#and i have a feeling that's exactly the case

[imaginestuffs]

Potion- Bob Reynolds x F! Reader

word count:2,012

warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff

Summary: Bob realizes he's in love, as he replays his favorite memories with you.

inspired by Potion by Djo

When you met Bob for the first time, time seemed to slow down. You’re not exactly sure what happened, but it crashed over you like a wave. His energy was unlike anything you had felt in your entire life. It was strong, it was ever present, it was undeniable, but so pure. His power was clouded with pain and fear, yet you could feel the innocence of a broken boy.

You knew then that you would do anything to protect him from anyone, and when needed, himself. 

Something about being with him seemed so simple, so easy. Though he never thought that could be the case. You found him to be a comfort, and you hoped with everything in you that he felt the same for you.

He had told you about his fear of hurting anyone again, and you knew that would be there for quite some time. It might even last a lifetime, but that doesn’t mean you would let him carry the weight by himself.

Every step of the way, you assured him that you’d be there for him.

Bob knew you didn’t know how he felt. He knew you couldn’t read his thoughts. 

He just wanted someone to leave a light on for him at the end of the day. He wanted to have someone to come back to after a mission, someone to call home.

He needed to understand what it was to be loved. He searched everywhere, high and low, for a love that was something he knew he could fall back into. Something he knew was steady and sure, he needed stability to keep him grounded, to keep the clouds at bay. But it seemed that the only thing that loved him was those clouds.

At a point in time, things seemed to shift.

Bob began to look at you differently. He began to see something new. Realization was finally striking after so many memories came flooding in.

---

It was 3:00 in the morning when you heard a soft tapping at your door. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and stepped out of bed. Wincing at the cold floor against your feet. 

You get to the door and open it just a bit, and there he stood, messy hair, wrinkled pajamas, it was Bob. You could tell by the exhaustion in his eyes that he had not been sleeping well.

“Hey Bob, are you ok, honey?” You always used sweet words when speaking to him. You wanted him to think he was cared for. That he mattered to someone enough to hear those words. 

He looked shaken, and you realized what it was. Bob had a nightmare. 

“I, I didn’t know what else to do, or where to go.” his voice was quivering, and your heart broke. 

“Come on in, you’re always welcome to be in here,” you told him, and opened the door more so he could step past you. 

He had looked a bit embarrassed, and you were going to have none of that.

“I hope you don’t feel bad about this. I want you to know that I care, and if you ever need anything, I’ll be here.” Giving his arm a squeeze before gently guiding him over to sit on the bed with you.

“I don’t know how to do this,” came his soft voice.

“Do what Bob?” The question came out so gently. It was a way he was never used to hearing people speak to him.

A shuddering breath spilled out of him, and he shut his eyes tightly. It almost seemed that he was scared to answer you.

“Take your time, honey, we have all night,” you reassured him.

He nodded his head and continued to take deep breaths. Eyes shut and brow furrowed, he sat there in silence. Placing your hand on his knee seemed to bring him back to reality. Your touch was reassuring and steadfast, and it brought him a very rare semblance of peace. 

You were content to sit with him in the quiet until he was ready to speak. It took a while before he turned to look at you. When he did, you gave him a soft smile, and he almost broke.

Seeing the tears in his eyes, you let your thumb move in soothing circles against his knee. 

“It’s ok, Bob, I’m not going anywhere,” you told him. 

“I don’t- I don’t know how to… ask for help,” he revealed to you. 

Something in you snapped, and you just wanted to pull him into a hug and never let go. But you held yourself back, not wanting to overwhelm him in a moment of vulnerability. 

“Sometimes it’s hard to ask, it feels like you may be seen as weak. Am I right?” not trying to assume what he was feeling in this moment. 

He nodded his head and looked away from you.

“I see it as a sign of courage and strength. Knowing when you need help, and being brave enough to admit some things can’t be done alone. You don’t have to do it all alone, Bob. I promise.”

“I’ve never felt this way, I didn’t think anyone would want to help me. I have so much weight to carry.” He told you.

“Well, there are many people here who have grown to care for you. I care for you, and I won’t let you carry the burden alone. We can be in this together if you’d like,” you offered him.

He grabbed your hand as if saying yes. As if saying thank you.

--

The sun was shining and the air was light. It was a difference compared to the rain you’d been having for a week. 

There was something you had been wanting to do for a long time now. You wanted to go for a walk in the sun. But not by yourself, you wanted Bob to come along, so you set off to find him.

It took a bit of searching to find him sitting in front of an open window. The look on his face was so peaceful, he looked like his tension had disappeared. 

Making your way over to him slowly, you sat across from him. The warmth and soft breeze coming from the window were comforting.

Bob looked at you with a soft smile. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked with curiosity at your quiet entry.

“I was looking for you, and I found you, so I’m here. If you’re alright with that,” Your eyebrow raised, and a smile took over your lips. 

He chuckled softly before nodding. “It’s alright with me,” He nudged your knee with his. 

“I wanted to ask if you’d like to go on a walk with me?” Your question hung in the air for a few seconds. 

He looked like he was contemplating, “I’d like that very much.” his smile grew, and so did yours. 

You stood and reached out your hand for him to take. His hand slid into yours, palms brushing and fingers intertwining. It made your cheeks warm up. 

He saw your eyes soften as you gently tugged him to follow you. 

“It’s finally warm outside. I feel like it’s been years since the sun showed herself,” you said as you stepped into the daylight. 

Bob stared at you as your head tilted toward the sun, and any tension you had had left you. You looked so light,  like the only things that existed were you and the sun.

His eyes couldn’t seem to leave you, and his grip on your hand tightened.

You looked over at him just to see him staring. Chuckling, you began to tug him toward a secluded trail you had found at the park a while ago.

“Walking with you is everything I needed today. The sun, the warmth, and you.” his heart skipped at your words. 

Not being used to people talking to or about him like that, he was shocked. Despite you always being that sweet, he didn’t think he could ever get used to it. 

Bob came to a halt and gently pulled you closer to him. You looked at him with confusion, not sure what he may be doing. That is, until he hugged you, he wrapped his arms around you and for just a moment you were holding the sun in your arms. 

He just glowed, his aura was intense but in a way that made you feel safer than you ever have.

Relaxing into his hold, you let yourself be in that moment. 

Bob truly felt like you were his home; you were his peace of mind.

--

There you sat on your bed with a book in your hand. Waiting around wasn’t something you usually did for most people. But he wasn’t most people, he was your person.

Bob had gone on his first mission with Yelena and John, and to be honest you were scared. You had wanted to go with them, to be there for him but Valentina refused. 

None of you understood why, but you had no choice.

So you stayed back, it was odd not seeing him every day. It was odd not catching his gaze from across the room, or spending nights talking about everything and anything because he was too scared to sleep. 

Your bed felt empty as you sat alone on the left side because he preferred the right side. It just didn’t feel right being on his side of the bed. 

As a result of his not being beside you, you stayed up. Unable to fall asleep despite how tired you were. Having no clue when he would return, you decided waiting for him was the best bet. And if you fell asleep, you chose to leave the light on for him. So he would know you were waiting for him to come home.

Well, as it turned out, you eventually did fall asleep. Your book was forgotten beside you, as your face was buried in your pillow. But the light was left on.

Bob returned from the mission completely exhausted. All he wanted was to take a shower and see you. Get to lie with you, as you gently coaxed him into a peaceful sleep.

He couldn’t explain how different it was to turn and not see you standing beside him. Despite every ounce of support he got from Yelena, she wasn’t you. That meant nothing against her; she was a great help, and he was so grateful, but she couldn’t do all that you did. 

Yelena couldn’t calm his fears with the touch of her hand. She couldn’t give him one look and have all his tension dissipate. She wasn’t his home, she wasn’t his person. That was you.

He took the quickest shower of his life and raced toward your room. He saw the door slightly ajar, and light seeping out from inside. His soul filled with warmth. You left the light on for him.

---

He looked to his side and saw you with your head against his shoulder. His arm was slung around your shoulders, he gently pulled you closer. You sighed sleepily and tucked your head against his chest. It all felt completely surreal, he was the one protecting you, keeping you safe from your fears.

Your eyes opened, and you looked up at him with a sleepy grin.

“I missed you.” Your voice was groggy, and your touch gentle as you grabbed his hand resting on your shoulder to pull yourself tighter into his embrace. 

His smile was soft as he looked down at you. 

“You missed me?” he teased. 

“Uh-huh. I miss you whenever I can’t see you,” you admitted to him. 

“You miss me while you sleep?” he chuckled softly.

“Of course I do. I also know that I love waking up to you next to me. In fact,” You paused for a moment, “I just love you.” You revealed to him. 

At that moment, he finally realized he was in love. 

Wholeheartedly in love with you, and he told you so.

“I love you, too.” 

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤFATHER, I HAVE SINNEDㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Matt Murdock x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

It started with your voice.

You were a witness in one of his pro bono cases. Not a victim—no, not exactly. You had seen something. Something dangerous, something twisted. And you were scared, but not fragile. Your voice didn’t tremble. Not once. Even when your hands did. And Matt… Matt heard you before anything else.

It’s the first thing that gets him. Your voice.

Not because it was seductive, not because it was sweet. But because it was real. It had weight. Color. Soul. It lingers in the room even when you leave.

Then came your heartbeat.

You lied to protect someone else. Not yourself. You thought no one would notice. But Matt did.

It was the tiniest hitch. The faintest tremor in rhythm.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Skip.

He didn’t call you out. He just sat there, hands folded, pretending he wasn’t losing sleep over what it meant.

And when you came back the next day—he knew your footsteps.

Not because he memorized them (he did), but because they made him breathe differently.

Matt falls in love like it’s a courtroom confession. Like it’s a sermon. Like it’s a sin.

He starts showing up in places he shouldn’t be. You think it’s coincidence. He lets you think that.

When you pass by his office, he’s always free. Always smiling that quiet, tired smile. Always offering you coffee.

Always noticing when you switch perfumes. When you’re sad. When you’re scared.

He never asks why. He waits until you tell him.

But when you leave, the look on his face changes.

It’s not soft anymore. It’s ravenous. Like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is pressing against the walls of his skin, desperate to crawl out and see you.

You don’t notice how many people disappear.

That guy who scared you in the subway? Gone.

That creep who commented on your shirt outside the deli? In traction.

The ex who kept texting you at 3am? His phone was found shattered near a rooftop.

Matt knows it’s wrong.

He prays after. He gets on his knees, bloody, teeth clenched, whispering to God: “Forgive me. But don’t take her from me.”

And the thing is…

He means it.

He wants forgiveness—but not enough to stop.

Not if it means losing you.

He never touches you until you touch him first.

He holds himself back like he’s one breath away from falling apart.

Your fingers graze his arm, and it’s over. He can’t forget it.

That night he jerks off in the shower, his head hitting the tile, whispering your name like a prayer.

He makes you feel safe.

Of course he does.

He listens. He protects. He gives you just enough mystery to stay magnetic.

But you don’t know what it costs him.

You don’t know he sits on rooftops outside your apartment listening to your heartbeat while you sleep.

You don’t know he’s already chosen the exact moment he’ll finally tell you who he really is.

When you finally say, “I think I love you.”

He won’t let you leave.

Not because he chains you down.

Not because he begs.

But because the world becomes worse when you’re not around.

And he makes sure you see that.

Your friends stop answering. Your life gets harder. Everything tilts.

And Matt is always there to catch you.

The only constant.

The only man who never lets you fall.

And maybe that’s how he wins.

Not with lies.

But with truths that are shaped, softened, sharpened until you believe he’s the only one left.

Matt is not the kind of man who obsesses with wild passion.

He obsesses like a confessional booth.

Quiet. Slow. Relentless.

He becomes your shadow. Your protector. Your lover. Your God.

And when you finally realize he’s the one behind the curtain—behind the blood, the bruises, the justice—

It’s already too late to walk away.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep in his office.

It was late. You were stressed. The case dragged on.

Matt offered you the couch, that same one Foggy calls “the death trap.” But you curled up, muttered a soft “Wake me in twenty,” and closed your eyes like nothing could hurt you.

You didn’t see the way Matt just stood there.

Frozen.

Your shoes were off. Your breathing slowed. Your heartbeat settled into that rhythm he knows better than any gospel hymn.

And suddenly—he couldn’t sit. Couldn’t leave.

He just…

Listened to you.

He stood in silence for two hours.

Two hours.

Listening to every little sigh. Counting each time you shifted. Committing the exact way your spine curled under that ugly plaid blanket to memory.

He didn’t touch you.

He didn’t dare.

Because if he did, he wouldn’t stop.

And Matt always stops.

Until he doesn’t.

Matt is unraveling.

You see it in the little things.

His jaw is tighter. His knuckles more bruised. He smiles too hard, talks too gently, like he's afraid he’ll crack if he lets it slip.

He’s spiraling and you think he’s just tired.

So you tell him to rest.

You brush his arm and say, “Go home, Matt. You need sleep.”

And he almost laughs.

Because sleep? Sleep is where he dreams of you.

Tied in red silk.

Calling his name.

Begging. Crying. Bleeding.

Kissing.

Always kissing.

It gets worse when you start dating someone.

He tries to be calm. Polite.

You mention a name—James. A guy from your building. He works in tech. Sweet. Smart. Harmless.

Matt smiles.

Nods.

Says, “Good for you.”

Then that night, he’s in his suit. Standing outside James’s window.

Listening. Cataloguing every sin. Every weakness.

Every reason why he’s not worthy of you.

James stares at his phone too long. He doesn’t text you back fast enough. He watches porn with other women.

Matt hears it all. Files it away like a legal brief.

He doesn’t kill him.

But James leaves you three weeks later without a word.

Blocks your number. Moves apartments. Disappears.

You cry on Matt’s couch again.

And Matt just holds you.

Gentle. So gentle.

Murmuring, “You deserve better. Someone who really sees you.”

And when your heartbeat flutters against his chest,

He knows.

He’s winning.

He starts touching you more.

Hand on your lower back.

Fingers brushing your wrist when he hands you coffee.

His knee bumping yours under the table and not moving away.

Every touch is a test.

A line.

A map.

He’s learning your body like scripture.

And when you smile at him, not flinching, not pulling away—

Matt swears he can taste your pulse on his tongue.

He wants to tell you everything.

He rehearses it in his head. Every day.

“I’m Daredevil. I love you. I love you so much it makes me mad.”

He never says it.

Because if he does, you might leave.

And Matt?

Matt would burn Hell’s Kitchen to ash if it meant keeping you.

So instead, he bleeds behind closed doors.

You see the bruises. The busted lip.

He says it was a mugger.

You ask if he needs help.

He just leans into your palm when you cradle his face and whispers, “This is the only thing that heals me.”

He shatters in silence.

And soon, the Devil wants more.

Not just the soft parts.

Not just your laugh, your trust, your presence.

He wants your fear.

He wants your desperation.

He wants you to say, “Don’t leave. Don’t ever leave me.”

Because then you’ll finally be like him.

So one night, when you’re walking home…

You hear footsteps behind you.

Too steady. Too close.

You text Matt.

“I think someone’s following me.”

Seconds later, he replies:

“I’m already here.”

The man following you disappeared.

Just… gone.

One second you were gripping your phone like a lifeline. The next, there was silence. Heavy. Drenched in something wrong.

You looked around. Nothing but shadows and city breath.

Then Matt was there.

Appearing like he knew.

Like he’d been waiting.

You didn’t see the blood on his knuckles.

Didn’t see the smear of red across his cuff.

Didn’t hear the way his heart slammed against his ribs when you looked at him and whispered:

“Thank you.”

God.

You thanked him.

You hugged him.

You touched him like he was your savior, not your stalker.

Like he wasn’t the reason you were scared in the first place.

He held you tight. Too tight.

Buried his face in your hair and inhaled you like communion.

Like forgiveness.

Like absolution.

After that night—when you clung to him, breath shaking, eyes wide with relief—Matt couldn’t stop hearing your voice.

“God isn’t listening. But I still pray for you.”

Not in memory. Not in dreams.

He hears it in church pews. In alleyways. In his head.

“Thank you, Matt.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He’s still praying, still going to Sunday Mass, but not because he wants redemption.

He just wants permission.

Permission to love you.

To want you.

To protect you, even if it means doing something unforgivable.

That man who was following you?

He was a creep, yeah. But not a killer.

Not dangerous enough for what Matt did to him.

He told himself it was justice.

But it wasn’t.

It was personal.

You start noticing him more.

He’s always around. Always close.

You mention it casually one day. “You’re like my guardian angel or something.”

Matt laughs. But it’s hollow.

Because the truth is, he’s listening to you sleep at night.

Your apartment's four blocks from his, but sound travels if you know how to catch it.

Your heartbeat is different when you dream. Softer.

He memorized it after the first week.

Foggy starts noticing changes.

Matt’s always distracted. Jittery.

When he smiles, it’s not at anything in the room. It’s at the thought of you.

He starts cancelling cases just to be available when you call.

“You okay, Matt?” Foggy asks once.

Matt lies. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He is tired.

Of pretending he don't want you.

Of pretending he’s just your friend.

Then your ex comes back into town.

A guy from college. You mention him like it’s nothing.

Matt’s hands curl into fists under the table.

“He was kind of a jerk,” you say. “But we were young. It wasn’t that serious.”

Matt doesn’t hear any of that.

He just hears:

Someone else touched you.

Someone else had you.

That night, Daredevil finds him.

Talks to him. Follows him.

And then he hurts him. Not enough to kill.

But enough to make sure he never looks your way again.

You never find out.

You just tell Matt one day, “It’s weird, my ex texted me once, then never again.”

Matt hums. “Probably for the best.”

You nod.

He smiles.

He’s already taken care of it.

But the guilt is starting to eat him.

He kneels in church longer now.

Rosary clutched so hard his knuckles go white.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

His voice shakes.

“There’s a woman. I care about her. Too much.”

The priest says nothing. Just listens.

“I think I’d kill for her,” Matt whispers. “I think I already have.”

And then you cry.

Not over danger, or stalkers, or work.

You cry because you’re exhausted.

You miss your family. You feel alone in the city.

You call Matt.

It’s late. You didn’t think he’d pick up.

But he’s there in minutes.

Not dressed as Daredevil. Just Matt. Just a man with too many sins and not enough grace.

He doesn’t touch you, not yet.

Just sits close. Listens. Murmurs.

“You’re not alone.”

“I’m here.”

“I’ll always be here.”

You lean your head on his shoulder.

He stops breathing.

That night, he doesn’t sleep.

Just sits in the dark, hand pressed to the place where your head rested.

Like he’s afraid it’ll fade if he moves.

“I love you.”

He says it to the room. To God. To no one.

Because he can’t say it to you.

Not yet.

Not until you love him too.

Not until you realize he’s the only one who never left.

Matt is a good man.

At least, he used to be.

He fights for justice by day, by night—bleeds for it. Believes in it. He’s stood up to Wilson Fisk, the Hand, demons in Hell’s Kitchen and in his own mind. But nothing—nothing—has ever made him question his soul the way you do.

He knows it.

Because it’s no longer just obsession.

It’s something crueler.

Hungrier.

Holier.

Every time you call his name, every time you smile—he feels it.

That creeping black thing in his chest. The one that says: She’s yours. She doesn’t know it yet, but she is.

He punishes himself afterward.

Pushes his workouts too hard. Doesn’t eat. Wraps his hands until the knuckles bleed.

He even breaks down in confession again.

“Father… I need to stop.”

“Stop what, son?”

“Her. Me. I’m watching her. Thinking about her all the time. I haven’t done anything, I swear I haven’t, but I want to. I want to be near her so badly it feels like I’m rotting from the inside out.”

Silence.

