over her and her red hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail. Mark lays to the left, slumped forward in his own chair, his head resting on the side of the hospital bed. His black hair is messy like he's been running his hands through it repeatedly. His back is angled terribly as he rests, you cringe to yourself at the thought of sleeping like that. Starting to regain feeling in your limbs, you feel a pressure on your hand. Mark’s hand clutches your own as he sleeps, scabs covering his knuckles. Your heart clenches in your chest, it beats against your ribcage with such force you almost think it’ll crack the bones if it continues. A machine to your right starts beeping, and you feel sick enough that you're afraid you're going to puke. The machine beeping wakes Eve and Mark, You close your eyes and scrunch up your face, you can feel Mark squeeze your hand. You try to calm your breathing. You hear Eve say she’s going to go to talk to one of the doctors, slipping out of the room. You hate hospitals, you hate the med bay, you hate this. 

When you finally reopen your eyes, they immediately connect with Mark’s brown ones. They’re staring at you like you’ve just hung the stars and defied the laws of death (which you basically had). A smile curls at your lips because he has the biggest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen and it makes your heart race. 

“Hey you,” you manage out, your voice is hoarse and it cracks as you speak. Mark’s face has an unreadable expression on it, perhaps one of disbelief but more muted. Maybe it’s relief, you're not sure as his face scrunches slightly. His hand clutches yours tightly, his gaze never leaves your face.

“I thought you died,” he says weakly, shifting closer to you.

You scoff tiredly. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.” He does not like that answer, even though you're trying to lighten the mood. His gaze doesn’t leave your face, he has light bags under his pretty brown eyes, making you frown. The idea of him not sleeping makes your stomach twist. There’s a beat of silence before his hand reaches out to cup your cheek, his fingers tenderly stroking your cheek. The air nearly leaves your lungs. Affection between them was normal, a common occurrence. It made sense with how long they had known each other. But this felt different, something was different.

You think of a fond memory of when they were younger, 6 and 7 respectively. Mark tripped and fell while chasing you around in your driveway, scraping his knees pretty badly. Your heart had dropped as you heard him plummet to the pavement with a ‘thud’. He cried as sobs racked his body, fat tears rolling down his sweet rosy cheeks. You had cradled him while he cried, resting his head on your tiny chest, stroking his hair as you spoke to him. 

“I got you, Mark,” you had said, your voice tiny, sweet as candy as he absentmindedly twisted the end of one of your braids around his finger as he calmed down. Debbie had come over to check on the two of you not long after, taking him home to fix his knees up. Though not before he gave you a sweet kiss on the cheek, tears still visible on his face as he thanked you. Debbie hugged you as well and praised you for taking good care of Mark, a smile on her face. Even after they grew out of being bright faced babies, they stayed that way. Another memory that sticks with you is when they both had just entered 8th grade. Some boys had been teasing you at school, asking you out on dates for their own amusement. As they worked on homework at his house later that day, you were well aware you weren’t as chatty, not as energetic; not yourself in the slightest. Mark noticed, of course, his brows furrowed in concern at you as you worked diligently on your worksheet.

“Okay, what's up,” he had said eventually, catching you off guard. You shrugged, not looking up from your paper. 

“Nothing's up, why,” you cringed inwardly to yourself, not being convincing in the slightest. Mark poked and prodded until he eventually got the truth out of you. The way his brown eyes softened as you had recounted the day as tears welled in your eyes, was forever ingrained in your mind. Eventually, it led to both of you laying on his bed, your hair sprawled out, covering your back as you cried into his chest. His hands carded through the silky strands, rubbing your back as you clung to him.

“Shhh, I got you,” he says, his words quiet, only for your ears. His chin rested on your head because he couldn’t stand to see you cry. Warm, salty tears soaked his shirt, your hands clinging to his sides. Eventually, both of you had fallen asleep, homework discarded and sown around the floor of Mark’s room. When your mom frantically knocked on the Grayson’s door, she and Debbie were not surprised to find them curled together in Mark’s bed. Your mom simply told Debbie to send you back over in the morning, a soft smile on her face. You could think of dozens of times when similar occurrences had happened: cuddling during movie night, comforting touches, running hands through each other's hair. Something was different. But what scared you even more was that you were starting to realize it wasn’t that different. Not as different as you had tricked yourself into believing for years.

His hand is still warm against your cheek and you have no idea how long you’ve been spiraling for. Your heart thumps painfully, as his thumb brushes against the fat of your cheek.

“You scared me,” Mark says, his voice falters and your eyes pool with tears because, albeit indirectly, you caused your best friend a great deal of pain. You start to sniffle, your face screwing up as you start to cry. You’ve barely even started to process that you almost died, gone forever, gone from the people you care so deeply for. Mark’s voice hits your ears as you close your eyes to start to bawl, gasping breaths leaving your lips as tears run down them into your mouth. He’s speaking but you're so focused on crying you can’t hear him, all you feel is him adjusting you in this stupid hospital bed and crawling in beside you. Strong arms pull you against his chest, and you bury your face in his neck, muttering against his skin, “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry Mark.” You can feel him tense slightly, your hot, wet breaths heaving against his skin. He all but coos as he drags his hands through your hair, admiring the way the light glistens off the strands. His voice crackles as he speaks.

“I got you. I’m not- I’m not going anywhere. You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here with- with me.”

The last part almost seems like he’s trying to comfort himself instead of you, his grip tightening on your shaking form. You feel him nuzzle his cheek to your forehead, his deep breathing puffing hot air against your ear. A shiver ran up your spine, suddenly glad your face was buried in his neck, glad he couldn’t see the way your cheeks flushed involuntarily. Surely it was just because you were having a nervous breakdown, nothing else. You stay like that for a while, his hands soothing down her back all while being careful of any lingering wounds. The sobs and tears start to lessen, soon you’re just sniffling as he cradles you with as much care as ever. 

“Better?” Mark’s lips brush against your ear as he speaks, his voice has a deeper tone to it as he questions you; not totally out of the ordinary considering he was only recently roused from sleeping. 

“Better,” you confirm, pulling your face from his neck, and wiping your eyes messily before Mark’s hand cups your cheek, gentle fingers brushing away any tears. You barely realize how close the both of you are, faces inches apart as your breaths intermingle due to proximity. Your eyes flutter open, looking up at him through your wet lashes.

“Thanks, Mark,” you say softly, your eyes unable to drag themselves from his own eyes. Your heart is in your throat, his thumb still absentmindedly brushing over your flushed skin.

“Any-Anytime,” he mumbles back, his breath hitching as he speaks, the sudden tension in the room laying over them like a weighted blanket. His eyes flicker down to your lips for a fleeting second, you would probably not have even noticed it if his face wasn’t so close. You barely register as his face inches closer, the hand that rests on your cheek trembles with adrenaline. You suck in a shaking breath. No way, no way this is happening right now. Maybe you really did die and this is what the afterlife is like. The door opening startles you so badly that you nearly smack your forehead into his as you both scamper apart, both your faces red and your lungs breathless. Eve stands half awkwardly, half coyly at the door, over her shoulders are the doctors she said she was going to get when she left earlier.

“Uh, I got the doctors,” she says, biting her lip. You aren’t sure if she's trying to keep from laughing or out of sheer embarrassment about what she just walked in on. Mark slides out of the hospital bed, the loss of his warmth makes your heart sink. Doctors file in, Mark walks to the door by Eve to leave as the doctors work. His eyes find yours before they shut the door, leaving your heart racing in your chest and your mind muddled with thoughts of ‘what the hell just happened’.

~

Recovery thankfully comes easy due to your powers, but you definitely sense a different vibe whenever your deployed for a mission. You’ve kept pretty much off field for any mission deemed more dangerous than normal. Ultimately it’s more of a blessing than a curse, it gives you more time to do schoolwork, more free time. However, this unfortunately means less Mark time as well. It still stings a bit when the rest of the team departs for a mission, leaving you behind. Things have been more or less ‘normal’ between both of you since the confusing encounter in your hospital bed, almost as if it didn’t happen at all. He’s still sweet, awkward Mark, but sometimes he smiles and your stomach flips more than normal. Last week, Mark had chattered on and on about the new Seance Dog installment, his voice on speaker, blaring from your phone as you did your nightly skincare routine. You laughed to yourself at his excitement, you could almost hear the pout in his voice as he spoke.

“Why are you laughing? I’m giving you a very in depth plot recap right now! Pay attention.” Mark’s voice has an air of humor to it, causing you to giggle to yourself.

“I am paying attention, you’re just cute when you ramble,” you say nonchalantly, not even realizing you slip up until your brain catches up with your mouth. Mark’s silent aside for the faint rustling of his bedsheets, almost like he just sat up in bed. Before he can respond, your mouth opens again, “Ah well! I gotta shower, talk to you tomorrow yeah?” 

He barely gets out a strangled ‘okay’ before you hang up the call and run your hands down your face in pure misery and embarrassment. 

Aside from your internal conflict, Eve has decided it’s time to let loose for once this Saturday, go out, and have fun like normal young adults. You find yourself desperately needing a distraction from the mess in your mind in regards to Mark, so when Rex suggests they go to a bar (he says he ‘knows a guy’ who bounces there so it will be no problem to get in), you are arguably the most excited to go. 

Saturday comes without a hitch and before you know it, you and Eve are stumbling down the sidewalk to the bar, giggling your heads off, clinging to each other as you walk in the cool night air. Rex, Mark, William, and Rae trail not far behind. Rex is already drunk off his ass from the pregame, clinging to Rae as they walk. 