He grips the wooden lattice like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

“I think I’m going to hurt someone again. Just to keep her safe. I think I already have.”

He tries to avoid you after that.

Thinks distance will save you.

He stops answering texts. Ignores calls. Cancels plans.

But every time your name pops up on his phone, his stomach clenches. His heart races.

And then the panic sets in.

What if she thinks I don’t care?

What if she lets someone else in while I’m gone?

What if she stops loving me before she even starts?

The next morning, he’s at your door. Disheveled. Red-eyed. Apologizing.

“Sorry,” he rasps. “Work’s been… hell.”

You smile. You forgive him, easily. Too easily.

That’s the worst part.

You always let him back in.

And he hates himself for it.

He lies awake at night with the image of your smile in his mind and the weight of your future on his shoulders.

He’s building his own private altar of sin—made of memories.

The way your voice lingers in his ears long after you hang up.

The shape of your silhouette in your apartment window.

The soft gasp you make when you laugh too hard.

He wants all of it.

He wants to keep you in a world only he can touch.

But that’s not love.

Not the kind God would approve of.

So he drags himself back to the church. Again. Again.

He sits under the crucifix and whispers to Christ like a madman.

“I know it’s wrong.”

“I know I don’t deserve her.”

“But I can’t stop.”

And in that silence, he almost believes the cross is watching him back. Judging him.

You start noticing something's off.

He's quieter. Distant, but clingier. He doesn’t touch you—he never does—but he hovers. Shadows you. Shows up everywhere. It's like you can feel his presence before you even hear him.

One night, you finally ask.

“Matt… are you okay?”

He almost breaks. Right there. Almost confesses everything.

That he’s the reason your ex vanished.

That he listens to you sleep.

That he has a drawer filled with tiny mementos of you—notes, receipts, photos. One of your gloves you left behind in his office once. He’s never returned it.

But instead, he lies.

“Yeah,” he says with a broken smile. “Just tired. Work stuff.”

He always lies.

And when he gets home, he lets himself fall apart.

Tears. Real ones. The quiet, angry kind.

The kind that come when guilt meets longing and turns into despair.

He drops to his knees in front of the cross above his bed and sobs.

Not because he touched you.

Not because he hurt you.

But because he wants to.

He wants to hold you, trap you, chain you to his side, body and soul.

And it terrifies him.

Because if you ever did love him back…

If you ever kissed him, reached for him, whispered his name in desire—

He’d never let you go.

Not even if it meant damnation.

It happens after a date.

Not his date—yours.

He hears your laughter from across the street. The rustle of your coat as you walk beside some man. A heartbeat that isn’t his. A kiss that doesn’t belong to him.

You’ve moved on.

Or maybe you never even saw him that way.

He’s trembling by the time you go inside. Hands clenched. Teeth grinding. The red of his suit still on under his coat, like some twisted second skin. His fists still smell like blood.

He’s shaking—shaking—with the need to go to you.

Not to talk. Not to explain.

Just to see you.

Just to make sure you’re still his.

Even if you never were.

You’re in your apartment when he shows up.

It’s late. Past midnight. You're brushing your teeth in a hoodie and nothing else, padding barefoot through your quiet space, when you hear the knock.

Three soft raps.

Then silence.

You open the door—and he’s there.

Rain clinging to his hair, breath shallow, eyes red like he hasn’t slept in days.

“Matt?”

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t wait.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him, the click echoing like a gunshot.

You freeze. You’ve never seen him like this.

Unshaven. Undone. Unholy.

“Did you have a good night?” he asks quietly, voice low and flat.

“…What?”

“I heard you laughing,” he says. “With him.”

You back up slightly. “Matt—were you following me?”

His lips twitch. A bitter smile.

“I’ve always been following you.”

You try to speak, but he’s already closing the distance, one hand reaching up—hovering beside your cheek like he’s trying not to touch you. Trying to be good.

He fails.

His fingers trace your jaw like prayer beads, slow and trembling.

“I tried to stay away,” he whispers. “I tried so hard, sweetheart.”

“Matt—”

“But I hear you. All the time. Your voice, your breath, your heartbeat. I dream about it. Do you know how hard that is for me? Do you know what it's like, knowing every sound your body makes—how it changes when you’re turned on, when you’re scared, when you’re happy—and not being allowed to touch it?”

Your mouth goes dry.

“Matt… I think you need to go.”

His hand drops. But he doesn’t move.

Instead, his voice lowers. Broken. Raw.

“I can smell him on you.”

You gasp.

“I should’ve never let it get this far,” he breathes. “But I’m tired of pretending I’m not in love with you. That I haven’t wanted you every single second I’ve known you. I need you, and I’m done asking.”

Your back hits the wall before you realize you’re moving. His body cages you in, but he doesn’t touch you. Not yet.

“You can scream,” he says, voice deadly calm. “You can slap me. I’ll leave. I’ll never come back. But if you let me touch you now, just once—I won’t stop.”

His face hovers inches from yours. So close you can feel the warmth of his breath, the tension in his body like a wire pulled tight.

“…Tell me no.”

Silence.

Your heart races.

He can hear it.

“Tell me you don’t want this.”

You don’t.

And that’s when his lips crash against yours.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[liminalmemories21]

911 - post ep 8x17 ficlet

(caveat that this is mostly based on vibes and episode clips)

He's not sure why he's here.  Except that he doesn't want to go home.  Tells himself it's because he wants to be alone, except if that was true he wouldn't be sitting in his jeep outside of Tommy's house.  He'd have gone .... almost literally anywhere else.  Tells himself it's because his house is too crowded with Eddie and Chris and Pepa.  That's closer to being true.  Except it's not Chris or Pepa he's trying to avoid.  Pushes it away.  He can't deal with it now.

He's not sure why he's here.  Outside of Tommy's house.  A place he's been, but not often enough to feel comfortable there.  Maybe that should have been a clue.  That Tommy only ever wanted to see him on Buck's turf, never wanted to invite him in.  Never wanted to let Buck poke through his bookshelves, and see what's lurking at the back of his fridge, how messy his hall closet is.  Which isn't fair, he'd never asked.  Had been happy to just float, take everything one day at a time until he decided to skip about a thousand steps and torpedo the best relationship he's ever had.

He's not sure why he's here, except at the funeral -- at Bobby's funeral -- Tommy had come up to him, made an aborted move like he was going to cup Buck's elbow, hold him steady, and he'd said, "If there's ever anything you need."  Half smile.  "Well, maybe not a helicopter, I don't think they'll let me steal one a third time."

So he's here.  Because he doesn't know where else to go.  Doesn't want to intrude on anyone else's grief -- doesn't want to be a bother -- doesn't want to make it all about him.  But Tommy had asked.

And he's officially been sitting here too long.  One of Tommy's neighbors is going to call the police about the suspicious man casing the neighborhood.  Hand on the key, about to the turn the ignition, maybe go back to Bobby's church.  Maybe just go to a cafe for a while.  Or the beach.  He used to like the beach.  He should go to a club.  That's the best place to not be alone for a night.  Except the being alone the next morning is always so much worse.

Jumps out of his skin when there's a tap on the window.

Reluctantly rolls down the window.  Has to swallow to get out, "Hey."

"Hey," Tommy says.

He should have brought something with him.  A loaf of banana bread or something.  Tommy lost someone too.

Forces himself to come up with a reason why he's here that isn't pathetic.  "I just, umm, wanted to check on you.  Make sure you're doing okay.  I know Bobby meant a lot to you too."

Tommy tilts his head, studying Buck, and it's uncomfortable and he shifts uneasily in his seat.  "I'm doing okay," Tommy finally says.  "Not great, but you know."  Shrugs.

"Yeah," he agrees.

Tommy doesn't step away, just keeps studying him with that same evaluating look.  "How are you doing?"

"Oh, you know, busy," he says.  "Trying to make sure everyone has what they need."

"Hmm," Tommy says.  "Do you want to come in?"

He does.  Desperately.  Says, "No.  I should go, Eddie and Chris and Pepa are all at my house.  Or, Eddie's house?  I guess.  I'm not exactly sure right now.  Lines are kind of blurred since they're all staying.  You know."

"Or you could come in and I could make you tea, since you came all the way out here."

Tommy's house is not that far out, but he's getting out of the jeep and following Tommy up the walk before he really thinks too hard about it.  Comes to a stop in Tommy's kitchen, fidgeting, thinking of the two loaves of tea bread in his freezer.  He really should have brought Tommy something. 

"Do you like banana bread?" he blurts out.

Tommy's hands don't even pause in making tea.  "It's okay.  I prefer lemon poppy seed.  Why?"

Lemon poppy seed.  He can do that.  Anstell on B shift likes it too, so he'd gone through seven recipes trying to make a perfect loaf during his baking binge.

"Tea," he says, like an explanation.

"Evan," Tommy says softly, and it almost makes him break.  Nobody says his name like that.  Takes the tea Tommy offers him.  Tommy sits opposite him.  "Is Eddie staying long?"

He shrugs.  Has no idea.  "He kind of makes his own hours in El Paso."  Chris will need to go back to school though.  Eddie will take him back to Texas - home to Texas.  He tries not to feel relieved at the thought.  It's just because there are so many people in his house, and he's not used to it.

"I'm glad he made it up for the funeral," Tommy says.  And oh, this is Tommy making small talk.  Looking at Buck like he's a puzzle he's trying to solve, or a bomb he's trying to defuse.  He doesn't think he's that complicated.  He might be primed to explode though.  Mostly he just wants to sleep.  Or stop moving.  Or fold into himself and cry.  Except that everything will still be the same in the morning, so what's the point.

Realizes Tommy's waiting for an answer.  "Yeah," he says.  And he had been glad.  Would have felt unbalanced if Eddie hadn't been there.

He kind of wants Eddie to leave again.  Go back to his life.  Leave him to start to pick up the pieces of what's left of his.

He's not holding up his end of the conversation.  Tries harder.  "How have you been?"

Tommy shrugs.  "Trying to keep busy."  And then, "You asked me that already."

He closes his eyes.  "Sorry.  I'm kind of all over the place right now."

"When was the last time you slept?"

He has to think about that.  He'd had a shift.  Before that?  He hadn't slept well last night.  Hasn't slept well since -- shies away from saying it.  Thinking it.

Faint amused huff.  "If you have to think that hard, it's been too long."

He blinks.  Right.  He should leave.  Tries to make himself get up.  "I'll get out of your hair."

Tommy looks at him.  "Or you could take a nap here."

Tommy's house that smells like him.  Where he can be surrounded by the comfort of Tommy.  "Nap with me?" he asks without thinking.  And wants to die.  "Shit, sorry.  I'm tired.  I should go."

"I can do that," Tommy says.

"Why are you being nice to me?" he asks.  Sees Tommy recoil a little.  "I said terrible things to you  and then I called you up to come rescue me, and you did it without even asking any questions, and I realize I never apologized.  And now I just showed up again, making myself your problem.  And I'm sorry.  I wasn't trying to hurt you, but I know I did, and just because I didn't mean to doesn't make it better.  And why are you being nice to me?"

Tommy looks at him for a long moment, long enough that Buck doesn't think he's going to answer. and then he traces a thumb down Buck's cheek and he wants to lean into it.  "Because I'm in love with you.  And you're hurting.  And this is something I can do."

And, oh.  He tries to remember if anyone's ever said anything like that to him before.

"Me too," he says, just before Tommy's face starts to shutter, and watches disbelief and hope and wariness chase each other across his face.  Reaches for Tommy's hand.  "I'm in love with you too."  Yawns obnoxiously wide, no hiding it.

"Okay, I definitely think we should talk about that more, but maybe after that nap."

He wants so badly.  "You'll stay?"

Tommy's eyes close for a beat, and then reopen, looking at him.  "I'll stay. I promise."

[for-a-longlongtime]

You Can't Chase Away The Queers & Gays & They's

aka: have your little delulu fantasies but don't you dare be a homophobic/queerphobic cunt about it.

I'm so fucking serious right now.

A certain amount of people are being absolutely psychotically ridiculous right now over that Pedro poem published in the project by Mustafa (the poem isn't new, he had this on his blog in the early 2010s, btw). Within hours, people are yelling in public comments tHiS pROveS hE iS iNTo pUsSY + hEArTbRoKEn ovEr a wOmAN, PLUS sending anons to me and other queers saying 'this poem proves he's not gay!', 'stop writing f***** shit about him now!', further speculating, wanting receipts whether he ever talked about specific genders, etc.

You're losing the plot. STOP IT.

I'm not even gonna go into how appalled Pedro would be to know there's literally a Straight Crusade group that has been scouting socials since forever just to post fake stories. No, my concern is about all the queers, gays, and they's (the LGBTQIAS2+ community) among us fans -- especially the young ones, who are seeing all that anti-queerness and homophobia happening. It's 2025 and in so many countries queer rights are under attack, queer youths are suicidal at much higher rates than straight kids, and it still happens every fucking day that queers coming out means they're losing family, friends, jobs, housing, custody of kids, etcetc.

Let me clarify: I don't give a shit about Pedro's sexuality or who he sleeps with/dates. I’m not the person you’re gonna want to ask about any of that. Do I as a queer feel (and a lot of others with me) like he's been doing plenty of queer signalling through the years? Yeah, but that doesn't mean it's gospel/fact, and I'm sure as hell not trying to prove it or convince other people.

What IS a fuckin' problem though is when people and blogs are whipping up other fans into a literal frenzy, making them think that they need to 'defend' P or prove he's not gay. Sure, disect the poem and whatever else, knock yourself out, but do not send other people - especially not queers - plain ass hate about it, just because you want to impose your POV on them. Because you are harming people by making them feel like it's not okay to be queer/gay, and you're using Pedro as a means to do so. That's fucked up.

I'm not here to police anyone, but I'm telling y'all to have some common sense if this is something that you have either inadvertently or deliberately been doing. This is exactly why there are so few gay and queer male fans active in this fandom, because they see how much negativity there is at and how obsessive the compulsory heterosexuality is in some corners of the fandom. This is exactly why queer and trans folks feel unsafe to reach out and get to know other fans. This is why a lot of writers (queer and straight) often feel reluctant to write mlm/gay fanfic (be it P Boy x male reader/male OC, or P Boy x P Boy, or P Boy x canon character). This is why new queer/gay fans feel hesitant to put out work with queer representation, because they're afraid of negative comments or anons. And that SUCKS, because they want to tell their stories as much as other writers do, but it's damn hard when you look at the queer/homophobia that has been on the rise in this fandom as well as in society.

Is your ability to like his work, to like him as an actor, or even just as a person who does a lot of good stuff for marginalized communities, actually DEPENDENT on his (perceived) sexual orientation? On who he sleeps with or dates/has dated? To the point that you feel like you need to 'defend' him or prove things to other people? Because, first of all, in case nobody told you and it didn't occur to ya: he's not gonna fuck YOU. Second of all: wow. Get it together.

Finally, I can't believe I need to make this point, but: just because you don't like queers, doesn't mean they're gonna go away. Why are you reading my blog or Erin's or anyone else's tumblr that's clearly about queer stuff (we actually do indicate that already in our bio/pinned posts, you know) if you don't like it? WHY are you reading gay fanfic (which is about Pedro characters, not even RPF/Real Person Fiction, and YES - that is a very big difference) if it makes you angry? Most of all, why do you feel like it's okay to act like a fuckin asshole?

Stop reading things you don't like. Block people you don't like. Dislike stuff all you want, but just don't be a homophobic piece of shit about it.

Also, go read Erin's post right here.

[bucksboobs]

If I see anyone say it’s bad writing or OOC to have Eddie act the way he did in that argument I’ll have words btw. The last time he grieved someone he also got in a nearly physical altercation with Buck. This is exactly what he does: pull it all in and then explode at the people he cares about. In both cases, that was Buck. And every time he deflects and makes it about how Buck is being so unreasonable for having his own feelings. It’s a pattern at this point if you include his reaction to Buck’s reaction to him moving. The only thing is that I WISH the show would finally address it, especially with Eddie one foot out the door as of this episode.

[theseventhdimension]

Hi!

I have a request for early seasons Spencer in a relatively new relationship Sleeping over at readers place the first time. Spencer being nervous about cuddling and affection in general.

Just straight up the fluffiest fluff imaginable.

Thank you! I’ll be waiting

The First Time— Not Like That.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gn! Reader

Word count: 1.4k+

DNI: All are welcome!

Author's note: This is such a cute idea, i just knew i had to get to it straight away! Honestly I'm writing this from experience, based on how I acted when i went to my fiance's house for the first time lol. Hope you enjoy!! :))

Idiot.

That's the one way Spencer would describe himself as of this current moment.

Sure, he has the vocabulary of the entire oxford dictionary stuck in his head, but right now? He's an idiot. An awkward idiot. An awkward idiot who's standing in your bedroom doorway as you make yourself comfortable, urging him to join.

And he’d nodded, murmured a quiet “okay,” and then proceeded to do absolutely nothing that resembled any form of movement towards you.

He’s been stiff all evening.

Like, noticeably stiff.

His satchel is still sitting by your front door, half-unzipped, like even his belongings aren’t sure if they’re allowed to stay. He’d perched on the edge of your couch like it was some sort of Victorian chaise reserved for royalty. You’d offered him tea—made it exactly how he liked, with three sugar packets already stirred in and the fourth one left on the saucer in case he wanted to make it obnoxiously sweet, the way you’d teased him about once before. And he’d smiled, almost shy, like the gesture meant more to him than he could put into words.

But the cup’s still full. Barely touched. Lukewarm now. He had just been holding it, fingers wrapped too tight around the ceramic, eyes flicking around your apartment like he was trying to memorize every detail while simultaneously calculating the fastest exit route in case he accidentally makes a fool of himself.

He didn't know where to put his shoes. You had to gently nudge him into taking them off when he stepped onto the carpet like he was entering hallowed ground. He apologised when he used your hand towel. He asked if he should sit somewhere else when you curled up next to him during the movie.

You’re not offended. Not even a little. You know this is new for him—being in someone else’s space like this. Being wanted, and welcomed, and safe. You know he’s used to chaos, to hotel rooms and BAU briefings, to walls that aren’t really his and spaces that don’t feel like home.

So this? This quiet apartment. This night off. This soft bed with the creaky springs and the extra blanket you laid out just in case.

This is probably the most foreign territory he’s had to navigate in a while.

You’d kissed his cheek earlier—casual, sweet—and you felt the way he shivered. Not from discomfort. From something deeper. Reverent. Like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

Now, he’s standing in your bedroom doorway like crossing the threshold might set off some emotional tripwire, and you're here, inviting him to bed— WOAH. Not like that. At least.. he thinks so? No matter how fast he thinks, that's a little too fast for him right now.

But he wants to cuddle. Of course he does. He’s been thinking about it all evening, the way your arms would feel around him, the weight of your hand between his shoulder blades, your heartbeat steady under his ear. And now you’re right here, just a breath away, and he’s… frozen.

He can't. He just can't. What if he starts sweating really badly? Like, from his hands. Or worse, his pits. And then you’ll wrinkle your nose and shift away, and then you’ll think he’s gross and never invite him over again. And what if—God—what if he drools in his sleep?

Woah. He paused. That was a spiral. He needs to take a deep breath, like you taught him. You'd never do something like that.

..Right?

He inhales.

Then exhales.

Then does it again, slower this time—like you’d coached him through after a particularly stressful case, sitting knee-to-knee in your living room with his hands in yours, teaching him how to ground himself. You’d said it so gently. "In through the nose, Spence. Hold it. Out through the mouth. Good."

He should do that now. He really should. Because you're not even looking at him like he's weird. You're just… waiting. Lying there on your side, propped up on one elbow, watching him with the softest little smile. You even patted the space next to you, like some sort of romantic invitation he’s terrified to accept.

Spencer wrings his hands, then stops when he realizes that might just activate the dreaded palm sweat. He drops them to his sides instead and shuffles a little closer, still hovering awkwardly by the bed like a stray cat that doesn’t quite trust the food bowl isn’t a trap.

“You okay?” you ask, voice light and full of affection. Not mocking. Never mocking.

“Y-yeah,” he croaks, which is exactly what someone not okay would say. “Just—uh. Processing.”

Your brows lift, amused but patient. “Processing whether or not you’ll survive cuddling me?”

“Exactly,” he says, pointing at you like you’ve just solved a riddle. “That. Yes.”

You laugh, and god, it’s the prettiest sound. You hold your arms open toward him like a promise. “Come here, you dramatic little beanpole. I won’t bite.”

He flushes immediately. Beanpole? He’s going to think about that for the rest of his life. But he moves, slowly, carefully, like he's approaching some sacred relic. He climbs into bed next to you with all the grace of a baby giraffe learning to walk, knees knocking into yours, elbow accidentally jabbing your pillow, and—

Then your hand finds his.

Soft. Sure.

He shuts his eyes and takes a breath, like you taught him to. In for four. Out for four.

"Spence?" Your voice cuts gently through the quiet. He feels it before he hears it—low and close, humming through the mattress. "You okay?"

He turns his head slightly, cheeks already pink. “Yeah. I just… don’t really know what to do with myself.”

There’s a pause. Then: “Do you wanna lie here?” You tap your chest lightly with a crooked smile. “Just for a bit.”

He blinks. Looks at you. Then nods, tiny and quick, like a secret.

He shifts slowly, like you’re a museum piece he doesn’t want to break. When he finally settles on your chest, it's with an exhale he didn’t realise he was holding. His ear rests just over your heart, and your arm curls instinctively around his back, hand coming to rest between his shoulder blades.

You’re warm. And steady. He can feel the way your chest rises beneath him, the slow rhythm of your breathing, the soft pressure of your palm.

And Spencer?

Spencer dies.

Or at least it feels like it. His heart is racing, and his lungs might have just stopped functioning, and he has no idea what to do with his free hand because oh, God, it’s touching your waist, and you’re warm and your hair smells so good and he’s probably holding his breath again but—

You sigh against him, content and safe, like you want to be here.

And suddenly it’s not so terrifying anymore. His muscles begin to loosen. He dares to stop holding his cheek up, like he's scared that his brain a made of a million sand bags and will crush your heart if he dares to allow himself to relax. You push his head down onto you completely, and hum in approval.

“Is this okay?” you ask.

He nods against you. “It’s… really nice, actually.”

You hum, thumb brushing slow circles into his spine. “Good. 'Cause I was worried you’d combust from overthinking.”

Spencer huffs a laugh into your shirt, eyes fluttering shut. “I almost did.”

There’s a study—somewhere in his head—about how 20 seconds of hugging can significantly reduce stress levels. He remembers reading it on his computer once, the details etched into his eidetic memory. But more than that, he remembers the day vividly because you had brought him a croissant from the bakery across the street!

The study involved nearly 200 participants who were subjected to a stressful task. Those who received a 20-second hug from their partner beforehand exhibited lower cortisol levels, the hormone associated with stress.

Now, lying here with his ear pressed against your chest, he counts the seconds. Not because he wants to leave, but because, for once, the math feels kind. He recalls that oxytocin, the "love hormone," is released during physical touch, promoting feelings of trust and bonding. This hormone can reduce cortisol levels, the body's primary stress hormone.

He thinks about how this simple act of cuddling, something so foreign to him, is now providing a tangible sense of calm. The tension in his muscles eases, and he feels a sense of peace wash over him. It's as if the scientific principles he's studied for years are now manifesting in real-time.

Spencer smiles softly, his eyes closed, and thinks, "So this is what all the research was about."

[phyllocnistis]

kind strangers chapter 2

jay gets his guts rearranged by older dykes yet again !

this piece has begging, double penetration, strapping and more i hope you enjoy 🖤

You found yourself yearning to be back in their arms sooner than you'd expected. It wasn't long before you couldn't take it anymore and barely a week later, you were calling them begging to know when they were free again.

"Soon," Beau said over the phone, teasing you by not giving dates. You tried to go about your life, tried to sit at work and be productive. It was hard, though, since your brain kept coming back to them. Beau's hands on your hips. Lou's lips on your neck. Their straps inside you. You were a mess.

It was Lou who called you back. The day after you had talked to Beau, your phone rang and you eagerly hit accept, desperate to see what they had to say.

"Hey, cutie. There's a concert this evening, wanna come with us?" You felt your heart start to race at your desk and your body filled with excitement at the prospect of seeing them again. You didn't even care who the show was, without any hesitation, you cheerfully replied that you'd love to go. Lou gave you the details and you found yourself squirming in your seat for the rest of your work day. Finally, when it was time to go, you rushed to your truck and flew home. Now, you just needed to shower and find the right clothes.

You let the warm water drip off of you, washing away any lingering doubts you might have felt about meeting up with the two of them again. You weren't sure what it was about them that made them feel so trustworthy, but you assumed it had to do with their butch identity. You felt safe around them. Cared for. Appreciated. Seen. Stepping out of the shower, you hurriedly put deodorant on and fixed your hair, a towel wrapped snugly around your waist. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you were beginning to grow fonder of the person you were shaping out to be.

You couldn't remember who was performing and therefore, couldn't exactly dress accordingly. Regardless, you ended up choosing the same outfit you usually did in the warmer months; shorts, a fitted tank top, and a rolled up flannel shirt. Perfect for weather that grew colder as the night wore on, like tonight. 


You grabbed your essentials (phone, keys, and wallet), and the clothes they had lent you the week before, washed and folded. After one last glance in the mirror, you locked your apartment and walked down to your truck, vibrating with excitement.

You were familiar with the venue and its 'dive bar' feel; this would likely be a local show, nothing crazy. You didn't recognize their truck parked anywhere, but regardless, you took off towards the door after paying for all night parking, just in case. The inside was a little grimy just as you had expected, and dim lights ran down the ceiling above a sticky bar. You approached and ordered yourself a drink, tipping before turning to find a seat.

The stage was small, no bigger than the bathroom at your place, and big, red velvet drapes hung down the back of it, making it feel even smaller. Your assumption had been correct, it was just a local band. They sounded alright though, not as off-key as the bands that usually played here. Instead of focusing on the musicians, however, your eyes were glued to the door and you were ready to pounce as soon as you saw one of the butch babes you were meeting.

Somehow, though, they were always one step ahead of you. Instead of waltzing through the front door under your watchful eye, Beau slid in next to you at the table you were sitting at and wrapped their arm around you snugly. It scared you for a moment until you realized who it was.. You couldn't forget the dark curls and cheeky smile they had. Immediately after recognizing them though, you turned your head to find Lou standing at the table in front of you, their arms crossed, chest puffed out and hair pulled back into a bun. They offered you a wink as they spoke,

"So, need another drink?"

"I-uh. Yeah, I could use one, but drinks are on me tonight." Lou and Beau exchanged mischievous glances with one another before smiling and agreeing, gesturing for you to lead the way to the bar. You dragged Lou by the wrist through the thin crowd and saw that they dragged Beau, a sort of butch-chain happening throughout this bar. Smiling at the bartender you'd tipped earlier, you nodded and sat down your drink, leaning in to tell him you'd have another and to put these two on your tab. He passed out the drinks with an uneasy smile before turning to help another patron.

"Sooo, why this band?" You ask, curious to see if either of them was actually interested in this kind of music.

"No good reason, we just wanted to see you. Plus, the drinks are cheap."

Lou found a bench against a wall and sat down, pulling Beau into them as they did. Beau laid against them with Lou's thick, muscled arm draped over their shoulder, protective and territorial. Standing in front of them felt like looking at yourself in a mirror and you were already thinking about what they would do to you later. Lou pulled you out of your thoughts, speaking loud enough to be heard over the speakers.

"Hellloooo? Anybody in there?"

"Sorry, haha. I was just... Sorry, what did you say?" you stammer, hopeful they wouldn't ask follow-ups.

"I said..... Didn't you say you needed to use the restroom?" Their head tilted to the side a little when they asked, nudging your answer. You hadn't said that though... you didn't need to use the restroom. Just as you opened your mouth to voice this, Beau spoke up,

"Yeah, I think I remember you saying that... Just earlier," they trailed off, winking very obviously at you. Unsure of what you should say, you awkwardly shrug and nod your head just as Lou stands up.

"Oh, good. I need to go too."

The moment the lock clicked into place, Lou was ravenously tearing at your clothes. The hunger in their eyes was deep and primal; they looked feral trying to get to you. You let them, pulling your denim shorts to the ground as your stretchy boxers stayed wrapped around your knees. Lou pushed you forward, holding your head down into the sink as they teased you, rubbing their hands up and down your hairy cunt without ever actually touching you. They squeezed your thighs so tight that your hole opened slightly and you could feel the hot wetness inside of you leaking out. You hadn't even known you were wet. A fistful of your hair being pulled brought you face to face with yourself in the mirror. You studied yourself; the way your mouth shaped into an "o" when Lou hit the right spots, the way your eyes fluttered open briefly because you were so overwhelmed, and the way your teeth chattered when they slapped your clit.

They were rough with you. After pulling on your hair and exposing how wet you already were, a flat palm smacked against your folds and you felt a tingle run through your body.

"Awww, you're that wet for us already, huh?"

"Mmhmm," was all you managed to get out before three of their fingers plunged deeply into you, curling up inside of you immediately to push on the right spots. Their fingers were thick, filling you up and spreading you out so much that you weren't sure how you were going to take their strap later. They fucked you hard, shoving their fingers in and out of you while your legs trembled beneath you. They held your hair back tightly, exposing your neck and forcing you to look into the mirror where you saw both your own exasperated expression and the shit-eating grin plastered to Lou's face.

The soft sound of live music and the dull chatter of the crowd outside was just a background noise to you as you focused on the wet sounds coming from your pussy. Lou was obviously enjoying themself, panting and giggling as you struggled to stand. You knew they were teasing you, just trying to get you worked up so they could lead you on, and truthfully, you didn't care. You let them. When voices began getting closer to the bathroom door, though, Lou made the executive decision that it was probably time to go. Pulling you into a tight hug, your shorts still around your ankles, they whispered into your ear as huge, strong arms wrapped around your chest.

"I'm not done with you, yet."

Lou led you out of the bathroom and you could feel the eyes of strangers peering straight through you as the two of you walked hand in hand. Surely, they had no idea. You were just bros, right? They had no idea the hands pulled you through the venue were just knuckle deep inside of you, right? The thought made you blush. You stared at Lou's arms as they directed you gently through a dark, hazy room, a tight wrist watch emphasizing how big their arms really were.

Beau was waiting at the bar with a fresh round of drinks sitting next to them. This was your first time actually getting a good look at them tonight and they looked like a western dream. Donning the same gold chain and cowboy hat they had last week, tonight they wore a dark, tight tank top and a loose fitting denim vest that was covered in patches. Black boots peeked out of the flared jeans they wore, and they shot you a smile, standing up from their stool. Grabbing one of your hands and pulling you in for a "bro hug," they whispered in your ear, much like Lou had.

"You didn't let them have all the fun, did ya?" Their voice made your skin tingle. Hairs stood up on the back of your neck and a shiver shot through your spine. You couldn't wait to get out of here.

You took the drink Beau offered you and slammed it, only feeling the burn after you'd swallowed. You opened your eyes to Beau and Lou both staring at you like you were a piece of meat. They looked like hungry dogs that were ready to tear you apart, limb from limb. You felt your face flush even harder as you tried to push the thought from your mind.

"So.. If you guys don't actually listen to...," you turn, straining your eyes to see the handmade banner strung above the stage, "South of.. South of Decay, do you wanna get out of here?" They both began to smirk and you couldn't help but admire how perfectly they fit together. The cheeky smile that Beau wore matched up with the delicate, toothy grin Lou gave. They wore similarly matched jewelry, and both had thick, masterful fingers...

"Sounds good to me. We actually have a surprise for you." You raise an eyebrow at this, curious to see what Beau will say next.

"Are you ready?" Nodding, you turn to take care of the bill, only to find from the bartender that Beau had switched your cards out and already closed the tab. You narrowed your eyes in their direction, thinking of all the ways you'd like to repay them. Slamming a $20 down as a tip, you take off after them.

The two of them lead you outside into the warm night and you were vibrating with excitement to see what 'surprise' they had for you. They took off walking ahead of you, Lou's arm wrapped firmly around Beau's neck and Beau's gently around their waist. Lou was taller than Beau, so this worked nicely. You followed, unsure if you were supposed to stay behind or catch up with them. Finally, at the end of the block, they turned around to face you.

"We got us a hotel." Beau smiled wildly, pointing at the tall building right in front of you. You chuckled awkwardly, not willing to admit that you had hoped the surprise would be more... sexual? Still, maybe it would be. Who knew what was inside their hotel room?

You followed them up the elevator to one of the higher floors. It was a classy hotel, one you wouldn't normally stay in yourself, and when you entered their room, you were thrilled to feel the freezing temperatures from the air conditioning. That was always your favorite part of hotels, anyway. Until tonight.

Immediately upon the door closing, Beau was stripping off their clothes. Under their jeans you saw the straps of a harness tightly secured around their hips and legs. Had they been wearing it the whole time? The sight made you dizzy. Lou began to undress as Beau made their way across the room to attach a toy to the harness. It was bigger than the one they'd used last week and your knees felt weak thinking about it. Beau took a seat in one of the small, hard chairs that every hotel was known to have.


"What are you waiting on, then? Don't you wanna go first?" Lou asked you, their voice low, but heavy.

"Ah, uh? First?" You stammer, confused. Last week, they'd just fucked you.. was their someone else here..?

"Uh, yeah? You're not the only one with needs gettin' met."

You were speechless. Everything was happening so fast and you weren't even sure what you were supposed to be doing. Did they want you to fuck them? You wanted to, sure, but you were so wet, felt so pathetic, that you needed to feel them inside of you before you could think straight again, let alone try and give it back. Lou stepped in front of you, pushing you back onto the bed. Their face looked mildly sympathetic as they spoke,

"Why don't you just watch for now?"

They looked so natural together. You watched as Lou turned from you and approached Beau, bending down to kiss them and conveniently giving you a look at Lou's hairy core. Lou turned back to face you before sliding down the shaft of Beau's strap with a moan, letting their head fall back. Their hand gently grabbed the side of Beau's face and you listened as Lou let out small moans right into Beau's ear, causing them to moan from the sound.

The two started out slow.. Lou was sturdy and hung onto the chair with both hands as they rocked their hips in and out of Beau's cock. It was sensual to watch. Hands grabbing skin, heavy breathing picking up with each passing second, small pants and groans from both of them. Beau's hands gripped onto Lou's hips as they guided their partner up and down in their lap. Before you knew it, you had pulled your shirt off and were tugging at your pants. Leaning back onto one elbow, you touched your chest through a tight sports bra, feeling your nipples hardening immediately. This is what Lou had meant by "wanna go first?"

You watched them intently, trying to learn the intricacies of their relationship. They were still taking their time, slowly moving with one another like an ancient but well-maintained machine. It was elegant and perverse and overwhelmingly powerful. You couldn't exactly tell where one of them ended and the other started, only that the two of them were wrapped up in a hedonic cycle of pleasure. Every time Beau bottomed out in Lou, they let out a whimpering sound, one you'd never expect to come from such a big, tough butch, and every time a whimper came from them, Beau only fucked them harder. The two were caught in a spiral of lust that gained momentum as Beau became more desperate, eager to please. You could also see a need boiling up in Lou and you knew soon, you'd probably get your turn. Without even noticing, you had begun to touch yourself through your boxers, lightly grazing your cunt in a way that almost tickled. Lou noticed you and a huge smile spread across their face. They made deeply erotic eye contact with you as they pleasured themself with Beau's toy.

As Beau picked up speed, the smile on Lou's face diminished slightly, replaced by a look of thrill. Lou maintained eye contact with you even as Beau bucked up into them causing their thick, sturdy thighs to tremble. You were in awe. Beau was smaller and less muscular than Lou, but the adrenaline that came from fucking their partner seemed to make them invincible. They looked totally collected, albeit a bit out of breath, as they thrusted into Lou, gaining force and speed with each pulse.

Your cunt throbbed at the thought of what was in store for you. Obviously, these two were a bit more experienced than you.. maybe they'd take it easy? Did you want them to take it easy? You tried to be patient with yourself, but a flood gate had seemingly opened between your legs. You were honored they'd let you witness something so intimate, so personal. It was hot. Lou let out a deep, gravely moan that caused Beau to falter for the first time. They had their hands on Beau's knees and were bouncing their hips up and down in their lap, using Beau's cock as their personal toy.

Beau inhaled sharply and let their head fall back, exhaling a long sigh as they watched Lou pleasure themself. You could only imagine Beau's view. Before Lou was finished, they sat down in Beau's lap one last time and let the full length of the strap sink all the way into them. Beau wrapped their arms around Lou's middle and held them tightly, nuzzling their face into Lou's neck.

After a few moments of sensual silence, Lou carefully stood up. The wet sounds of the strap sliding out of them only made you more excited. Lou took a wobbly step forward and collapsed onto the bed next to you, face down. They exhaled deeply and you could see their hairy legs shake as a shiver ran through them. For a second, you forgot Beau was in the corner, waiting to please you like an eager dog ready to please their owner.

They cleared their throat and you turned your head. You could feel your eyes dilating as you locked onto the dripping, cum soaked strap. Beau looked like a king, or maybe a lord, presiding over his territory and pleasuring any who came too close. It was regal, almost. A happy trail ran down their stomach and unlike Lou, who was strong and wide, Beau's leaner, more defined muscles glistened with sweat. When you finally forced your eyes to meet theirs, they were smiling and already standing to make their way over to you.

"So, you think you wanna ride?" Beau's words were smooth and carefree.

"I..I, uh," you stammered, staring down at the huge, wet toy right in front of you, "I'm not sure I could um.. handle that yet?"

Beau smiled and the bed vibrated slightly as Lou chuckled.

"We'll warm you up to it, okay? Can I use you now?"

The words made your chest tighten. You wanted them both so deeply you could almost already feel their cocks inside of you. You offered a small nod and with that, Beau was pulling your boxers off and tossing them onto the floor.

They dove in head first, licking up all the juices left over from Lou's stunt in the bathroom. Small bites on your inner thighs made your legs quake. Lou shifted on the bed and parted your lips with their own, forcing their tongue into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around it, sucking it off in a way. They draped their arm over your chest and pushed your face to the side with their thumb. Small bites and kisses on your neck made your body involuntary shake. The wet sensation of a tongues dragging across your body made you want to capture and bottle the moment forever.

You closed your eyes and let yourself revel in the pleasure. The bed shifted as Lou pried themself off of you and began shakily making their way to the bathroom to collect themself. You couldn't focus on that, though, because a pressure was building up just outside your swollen folds. Beau's fingers were right there, but they were teasing you by not actually using them. Instead, they dragged the tip of their fingers back and forth between your engorged clit and your pulsing, aching hole. You whined as they made you squirm by putting their fingers in just a little, no further than their first knuckle though.

"Beau, please don't make me wait.."

"Oh, what's that? You just couldn't stop thinking about us? You just need us so badly?" Their words felt like a slap in the face but only because they were true. You hadn't stopped thinking about them, you did need them that bad. It really was that serious. Feeling your face begin to blush, you didn't answer, only shifted your hips further towards their hand. Beau was good, though, clever. They saw through your tricks and pulled their hand away, not even giving you the slightest satisfaction.

"Okay, fine. I couldn't stop thinking about you. I've spent all week sitting at my desk thinking about how I want you to inside me. Now, please, will you just fuck me?"