“They are soooo not gonna let you in if you don’t lock in immediately,” William calls out to the girls in front of them from beside Mark, who is the ‘sober sister’ for the night as William dubbed him, but Mark is barely paying attention. His brown eyes are fixated on you skipping arm in arm with Eve around 5 meters ahead of him, squealing with excitement as the group nears the bar. He swears he almost died when you and Eve showed up to the pregame because your outfit tonight was, to put it frankly, hot as fuck. Oversized black leather jacket to protect your frame from the night air, heeled black boots that reached your mid calf, tight black mini skirt, and a strapless dark red top; he could have died right then and there. Mark was so accustomed to your normal attire, sweatpants when they hung out, even your skin tight suit you wore when they were on missions, but this was a whole new beast. He knows this outfit is going to haunt his dreams for weeks to come. William elbows him in the ribs, hard, and Mark yelps at the sudden contact while turning his head to glare at his friend. 

“Dude, what was that for?” Mark whines as they near the bar, getting in line to be let in with the rest of the group. William just rolls his eyes, a satisfied look on his face. 

“If you keep staring I think she’s gonna explode or something, control your dick Mark,” William says slyly, Mark’s hand immediately covering his mouth to prevent others from hearing his friend's words. He hears Rae and Rex snicker to themselves ahead of them in line and he feels the heat rush to his face. 

“William!” he grits out, his face nearly the color of the top your wearing, “Knock it off.”

William licks his hand, causing Mark to recoil with disgust, glaring at him as the sounds of Rex chatting with his bouncer friend drifts through the air. 

“I’ll stop when you grow some balls. It’s getting pathetic, I can’t lie.” Before Mark can even respond, Rex is waving their group into the bar. You turn from your spot beside Eve, looking back to Mark and William. Your smile is bright, your cheeks are flushed from the shots you did before they left for the bar. Mark thinks he’s dreaming, you grab his arm, tugging at it.

“Come on slowpokes!” you say in a singsong voice. A strand of your hair is stuck in your lip gloss and Mark has to actively restrain his hand from brushing his thumb against your lip to clear it. He scolds himself in his mind as you drag him into the bar, over to join the rest of their group as William follows behind you both. Things have been different lately, ever since you nearly died on the last mission you were on: your touches linger more than they used to, his breath catches more than normal when you text him, and his heart races when you smile at him. Not that any of this was super new, but for as long as Mark can remember he’s felt similar sensations when interacting with his best friend, his pretty neighbor. But these sensations, these feelings, were more intense and growing by the day. Mark used to be able to brush off the butterflies in his stomach when you would call his name, when you would pull him into an earth shattering hug after a mission, when they would cuddle during their weekly movie nights; it wasn’t as easy to ignore anymore, it invaded his thoughts for much longer than it used to. Liking her wasn’t new for him, but whatever this was, definitely was. 

They all reach the bar, two rounds of shots later, everyone, save Mark, is significantly intoxicated, their drunk minds blabbering about whatever pops into their minds. Tonight is karaoke night at the bar, four drunk guys are currently doing an awful rendition of  ‘You Belong With Me’ by Taylor Swift which has Rex and Rae singing along drunkenly. You are tucked into his side, practically leaning on him for support as you argue with William about what the funniest Tiktok brain rot is. His arm is wrapped around your back, his hand rests on your shoulder, a safety measure to make sure you don’t fall. Or that's what he tells himself at least. Mark hopes you can’t feel how fast his heart beats against his ribcage, your shoulder leaning on his chest as your head tilts back, giggling drunkenly as you hear William say some joke that is definitely not funny to any sober person. In the dark lights of the bar, he really hopes no one can see his deeply flushed face or the way he cannot tear his eyes from you. It’s totally not because he can see down your top right now from this angle or that your soft hair is tickling his neck when you move. Or that the smell of perfume clinging to your skin makes him want to bury his nose into your neck and never leave. His grip on your shoulder tightens, deciding he should actually contribute to the conversation, just before Eve pushes her way through the crowd. She dashes towards you, a drunk smile on her face as she puts her hands on the speedster’s shoulders to steady herself. 

“We’re up next in karaoke! Prepare your vocal cords!” Eve says excitedly, dragging you away towards the front, “Sorry boys! I’m stealing her for a bit!” The two of you disappear into the crowd before Mark can even utter a goodbye, he barely catches sight of you as you turn your head over your shoulder, catching his eyes before Eve pulls you away. He stares at the spot you just disappeared from, William wags his eyebrows at him suggestively. 

“You are down so tremendously it shocks me you haven’t melted into a puddle yet,” William quips, Rex and Rae, coming over to join them as you and Eve crawl onto the small stage at the front of the dance floor, picking out a song with the DJ. Mark doesn’t say anything, he just rolls his eyes in response, a small smile still curling at his lips. Rae and Rex start singing ‘Two dorks sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G’ as they make kissy faces at each other and Mark once again is thankful for the partial darkness of the bar. 

Music starts and you and Eve start your karaoke session, passionately singing ‘Juno’ by Sabrina Carpenter, dancing around the stage goofily. Mark desperately tries to ignore that the lyrics are raunchy as all hell, which proves difficult because he’s fully engaged in the words leaving your mouth. Trying not to imagine you two doing the lyrics in real life is an even harder challenge.

He especially tries to ignore the way heat runs through his body when you both sing ‘wanna try out some freaky positions?’ Eve pushes on your upper back, pushing you down from behind, bending you over at an acute angle as you both drunkenly giggle out the next line of the song ‘have you ever tried this one?’ Mark nearly combusts when he makes eye contact with you, and you smile at him before standing fully upright and continuing to drunkenly sing with Eve. William is giggling beside him because Mark has been staring unwaveringly at you nearly the whole time, practically drooling at the sight.

“Oh, he wants that cookie baddddd,” William says, his speech slightly slurred as Rex nearly dies of laughter beside him, as the music dies down and hoards of drunk people whoop and holler. You and Eve jump down from the stage as the DJ says they’re taking a quick break from karaoke and ‘No Hands’ blasts out of the speakers. Both of you disappear from view into the sea of people but Mark swears he sees the smile you flashed at him when he blinks.

~

On the dance floor post karaoke session, you and Eve giggle with each other, completely oblivious to the world around you two. Sweaty, drunk people cage you both close to each other, separating you both from the rest of the group who have set up camp at the edge of the dance floor near the bar. Rae is forcing Rex to drink water, but you can faintly hear him protesting. Eve’s lips brush against your ear so you can hear her over the blasting music.

“He wants you, bad, like bad, did you even see how he was looking at you!” Her words cause you to flush, leaning in to respond.

“Mark always looks at me like that,” you yell in Eve’s ear. The redhead rolls her eyes playfully, her hands gripping your shoulders to keep you close.

“That’s the point!” Eve starts her voice giddy, but before Eve can finish, you feel a tap on your shoulder, your heart racing as you turn. Unfortunately, it’s not Mark, who you were hoping it would be, and your smile falters a bit as you stare up at the tall man next to them. Eve glances over your shoulder to get a good look. He’s probably mid 20’s, his eyes droop drunkenly, and his voice slurs as he speaks. 

“You ladies looked good up there, real captivating performance.” Eve pops her head out from behind you, eyeing him up and down.

“Uh thanks,” Eve responds civilly, smiling cautiously at this random drunk man. The guy drunkenly leans in closer, his lips curling up wolfishly. You, even in your drunk haze, can smell the alcohol on his breath as his next words wash over them.

“It was super sexy, I totally would wanna see you guys do that pose again in my bedroom later.” Eve stiffens behind you, and the hands she has on your shoulders tighten. You use your hand to push the redhead behind you more, out of sight of the man in front of them. Suddenly you feel painfully sober as you digest his words.

“Hah, sorry no, we aren’t interested,” you try to brush him off, your stomach churns as he steps closer, and Eve’s hands grip your shoulders. 

“Oh come on ladies, ya’ gotta unwind a little, pretty girls like you shouldn’t be going home alone tonight,” he reaches forward, brushing a strand of your hair from your face. You flinch as his sweaty fingertips touch your face, your eyes wide with shock. Your eyes flicker around but you see no easy exit in the crowd of drunk people.

“Hey, she said no dickhead,” Eve pipes up behind you, her voice forceful, “We aren’t interested, did you hear her the first time?”

“Oh, feisty, I like it,” he slurs, his eyes focusing on Eve behind you. His grimy hand reaches back to try and touch her too, but before he can, your hand makes contact with his face, hard. The creep stumbles a bit, shocked at the sudden assault, people around turn to watch through the crowd, absentmindedly dancing still. 

“I said, we aren’t interested,” you say, gritting your teeth as your eyebrows pinch together angrily, your hand is gripping Eve’s now who’s trying to drag you both away as the crowd disperses a bit, creating an exit, “Don’t touch me or my friend again freak!” Eve drags you away from the drunk guy, spying your friends in the crowd, who have started to see the commotion with wide eyes as they move toward the two of you to back you both up. You and Eve turn your backs to him. You immediately make eye contact with Mark, whose eyes are trained on you, his face pinched together with concern as he quickly makes his way over to you. Your heart clenches in your chest at the sight as he nears you both. 

But before you and Eve can get too far, the creep yells out after you, clutching his face, his eyes piercing as he watches Mark advance toward you. 