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned your head to look at them. You put on the best pouty face you could muster and stuck your bottom lip out. It made you feel pathetic but were too turned on to care. Whether it was your words or your face, it seemed to work, as just a moment later, the full feeling of fingers plunging into you made you gasp in delight.

Beau didn't give you any more time to warm up. Immediately, they began exploring you, curling and hooking their thick fingers inside of you. You'd been dreaming of this moment all day, all week even. You literally could not wait to be used by them. The bathroom door clicked shut and Lou returned, their own harness affixed to their hips. Unable to focus on anything besides the feeling of fingers inside you, you didn't notice right away what was happening until Beau called out gruffly.

"Fuck."

They pitched forward and pulled their fingers from you, bracing themself on the edge of the bed. You sat up just enough to catch a glimpse of them when you noticed Lou was behind Beau, thrusting into them with slow, measured pulses. Lou held their hips and pulled them into their cock as Beau fumbled and reached for their own strap. Positioning themself right in front of you, the silicone tip of their cock entered your cunt. Slowly, the massive, thick cock filled you up and eased the ache your pussy had been feeling since you met. You let out your own moan and fell back onto the bed.

You could feel both sets of legs hitting your own as Beau slid the shaft in and out. With every backwards thrust, you were sure that Lou was driving their own strap deep into Beau's cunt, just like they were doing to you. The tight walls of your pussy fluttered with each sensual pulse and only grew more intense as Beau fucked you (and by extension, themself) harder and faster. Beau's face was locked in an expression of pure love and lust as quiet, feeble whimpers escaped their mouth. Lou could be heard growling behind them and even though you couldn't see them, you knew they were loving every second of it.

Beau's legs began to give up and they collapsed onto you, their cock sliding out of your swollen, used cunt. You saw Lou's hands wrap around their shoulders and they pounded furiously into Beau, who let out a little "uumph" sound every time Lou bottomed out in them, which was a lot. Beau grabbed onto your arms and chest for support. Doing what felt natural, you wrapped your arms around them and held them as Lou fucked them raw like a toy.

When they were done, Lou helped pick them up and lay them on the bed, cock up. Turning to you, they smiled and spoke.

"Can we use all of you?" You were confused and they must have noticed, because they clarified.

"Both holes?"

Your heart fluttered. You'd never tried double penetration, but the thought of being that full of them made your cunt twitch. Nodding helplessly, you climbed over onto Beau and straddled them as Lou helped put more lube on the tip for you. You settled onto their lap and felt how deep they could get when your hips moved just right..

Leaning forward to kiss Beau, you let yourself relax around them, sure they wouldn't do anything you wouldn't want. Lou was gentle as they pressed the tip of their strap against your asshole. You were a little nervous, but they sensed this and licked their thumb to play with you a little first, warming you up to the idea. When you felt ready, you stopped kissing Beau, placed a hand on their chest, and turned back to look at Lou with big, needy eyes. They knew what you wanted.

Still working slowly, you felt them press their cock into you, this time getting more than just the tip in. Beau's face lit up as they watched you take it and they grabbed onto your hips to help you roll into them. You had never felt this full... There was so much butch cock in you it didn't feel real, didn't seem possible. But it was.. Lou carefully slid the whole shaft into you and you could feel the two cocks basically touching inside of you.

They gave you a few minutes to get used to it, slowly fucking you and caressing you, working together to make sure you were always filled to the brim. And then, almost out of nowhere, they got needy. Both of them had obviously been thinking about this just as much as you had because it seemed like they were fighting over you, desperate to fill you up more than the other. They jerked and bucked into you, pounding your holes roughly until you couldn't even hold yourself up. That didn't matter though, because Lou held you under the arms and Beau steadied your stomach and hips, just enough so they could keep fucking you senseless. You'd never experienced such tough, yet totally gentle treatment before.

You couldn't take it anymore. By the time they were done, all three of you were a trembling mess. You pitched forward and let yourself collapse onto Beau to be comforted and felt the kind, steady hands of Lou rubbing your back as you lay there, shaking and quivering. You could feel cum dripping out of your cunt and onto Beau's legs. The two cleaned you up before helping you to bed, making a space for you right in between them. Their arms were safe and protective as they held you through the night.

The next morning, the three of you began to stir around the same time, each of you barely awake as a laughing fit took over. You felt light and gleeful, excited to see if you'd get to spend the day with them.

"Is anyone hungry?" Beau grumbled, voice tired snd gravely. They wiped sleep from their eyes and Lou stretched out unbelievably long. You were hungry, actually, and before you knew it, the three of you had pried yourself from the bed and pulled clothes on. A nice breakfast spot downtown cured your hunger and to your delight, they invited you over to spend the day with them. With no real agenda, they showed you their favorite board games and the three of you enjoyed a pleasant mid-day nap together before you eventually made your departure, already eager to meet with them again.

kind strangers

butch4butch threesome with a nervous baby butch getting his fucking guts rearranged by some older dykes

this was really fun!! longer than my normal ones but slutty and hot

your skin sticks to the inside of your leather jacket, warm from the night outside. still, you had brought it with you, convinced you looked cooler when you wore it. and maybe you did! was that really something for you to decide?

striding forward, you navigate through crowded pathways bumping into people as you go. it's not too crowded tonight, but there are definitely some unfamiliar faces. there's a beautiful lady you'd never seen off to the side wearing a denim vest and plaid dress that hugged her in all the right places- she was a total babe. it looked like she was waiting for friends, maybe a date? you set off towards her nervously, tripping a little on your shoes as you do.

"h-hi," you stammer out, cheeks flushing red. she looks puzzled but amused by you.

"hi?" she responds quizzically.

"i-i was just wondering if you-" a tall, lean figure slides in next to the woman, their arm wrapping around her waist, promptly ending the conversation.

feeling humiliated, you turn and rush to the bar, desperately in need of a drink. your arm brushes against someone else's as you sit down and you're even more aware of how goddamn hot this jacket really was. you peel it off of yourself, flustered at how the night had started. putting your head in your hands, you let out a sigh, biceps involuntarily flexing as you grow frustrated.

"rough night, huh? here," the voice startles you, but it was thick and rich, like syrup. looking up, you find a shot you didn't order on the bar in front of you. your chest tightened when you saw the body the voice belonged to.

"i'm beau," they continued. beau was leaning against the bar, one elbow propped up to steady them. they wore nice jeans that hugged their tummy beneath the tucked in flowy shirt that hung off their shoulders. a large brimmed cowboy hat sat perfectly over what you thought was a curly mullet, though it was too dark to tell. the gold of their necklace glinted at you off their chest, causing your eyes to flutter and your mind to slam back to reality. you'd never really been on for butches but something about them was enticing.

"h-hi. hi beau. i'm jay. is this for me?" you ask, gesturing to the shot.

they laugh, turning around to put both arms on the bar.

"yeahhhhh, seems like you got it pretty rough over there. we watched the whole thing and i remember times bein like that, figured we could lend a hand. this is lou,"

before your mouth could catch up to ask questions, a second person emerged from beside beau, taller and more sturdy looking. they were stunning, too. long, dark hair fell from beneath a bandana and onto a white, fitting tank top. their arms were wide, too big to see individual muscles but built nonetheless. a similar necklace to beau's is around around their neck, swaying gently as they waved.

"to jay!" lou's voice was loud and boisterous, filling the room with joy and your stomach with embarrassment. you feel your cheeks running hot again, but you're not sure they ever returned to their normal color in the first place. you didn't have time to think though, lou and beau were holding their shots up high, waiting for you to do the same. reluctantly, you clinked your glass on theirs and downed the shot.

it burned. it felt nice, too. it was relieving to know you could feel something other than humiliation.

slamming the glass down, you looked up to find beau and lou staring back at you eagerly with wide eyes that had a "tell us everything" look in them. maybe it was their disarming stare, maybe it was the shot. either way, you felt inclined to speak to them, to let it out and put all your cards on the table.

"i just! i don't know what i'm doing wrong," you exclaim, the edges of your body and mind blurring from the alcohol.

"i feel like every time i see a pretty girl, i clam up. i can't ever get further than hi or they're already taken by someone hotter than me or they don't like butches or god forbid, they're straight!"

"well, do you like butches?" lou asked, leaning back onto the bar how beau had. a toothpick hung out of their mouth and you could tell both of them were amused by your woes.

the question caught you off guard. you'd never really... thought about it? yes.. you liked butches; both your friends and yourself fell into that category, but you hadn't ever been with one. you'd never looked at one.. like *that.* until tonight, really. you mulled over the words for a second, trying to parse if you actually were into butches, but you found it hard to focus with both of them looking back at you.

"do.. do i like butches?"

they both chuckled.

"yes," beau answered, "do you like butches?"

you figured since you'd already been this honest with them, might as well go all the way.

"maybe? ive never been with one or even flirted with one,"

beau and lou leaned in closer to you, frowning and pushing their bottom lips out comically.

"we aren't good enough to flirt with?" both immediately broke their gaze and burst into laughter, obviously getting off on making you feel even more nervous.

the words caught up to you and before you had a chance to stop them, they spilled out of your mouth.

"no, no! you're both very handsome, i've just. i've never met another butch who likes butches, it's new."

you saw lou waving the bartender down behind beau to order another round but your vision was filled with beau's charming smile as they leaned in closer to you, inches from your face.

"it's as old as time, hun."

a new feeling overcame you now, causing your stomach to churn with something you'd never felt. it was enchanting to speak with them. they both felt so calming, so real and kind. beau waited several moments before pulling away from your face, only interrupted by lou offering up the shots they'd just ordered.

"ooh, what'd i miss, babe?" lou leans in to kiss beau's jawbone, causing them to shut their eyes and grin drunkenly. a kiss? were you reading the situation correctly? you thought they'd been flirting with you at least a little bit. had you fucked this up too?

"ohhh, nothing. just seeing if jay here wanted to come home with us tonight, that's all."

the words were a shock to your system, you hadn't expected it. "with us." were they both flirting with you? did you care? you came out tonight hoping to get laid, hoping to please some pretty girl. how was this any different?

lou and beau stared at you expectantly, waiting for an answer with eager eyes.

stammering, you reply,

"i-i. yeah. yes, i want- let's do that."

the two of them smiled at you and rolled their eyes slightly. beau raised their shot glass and offered a toast. you slammed this shot easier than the first.

beau closed the tab as lou dragged you towards the door. as you strode to the door, lou's firm grip around your wrist, you notice the girl from before and shoot her a smirk. she doesn't look amused anymore.

lou pulls you towards their truck, pushing you against the bed of it before leaning into you. they smelled delicious; slightly sweet.

"man, you really are cute, can i kiss you?"

your mind is racing and you nod without even realizing. seconds later, warm lips part your own and a large hand cups the side of your face. lou kisses you hungrily, almost like they want to eat you up. you'd always led encounters before, kissing other girls like this but you let them take the lead, excited for the break. footsteps startle you back to reality and you look up to find beau striding across the gravel.

"i-i. holy shit, i'm so sorry. i didn't-"

"when's my turn?"

you find yourself frozen for a moment before beau walks up to you, pulling you by your belt loops into them. they lean down to you and you find that the kiss they offer is incredibly similar and totally different from the one lou had just given you. complementary of one another.

the sound of the truck starting causes beau to pull away again, looking to you and nodding back to the truck.

it's a one cab truck and lou is already in the driver seat, so you pile in together, your body squeezed between lou's and beau's.

the drive was uneventful, though beau and lou's hands wandered up your jeans gently, similar to how you would've slid your hand up a skirt. this flustered you. their movements were totally in sync and made your skin feel electrified, but not hot like that damn jacket had.

lou pulled up to a nice apartment and the two of them led you inside, giggling and looking at each other as they walked ahead of you. they pulled you into the home, taking your jacket and hanging it for you before leading you to a couch.

"are you thirsty? can we get you anything?"

you figured you could use some water and said as much, hoping your future self would thank you. your mind felt fuzzy from the shots you had taken and the kisses you had received and your heart raced with anticipation for what was to come.

"this is a really nice place.. do you both live here?" you ask naively.

lou giggled and smiled back at you, untying their boots as they did. you tried not to look down their shirt when they bent over but it was futile.

"yeah, we've been together for the last 10 years and have lived here for... oh i don't know 5-6 years now? babe?"

"probably 6," beau responded, setting a glass of water down in front of you before turning back towards the kitchen. fix

"wow, that's.. that's really beautiful, i'm happy for you.. i didn't realize how beautiful butch couples could be, i guess. no offense, oh my god that sounded awful, i'm- that's not what i-"

"calm down," lou sat down next to you, running their hand from your knee upwards,

"you're doing fine."

you felt yourself begin to loosen up, comforted by the reassuring presence of them both. beau returned from the kitchen and sat down on the other side of you, their warm body pressed against yours. they handed you a beautifully wrapped joint and asked you with their velvety voice if you smoked.

you hadn't smoked all week, this was so kind of them. lou offered a lighter from a nearby table and you lit it up, smoke filling the air around you and inside you quickly. you coughed more than you would have liked and were thankful for the water beau had just gotten you.

you figured you should take it easy, only taking a few hits from it while lou and beau finished it up and you all had small talk.

as the high crept in, you felt yourself more relaxed than you had been all night. you DID love butches and you felt safe here. you felt excited and invigorated about trying something new.. you wondered how it would feel to just.. let go. let them take complete control. you couldn't stop thinking about how both of their lips had felt on yours..

"can we take care of you?" lou's words interrupted your thoughts. looking up, you found the two of them looking back at you from either side, hands gently on your lap. with a nod you let out, "please," with far more desperation than you had meant to.

like a well trained animal, the two of them descended onto you in coordinated bliss. you felt your eyes roll back as beau's hands caressed your jawline and their lips traced your neck. lou was busy exploring you with their hands; squeezing your bicep, running their hands through your hair, unbuckling your belt. you'd always loved the sight of someone at your knees like that but you didn't know what it was like to actually receive from someone.

all three of you let out little moans and took turns kissing. at one point, both of them were pressed in close to you with your arms pinned beneath you. together, they kissed and licked your neck and jawbone at the same time and you could feel yourself melting into a puddle for them.

eventually, lou left the room to get something. beau pulled at your pants now, urging them off your legs and sliding them onto the floor. god, they were so hot looking up at you like that. you wanted one of them to touch you, to fuck you. you could feel how wet you were, something you rarely let yourself enjoy during other hookups. beau looked up at you with needy eyes, practically drooling over you. it was this moment you decided to fully give in. the bud and drinks from earlier had played their part and now it was time for you to experience ecstasy. as their fingers pulled at your boxers, it revealed your dripping bush and shaking legs. you smiled as you felt beau's mouth kissing and biting the inside of your thighs. their fingers brushed gently across your skin, barely touching where you so deeply needed it. just then, lou emerged.

your breath caught at the sight of them; leather buckled strap hanging from their hips, same white tank top from before, a ravenous look in their eye. you felt your cunt tense up and beau's lips smiling against your skin. in one heavenly motion, beau's lips parted your own, their tongue exploring parts of you that had never been explored before. tiny bits pulling at your skin made your head fall back and every time their tongue circled around your clit, you let out a pleading moan.

lou sat down next to you, pulling your open mouth into a sweet, warm kiss. you found it hard to focus as beau's tongue fucked you, licking around your folds and in and out of you while their soft moans vibrated your clit. still, you returned the favor and kissed lou back the best you could, pausing every few moments to moan into their mouth when you got overstimulated.

lou's kisses were getting nastier though. their mouth wrapped around your tongue and sucked it, they licked from your neckline all the way up to your ear. they were pulling your head back by your hair when you felt a soft pressure from below. instantly, you felt fireworks erupt inside of you as beau's fingers pushed inside of you.

holy fuck, that felt good. is this what the girls you fucked had felt every time? you pulled away from lou, too distracted now to kiss too. they didn't seem to mind though.. after a few minutes of slowly working their fingers around you and inside of you, you felt them slowly pulling out, wet stickiness clinging to them. you open your eyes and frown at the sight, desperately needing to be filled again.

"wait, please," you moan breathlessly.

a new sensation. hands around your waist.

lou was pulling you onto their lap, onto their strap. you'd never taken one before but now you felt like you might die if you didn't.

lou spread your legs apart from behind you, your back pressed completely against theirs. with perfect gentleness, 2 fingers pressed around your clit and circled it, spit and juices rolling over in their hands.

suddenly, beau was beneath you both, their mouth wrapped around the silicone expertly. you could feel them when they got close to you, their breath warming your cunt. every few seconds, their nose or cheek would graze your leg or your bush and you'd find your legs quaking and quivering.

lou's hands explored your body, pulling your shirt off. with a shock, you felt something hot splatter across your cunt and realized beau had spit in it. like clockwork, lou was using their big arms to lift you up, helping to position you exactly where you needed to be. you pulled your legs underneath you, excited to give this a shot.

beau was here to help. when you were just above the lou's strap, needing to be filled, beau's hand reached out to help. similarly to how you'd tease girls in the past, beau helped lou tease you. their fingers pressed the silicone tip into your folds, but not inside of you. you felt the cold material warm up as lou teased your clit and your hole with the strap. it was really, really hard to focus now, but you could see beau grinning while they watched you squirm.

finally, you couldn't take it anymore. you couldn't handle the teasing. moving your hips yourself, you placed yourself firmly on the strap and sunk down onto it, feeling every inch of it stretch you as you did. it felt so fucking good. what had you been missing this whole time? you could see beau's eyes light up as you slid onto it and lou's hands tightened around your hips as you did.

the two of them were enjoying this just as much as you were, evident by the growls and pants they both let out. you worked your hips over the strap, rolling them and thrusting where it felt best. you let lou completely slut you out; they raised you up, strong and sturdy, and fucked their hips into you, each pulse filling you with a throbbing need for more.

"you're doing so good, handsome."

lou's voice melted over you causing your muscles to scream. you're so preoccupied that you didn't even notice beau leave the room.

they returned wearing their own strap, similar in style to lou's, but this one was bigger, it seemed. your eyes lit up at the sight, ready to climb onto it. lou helped you up, ready to give beau a turn with you.

flipping you onto your stomach, beau pushed their cock in from behind, squeezing your hips and thighs as they did. it was huge, filling you up exactly how you wanted. unknowingly, you began to shake your ass eager to get deeper and deeper onto their shaft. it was more tiring than you had expected, your legs growing weaker from holding yourself up. when this happened, beau firmly gripped your waist and pulled you into them, fucking you raw like a toy. when you were screaming and shaking, legs unable to keep you steady, beau gave you the hardest pounds you had felt all night and dropped you onto the couch face first, all used up.

lou swept in, helping you up and eventually carrying you to their room. they laid you down and kissed your face before getting up to grab you water. beau came in shortly after while you lay there a wet, shaking mess.

"how are you holding up, dear?"

their voice could make you come again.

"i- thank you. holy fuck," you collapsed into their lap as they sat on the bed next to you. soft hands caressed your hair and you were knocked out before lou even made it back with water.

the next morning, you woke to the smell of a delicious breakfast. there were clothes on the bed for you, yours nowhere to be seen. they fit you perfectly. there was a brand new toothbrush waiting in the bathroom for you and after you gathered yourself, you emerged to find lou and beau both grinning at you over freshly made coffee.

you spent the morning with them, longer than you would have with a precious hookup. they fed you a delicious breakfast and gave you your clothes back, washed and folded. when you were finally ready to leave, you turned to change back into your clothes.

"why don't you keep them, hmm?" beau asked.

"what? i don't need-" you interjected, not wanting to take their things.

"but then," lou continued, "you can bring them back.. and we could see you again."

they winked, looking at you the same way they had last night when they had been deep, deep inside you.

"i- okay, yeah. yeah. i'll see you both again," you replied, already thinking of how badly you wanted to fuck them again.

they called you an uber back to the bar where you picked up your car and drove home in a stunned silence. every bump in the road made you grind your hips or clench your cunt.. when you got home, you found a note in your clothes with both their numbers and within a week, you were back in their arms; their thick cocks in either side of you.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

I think your followers could, along with using google and not caring if they're "allowed" to do something, also do with a big spoonful of not caring if something is normal. I swear half the asks i see you answer are people asking if random experience A is normal, and I get it, we don't wanna feel alone or broken or something, but like cmon yall. At a certain point does it matter?? Who cares if your experience is normal, human experience is infinitely varied. Take a deep breath and go have fun

questions about what constitutes normalcy are probably among the most common type of question that I've gotten for ten years running now, and at risk of being overly general I think when people ask "is x norma" what they're really getting at is at least one of two things:

1.) "is what I'm describing common among other people?" to which the answer is exactly as you've said, anon—in the majority of cases, people are spectacularly average, and even when they're not, it's not really a problem. so what if your absolutely harmless preferred method of achieving sexual gratification isn't especially widespread? if it's working for you, that's all that matters. in this arena I'm usually very happy to dispense a "sounds like it's normal for you, have fun" and call it a day.

2.) "is what I'm describing something that should be cause for concern?" this one is particularly frequent in terms of questions that skew medical, re: people asking whether or not it's normal to, say, produce a lot of vaginal discharge or always throw up immediately after sex. "normal" is a particularly useless term here, where someone's personal norm may nonetheless still not by typical or healthy—if you're prone to fainting during your period that may be a normative experience for you, but it's also cause for concern as a likely sign of greater health issues.

all of which is to say that I agree that the word "normal" is pretty meaningless around this particular work, something that irritates me enough that I once lead a presentation called "Better Than Normal" all about the way people talk about sex and sexuality, but I can also fully recognize that expecting people not to use it would be a fool's game.

[azrielstherapist]

Never mine

Pairing: Azriel x Reader Length: 1,953 words Angst Level: 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 (emotional masochists welcome) Trigger Warnings: Emotional neglect, unrequited love, self-abandonment, Azriel/Elain implication, bondlessness, quiet heartbreak

Inspired by 'Cry' by Cigarettes after S*x

I think I always knew he wouldn’t stay.

Maybe not in the beginning, when his touches were soft and his words even softer. When his eyes found mine across a crowded room and something in his expression faltered, like he’d seen something he wasn’t meant to want.

But even then, even in the first gentle tremble of hope — I knew. Azriel doesn’t belong to anyone. Not really.

And I stayed anyway.

Gods, I stayed.

For the quiet moments. For the shadows that curled around me like they recognized something in me that he never dared say aloud. For the nights when he’d fall into bed beside me with a kind of desperation that made it feel like love.

But it wasn’t. Not fully. Not enough.

I started breaking myself the day Feyre found her mate.

The bond had snapped into place so clearly, so impossibly loud, that it left something in my chest hollow and trembling. And then Cassian and Nesta — two storms colliding until they burned each other alive, and still, the bond was there. Tangible. Unshakeable.

But Azriel and I? There was no golden thread tying us together. No glowing tether from his soul to mine.

Just flesh. Just hands. Just stolen moments that didn’t belong to the light of day.

I never told him that I cried the first time he left before sunrise. I watched the sky turn violet, watched the curve where his body used to be cool and empty in my sheets, and I knew — I knew — that I was the only one falling.

I walk past him, toward the open balcony where the wind hiss at my skin.

I closed my eyes. Let the wind tug my hair like fingers that weren’t his. Let it bite my skin harder than he ever did, even in passion.

“If we don’t have a bond... then why does it still feel like I’m yours?”

I think that maybe it started unraveling the night he looked at her like that.

Not in the casual, almost-guilty way he did when he thought no one noticed. No, this was different.

He looked at Elain like the world might end if she looked back.

And she did.

Softly. Sweetly. Like she had no idea she was killing me just by breathing near him.

That was the first time I wondered if maybe we’d only ever been a placeholder. If I was just the shadow Azriel wrapped himself in while he waited for light.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says now, standing in the doorway of my room like he hasn’t already done exactly that.

He always says it like it’s new. Like I haven’t bled out in his arms a hundred times already.

“I’m not Elain,” I whisper, voice brittle.

He freezes. Not because I’ve said something cruel — but because I’ve said something true.

A breath. A beat. A silence full of every word he never said.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice is quiet. So fucking quiet.

“I think you wish I were,” I say. “Or maybe you just wish she were me. Easier. Less complicated. Already loved by everyone.”

He flinches.

Good.

I want it to hurt.

Because I’ve been dying in inches for months while he’s tried to make room in his heart for someone who barely looks at him. For someone who glows while I stay cloaked in shadows he called mine.

“You don’t understand,” he says.

“No,” I snap. “I do. You think she might be your mate. So you stall. You hesitate. You hold back, just in case.”

He doesn’t deny it.

And that’s the worst part.

I laugh. Not because it’s funny — but because it’s the only thing keeping me from breaking in half.

“So what am I, Azriel? Your contingency plan? Your…hole to fill?”

He says nothing.

Just looks at me with that sorrowful, broken stare he always wears when he’s caught between guilt and silence.

“I chose you,” I whisper. “Every fucking time. No bond. No signs. Just love.”

I step closer, trembling. “But you never chose me. Not really. Because somewhere in your heart, you’re still waiting for something else. Someone else.”

“It’s not that simple—”

“It is,” I say, almost choking. “It’s exactly that simple. You don’t love me enough to stop wondering about her. You don’t love me enough to stay.”

His wings twitch. His mouth parts like he wants to argue.

But there’s no lie big enough to fix what he’s broken.

“I wake up alone more nights than not,” I whisper. “And every time you leave, I tell myself you’ll come back differently. That you’ll look at me like I’m it for you. Like I’m worth fighting the bond that never came.”

“I feel things for you,” he says desperately. “Things I don’t understand. But Elain—”

“—isn’t yours,” I cut in. “She never was.”

And still, he says nothing.

Because deep down, I think he knows I’m right. I think he knows that whatever he and Elain are — or aren’t — is just a dream he won’t let go of. A possibility he’s too afraid to shut the door on.

Even if it means letting me walk out instead.

“I can’t keep being your almost,” I murmur, chest splitting. “I’m asking you to stop loving me like this. Like it’s a crime. Like it’s a secret.”

“You act like fate forgot about you,” I say. “But maybe it didn’t. Maybe it gave you me. And you were too busy chasing a golden thread that never snapped to see that you already had a soul beside yours.”

The wind howls.

He doesn’t.

“I’m tired,” I say. “Of begging with my eyes. Of being your secret. Of pretending that this doesn’t kill me a little more every time you leave.”

“I thought I was protecting you,” he says, desperate now. “From me. From what I am. I’m not—” He breaks off, his voice jagged. “I’m not him, Y/N. I’m not Rhys. Or Cassian. I don’t know how to love like they do.”

“I never asked you to be anyone else,” I whisper. “I just wanted you to be here. With me. When it mattered.”

And still — still — he does not move.

So I do.

I walk past him, past the bedroom that holds a hundred memories of him reaching for me in the dark but never in the light. I walk past the ghosts of every almost, every maybe, every word he never said.

And I stop at the doorway.

I don’t look back.

I look at him — one last time.

Azriel. Shadowsinger. The male I gave everything to. Who made me believe in love without a bond. Who held me like I was everything and left like I was nothing.

“I would’ve stayed,” I whisper. “Even without the bond. Even without her. I would’ve stayed and loved you until it destroyed me.”

Tears threaten.

But I don’t let them fall.

“You’re the one who walked away.”

And then I do.

I walk.

And he lets me.

Again.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Azriel's POV

She glowed tonight.

Not like starlight. Not like Elain.

Like fire.

Like rage and rebirth and someone who survived her own ruin.

She stood in the garden in a midnight-blue dress that clung to her like a second skin, her laughter low and steady as it bloomed from her lips — those same lips I once touched with trembling fingers, too afraid to claim, too selfish to leave.

And I think I forgot how to breathe.

Because she wasn’t looking for me anymore.

Not even a glance.

Not even a flicker of recognition, like the memory of us had finally faded from her bones.

But I remember.

Gods, I remember everything.

The curve of her shoulder under my hand. The way her eyes used to search mine like she was trying to find something that mattered. The way she said my name like it was something safe.

Azriel.

No one has said it like that since.

Not even Elain.

And now—now she belongs to him.

The male at her side watches her the way I never did. Not because I didn’t want to. But because I was too afraid of what it would mean if I let myself need her.

Too afraid that if I chose her without a bond, the Mother would laugh and punish us both. That maybe I was only whole enough to wound.

But he doesn’t look afraid.

He looks like he knows he’s the luckiest bastard alive.

He looked at her the way I never did.

Like she was the answer, not the question.

And it guts me.

Because I could have. Gods, I could have.

I loved her.

I think I always did — in my own broken, hesitant way. But I was too busy listening for something that never came. Waiting for a bond that never snapped. Chasing an if while she was begging me to see the now.

I didn’t choose her.

And by the time I realized she was already mine, she had already learned to stop hoping.

She stopped waiting.

She stopped bleeding for me.

And now she belongs to someone who never made her ask to be chosen.

I don't blame her.

He just saw her — and stayed.

I don’t remember what joy feels like.

Not anymore.

Just the sound of her voice in my memory and the weight of every “almost” I threw away. I can still taste her in the quiet. Still hear her whisper, “Even if there’s no bond… I still choose you.”

And I—fuck—I just stood there.

Waiting for something better.

Something easier.

Something fated.

But fate never showed up.

And now I’m left with silence. With shadows that curl tighter around my ribs because they remember how she used to hold them in her sleep, whispering comfort to the darkness I never learned to live without.

I should’ve loved her better.

I should’ve loved her louder.

Not like a secret. Not like a sin.

But like a prayer.

And now she’s gone.

Not dead.

Worse.

Happy.

With someone who isn't me.

I watch her laugh — soft and warm, her hand brushing his as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She leans into him like home. Like trust.

Like something I could’ve had if I’d just told her what she meant before it was too late.

I don’t sleep anymore.

I just lay in the dark and wonder if she still sleeps on the left side of the bed. If she still hums when she makes tea. If she still cries when it rains — and if now, someone holds her when she does.

I wonder if she still loves me.

And then I pray she doesn’t.

Because it would kill me to think she still does — and stayed away anyway.

I never said I loved her.

Not out loud.

And now it’s all I can think.

Over and over and over again, until it fills the hollowness I carved into myself with silence.

I loved you. I loved you. I loved you. I still love you.

Gods, I’d give anything to go back — to un-say every silence, to un-make every hesitation. To press my hands to her cheeks and say I love you. Stay. It’s you. It’s always been you.

But that moment is dead.

Buried beneath the weight of every day I waited.

Now I’m just the ghost of what she almost had.

And she?

She’s finally free of me.

I think that’s what kills me the most.

She let go.

And I never will.

She left.

Because I made it easy.

A/N: Sooooo what do you guys think of this? I was listening to this song and thought 'Why not'. Hope you guys like it, and if you do, please let me know!

Dividers by @enchanthings-a

[milkywayes]

this is so clearly a bad faith comment, but all right, i'll say something about those "notes" you brought up

ME1 - the game where Shepard herself consistently says "wildly racist" (by your standards, apparently) (i think the actual word you're looking for here is xenophobic) things to the aliens around her as she tries to find out more about them, on account of not having all the details. if you think garrus saying that the prejudice of the other species towards quarians is rooted in them being nomads (correct, in part) and squabbling with wrex about a war both their people faught where wrex' people were the aggressors (i don't recall any discussion of the genophage itself) is "wildly" anything, i do think you're just looking for something to be mad about. was it insensitive of him to say? yeah. in bad taste? probably. but very clearly, what both these conversations were meant to show to the player is that these are characters from very different backgrounds learning to work together and to coexist for the first time. you clearly see this thread in All his elevator conversations — he's asking his new companions about their lives, getting their perspectives, expanding his world view. he is not subtle or smooth about it, hence the friction. you're just choosing to focus on the dynamics where there's understandably the most friction, the biggest adjustment, as an excuse to call him a horrible person or whatever, completely missing the context of these conversations which are a stepping stone to friendship and coexistence and mutual understanding.

i find ME3 even funnier, considering he is actually upset about the bomb's existence (heard in mission dialogue if you bring him and james). was it brilliant strategy anyway? yes. and that's exactly what this post is about. he makes these statements that state the truth without stopping to put feel-better disclaimers around them. he understands why turians from hundreds of years ago installed that bomb, but that does in no way mean that he would have done it himself or thinks it was the right thing to do, which you can tell if you hear all his mission dialogue. similarly with the genophage cure - is it truly so wild for him say to a close confidante that he'd consider getting substantial military aid in a war where they need all the help they can get over a cure that might result in a second war immediately after in case the krogan revolt again and wrex can't stop it? these concerns are well-founded. that doesn't mean he wouldn't have moral or ethical concerns about that decision — this is a war tactician talking. detached assessment. which again, is what this post is about.

i, for one, truly appreciate a character who can say what's on his mind and make clear assessments regardless of social niceties while still caring about other people and facing significant moral and ethical dilemmas that he works through and grows from. he is not cold, and he is not "wildly racist" in any way i'd interpret that term. and he pisses people off. thanks for illustrating my point i guess

garrus is my favorite because he pisses people off so badly. watching let’s players on yt grimace when he voices an opinion. the thing is, he always has a point. a good point, even. it’s just that he looks at stuff from angles that others don’t allow themselves to do. less performative compassion for others than they’re comfortable with... doesn’t mean he’s wrong, per se, and for a paragon shepard it’s often exactly what’s needed to balance things out. also doesn’t mean that he’s not a compassionate person - he does show that side of himself when he worries about orphans, when he gets so angry at criminals, when he comforts shepard, when he laments about ruthless calculus. but it’s balanced with enough detachedness and blunt honesty that it makes people very uncomfortable. i just think it makes him fascinating. he defies categorization in that way. it would be so simple to say he’s just a bad person, but that’s a shallow and reactive reading of him and his motivations. what makes a good person and what makes a bad one is also highly subjective. people who are uncomfortable with him love to trim down his edges to better fit what they think is acceptable and that’s a shame. he says he doesn’t know what to do with gray, but he’s firmly in the gray himself. there’s a kind of poetry to it. it makes writing him very entertaining

[biting-miguel-ohara]

Daddy - Venom x ftm!Reader

A/N: this is written for my wonderful 🎀 anon who requested it and my beloved mutual @worstwolverinesbf who got me to finish it

I hope you all like it :)

Written for this request

Dividers by @/kodaswrld

CW: possessiveness; monsterfucking; Venom uses it/its pronouns; mentioned Venom/Eddie; explicit sexual content; smut; Reader is dating both Eddie and Venom; Reader is a bit freaky in this, ngl; mild fighting between Eddie and Venom; Reader lives with Eddie; Venom has a dick; ftm trans Reader; kissing; making out; breeding kink; daddy kink; Reader’s parts are called dick and hole; fingering; Venom is in love with Reader; oral sex; cunnilingus; Venom has a prehensile tongue; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; ‘I love you’s; oviposition; Venom has a big dick; errr I don’t know how to tag this, so just take that last tag seriously; brief but descriptive (?) painful sex; penetrative sex; PiV sex; egg laying; Venom purrs; belly bulge; no aftercare; mild silly ending

2413 words

Venom was territorial. You’d found that out pretty quickly once you’d started dating Eddie. Venom had been wary of you at first, snippy and somewhat aggressive, even.

You hadn’t taken it personally. Eddie was the closest person Venom had to a best friend. Even more than that, sometimes. And it wasn’t like you were Mr Perfect when it came to possessiveness either.

But eventually, you both had come to be friendly. More than friendly now. You weren’t exactly as close to Venom as you were to Eddie, but they were a pair. Dating one really meant dating both, in their case.

So Venom was territorial. And you really didn’t mind. Except… it was suddenly getting worse.

Normally it would check up on you whenever you came home, but just a few days ago it’d sniffed you. Claiming it was making sure you still smelled like Eddie.

And part of you had liked it.

The other part of the issue… also came from Venom. Or so you suspected.

For the past week, all Eddie seemed to want to do was have sex. Which you definitely weren’t complaining about. But it was getting a little ridiculous.

He at least attempted to be subtle about it though. Sneaking in a smooth move here and there. Slowly feeling you up. But it kept happening. Day after day after day.

The last time he’d gotten like this, you’d had to leave for the weekend. Some stupid trip or whatever.

This time, it’s just you and him and Venom.

A shameful part of you likes it. Likes how much Eddie wants you. You’ve always had some more… daring ideas for a relationship. You just don’t want to tie Eddie down.

Especially not after everything that happened with him. You want to be a safe place for him, not something to run away from.

So you keep your ideas to yourself. You let Venom be as territorial as he wants. And you and Eddie fuck like rabbits.

Everything’s fine. Everything’s good.

And then you have the best fucking night of your entire life.

From the moment Eddie got home, it was clear something was up. He was muttering to himself more than normal, snapping “No!” at Venom. And Venom was growling back.

You’d seen them fight before. But this? This was different.

You stay out of their way for as long as you can. It’s your turn to make dinner anyway, so you hasten about to cook up something. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s good.

You wait for a while before finally interrupting their argument. “Uh… Hey…”

Both of them snap to you. Watching you with so much intensity… it’s kinda hot. You swallow, shifting your weight from foot to foot. Trying hard to ignore the thread of warmth in your core.

“Dinner’s done.”

Still they watch you. For a moment, no one says anything. Then Eddie swallows. “What if… What if we have you for dinner?”

You blink. Shift your weight again. “What?”

“Ven wants… It wants…” Eddie stumbles over his words. “Oh, for fuck’s—“

With a wave of black goo, Venom swarms Eddie’s body. Transforming into a bulk of a creature. It makes your mouth go dry and your boxers wet.

“We want you.” Venom growls, stalking closer to you. You back away from it, into the kitchen. It follows, blocking you in against a counter.

Its tongue snakes out, making you shiver. What you wouldn’t give…

What gives you pause, though, is the thing between Venom’s legs.

You’ve seen dicks before. But nothing like this. Venom’s huge. Thicker and longer than you could possibly take. You doubt you could even fit both your hands around it, let alone one. You’ve never wanted anything inside you more.

“Like it?” Venom leers. “We’re gonna make you take it all.”

You can’t deny the gush of heat between your legs at that thought. You can picture it now. You, fucked out on a bed, stretched beyond what you can take, crying as it fucks so deep into you it breaks you.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “That’s hot.”

Venom’s tongue trails up your cheek, probing at your lips. You’ve never kissed it before, only watched Eddie do it. But you part your lips.

Its tongue invades your mouth. It curls around your tongue and feels along your teeth. Filling your mouth until all you can do is suck on it and whimper.

Part of you wants more. Wants to really take it down. Wants to suck on its tongue and let it fuck your throat until it’s in your fucking stomach.

But it retreats from your mouth all too soon, leaving you clenching hard at your own thoughts with nothing to distract you. You pant for breath, your mind a daze of heat and need.

Venom brings its face right up to yours. You think you could lick over every one of its teeth and still not be satisfied.

“We’re going to breed you.” Venom growls. “Stuff you full of our eggs. Make you into a daddy.”

Fuck. If he doesn’t fuck you right now…

“Fuck yeah,” you gasp out. “Make me a daddy, Ven.”

You’re scooped up within an instant. One moment you’re in the kitchen, the next you’re in the bedroom, Venom’s hands ripping off your clothing.