“Maybe you wouldn’t be such a fucking bitch if you got laid once in a while, tell your stupid boyfriend I feel sorry for him!” You see red as the words leave his mouth, whipping around in Eve’s hold as Rae abandons Rex, passing his drunk body to William so she can help hold you back. In their hold, you point a finger at him, and your voice shakes with anger.

“Talk to me or my friends like that again and I’ll do much worse than smacking you!” you shout out completely fueled by adrenaline at this point, as you’re pulled back to the group. You watch as the dude just laughs, disappearing back into the crowd. Your breathing is heavy as the adrenaline wears off, Eve and Rae release their hold on you to give you some space. Your stomach feels queasy.

“I’m gonna puke,” you manage out, walking hastily towards the exit of the bar. You hear Mark call after you, his voice dripping with concern as his footsteps follow after you. You hear William gag, “Oh good god she’s gonna blow chunks all over him.” 

The chilly night air immediately hits you, your heels clicking against the pavement as you duck around the corner into an alleyway. You bend over, effectively throwing up nearly all the alcohol you had just consumed. There’s a presence behind you and you immediately know it’s Mark, you don’t even have to look up. Continuing to throw up, you feel his hands gently brush the hair from your face, pulling it out of the way so you don’t get puke in your hair. You continue to gag, Mark’s free hand rubs small circles on your back as comfort. Eventually, your stomach stops contracting, your eyes are watery from puking your guts out. Blearily, you turn your head to look at the man beside you.

“Sorry you had to see that,” you mumble to yourself, you hear Mark huff quietly.

“It’s no problem, there was no way I was going to let you puke in this sketchy alley all alone,” Mark’s voice is soft with a hint of jest as he soothes his large palms down your arms in comfort. You both stay like that for a beat, before you lean forward, your head resting on his chest. He instinctively wraps his arms around you as you lean on him, his heart pounds against his rib cage.

“I didn’t like how that guy talked to you, I didn’t mean to go all crazy on him,” you mumble against his chest. You do not bring up that he referred to Mark as your boyfriend, but that is hardly relevant right now.

“Seems like he deserved to get put in his place way before that,” he remarks, his hands clutching onto the back of your jacket, his chin resting on the crown of your head.

“Yeah, he was being all weird to me and Eve, gross and touchy,” you trail off as you feel Mark stiffen slightly.

“Hey, hey, did he touch either of you? Did he touch you?” Mark pulls you from his chest to look at you, his eyes big, worried. The tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine, it’s soft but still demanding, persistent. You shake your head.

“No, not like that thankfully, I’m okay,” you assure him, your hand cupping his jaw as you look up at him, your eyes still wet from earlier. He nearly melts into your touch as he nods at your words, his cheek chasing the warmth your palm brings. The air nearly crackles with intensity, every touch of his skin sends sparks through your body. With your heart blaring in your ears, he nervously bites the inside of his cheek, his brown eyes still staring down at you, a mix of something you cannot place swirling in his irises.

“Can I, uh, can I ask you something?” His tone is hesitant, quiet, his throat bobs as he speaks. You feel like all the air has been sucked from your lungs, you feel like your heart is going to burst. 

“Anything,” you breathe out, your eyes searching his face as you wait for him to speak. No way this is happening right now, in a random alley, where you just vomited profusely. Mark’s mouth opens slightly like he's about to speak, when your ears pick up on the sound of their friends, Rex is ranting about something and Rae is telling him to shut up. Mark seems to hear it too, his eyes flickering over to the sound. He squeezes you, reluctantly pulling away and you feel your heart drop instantly.

“Uh, are we still on for movie night tomorrow?” He says, his voice tinged with anxiety, bringing a hand to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. You blink at him, nodding silently as William turns the corner.

“Hey, vomit comet, we’re leaving, get the nerd and hurry up,” he calls out, pulling you from your Mark centric haze. You wrap your arms around yourself, the cold chill of the night settling in your bones. Neither of you two say anything as you meander back to your friends. Eve pulls you into a hug, slinging her arm over your shoulder as you walk back towards the car with the others trailing behind, similarly to how the night started. 

The drive back home is torture. Mark drives since he’s the only one not stumbling drunk out of all of you. You try to sleep through the ride, but your brain buzzes with jumbled thoughts. Mark’s eyes keep flickering back to look at you in the rear view mirror and you accidentally make awkward eye contact two or three times. Your place is one of the later drop offs and your eyes droop with a mix of drunkenness and sleepiness. You slip out of the car, bidding goodbyes to Mark and William, the only people left in the car. While unlocking the door to your home, you toss a glance over your shoulder, meeting Mark’s eyes through the car window before slinking inside, hoping sleep comes to you quickly. 

~

The Sunday scaries hit you hard when you wake up in the morning. You groan into your pillow as your head throbs painfully, your hands immediately fumbling around your bedside table to locate some painkillers. Popping two of them in your mouth, you suck down the water in your water bottle like you haven’t drank in days. Remembering the previous night's events makes your whole body shiver with anxiety. After rotting in bed for half the day, you finally open your phone to see tons of notifications. Two are from William, he's asking if you’re alive and also if you’re as violently hungover as he is, Eve messaged you once to make sure you slept okay, and your breath hitches to see you have three messages from Mark. You swipe into the messaging app, clicking on Mark’s contact.

mark!!: remember to take an advil in the morning

mark!!: also remember to eat something please

mark!!: also also, movie night @ 7 tonight? your place?

Your heart stutters in your chest. Nothing out of the ordinary, this is typical Mark behavior, but something about it sends your heart soaring. A response is quickly typed up and sent, agreeing to the time and promising to take care of yourself today. He responds almost immediately. 

mark!!: okay, excited to see you tonight :)

You simply heart the message before tossing your phone away and falling face first onto the soft pillows of your bed. A giddy scream rips from your throat, muffled by the pillow. After a moment of spiraling, you flip over, staring at your ceiling, an array of glow in the dark stars stare back, dim in the early afternoon light. The way your heart speeds up, the way you can’t get the smile off your face, makes reality come crashing down on you. You are deeply in love with your best friend and it scares you. Hangxiety takes hold of your body, your gut squeezes nervously, the air in your lungs feels thick, and your blood rushes through your veins. This revelation endangers what you hold most dear; the  relationship with Mark that you’ve been cultivating for a bit more than a decade. 

You spend the rest of the day stuck in your own head. Nothing helps calm the storm raging in your mind. The homework you planned to do sits abandoned, books are picked up just to be sat right back down when you cannot focus on a single page of words. Time passes slowly as you spend most of the rest of the afternoon too stressed to do anything before Mark is supposed to be there at seven. 

It’s five minutes to seven when you hear your window slide open. You thankfully powered through your anxious mind to change into pajamas, opting for an oversized t-shirt and a pair of soft sleep shorts. You tear your gaze from your phone, watching Mark climb through the window, a borderline nervous smile on his face as he waves at you a bit. Your eyes rake over him from head to toe. He’s wearing a pair of simple blue pajama pants and a t-shirt William got him for his birthday last year that reads ‘I <3 HOT NERDS’. 

“You’re early,” you say, glancing at your phone clock, “when are you ever early to anything?” The tease in your voice drips from your words, Mark rolls his eyes and plops down beside you on your bed. His eyes shine in the lowlight of your room, only the soft glow of string lights illuminating its walls, and it makes your breath hitch. 

“I’d never be late to movie night,” he answers, staring up at you from where he lays on your bed. You raise an eyebrow at him, your face says it all. Mark runs his hands down his face, a tinge of embarrassment in his tone.

“Okay, maybe once or twice, but I was saving the planet,” he says, whining because you’ve already started to poke fun at him. You flick his ear, earning a small ‘hey!’ from Mark as you grab your laptop from the floor beside your bed, he writhes in ‘pain’, continuing to bemoan over how mean you’re being. 

“Get up dork we have a movie to watch,” you hum, pulling up a streaming service while Mark crawls up to you and rests his back against the headboard beside you. Heat radiates from how close he is, your shoulders brushing as he peers over your shoulder at the laptop screen. A shiver of delight runs down your spine as his breath wafts over your neck.

“What are we watching?” he asks curiously, as you set the laptop down in front of you both. Pulling a throw blanket over both your bodies, he scoots closer, fully invading your space now.

“Hercules,” you answer, the title credits for the movie starting. Mark just hums in agreement, snuggling up in the blanket with you. His arm tentatively slides over your shoulders, drawing you further into his orbit. 

“Good pick,” he says, his voice sending another spark down your spine. The way his voice gets raspy when he’s tired has your heart pounding in your chest, which has you praying that even with his super hearing he doesn’t notice. You curl closer hoping the movie will help distract you from the yearning feeling that settles in your lower stomach.

It does not help. You find yourself hyper aware of every movement he makes. The flex of his bicep behind you against your shoulder blades when he squeezes your shoulder. The way his chest vibrates as he hums along to the songs in the movie. The way you can feel his abs pressing against you. Just him. That distracts you. The both of you are practically entangled by a little more than three quarters of the way through the movie. Your right leg rests crossed over his right one, occasionally feeling this thigh muscle twitch underneath you. Your head rests on his chest, eyes glued to the movie, curled into his side. 