You barely have time to register cool air against your skin before its hands are on you. Sliding up your sides, caressing your stomach, up higher. For a moment, the tension in the room holds its breath as Venom follows the movements Eddie’s done so many times in the past.

It removes your binder. Carefully. It tosses it to the side and gazes down at you, a low purr in its throat. You can feel its gaze roaming over you. Hungry. Needy. Reverent.

Your boxers are soaked. Plastered to your skin, wet and sticky. Venom’s tongue snakes out, the tip trailing oh so lightly over the damp fabric. It growls, hands coming to grip your thighs. Pushing them up till it can press its face to your boxers.

For a moment, it just breathes, the puff of warm air making you squirm a little. You’re dying for its touch, but you don’t wanna break the moment. Even though everything in you is screaming to grind against its face.

Still, a whimper claws its way up your throat and escapes. It pulls Venom from its thoughts, prompting it into action. It curls its fingers under the hem of your boxers, pulling them down. Slowly revealing you to it.

It makes you squirm. Under its stare, you feel so naked. So vulnerable.

“You are magnificent,” Venom growls, voice dripping with hunger. “We would conquer a thousand worlds for you.”

That pulls a weak laugh from you. “Only a thousand?”

It merely looks at you, then opens its mouth. Its tongue snakes out. You clench hard at the thoughts whirling through your mind. God, if only it’d get to it and—

“Fuck!” You arch up, hips bucking as Venom squeezes your dick between its fingers. You’d been so distracted by its tongue and words, you hadn’t noticed its hand creeping up your thigh.

All you can do is cry out in pleasure, especially when a thick finger slips into your sopping hole. It’s so big, stretching you out with ease. Long enough to press against the spot inside you that has you scrabbling at the sheets, babbling its name.

“Ven, Ven, Ven!” You’re panting, gasping. Desperate moans spilling from your lips. Another finger nudges at your hole and you clench hard. The coil in your stomach builds.

The second finger slips in. Stretching your walls. Curling just right, and—

You cum. Hard.

Venom doesn’t pull its hand away. Not even when your breath returns and you grin lazily up at it. It just keeps its fingers stuffed inside you, unmoving.

It’s panting. Taking in huge gulps of air, chest heaving. Eyes so wide it’s almost concerning.

“Ven?”

A low growl spills from its lips. “We need you.”

Its words send a shiver of desire down your spine. But also a splinter of worry. You’re not wet enough to take it, not with its monstrous size. But the way it’s looking at you…

“I need more first,” you whisper. Then, with as much daring as you can push into your tone, “Fuck me with your tongue.”

Venom’s eyes flash. One moment it’s gazing at you in desperation, the next its face is shoved between your legs. It eases its fingers out of you, tongue twisting and curling around to slurp up every bit of slick that spills from you.

And it groans. Low and deep and hungry.

The tip of its tongue teases your entrance. Circling and probing, making you clench around nothing yet again.

“Ven,” you whine, fingers locked in the sheets as you finally buck your hips up to get more. Its hands clamp down on your thighs, pinning you down with ease.

But its tongue slips inside you. Rubbing and probing, but mostly just tasting you. It’s purring, groaning, rumbling with delight as your body gushes with slick.

It’s so hot; the intense focus in its eyes. The curious but direct way it fucks you. It’s like being with Eddie for the first time again; if Eddie was a giant, sexy alien monster intent on—

All thoughts leave your head the moment Venom finds that spot inside you. Its tongue is long enough, thick enough, strong enough that it bullies that spot. Rubbing and curling and fucking. But it never leaves your hole, keeping you full even as it pulls screams from your lips.

You feel blindsided by pleasure. It’s everything, everywhere, making you writhe and squirm. Tears spring to your eyes at the intensity. You’re gone in an instant, lost to the crashing wave of pleasure.

It lasts, and lasts, and lasts. Until you’re so sensitive it hurts and you have to kick at Venom’s shoulders to get it to finally stop bullying that spot inside you.

It takes you a long moment to catch your breath, but when you do, you pet Venom’s head. Stroking and caressing. Too weak to sit up and kiss it.

You have no doubt you’re soaked. You can feel the sheets under you, sopping with slick and monster saliva.

Venom rumbles softly, climbing on top of you and looming over you. Hot breath puffing against your face. The head of its dick nudges against your hole and you shudder, still just a little too sensitive.

“Eddie says he loves you.” Venom nuzzles into the crook of your neck, large hands braced on either side of your chest.

“I love you too,” you say softly. Tugging it down to press a kiss to the corner of its mouth. “But I was promised eggs. And I am definitely not full of eggs yet.”

Venom growls, low and deep. It lines its dick up with your hole, hungry eyes never leaving yours. It makes your spine tingle; your body acutely aware that Venom’s a very dangerous predator with its focus all on you.

But you force yourself to relax. “Come on, Ven. Make me a daddy.”

The first touch is delicious, just the head teasing your hole. And then it presses in.

“FUCK!” You arch up, and it’s only Venom’s body forcing you back down that keeps you from squirming away. “Fuck, that’s—! It’s so big! It’s too big! Venom, fuck!”

You can barely think. Your brain torn between pain and pure pleasure as Venom pushes your body to its limits. Inching in bit by bit, coaxing your hole to open wider and wider.

You scrabble at its shoulders, clinging to it desperately. You’re pretty sure you’re crying, breaths coming in heaving gasps.

Venom growls. And then starts to pull out.

“NO!” You clamp your legs around its waist, struggling against its strength to keep it in. “Please, please, please! I’m okay!”

“You’re hurting,” Venom snarls.

“It’s fine! It’s fine!” You didn’t know you needed it before, but now that you have an idea of what you could have? You need more. Just the thought of you with mini Venoms, of Venom trusting you— loving you— enough to give you its eggs is enough to make you dizzy with lust.

Venom growls again, and then thick goo is sliding over your hips. Encasing your pelvis in itself and easing away the pain. Leaving only sickening, blinding pleasure behind.

“More, more, more, more, moremoremoremore—“ You’re babbling and you couldn’t care less. “Make me a daddy, make me a daddy! Please, god!”

With a low snarl, Venom thrusts in. Making you scream with pleasure as it splits you open. Your eyes roll back. Your body writhes and arches under him. You cum so hard everything whites out around you.

For what feels like ages, your body is nothing but syrupy pleasure.

Dimly, you’re aware of something sliding further inside you. Nestling deep inside your body, all oozy and warm. One… Two…

You start to come back to yourself by the third one. Venom’s growling softly above you, cradling you against it. You moan softly as another egg makes its way inside you. All soft and small and delicate.

Venom nuzzles against you, its growls turning into soft rumbling purrs. It feels like hours before the last egg slides into place, your stomach lightly bulging.

Slowly, Venom pulls out of you, quickly filling you up with its fingers to keep the eggs from spilling out. The loss has your body aching, sore in ways you didn’t know were possible.

You groan softly, and find yourself utterly unable to move. Venom purrs again, before melting away, disappearing into the body of your boyfriend.

Eddie looks just as fucked out as you. He cuddles up with you, pressing soft kisses to your neck and cheeks. You smile, appreciating the gentler stretch of Eddie’s fingers compared to Venom’s.

“So,” you murmur, lazy mischief in your tone. “When were you gonna bring up the daddy thing?”

Eddie flushes, ducking his head against your shoulder. “That’s… That’s an it thing, actually.”

“Really?” You smirk, lowering your voice to a more seductive tone. “Don’t lie to daddy.”

Eddie twitches and lifts his head. “Don’t say it like that.”

You laugh. Jostling the eggs inside you.

You glance down at yourself, and Eddie does the same. “So…”

“So.”

You both are silent for a moment. Then, “Who’s gonna tell Venom that I can’t actually hatch its babies?”

Eddie just snorts.

[cobaltperun]

The Catalyst (3) - Monster

WandaNat x Female Reader

Chapter summary: The tensions keep rising and the first actual danger makes you act in a way you didn't think you ever would act again.

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Masterlist / First Part / Previous Part / Next Part

Word Count: 3.8k

-I feel it deep within, it's just beneath the skin I must confess that I feel like a monster-

You headed for the lab where Banner and Stark were working on finding the Cube, still very much affected by what Loki did to Natasha. And it annoyed you. It proved a fact you’ve been trying to ignore. That, as angry as you were, you still cared about Natasha.

“L/N,” you saw her and Thor coming from the other hall, heading in the same direction as you were.

Words ‘are you okay’ got stuck in your throat and you just nodded, refusing to meet her eyes. You weren’t even sure she knew you’ve seen what happened. Fury knew, but that never meant everyone else involved knew. But no, she wasn’t okay, she was distraught, no matter how well she was hiding it.

Even if you wanted to tell her anything you were already close enough to the lab to hear the guys arguing.

You went in, followed by Natasha and Thor, only to be met with the sight you frankly should have expected. A high-tech weapon, a firearm somewhat resembling a shotgun, right there on the table. You shouldn’t have been surprised, this was S.H.I.E.L.D. after all, the same people who developed mutant depowering serum, then strengthened it, made it last longer and finally turned that into gas and went after X-Men. Now only a handful of the team remained, and they were scattered, spending their days in hiding. Perhaps you would have been one of the targets if you didn’t already leave the organization.

“Did you know about this?” Banner asked Natasha as you looked at Fury. He was dangerous, willing to do anything if he believed it was necessary.

“You wanna think about removing yourself from this environment, doctor?” Natasha suggested, setting her priorities straight, Banner could not lose control.

Banner laughed in disbelief. “I was in Calcutta, I was pretty well removed,” he reminded her.

“Loki’s manipulating you,” Natasha warned him, tried to make him see reason and you were reminded of her conversation with Loki, how he got under her skin.

“And you’ve been doing what exactly?” he challenged her, seeing right through her and Fury’s manipulations.

“Fair point,” you had to agree, and you saw her hand twitch ever so slightly.

Natasha ignored your quip and instead focused solely on Banner and deescalating the situation. “You didn’t come here because I bat my eyelashes at you.”

“Yes, and I’m not leaving because suddenly you get a little twitchy,” he then turned the screen and pointed at the schematics for missiles. “I’d like to know why S.H.I.E.L.D. is using the Tesseract to build weapons of mass destruction.”

Everything became silent for a few moments, before Fury relented. “Because of him,” he said while pointed at Thor.

“Me?” you could hear confusion in Thor’s voice, hell, there was even a hint of hurt there.

“Last year Earth had a visitor from another planet who had a grudge match that leveled a small town. We learned that not only are we not alone, but we are hopelessly, hilariously, out-gunned,” Fury argued his case, and you’ve read the reports, you’ve seen from a relative distance what Hulk fighting that other monster looked like. As it was, S.H.I.E.L.D. was truly hilariously out-gunned.

“My people want nothing but peace with your planet,” Thor stated.

You laughed at that. “I’m sorry, isn’t one of your people the reason why we’re all here?”

“And, you’re not the only threat. The world’s filling up with people who can’t be matched, they can’t be controlled,” the fact that you actually sort of fueled Fury’s argument made you want to take it back.

You turned to glare and pointed your finger at Fury. “Oh, don’t you go playing a saint here, not when you turn on your own people.”

“Controlled? You mean like you controlled the cube?” Rogers demanded.

“Yeah, that’s his M.O., he tries to control people and when they don’t let him, he turns on them. How long until you turn on your precious Avengers? Hm?” you asked, getting in Fury’s face.

“You are making this personal, agent L/N, it’s clouding your judgment,” you had to admit he had balls to say that when you could turn him into a pile of ash.

“You leave her to die, and you expect her to fight for you? I’m a narcissist, but you developed a brand new level of entitled,” Stark walked up to you and shoved a bag between you and Fury. “Blueberries?” he offered.

You observed him for a moment before taking a few. “Thanks.”

“I expect all of you to fight for this world!” Fury declared and you could tell he was getting frustrated over all of this. The team he was trying to gather was falling apart right in front of his eyes.

“But only under your terms,” you countered and when Stark offered you more blueberries you went and took them. “You don’t want a team, you want puppets to do your bidding,” at least the blueberries were good.

“This is bigger than all of your individual egos and grudges,” Natasha joined in, recognizing that Fury was losing his patience.

And you suddenly got a foul taste in your mouth that not even the blueberries could fix, of all the people to throw that at you it had to be her. “Yeah, you just keep on following orders,” you snapped at her and watched as she opened her mouth and then changed her mind, choosing to instead just look away.

“You brought this on yourselves. Your work with the Tesseract is what drew Loki to it, and his allies. It is the signal to all the realms that the Earth is ready for a higher form of war,” Thor tried to focus the conversation back on what was important.

“A higher form?!” Rogers demanded, alarmed at the idea. And he wasn’t even around to see the worst of what the Second World War brought.

“Sure, that’s exactly how war works. They’ll wait for us to get ready,” Natasha countered sarcastically and took a few steps back, trying to remove herself from the arguments, especially if it meant arguing with you even more.

Fury turned to Thor in disbelief. “You forced our hand! We had to come up with some-“

“Nuclear deterrent! ’Cause that always calms everything right down,” Stark was having none of it.

“Remind me again how you made your fortune, Stark?” somewhere deep down you had to admit you were enjoying watching Fury have a meltdown as he turned his full attention toward Stark. Even if the meltdown wasn’t nearly as dramatic as you hoped it would be.

“At least he was open about it,” you countered. You’ve kept up with the news, you knew Stark shut down weapon manufacturing and turned his attention elsewhere. And you respected that, but more importantly you were really pissed at Fury for making a jab at something Stark once did when Fury himself had plenty of things to own up to.

“I’m sure if he still made weapons, Stark would be neck deep-“ Rogers argued back with a hell of a low blow.

“Wait- Wait! Hold on! How is this now about me?” Stark had no intention of backing down, especially when it was clear Fury was diverting the attention away from his own bullshit.

“I’m sorry, isn’t everything?” and Rogers was unknowingly doing exactly what Fury wanted.

“This wasn’t until you brought it up,” you turned away, very tempted to leave. Not just this conversation, but helicarrier in general. Loki was captured, as far as you were concerned the job was completed.

“I thought humans were more evolved than this,” oh, that was rich coming from a guy most humans considered a myth. The same guy that less than a minute ago talked about the Earth sending signal that it was ready for higher forms of war.

“Excuse me, did we come to your planet and blow stuff up?” Fury turned to Thor yet again.

Thor seemed disgusted. “You treat your champions with such mistrust.”

“You’re not my champions!” Fury exclaimed, and though everyone was standing around it felt like even the slightest push might cause a fight.

“For once we agree. I am not his champion,” you actually felt a tiny bit sick for agreeing with Fury in any way.

“Are you going to argue with everyone here?” Rogers asked you and you could see his confusion over all of this. Your reaction, your anger, it confused him and you weren’t even going to consider explaining yourself to him.

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” you shrugged at this point just going along with the chaos. It was frustrating, but it also kind of felt good to let it all out.

“And you should! Let the woman talk, she has more gripes with the super spies than any of us do,” Stark took your side, and you looked at him, not quite sure how to read him just yet. “Also, hasn’t argued with me or Banner yet.”

“I’ve still got time,” you were actually joking. So far you had no reason to argue with Stark or Banner.

“Bring it,” Stark offered you more blueberries and well, you just took another handful.

“And lose blueberry privilege? No thanks,” you popped the blueberries into your mouth and honestly considered getting a bag or two, or five, after this was over.

“Knew you were smart,” he tapped you on the shoulder with the back of his hand.

“Can you two focus for once or does everything have to be about you?” Rogers demanded in disbelief.

You swallowed and then let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh no, the world is ending because we ate blueberries instead of losing our minds,” you rolled your eyes and Rogers just stared at you, speechless.

But none of this was a conversation anymore, it was just a group of people yelling at one another over one thing or another. You weren’t getting anywhere like this, and chances were things wouldn’t get better anytime soon.

“You speak of control, yet you court chaos!” Thor accused Fury, and for what it was worth it, you agreed.

“It’s his M.O., isn’t it? I mean, what are we, a team? No, no, no. We’re a chemical mixture that makes chaos. We’re a time bomb,” Banner caught Fury’s attention after a while.

“You need to step away,” Fury warned him, realizing that whatever this argument brought, it could, under no circumstance, make Banner angry, or there would be consequences.

“Why shouldn’t the guy let off a little steam?” Stark asked as he placed his hand on Rogers’ shoulder.

“You know damn well why! Back off!” Rogers pushed his hand away and glared at him.

“Oh, I’m starting to want you to make me,” and Stark was back at it again with Rogers.

Rogers circled around Stark and glared at him. “Yeah, big man in a suit of armor. Take that off, what are you?”

And Stark didn’t immediately glare back, he wasn’t even looking at Rogers. “Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist,” he only looked at Rogers by the end of the sentence.

“I know guys with none of that worth ten of you. I’ve seen the footage. The only thing you really fight for is yourself. You’re not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you,” and Rogers was completely sure of that.

“I think I would just cut the wire.” Stark shrugged, seeing no reason to be so dramatic if there was another way to solve the problem.

“Sacrifice play, how noble,” you scoffed, sick and tired of those ideas.

“Always a way out. You were an agent, you accepted the risks,” Rogers turned to you, disappointed for whatever reason.

“Yeah, is that what I did? You know me so well, Rogers,” you mocked.

“You know, the two of you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be heroes,” he warned you and Stark, which was kind of funny to you because you certainly never even thought of yourself as a hero.

“A hero, like you? You’re a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle,” yeah, there was definitely something a lot deeper underneath those words, but you had neither the information or the will to dig into it.

“Put on the suit, let’s go a few rounds,” Rogers challenged.

“What, super soldier serum didn’t boost your brain?” you smirked a bit.

“You people are so petty, and tiny,” Thor scolded you all like that would do anything.

“Yeah, this is a team,” you looked down to see if the sarcasm dripping from Banner’s voice was causing a flood.

“Agent Romanoff, would you escort Dr. Banner back to his-“ Fury began but Banner cut him off.

“Where? You rented my room!” he reminded him and you all suddenly stopped arguing, focusing entirely on Banner. He was getting angry and that was making some of you nervous.

“The cell was just-“ Fury tried to calm him down but there was no going back now.

“In case you needed to kill me, but you can’t. I know. I tried!” if the arguments didn’t stop before now they were absolutely done for as you all listened to him. “I got low. I didn’t see an end, so I put a bullet in my mouth and the other guy spit it out. So, I moved on, I focused on helping other people. I was good,” he lamented over the stable environment he had. “Until you dragged me back into this freak show and put everyone here at risk,” he turned to Natasha and despite all the anger, despite all the things she did, you still got worried. “You wanna know my secret, Agent Romanoff? You wanna know how I stay calm?” he asked

You moved closer to Banner and reached up for your glaive, ready just in case. Natasha and Fury reached for their guns.

“Doctor Banner, put down the scepter,” Rogers told him and Banner looked down to his left, confused and surprised to see the scepter in his hand.

Suddenly there was a beeping sound coming from one of the monitors and you looked back, seeing that the Tesseract was found. You let out a sigh of relief, it was finally over. Well, not quite because Thor still argued about where the Tesseract should be taken and Stark and Rogers were once again arguing. But then it happened, an explosion caught you all by surprise and sent you flying to the back of the lab while everyone else scattered. Stark and Rogers ended up near the entrance, Fury and Thor fell behind a table and from what you saw when the explosion happened Natasha and Banner dropped down to the equipment room.

You turned onto your back and stared at the ceiling. You were going to let them handle whatever that was on their own. Rogers was right, you weren’t a hero. You never were, and you weren’t about to start acting like one.

~X~

The explosion took her by surprise and now she was paying the price for her carelessness. A large steel pipe pinned her leg down and if it wasn’t for her super soldier serum her leg probably would have been broken. Natasha still groaned, the pain wasn’t the worst, but it was definitely there. She looked above her, toward the hole her and Banner fell through and wondered what happened to you.

It was kind of ironic. The last time you were on a mission together your positions were reversed, with you falling and getting hurt, only your injury could have been fatal. For her this would be a temporary annoyance some pain killers would handle. But it was dark, and she was hurt, and Banner was close to her, and she thought that you must have felt something like this back then as well. Only much worse because you were dying and she left you there.

“Romanoff!” she heard Fury’s voice over the earpiece and tried to pull her leg free. She still couldn’t do it, but she was getting there. What worried her was Banner; he didn’t seem like he was fine.

“Okay!” she replied to Fury, not even sure if she was telling the truth. Banner probably landed hard and was now in pain which definitely wasn’t good for her. She watched him closely, noticing his eyes turning green and his face twisting in rage and desperation. “We’re okay, right?”

Banner’s body seemed to be changing bit by bit and that sent panic through Natasha’s body as she struggled harder to pull her leg from underneath the pipe. He was groaning, clenching his fists like he was trying to suppress the Hulk, but it was all too much. Being pulled away from somewhere he felt relatively safe, pulled right back into this crisis, manipulated, and now in pain, it was a miracle he didn’t snap before. But she still hoped she could calm him down. “Doctor? Bruce?” she tried to call out to him, to establish at least some slight connection between them. “You gotta fight it. This is just what Loki wants. We’re gonna be okay,” she tried to assure him. “Listen to me,” she had to get him to listen.

She heard footsteps and her heart skipped a beat. Regular agents would be torn apart is Banner transformed. “You hurt?” one of them asked her and she quickly waved them away. The further from all of this they were, the better.

“We’re gonna be okay. Right? I swear on my life I will get you out of this, you will walk away, and never ever-“ she tried her best, her voice shook from pain and fear and pure panic, and all she thought about was that she didn’t even get to try and save Clint, and that she never even tried to apologize to you for what she did. And now, with Banner about to transform there was a good chance she’d never get the chance to do either of these two things.

“Your life?” he growls, mocking her oath bitterly and she couldn’t blame him. Not after everything. Understanding him didn’t help her one bit though, not when she saw him transforming. She watched in utter horror as he grew larger, his shirt tearing as he did his best to get as far from her as possible. He did  not want to hurt her, but there was no way to keep her safe here.

The lights went out for a moment and she fearfully called out to him again. “Bruce?” some of the flights flickered back on just enough for her to see her nightmare became a reality. She was no longer looking at Bruce Banner, but rather at the Hulk. The desperation made her pull her leg out from underneath the pipe just as the Hulk looked at her. Their eyes met just for a moment and she saw exactly what his intentions were. He was going to hurt her.

He was going to make her pay for manipulating him. For bringing him here. For being close to him in this very moment. And she ran as fast as she could, hoping to somehow escape him as he roared.

~X~

You still didn’t get up. You weren’t going to. As far as you were concerned if the helicarrier fell, then let it fall. This was probably Clint’s doing, but you weren’t eager to go after him either. You heard a roar, and it wasn’t human, it wasn’t even a beastly roar, it was something much, much different from either of those two.

“Natasha!” you gasped, realizing that the roar came from the Hulk, and that she was beneath you with him.

It was pure instinct that drove you, caused by the good times you spent together, caused by the idea that, as angry at her as you were you didn’t want her dead. The idea of Natasha being killed by the Hulk terrified you as you burst into flames and the ribbons of fire and lightning attached themselves to your wrists. They were long, nearly ten feet long in fact, and they flowed behind you as you jumped down the hole to where Natasha fell.

You landed easily once you slowed your fall down with some fire bursting from your feet. You looked around, noticing the destruction all around you. The Hulk wrecked the place, that much was clear but there was no Natasha in sight, so hoping she was still alive, you rushed after the Hulk and listened for more roars, which were luckily happening quite often. You jumped onto the pipes and ran, hoping you would spot Natasha easier if you were a bit higher from the ground.

You heard the sound of running and went in that direction just in time to see the Hulk running through everything like it wasn’t even there. He didn’t slow down even after he ran through some steel pipes. And Natasha was right in front of him, running for her life with him coming closer and closer with every second.

You jumped from the pipe, enhancing your speed with lightning and sent a powerful strike right at the back of his head. The Hulk stopped for a moment, roaring in anger at you slowing him down. But that was just enough time to zap right past him and grab Natasha and get her off the narrow walkway and into a wider area where you could both maneuver more easily.

“Why the- Y/N why would you do that?” she gasped and leaned back against the wall. You noticed her legs were shaking.

“You ignored her as the Hulk roared at you. “Let’s see if I can actually fry your brain,” you got ready as the Hulk lunged at you.

“NO!” Natasha cried out, but before the Hulk could reach you, or before you could even do anything, Thor flew right into the Hulk and sent him through multiple walls.

You took a few steps back, knowing full well this would have been your end if it wasn’t for Thor. You were a mutant, with highly destructive powers, but the Hulk was the Hulk, and there was no way for you to come out on top. And most importantly, this wasn’t the place where you could go all out, especially with Natasha this close to you.

“Y/N,” Natasha’s shaky voice brought you out of your thoughts and you turned to look at her, not yet sure of what would come out of this situation.

A/N: And that's the third chapter. I think I'll be done with The Avengers part of the story in the next chapter or two, depending on how much detail I put into the fight scenes. Either way I'm happy with how this story is going and thank you all for the support! Also... I need Wanda to show up already. All the good things I have planned need her to be here as well 🤣🤣🤣

Taglist: @toxicitytiger @wandaromamoff69 @womenarehotsstuff @psychickryptonitebouquet @seventeen-x @maddsdotorg @arualdcg @ilovemybabygirlmoon @redroomgraduate @canyonyodeler

Masterlist / First Part / Previous Part / Next Part

[kittttycakes]

Oooh very interested by the 5. feeling their pulse one 👀 for Dreamling maybe?

Dreamling | 1k | G | Retired!Dream | Domestic Fluff | Established Relationship

It took Morpheus longer than it should have to notice that it was a pattern. 

He was, by then, intimately familiar with Hob’s hands and how they felt against his skin, the breadth of his palms and the length of his fingers as known to him as the back of his own hand. They had been the first feeling he had woken to in this, his new life, the weight of Hob’s hand holding his an anchor he had not previously known to search for. It was one he sought out regularly, now. There was a part of him that hoped, in the very back of his mind, that it might be the last feeling he felt, too, a very, very long time from then. 

This was all to say, of course, that he should have recognized the frequency with which Hob’s fingers found their way to his wrist, the way they lingered there, not pressing, but merely resting. It had not crossed his mind to wonder why; after all, did he not find himself touching Hob just as frequently? 

It had been a slow and drizzly day. Everything felt gray: the clouds in the sky, the light filtering through them, the long expanse of the hours before sleep with little to fill them. Morpheus still found it easy to become lost in the labyrinth of his own mind for minutes and often hours at a time. It was Hob’s self proclaimed job to draw him out of it, casting cups of tea and stacks of books and the low drone of the television in front of him to lead him out, a piecemeal version of Ariadne’s thread. 

He found himself in a familiar position: half curled on the sofa, his head in Hob’s lap, the rain lightly tapping at the window to the side of them. Hob’s arm was around him, and, in seeming deference to his comfort, he was not holding his hand, but held his wrist instead, allowing Morpheus to stay in exactly the position he preferred. With a languid stretch, he turned, looking up at Hob rather than the flickering screen of the television. Hob was much more interesting to look at, in any case, with his brow slightly furrowed in concentration as he read, his free hand holding his book open far too close to his face. He had neglected to put on his glasses, something Morpheus could poke at him for later.

Hob looked down at him and smiled, adjusting the position of his arm around him. Two fingers fell against his wrist again, as easily as anything, slipping into place. 

“Hob,” Morpheus said. It was not a question. Had he been sitting upright, his head would have been tilted in that curious way of his that he knew Hob found endearing, but that he somehow could not bring himself to stop doing, an innate gesture that had the added advantage of getting him exactly what he wanted when properly deployed. It was a shame he couldn’t achieve it then. 

“Yes?” Hob shifted the book in his hand, half closing it while his thumb kept his place.

“Why are you taking my pulse?” 

Hob opened his mouth, no doubt to form the words, “I’m not taking your pulse,” before snapping it shut and thinking better of it.  

Morpheus raised an eyebrow, waiting. Hob’s ears were turning pink. 

“I didn’t think you’d noticed,” he said, fingers still pressed against his pulse point, as if it hadn’t occurred to him to move them.

Morpheus considered this. He could picture, suddenly, all of the ways in which Hob had done exactly this before: Morpheus, pressed full length against Hob’s back, his arm around Hob’s waist and Hob’s arm over his own, Hob’s hand resting in just such a way that the tips of his fingers rested over Morpheus’s wrist; Hob, over and above him, not quite pinning his wrists above his head with the span of one hand, the tips of his fingers resting just against the thin skin of his wrist; Hob, taking his arms and arranging them to wrap around him, one hand still caught in his, and leading him in the steps of a dance that was the unholy bastard child of several much more structured steps, singing low in his ear, his thumb resting against the artery and tendon of his wrist. 

“I have noticed now,” he replied. 

“Old habit, by now,” Hob said, ears still pink. It was, Morpheus decided, flattering on him. He so rarely caught Hob visibly off-guard; it was a wonderful opportunity that had been afforded to him now, and he intended to enjoy it. 

“That is not an answer to my question,” Morpheus said, unable to stop the small smile that settled at the corners of his mouth. 

“No, I suppose not,” Hob relented, setting his book down over the arm of the sofa without any regard for the integrity of its spine. 

“It’s a reminder, I suppose,” he continued, looking down at Morpheus. “That you’re here, with me, right now.”

There was something in his voice, still, that Morpheus decided immediately to leave alone. They could return to it later, whatever it was that Hob was refusing to say. He only wanted to know, not to pry. They had all the time in the world, after all. 

He pushed himself into an upright position next to Hob, regrettably losing his hand on his wrist in the process, but remedying this loss by reaching for Hob himself, the palm of his hand cupping his jaw as he drew him closer. Hob went easily; he always did, never needing to be asked.  Morpheus pressed his lips to the underside of Hob’s jaw. For a moment, he thought he could feel it—the fluttering of his pulse against his lips. Perhaps Hob had something there, after all. There was something about it—the relentless pulse of alive alive alive just under his skin—that Morpheus could see himself returning to, again and again.

[goriiblissxx]

Here's mine!

I guess I'll go a little more in depth about my own takes on how my fake pep would be, so

★ CAN TALK ✅️ - It may be a bit incomprehensible and nothing more than a mix of garbled noises and frog croaking at first, this was especially the case during his first stages of life. But Fake Pep can talk more cohesively as he’s matured, even if it does come out reversed. [More on this later.]

★ MORE FRIENDLY THAN CRUEL ✅️ - As long as you don’t intentionally try to set him off or make him feel threatened in any way, Fake Pep’s surprisingly approachable and eager to be in one’s company. Though, be warned. He can get incredibly obsessive and clingy, and he can be much more energetic than your possible liking. So, don’t expect much personal space when he’s around.

★ DIGESTS ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING HE EATS ✅️ - Fake Pep’s stomach doesn’t contain any stomach acid, but rather a great amount of dough that’s much more viscous and gooey that is used for breaking down and digesting things to convert into more dough for him. He’s capable of digesting just about anything, with a few minor exceptions. The only things he can’t digest are minerals like metal.

★ DEVOTED TO PIZZAHEAD 50/50 - Before the tower’s collapse, Fake Pep was unaware of what Pizzahead’s intentions were and was usually the one involved and accompanying him for his plans and shenanigans. Though, after realizing the harm Pizzahead had put the real Peppino through, he had grown a distaste for him after the tower had fallen. He doesn’t want to put the person he idles most into any more danger.

★ MADE OUT OF DOUGH ✅️ - Fake Pep’s body is made up of pizza dough, making him incredibly stretchy and flexible. He was also created with frog DNA as well as DNA from Peppino.

★ LIVES AT PEPPINO’S ✅️ - After the tower’s collapse, it would leave Peppino to hesitantly take Fake Pep in, which he dreaded at first. Though, this does help the both of them equally. Fake Pep has somewhere to stay and can be around the real Peppino, meanwhile Peppino has someone who can help him around the restaurant and ward off any unwanted threats and pests.

★ MADE IN THE PIZZA TOWER ✅️ - As confirmed in the war level, it’s safe to say that Fake Pep was definitely developed in the tower by Pizzahead alongside the many other clones that are seen within that level.

★ TRAPPED IN PEPPINO’S PIZZA 2 ❌️ - While he does spend a lot of his time in Peppino’s Pizza 2, Fake Pep does often roam around outside the restaurant. Especially around Pig City and Noisette’s Cafe.

★ FRIENDS WITH NOISETTE ✅️ - As mentioned before, Fake Pep does frequent Noisette's Cafe. Noisette usually hooks him up with fresh ingredients for his pizzas or offers him food. She's one of her best friends and is also one of the only people he's properly talked to before the collapse of the tower.

★ ALMOST IMMORTAL ✅️ [TW for graphic details] - Given his anatomy and general structure and abilities, Fake Pep can survive almost anything that happens to him. Damage to limbs can easily be taken care of thanks to his doughy flesh and he can not be easily affected by water, fire or other harmful substances. However, there is one condition to his invulnerability. In terms of causing vital damage or killing him effectively, his head, and therefore his brain, is the key part to target for. Damage or destruction to the head or brain will prevent him from regenerating or reviving himself. However, decapitation doesn't count as killing him, as his brain will either regenerate his old body or repurpose another clone’s body as his own.

★ HIS PIZZA IS DANGEROUS TO LIFE 50/50 - Despite him and his restaurant's condition, Fake Pep's pizzas in terms of quality and taste are exactly on par with the original Peppino's. He doesn't mess around when it comes to pizza making, as he lives under the “nothing compares” motto that's practically embedded within him. Though, there have been times where he has concocted some rather “questionable” pizzas that could actually harm someone, usually it’s made from either more dangerous ingredients or from other clone matter. However, the odds are pretty low in that regard and his pizzas are almost always safe and edible.

★ TALKS IN “REVERSE” LANGUAGE ✅️ - A majority of the time, Fake Pep is only capable of speaking in reverse. However, he is known to repeat most phrases normally. Most of his closest people can understand him and get used to his speaking mannerisms.

★ HIS HAT IS PART OF HIS BODY ❌️ - His hat, much like the rest of his clothes, are removable. Though, his clothes can adjust and meld with his body as he shape shifts or melts in any way.

★ WAS BRUNO IN THE PAST ❌️ - Fake Pep and Bruno were both created and developed separately from each other. Bruno came about much differently than Fake Pep and is much more snobby and egotistical than the former.

F: make a bingo card with your character

Don't forget to hit the ask button!

[jibitzlesscrocs]

matt sturniolo x reader

warning : none

kid for a day pt .2

kid for a day

in which you film a youtube video, “being parents for 24 HOURS”

You started the camera with a grin, your phone propped up on the kitchen counter, recording the beginning of what was either going to be the cutest video on your channel or absolute chaos.

“Hey guys! Welcome back to the channel! Soooo… Matt and I may or may not have caught baby fever scrolling through TikTok—”

“May or may not?” Matt chimed in from behind you, raising an eyebrow. “You were the one sending me videos at 3 a.m. of toddlers saying ‘I wuv you’ with sparkly eye filters.”

You turned to smirk at him. “Okay, but you heart-reacted to every single one.”

He shrugged, slipping his arm around your waist. “Fair.”

You grinned at the camera. “So today… we’re taking care of a kid. For a whole day.”

Matt held up a pink, tiny backpack with cartoon animals on it. “Meet Mila. Age three. Chicken nugget enthusiast. Has better fashion taste than me.”

A quiet knock came at the door and your stomach did a little excited flip. “Showtime.”

10:14 AM – The Drop-Off

Mila was the tiniest human being you’d ever seen, with two messy pigtails, pink sparkly shoes, and the softest little voice.

“Hi,” she said shyly, gripping the arm of her stuffed bunny like it was a security blanket.

Matt kneeled down instantly. “Hi Mila. I’m Matt, and this is…” He looked up at you. “This is my favorite person in the whole world.”

You rolled your eyes but felt your heart burst just a little.

Mila blinked up at him. “You’re tall.”

Matt gasped dramatically. “You’re right. I am. Thank you for noticing.”

You all laughed, and her mom gave you the rundown—snack schedule, nap window, what to do in case of meltdowns.

Mila waved goodbye to her mom with one hand and held Matt’s with the other. “Let’s go get chicken nuggies.”

12:03 PM – McDonald’s

Mila knew exactly what she wanted. “Nuggies,” she said with full confidence, her little hands gripping the edge of the counter. “With dip. Red one.”

Matt froze. You could feel the tension beside you.

You turned slowly. “She means ketchup.”

Matt blinked. “She would.”

You leaned in and whispered, “Be strong. For the vlog.”

Matt took a deep breath like he was preparing for battle. “Right. Ketchup. Delicious. Love that.”

You placed the tray down at the table, Mila hopping excitedly into the booth. She grabbed a nugget, dunked it lovingly in the ketchup, and held it up to Matt.

“For you,” she said sweetly, like she was offering him a gourmet creation.

He looked at the nugget like it was toxic waste. “Oh wow, thank you. That’s so… thoughtful.”

“Eat it,” she whispered, staring him down like a mafia boss in a sparkly shirt.

You covered your mouth to stifle the laugh.

Matt leaned in dramatically, taking the smallest possible bite while holding back visible disgust. His eye twitched.

“Yum,” he said, deadpan. “That was so… red.”

Mila beamed. “You’re welcome.”

As soon as she looked away, Matt spits it out discreetly, chugging down his coke, and mouthed to you, “I’m dying.”

You mouthed back, “You did great, baby.”

2:45 PM – The Mall

You had prepared for chaos—tantrums, tears, maybe even a lost toddler in the LEGO store. But Mila? Mila wanted exactly one thing.

They passed an entire row of flashy toys and she pointed only at a soft, rainbow-colored stuffed bear. “Him.”

“You sure?” you asked, already picking it up.

She nodded. “He’s soft. Like clouds.”

Matt just looked at her, then at the bear, then at you. “She has taste. I love her. We’re keeping her.”

You laughed, handing the bear over. “You say that now. Wait until she throws yogurt on your shirt.”

“She can throw yogurt on my soul, I don’t even care.”

4:30 PM – Ice Cream Stop

Mila stood in front of the ice cream counter like she was judging a Michelin-starred restaurant.

“That one.” She pointed confidently at the rainbow sherbet.

Matt looked down at her, eyebrows raised. “We have the same taste? Are we twins?”

She giggled, clutching her new bear. “Nooo, you’re too big to be a twin.”

You got vanilla, feeling like the boring one as Matt and Mila happily dug into their matching, neon-colored scoops.

“I feel judged,” you teased.

“You should,” Matt said around a bite. “This is the superior flavor. Isn’t it, Mila?”

Mila nodded sagely. “Vanilla’s for nap time.”

6:15 PM – Sunset, On the Way Home

The sun was casting a warm golden glow across the backseat. Mila, once a ball of chaotic sunshine, was now a sleepy puddle in Matt’s arms, her thumb in her mouth and her new stuffed bear squished under her chin.

Matt carried her gently up the steps, careful with every move like she was glass. Her head leaned against his shoulder, a tiny sigh escaping her.

“Daddy…” she mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.

Matt froze. You did too.

He looked at you, wide-eyed but soft. “Did she just—”

You nodded, heart squeezing. “She did.”

Inside, you tucked her into a blanket on the couch, and you both sat nearby, whispering so you wouldn’t wake her.

“She’s been an angel all day,” you said quietly. “Didn’t even ask for anything crazy.”