Though, if you had looked up at his face, you would find a borderline terrified look taking over Mark’s expression. His face feels red hot, the blood coursing through his body flushing his skin. He can’t focus either, your body curled into him, back arching slightly and your leg entangled with his. The smell of your shampoo in your hair is nearly intoxicating. Mark feels dizzy because this feels very different from previous cuddle sessions. Sometimes you shift, basically bumping your crotch against his hip and he starts begging to whoever's listening to keep him from popping a boner. That does not work in the slightest. Mark is barely paying any attention to the movie, his mind frantically trying to figure out a game plan on how to deal with his unwanted friend. He groans involuntarily, his eyes wide as he realizes the sound that just erupted from him. The hand on your shoulder squeezes. You catch the sound that comes from him, tilting your head up to try and get a look at him. 

“You good?” you question, adjusting again to try and position yourself in his hold better. Your blood damn near runs cold as he whimpers, turning his head away from you, but you can see the heat creeping up his neck. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m, totally good,” he murmurs, his voice pitching as you place a hand on his chest to prop herself up better, your hips sliding against his thigh. Mark intakes a sharp breath, his free hand flying to your hip as he says your name in a pleading voice. You freeze, your heart in your throat at the feeling of his large hand gripping your hip bone.

“Please, stop… moving,” Mark says, his voice breathy, his pupils blown wide. Your brain catches up quickly as your eyes widen, positively mortified because now you can feel his hard on against your thigh from your new position. Still, you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Oh fuck, Mark I didn’t even realize,” you start to apologize, you’re voice panicked. Because what if he hated you now? What if you’d made him uncomfortable and now a lifelong friendship was ruined over Mark getting a boner and your newly realized crush on him. Mark runs his tongue over his lips a deep, shaky exhale leaving his parted lips. You want to reach up and crash your lips against his, but you don’t. 

“This is so not how I wanted this to go,” he mutters to himself in solemn disappointment, his hand absentmindedly gripping your hip. You just stare at him dumbly, your brain lagging again. His eyes finally drift down to yours, his throat bobbing because he can’t believe what he’s about to do. 

“Can I kiss you?” he says softly, a nervous tremble coating his words, your faces are only inches apart, just like they were in the hospital bed about a month ago. A shaky ‘yes’ barely passes your lips before his hand on your shoulder slides to cup the back of your neck. He pulls you into him, his lips pressing against yours and your eyes flutter shut from bliss. Both of you shake, your movements hesitant as you part your lips, deepening the kiss. His hand grips your hip, tugging you swiftly into his lap as his lips move languidly against your own, a gasping breath escaping you as you feel his hard length beneath you. With a swipe to his bottom lip, he eagerly lets you slip your tongue into his mouth, sliding it against his own, drawing a blissful whine from him. Oxygen deprived and anxiety running high, you reluctantly part your lips from his. Both of you pant heavily, a thin trail of spit connecting both of your puffy lips, your breaths wavering with adrenaline and desire.

“How was that?” you question quietly, nervousness pooling in your eyes. The sight of him alone could make you faint: his muscular chest rising and falling as to catch his breath, his lips kiss bitten and red, just like his face is heavily flushed. His eyes swim with affection, gazing up at you like you’re a figment of his imagination and could vanish from his hold any second. 

“Better than I ever imagined,” Mark breathes out, his eyes raking over your face, the corners of his lips quirking upward. Your face mirrors his, your shaky hands cupping his jawline, taking in the warmth his body provides. He speaks again, “I’m not dreaming right? I won’t wake up in a few minutes to find out I imagined it all?” 

You suck in a breath, before pressing a soft kiss to his lips, your fingers caressing his jawline. You barely pull away, breath fanning over his lips. 

“I’m very real Mark,” it comes out a desperate whisper, your voice sweet music to his ears as his fingers dig into the meat of your hips. His gaze is hypnotizing as he practically ogles you.

“I never- I never thought,” he trails off, at a loss for words. You could care less about talking right now, talking could come after. Pressing your lips back to his, murmuring against his lips, “Mark, shut up and kiss me again.” And oh boy does he kiss you. His lips move urgently against yours, devouring your lips into a passionate kiss, like he’s a man starved and you are the only thing he needs to keep living. His long fingers toy with the waistband of your pajama shorts, leaving your core tightening in anticipation by just his soft lingering touches. The kiss is fueled with want, both of you completely losing yourselves to each other as Mark’s lithe fingers slide up your thigh. In between kisses, he barely manages out, “can I touch you, please.” You don’t even respond, just nodding your head hurriedly, lifting your hips off his as he slides your shorts off. He’s trembling like a leaf when his fingers brush against the wet crotch of your underwear and he literally feels like he’s going to die as he moans into the kiss you two are still entangled in. Warm fingers pull your panties aside, his long fingers sliding against your slick folds. You whimper at his touch, restraining yourself from grinding down on his fingers as he traces soft figure eights against you. The kiss breaks as you both catch your breath, his forehead rests against yours as he continues to massage his fingers against you. Mark makes eye contact with you, his mouth hanging open as he rubs your clit with his thumb. The feeling of your legs trembling draws a whiney moan from his lips.

“You feel so warm,” he mutters, tentatively angling his hand so he can slide a finger into your velvety walls and your head falls to his shoulder at the sensation. Involuntarily, your hips grind down against his hand, you moan into the skin of his neck, starting to kiss messily at the skin there.

“More please,” you beg against his neck, your lips pressing heavy kisses as he slides his middle finger in to join his pointer finger, curling them against the spongy walls. His dick pulses painfully as he pulls breathless moans from your lips, the sound making his head spin and he has to bite his lips from moaning too. While pressing kisses to his skin, your hand reaches down to cup the bulge in his pants, causing his fingers to falter their pumping movements as he whimpers at the contact.

“Oh fuck,” he moans, his hips jutting upward to chase your touch. You pull your head from his neck, facing him again. Mark is enthralled by your beauty right now and it’s not because your pussy is clenching around his fingers as he curls them again. The hair on your head is ruffled, your lips rosy and full from kissing, your eyes blown wide with lust and a deep unmistakable affection. He sucks in a breath.

“Feels so good,” you babble, a breathy whine as you talk, “I- I need you, please Mark,”

His senses are on overdrive, his free hand reaching up to card his hand through your hair, his other hand still pumping his fingers into your squelching wet hole.

“Are- are you sure?” He questions, nervously bringing his brown eyes to yours. You almost laugh if he wasn’t assaulting your pussy with his fingers right now.

“Mark, if you don’t fuck me, like, right now,” you start, but don’t finish because Mark’s mouth is on yours instantly. Your body is flipped onto your back, thighs instinctually clamping around his hips. His fingers pull out of you and you whine at the loss of contact. Mark tosses his shirt over his head, tugging at yours and pulling it off. Both of you quickly shed the rest of your clothes, completely bare to each other. You suddenly feel nervous, which is silly because he was literally just finger fucking you not even a minute ago. But the sight of his dick makes your head spin because there is probably a zero percent chance that monster is going to fit in you. Mark’s broad chest rises and falls as he surveys your body, sliding his way back on top of you, his hips falling between your hips, his chest pressed against yours. Comforting fingers brush some strands from your face, and Mark looks star struck again, his brown eyes shining in the lowlight. 

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, his voice is soft but you can hear the slight shake in it. You drag your hands through his dark hair and he nearly purrs in pleasure. 

“You’re prettier,” you respond, your stomach swirls with desire, the slick between your legs hitting the cool exposed air. He huffs out a laugh, pressing a kiss to the column of your shoulder, mumbling against your heated skin, “Not possible.”

His tip nudges your slick folds and you both moan at the contact, his leaking tip catching as he lines up, pushing his hips forward to notch the tip of his cock into your warm pussy. Pulling his face from your neck, he connects your foreheads again, gently using one of his hands to lift your leg, hooking it over his broad shoulder. 

“I got you,” he whispers comfortingly as you withe beneath him at the sensation of his thick cock starting to breach your sopping wet hole. Mark’s voice shakes with adrenaline, his jaw dropping with a small whine as he pushes through your gummy walls.

“You got me,” you respond, warmth blooming in your chest, the stretch of his cock in you making you dizzy with arousal. His movements remain slow, finally bottoming out with a breathy moan which causes your back to arch. His eyes almost appear fair away as they stare into yours, already drunk and consumed by the feel of you. The hand he stationed on your waist squeezes the fat of your hip, allowing you to adjust to him. The full feeling of the stretch of his cock buried deep within you, it makes your chest heave as you grip his bicep with your hand. 

“You feel so good,” you breath out, gripping his bicep tightly and your eyes roll back as his hips twitch reflexively. Mark whimpers at your words, slowly grinding his hips against yours, his public bone rubbing against your clit. Your walls clench and he closes his eyes in pleasure, his dick twitching inside of you.

“So wet, is’ so good,” he moans, pressing you further into the mattress, slowly dragging his cock halfway out of you, sliding it back in with ease against your slick walls. You whimper, his head falls to rest on your shoulder, muffling his own sounds of pleasure. They vibrate through your body and he shoves his cock back into you, pumping his hips back and forth, increasing the speed gradually. Your mind feels like a lust filled haze, all you see, all you smell, all you hear, is him. Wet squelches and the slapping of skin mingle with desperate moans and whines, his hip bones hitting the back of your thighs forcefully as you contract your walls around him and his movements stutter. 

“Mhm, I’m gonna cum, if you keep doing that,” he mumbles against your skin, his voice is raspy, sending a chill through your skin as the coil in your lower stomach nears its peak. 