Matt looked down at her, then up at you. “I love how she holds your hand like she trusts you more than gravity.”

You smiled. “She trusted you instantly. She barely let go of your side.”

He reached over and took your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. “She made today feel like a little preview. Like… this could be us.”

You blushed, laughing nervously. “Yeah, but with more diaper changes.”

Matt tilted his head at you, suddenly serious—but still with that playful glint in his eye. “Can we have one?”

You blinked. “What?”

“A baby.” He pouted. “Can we have one? Soon?”

Your heart completely melted. “You mean… like for real?”

He nodded, eyes locked on yours. “I want to raise a little version of you. Or me. Or both. But preferably someone who picks rainbow sherbet.”

You leaned in and kissed him, still holding hands, the sleepy sound of Mila’s soft breathing filling the quiet.

7:05 - Outro

The camera was back on the kitchen counter, catching both your faces in the evening light.

Matt had Mila’s stuffed bear sitting on his shoulder.

“She was the sweetest little thing ever,” you gushed.

Matt nodded. “I think she taught me more about patience and chicken nuggets than anyone in my life.”

You laughed. “We’re officially cured of baby fever…”

“Or are we?” Matt said, staring into the camera like it was an episode of The Office.

You looked at him, teasing. “Don’t start.”

He turned to you with a dramatic pout again. “Please?”

You shook your head, laughing, knowing deep down—you were already imagining what your rainbow sherbet kid might look like.

taglist: @courta13 @sunkissedsturniolos

MAI’S STORE

saw the rainbow sherbet story matt posted and instantly taught of this

[mapofsouthdakota]

Caffeine, chemistry and Caleb IX

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

Details: 3200 words of barista Caleb, coming in hot. Non MC!reader as the law student. Expect: premium flirting, a generous pour of banter, and a whole lot of feelings. Harv shows up. The newbie continues to be an absolute legend. And—no spoilers—but let’s just say this story isn’t closing its tab anytime soon heeeh

Parts: initial, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8,

Tags: @gavin3469 @unstablemiss @i-messed-up-big-time @mipov101 @zukini-01 @ariakamil @zaynessdarling @gojosballsack69

Terms Pending | pt. 9

You were only planning on tea.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing reckless. Just a cup of something warm, maybe a quiet moment in your usual spot, and—if he was there—a little light flirtation.

And still—your brain, traitor that it is—flickers back. To Caleb. A few days ago. Saying he liked being around you. That it reminded him of someone he used to be, before everything got so heavy.

The last couple of times you’d been there, it had been… fine.

Nice, even. The drinks were still excellent. The lighting still soft. The newbie still mouthing silent commentary behind the espresso machine. But under the banter and half-smiles, something in the air felt tight. Like Caleb was trying to rewind.

Back to the beginning.

Back to when you were just another tired student with a caffeine addiction and a sharp tongue. When he was just a barista showing the newbie how to work the steam wand. Before the farmers market. Before her.

Before everything became something.

But maybe you’re just… the seasonal special.

Because you played along. Smiled. Sipped the drink he slid your way—a double macchiato with cinnamon, honey, and a dusting of powdered ginger that somehow tasted like winter break and bad ideas.

Perfect. Annoyingly so.

You caught his eye over the rim of the cup.

And for a second, you could almost believe he regretted it. Not kissing you. Not letting things shift when they wanted to.

Or maybe that’s just what you wanted to believe.

And maybe that’s why you never told the newbie what happened when he walked you back to campus that evening—because, painfully, at least to you, it felt like Caleb had been trying to rewind. To undo something you weren’t sure was even real yet.

But who knows anymore.

And just as you’re packing up in the library, sliding your laptop into your tote, you hear your name.

“Hey,” a voice says—low, confident, and not the one your brain’s been primed to react to.

You glance up.

Harv. Hair slicked back like he’s auditioning for a 1940s courtroom drama, green eyes sharp and easy.

“Heading out?” he asks, slinging his bag over one shoulder.

You nod. “Yeah. Just grabbing something hot before I crash.”

Without waiting for an answer, he falls into step beside you—like it’s already been decided. “Mind if I join? Thought maybe we could… consolidate cases.” He grins. “Two tired law students. One caffeine run. Efficient.”

You hesitate. Just for a second.

But Harv is… nice. And competent. And handsome in that effortless, second-glance-in-the-hallway kind of way. And bringing Harv along wouldn’t exactly hurt at this point.

Maybe it would help.

Redirect Caleb’s attention to a new target for his barista smugness. Let you drink your damn latte, get your shit together, focus on school.

And still—maybe—catch a glimpse of him.

Just enough to remind yourself that he was never yours to begin with.

And that he never will be.

So you nod. “Sure. Why not.”

The two of you head out into the cool evening. Your steps sync without effort, conversation light, easy. You talk finals. Professors. Nothing important. Nothing messy.

It’s only when you reach the café— lights glowing through the windows, familiar and golden—that you remember what you were actually coming here for.

You open the door.

The bell chimes as you enter, and Caleb looks up.

Standing behind the counter, he’s in a button-down today. Sleeves rolled to the elbows—his most lethal weapon, deployed with casual precision. The apron is perfectly tied and cinched at the waist, like always. His hair’s a little messier than usual.

And of course—the stupid apple charm is still there, catching the light like it knows you’re trying very hard not to think about it today.

For a second, his eyes warm—lit with that slow, beautiful smile.

Until they slide to your left.

To Harv.

And his smile doesn’t exactly vanish, but it shifts. Tightens.

“Golden Girl,” he says, hands already moving. “Figured you might show.”

You step up to the counter. “What gave me away?”

“Could be the look of superiority,” he says, popping open a box of tea like he’s testing the waters. He lifts it to his nose, inhales thoughtfully, then shoots you a smirk. “Or maybe it’s the way your hair’s practically glowing today. What are we feeling—spicy? floral?”

You blink. “Glowing?”

Caleb nods, grinning. “Yeah. Very golden. Very radiant. Not reflecting anything going on inside your brain, obviously, but still impressive.”

You snort. “Charming.”

The tea box tilts in your direction, Caleb raising one brow. “But you’re here late. So… tea?”

You lean in slightly, catching the warm, spiced scent, and raise an eyebrow while pretending not to be impressed.

“Chai latte,” he decides before you can even answer. “We got in a new spice blend. It’s borderline criminal, you’ll love it.”

Just as Harv starts to lean in beside you, curious—

Caleb calmly closes the box and slides it out of reach. Then turns to put it away—no rush, no acknowledgment. He doesn’t even glance up.

Over his shoulder, casual as anything:

“You look like a cortado guy. Double shot, splash of organic milk—something rare, expensive, and just pretentious enough to impress someone who doesn’t know better.”

He still doesn’t look back. Just reaches for the portafilter like he already knew.

You blink.

Harv tilts his head, caught off guard. “How would you know?”

Caleb finally turns then—only halfway—and his eyes find yours instead of Harv’s.

“I’ve got a sixth sense for predictable orders,” he says, slow grin forming. “Present company excluded, of course.”

His gaze lingers on you, warm and fond.

“Some people keep me guessing.”

Your stomach flips. You’re not even holding your cup yet and you feel caffeinated.

He turns back to the counter, reaching for a cup. The chai is poured smoothly, the milk frothed with an ease that almost feels personal. He sprinkles something light across the foam—cinnamon, maybe nutmeg—and sets the finished drink down gently like it’s a peace offering in ceramic.

Then, like it’s nothing, he adds, “Although you do always order for here.”

A beat. A tiny curve to his mouth.

“…Not that I mind.”

Harv clears his throat. “Uhhh… A cortado, yeah.”

Caleb nods once, already turning away—like the order just confirmed what he already knew.

Then he glances back at you, tone warm, familiar.

“How was your day?”

You open your mouth to answer, but—

“We had class together earlier,” Harv offers, lightly. “Contract law.”

Caleb doesn’t even blink in his direction. Instead: “What classes did you have?” he asks you, voice still soft. Still just for you.

You glance at Harv, then back at Caleb. “Uh… Just contracts. A lot of… brain drain.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Caleb’s mouth, like your answer landed exactly where he wanted it to.

Harv leans in slightly, muttering under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear:

“What’d I do to piss him off this time?”

You shake your head, honest and bewildered. “No idea.”

And you don’t. Because Caleb’s still talking—

“Remember Gideon?” he says, grabbing a filter, voice sliding right back into your orbit. “The guy I told you about?”

And just like that, Harv’s cut from the frame. Again.

But you don’t miss a beat. “Obviously. I don’t forget key witnesses.”

He grins, satisfied. “Last flight lesson? Almost threw up after push-ups. I’ve never seen a man flop that hard.”

You blink. “Why was he doing push-ups in a flight lesson?”

“Punishment,” Caleb says, voice light, eyes still on the milk he’s steaming. “Forgot his checklist. Again. He knows what he did.”

You laugh—too loud—and Caleb’s grin widens. Like you’re the only one here.

He froths the milk like it’s background noise, still looking at you. Still talking to you.

Still acting like Harv doesn’t exist.

And then, without a single beat skipped, he reaches for a to-go cup.

Pours the cortado.

Lids it.

Sets it gently on the counter like it’s nothing more than what it is.

“Cortado,” he says, without looking at Harv. “Enjoy.”

Harv follows you to your usual table like this is a normal study date, sipping from his very to-go cortado like it’s not an insult. He pulls out his laptop with a little too much confidence.

“So,” he says, settling in. “You wanna do a Cicero quiz or something? That history thesis isn’t gonna write itself.”

You nod, half-distracted, pretending to pull up your notes while mentally replaying every smug flick of Caleb’s hand. Your chai latte is still warm in its cup—because of course it is.

The bell over the door chimes, and the newbie walks in. Two earbuds in, a hoodie with something unhinged in pastel script across the front. They spot you instantly, eyes landing on Harv.

Then:

A look.

One that says who the hell is this?

You shrug, subtle. Text under the table.

You: he’s just a guy from class don’t judge me. He followed me and i need a distraction

You see them snort silently before heading behind the counter.

And then—

“Cicero, huh?”

Caleb.

Off-duty now, apron gone, shirt still unfair, jacket on, hair even messier. He walks away from the counter where the newbie’s halfway clocked in and ruffles their hair like this is just part of the routine. The newbie glares but doesn’t flinch.

Then Caleb looks over at you.

And without missing a beat, recites: “Law isn’t just statutes and rules—it lives in us. Part of the human spirit. The human experience.”

You stare at him.

Harv blinks.

The newbie ducks behind the espresso machine to not laugh out loud.

Caleb raises a brow. “What? It’s Cicero.”

Then, like this is completely normal, he pulls out a chair. “Mind if I join your study session? I’m off now.”

There’s a long pause.

You blink at him, then tilt your head.

“Right. Because aviation school isn’t difficult enough—you had to casually minor in legal theory too?”

Caleb grins, completely unfazed. “What can I say? I like a challenge.”

You mutter, “Apparently.”

He hears you. Of course he does. And Caleb looks entirely too pleased about it.

Harv clears his throat. “Uh. I should probably head out, actually. Got another group waiting on me.”

You barely glance up. “Sure.”

Caleb is still seated. Calm. Like he was invited.

You sip your chai, watching him over the rim. “So Cicero, huh?” you say, voice light.

He smirks. “What, you didn’t think I was paying attention?”

“To my law history thesis?”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Heard you and the newbie talking about it. Thought I’d help out.”

You raise a brow. “Help, or show off?”

“Both,” he says. “Obviously.”

And just like that—he’s in. Sitting across from you. Grinning like he hasn’t just wrecked you and your very-much-doomed attempt at a study date.

You narrow your eyes at him over your laptop.

“Okay, philosopher-barista. Since you’re so fluent in Cicero…”

He leans in slightly, interested. “Go on, Golden Girl.”

Blinking once, done hesitating, you say, “Then what does Cicero have to say about someone who clearly has a person—someone carved into their story, part of their human experience or whatever—yet still shows up to ruin a study date in public?”

The grin flickers. Just for a second.

Then he recovers. Shrugs. Smirks.

“Probably that the soul’s complicated. And occasionally reckless.”

You sip your drink, not breaking eye contact. “And loud,” you add. “Let’s not forget loud.”

Caleb tips his head, eyes dancing. “So you’re saying you heard mine coming?”

You snort. “More like felt the turbulence.”

His smile deepens. “Then buckle up, Golden Girl,” he says. “We’re just getting into crosswinds.”

There’s a sharp hiss from the espresso machine behind the bar—too sharp to be accidental.

You glance over.

The newbie is standing perfectly still, one hand paused mid-wipe on a countertop that’s already clean. Their eyes lock with yours like they’re trying to send an emergency transmission using only their soul.

Your phone buzzes under the table.

newbie: you’re INSANE. are you flirting or litigating because either way i’m sweating

Another buzz:

newbie: also. is this what straight people call “study sessions”??

You press your lips together, fighting back a laugh.

Beneath the table, your fingers fly across the screen.

you: his necklace is still on. we’ve lost. let’s just close the case and move on. i don’t have anything left to lose anyway.

newbie: i hate this plotline. but also i’m obsessed.

Caleb glances at your phone, then back at you with a brow raised. “Is that my fan club checking in?”

You raise your cup, deadpan. “Control tower, actually.”

A quiet laugh escapes him—soft and surprised—and it lands somewhere dangerous in your chest. Then he leans in a little—close enough that you feel the warmth roll off him like steam from your chai.

“I just don’t get it,” he says, voice low. “Why you’d want to flirt with someone else.”

A pause.

Then: “Especially not here. In my café.”

Your brows lift, a smile flickering despite yourself.

“Relax,” you murmur. “I never sullied this sacred flirting arena.”

He doesn’t smile back. Not fully. “So you’re saying you and Harv didn’t flirt here?” he asks, tilting his head. His tone isn’t angry. Just sharp.

You set your cup down. “Correct. No flirting happened in the café.”

His eyes narrow—mock offense softening the edge.

“Oh,” he says. “So only at school?”

You blink. “Caleb.”

“Just clarifying,” he says, hands lifted like he’s so innocent.

“I need you to settle,” you say flatly, staring him down. “There’s no logical resolution to this.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. And then—softly, deliberately—his thumb slides over his lower lip, ring finger trailing after it, slow and calculated.

“Is that suggestion still on the table?” he asks, voice dipped in something you’re not ready for. A pause. Then, quieter—rougher: “Or has Harv claimed it now?”

Your brain shorts out for a second.

You stare. Then—deadpan: “Are you actually jealous right now?”

Caleb’s smile is slow. Crooked. A little dangerous.

He doesn’t answer.

Just holds your gaze.

Then—quietly—he mouths:

Yes.

Before you can recover, Caleb reaches out and tugs the end of your braid, like it’s his version of a period at the end of a derailing sentence.

Then he stands.

And walks off.

Frozen in place, the warmth of his touch still clings to your hair—like it might whisper something if you listen closely enough.

A moment later, the newbie appears, slipping into the chair Caleb left behind. They don’t say anything at first. Just hand you a fresh napkin and a stare that says talk.

You press your lips together. Exhale.

“I wasn’t totally honest with you,” you murmur, fingers knotting the napkin. “About… him.”

Their eyebrows lift, but they wait.

“There was a moment,” you say. “Well, a lot of moments. And then this almost-kiss. And he said he liked being around me, and I said he could kiss me goodnight, kind of as a joke, and then he said we’d fail the test because he wouldn’t want to stop—”

They blink, slow.

“Okay, wow.”

You laugh, hollow. “Yeah.”

A beat.

“So,” you say, glancing at them. “If it were you. What would you do?”

They bite at their tongue piercing, thoughtful. Then shrug.

“I mean… I’m shy,” they say. “But even I’d kiss him.”

Your mouth opens, then closes.

“Because it’s basically there,” they add, eyes locked on yours. “Right? The tension? The orbit? You’re just circling.”

And maybe it hits harder because just five minutes ago, you texted them: his necklace is still on. we’ve lost. let’s just close the case and move on. i don’t have anything left to lose anyway.

Apparently, you do.

And it’s walking away from the café—still managing to rearrange your gravity as it goes.

You stare at your chai latte, heart still skipping like it’s on trial.

Yeah.

That’s the last straw.

You’re up before your brain catches up—grabbing your coat, nearly tripping over a chair, the newbie calling after you with a startled, “Wait, are you actually—”

But you’re already out the door.

The cold air hits you like a closing argument. You scan the street—there. Caleb’s halfway down the block, hands in his pockets, the wind tugging at his jacket.

You run.

Call his name. Once. Twice.

He turns just as you reach him, breathless and probably flushed to hell.

Fingers hook into his sleeve, tugging him toward you with zero ceremony. You meet his eyes and look him dead in the eyes.

“Okay,” you say, barely thinking. “Listen. We’re exclusive.”

His brows lift. “What?”

“Flirting partners in crime,” you clarify, breath still catching. “You and me. That’s it. Forever. No substitutions. No refunds.”

There’s a beat.

Then he laughs—low and stunned and real—and shakes his head.

“You’re trouble.”

Your smile curls. “So are you.”

And somehow, that feels like the most honest thing you’ve said all day.

“You’re ridiculous.”

You nod, eyes still on his. “And you like it.”

He doesn’t answer.

Not right away.

Because your eyes have dropped—to his neck.

The necklace is gone.

The chain, the charm—not there.

Your gaze flicks lower.

He’s holding it in one hand. Loosely. Like it’s no longer tethered to him. Like it’s just a thing now, not a weight.

“Noticed,” he says quietly.

You nod once. Breath caught. “I’m a law student. I notice everything.”

He steps closer.

His hands come up cupping your face like he’s memorizing it. The chain is still looped around one of his fingers, the charm cold against your cheek—something old brushing against something new.

And he’s looking at you like this—you—might just be the thing worth choosing after all.

“Do we seal the deal, then?” he murmurs, voice low and reckless and completely unfair. “… Legally speaking.”

You open your mouth. No words arrive.

He exhales, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “I should’ve kissed you that night.”

The words fall somewhere between confession and apology.

“I regret a lot of things,” he adds softly. “But not this.”

And then he leans in, gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips.

The moment you’ve both been circling for weeks.

And finally—he kisses you.

Like he means it.

Like he’s sure.

Like he’s sealing it in writing.

Your fingers curl into his jacket before you even realize they’ve moved. His hand’s at your waist, the necklace clinking faintly between you.

Just like that.

The chain slips from his fingers—not to the ground, but into yours.

He lifts it gently, his eyes never leaving your face, and with a quiet sort of reverence… fastens it around your neck.

A silent exchange.

No trial. No verdict. Just a temporary recess. Terms to be negotiated later.

“I should really be more careful around lucky girls,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours.

You shake your head, smile flickering. “No. You should be careful around me.”

His breath catches—just slightly.

Then he nods once, like he already knows.

And leans in.

Breath against your cheek.

Mouth brushing yours.

And then he kisses you again—deeper this time, like he’s sealing something in place. Your fingers find his, resting at your collarbone now—right over the charm.

Whatever this is, it’s real.

Real enough for a date.

Real enough for a another chapter.

He pulls back, just enough to meet your eyes again. “This doesn’t fix everything,” he murmurs. “But maybe it’s a start.”

You nod. And try to breathe.

His past.

Your present.

Not forever. Not yet. But something real enough to hold onto—at least until the next latte.

——————————————————————————

Chapter 10 tbc

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Writer’s note: Sooo… What was meant to be the end is starting to look a lot like a beginning. Because love stories don’t end with a kiss. Not when there are study halls, texted legal hot takes, suspicious baked goods, and way too many feelings left on the counter. So yes—we’re keeping the café open. We’re not done yet. Not even close. See you in Chapter 10. I might need a lil extra time to make the outline of where I want the story to go next hehe. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