“That's the plan,” she teases breathlessly, a whimper tumbling from her throat as your other leg bends, your foot pressing against his shoulder. His hips move erratically now, the position makes him continuously hit your spongy walls in a way that has you arching your back as his ragged moans escape him. His cock twitches again, your pussy clenches, trying to pull his release from him. He looks up at you and you can tell he's close, completely pussy drunk, lost in the way his cock drags along your slick folds and you swallow him up perfectly.

“In, finish in,” you force out, the only words you can manage out, and he moans at your words, his dick drilling into you, his hips stuttering.

“I love you, so much,” he babbles out, his hips moving wildly, sucking the air from your lungs, “gonna fill you up yeah? Fill you with my cum.” Mark whimpers at his own words, his lips crashing to yours, as you reach your peak, your walls milking him as you clench, moaning into his mouth. His release follows, a ring of white gathering at the base of his cock as he whimpers, his load hot and warm against your walls. His hips jerk a few more times, stuffing his cum deep into your pussy. You both breath heavily, clutching each other as you come down from your highs, both of you quivering. 

“Did you mean that?” you ask breathlessly, “that you love me.” Mark stares down at you, his hair disheveled, his cock still buried in deep within you.

“Yes,” he says, his cheeks flushed, his hand that held your leg up letting it drop, “I have, for a long time.” He almost looks sheepish, which you find amusing because he just fucked the shit out of you. You giggle, mind still hyper aware. 

“So have I, loved you for a while I mean,” you say as he tiredly gropes your breasts, a dopey look on his face. 

“I’m definitely dreaming,” he mumbles, lowering his body to lay on top of you. You run your hands through his hair. 

“Nope,” you muse. His head tilts to look up at you, his face still dazed with a lazy smile on his lips. He presses a sweet kiss to your jaw, murmuring softly about how gorgeous you are, how you’re incredible, how he loves you. Your heart soars, because this is real, you're here together, intertwined in bed, and nothing could be better. Your life has revolved around him, as his has revolved around you. You bask in each others presence as sleep finds you both, giggling together your eyes never leaving his brown ones, until you both drift away, off to meet again in your dreams.

[nereidprinc3ss]

no sweeter innocence (than our gentle sin)

in which spencer reid is gentle with overwhelmed fem!reader after sex

18+ (fluff, implied intimacy) warnings/tags: it's just aftercare, but like psychological aftercare, implied intimacy duh, vague descriptions of sex but nothing explicit, hurt/comfort without the hurt, allusions to postcoital dysphoria, reader cries but its not really sad, spencer reid is so kind i wish men were real, i think that is all a/n: guess who wrote an entirely different thing instead of touching her wips..... AGAIN...... this bitch cant do anything omggg!! but this was based on a request so go me also what a strange time to be posting but it's only 1k words and nobody can stop me

“Hey. Are you with me, angel?”

You blink your eyes open in the dark room—reorienting yourself to the tangle of your bodies. How many minutes has it been?

“Hm?”

He chuckles—a quick huff from his nose as he brings a hand up to push hair from your face. 

“I asked you if you’re with me.”

It takes you a moment to answer. You’re still trying to make sense of where you are in space, each sensation coming back to you one by one—the weight and pressure of him against you, the slip of cotton sheets and a cool breeze from the cracked window over your heated sticky skin. 

“Oh.”

It’s not much of an answer and your voice is small. For a moment he lets it sit, cupping your warm cheek. Your eyes flutter shut again. His voice comes gentler, dipped in concern. 

“You okay?”

This time you don’t try to speak. Your tongue is like a lead weight in your mouth and your brain is running on dial-up. The best you can do is to cling to him, hiding your face in the curve of his neck and hoping he’ll understand that your firm hold on him is a request for him to tighten his own arms around you, until you’re sure you won’t float away. He reciprocates and it makes you feel more secure immediately. 

“Can you answer me?” He murmurs, all sweet solicitation, lips brushing the top of your head in this new airtight position. And then, a moment later— “Baby. I wanna hear your voice.”

“Mhm,” you manage. 

Spencer rewards you by rubbing your back in slow circles. His hand feels nice on your bare skin. The way you love him is too big for words. It could make you cry. 

“Wasn’t too much? You’re not hurting anywhere?”

You shake your head and try to ignore the ache in your bones when you can’t seem to get him close enough. 

“Mm-mm.”

It’s not entirely true—your legs are sore, but it’s nothing that needs tending to, and your lower back is a bit crampy, but he’s already working on that. 

He hums. “You’re pretty out of it, sweet girl. What’s going on with you?”

Spencer is always careful with you. He’d never hurt you, or sacrifice your comfort for his pleasure. That said, he’s just as passionate as you are. The stretch of your arms above your head is still fresh in your mind—the ghost of his grip, pressing your wrists into the mattress, or pushing your leg up, or pulling you exactly where he wanted you by the hips. It’s all wonderful, and you never feel safer than you do when you’re with him, but it doesn’t make you feel any less vulnerable, any less raw, after all is said and done. Maybe it’s precisely because you trust him so much that you’re so sensitive afterward. But he never, ever makes you feel bad for having an intense reaction to an intense experience. He always meets you where you’re at. That in itself makes you emotional. Spencer is different than any of the partners you’d had before. 

Again, he’s patient as you try to process his question and work up a response. Maybe a minute later, you’re breathing out something that feels true. 

“Overwhelmed.”

The word is a tap against glass you didn’t know was there until it’s fracturing like a spiderweb. With no warning, and for no good reason, you find yourself choked up. 

“Oh,” he says, sympathetic and drawn out as understanding sets in. “Do you need me to back off for a minute?”

You squeeze him even fiercer and shake your head, unable to stop the tears from drawing their shiny paths down your cheeks and sinking into the weave of the pillow case. 

“Shh. You’re okay,” he murmurs, quiet and slow and almost sing-songy as he smooths your hair, though you know he doesn’t really expect you to stop crying. “You’re okay, pretty. Remember what I said about all the hormonal shifts in your body after you come?”

Once more you nod against him with a small, shuddering sniffle. 

“And how sometimes your body regulates by crying? Kind of like a… a reset button?”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm.” He shifts from rubbing your back to tracing light lines in shapeless patterns with the blunt edges of his nails, and your breath catches before you’re melting in his hold. “It’s okay to have big or confusing feelings after sex. It’s actually really common. I just want you to be honest with me about those feelings, right? So we can keep you safe?”

“Right.”

“Would you tell me if you were hurting, or if something I did or said was bothering you?”

“Yes.”

If you were looking at him you know he’d be smiling ever so slightly at your monosyllabic responses, charting an upward path with his hand and pushing it through your hair at the nape of your neck. “You can just nod, baby. You don’t have to talk. I know you’re tired.”

You make a small noise of gratitude and nuzzle closer, feeling better as the tears slow, quickly as they’d come. 

“Do you want a bath in a little while?”

Another nod. He scratches at your scalp. “Okay. We’ll do a bath, and then dinner, and then I’m finally going to make you watch that documentary about Helvetica. It’s a little outdated, and there are a few basic errors about the origin and development of the font as well as misinformation about the typeface subgroup in general, but I can amend those as we watch and afterward we can read the director’s tenth anniversary statement. I was waiting to read it until we watched it together.”

Spencer knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’ll fall asleep ten minutes in, curled up on the couch under a blanket in your biggest hoodie with your head on his lap and his hand in your hair, just like this. 

He’s actually really looking forward to it.

[kikidoul]

── CRY FOR ME.

ヾ(´︶`♡)ﾉ 박성훈 x fem! reader content established relationship ᥫ᭡ warning explicit sexual content petnames used pussy eating fingering unprotected sex dacryphilia breeding kink minor degrading belly bulge overstimulation(?) mating press position LOL . . .!? 1320 — mlist. req+req

note. i combined two requests together as i don't want to write the same things twice... and i HAD to use the weekend's song from hurry up tomorrow. please listen to the album thanks xoxo taglist. @tfwbluu @heesimps

If there was one thing Sunghoon learnt in his six-months relationship with you, it was that he secretly loves it when you’re crying. Don’t get him wrong, he hates it whenever he sees you breaking down, telling him through your sobs about how horrible your day went—ranging from how your boss had scolded you in front of everyone to how things simply weren’t going your way.

In those scenarios, Sunghoon will take it upon himself to comfort you, embracing you in his arms as he whispers sweet-nothings while lovingly brushing his hand through your hair. 

However, he prefers to have you underneath him, pressed into the mattress of your bed. The lewd sound of skin against skin along with obscene squelches of your body fluids and the barely audible chanting of his name, spilling from your lips echoed amongst the four walls of the bedroom. Sunghoon tightened his grip on your hips, nails digging into your skin hard enough to leave indents behind. Your legs were slung over his broad shoulders, toes curling at how his cock kept abusing the same spot without any intention of stopping. 

“Hngh—T-Too much!” you protested, warm tears forming in your eyes. Despite your words, you couldn’t find it in yourself to move away. Although, it’s not like you could in the first place, not when you were helpless and completely left at his mercy. 

Sunghoon grinned at the sight of a single teardrop trickling down your face. “Oh? You were begging for this and now you’re saying it’s too much? Too bad, because you’re going to take it, no matter what.” 

He timed his thrusts with the final three words, eliciting a high-pitched whine from the depths of your throat. You couldn’t say his name anymore, not when he had you in this position for what felt like an eternity. Only breathless whimpers, moans and whimpers fell from your lips. Your muscles tightened and you wanted to say something, anything but the pure intensity of your climax made you forget how to speak. 

Sunghoon groaned when he saw how you squirted with some landing on the already dirtied sheets while some landed on your bodies. He glanced up, eyes darkening a shade at how you were sobbing, body trembling as he continued to thrust into you. 

“H-Hoonie, st-stop,” you sniffled, looking at him with teary, misty eyes. He swore he nearly cum right there and then. 

“Fuck, you’re driving me insane,” he cursed, grabbing your legs and pulled them off his shoulders. He moved to hover over you without pulling out. This way, he was able to get a front-row view of your facial expressions. 

You tried to hide your face but Sunghoon moved your hands away, leaning down to press a soft kiss on your forehead—a huge contrast to your current situation. “Don’t hide from me, princess. I want to see you.”

His eyes greedily drink in your face—dazed eyes and parted lips. To him, you were as beautiful as always. He ducked his head, capturing your lips in a fiery kiss. You gasped, whining into his mouth when his left hand snaked down to fondle with your hardened left nipple. He gently tugged on it, groaning into the kiss when you twitched, instinctively clenching down on his cock. 

You were able to see the signs of Sunghoon reaching his climax—his ragged breathing, his previously timely thrusts growing sloppy and frantic as he’s chasing after his orgasm and how he became more vocal as well. You whined as he spilled inside you, pushing himself deeper, not wanting to waste a single drop. At this point, you were beyond exhausted, unable to move your limbs as you laid there, catching your breath. You hissed as he slowly pulled out while rubbing comforting circles on your hips. 

Your eyes flickered to his face, noting how he couldn’t look away from where you were connected, how you were split apart by him. He reached out, his long, slender fingers easily sliding into your warm, full hole. You squeaked, legs spasming at the sudden invasion. 

“Hoonie, n-no more!” You outright wailed when he curled his fingers in the correct angle, making stars explode in your sight and your mind spun. 

But Sunghoon wasn’t listening. His mind was in another place—thinking about how good you’ll look bearing his children. He could visualise it: mini versions of you and him running around the house while both of you were relaxing, basking in the warm sunlight. He turned a deaf ear to your protests, wasting no time in slamming his cock back into your stretched out hole that shows no form of resistance. 

“Fuck!” You whimpered, hands blindly reaching out to grip onto his upper shoulders, nails digging into his skin. 

“How’re you still so tight? Maybe you need to be fucked everyday to loosen this tight cunt of yours,” he cursed, changing your position, resulting in him sitting and leaning against the bedframe with you sitting prettily on his lap. 

Sunghoon coos at how you sniffled, reaching out to wipe the tears away. His hand trailed down and down until he stopped at your stomach—where a bulge was seen. “Look at you, you’re taking me so well and deep, princess. It’s like you’re asking to be bred, am I wrong?” 

He gently pressed down on the bulge, savoring the way you sweetly gasped, letting out a mixture of a moan and mewl. Your eyelids fluttered shut when your boyfriend thrusted upwards from below. You rested your hands on his stomach, feeling how his muscles tightened as he quickened his pace, easily reducing you to a flushed, blubbering mess. 

“Ngh—H-Hoonie, fuck, m-more,” you cried, words borderline slurring. You felt like you were floating, with how smooth his cock moved in and out of you. 

“Yeah, you want more? You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He sneers, words dripping with disdain, eyes focused on you getting drowned in pleasure. “You want me to pump you full? Make you carry my children? Is that what you want, hm?”

Sunghoon’s words make you let out a pathetic whimper. “P-Please.” 

“Please what, darling?” His lips curled upwards, already knowing what you’re about to say. 

“..want you to knock me up,” you mumbled, shyly averting your eyes to the side. It feels like you were confessing your sins. 

But Sunghoon was having none of it. He grabbed your chin, turning your head forward—forcing you to look at him. “Since you asked so nicely, who am I to refuse?” 

Before you could react, he flipped you onto your back, returning you to your previous position. He bends you until you are in a mating press, forcing you to wrap your arms around his neck as he raises your legs, making you wrap them around his waist. Sunghoon was able to slip in deeper with the change of position, earning a moan from you. He wasted no time in pounding into you with new determination—the determination to make you pregnant. 

You could barely think straight, arching your back off the bed. It didn’t take you long to reach your climax. Your walls clenched against him, your breath hitching with every thrust. Your boyfriend was quick to follow, releasing inside you. Sunghoon kissed your forehead, his previously erratic movements eventually coming to a stop. Panting, he made no move to pull out and instead, collapsed on top of you. 

“Get off me!” You squeaked, smacking the back of his head, scrunching your nose in disgust at how your fluids were now stuck on your sweaty bodies. 

“Ow! That’s not how you should treat your lovely boyfriend, you know,” he grumbled, rolling off you, granting you the chance to breathe without feeling suffocated. 

“Lovely? You literally blew my back out,” you retorted, only to regret what you said when he sent you a teasing smirk. 

“Do not.” 

Sunghoon raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t even say anything!”

[laufeysvalentine]

i want you. pt 2, remus lupin

intertwined, sewn together

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist, pt 1

summary ༄ remus x best friend!reader -- the aftermath of you accidentally confessing your love for remus and running away, hurt/comfort, fluff

word count ༄ 4.1k

nora’s notes ༄ so sorry for the delay on this, thank you so so so much for all the love on the first part and for 200 followers??? that's gen insane i love all of you 💘 i haven't proofread so pls excuse grammar

you’ve barely gotten a wink of sleep next morning, and it shows. you finally crash in the morning to sleep through breakfast and lunch. 

at two, you’re up, but barely. you feel like absolute shit. the feeling only worsens when lily comes in, pity in her face. she knows what happened, and the pity only means one thing–there’s a reason he hasn’t come by, and it’s not because he’s in love with you. 

burying your head in your pillow, you let out a loud groan. 

“y/n?” she pulls back your covers and offers a plate up to you. “remus brought this for you, cause you weren’t at breakfast or lunch.” 

“don’t say his name in my presence,” you beg her, only half-joking. the plate she brought has all your favorite foods from the great hall, and you hate that remus knows you so well, well enough to pick them out. 

“he wants to talk to you,” she says once she’s sat on her own bed a few feet from you. “he just didn’t want to cross your boundaries. i’ll tell him off if you’d like, just let me know.” 

“i love you, lily, but it’s not necessary. it’s not his fault half of hogwarts loves him and the prettiest girl out there fell to his feet,” you huff, a sadness leaking out of you. you want to blame him. but really, you can’t. “he didn’t do anything wrong. i guess.” 

lily’s eyebrow raises as she waits for you to elaborate. “he did make you fall to his feet, didn’t he.” 

“you know who i’m talking about.” as if you could compare to celeste… although you’re pleased with the compliment. “and i’m still mad.” 

“you have every right to be,” she concedes, mouth open to say something when the door bursts open, carrying in a flustered marlene. 

“please, y/n, i’m begging you. do something about him. he’s run off and sirius can’t find him, so he’s bugged james about it who’s bugging me, and i can’t take it anymore.” her cheeks are flushed, begging, but you can’t bring yourself to listen to her. “i’d never do this to you, but i’ll truly rip my ears off for another moment of this.” 

“marlene.” lily’s glaring at the blonde, grabbing her by the elbow. “don’t listen to her, y/n. do whatever you want.” 

as much as you feel bad, you’re not ready. you don’t want to face him, like, ever. 

and that’s what you resolve to do for the whole next week. knowing remus, he would never make you uncomfortable, not on purpose, at least, but he knows you too well to make you uncomfortable by accident. so, three days later, when you stumble into breakfast with approximately thirty minutes of sleep and bags suitcases under your eyes to match it and choose the seat farthest away from him, he doesn’t move closer to you. 

still, you feel his eyes on you the whole time, but you just stare down at your plate, making pictures with the eggs and ketchup. while half-listening to marlene’s blabbering, you craft a smiley face, then a frowny face to match your mood, a mickey mouse, and then this girl that you hate for no reason because she’s really not hateable at all you just hate her because she kissed this guy who’s your best friend but technically you’re not even dating you’re just in love with him. fuck. you push away the eggs and glance around the table. the first thing you notice is him noticing you–it’s the first day you’ve not felt too lovesick and heartbroken to ditch class and meals, for risk of seeing him, so your presence speaks for itself. even then, every morning you wake up to an artfully arranged plate outside your door, laden with your favorite foods. the same comes for lunch and dinner, and you’re not stupid. you know he sends them. 

but you can’t talk to him. not now that you know he’s not in love with you like you are with him, at least not as much. he might even like celeste by now. not “might,” he probably does. you wouldn’t hold it against him. they would be beautiful together. a fresh round of nausea sloshes into the walls of your gut. 

when you deem it socially appropriate to leave, you take the chance, getting up with the masses heading to class, trying to slip through the crowd to avoid him. 

“y/n,” sirius croons from your right, so close you can feel his hot breath on your ears, and your heart sinks. where sirius is, the marauders are soon to follow. “oh, how i missed you this past eternity.” 

you grimace at him, pushing his cheek away from your face. “hi, padfoot. it’s been three days.” 

“and what days they’ve been!” he proclaims dramatically, slinging an arm around your shoulder and pretending to faint. 

“siri. i’m not in the mood.” you mutter, slipping out from under his arm, chancing a glance behind you to make sure the blond you would recognize anywhere is not here. you’re in the clear for now, you’ve no clue where he, peter, and james have gone or why they’re so far from sirius. 

he senses your mood shift and transforms into serious sirius. “you need to get back with moony.” 

when you blow out a heavy breath, your hair flies forwards and hangs limply on your face. “a, as i said, it’s been like three days. b, we were never together so i can’t ‘get back’ with him. c, and listen carefully when i say this, i don’t want to.” he doesn’t want me are the words you leave sour and dormant on your tongue. 

“but, y/n,” he pouts. “he really misses you, even if it’s only been a little while. he’s a wreck, knowing he made you cry.” 

you’ve heard enough. of course. this is why the marauders aren’t near him. it’s a ploy, an intervention if you may. 

“no, don’t even.” you pull away from him and push through the throngs of students to get away from him. you toss out a parting over your shoulder before slipping away, “i’ll see you in class.” 

just kidding. you sneak back into your dorm and let the blankets swallow you, watching the ceiling to pass the time. remus is not in love with you. he never will be. 

as you count the amount of nicks in the ceiling paint for the forty-hundredth time, you think about him again. as you have for the past eight years. 

even if he’s not in love with you–you can’t imagine a life without him. you can’t sacrifice your friendship, all those friendly touches, the feeling of his warm hand splayed against your back, the sight of him curled in his bed with his newest book. how could you never discuss your favorite books with him again? how could you sacrifice that golden look that makes you melt over as you speak? those perfectly brewed cups of tea, vanilla-scented sweaters, knitted thickly with love? 

he’s your best friend. the answer is, you could never live without him. even if you’re in love with him and he’s not, in fact, in love with you back. you’ll just have to get over it. 

whoever painted this ceiling left fourteen cracks. 

–

you’re going to get over him, you swear it. this is what you repeat as you walk into the great hall, your eyes trained on the ground, slipping into the seat next to lily. you refuse to look at him or any of his friends. you won’t. you can’t. 

it’s the first time you’re here. sure, you came by the table this morning, but drawing pictures with ketchup until the whole plate looks like you murdered the bottle isn’t exactly engaging. now, you and marlene are conversing about stupid things: the shoes you need in your wardrobe, your favorite song to listen to while crying in the shower vs. in your bed. and important questions, like what’s better, milk or dark chocolate (dark chocolate, obviously, and don’t even think about saying white chocolate. that is not real chocolate)? 

you can feel his eyes on you, drilling almond brown holes into your skull. the urge to look up chokes you. you want to see the curve of his smile, how lopsided it leans on him, the scars that dance around his lips. but you steel yourself. you can’t. you won’t. 

–

you’re ignoring him. the problem is, it’s not really working. 

no matter where you are, you can feel his eyes on you; even if you’re across the classroom, you swear you can smell the earthiness of his cologne, his sweaters. 

fuck. 

you are not getting over him anytime soon. 

the two of you manage to avoid any contact for what feels like months–days, maybe. in the hallways, you brush past each other, sometimes mumbling an apology or two as you pass. nothing sincere. nothing short of incredibly, incredibly awkward. 

you tuck yourself into hidden corners of the library, the astronomy tower, the room of requirement, anywhere where you can get away. from him, from the scary softness of sirius’ eyes when he looks at you, the even more terrifying relative quiet from marlene, who was seemingly instructed to give you space by lily. everything is awkward. and it’s all your fault. 

when the glances stares fade, you know why, and you hate yourself for knowing. the full moon’s nearing. remus’ shoulders are sagging, his looks come from lower down. his body is aching more and more, he twists around nearly every class you have together, something you know he’s always done to try and alleviate some pain. his undereyes are bruised and swollen, and you see the brass of his cane around the common room, and you hate that you aren’t there for him. he hates that thing, he always tries to avoid using it. 

it must be especially bad this time around. 

and when lily comes into your dorm the day before the full moon, skin sunken with exhaustion, you figure something’s up. 

“lily?” you ask, jolting up from your book. the mug of tea that he drank the night you stopped talking is still by your bedside. you can’t bring yourself to move it. what if that’s your last memory with him? 

“hm?” she murmurs, flopping onto her bed. 

“what’s wrong?” you ask as you turn your body towards hers. 

she waves her head, face in the pillow. 

“you can talk to me about him,” you frown. “it’s related to him, isn’t it? the full moon?” 

the redhead sits up, looks at you. she’s not one to lie, never has been. “...yeah. james is just stressed, because he thinks this transformation has already been really painful for him, and it’s only going to get worse tomorrow.” 

your head is bobbing. you swallow your feelings–what is that, guilt? shame? you don’t know what. maybe celeste broke up with him. not everything is related to you. 

“mhm,” you say in response. absorbing. 

she hesitates, mouth opening, before shutting it again. “it’s–well, i don’t…” 

you shrug. “you don’t have to say anything, lily.” 

so she doesn’t. 

—

lily’s right. in the eight years you’ve known him, he has never looked so rough pre-transition. you steal peeks at him all day, like he’s a tv show you weren’t supposed to watch as a kid. it looks like the life is steaming out of him. his hair–artfully messy, as always—is mussed and unwashed. when he walks out of the classroom, it’s a limp, with a slow clunk to it that makes your chest hurt. you want nothing more than to rush over and help him, but no. if he wanted you, well, if he didn’t want celeste, he would have come after you. 

he doesn’t want you. you repeat that to yourself when you see him almost pass out onto his plate during lunch, making a worried sirius (yes, sirius of all people, who usually tries to stay calm in situations like these) rush him to his dorm. 

but he reappears only an hour later for potions, when his back is tensed, tight, and his shoulders are hunched over. slughorn tries to call on him twice, but he pretends he isn’t there. 

your chest aches when he doesn’t show up to dinner, and halfway through, the rest of the marauders disappear, muttering to themselves as they go. you rub your collarbone and watch, your anxiety heightened. 

once the great halls door slam, the first place your eyes dart to is the hufflepuff table. you don’t even need to look around to see her. everyone within a ten-person vicinity is ever so slightly turned towards her, like her charisma is impossible to ignore. they want to be her, be with her, know her. 

she’s speaking animatedly, tossing out an airy laugh now and then. maybe remus hasn’t told her yet. 

some evil, petty part of you relishes in that fact. 

the girls are watching you, eyes wide and lips pursed. they’re trying to read you, determine how you’re feeling. dorcas, of all people, has been checking in on you everyday since you and remus fell out, and marlene too, in her own sarcastic way. but seeing them together made you ache for a cavity that could never be filled. a gryffindor love, a spectacular love. one that existed in your if onlys. 

you head straight to your room after dinner to try and throw yourself into your homework, but the distraction doesn’t work. you can’t stop thinking about remus. is he okay? you wish you could be with him. why did you start ignoring him in the first place? 

as the stars fade into the sky, lily bursts through the door, mary an hour later. marlene sneaks in, then out, then in again, with dorcas by her hand. but as time ticks, ticks, ticks, you can’t stop from looking at it. you’re the only one awake now, but the marauders probably aren’t back yet. 

you try your hardest to battle the reluctance that accompanies you to your bed, but you can’t. you just lie there, body tensed as images of remus run through your mind. the two of you visiting his hometown, or him on your lap, your favorite place for him to be. you’ll never forget the feeling of his coarse hair against the lilting touch of your fingers, or how he would turn onto his side, nose bumping against your stomach as he nuzzled into you. 

after waiting what feels like hours, you check the clock. yes. he’s back now. you rise as quietly as you can, slipping out of the dorms and darting towards the hospital room. is he okay? 

madam pomfrey is nowhere to be seen, and as you pass blue curtain to blue curtain, all you can hear is your shuffling. no one’s here–save for one figure on the end, flat on their back, moonlight filtering through the window above them. 

it hugs him in a most flattering light, his eyes closed and relaxed. fuck, he’s already sleeping. you don’t know if you should be happy he won’t see you or not. on your tiptoes, you creep towards his bed, where there’s a chair on his right. when you touch it, it’s still warm. the marauders must have just left. 

here he is. remus lupin. 

your eyes scan his face and arms, any body part that’s left out from the blankets. he has a fresh cut running from his elbow upwards, through where his t-shirt curls around his bicep. for someone with such fresh scars, he looks so, so beautiful. 

the second you sit down on the chair, his eyes fly open. 

oh. 

he wasn’t sleeping after all. 

perhaps the most awkward minute of your life passes, the two of you just staring at each other. your lips are parted, limbs frozen, anticipating. 

“rem?” you squeak out, reaching out to touch him as you usually would. you want to trace the scar that runs down his cheek, but he pulls away, muttering. 

without even acknowledging you, he turns on his side, burying his head into the pillow. 

“oh,” you breathe. he doesn’t want you there. you’re so stupid. why the hell would you come here? you know he likes celeste. you saw them kissing for merlin’s sake. 

you’re trying your best to stifle a gasp as your eyes become sticky with tears. what the fuck were you thinking? 

“stop it. just stop it,” he groans. “why are you bothering me again?” 

your limbs are stuck in place. for some reason, you can’t think, move. your thoughts are spinning in circles, racing around your mind. nothing’s coherent right now. 

you look at him again, his muscles shifting against the cotton of his t-shirt, and swallow. this is goodbye, isn’t it? your lips twist. 

“i-i’m sorry. i know you probably want to get your rest, i’ll just–” you have to force yourself to stand up, but when you do, your hand accidentally brushes his back on the small bed, and he jerks back, electrocuted. “oh, i–sorry.” 

he jolts upright, hands on the bed to support him. “dove?” 

you pause your movements, unsure what to do. he knew who you were before, didn’t he? what happened? 

maybe he’s just delirious from lack of sleep. you begin to walk away when a warm hand wraps around your wrist, drawing you backwards. 

“y/n. i–” he stops when you face him, and you can see the exact moment he sees the tears in your eyes, as he pulls you onto the bed, thumb sweeping the wetness under your eye like it’s second nature. his palm, rough with calluses and scars, supports the softness of your cheek, and you melt. “you’re here. you’re really here?” 

his eyes, that soft amber, spilling over with uncertainty and… regret? the same way he would look after one of the marauders’ particularly nasty pranks, or snapping at one of his friends close to the full moon. 

you nod, shoulders tense. “i just wanted to come stop by. i didn’t mean to–”

“no, no,” he interrupts, his other hand coming up to rub your arm. “i’m sorry. i didn’t… i’ve just been having, er, i’ve been having dreams of you all week. i thought you weren’t real.” 

his face is sparkling with earnestness, a kind of hope you hadn’t seen on him in a while. when you don’t say anything, he takes it as a cue to continue. “i’m also sorry for everything. i thought you wouldn’t want to see me anymore. or… i don’t know.” 

“it’s okay, rem,” you promise, trying to build up the cracks threatening to crumble your voice and your resolve. you try to pull away from his touch, but his fingers just find your knee instead, massaging the flesh there. “i didn’t want to get between you and celeste or anything. it seemed like the right thing to do.” the last part of your voice comes out in a throaty whisper. 

“no.” he says firmly. 

“no?” you ask, shoulders crawling towards your shoulders. 

“no. i want you in my life, dove, always. i–celeste and i aren’t anything. i don’t like her. i never did.” his voice peters out, but his gaze on you stays strong. “there’s another girl.” 

does he hate you? want to kill you? because that’s sure what he’s doing right now, and he knows you too well to not know the effect he’s having on you. like he took the sword of gryffindor and peeked it into your chest–not enough to kill you by brunt force, but enough to maim, to let you bleed out onto the bed as you stare at him, betrayal tearing open your veins. 

“that’s nice, remus.” you don’t even know how words are coming out of your mouth at this point. maybe someone’s taken over your body? 

“i’m sorry for not coming up to you, too. i thought it was the right thing to do,” he says quietly, one of his hands dropping from your face. goosebumps follow where his skin met yours. you think the next sound you hear is the crack crack cracking of your heart. “i thought you wanted space from me. and you deserve that. i only let her kiss me cause… well, cause i thought i had to get over you.” 

what?

he’s gauging your expression, you can feel it, but again, everything’s spinning. you might pass out. what’s happening? who is this other girl he loves? 

“i’ve loved you for so long, but i thought there was never a chance that you could love me back. and then, there was that day. but, you’re you, the most gorgeous girl in all of gryffindor, and then there was me. you deserve so much better than me and how fucked up i am. so i left you alone. i thought it was right.” he glances to the side, bringing his hands to his lap. this is not real. you’re not real. he was right. this was a dream, and any minute this floaty feeling will stop and you won’t feel like you can’t feel your body and you’ll wake up hear your alarm and class will start it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real. 

but your hand reaches out to his, shaking. and the next words that tumble out of your lips are: “y-you love me?” 

“how could i not?” a laugh slips from his mouth and those eyes–those beautiful, beautiful eyes–are back on you and you can’t swallow breathe think nothing but those eyes, those sweet eyes. 

your mouth hangs open. “but…” 

“i’m sorry, y/n. and i don’t know if it’s too late, if you’ve found someone better, but i couldn’t ever leave you thinking that i don’t love you back. anyone who didn’t is a fool. an utter fool.” remus scratches at his jaw, lips pursed. “sorry. i just had to say it.” 

“you love me,” you repeat, looking at him. “you love me?” 

“i always have and i always will. loving you is a part of me, dove, the best part of me there’s ever been.” he sucks in a breath, brings your hand to his lips. when he speaks, you can feel the vibrations of his voice on your skin. “i love you so much.” 

you don’t even realize you’re crying until a tear splashes onto his cheek. you move to touch it, leaning closer to his face as your finger smooths the tear out onto his pretty skin. and then–then, oh, god, you’re so close to him. his breath is so warm. he smells so, so good. 

“can i kiss you, dove?” he asks so softly that you almost don’t hear him–you’re not even sure you do, it might just be instinct that pushes your lips together. something written into your body from birth. you were meant to be his, he yours. 

and merlin, he tastes better than you ever could have imagined. 

remus. your remus. 

a smile spreads across your lips after your next kiss, slow and so, overwhelmingly perfect. he pecks your teeth, your nose. 

“remus,” you say, but a small giggle escapes you before you can finish your sentence. this is surreal. what’s happening right now? are we sure this isn’t a dream? “what are we doing?” 

“kissing, dovey,” he answers with another kiss. “and, maybe, if you wanted, i could be yours?” 

“you’ve always been mine, rem,” you respond solemnly, and he tugs you down next to him, pulling your body under the covers so you’re flush next to him. “only now i can kiss you.” 

his palms come up to your cheeks, one to your hair, and again, the two of you connect–by your lips, sure, but also by you. you’ve connected, there’s no breaking it now. 

“and all of that you were saying?” you pull back every so slightly to look at him, to know him. “you are the most perfect soul i could ever ask for. i want you to tell me every time you feel like you don’t deserve me, because that’s just untrue. you deserve everything and more, and you are so perfect for me, i can’t even fathom how you exist.” 

at that, he pulls you back into him, plants and plants and plants his lips on your face. “there’s no part of me that doesn’t love you, dove. my heart, my mouth, my soul. all of me.” 

and when you’re too tired to kiss any longer, if that concept even exists, you fall asleep leg between his, nose pressed into crease between his neck and jaw, arms around each other, intertwined with him for the night–though, in a way, you always have been. and you always will be. 

masterlist

taglist: @lydiasfalling @moonysloveee @treefairy-28 @lolwey @callsignwidow @navs-bhat @hisparentsgallerryy @brxght-world @grxcisxhy-wp @luvv-danielle @idkman5353 > i'm in love with all of u fr

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lmk if you'd like to be on my main taglist xx!

italics means i couldn't tag you for some reason 💔 also sorry i've been so mia in the comments, i love and appreciate all of you who are commenting, tysm and have a good day lovelies

[aomiiine]

i NEED caleb to manhandle me right Now... need him to carry me everywhere and put me up against anywhere

i just.. just had to answer this first cause my brain short circuited to an explosion..

caleb + fem!reader warning(s) -> nsfw, MDNI (18+), manhandling, dumbfication, finger sucking, marathon sex, reverse cowgirl, slight objectification, edging

1 am in the morning, dark bedroom, Caleb fucking you whilst spooning you, one bionic arm scooped underneath your knee to lift your leg just enough to bury his painfully hard cock deep inside your sloppy pussy. He’d have the other arm curled beneath your head, making your rest on his bicep like a makeshift pillow with his hand finding your lips, a finger of two delving themselves past your lips and into your mouth, making your tongue swirl on his digits and gag on them occasionally whenever he plunges them deeper just to feel you squirm on his dick. Fuck, it’s felt like hours since he was abusing your tight cunt, his fat cock stretching you out with twitches that made you believe he was about to cum, just for him to stop his thrusts, staying still to supress his orgasm. Caleb was edging himself, to edge you. Because he knew your trained cunt couldn’t cum without him—without his permission.

You whine loudly around his digits at the orgasm he denied you of, eyes swelling with tears of frustration and exhaustion. He coos you in attempt to comfort you, “Shh, good girl, you’ll get to cum soon.. I promise, soon. But not now, yeah?.”

Caleb repeats the same motion a few more times, skin sheened with a thin layer of sweat like yours, hair sticking to your face. Your lewd cries of his name would always be muffled by his long slender fingers invading your mouth, your throat accommodating them just as well as it would with his cock.

He’d keep on going, until he was satisfied with how swollen his balls felt and how fucked out you looked in his arms, drool dripping from the corner of your lips with barely coherent moans of his name escaping like a mantra. Then, just then, his grasp under your knee would tighten, rolling together with you on the bed until he’s laid on his back on the bed, your body laid on top of his and boneless legs spread out wide.

“Do me a favour, pretty girl, and sit up for me,” Caleb coaxed gently, a stark contrast to how his strong hands now held your shoulders, leaving your legs to help you sit up, your back facing him. Soon enough, his hands would slide down your arms, fingers slipping beneath them to find your hips. He’d bury them firmly into your plush flesh, grip tightening to surely leave hand shaped bruise marks the next morning.

Caleb would take advantage of your lust-dazed self, knowing you were barely able to coordinate yourself to sit on him properly when his bulbous cockhead was pressed hard against your g-spot in this position, mouth falling agape in a sharp gasp when he lifted you up off his cock with his raw strength, unable to see how his muscles flexed behind you in effort to yank you up and down his dick like a human fleshlight, using your pussy for his pleasure—and vice versa.

Omg speaking ab manhandling, i can absolutely see him pressing you up against the wall whenever he comes home from a long mission. Then, he’d carry you to the kitchen, laying on the kitchen countertop to fuck you stupid again. Once your panting and weak, he’d scoop you up in his arms to carry you upstairs into your bedroom, then bathroom to press you hard against the cold glass shower stall, fucking you from behind again. After the shower he’d throw you on the bed and settle between your legs, head buried in your pussy cs he claims he needs to clean up every crevice of you